Repentance in progress

A young man rises from his seat, a message on his lips.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the bus’ he begins ‘I want to tell you about Jesus Christ’

Two boys in front of me snigger as he stands in the aisle.

I want to encourage him, to let him know I’m listening. I want to raise my hand and bless him. But I don’t. I sit still, appreciating his courage, listening to his message, welcoming his expression of faith.

He tells us of how he often used to go to nightclubs, to drink and sleep around, until he found Jesus. Then, he repented and changed his ways. ‘It’s easy,’ he says, ‘all you need to do is repent.’

At the next stop he gets of the bus and makes his way along the pavement. He is calm, ordinary looking and unruffled by his recent ministry.

I spend the rest of my journey thinking about repentance. Is it really that easy to repent? What does it even mean to repent? Is being sorry enough?

I am reminded of a habit my Dad has of detecting a superficial apology within me. I may have been mean to him, so I apologise. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, to which he replies ‘no you’re not.’ I always protest against his claim. But now I realise that my ways don’t change, my apology is not reflected in my actions, and when he tells me I am not in earnest he is merely pointing out this fact.

As a Quaker brought up in Britain Yearly Meeting, I am not clear what my understanding of sin is. I am realising, however, that often simply being sorry for the past is not enough, that show of humility must be reflected in the actions of the future. For the young preacher on the bus repentance may be easy, for me it is a work in progress.

City pressures

Cities confuse me. When confronted with so many different ways of being, dressing, interacting and living, I begin to lose track of what sits comfortably with me. I find myself walking the streets wishing I had the confidence to wear that skirt or that colour, wishing I owned boots as smart as those, wishing…wishing…wishing I was something that I am not. I begin to feel lacklustre, plain and discontented. I begin to get my values in a twist. I find myself drawn out of myself, scattered and longing to be many different people.

As a Quaker I have a commitment to simplicity. I am constantly evaluating whether I truly need to buy this or own that. I am no saint, and I often decide I don’t need something, then find myself walking out the shop having caved under the weight of capitalist consumerism once more…

Britain Yearly Meeting’s faith and practice includes the following paragraph:

“The testimony of outward simplicity began as a protest against the extravagance and snobbery which marked English society in the 1600s. In whatever forms this protest is maintained today, it must still be seen as a testimony against involvement with things which tend to dilute our energies and scatter our thoughts, reducing us to lives of triviality and mediocrity”

Quaker faith and practice 20:27

So as I move around the city, listening to the expectations of this culture telling me how to dress, how to behave, how to live in a cosmopolitan environment, I am asked to re-evaluate how I protest against the “extravagance and snobbery” of modern consumer fashions. I am prompted to question how much my outward expression truly affects my sense of self, and wonder whether a disengagement from the surrounding culture might, in fact, enable me to engage with life, and with my faith, on a deeper, more fulfilling level.

the colouring of interpretation

As I walked up the hill, back to the fields and the bare moors, scent of marzipan rising from the verge, tar bubbling in the slight sunshine, I realised that I have forgotten to be happy. I have spent the week feeling so detached and so numb that I have forgotten the sheer beauty of consciousness.

Going back to that moment of realisation, back to the moment when I recognised that the weight of melancholy that fills my lethargic and unmotivated self is mainly of my own construction, it occurrs to me that pehaps I didn't fully comprehend Nietzsche this past year. When he explains nihilism as the inevitable meaningless of our lives, my original reaction was amusement. I now question whether it was my preoccupation with study that allowed me to find hilarity in this otherwise bleak statement. Something in me that was focussed on my work would not allow me to know the pesimism of Nietzsche's statement but only the ways in which it may be empowering to the human race. These past few days with no pressures and no commitments, I have come to speculate on the darker and deeper levels of meaning implicit in that statement. As each day stretched before me asking to be filled and yet repelling any plan, I found myself sinking deeper into the numbing knowledge of the uselessness of life.

So I see that although the stoic philosophers aimed for complete rational control and containment of emotion, there is a deeper place from which emotions spring; a place that we have no control over and that colours our interpretation of concepts and theories.

renaming

I thought about this blog a little today. I thought about how all I can write about are my own experiences, and I thought about what is current in my life. It came to me that in choosing my title, in beginning to write about the brooks I must jump I began a commentary on my life and the transitions that occupy it. So I'm making a change, my new subheading will be "a commentary on transition".

the ultimate brook

For the last month I have been jumping the brooks of everyday life, completing the deadlines and 'to do' lists that seem to make up my existence. However, for every small step my eyes have been drifting to the distance, to rest on a river whose far banks are unknown to me. There will come a time soon when I will jump that brook. I will jump not knowing entirely what lies on the far side. I only hope that I am prepared for that unknown. I only hope that I land on my feet.

tensions

It has been a long time since I posted anything, and I think to myself 'so much for once a week!'

At present I am experiencing the world dropping away from beneath my feet. All the excitement cultivated and indulged only weeks ago is spent. All is undermined as I shed my future plans, as I shake off their motivations and scrutinise the new. I changed my mind and now I'm no longer sure of the ground I'm standing on. I'm all at sea with the waves of atheism, existentialism, nihilism washing over the bows. I have a longing to be grounded again, rooted in the soil and the wet english weather, in the speed of dance, the moving of muscles and the rasp of breath. Yet, I have a longing to take theses theories, these intellectual abstractions and forge the illusion of transcendence. To fly with them to such heights, to push the mind to such limits, that I may taste knowledge.

Is there anyway to encorporate these two into the same life?

More Questions

What is the measure of experience?

Could it be knowledge?

We only have an acute awareness of experiences when we can reflect on what we have gained or lost from them, afterall.

thought

What thoughts swim

through the minds unconscious

then surfacing spit

bubbles from the lip

as metaphors and lies spill into the darkness?

returning

After a week of light headed airy open days of illness and a thorough break from the blog project I am finding the threads of life slow to grasp once more. I am going to try and post on here weekly from now on while I struggle to catch up with all the things that have slipped through my fingers in the last week. I haven't been floored by a virus in a long time; it took me by surprise.

experience III

An experience of the self?

365-09 #46

experience II

An experience of the world?

Distorted by the self.

365-09 #45

experience

At present, I'm struggling to write an essay on the ways in which moral and religous ideals shape our experience of the self and our experience of the world. Things will be going smoothly, the thoughts will be flowing, there is clear progression from one premise to the next, then all of a sudden I will be thrown into complete confusion. The current concern that has arrested my progress is that I cannot define what an experience is. They are these things that we have constantly but are continually elusive. We can describe what they taught us or how they felt when they happened, we can reflect on their affect onus. But when it comes to knowing the thing in itself, they slip through our fingers.

The Oxford English Dictionary lists the following definition:

experience, n. actual observation of or practical acquaintance with facts or events; knowledge or skill resulting from this. a; event that affects one, fact or process of being so affected.

Experience of the self and of the world relates directly to what we know (or think we know) about these two things. Perhaps we define our experiences by the knowledge we gain from them. If that is the case are we really any closer to pinning down what an experience is?

365-09 #44

waves

It's one of those weeks where everything builds up, seethes round, washes over, threatens to drown you. But somehow you know you'll find a rock to balance on...

365-09 #43

space

Still. Quiet. A little absent humanity. And all that space...

365-09 #42

encouragement

Today I received a pat on the back in letter form.

It was bemusing. And I wondered at the university employing a senior administrator to congratulate students on their improvement, mid-term. Chuffed and confused, I feel now the weight of expectation. My own more than that of the institution. Despite my belief that what matters is the process, I struggle to force my mark into insignificance. It's a tough task when all about you people are basing their quality on a grade. It's a tough task when at high school you were accustomed to consistently achieving top marks. To avoid disappointment reason insists upon the levelling of emotion in this case, however hard it may be.

365-09 41

2 metaphors

Dinner time. The second time I have sat round the dining table with my housemates. The second time within 3 days. I get the feeling, as someone offers excitedly to cook for us all again in two nights time, that I have set something in motion. I comment on this. "I feel like I've pushed a boulder from the top of a hill" I say, and immediately regret it as 4 faces turn to me in puzzled amusement. The metaphor was completely lost on them.

2pm seminar. 8 people lounging at desks with books askew. The topic under scrutiny happens to be Nietzsche's attitude towards the origins of moral law. I offer an interpretation. "The moral law is made of years of habit and custom, like fossils" I impulsively add. There is a moment of silence as my peers attempt to make the connection. And then back up arrives from my tutor. Essentially the formation of laws is just like the formation of fossils. Customs are repeated year upon year; layers of silt build up. Eventually they become set in stone; petrified.

365-09 #40

timing.

I really should blog in the day time. Now, I have too many thoughts to put in order and not enough energy. Perhaps after some sleep things will be slightly clearer....

365-09 #39

some more Nietzsche

last night I was lying in bed feeling the weight of my body and a calmness that spread from the inside to the furthest limbs and I suddenly realised that I had forgotten to post on here. So I'm playing catch up for the first time.

I was feeling very claustrophobic about the city yesterday, craving countryside and open space like nothing else. It made me think of an aphorism I came across in Nietzsche recently:

"We like to be out in nature so much because it has no opinion about us." (508- Human, all too Human)

If you stand still and in silence you can imagine the land without yourself. It is as if you were never there, the sheep will graze as they would if you were absent, the wind still brushes through the grass, the birds maintain their flight. It is one of the most beautifully humbling moments.

365-09 #38

365-09 #37

www.wefeelfine.org


365-09 #36