OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

People of the 1980’s will be familiar with A-ha and their ground-breaking video of ‘Take On Me’ – which children of this generation might think of as dated or something like that. In the video Morten leaps into a comic-book story that he’s reading and becomes part of the action in it. Sometimes I find myself going into a picture that I’m looking at, though maybe not as vividly as Morten. Yesterday, while celebrating Mass, a memory opened up in front of me right in front of the altar. I stepped into it and have been moving around in it ever since. It’s a memory of the Camino that began in the small village of Hornillos del Camino. I got up at 6.30am. It was a Sunday and I really wanted a place, a church in which I could celebrate Mass because I was frustrated by the number of churches that were locked along the way. I told this to God and an inner voice suggested "the Lord will provide!" It's the word that came to Abraham when young Isaac wondered where they wou

I'm not looking for signs. I trust! Mostly! But feathers fascinate me. The disembodied single white feather that floats from the sky and lands at my feet. It is said that such a feather is the sign of an angel. But you couldn't take that too seriously here in Hastings, given the multitude of white feathered seagulls that populate our skies and rooftops and streets. There are bound to be feathers - lots of single feathers falling. And I'm cautious about angels. They're not all to be trusted and the Bible tells us that the devil can disguise himself as an angel of light. I stick to the Angels of the Lord - Archangels and Guardian angels. Still a feather has what it takes to demand my attention. Like the other night on the homeward leg of my daily walk. There was a stiff breeze and I felt a sudden light sting on my mouth and realized that a small white feather had lodged itself right between my lips. As precise as the seagull who nicked the flake out of

I am indifferent To the crush of rush Hour on the Underground Unconcerned by time Having no particular Interest in arrival At peace with what is Incomplete Imperfect I do not ask For anything now No particular favour Blessing or grace Not even the removal Of that sin for which I am truly contrite With Love's own sorrow This is a Consecration Of all that I am To the Providence Of your Mercy One Omnipotent God Jesus Christ My Lord My Life My Love In whom I am Given Surrendered Offered Without reserve Wholly consumed In You Nothing wasted Nothing lost Every broken bit Harvested Gathered For the feeding Of other hungers

I sit near a solitary stag in the long white grass. We look at each other and, for a while, he seems not to care until he stands up to his full stature sniffing the breeze between us and turning his back to me he bellows into the sky. I dare not put his tolerance of me to the test, so I leave him his space. Alone. Richmond park is dotted with herds of deer of every age and size - the graceful, elegant and cute, each herd having one stag as far as I can work out. All of them are beautiful, captivating and I feel I could just lay down among them finding a belonging there. Not that I could become one of them, I just feel a closeness to them inside me.  You couldn't say that the lone stag is either elegant or graceful but he is beautiful, majestic and I love him more than all the rest. I'm curious about his solitude. Why is he out there on his own? Has he been driven out by a younger, stronger stag? There's no way of knowing but I have an affinity with him. He ha