Meeting, moving, praying, feeling...

...and more updates.



First of all, Ian. But there is so much to say about it, and most of it is too private to end on this blog. So it must go on the "writing" files of my computer, where the most complicated part of my mind likes to linger, trying to make sense or just playing with words and moments in time.

But to sum it up, we are friends. We are ok. We have spent a nice couple of hours together, talking, chatting, laughing, walking, with a final serious talk on God, while we were on the bus. Later that evening, while sharing a bottle of pear cider with Tall Housemate (if you are reading this, THANKS! It was really good!), I received his text to say how nice it had been to see me again. And how he would pray for me. Thanks, my dear. My sweet, lovely piccolino. So difficult, so complicated, so painful sometimes, yet so sweet and warm, so caring and honest.



Saturday afternoon, thanks to the miserable weather which is tormenting East Sussex (or maybe just Brighton...), I finally decided to move to ex Silent Housemate's room: great decision! A larger room, with more space for everything, and a necessary move, considering how I will spend at least another 2 years here...better make myself comfortable, no? So here's how I spent the afternoon, just moving and arranging things, vacuuming, washing, all the time singing and dancing around the house. Yes, I feel better.



I felt even better this morning, when, forced by the awful weather, I rushed into Saint Peter's church for the mass, rather than walk all the way to my usual church. Just in time too, I sat and the service began.

And it was beautiful. Just what I needed. A proper choir, with a guy playing the organ in time, thanks to a conductor (!!), and people who knew when to stand, when to sit, when to kneel...It is difficult enough to understand religion in my own language, if I get confused over the procedure of the mass I will never make it! So I enjoyed it. Except the sermon, I admit, but I guess this is the time of the year when everybody, in or out the church, will be talking about how we should think of the real meaning of Christmas rather than rushing to the shops and be so materialistic. So, fair enough. But I got another sign that I had made the right choice when part of the sermon was dedicated to a beautiful poem, which I am now going to include, seen as it is indeed what I needed to hear.

I am not sure this will become "my" church, because I wanted to go to the one in Bevendean, first thing in January, but I will give this one another go or two, in January too, and then I will decide. It seems trivial, but I need it. And it feels good that I need to "find" a church that is good for me, because it makes me feel that I am going the right way. The most private part of these thoughts, thought, is again on another file; and in my mind.



Here is the poem:



Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
guilty of dust and sin;
but quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
from my first entrance in,
drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
if I lack'd anything.


"A guest", I answer'd, "worthy to be here".
Love said, "You shall be he".
"I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee".
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"


"Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
go where it doth deserve".
"And know you not", says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve".
"You must sit down", says Love, "and taste my meat".
So I did sit and eat.

I like the first two stanzas in particular: they are exactly what I was reading last night in the Bible, what I was talking with Ian, what I was thinking of, what I needed to hear.