For many years, it has been a tradition at the end of my parents Christmas Party to pass around a box of clean white folded handkerchiefs to relatives and friends, and then to stand and sing “Goodbye, I wish you all a last goodbye” * whilst waving them very energetically.

The impact has been quite emotional on those involved in this annual ritual over the years, because I think it calls to mind those whom we have loved and lost who are no longer with us, but somehow are a part of the celebrations because we, as their descendants,  are their legacy.

Last week, Pope Francis canonized two of the three Portuguese shepherd children, Francisco and Jacinta Marto, who in 1917 together with  their cousin, Lucia Santos saw repeated apparitions of the Virgin Mary in the fields near where they lived in Fatima, Portugal.

At the end of the Mass, the statute of Our Lady of Fatima, regaled on top of a carpet of flowers, carried aloft by eight men was processed to the site of the apparitions whilst the pilgrims, and the Pope himself waved white handkerchiefs as she left.

The ritual, which I had only ever seen before in my parents home at Christmas, was being repeated as a sign of reverence and love to the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Christ.

Again, I was moved at the spectacle and I felt a desire to visit Fatima before my life ends, to wave my own white handkerchief as a sign of my own devotion to this holiest of christian women.

My next blog will be: Passing the Chalice

William Defoe

*From the show “The White Horse Inn” by Ralph Benatzky and Robert Stolz.

One evening last week, whilst I was making the evening meal, my mother called me for a conversation on the telephone.

She asked if I was busy, and I said I was making the evening meal, but I could hold the conversation by placing the phone on the worktop near the cooker in loud speaker mode.

As she talked, I made the right noises at intervals, and in truth the things she was telling me, except for an accident that a relative had suffered, I had heard all before.

I was preoccupied, so when there arrived a natural end point to the conversation, I said goodbye and ended the call with her.

A few minutes later, I sat down to the evening meal I had made, with my wife, my daughter and her boyfriend.

As I started to eat, I sat quietly, thinking over what my mother had said to me on the telephone. I had been listening, because I could remember everything she said.

My wife, broke into my quiet reverie and asked me what my mother had called to say.

As I started to speak, I was suddenly, and very surprisingly, absolutely overcome with tears and I could not speak.

There was general concern from those mentioned who were with me, and there was an element of alarm at my upset state.

After a few moments, I was able to compose myself enough to relate what she had told me on the telephone.

My cousin had taken a fall and broken her hip – would I send her a get well card?

Had I enjoyed the family gathering on Saturday Night?

She had enjoyed it, lots of people had spoken to her.

She had told my brother (who’s party it was) how wonderful he was – my tears again start to flow.

She said, “I have had a good life”

The best years were when my children were young and we were poor.

I’ve told your sister, I want “The Road to Emmaus” reading at my funeral.

I thought I was dying at the start of the week, but I think I am better now.

I want to be buried.

I’ve nothing to come back for.

I said to my wife, “I heard what she said, but I wasn’t really listening, but I think she was saying good-bye” – again I was overcome.

She was saying good-bye and I was busy, I wasn’t listening.

My daughter says, “Dad, she is preparing you – she is preparing us all – but I don’t think she was saying good-bye”

I called her later in the evening and she sounded fine. I had been over-wrought.

I didn’t tell her how upset I had been, because it was not as a result of what she had wanted to tell me that caused me to have tears at dinner, it was because I had been detached and unresponsive while she had been saying it, and I had felt ashamed.

Our deaths are inevitable, sometimes we are lucky enough to prepare for them, and prepare those around us, who love us for our passing, but nothing can prepare us, I think for the reality of a death of someone so dear, because grief is the price we pay for love.

My next blog will be: My Foot at a Right Angle

William Defoe

I have been out for a 5 kilometer run, virtually every early morning of my life since September 2015.

The 25 minutes which this physical effort takes my body to complete, affords for me, a precious time to think.

In recent weeks, I have noticed a difference between “cold” and “cold”.

The first “cold” is the below freezing, cold still air, which creates a fog in the air around me, into which my exhaled breath hangs.

The second “cold” is the type I am experiencing in temperatures which are above freezing, perhaps as high as 9 degrees centigrade, which is caused by the cold wind blowing over me as I run.

This second type of “cold” feels the coldest, and this is a surprise to me because my head is telling me that Spring should be warmer than Winter.

Perhaps the effect of the cold in these late days of Spring, has something to do with my expectations not being met. My head is expecting something warmer, but my body is experiencing something sharper and less comfortable.

This depth of thinking, this increasing ability within me to discern the difference between “cold” and “cold” is  a positive sign to me, of my increased capacity to experience and explain and separate out in my mind, the different aspects of each moment.

Living my life in the present, as I now try to do, has been for me a journey of expansion both horizontally (i.e. to accommodate a wider understanding of the experience of others) and also of depth (i.e a wider and much deeper and more compassionate understanding of self).

My next blog will be: Tears at Dinner 

William Defoe

I’ve been listening to the beautiful voice of Welsh lyric mezzo-soprano Katherine Jenkins in my car in recent days.

The CD I am listening to, is pre-dominantly of her singing in Welsh, the language of Wales and I understand, not a word of what she is actually singing.

Of course, the listening experience of music is multi-faceted and despite the fact that I cannot access the meaning of the songs, I can access the feeling which her beautiful voice conveys.

In a strange way, I am proud for the people of Wales, to have such a talented singer as Katherine Jenkins, so conversant and competent to sing in her native tongue.

I feel slightly envious of people who can speak Welsh, and who are multi-lingual, which I am not.

The tone and pitch of her voice, transport me to a heavenly place, as if I am in the presence of an angel.

The orchestral accompaniment to her voice, remind me that to excel, we often need to be supported with the skills of others.

The accompaniment of voices, particularly the male welsh voice choirs, remind me of the diversity of the human voice in both pitch and range.

I think that to experience something, without having a full understanding of it, is to be in the midst of a deep involvement with the soul.

My soul craves peace.

My soul craves love.

My soul craves others.

My soul craves energy.

My soul craves light.

My soul craves rest.

My soul craves understanding.

I can honestly say, that my soul has developed a deeper sense of its identity, as I have listened to Katherine Jenkins singing in Welsh and I have understood not a word.

Diolch yn fawr iawn !        [Thank you very much !]

My next blog will be: Cold and cold

William Defoe

In a conversation last week, with my recently appointed new boss, he told me that I was doing a fantastic job, and that I had qualities in my work ethic that he had rarely seen before.

I think there is a risk in all of us to experience a rush of adrenaline at the satisfaction that these words bring, but my response has been more grounded.

I was more interested, in the pockets of real facts around the qualities which he said he so admired, without which the sentiment would have been little more than opinion and conjecture.

This evidence-approached attitude to praise, is the same I would apply to criticism, because the risk would be, that I would accept the judgement of a person in authority without first understanding the basis upon which their observations were based.

A few years ago, I lost a job in which I had worked very hard.

The circumstances were very painful to me at the time, and they have caused a lasting damage to my sense of well-being, in the sense that despite overcoming the issues which caused my job loss, the memory of the time leading up my job loss has affected my confidence.

It is the recollection of these events, which keeps me grounded, in the  circumstances of the praise which I have received recently, and it protects me, as far as is reasonable, from ever having to suffer as I did all those years ago, at the hands of a someone whose view of me was narrow and lacking in basic compassion.

My own personal journey of development has lead me to a place where work is work and home is home.

The separation is clear, but so too are the co-dependencies of work and reward.

The praise was lovely, I loved hearing those words, but so too did I enjoy explaining to him the areas where I would like to experience further development.

It is this holistic and balanced approach which keeps me moving forward in a professional sense, and which keeps me grounded and content in the present moment.

My next blog will be: Welsh Song

William Defoe