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Letters to Biddy

~ a weekly reflection as a letter to Biddy Early, 19th Century Irish healer from Ennis, County Clare

Letters to Biddy

Monthly Archives: June 2014

Litany

28 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by Moira Were AM in Uncategorized

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Biddy Early, Farmers Market, feast, litany, Mary Oliver, pilgrim, slow food

Dear Biddy,

There is a saying in the Slow Food movement that says: Shake the hand that feeds you. It is an invitation to connect with the producers of food in your local region and something I am lucky enough to do every weekend at the Willunga Farmers Market. It is a place that feeds my soul. A cornucopia of Mother Earth’s love harvested and transformed by the work of human hands. It is a weekly blessing in my life.

I am fed in so many other ways too. Connections and conversations rooted in history matched alongside seeds recently scattered on the surface, both landing on the fertility of the space we create together under the canopy of the great southern sky.

This week I have shook many hands that feed me – producers of ideas, distributors of passion, builders of nests, weavers of webs and makers of mulch and muck – all feeding me in their own way. In a logistics chain love dispensing network sometimes you are a supplier and other times a distributor. The karma returns has the capacity to skip a generation too – paying back and paying forward can happen simultaneously. Offspring wear the consequences of being from the same stock.

I will not clean the house while there is love to be made and poems to be read and conversations to be had.

The Slow Food movement links the pleasure of good food with commitment to community and environment, and each time I sit at a table or tablet I am fed one way or another and am in good company.   I prefer real-time table moments to virtual tablet ones but they both serve to nourish me. When I give thanks it seems to be an endless litany. I am grateful for being fed and I am having a feast.

Cape Town Labyrinth

Cape Town Labyrinth

Litany of A Pilgrim

By the ancients                                I am fed

By the babes                                    I am fed

By millennial tweets                         I am fed

By sister sadness                              I am fed

By sister surprise                              I am fed

By invitations                                   I am fed

By salted caramel tarts                     I am fed

By Lucia’s minestrone                       I am fed

By Billy Bragg                                   I am fed

By Bruce Springsteen                       I am fed

By facebook posts                            I am fed

By gentle touch                               I am fed

By mischievous laughter                  I am fed

By Mary Oliver                                 I am fed

By travelling companions                 I am fed

I am fed                                          I am fed

(c) Moira Deslandes, 2014

 

 

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To Solstice

21 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by Moira Were AM in Uncategorized

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Tags

Biddy Early, Hubble, solstice, stillpoint, TS Eliot, winter

Dear Biddy,

Today is the winter solstice, from now on every day will get longer and colder. It is a time to go inside, deep, to incubate and hibernate. In the dark spaces of rest and interiority new shoots will form and find their way from the underworld towards the sunlight. The cycle of the seasons are a constant reminder of the great narrative driving our human and planetary story.

I wonder how you marked the winter solstice Biddy? December heralds a time of renewal, where dreams are midwifed to birthed in the spring. A time to bury in the ground what needs to be hidden and decay to feed new life.

I once wrote that I want jonquils planted on my grave as they flower in the winter time and I want my life is a sign of hope. The heady perfume of the jonquils in the garden this time of year forecast the spring long before any other signs.

Showered with beams of light in the smiles and laughter of those I have met on the path between my home, the market and the high street of Willunga this day will keep me warm through the dark and long night. The solstice is a half-way mark in our journey through the tunnel, and at this half-way mark, we can take stock. The word solstice comes from the Latin duet of words – sol meaning sun and sistere meaning to stand still. The experience of time standing still is what the solstice is all about. A time to enter the dark of night and discover what might be in that space.

To echo a recent blog post, I invoke TS Eliot:

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement.

This still point may well be the winter solstice – holding the moment where the dance moves crystallise and synthesise – just as the eye of the storm is the quietest place, while all the winds, whirl and swirl around that central fixed point.

In my meditation and yoga practice, thoughts chitter and chatter in my head. I need to adopt a solstice position.

To allow the stillness to come like the sun to shine and stand still for a moment, dispensing light in single beams and to find me stationary soaking up the precious limited light to sustain me through the longest night. To solstice maybe to align with the universe, to stand still long enough to come back into sync with the cycles and the season. A lesson not lost in the hubba bubba that threatens to seduce me to disconnect from the Brother Sun and Sister Moon dance across the sky: I will solstice.

 

M 74, Grand Design, Hubble Telescope

M 74, Grand Design, Hubble Telescope

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Poetry and Policy-Making

14 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by Moira Were AM in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

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boardroom, decision-making, Murder in the Cathedral, poetry, policy making, speak truth to power, TS Eliot

Dear Biddy,

I wonder what you would have made of twitter? A quick short messaging exchange that has created its own universe. The number of followers is the currency of the twittersphere, where unlikely celebrities are treasured for their pearls of wisdom and trolls can be found lurking with intent under the cover of either suspicious or overt handles.

Next week I am going to be guest curator for @Wethehumanities and have decided to blend my love of poetry with my professional life in strategic thinking and decision-making. I hope it will be a journey of discover of bards in the boardroom. It has certainly got me thinking about the words you might have used to coax decisions from those in authority. Perhaps a song or a curse held a lyrical line to make sense of the scene and circumstance in which your visitors found themselves in? The great Irish lilt a comfort to a weary travellers ear.

(Back in the twitterspehere, I introduced myself to the twitter community formed around @wethehumanities and the entry on their blog is here.)

My personal favourite line from poetry to guide my decision-making comes from TS Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral:

The last temptation is the greatest treason, to do the right deed for the wrong reason

Many a time I have used this line as my examen and to check in if the dark side was finding its way out of the cracks into the light. It often is the hardest question of all to answer. With clever intellectual gymnastics, it is possible to find an answer to satisfy the soul and the board room and succumb to the temptation.   Beckett’s temptation was for martyrdom and he came to that place in peace. I believe to be at peace with a decision is a sign of alignment between the heart and the head. Having worked in political settings and getting my grounding for that in the church Murder in the Cathedral served as a primer and provided many lessons of church and state. I am eternally grateful for the introduction to this work in my high school years.

Both poetry and policy making distil an idea and amplify the essence to birth new purpose or insight. Both have the power to bring imagination to public view and cut through and generate new outcomes.   Making sense of what was invisible, whether it be big data or a metaphor, poetry and policy-making have the power to stimulate and challenge.  The juxtaposition of light and dark in this quote below poses the question: is policy making the shadow of poetry?

For poetry, the focus is on the transformation of the aesthetic experience through imagination, with all that implies for the emergence of novel, subtle and complex forms of understanding and coherence. In the world of policy-making, it is the transformation of power relationships and the use of collective energy, namely the emergence of novel forms of social coherence in practice. In this sense policy-making may be understood as the shadow of poetry.

Speaking-Truth-to-PowerBeing able to listen to the conversations and hear the stories that get told in the process of decision-making, is often an invitation to hear an epic journey, a quest, a legend of dragon-slayers and unrequited love.

Hearing these stories and being able to synthesise and draw on the great stories that lie in deep time, mirrored in the meta narrative of what it means to be human, is at the heart of my pilgrimage.

And while not a piece of poetry, a wonderful maxim that wells in my throat some days from the Society of Friends: Speak your truth to power holds the space for poetry and policy making to come together.

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Incubating the Future

07 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by Moira Were AM in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

asylum seekers, Commencement speech 2014 UT, incubation, Paul and Mary, Peter, shoe polish, Willunga, winter flowers

Dear Biddy,

Been reflecting on how the future begins in the present, I suspect you may have mused on that thought as well. The idea sown in the dark, take holds in the light and grows towards the sky.   Ideas can take a while to incubate and I am quite fond of the notion on incubation giving time and light and a bit of heat – to get an idea to germinate.

Incubate comes from latin and means to lie down on and apparently once had the sense of sleeping in a sacred place or temple for oracular purposes.

To sleep on it as an expression maybe has the same heritage?

The potential of a prophetic announcement being the result of sleeping in a sanctuary has appeal for this pilgrim. The future is made by the path we walk today and what begins in a little clearing can transform into a place with definition and clarity.

As Robert Frost says: “two roads … I took the one less travelled by …” by taking a particular road, whatever one it is, bending through the undergrowth, will reveal what is already there when we arrive.

I listened to the 2014 Commencement for University of Texas today and the Navy Seal commander shared his advice to the graduates for the future difference they may make in the future, by taking one road or another, that has the capacity to change the lives of others. I am not a fan of the military or the lessons they might want to share with us. I prefer choices to be made don’t take us down a warpath; however the basic lessons of life offered from his life of service as a warrior, do offer insights into the kind of future to which we may all aspire. The decisions we make in this moment are ones that have the capacity to bring the future into the present. Making a bed is a sign of hope that you will be back that night to sleep safely and in the warmth and comfortable knowledge you have made something worth coming home to. Joining your voice with others to sing a rousing chorus is an act of communion in times of adversity – and I have certainly been sustained by that act on many occasions. Singing along with Peter, Paul and Mary in their rendition of We Shall Overcome has medicinal properties and gives me a booster shot when nasty fear and anxiety bacteria try and infect me.

I believe little actions in the present make a difference to the future and bring the future into the present. This morning my shoes were shined by an octogenarian who believes that the casual conversation between wax, polish and elbow grease have the power to change the world. Over many years his quiet activism has also raised thousands of dollars to support asylum seekers settle in Australia. A different kind of polished shoe lesson to the one offered by the Navy Seal instruction, and one more real to me from this warrior of peace. Just as the Gum flowers in winter, the eschatology of simple acts: making a bed or polishing shoes we are at one with the past, present and yet to come.

Image

#FuturePresent

In a world close at hand,

Held by the heart,

Incubated by a good night’s sleep,

While angels keep vigil:

Seeds sown in the dark,

Bloom in the morrow

Of the morning sun.

(c) Moira Deslandes, 2014

 

 

 

-35.272164 138.554714

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