To See The World In a Grain of Sand and The Universe in a Wild Flower
It's not that I've had time hanging heavy on my hands – in fact, it's been rather the opposite. What with visitors, my true love's involvement in the Amateur Operatic Society, and a bout of flu (the real McCoy, not the ersatz version which people bear heroically, while struggling in to work as usual, with a We Never Closed sign on their office door and a supply of Flu Strength Nurofen in their handbags, along with a bottle of Covonia for their coughs and a pack of Amazon Size Kleenex Tissues for their red and dripping noses. I could barely crawl to the bathroom for a week and for the next managed to move around the house with difficulty and certainly didn't cross the doorstep for three weeks. So, for that first week, time barely existed. I slept most of the time that an aching head allowed, and missed many of my Unmissable TV shows and it was only thanks to the Internet and the various Catch-Up services that I was indeed able to.
     I'm one of those neurotics who, like Woody Allen in Play it Again, Sam, has to start with the opening credits and watch right through tho the Closings. At least, with the advent of recording , the iplayer and On Demand, I can now fast forward through the commercials which used to be an essential part of the context within which the story was told. And though now I am able to do that, I still must see every episode. Miss one and I miss the lot, and that is non-negotiable. It would feel akin to skipping the odd chapter in a novel and I've yet to meet anyone who admits to that.
     But when In Recovery as opposed to Quarantine, and able to concentrate for more than a few seconds at a time, I did manage to read some of my backlog on, or is it in? the Kindle: the first two of James Runcie's Grantchester novels and Damien Seaman's two Weimar Republic mrder mysteries: The Killing of Emma Gross and Berlin Burning. I enjoyed all of these and they helped pass the time
when I was still unable to do very much myself other than read or watch TV. I had seen the first series of Grantchester which had been dramatised on ITV and I was pleased to find the original stories, which provided more background on Canon Sidney Chambers than was present on television.
     I have always had an unlikely attraction to the Church of England, despite my early Atheism which has developed into existential Agnosticism. You would expect youthful disbelief to harden into absolute certainty, especially because of the cognitive dissonance involved in a belief in an all-knowing, all seeing, all powerful and especially a benevolent God, when the world is so full of suffering. I attended an Anglican Secondary School and wonder now whether, had women clergy been permitted then, I might have felt an inclination towards that life. I could never have become a Nun! Not because of my early sexual exploitation by Men, but more because of my subsequent realisation that my own gender identity was as a Lesbian: which has given me more happiness and comfort than I would ever have thought possible.
     Sex was always a major aspect to my personality. I believe I read somewhere that Men think about sex every few minutes. Well I think about it constantly – and I have encountered many women who share that obsession. But we are able to multi-task, and not only do, but also think about several things simultaneously, which seems to be beyond the abilities of most Men.
     As for Theology: I suppose I have come to the conclusion that there could be a creator, simply because I find the existence of the Universe something which needs more of an explanation than simply What?? it is – I want to know Why? And that involves the time before The Big Bang!
     And Stephen Hawking's A Short History of Time left that need unsatisfied. Quantum Mechanics may tell us that all of the energy and matter required for the creation of the Universe could be compressed into a single point which then exploded with an incredible amount of power which has kept the Universe expanding at a tremendous rate, which will eventually slow down and stop and then begin falling back towards it's origin: but that doesn't satisfy me, and nor does it exclude a Creator. These may be curious thoughts for someone like me, but certainly, whenever I have been unwell, and particularly when I have been in that Slough of Despond in which it is impossible to do anything, and difficult to do more than think and sip Earl Grey Tea or the occasionally frequent Hot Toddy (heavy on the Whisky, Light on the Honey and with extremely hot Water) I find myself retreating from the real world to the universe inside my head. I may not do any productive thinking, but I do manage to explore things which have never been resolved to my satisfaction. And catch up on my reading, which has always been one of the best distraction techniques at my disposal and one I can never be without. Nor would want to.
     I can see myself being blissfully happy as a woman Vicar with my Wife and a couple of children in a pretty Vicarage in a picturesque village somewhere in the heart of rural England. But I don't think that is a true Vocation – more one of what Sherlock Holmes called “three pipe mysteries” and all part and parcel with the rest of the conundrum which is me, and every other human being on this small planet on the outer fringes of The Milky Way. Truly Inexlicable!