Counting down the days.

The Stratfordian

I admit I do have a tendency to be a  bit over-dramatic but hey let’s face these are special times. With what’s going on in the world (at least what we know about) it’s a great time to get whatever is bothering you off your chest (before it’s too late).

So what’s bothering me…?

It’s the passage of time. But that’s nothing new. It’s always bothered me since I was a kid. How fast it all goes. One minute you are as I said a kid, the next you are a father with kids of your own. How did that happen?

Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is not only does it go too fast but, before you know it you’re close to the finishing line. Over. Done. And for what?

That’s how I feel right now. Near the end. Now don’t get me wrong this is not necessarily a complaint. I’m a little nervous but not scared. Apprehensive, yes but I’m of the school that thinks this is a journey of different stages so in a strange way I’m curious…even excited. Morbid to some I admit but this part of the journey (the living part) has been everything. Weird, frustrating, pointless (?), revealing, pleasurable (sex) plus a lot of other stuff that seemed to make it all worthwhile and by that I guess I mean, kids, offspring, children. No doubt they are THE THING that’s made it moderately worthwhile.

What’s brought this on?

Well a few years ago after a bout of breathlessness and a suspected heart attack (although that is now in doubt), I had some stents fitted. To cut a long (ish) story short – miraculous. I was back to er ‘normal’.

Cut too today…

The symptoms appear to have returned. Not as bad but they’re back. After a week or so of doing the typical male thing and ignoring them, I have been persuaded by you know who to book an appointment with the doctor.

So here we go again.. More stents? Big heart operation…watch this space.

I’m 73. No complaints.

OK. I’m not in the Ukraine or starving in some sun-scorched desert. I’m in the UK FFS with the only thing to worry about is the toad Boris Johnson (wash my mouth out with soap and water). I guess, like us all I’d like a bit more time. Selfish, I know but I’m trying to be honest. And as that’s the case, to be truthful I am a little scared of being fiddled about with again.

This has been a purely selfish post.

Confession time; Losing his faith (Part I)

CONFESSION TIME.

I have to admit that I get some perverse enjoyment from telling people that I am an ex-priest who has, from day one of holiness, been losing his faith.

One:  I like to see the confused look on their faces when they realise they are confronted with someone who has so easily dismissed something they have been searching for or at least been trying to understand for most of their adult life.

And two: It’s not true.

To cut to the chase.

I have most certainly lost my faith but most certainly not in (for want of a better word), *God.

My faith (if I ever really and truthfully, had any) is totally gone in the C of E.

I have stopped believing in the Church of England.

And if the truth were really to be known, the only reason that they (CofE) became part of my life in the first place is because, they were there.

Like some huge blockade, I had to go through them to get to where I thought I wanted to be. They were/are the self-appointed gatekeepers. Custom Control.

They’re the Ones who led me astray and attempted to clone me. They are the Ones who put their grubby hands upon me, dressed me up in outlandish costume, gave me a script to read and let me go blundering dangerously, like a bad actor into the community.

So I blame them.

I blame them from disallowing true exploration into what was calling me.

I blame them for leading me away from who I truly was/am.

I blame them for supplying me with a false narrative and indoctrinating me day in (especially on Sundays) and day out.

I now realise that organised faith systems are always based on abuse.

And I am ashamed to realise at this at such a late hour.

I am ashamed that I was part of a system that basically told innocent people that they were not good enough and their only chance at something called ‘redemption’ would be to change.

I am ashamed because I could and should been concentrating more on the uniqueness of what each person in their own right had to offer. I should have been building confidence in realities not wishy-washy, pie in the sky when you die remedies.

I should have been pushing ‘WORTH’ not ‘worthlessness’.

I am truly sorry…it won’t happen again.

THEOLOGY FOR ALL

 

*God. This will be in part II (maybe).

I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint

Facing up to it.

70 years on the throne

Short Poem: Happy Days.

Is there a price to comedy?

 

 

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