Incarnation, part 1
There’s a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
Leonard Cohen
(Photo is of The Journey, a statue showing a group carrying St Cuthbert’s coffin. But really, it’s of the arms, holding each other up. The cracked bodies, the hands, together.)
Not so much a new year blog, as a Christmas one. Not a neat collection, or a conclusion, just a gathering of small stories.
These are all from little things I’ve shared on Instagram this year, things in between blog posts. Moments of love becoming flesh (or rock, or sea, or sweetpeas).
Tiny bits of light coming into the world.
In the midst of loss, of uncertainty, of long roads, of loneliness, of the world as it is.
Moments of God-with-us.
Planting these despite all the things. Seedlings to give away. Dried petals for my nana.
A resting and painting place. Robin does indeed have paint on her face. I did too.
This holy weeding on a hard day. Soil on my fingers. A cuppa. Friends to weed for.
Walking on the Welsh Coast Path with my mum. Pilgrim biscuits. Grandad’s rucksack.
When two different Hannah’s took me paddle boarding. (Spot tiny Robin on the left.)
A scorching day when Robin came along to work. The people we were working with.
Snowdonia with recent, brilliant, friends. Camping. Campfires. Even the midge bites.
This morning by Ullswater. Honestly? A shitty morning. Both/and there was beauty.
This day in the lakes with my new-this-year friend Tamzin. Especially being in a lake.
Fires. Open fires, log burners, one match wonders. Flames that are never the same.
Cooking for people I love. Making food with people I love. Breaking bread together.
Van curtains from maps. The community Robin and I found here. Seeing I, Joan, and seeing my dear friend Tana. This coffee made by an expert seven year old barista.
These holy cups of coffee. Hot chocolate with cream. A birthday walk with my sister.
Weaving. Something my mum does and writes about a million times better than me. This scarf that she helped me make. These colours. The feel of each different fibre. The love that is present in beauty. The steady company of the yarn. The forgiving shape and the forging together and the strength of so many small and fragile strands.
Making an advent ring, driftwood, beach stones, wool spun by mum, using a glue gun.
The intricate, unbelievable, courageous, stunning, everyday, tiny things in nature. The pilgrimages of snails. The packaging of my Christmas jumper. And obviously, conkers.
This beautiful Open Table carol service. And this beautiful card from my dog walker.
These beautiful things, from very kind people. I’ve noticed kindness especially this year. Kindness from strangers, unexpected kindness, kindness between people, kindness toward me, the difference it makes to be kind, always. (I know, my own axe!)
This walk up Loughrigg Fell with my dad. Robin looking ridiculously inspirational. (In case you’re thinking Robin hasn’t featured enough here, that’s because there is so much incarnation, I’ll do a whole post on her sometime. The same is true of trees.)
But yes, this faithful, gentle, funny, snuggly, intrepid, stubborn, wise fellow pilgrim.
Beannacht (New Year Blessing)
On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.
And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets in to you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green,
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.
John O’Donohue