I have arranged to visit a local pub with my wife and a couple of friends on Saturday night after we will have attended the Easter Vigil.

I am feeling quite excited about the night out because I will be able to have a glass of beer for the first time in over six weeks and I can hardly wait.

I think that the abstinence I have undertaken from alcohol throughout Lent has taught me how difficult it is to deny myself something which I enjoy, particularly on social occasions.

In a way, it is not the alcohol that I am most looking forward to, it is rather not having this feeling that I am restricted in some way from responding to what I want to do.

I want a beer, but I ask for water.

I want a glass of wine with a special meal, but I ask for juice

I like water

I like juice

I wanted beer

I wanted wine

My wife tells me that she admires my strength and resilience and determination to carry through my intention to deny myself alcohol.

I have been working through my development to be open to all things which my life is calling me to bring forth, so to deny myself anything seems strangely like an anathema to that logic and ideal.

Self denial has taught me that I am capable of denying myself, for a length of time what my mind and body craves for, which is helpful in determining what is likely to be the best choice, where my thinking has reached a fork in the road.

Life involves making choices on a frequent basis, and sometimes the choice for one path is a denial for another path, for example, when we make a vow or a promise to another to be faithful in marriage.

It is not self denial which sustains a marriage, it is love.

It is not self denial which sustains my beliefs, it is faith.

It is through self denial, through my dry lent, that I experience a magnification of the intensity of my love and devotion to Christ, and my faith in His Resurrection.

Happy Easter!

My next blog will be: Olive Branch 

William Defoe

One evening last week, whilst stretched out on my bed in a pair of boxer shorts, watching a film, I became aware of my big toe.

I’m six foot tall and my big toe looked to me as if it was six miles away, but nevertheless connected and an integral part of the relaxation my body was currently undertaking, reclined as it was on a bed, watching a film.

There was a time, when my big toe seemed to me to be much nearer to my head, and I was able to place it squarely in the middle of my forehead, supple as a child, now stiffened out with age.

The proximity of my head to my toe, speaks to me of expanse and range and connectivity over distance.

My toe, with the rest of my feet, are pretty much covered in a sock from moments after I get out of bed, until I remove them as I go back to bed at night.

During that time, my head has commanded my attention and applied its skills and experience and logic to the work that I have had to do, and the thoughts I have been free to think, but my feet have carried my body in the direction that the mind has instructed it to do.

On rare occasions my feet become the focus of my mind, perhaps for a manicure of the nails, or after long physical exertion when blisters need to be dressed and cared for.

This is the week in which Christ kissed His disciples feet, not their heads, their feet, and to me this connection between the head of Christ and the feet of His disciples is a symbolic act of teaching us that our minds are connected to our feet because it is our minds which direct our feet.

My coach used a phrase on my last visit to see her which has been working its way through my understanding, through reflection.

She told me that I had managed to integrated exiled parts of my self in coming to terms with, and finding acceptance for, my sexuality which I had experienced as an inner conflict.

The proximity of my big toe to my head, reminds me to be aware of the proximity of the issues I have exiled from my mind, and the proximity of other people, whom I have often pushed away, to calling them forth, integrating them, loving them, as if they were connected to me head to toe.

My next blog will be: Dry Lent

William Defoe

Last weekend, in response to a direct question from my wife, I told her an untruth.

Later, she asked me the same question and I repeated the untruth, wondering though, why I had lied in the first place and why she was asking the question again.

Well, first of all, what was the question?

“William, that half eaten bar of chocolate in your car, where did you get it from?”

Truthful answer, I bought it.

The answer I gave her on two separate occasions, “a work colleague gave it to me”

Over the weekend, my wife asked me a third time, “William, where did that chocolate come from, but before you answer, I know that you bought it”

Then why ask me?

To see if you told the truth, why did you lie about it?

So here is what I said, in response to her question?

I supposed I lied about it, because it felt in the moment that you asked the question, that you were not entitled to an honest answer.

I perceived in the question a slightly controlling aspect, which to have answered it honestly, would have felt a bit like caving in to intimidation.

Also, my response at a deeper level, was because in fact I felt slightly ashamed and embarrassed that I had purchased and consumed half a bar of chocolate without sharing it with you.

[My wife, loved this bit – we were both laughing and despite my discomfort at being outed, I was enjoying the debate]

“So what was it that made you feel ashamed?”

I think it is a throw back to my childhood, I replied.

When I was a child, with four other siblings, we shared everything and the idea that I would have access to funds to buy and consume a chocolate bar of significance was the stuff of fantasy – I suppose my response to your question has its origins here.

” I knew that you had bought it  – I had seen the receipt, I just wanted to check that you tell me the truth at all times”

My response to her was :-

“Well perhaps I don’t for various reasons, for example, to avoid a confrontation, to protect my privacy, to feel in control, to hide my fears.”

But I also said to her, “If I tell the occasional untruth, it is against the backdrop of thirty years of faithfulness and devotion in marriage.”

“It is I who told you, my wife, that I am gay, and that I suppressed that truth for many years after its effects became known to me after we were married”

“It is I who has maintained my integrity and devotion, despite huge feelings of conflict, isolation and fear”

“My advice to you, my love, is that in the small things, if you already know the answer, please don’t ask the question and I won’t tell a lie”

My next blog will be:    Head to Toe

William Defoe

I think as Lent draws to its end, and reaches its remarkable conclusion at Easter next week, I sense within me a heightened sense of disappointment and of failure that my adult children do not practice their Catholic faith.

It is tempting for me to pray with all my heart for them to turn back to the church as if it would be some kind of tonic for my own sense of well being or is it pride?

I need to be careful what I wish for !

Firstly,  I need to be careful that my aspirations for them, are not really a remedy for my own failings.

My focus should be on my own faith, or lack of it, or continuation of it – it should not be on theirs.

Secondly, when I look back over my life, my sense of faith has usually been heightened at times of intense stress, suffering, pain, anxiety, strife and sadness and I have welcomed and been very thankful for being able to tap into the spiritual dimension to my soul, and of community which church attendance affords to me.

I am concerned that my hope for my adult children’s return to the practice of their faith, might be a prayer for them to  experience pain at some point in the future which I cannot carry for them as I would want to do.

Better, I think, that I should pray that they carry a remnant of their faith, and recognise that what they have retained is known to them, not to me.

My next blog will be:    Why I Lie

William Defoe

I felt alarmed and horrified by reports that a 25 year old Indonesian man called Akbar, had been attacked and consumed fully by a reticulated python in Sulawesi, Indonesia earlier this week.

My heart goes out to him – May he rest in peace, dear man – and also to his family and community who are in my thoughts and prayers.

I find it hard to imagine a worse fate, than the one which befell poor Akbar, but of course the manner in which we die is often down to the circumstances in which we find ourselves in at a time unknown.

I have been thinking about being consumed in aspects of my own life.

This is an experience which I can relate to, and at times it has felt like a living nightmare, and to recall it from memory is challenging and difficult.

To be consumed at periods of my life with anger and fear, brought about by feelings that the demands made upon me by myself, and others, were beyond my capacity at those times to deliver, made my life for long periods difficult to bear.

To be fully consumed by any issue, particularly over long periods, is to deny the soul the freedom to thrive, and for the soul to thrive, it needs a much wider canvas of experience on which to draw its energy and rest.

These experiences of living a strained and reactive life, have enabled me to educate my soul to recognise the traits in my behaviour which occur when issues start to take over in my life, so that I can put on the brakes, open the windows in my soul to let in fresh air, light, scope, context, love, healing and contrition.

It means that my work-life balance is not an option, its a given.

It means that time spent with my wife and adult children is not an option, it is important.

It means that my time spent with self, either in quiet reflection or in an activity which nourishes my soul, is not an option, it is a must.

It means that my time with God is not an option, it is a vein running parallel through my life on this earth, from which I hope to draw upon for strength and courage at the time it is my turn to be consumed by my own fate of death.

We give thanks for the life, Oh Lord, of dear Akbar, and whilst praying for him, we remember too, the people of Indonesia in our prayers

My next blog will be:  Be careful what you wish for

William Defoe

Last weekend, whilst driving I was momentarily distracted by the sight of a young boy, aged about 10, when he suddenly jumped in the air and waved his arms before continuing to walk with his father (I presume).

His sudden release of energy, spoke to me of what it is like to be carefree.

I think we are supposed to experience a more carefree existence as children, but often this is not the case, despite the best efforts of parents to keep their children looked after and loved.

In my case, despite a loving home, I had a disposition to anxiety which made it hard for me to make lasting friendships with boys of my own age.

The continual threat of bullies, and the name calling and the occasional physical assaults served to make that anxiety all the more heightened.

Despite these situations in my childhood, I certainly had carefree moments whilst playing with my friends and feeling a sense of freedom, which is not as accessible to children nowadays, as I went off for hours on my bike to friends houses and local parks and woods.

My mind, having witnessed this child’s carefree moment, became curious to whether I still have carefree periods in my life, as an adult managing still my innate nature to be stressed and anxious.

The answer came back that I do have carefree moments, and they occur in my life because I have improved my own mental discipline over when I will exert my mind to issues I am dealing with, by actively diverting my thinking when I consider the time to be inappropriate.

For years I would wake up in the night with work related concerns, but in recent years, through coaching development of self, I am better able to tell my mind in the middle of the night, that now is not the time for resolving work issues.

I feel carefree whilst out running, and I lose myself when painting, and I love the feeling I have when I am walking in the countryside.

The benefit I get from being silent, even when in the company of family or friends, allows me moments to be carefree and my mind, despite it all, recognises my need for just being in the moment, because I have made a deal that whatever the issues are, they will get my attention at the time I have allotted to them, but no, not now.

My next blog will be:   Consumed

William Defoe

In the course of my inner work, to know and love self, I have become very aware of what it is like to be me.

The original intention behind my decision to seek supported coaching, was for me to find ways in which I could live in community with my family and friends, without carrying the heavy burden of feelings of guilt, shame and fear in respect of my suppressed gay sexuality which caused me to be anxious and aggressive.

The developing intention, which is still growing is to know and love self through an acceptance of how things are, rather than how I might have wanted them to be.

I have felt in recent weeks that my acceptance of self, and love for the previously exiled parts of self, have been a success and a source of great joy in my life which no longer feels so conflicted.

I have asked myself, has my journey been a pursuit of individualism rather than of community?

Is my feeling of growth in knowledge of my soul, an act of growing selfishness?

These questions, have been uppermost in my mind, as I have given serious thought to new ways for me to be in the world, and new ways for me to be present to opportunities to grow in new knowledge and application of my skills.

In asking these questions, and in consideration of my search for individual fulfillment in new ways, I have come to realise that my pursuit of self-hood is not a rejection of my place in community.

My faith in the teachings of the Catholic faith remain strong, and I am guided by the moral teachings of that code, however there has been a shift in emphasis, because I approach my beliefs with a greater individual clarity, which is not blind or subjugated, it is a freely made choice on my part.

I have established links to my parents and siblings and my wife and children which has made me more accessible to them because I am less reactive, less unpredictable, less aggressive, less likely to land a damaging mood or opinion on their attempts to help me.

I am still active in my community through my visits to the elderly and the isolated in my area, and I am activated in my response to disasters by responding in prayer and fasting and donating.

I am secular in my dealings with those who want to engage with me where they are which means that  they find me accessible to humour and intellect and compassion without me having to feel I have compromised my values or missed an opportunity to direct a conversation.

So, in conclusion, my deepening individualism has brought me the joy of acceptance which has radiated itself into community by being accessible, willing, loving and free.

My next blog will be: Carefree

William Defoe

When my children were small I had a terrible fear of their temper tantrums.

On one occasion, I sat on the edge of the bed, as my two year old daughter screamed and shouted out on the landing during a tantrum in the middle of the night.

My wife, sat resolute and calm next to me on the bed.

I was saying “what are we going to do, what are we going to do” in a voice full of panic, whilst my wife said we are going to sit here and wait for it to stop.

She shouted out, at intervals, “Are you ready for a cuddle yet?”

Eventually, the shouting and screaming stopped, and the little feet came into the bedroom for the promised hug, before being put back to bed.

Worse for me, than the tantrums, was the feeding saga. My child refusing the spoon of food offered to her mouth whilst saying “not that one, that one”

In an effort to placate her, I would swap the food on the spoon for the food I assumed she had selected and would be confronted again with “not that one, that one”

I felt so stressed and helpless by it all. I found much more satisfaction in changing a dirty nappy because I could just get on with it, and feel that I had restored to my child, cleanliness and comfort.

This concept of being offered a choice, and feeling a sense of bewilderment at which path to take has been uppermost in my mind in recent weeks.

I am concerned that as I approach my mid-fifties, I want to take on and develop new skills in areas which are completely different to the ones from which I have made my living.

I could so easily decide to relax and watch TV or go to the pub, but I want to increase my knowledge and have something different to offer the world in the early years of my retirement.

I am finding it hard to make a decision, like my child was at being given choices on her plate from which she could not choose, I too find myself torn between the differing possibilities.

The inner struggle is a friend to me, it protects me from haste, and it affords me the space to think it through, accepting that the process of constant inner dialogue and discussion with friends will enable me to say at last “not that one, that one.”

My next blog will be: Time each day to be Me

William Defoe

I have been curious in my recent episodes of silence whether my understanding of sexual intimacy is a response to love or need.

In the absence of love, I suspect that at its deepest level, I have a human male craving for the needs of my libido to be met, and for it to be met regularly!

Despite my middle age, this intensity is not diminished!

In the presence of love, this deep and complex human need is fulfilled more fully as an expression of deep intimacy and closeness with another human being, in my case with my wife, in our marriage which has so far endured through good times and bad for thirty years.

There have been periods of my adult life, in which I have felt overwhelmed by my physical need for sexual fulfillment, however the cycle of my moods both within my own mental capacity and feelings of love towards my wife have not always been aligned.

Into this void space, my needs have been denied by either me or my wife in rejecting intimacy, or they have been fulfilled by hand which has maintained at least in my marriage the promise “to remain faithful until death do us part.”

Attached to this need, met in a void space has been feelings of immense hurt, feelings of rejection, loathing and guilt.

In recent weeks, having emerged from silent thoughts on these issues, I have spoken to my wife about the inner destruction I have suffered in responding to need without love.

I have asked for, and I have been granted a renewed level of intimacy and I have experienced the most fun, the most laughs and the most intimacy I have experienced in very many years, despite being a man in middle age.

I have arrived at an understanding, through my silent thoughts, that being curious about love or need and entering dialogue in the form of openness, honesty and truth have secured for me in the present, both love and need.

My next blog will be: “Not that one, that one”

William Defoe