I just read this wonderful and deeply true sentence:
In a consumer society, contentment is a radical proposition. (Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer (London: Penguin Books, 2020, p.111)
Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth
Could this be the new song we could sing, along with all the earth? A song of contentment, recognising with gratitude the provision of the earth?
Kimmerer continues:
Recognising abundance rather than scarcity undermines an economy that thrives by creating unmet desires.
I’ve been thinking a lot about money lately. And speaking about it. I think we need to find a new way with it. I need to find a new way with it. Well, perhaps a very old way with it actually. About which I will be writing more. But for now, I am taking this ancient wisdom as a gift this morning. And naming and giving thanks for the abundance from the earth that I have access to, even in my urban setting.
Time for a totally frivolous post. I have come to absolutely love breakfast as a meal, and all the potential brunch variations thereof.
I love it so much, I take pictures of special breakfasts when they happen and pop them all into a folder called “Breakfasts I have loved”. I just have to watch this little video and so many wonderful positive associations and feelings pop into my mind. The people (and other creatures) I was with, some of whom made the breakfast, the welcome morning solitude of breakfast alone, the great company of a good book, or a lovely breakfast time view. Marvellous! I am so so thankful for every one of these and many other breakfasts.
Breakfasts I have loved in Sheffield, Barnsley, Tideswell, Nottingham, London, Bournemouth, France, Australia, New Zealand…
This morning I read this news (from Christian Climate Alliance):
Rev Sue Parfitt was one of four people on trial this last week for their actions with Insulate Britain. Today the trial ended with the jury being dismissed when they failed to reach a majority verdict.
Each morning Sue would read them the psalm for the day as they waited to go into court. Here she is reading Psalm 17 on Tuesday “Hear me, Lord, my plea is just; listen to my cry”
During cross examination the prosecution suggested that the Rev Sue Parfitt was a ‘professional convicted criminal”, having been arrested more than 30 times. Sue responded: “I am honoured beyond my words to be able to to do this at 84 for your children and your grandchildren”
Revd Sue Parfitt with others awaiting trial for her actions protesting with Insulate Britain
Sue has been protesting about all sorts of things lately, all urgent, all directly causing the loss of lives in other parts of the world daily. She recognises she can’t do a lot aged 84, but this she can do. I think of her, and I think of Greta Thunberg, who began her school strikes aged was it 15 years old? And of Sir David Attenborough’s attention to it all, due to a life spent studying and marvelling at the natural world… sometimes the youngest and the oldest people among us have greater discernment about what is actually important. We have to stop criminalising conscience, intelligence and care for our planet and for the Palestinian people and all peoples who are victims of wholly unjustifiable wars and of the effects of climate crisis happening with increasing frequency.
How is Revd Sue Parfitt anything but a National Treasure? Here’s an idea. Why not stop wasting public money and her and everyone else’s time by putting her in court. Why not instead, sit at her feet? Point a camera at her, and ask her what she has to say. Then broadcast it. Then give her a medal. And tell her to put her feet up while you brew her a pot of tea, and reassure her that her work is done, while you watch the video go viral. Why not?
This is a brilliant film about two farmers with neighbouring farms in Devon. A quirky, compassionate, funny and beautiful film to watch at the edge of climate crisis. I saw it at the Sheffield Doc Fest earlier this year. I have so many reasons to really love it.
The film maker James Dawson is award winning and, I think you can tell, made it out of love. They took a few years over filming it. They are hoping to offer screenings to farmers to facilitate conversation about the issues it raises. In the meantime, whether you know farming from the inside or are as uninformed as I am, I think it’s an important, thought provoking and entertaining watch.
The trees have hope… I know, because I asked them about their lament for their sisters and brothers torn down in the Amazon. I asked the trees about their lament and they struck me dumb.
They struck me dumb with their towering glory, their sheer age; wild resilience silencing me in an instant.
The trees have hope; Just look at the leaves that Mary Oliver spectacularly failed to count.(1) Look at the branches Reaching up into the sky, silhouetting the view Bearing birds, squirrels, bugs, lichen Nonchalantly flexing in the wind.
The trees have hope; leaves and sap roots and fungal connections; light flowing between and beyond the microcosm and the macrocosm All made Of hope
So go to your activism, But know it will never All Depend On You. The trees have hope Their roots are deep, deep, deep and their branches reach high, high, high to the sky and are stronger than we can know The trees have hope And they will outlive us.
This poem was seeded in the hospitable silences of the Contemplative Fire community and of Quaker worship at Greenbelt Festival 2025. The time for sharing has arrived now.
Once more, the garden is surprising me with its abundance, bursting into autumnal life. I can sense the roots of the plants drinking in welcome rain after the heat waves of the summer. The flowers and fruit are not half hearted, paltry offerings, but prolific. The apples have struggled, fruit dropping to the ground prematurely from heat exhaustion and lack of rain. But even this year, we still have plenty of edible fruit.
Over the past 15 years we have been watching and learning slowly the ways of our fellow creatures in the changing seasons. We now know to cut away vine leaves once the grapes are beginning to change colour, to allow them access to the sunlight that will ripen them more effectively. I wonder what difference that will make?
We also know the apple tree offshoots and deadwood that crisscross other branches need pruning away in the winter/early spring, and the excessive fruit thinning out at a key point in the spring, to give the remaining apples the nutrients to grow to their full potential. There were definitely more less blemished and bigger apples this year as a result.
Some of the wildflower seeds we sowed rather late on have popped up wonderfully, even after I had given up hope.
But the last couple of years have felt like they have marked a systemic change in the climate, with repeated, extended heat waves in the UK in the mid 30s°C. In my childhood the temperature never got that high. I was born in 1977, the year after a previous extended heatwave in the UK, the like of which I’d never experienced until the last few years.
It is surely high time to pay attention to what we are doing to the earth, which is sending us such clear signals of the destruction our ravenous exploitation is causing.
How could we nurture the generous abundance of the natural world and work with it, rather than exploiting it?
The recent collapsed glacier in Nepal, with such horrendous loss of life (and infrastructure) is at the forefront of my mind at the moment. I am praying for the rescue efforts, the people directly affected, and for Nepal’s government and all the people dealing directly with the aftermath. But I am also praying for much more widespread systemic change to the way we are living, particularly in the richer countries of the world.
I heard Mike Berners Lee some years ago, saying that every organisation, commercial company, not for profit or charity should have protection and nurture of the earth as one of its core aims. If that isn’t one of the core aims, what’s the point of whatever is the core aim? Because, well, what is the value of anything (charitable or otherwise), once we have trashed our planet and made it uninhabitable?
I have found the ancient story of « The Children’s Fire » instructive on this, too. It is retold well here by Mac Macartney. Have a listen. Just under 15 minutes of your life to begin to attend to it (I would skip the text and scroll down to the video on Vimeo; you can watch it direct from the website without signing up to Vimeo): https://macmacartney.com/the-childrens-fire-blog/
Following the latest of two recent heatwaves in the UK, our first cooler breeze from the garden this morning. Sending to those who may need it today… 🙏 🌬️ https://youtu.be/Yjto-JmhZcE?is=hFqx7glWT2h-ZKte
TW: cancer related – my good news may not help others facing their own cancer journeys.
Damflask Reservoir
In a way, I feel bad posting something celebratory about the fact that, this week, I have been celebrating being 10 years clear of cancer. I know quite a few other people who are now facing terminal prognoses with cancer or who are having to live with cancer as a kind of long term chronic illness.
But people who have had cancer are often so unfailingly compassionate to one another, my sense is mostly they’d want me to celebrate. My celebration won’t diminish their anguish; in fact it might make it worse. But I do have a sense that some words I first encountered as I was beginning to recover are words that many of them would affirm for me and others like me; in fact, for everyone.
These words are from the blessing “A morning offering” in Benedictus by John O’Donohue. Benedictus was published in 2007, one short year before John died, suddenly, on holiday, in his sleep. He had celebrated his 52nd birthday just two days before he died. Once you know that, these words hold even more depth, I think.
May I have courage today to live the life that I would love; to postpone my dream no longer, but do at last what I came here for and waste my heart on fear no more
Candle
I have read various bits of research regarding what elderly people most want their children and grandchildren to know. My lasting impression of that research is how the things that so often preoccupy us in earlier stages of life really don’t matter to people once they get older, and at last have time to realise what actually matters most. What mattered most all along, really. I expect a lot of the older people quoted in the research would echo John O’Donohue’s words to us.
May we have courage to live the lives that we would love, to postpone our dreams no longer, but do at last what we came here for, and waste our hearts on fear no more.
I am finding the news difficult to watch currently. It seems to me that darkness is encroaching fast across the world. Just when I think political leaders have sunk to their most depraved and selfish level, they find ways to act with even less humanity.
In the midst of all the darkness and despair, imagine my delight when I came across this wonderful little song by Katy Rose Bennett recently. Such a great little song for our times. I am finding myself playing and singing it often.
A little bit of hope A little crack of light in the dark A little bit of hope A little flash of fire in the spark A little bit of hope A little bit of hope In my heart In my heart
In these hard, hard times we are living through It’s easy to feel helpless; to know not what to do When the horrors of this world leave you feeling cold Reach up, reach out; find a hand to hold
In these dark, dark times of war and hate and fear When power is unleashed; no mercy here They’d have us believe there’s no profit being kind Reach up, reach out, there you will find…
by Katy Rose Bennett
This mysterious beating rainbow heart that appeared on my friend’s wall the other day during our meeting suggests a similarly hopeful vibe, I think:
I often use body movements as a kind of prayer. Sometimes words are not adequate or escape me. Lately, I’ve noticed our cat demonstrating some very good prayerful postures. Perhaps I could adopt them at times as a prayer…?!
