Therapy

It irritates me that I am hesitant about what I do these days. I follow the FM’s guidance and instructions to the letter and have a fair grasp of the realistic risk. Today I need to go into the Glasgow which will involve a short train ride and a walk through a quiet Monday morning city centre – the October holidays don’t start until next week. And yet I am apprehensive.
I came across this poem by Dawna Markova where it was printed on the back page of the order of service for +Martin’s consecration back in 2010 or so. In times like these I find it useful.


I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.

As it turned out I enjoyed my wee jaunt, and included a visit to the Oxfam Bookshop in the Italian quarter and pleased to find a copy of David Lodge’s Therapy which I haven’t read since the mid nineties.

The blip is Buchanan Street, the mostly up market shopping drag in town with the Royal Concert Hall at the top, just visible