Day 129 - Kings and Queens

 

“The world is full of kings and queens who blind your eyes and steal your dreams.”

Black Sabbath

 

I’ve always been fascinated by the monarchy, even since I was a boy. Making cardboard crowns with plastic gemstones for jubilees. Looking at pictures of the crown jewels (now available in augmented reality from your smartphone).

It is hard not to be impressed by them. Well, not that hard, but you know how vulgar and crude those of us who are disillusioned by it can be.

Blame Spitting Image and every caricature in history (for which there really is a place). And university, where I made the mistake of listening while they taught me about the portrayals, symbols, pomp… and façade of the royals.

I won't recognise Prince Charles as a king until he is crowned. Put the crown on his head, anoint him with the most special oil (which has not been spat into) and that's when you become a king. Becoming king or queen happens when they put the crown on your head in public. That’s not much of a window for a one-man revolution. But, for a few more days we are leaderless as far as I’m concerned.

Surely nothing can go wrong? No-one is going to ‘bring down the whole edifice on their unworthy heads’ (to quote from ‘The Medusa Touch’) are they? And who is going to even plan treacherous acts against the new king in their head? Anyway, it’s illegal to think that way – look it up. (Although, it can make a pleasant meditation if you do not obsess over it. Try it. Just don’t follow up on it because that is called regicide… (Why not? Because regicide is like killing just one head of a hydra and you need to get to the power behind the hydra – which may not be Loki or Cthulhu (to mix my mythology)).

Have you committed thought-crime too? In a couple of days’ time, I may be so ground down that I will probably be on my knees, howling my allegiance to Charles III.

In reality I will be at my brother’s grave on coronation day. I guess I will have to watch the coronation on catchup. Unless I can listen to a little of it on the radio on the journey there.

I’ve read the coronation text. I can assure you that it is a spellbinding nightmare. Superbly written, if a bit archaic (funny how the word ‘archaic’ also sounds old-fashioned these days). The Prime Minister is going to have to read about how all of his Government’s power comes from ‘you know who’. The PM likely won’t be humbled, or see any irony in the way his actions do not match up with his words. Well, I can talk, but at least I have some self-awareness.

We may as well try to enjoy it.

And then there are going to be all those beautiful sparkly crowns, orbs, sceptres and swords. I’m mostly talking about the main crown, St Edward’s crown – the one which is symbolised on all those passports and post-boxes and the… oh so helpful…. GOV.UK website. A desirable item. Charles will also be given a special ring to symbolise how he is marrying the country… before the ‘consummation’ (because we have a great history of leaders making love to the soul of Britain don’t we?).

Dieu et mon droit. It means ‘might is right’. Only joking, it means ‘God and my right’… Meaning the right of the new king.

It’s a bit of a shame that so much of the church is now lumped in with the establishment. Blame Constantine or something. Some of us don’t like the optics. It looks bad.

I will recognise Prince Charles as a king after the coronation.

But very, very sadly, I will probably not be praying for our new establishment for a while, if at all.

I did manage to dig up a helpful quote from David Icke, the famous monarchy critic. He comments on his website: “Oh, do f*ck off: Coronation will include invite to public to swear allegiance out loud to King Charles – swear allegiance to a moronic bloke living off the people who wants to destroy freedom through the WEF??”

 

“The world is full of kings and queens who blind your eyes and steal your dreams.”

Day 122- The Almighty is a jewel thief

 

There are things called 'arrow prayers' among believers - brief prayers sent like arrows at times of crisis or need. Although shooting an arrow into the sky at God, to see him tumble out of his place of relative luxury, appeals to me, I'm not inclined to pray any kind of prayer anymore.

I'm going to go to visit my brother's grave soon. He is buried too far away to visit often. The last time we were there was for his girlfriend's funeral and burial. His birthday would have been soon and I'm not sure it is going to be an easy day, just like I don't think I will ever feel the same way about Christmas (he died on Christmas day).

There will also be a retrospective exhibition of his artwork in a couple of months. And there is still so much to sort out to do with his affairs.

Obviously, I will not be praying at the grave, just as I didn't pray at the funeral. Just as I have not taken communion for some time and have no plans to. I have not particularly taken to talking to Ad when alone. Maybe sometimes. But the gulf between the living and the dead seems to me to be greater than the speed of sound.

I came across a commercial AI chatbot service through which I could, conceivably, upload the conversations with Ad I have from texts, along with any stories, videos and pictures. Like in some Black Mirror episode. Without getting judgy towards those who choose to do this, I don't think it is really necessary for the grieving process. Our ancestors never did it and I figure I have the videos and pictures to remind me anyway, without organising them into some AI system. I think that even Ad would think it was weird if I did it. Maybe it could help some.

I also have no particular urge to go to visit a medium or psychic. To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced that they could contact him anyway. Well, the dead may not be beyond our prayers, but at the moment that isn't much of a comfort. All options are open though.

I cry some days. Some days are better than others. It has only been four months. I am still angry with God. A newspaper article read, 'Even the most fervent believers often rage against God when they are grieving'. I don't think I'm raging against God, but I'm very publicly saying that I think he is a thief, even if he is not really negligent or cruel. Of course, my brother never belonged to me, but it still feels very much like a theft. God, I feel, steals a lot, all the time saying these things belong to him anyway. Well, that's what all thieves think isn't it? That it is their right to steal.

What kind of thief is God? A jewel thief. Stealing the most valuable things. Intricately planning his next move. Seeking pearls of great price.

And all the time I know that this is not the end of his theft. Maybe this harsh accusation should be reversed back onto me, as usual, like some celestial mirror across the sky. To remind me of the things I have stolen. Or that some further irony should steal away other things and people simply because I have called God a thief.

Arrow words shot into the sky, only harming me, I hope. Simply something to witness. Nothing more.

Day 115 - Why I remain a believer despite my prayer strike

 

A thief

A lot of things are ongoing and haven't been resolved in any meaningful way. My prayer strike continues. I continue to grieve and face the challenges, problems and curveballs of life.

Certainly, there have been no answers to prayers, but at this rate it would set an uncomfortable precedent for the Almighty, wouldn't it? If he answers the past prayers of one person who stops praying, then what if everyone tries it? Ceasing prayer to get prayers answered simply might not work.

You might wonder why I remain a believer. It is certainly not to reap the dubious benefits of being one. It is also not to get treated better by God or mankind. I'm remaining in faith simply because I still think that this particular faith is true. That there really is a God who became a man who is, as you read, up there in Heaven happily ignoring prayers and grief-stricken blog entries.

That doesn't mean I'm currently getting on with him. I'm not. Giving someone the silent treatment is not an adult or healthy way to conduct any kind of relationship. But as I know for a fact that God does it himself, it can't be a sin can it? Unless it always is, no matter who does it. Maybe it is – that would be a shocker, wouldn’t it? If God could sin. After all, negligence or cruelty are known to be bad things even when committed by kings.

David Baddiel’s new book defending atheism, ‘The God Desire’ seems to be doing pretty well and he posits that we create the things we long for, including a loving God (it's a kind of reverse argument from longing). I’m sure that if I wrote a book like that it would do a lot better than my book ‘Irony – Evidence for God’ (the cover of which is one of my brother’s brilliant watercolours). I don’t feel desperately mocked by my book and stand by much of what I said. Irony, including negative irony, really can be an evidence for the existence of powers greater than we are. But maybe that book would have done better if I were an atheist… anyway, we don’t always see the ironies in our lives.

Maybe I could settle for a nice level of agnosticism, or go for Islam which talks more about God being all mercy rather than all love. That would get rid of that pesky search for an unconditional love from a God who always seems to be demanding one condition or the other.

Or maybe I could just create my own faith and have a kind of altar to, 'The God whom man worships under many names and in many forms.’ Like the one in the meditation room of the Manhattan UN headquarters?

Or maybe, for reasons unknown to us mortals, the UN are hedging their bets.

It is all ongoing…

Day 108 - Storms and darkness

 

Obviously, I’m not alone in my prayer-strike. I’m well aware of that. Many people simply don’t pray or have never prayed and now I’m in solidarity with them too. This blog does not have some hidden agenda to get people to pray or not to pray. Not that I know of. And I’m really not praying. Talks have not resumed and the prayer strike continues. I don’t know how long this will go on.

I still think that there is far more shame than glory in this life. But everyone focuses on those who succeed, so there is an illusion that things go well for the courageous. For every ‘success’ out there, there are a thousand who feel far too defeated by the blows of life.

I think I’m largely expected to be praying again at some point. This is the expected outcome, but I can assure you that it is not a certain outcome for me. If my past prayers are not answered then it simply will not happen. The believer who tried atheism for a year ended up becoming an atheist. Stories do not always end happily. Or successfully.  

I should probably write about all the million and one ways in which practically dealing with all my brother’s affairs is at turns frustrating and onerous. I used to think that all of the messages coming in thinking a dead loved one was still alive were a cruel revelation of the way in which bureaucracy simply does not care. But that feels like the least of my worries. I feel I have little to offer when it comes to practical advice on dealing with the affairs of a dead loved one. Get them to make a will. Take one step at a time. It is ongoing so I can’t help much.

And this blog has been focusing on the spiritual side to it all anyway. When more bad news from some company or other comes through, my first reaction is to blame God. Who, I feel, has largely left me to stew. Thief.

What a loose cannon I must be seen as right now. Not holding to the party line.

Life is not calmer for me. It is still a hellish storm on the inside, no matter the outside weather. My mental health does not feel good. Spring has properly come - flowers are out and the trees are regaining their leaves which unwrap themselves like emerging butterflies. I like this time of the year, with the longer days, the bright colours and subtle smells of the flowers, but my storm has not abated. And in a way it is still very dark and cold in so many ways for so many of us. It is possible to wake with a feeling of hope in hope, but by the end of the day this is usually drummed out of me. The days often end in frustration, defeat and fatigue. Like trench warfare. So that even the illusion of hope feels cruel.

The country feels so angry and febrile. Everything here is glitchy or crumbling or breaking down. It influences the big and the small things. Bringing the usual frustration. Maybe it is just this country. Too old and too sick not to be falling apart. Not dead at least.

And the spiritual demons will kick you when you are down. Because they hate us.

So, what do you do with the haters?

Day 101 - Angels and rivers

I wonder what happens to my brother and his girlfriend's guardian angels now that they are not with us. Do they get reassigned? Are they playing chess with each other with nothing to do? 

Well, I guess those questions come from my own belief system... 

Ad and his girlfriend were both buried with coins over their eyes. (My brother's girlfriend was buried today and I have just been to the funeral). It is probably very fitting for a Maundy Thursday. Maybe the new king (if God recognises him as such) should hand out obols to everyone. Just two each? For preparation?

Obols were the coins used in the ancient Greek culture to pay the ferryman after death. In Greek mythology, Charon was the ferryman who transported the souls of the dead across the River Styx to the underworld. He was often depicted as a gaunt, grim figure with a long beard and a wide-brimmed hat, carrying a pole with a lantern on top. Someone has to guide the souls of the dead, I guess. It's a hard job, but someone's got to do it.

According to myth, Charon was the son of Nyx (the goddess of night) and Erebus (the personification of darkness and shadow) and was born before the gods. The story of how Charon became the ferryman isn't clear. Some versions of the myth suggest that he was appointed as the ferryman by Hades, the god of the underworld, while others suggest that he took on the role willingly. His payment - obols. Bad luck if you forgot, or couldn't afford to prepare.

Either way, the idea of there being a final river is shared in both Greek mythology and Christian symbolism. And we have been to the river's shore again, waving off the travellers through this life. One step too close to the final river. 

Appropriately enough, one of the songs chosen for the funeral today was, 'I have a dream' by Abba with its lines:

'I believe in angels

When I know the time is right for me

I'll cross the stream 

I have a dream.'

Apart from a little rain ('The angels are crying' remarked someone) and a brief hailstorm, the sun was, at least, out. Later there was a rainbow. Later still, a full moon, like a silver obol in the night sky.

I wish they were not dead.

Day 94 - Why I'm, very loudly... still not praying for anyone

There is no other way to put this – at my end, things are pretty grim at the moment.

In a week, I will be off to the funeral of my brother’s long-term girlfriend who became a friend of ours. It will be held at the same pub my brother’s funeral was held at, with, I think, the same speaker. My brother’s girlfriend, who loved my brother so deeply (and vice versa), will be buried in the same plot. In the same kind of environmentally friendly coffin. With coins over her eyes too (to pay the ferryman).

I very much do not like funerals. I have never liked funerals. I will do anything within my power to avoid a funeral. The Bible says that it is better to go to a house of mourning than a house of feasting. If it is talking about funerals, then I can assure you that it is not. Strange book.

What is better, a funeral or a party? You have to be a very particular kind of person to enjoy a funeral. Either way, I do not like them. Stupid traditions. A heavy burden to put on the grieving in my opinion.

Ironically (of course, ironically), the following day will be the start of the Easter holidays – supposedly the happiest time in the lives of believers. Better than Christmas (although I don’t think much could be worse than this last Christmas).

It hasn’t been a good decade. It has been pretty grim for most of us. Surely half of us are like the walking-wounded coming out of the pandemic? Those of us who survived are now facing war in Europe, the cost-of-living crises, the rise of AI, and lots and lots of bad news. We do not need more bad news. But it will likely come. Oh, and then there’s all of those people striking over one thing or another…

If I live to tell the story, I will say that while everyone else seemed to be striking against pay and conditions, I was on strike against God. Mostly about conditions. A little less pain and death please – maybe a few more answered prayers and more of that fabled love for us.

This could all be so simply resolved by the Almighty. I am not convinced there is anything useful that can be learned while we wait. And I was unaware that it was supposed to have been a lesson. Maybe something good will come out of the clear blue sky. Sometimes that happens. It really does. We don’t always have to be proactive, do we? Sometimes it’s nice to rest a little and hope for better days.

I will report back to you whatever happens from here on, whether good or bad. In the meantime, please stay alive and look after yourselves.

As I say, this could all be so simply resolved by the Almighty. One way or the other…

Day 87 - What happened next during my prayer strike

I broke the prayer strike. 

I prayed again to God for my brother’s long-term partner who was dying from cancer too. This horrible disease that you and I may die of as well.

I prayed after the hospice staff said that she wouldn’t survive the night. We had visited her recently, but had hoped that she would have longer. Before I had started the strike, I had prayed for healing for both her and Ad. For a miracle. She died 83 days after Ad died. On Mother’s Day. To be with Ad. She had faithfully and lovingly looked after my brother during his illness.

So, I prayed briefly, alone, a prayer just for her and her family. I asked God if he wanted to say anything, but noticed nothing in particular being said. At the end of the short prayer I said, “Goodbye” and resumed the strike.

When Ad died there had been an owl here. I’m not a very superstitious man, but I am a little superstitious (Remember, I believe in a literal devil). And it could be that God allows things such as owls as messengers of death, as many cultures have perceived them.

The owl had called out in the night near the bedroom window just before and just after Ad died. It had started a couple of weeks before. A couple of weeks ago I heard the owl, but just once, again in the night. Then, again, the owl called the night before Ad’s partner died. The call of the owl is strangely comforting in and of itself, superstition aside. But I cannot explain it. It makes no sense. It does not compute. There are many things outside of my understanding. I’m worried I will fear owl calls from here on.

It feels like deja-vu. Like going through the same thing again. All the nervous waiting, the fear of the news, the responsibility to tell others… and soon the funeral. A couple of people have remarked how tragic it all is. I do not think it any more tragic than any one of our lives. Ad and his partner’s lives were not so tragic. But they have both died way too young.

I don't blame Mary and the Saints or the angels. Even if it happened on Mother’s Day (Mary is said to be a mother to all believers). She has always struck me as a loving figure. They have an excuse because they are not all-powerful. I don't blame Heaven. But it seems that Heaven is only interested in seeing that God gets his way in everything, from the big things through to the smallest things. They know who butters their bread. If I were wise, I would act in the same way.

I am not so wise.

But I find it shocking. Is that the only reason people serve and praise the Almighty? Because he has the power over whether we live or die? That is no reason to serve and worship someone is it? That is like obeying a tyrant simply because they have the power to make you succeed or fail, or live or die. I had expected better of God. Is that all there is to him? Surely there is more to him?

So the strike continues, despite an attempt at talks. Comforts are few. Are we supposed to be noting them down in order to help others, even when our reactions vary so?

There are no parameters to life. How are we to prepare for these things?

What do I even hope to achieve by writing these things down to be read? Past prayers remain unanswered.

I feel I am being manipulated by benign and adversarial forces into praying again.

I am flagging.