'We will teach our blue-eyed boys to be unbelievers'. 'Clampdown' The Clash
I'm going to teach the brown-eyed girls to believe.
I just came out of the church. We had a meeting about the upcoming evening services. I do love being in the church in the evening, even if it's just for a meeting. I felt better as soon as Craig asked us to close our eyes for a short prayer before we began. It felt good.
Not really the best day today. Can't seem to shake off this cold; feel drained, certainly short of the joys. Feeling a bit down. I met a girl on the bridge last night and she told me that yesterday was statistically the most depressing day of the year. She looked a bit depressed. I wanted to cheer her up, but I had nothing in my arsenal.
I thought about what she said. I usually have no truck with generalisations such as the above, but I did consider that I had felt rubbish when I got up, and that I was just about to meet another friend who felt so rubbish that she couldn't even tell me over the phone what she felt rubbish about. I had to meet her!
As I arrived outside Safeway's, late, she thrust a small dog into my arms, and ran into the store on a mission. I stood with said dog, not really knowing whether to make a fuss of it, stare into the middle distance at some oh-so interesting lamp post, or watch people as they came and went, therefore running the risk of dog-appreciation interaction.
I took to strolling up and down in front of the shop, but I still managed to attract the attention of enough chatty wellwishers. At least nobody threw anything, least of all a barbed comment. It wasn't until afterward that I realised how I might have deserved such comment. I was wearing a tall fedora in the style of Chamberlain, black leather gloves, and black throughout in fact, apart from the resplendance of a Royal Stewart Tartan muffler. Skeeter the chihuahua (for it was he) was resplendant in a Royal Stewart Tartan jacket. It must have looked like an elaborate pick-up rouse on my behalf. Either that, or an artistic installation or statement of some ilk.
Thankfully, the friend wasn't too long in the store, and she heaped further woe onto what was becoming an auspicious day. No matter, I can take it. What are friends for? And for all the gloom (of which I was playing no little part) the evening was doing it's best to shake off it's 'depressing' tag.
Again, this evening, the stillness of the weather, and the jolly song of the optimistic warbler, are doing their level best to lift the spirits.
Last night my friend remarked that her preacher had told her something that had stuck with her. He said that at times when we were at our worst, the sad times, the bleak times; that was when God was closest to us. And shouldn't that be some sort of comfort in our sadness?
Wow. Small comfort! I should think so. I've been thinking about this since last night. I looked back at some of the sad times of my life, and I imagined God being there. I looked back at some of those times; I saw them happily now like scenes in a film, and I saw the palpable spirit of God propping me up from all corners. He saved me from dropping into the abyss. He saved my life. He must have thought it was worth saving. I'm glad he saved my life because for one I wouldn't have met all the people in my Church.
I would never have imagined, back in the worst of times, the scene that was played out tonight. Me at the Church meeting. We were sitting in a circle in the small chapel to the side of the church. One of the ladies was late arriving, Janet. She has difficulty walking. Everyone shuffle round the circle to let her get a seat on the near side of the circle. Since there was now a full attendance, I found myself moving right up to beside where the minister was sitting.
There's a parable which Jesus told which I was reminded of as I sat there.
Luke 14:7-11 When he noticed how the guests picked the places of honor at the table, he told them this parable: "When someone invites you to a wedding feast, do not take the place of honor, for a person more distinguished than you may have been invited. If so, the host who invited both of you will come and say to you, `Give this man your seat.' Then, humiliated, you will have to take the least important place. But when you are invited, take the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say to you, `Friend, move up to a better place.' Then you will be honored in the presence of all your fellow guests. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted."
It did feel a bit of an honour to be sitting there, even though we were all just meeting for a blether.
As they talked and I listened I had a look into the far dark corners of the Church to see if I could see any spirits fooling about,or any ghosts or manifestations. I didn't see any. Our sanctuary is a wonderful place though, and I almost wouldn't mind seeing something although it would scare the shit out of me, especially if I was there alone!
Do you know how ghosts walk through walls? I can't remember who told me this, but listen, because it's worth knowing:
Imagine a drop of water falling through the air. The drop can pass through the air unhindered because it is more dense than the surrounding gas. Likewise, a stone will pass through water easily because the stone is denser than the medium of the water. A ghost passes through 'solid' objects because it is in fact denser than the 'solid' medium! Not wispy and 'airlike', like we might imagine!
Anyway, after the meeting I walked up the street a bit with one of the ladies until she went in a different direction. I carried on walking on my own under the low sky and the bare limes. I put The Clash on my headphones. Memo to self. Memo to band. Memo to Richard. Will have to try to get the drums to sound more like the drums on 'Death Or Glory'. Wow, what a song, what a sound! I think I'll go and walk some more and listen to a bit more of The Clash.
I remarked today that I reached gridlock with my songwriting efforts, so I might for once try to avoid thinking about our songs, even though I could do with completing some lyrics before tomorrow. Even if I do write some, it will only encourage Mick to come up with another new musical landscape which he will expect me to pepper with musings and the strainings of unlikely characters. I'm not complaining though. Good for him.
We have a board upon which we put up the names of the songs that are up for inclusion, and all the different ideas that are ripe for development. So many of the ideas are Mick's that when he went upstairs for a minute, we called his new one '2 Many Cookes'! ( The '2' notates that it had a little bit of a programmed r'n'b feel.) It may continue long I hope, but just not tonight, Mick. Let me wander with the tunes of past masters. Just for tonight.
Footnote. Anyone know anything about The Caravelles? They are playing in here and they sound like a likely bunch.
