This is the time of year, which I enjoy the most, and a particular favourite pastime of mine, is watering my garden flowers on a summer evening.

The water seems to bounce off the heads of the flowers, as if they are taking a shower, before it falls to the soil to nourish the roots.

This year, my inner peace and reverie at this pleasant moment has been dampened, quite literally, by a small flow of water onto my legs from a hole in my watering can.

It means of course that the function of this plastic water holding device is compromised and it cannot fulfill its function as effectively as I ought to expect it to, and therefore the implement will have to be replaced.

In the meantime, however, it does still perform its function quite adequately, and although there is the small amount of wasted water, in the grand scheme of things this is not a waste of environmental proportions worth worrying about.

The hole in my watering can teaches me that despite the less than perfect delivery, the water does still reach and nourish my flowers and I still do enjoy the moments I have with the colour and array of the blooms, particularly my roses which I have named after female family members including my mother, mother-in-law, and grandma (deceased).

The small trickle of water on my legs, in some ways, enables me to feel into the experience that I am giving the flowers, and I sense that all I can do in life, is bring the best I have at any given time and that this will fluctuate day by day.

Safe to say, I am not emotionally attached to my watering can with a hole in it, so I will replace it, but:-

Bravo, I say, for keeping going, despite your wounds;

Bravo, I say, for keeping going despite your impending doom;

Bravo, I say, for having been a provider of life and sustenance to my flowers despite your own weakness.

My next blog will be: “Murray Mint”

William Defoe

One of the pitfalls of laying around on a sunbed all day on the Costa Del Sol (Spain) is the constant interruption from various people who plod the beach offering holidaymakers various goods and services.

It has the potential to be irritating, and I have in the past felt irritated by the interruptions, which take no account of whether you are awake or asleep, or holding a conversation, or reading or painting or just being quiet in your own thoughts.

This year I was resolved to be polite on every single occasion, uttering a polite “no thank you” with a smile.

I was interested to observe some women of Chinese origins selling personal massages for a few euro’s, calling out gently as a question “masajes?”

I considered it in my mind, even though my mouth said “no thank you” with a smile.

During the holiday, I occasionally had to ask my wife to apply sun cream to those parts of my anatomy on which the sun rarely shines, namely the back of my legs and back.

As her hand traversed quickly and smoothly up the inside of my legs to the areas where I had no need for sun cream, I screamed and riddled at the strange and intimate sensation of her hands in unfamiliar places!

The fear, I had was that I would have a similar, wriggling, giggling, tense experience in the hands of a stranger if I was to agree to masajes, and that seemed an even worse potential experience than I could face.

I can’t help wondering though, now I have arrived home, what it would have taken for me to trust myself to the hands of a stranger, to submit to her skills and her touch, because those whom I saw having masajes, seemed calm, relaxed and comfortable throughout with absolutely no indication of the drama which I had been unable to overcome.

My next blog will be:  Arriving and Departing

William Defoe

On the rare occasions that I fly on an aircraft, I like to sit by the window and look out of it onto the land and sea below.

As we flew back from Spain last week, and approached the English Coast over Devon, the view of the ground was suddenly obscured by a covering of cloud.

I felt a tad disappointed because I wanted to see the coast and the rolling hills of Devon and South Wales, and so after a short while I decided to read my book.

As preparations were made inside the cabin to begin our descent, my eyes were drawn to the thick white cloud  below, a cotton wool landscape of pristine whiteness below me as far as the eye could see.

Above the clouds there was a beautiful clear blue and green sky which was deep and rich and endless.

Is this heaven?

Is this the firmament?

I wonder!

In recent years, I have strongly questioned a notion of the after-life.

However, I haven’t quite come out against the concept of an after-life, because I think that to emphatically state that either there is, or there is not an after-life, is to deny even the possibility of it’s existence.

I think that being less emphatic in respect of matters of faith has been a good development within me.

This is because the uncertainty and the questioning has allowed me to find some space to wonder, to question, to recognise my faith as being something precious, something delicate, something I don’t want to lose.

Above the clouds, my soul caught a glimpse of heaven, like it might have done at the top of a high mountain; or in an act of worship; or some inspired oratory or writing;  or in the face of a loved one.

Above the clouds, I had this sense of awe and wonder, this prodding of the spirit, this release of tension, which if it wasn’t heaven, in those few moments it certainly felt like it could have been.

My next blog will be: Masajes

William Defoe

Whilst on holiday last week, I re-read the masterpiece, which is Louis de Bernieres’ “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin”.

The book is a detailed depiction of the experience of Greece during the Italian occupation of the country in the Second World War but also much more of the historical, mythological and contemporary experience of this beautiful nation and its people.

I was drawn to the character of Carlo Piero Guercio, an Italian soldier with whom I felt the deepest of sympathy and empathy because he was a man conflicted heavily in respect of the suppressed truth of his sexual nature – he is l’omosessuale.

It is rare for me, indeed I can think of no better example, than of this characters account, for me to find written words which describe so fully my experience and conflict, despite recognising that I live in a country which is now very open and accepting of homosexuality.

The character is writing down his feelings in respect of himself and those whom he loves, but cannot touch, in letters which are to be found only after his death.

I write this blog, in some respects in the hope that those who know and love me, will have some means of discovering more fully who I was in life, how I had suffered but much more importantly, how I had learned how to thrive after telling the truth of my feelings to my wife and then, with her generous blessing, experiencing the deepest and most caring and fulfilling and life enhancing support of my coach.

L’omosessuale explains how until his death “I have been condemned to wear a mask decreed by his misfortune”

Despite having revealed my truth to some of those closest to me, for many years before that time my experience is explained here exactly how it was, and also how it is, because I still fear the consequences to my place in the world if my truth was more widely known.

L’omosessuale says “I have been reduced to eternal and infinite silence”

It is difficult to be fully present in the world, despite my recent best efforts to be so, when something so fundamental to the emotional and physiological make-up of my reality is hidden.

L’omosessuale tells us that “I have not even told the chaplain in confession, I know in advance that I will be told that it is a perversion, an abomination in the sight of God, that I must marry and lead the life of a normal man”

My experience was clouded in my youth by a lack of maturity and understanding as to my feelings for men.

I had a girlfriend as a teenager and I loved her and I wanted children.

It was only later, after marriage and children, that I began to unfold the layers of complexity which I carried in my soul and the guilt and the fear were palpable for a large swathe of my adult life.

In discussions I have had with priests, I have experienced their general compassion and care, I do not blame the church or its teachings for my experience, I account for my own unhappiness in relation to my attitude and towards my faith and to my low self esteem which prevented me from explaining my confusion to my family.

L’omosessuale says “I would say to the priest that God made me as I am, that I had no choice, that He must have made me like this for a purpose….”

I wish I had read and understood these words many years ago. When I first read the book eleven years ago, I do not recall these words having comforted me in the way they do now.

I do not feel abandoned nor condemned by God, a loving God, for being who I am.

If you live in a state of conflict in your own life, I appeal to you to open your eyes to your truth, accept it, love it, share it, be with it and know, that you are a unique and precious presence in the world and in the eyes of God.

My next blog will be: Above the Clouds

William Defoe

I was walking towards Ambleside at Lake Windermere in the UK’s beautiful Lake District last Saturday, when I heard the melancholy lyrics “and Yesterday was all we had” ** being played inside a pub.

I thought about my brother, in fact I often think about him, and these words seemed to strike a chord to my heart because they seemed to sum up a sense of hopelessness which I carry with me about our fractured relationship.

There hasn’t been a fall out between us.

I see him quite often.

He does speak with me whenever we meet.

But, our relationship is not close and it hurts that I can’t find a way to make it so.

It’s as if “Yesterday was all we had” and some time, a long tome ago, something was broken between us which seems beyond repair.

The sad thing is, I don’t recall the time or the moment, its as if we just drifted into a state of acceptance that we would not be close.

It seems that the damage was done under the cover of time, a long time ago as we emerged from childhood.

Opportunities were missed to mark out the other for special recognition e.g. as best man at our respective weddings.

And time there was for many years, when I was not the slightest bit concerned about having his brotherly love and support in my life, but now, well now, I need it more that I can say, but it seems “Yesterday was all we had”

It was my brother to whom I first told of my anguished life of suppressing the truth about my gay sexuality, about five years ago.

He promised to help me, but he has not been able to do so. I understand why, and it has nothing to do with me, he has his own family and life difficulties to contend with.

He told me as much last year, and I assured him that I was fine and that I would wait for a more less stressful period to emerge in his life so that we could meet up more regularly as brothers.

I think I wanted him to help me carry the weight of my own inner conflict, which although it has lightened considerably in recent years, it remains a heavy load and at times I feel quite isolated.

I know that it is not fair to ask him to carry my load, and I have pondered on that fact very much over the last few months, so my expectations have changed, all I want is a friend – a brother-friend.

The lyrics in the song, seem to sum up the state of my relationship with him, but despite their resonance and their hopelessness, when applied to my need for a brother, they are words which I am not yet prepared to accept.

So perhaps, a day at some point in the future will help me to realise that “yesterday was ‘not’ all we had” because there is always tomorrow.

For this, I pray.

My next blog will be: L’Omosessuale

William Defoe

**Earth, Wind and Fire – “After The Love Has Gone” from their album “I am”

I enjoy running, and running is profoundly important to my sense of self and sense of calm.

Whilst running, I notice things within and without and I am surprised at the clarity and clearness of vision which the physical effort brings forth in my mind.

I am a damaged human being, but before I go any further, I would say, that we are all damaged in our own way by the trials and tribulations and joys and successes of our lives.

One day last week, I noticed the blocked out windows in old mill buildings which overlooked the canal footpath on which I was running.

These blocked out windows made me feel sad.

Sad, but not downcast, because these block out windows retained the capacity to see again. Their potential to be a conduit for light and vision remained.

The boarding up could be torn down in an instant by a property restorer worth their good name, because the potential is limitless, the canals, once derelict and broken are restored, lively and vibrant.

And what about those windows blocked out within ourselves, hiding us from a truth which like those canals our understanding of which has most likely developed and changed.

If only we could find the courage to tear down the hoardings and look with open eyes at the beautiful and the ugly; the happy and the sad; the perfect and the broken;

…….. aspects of what it is, that makes us unique, special, purposeful and wonderful human beings that we are, here on this earth, to be in this present moment, of our lives.

My next blog will be: The Futility of Filling the Gaps

William Defoe