As I sat at the back of the beach at Paignton last week, painting a watercolour of the beautiful scene before me, I heard a woman say to her friend, (neither of whom I saw, as they walked above me on the promenade), “oh, what it must be like to be able to just sit and paint like that”

I was slightly abashed because I do not consider myself to be skillful in my art, but what I do value is the solitude I experience within my own thoughts as I try to represent the scene in front of me in watercolour.

A few moments later I heard another voice shout out from the back of me “That’s awesome Mum!” followed by a “Wow”

I turned around, whilst still seated, to see a young boy of about 10 years of age with his Mum, praising my work.

I felt such gratitude for his kindness and I said to him “Thank you, you are most kind, but I am just an amateur and you too could do the same if you acquire some paper, paint and water”

After they had left, I felt disconcerted by the judgement I had made on myself about my lack of skillfulness after he had just praised me.

In truth, I was pleased that my work had inspired the enthusiastic reaction from him and perhaps it will inspire him to paint too.

As for the lady who had passed by and suggested that I had some claim to paint over her, I wish I could have said to her in that moment, which I say to her now – just do it, do what your heart desires and be content with the doing, not the outcome.

My wife and daughter returned from their morning coffee and my wife said to an almost complete work “that’s good” to which I replied, “you can save your breath on anything less than an awesome!, but thanks” (joke).

My next blog will be : Giving in to Temptation

William Defoe

Whenever I am on holiday, I take every opportunity I can, to look at the sea.

The movement and sounds of the waves as they crash onto the sea shore and the view of the distant horizon mesmerize me and fill me with a sense of awe and wonder and peace and calm.

I usually negotiate with my wife, at least one day of walking along the coastal paths where I experience the joy of the undulating landscape with the sea always at my side as I walk along, thinking, praying, being, wondering, repairing and loving my injured soul.

Last week, I walked along the coast in South Devon with joy at the familiarity I have for this beautiful coastline  from Torquay through Paignton to Brixham which never fails to assist the healing process within my tormented soul.

As I traveled back to Torquay on the ferry across Torbay, I experienced something new within me of the view of the land from the sea.

The coastal view was opened up before me to reveal all of the hidden nooks and coves and cliffs which had been hidden from my view as I had walked along.

I had this sense from my seat on the ferry, of being able to recognise how far I had walked, but also how much had been hidden from my view.

The view of the land from the sea enabled me to bring a more rounded and deepening perspective to the experience which I had enjoyed whilst walking and thinking.

I think this concept of the view of the land from the sea has something important to say to me (and perhaps you too!) about the importance of never assuming that what we see is the full picture.

There is always the possibility of looking afresh at familiar problems and worries and anxieties which restrict my / your capacity to feel safe, by searching within our souls for a new dimension, which will widen our capacity to move forward, or to accept the challenges we face.

I think next year, I might benefit from flying over this bit of coastline, but until then I’ll imagine what it is like because when we put our minds to it, we can be anywhere.

My next blog will be: That’s Awesome Mum

William Defoe

On the English Riviera in South Devon a steam train runs trips for holidaymakers along the beautiful coastline from Paignton to Kingswear.

I like to watch the train as it puffs up the slight incline from Goodrington to Saltern Cove and stand on the little picturesque bridge as first, the sound of the engine, is followed by the visible evidence of its presence in the form of the puff of steam above the trees.

As the steam train comes into full view, such a sight makes my heart leap, and I feel somehow deeply grateful to be witness to such a scene.

The purpose of writing this blog comes in the next moment when the passengers on the train wave to those of us standing on the bridge, and we wave back arms flailing in the exaggeration of the movement to make sure that we are seen.

This connection with strangers, giving pleasure to each other by acknowledging the privilege of being able to travel on the steam train and watch it go by, in the most beautiful of settings was a highlight of my holiday.

As I walked away from the little bridge after the last passengers had disappeared from view I felt overcome with the emotion at the whole experience, and how I had welcomed the brief joyous connection with people unknown to me in the euphoria of the experience.

It is this memory of my holiday which has, and will, endure following my return home to the routine of the working week.

It is this experience, which lifted and connected with my inner self – my soul and I thank God for the steam train and for the enthusiasts who keep them in working order for the pleasure of holidaymakers.

My next blog will be: Land from the Sea

William Defoe

After visiting a zoo, my daughter recalled with laughter, how a little boy had said to his mother, out loud, when asked to make a wish at a wishing well “I wish I could go home”, his sister had wished for a fairy dress.

My daughter had been very amused by the frankness of the honest wish.

In a recent visit to see my coach, I too spoke out with frankness that there are times when being married feels intolerable to me and that I have a deep seated need for a male companion.

At face value, these may seem to be an honest wish, but I think that assessment of my words is too simplistic.

What I think is valid, is the importance of the opportunity which I and the little boy were given in different settings to speak out our feelings in the moment.

It is quite possible that the boy had become bored at the zoo, only to be taken off into the tiger enclosure moments later to be mesmerized by these magnificent creatures – who knows?.

In my case, speaking out deep longings in the hearing of someone else helped me later to shape what in fact my honest wishes are.

I want to remain married and honour my vows because I love my wife, but I need more and more to have my homosexuality acknowledged.

There is a significant part of me that would benefit from speaking to someone who lives the same experience as me as a married gay man – I think that is the honesty of my wish.

My next blog will be: Steam

William Defoe

Our adult daughter joined us for a few days at the end of a recent holiday.

She observed last year that I seemed quieter and calmer, but this year she described my periods of silence in a comment to her mother as “Dad’s zoned out again”

Internally her words sounded and felt in my chest cavity, where I feel bodily my mental pain, like a judgement, but I was able to discern that they were merely an observation because no malice was attached to her words.

This aspect of what my adult daughter describes as “zoned out” is an important element of my practice to be with self, inwardly reflecting whilst outwardly taking in the world around me even to hearing the conversations around me on the beach.

I have reflected that this ability to be “zoned out” protects me, and those whom I love, from my previous tendency to have to have my say on everything whilst being continually on the look out for behaviours or opinions on which I could offer / dictate my correction, my view, my opinion, my way  – it was exhausting.

Being “zoned out” means that I can hear and see things which I don’t necessarily agree with, or perhaps I might wish were different, and I can reflect and wonder at the difference between me and my adult children and ponder on the origins and the influences which shape those differences.

My inner reflection enables me to offer my own opinion, if the opportunity arises, or if I particularly feel that my words could help them in some difficulty at a more appropriate time in the future.

If this more reflective, kinder, less reactive person is what I have become as a result, in part, of being “zoned out” then I am happy for this change in me to have been observed and commented on whilst we were on holiday.

My next blog will be: An Honest Wish

William Defoe

As I entered an unfamiliar shower on holiday, the water turned cold and then extremely hot in almost an instant causing me to flinch and to direct the shower head towards the tiles away from my flesh.

For a few moments, as the water washed down the tiles at the side of me, I attempted to stabilize the controls until I was confident that the water was coming out of the shower head at a constant temperature which my body could tolerate.

I was struck, as I showered myself in the warm water, how in the past my temper was easily compared to a shower head, that is in being hot headed and angry followed by sulking and coolness and regret.

Like a shower head my temper and sulking was directed at those whom I love as if they were a tiled wall able to tolerate my behaviour.

As I dried myself, I recognised how far I have come on my journey to love myself and how my own inner temperature is far better regulated in my life at this time.

I am thankful because I think that for most of the time, those whom I love are happy in my company and no longer have to wear a heat shield to protect themselves, like a tile, from my mood swings.

My next blog will be: Zoned Out

William Defoe

I love to see the moon high up in the sky in a strong white glow behind a clear night sky.

In seeing the moon so clearly, I experience within me a sense of its proximity to the earth, caught as it is in the earth’s orbit and this helps me to capture within my own orbit of self, the capacity to experience and trust my longings in this life.

These longings don’t need to be answered immediately, they need to be noticed and acknowledged and pondered upon or understood more fully in the course of time.

The moon enables me to see beyond my previous tendency to a narrow mindset. It is a magnificent example to me of depth, distance, relationship and the cycle of life within me as it orbits the earth on which I live.

My next blog will be:

William Defoe

Last weekend whilst enjoying a concert in the open air, two small children, a boy and a girl, both aged about three years old, sat on two deck chairs just to the left of me.

After a few moments, the little girl fell over on her chair to the left into the grass and a cry rang out from under it.

Her mother rushed over and picked her up and comforted her.

I was amazed, and also amused when the little girl, only moments later, still suppressing the remnants of her sobs, clambered back up onto the chair and resumed her position next to her friend as if in defiance.

A few minutes later, the chair on which the little boy was sitting fell over, but this time there was not a sound.

I was the first to react, because he was situated closer to me and I jumped up and lifted the chair with him in it into the upright position.

He was smiling at me as I did so.

Not a sound, just a smile and I felt overcome inside at his reaction to the fall.

Here in front of me were two amazing lessons on how to recover from falling over.

The little girl, upset, but fearlessly and resolutely got straight back on.

The little boy, calm, also fearless, resolutely continued in his position as if nothing had happened.

I have often “fallen over” at times in my life, and I have struggled to move on, or keep going.

It is as if the falling over has cast a shadow over my ability to make choices, being more emotive, reactive and protracted because of the lingering fear of the events to follow.

This little boy and girl showed me a new way, seek comfort, and then get on with it, or just get on with it!

My next blog will be: Earth and Moon

William Defoe

My elderly mother is preoccupied with thoughts about dying, and I sense that she is preparing us all, as gently as she can, for what is inevitable at a time known to God, and that is, that she will die.

She muses philosophically about whether she will be the first to go, or whether it will be my father, who stoically sits and listens without any contradiction to her musings.

It all sounds a bit depressing, but the truth is closer to a quite amusing commentary on her hopes and fears over the matter.

Her hope is for a place in heaven because she has a very strong faith and a firm belief in Christ’s promise “there are many rooms in my fathers house”

Last week she attended a funeral for a close family friend and as I was unable to attend myself due to personal commitments I called her by phone to see how it had gone.

My mother said it had been beautiful and that she had loved the Mass and the tributes and seeing old friends that had gathered to pay their respects.

My mother then tells me, with some surprise in her voice, that the casket for her friend was made of an Eco-friendly cardboard and not the traditional wooden coffin that she had expected.

Her musings soon switch to her own plans – I don’t think that I will have a cardboard casket – I might fall through the bottom of it due to my weight – I laugh out loud at her assertion of such a foolish notion.

She then says that in any case she is being buried, unlike her friend who has been cremated, and that she wants to be “intact” when my father joins her in the grave – she says, “he might not recognise me otherwise” – I again laugh out-loud at her ridiculous anxieties.

In my journey to be present, I worry about losing my parents, but I accept that this is a fact of natural law which I have to accept and overcome when the time comes.

My mother in her funny references to her casket, leaves me with a feeling that she is quietly preparing me, and in doing so, she is telling me that it is going to be alright.

What a gift she has given me through her loving care as a mother of faith in preparing me for life and also for death.

My next blog will be: Falling Over

William Defoe

When I was a boy aged approximately 11 years old, I had an experience of what summer feels like, which I have never really been able to capture since.

At the time of this experience, 40 years ago, I was camping in the Yorkshire Dales with the scouts (Baden-Powell) and a group of us, known as a “patrol” set off for a walk to a local village on one very warm and sunny afternoon.

We walked on a footpath on the edge of a field of corn and the feeling which overcame me as I walked at the edge of that cornfield touched me in a very profound way.

I felt blissfully happy, content, overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of the brown swaying corn and the trees on the edge and the birds flying to and from them, calling from within them.

On Friday last week, I drove past a field of corn with a footpath at the side of it, in the beautiful southeast of England and I was immediately reminded of that experience which I can only describe as “unfettered summer” which I had experienced all those years ago.

I was reminded of it, but I did not feel it in the same way, and what is more, I did not expect to, but in acknowledging that change within me, which may have something to do with the transition from child to adult or from innocence to experience or from freedom to responsibility, I felt a tad melancholy.

How does an adult, feeling laden with the responsibilities of life, perhaps regrets and continuing questions as to his future direction of life, recapture the feeling of summer as if he was still a child?

I think the clue to this is in the whispering of the corn, as heard from the footpath at the edge of the cornfield, or at the edge of the sea, or in the hills and dales.

Instead of being reminded of pure beauty, feeling melancholy and driving on, perhaps I should have stopped, and listened to the breeze as it weaves itself unseen through the corn and allowed it speak to me through my eyes and ears and nose and skin.

My next blog will be: Casket

William Defoe