Day 150 - The boot dream

 

When I was a boy, aged about ten, I had a dream which I have never been able to forget. On one of the family holidays in Cornwall I had this dream:

 

My brother and I were away from home on holiday in the caravan. The dream was set at the campsite where there was a fast river filled with fish. In the dream my brother and I went fishing in the river. It was daytime and we both stood on the riverbank with our fishing rods. Suddenly my brother started to struggle. He had caught a huge fish, it seemed, and the rod was bending so much that he couldn’t keep his balance. He was tugged into the water and floundered in the fast river. There was a heavy current and he couldn’t keep afloat. I watched with horror and didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly I felt myself being tugged towards the river too. It was some strange force. Before I knew it, I was pulled into the raging river. We both floundered in the water trying to stay afloat. I looked across to my brother and watched as he sank. Before I knew it his head had sunk underwater and he was gone. I felt so powerless. But before I could do anything I felt a tugging from beneath and I began to drown too. I was being pulled down into the river and I couldn’t stay afloat. Then it was just my head being pulled under the water. As one final act I looked up, gasping for breath.

And I saw the sky darkened above me. I saw power cables over the water. And perched on top of the power cables was a giant boot. And climbing around the boot were evil imps, I knew at once that they were evil. They were watching and enjoying seeing us drown. Laughing. And then I went under too.

My dreams and nightmares are often Kafkaesque – but this was among the first of those and had always stuck in my mind. Last winter, when my brother lost his use of language and the understanding of the language of others, I would sometimes think back to this dream as it seemed so pertinent.

In exasperation, I rewrote the boot nightmare – the nightmare which was haunting me – as I felt I was living it. I even prayed it through in the hope that I could bring a new version to pass. I wrote the following…

My brother and I are away from home on holiday in the caravan. We are at a campsite. There is a river filled with fish and we decide to go fishing. It is daytime and we both stand on the riverbank with our fishing rods. Suddenly my brother starts to struggle. I think he has caught a huge fish; the rod is bending so much that he can’t keep his balance. He is tugged into the water and is floundering in the fast river. There is a heavy current and he can’t keep afloat.

I watch with horror and don’t know what to do.

Suddenly I feel a force tugging me towards the river too. But although it looks as if something is pulling the rod, it is some invisible power which is like the most powerful magnet in the world. It is a force stronger than myself.

Before I know it, I am pulled into the raging river too. We are both struggling in the water trying to stay afloat. Trying to stay alive.

But the force has stopped and at this point nothing is tugging me under…yet. I remember what people have said. I am a strong swimmer. I know that my brother is a strong swimmer too, but it is as if that force is now tugging him under.

I swim to him and cannot understand what he is saying but I see in his eyes that he needs help. Using my strength, I reach under his chin and try to push his body upwards so that he is kept afloat at least. But the force is still tugging at him and I am not strong enough to save him that way.

I look upwards, at a loss. Above us I see power cables over the water. And perched on top of the power cables is a giant boot. It is ridiculous. A huge boot, resting on power cables, like something out of a fairy tale. Except to me, it is like something from the end of 1984 and we are to be crushed under the boot forever. The sky is dark now. Most ridiculous of all are the evil imps clambering over the boot and wires. They are laughing and pointing at us. I know that they are connected to the force.

In desperation I call out to God for help.

And we both go under at the same time.

The evil imps laugh in total victory.

Now we are both underwater. I am the first to realise that we can still breathe there… and it feels… safe. The surface of the river is like a shield against the force and the imps. There is life in the river.

I shake my brother a little and he opens his eyes, finally taking a breath. He can breathe too.

We swim underwater for a while, both surprised and happy that we are not drowning at all. That some more powerful force has saved us. On the river bed, among the weed, we find some gold treasure and swim to it, filling our pockets with diamonds and gold and pearls and sapphires and rubies and emeralds.

Looking upwards, the imps are still there. But they are no longer laughing. Now they are angry. The hatred can be felt. Suddenly, out of the river burst two angels. Water sprays our faces and we are again surprised at their appearance. They are bright white and full of dignity and power. They fly up to the boot and slaughter the imps quickly with golden swords. The boot remains on the cables but there is not an imp in sight. All of the imps have been destroyed and one of the angels makes a sign in the air, a swirl, destroying the force and the leaders of the imps in one moment.

Then the angels return to us. We have both survived and our pockets are full of treasure. The boot remains as evidence of what happened. Perhaps we will go back for the rest of the treasure when we have recovered from the ordeal. The angels disappear but we know that they will protect us until we are both old and full of years and will have to return to the final river, both of us believing that we will be able to breathe when we go under.

 

The prayers and re-writing didn’t work. And I cannot prove that we will be able to breathe when we go under. I wasn’t able to write or pray my brother free of cancer and death. 

I don’t want this entry to sound sad, it’s just what happened.

And the river flows on.

Day 143 - ‘Les choses sont contre nous’

 

 

I had warned God that I would cease from prayer in these circumstances, before my brother died. But I had imagined that God might treat me with more kindness in the event of it happening. I don’t feel he has.

I had imagined that afterwards, the Almighty would make everything a lot easier and that he would command life itself to be a lot kinder and gentler with me. And that past prayers would get quickly answered. And yes, that his big promise, ‘Those who grieve shall be comforted’ would involve all kinds of comfort, including answered prayer.

But that hasn’t really happened. Besides, that promise can’t be true for all, can it? That all those who grieve will find comfort? Some people simply don’t get comforted afterwards, or worse things happen...

The comforts are family and friends and those who are understanding while I grieve. But the discomforts are myriad. My left arm hurts chronically and the doctor doesn’t know why. There still seems to be a ‘conspiracy of things’ in which inanimate objects break down, tear, fall or are simply lost. Resistentialism – yes, there is actually a word for it as well (there is almost always a word for what you are going through). The way things don’t do what you want them to do… and its slogan.

'Les choses sont contre nous’

It means, ‘things are against us’.

And I’m disappointed with God for it all. ‘It is’, as the atheists say, ‘almost as if he doesn’t exist, isn’t it?’ A claim which I can’t really disprove, even if I have evidence and experience to the contrary.

But I AM disappointed with God. For the things which he has allowed and for the things which he has not allowed. I think less of him for it. And for the way it has all happened. I hadn’t been praying for THIS.

And it's a thing, isn't it? Not forgiving yourself after the death of a loved one? I keep thinking of the things I’ve said and done wrong. We’re human beings. Should I punish myself about those things too? Do I forgive myself, God… my brother for going and dying on me? Of course, I’m willing to, but forgiveness is a journey isn’t it, rather than necessarily a one-time event?

Punishing yourself happens, doesn’t it? And there are reasons for it aren’t there? It doesn’t just happen in a void. Besides, if you punish yourself, maybe others will go easier on you.

I don’t feel I’m progressing much.

Anyway, I’m on strike and I certainly do not have to persuade anyone of God’s existence or otherwise (unless I choose to do so).

It has made me re-examine so much. Just how important my faith is anyway. Like a vote for God in a supposed heavenly democracy in which our votes don’t seem to count for much. I’m not sure democracy is all it is cut out to be.

We should take the advice of the character Giorgio from Sondheim’s ‘Passion’.

“These thoughts are bad for you. You must concentrate on everything around you that suggests life. These trees, these flowers, the warm smell of the air.”

And ignore Fosca’s valid reply:

“You make it sound so simple Captain. As if a flower or a tree could somehow make one happy.”

 

Day 136 - Wednesday's child

 

‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe’.

I was born on a Wednesday. My brother on a Sunday.

Thanks superstition… always blessing us?

I heard an owl again at my brother’s grave. It was daytime but that didn’t stop the owl.

I didn't say the coronation oath. I was listening to it on the radio on the journey down to the cemetery and remained stubbornly silent, thinking how hard it was to find a radio station without news every hour.

The rest of the country seemed to be celebrating again. And once again I felt like crap. And so deeply tired. A kind of tired which seems to saturate and chill my soul, like moss in a cold rain.

Perhaps I would have felt better if I had said the oath?

At the grave I didn't say anything dramatic. I listened.

In the distance, at the cemetery, an owl hooted again. I think it is something to do with those who are grieving being more open to signs, dreams and suchlike. Plus, there is that thing where people listen less to you when you are grieving, so who is going to believe you anyway? It’s just the grief talking, after all. Best ignored.

Like the way people are less inclined to believe the word of children.

This week I also saw two rainbows, at different ends of the sky. It was raining and a little sunny around dusk, and the rainbows were to the Southeast and Northwest. Hopefully a sign of encouragement, like all signs should be. Or that the Almighty really doesn’t have a problem with the LGBT+ community after all, despite the prejudice of some of the Church. We need more LGBT+ believers.

I thought the coronation was muted. I watched it on catchup - but feeling as lousy as I do as I write now. As I say, I think the whole thing made believers look bad – as if we are all part of the establishment. Some of us cannot win.

I will recognise Charles as a king now. And Camilla as a queen.

But nothing is resolved. Grieving people should not be put together. They heap us all together so that everyone feels bad in a group. It is convenient for society.

The Tories got in again where I live. It made me feel a little less kind towards my neighbours. Who are these people who vote Tory? They are rarely proud of it, as if knowing that it is selfish.

So, the story of the country rumbles on and all of our stories rumble on with it. Stories which could use some genuinely good news. And the Almighty rumbles on too. Unchanging. His face like thunder. Like that of an archbishop crowning a king.

‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe’.

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?