I thought I was finished here at Anchors and Masts.  I thought I had nothing left to say. And yet I couldn’t quite bring myself to publish the farewell post I’ve had ready in my drafts folder since Christmas.

So…

Over the past few days I’ve been taking a leaf out of Chris Guillebeau’s book and conducting an annual review. Now I don’t know about you, but to me, the words Annual Review mean those simply dire corporate performance reviews, the full horrors of which were conjured up so brilliantly in The Office.

But a personal annual review is a very different beastie. This is a for your eyes only review which I like to think is related to Mary Oliver’s brilliant challenge:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

The idea is to begin by asking yourself two questions:

1. What went well this year?
2. What did not go well this year?

And I found out something very interesting and encouraging. It was that everything I’d actually done in 2010 I was really pleased with and proud of, whether it was starting and sticking with my new blog, Sacred Graffiti, or resigning a contract job which was really wrong for me, even though there was a financial risk in doing so.

So what was under the “What did not go well” heading? Absolutely nothing I’d done. Everything without exception was, to paraphrase the Catholic church, a sin of omission. All those ideas I’d been too lazy or scared to take further; all that creative energy frittered away and wasted; all that Godde-given brilliance damped down for fear that I might actually make a difference.

I’m reminded of that fantastic piece by Marianne Williamson:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

There was something hugely encouraging for me in knowing that all (hah!) I have to do is take action. It isn’t about being successful, it’s about fulfilling potential, about taking a risk. It’s about taking the next step, and the one after that and so on.

And one of the things I realised was that I do want to keep writing here at Anchors and Masts. It’s unlikely to be very frequent, and more and more this will be a personal space for sharing ideas.

So if you’re still here reading after all this time, thanks for sticking with it, and keep an eye open for a big new venture I have coming up soon!

Meanwhile, one of the things I’m proud of having done last year is taking over leadership of non-profit organisation the Wholesome Food Association, which promotes food produced by planet-friendly methods and sold locally. We provide an alternative to full organic certification for growers in the UK who work on a small scale and cannot afford either the expense or time involved in organic certification.

Sustainable food production without cruelty to animals is something I believe in passionately. If you do too, why not “Like” the Wholesome Food Association page I’ve just launched on Facebook?

Image by jayneandd

Elsewhere:

If you want to know how to set about doing an annual review, Chris Guillebeau’s original article is here.

And a beautiful blog was launched recently by my friends at Turvey Abbey, the Benedictine community with which I’m connected. Preferring Nothing to Christ is a serene, contemplative space that I wholeheartedly commend to you.

Image by Dudley Carr

I’ve been without internet access at home for two weeks. I felt like a cowgirl who’d lost her  horse, stuck in the bunkhouse, unable to roam the cyber-ranges, boots standing idle on the deck.

And now today I’m back, thanks to the ONLY helpful employee I’ve spoken to out of many at the organisation who took over my old internet service provider. And as it’s my birthday and I have the day off, what a special present.

So what did I learn from this unwanted experience?

1. That I need some non-web way of storing essential details like people’s contact details and my calendar. My entire life is run by Google and that ain’t necessarily good.
2. That the model of mobile phone I have is useless for internet access.
3. That the very first weekend, once I’d stopped fretting over the inconvenience, I found an unexpected sense of freedom from connection. This has made me decide to unplug regularly each Sunday.
4. That after the first weekend, the “freedom” got real old, real fast. I missed all my on-line friends and the experience of community being real despite being virtual was intensified.
5. That the sheer incompetence of my new ISP, the breathtaking rudeness and/or lack of concern of its employees and hours spent queuing to speak to a human being make me amazed they are still in business, let alone taking over other organisations. (If any British readers have ISP recommendations, put ‘em in the comments please, I’m going to switch. And if any of you are with a provider whose name is that of a gemstone, be very afraid…)

And in other news

I’m full of joy that this weekend, I make my final profession as a Benedictine Oblate with Turvey Abbey, my home from home. I’ve written about my Benedictine journey here before. To see some of the posts, click here. If you’re so inclined, please pray for me as I take this step.

So I’ll tell you about that experience at some point over the next few days. Now off to get the house straight for the friend who will be cat-sitting for me.

Main image above by Prayitno

Elsewhere:

Well there are absolutely hundreds of posts stacked up in the blogs I follow, so I’m afraid I’m going to push the “mark as read” button and start again, as I’ll never catch up. If someone has written something you know I need to read, please tell me.

Therefore my link is to a book, not to a website. It is Martha Beck’s Steering by Starlight. Its slightly cheesy packaging and subtitle aside, this book is already having a big impact on my life.

I remember reading about the separate worlds we inhabit in Richard Bach’s book Illusions:

…You live in the same world, do you, as a stockbroker, shall we say? Your life has just been all tumbled and changed, I presume, by the new SEC policy… You live in the same world as a tournament chess player, do you? With the New York Open going on this week, Petrosian and Fischer and Brown in Manhattan for a half-million-dollar purse, what are you doing in a hayfield in Maitland, Ohio? You with your 1929 Fleet biplane landed on a farm field, with your major life priorities farmers’ permission, people who want ten-minute airplane rides… and a mortal fear of hailstones…are you telling me that four billion people do not live in four billion separate worlds…?

I recently started reading a very unusual blog by Sway, a young man in prison. It’s called Sometimes These Walls Talk. So far outside my own experience is life in prison that I’ve been reluctant to comment up to now, almost not knowing what to say, how to contribute.

In his very first post he talks about not having access to a computer in prison, having to write his posts on paper and give them to a friend to transcribe. What luxury I live in by comparison, what conveniences I take for granted.

But Sway is by no means self-pitying. His writing is interesting, with glints of wry humour, and the stories he shares are compelling. I think this is a life of huge promise and optimism, despite his current circumstances. And the practical person that I am is fascinated by his description of how the prisoners build up relationships, with a technique of passing notes tied to combs, called fishing. He describes this in a beautiful post, Fishing for Poems.

We all  share human characteristic and have many experiences in common, but essentially I believe each of us inhabits separate yet interconnected worlds.

Why not go and visit Sway’s world, you won’t regret it?

Image by Robert Donovan

Elsewhere:

One common experience we all share in our humanity is of the loss of those we love. Several blogging friends have been bereaved in this past week. For them it’s the start of a long journey and their own experience of prison. I was very moved by Abdur Rahman’s timely reflection on death and love, A Link in the Chain. It contains great comfort.

Well what a delight, Sue at Discombobula has been kind enough to pass on to me the I Love Your Blog award! I’m very grateful and am in pretty august company.

The idea is to list ten things that you love, and pass on the award. Check out Sue’s post here where she lists her ten things. (Pay no attention to the undeservedly nasty things she says about lapsong souchong tea though…)

I’m going to bend the rules here in a couple of ways. First of all I’m not going to pass this on to any specific blogs. I don’t want to leave anyone out. If you want to play, please do.

Second, there are so many more than ten things I love that I’m going to narrow my focus and give you my ten favourite movies of all time. They are in alphabetical order because I would find it impossible to put them in order of preference. And I’m cheating by including a couple of duos and a trilogy as single choices.

So here my top ten movies:

Baghdad Café

Directed by Percy Adlon, this 1987 film is a magical exploration of life and possibility, starring Marianne Sägebrecht as a lonely German tourist in the U.S. who turns up at a run-down desert motel after a row with her horrible husband. She befriends motel-owner CCH Pounder, becoming the catalyst for all sort of change in the process. The late, very great and hugely under-rated Jack Palance provides superb support.

Casablanca

What’s left to say about Michael Curtiz’s 1940s classic romance? Every time I see it I’m almost shocked by just how extraordinarily beautiful Ingrid Berman was. The film was just one of many scheduled to roll off the studio production line at Warner Brothers that year, no-one realised one of the all-time greats was in the making. For me, one of the best scenes was the French patrons at Rick’s café drowning out the Germans by singing The Marseillaise. There’s a clip of it here.

Chocolat

One of the most enchanting films of all time, and for me at least, one of the few which is actually better than the book it was based on.

Lasse Halstrom’s film has a cast to die for, led by Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp, supported by Lena Olin (Halstrom’s wife), Alfred Molina, Judi Dench and Carrie-Anne Moss. You know it’s a strong cast when the lesser characters are played by people like John Wood, Leslie Caron and Peter Stomare! I found this video compilation above based on the party scene towards the end.

Godfather I and II

These films are also far better than the book. Coppola’s direction, Willis’s cinematography and indeed Puzo’s screenplay based on his own novel take this film into a whole other realm. As an illustration of how an emphasis on the importance of family and community can sit side-by-side with extreme violence, I think it’s unrivalled. (Although Road to Perdition comes close.) And I’m not at all sure whether Brando, Pacino or de Niro have ever matched their performances in these two films. It’s just a pity that the third part of the trilogy was so bad.

Kill Bill I and II

I’m a big fan of Quentin Tarantino’s imagination, quirkiness and grandiose vision. He’s a kind of demented Hitchcock. I could almost have chosen any of his films for my top ten, but I find myself coming back to Kill Bill more than to any of the others, partly because I’m a fan of David Carradine, partly because all the characterisations are so completely over the top and the visual styling is superb. A ripping yarn indeed!

Lord of the Rings Trilogy

I’ve only ever stayed up to watch the Oscars live once, and that was in 2003, when the third film in Peter Jackson’s trilogy, Lord of the Rings Return of the King, swept the board and won all eleven Oscars for which it was nominated. I jumped up and cheered when it won Best Picture.

LOTR is one of my all-time favourite books, and in some ways the films couldn’t possibly live up to them. The first film in particular is rather flawed: not all the special effects work that well, Ian McKellan’s performance is a bit over the top and Orlando Bloom’s rather wooden. But taken as a whole, this trilogy is an absolutely amazing accomplishment. A tip? Try and get hold of the director’s cut special edition DVDs with extended footage. They are much better than the original films and have all kinds of fascinating features on how various effects were achieved.

The Matrix

I love Sci-Fi at the best of times, and this film blew me away when I first saw it. Why? Because the world of the Matrix, in which our conscious lives are imaginary and are regulated by an unseen intelligence, is exactly how I was convinced things were as a child. Perhaps they are. This film is an amazing feat of imagination by the Wachowski brothers, brilliantly plotted and portrayed. So, will you take the red pill or the blue pill?

Shawshank Redemption

I put off watching this film for years because I didn’t see how something set in a prison could be uplifting. Of course now I know better, and although prisons are grim, hope flutters around the corner somewhere, and we have so many examples over the ages of people who have been catalysts for change in prisons, like Tim Robbins’ character here amidst the brutality. Many of you will be familiar with this iconic scene from the film, when beauty comes unexpectedly to the men at Shawshank.

Singin’ in the Rain

Funny, uplifting, superb dancing, wonderful slapstick, catchy tunes, interesting snippets of cinema history: what more could you want?

Trois Coleurs: Bleu

And finally, because life is sometimes almost more than we can bear, the first of Kieslowski’s Three Colours trilogy, with Juliette Binoche’s searing exploration of bereavement and the rebirth of possibility.

So thanks again for the award, Sue, and please play along with ten favourite things if you want to.

To end on a high note, if this doesn’t get your feet tapping, nothing will:

I will be away for the weekend. I leave you with this thought that I posted at my other blog, Sacred Graffiti, this week:

It is possible that the next Buddha will not take the form of an individual. The next Buddha may take the form of a community, a community practicing understanding and loving kindness, a community practicing mindful living. This may be the most important thing we can do for the survival of the earth.

Thich Nhat Hahn

To me this is the most beautiful concept. What do you think, is it possible? And how can we become midwives – both women and men – to such a Buddha community?

Image by Teresa Stanton

Elsewhere:

I mentioned Sacred Graffiti above. It is my commonplace book, a gathering together of sacred scraps. What I’ve found through Tumblr (the software host) since starting it is a treasure trove of similar collections. Here are three of my favourites: Women Reading, Dreaming in the Deep South (Wait – what?) and the stunning Crashingly Beautiful. Treat yourself this weekend, follow the links and explore the treasure.

We’ve just had an election in the UK. There was no clear party majority, and as I write this, horse-trading is going on to form a coalition government.

Tactical voting

I voted, but I didn’t vote for the party I really wanted to win. I wanted to vote for the Green Party, because I really believe in their policies. But they didn’t stand a ghost of a chance in our constituency, so I voted for our local Labour Party candidate who is a good guy with good ideas, my kind of priorities and who had a chance of beating the Conservatives. Sadly, he didn’t beat them.

Why we must vote

My question ‘what’s the point’ isn’t asked out of ennui. I really do wonder whether party politics and national government are as important as we think they are.

I always vote and I always will, people have died to give me that right. But does it do any good? (A friend told me of a radio exchange recently. Woman: “I could never not vote, I’d feel I was betraying Emily Pankhurst“. Teenage girl: “Oh, is she one of your local candidates?” Sigh…)

Green politics

I know the argument for supporting minority parties: if all the people who wanted to vote for them actually did, more minority party candidates would get elected and they would steadily gain power. Greens have gained a growing amount of political influence around the world, and one really bright spot in the UK election was that we now have our first Green Party Member of Parliament, Caroline Lucas. Brilliant news.

But I’m not sure we have time for a steady gain in power. We need strong, imaginative policies for the environment, for social justice, for a sustainable economy, and we need them now.

Taking up our own power

by Duncan Rawlinson

So here’s what I think: we have the power both of the individual and of the communal as never before.

Because of the internet, we’re in a brave new world of communication. It’s not called a web for nothing. It gives us the power to reach out and discover like-minded souls, to discover information, to discover ideas. We can come together as world citizens to influence, to lobby, to ask questions. We can form our own communities. People sans frontieres.

And as individuals, we can live in ways that are kind to the planet, to ourselves and to other creatures that make their homes here. We can live responsible lives. (I know, I know, this sounds a bit preachy. But it is Sunday after all, so here I am sermonising.)

Action, not talk

By CarbonNYC

I don’t advocate anarchy, but the days when we could leave it all to the government are long gone, if they ever existed.

I don’t live up to my own principles nearly as much as I’d like. Mother Teresa said:

There should be less talk; a preaching point is not a meeting point. What do you do then? Take a broom and clean someone’s house. That says enough.

So off I go to take up my broom again. How about you?

Main image by Ben Sutherland

Elsewhere:

I just now discovered the blog Cottage Wytch, and these words quoted there by John Rogers seem to me to say everything needed in any political party manifesto.

And a blessed Mother’s Day to all my friends outside the UK (where we celebrate it earlier in the year).

After a trip to the dentist yesterday (no problems, thanks to my obsessive flossing!), I treated myself to a visit to London’s Victoria & Albert Museum. I wanted to see their new exhibition of British quilts from 1700 – 2010.

Now I doubt I will ever be a quilter. The sheer intricacy, planning and skill required would beat me, I think. But there’s something about quilts that is expressive of something deep and enduring.

The exhibition was divided into several parts, from the domestic skill of creating quilts for warmth to modern art quilts. There were several illustrating rites of passage, such as wedding celebrations.

Even in early days, quilts were used as political commentary. In the 18th century, women stitched household quilts bearing pictures representing particular causes. Modern art quilts are more overt in their politics. One in the exhibition looks at first glance like classic toile de jouy fabric; when you look closely, the figures are homeless people. Another, all feminine pastel colours, is made up of little advertisements for how women can improve their housekeeping.

The most moving to me was a quilt by Michele Walker called Memoriam. Made to commemorate her mother’s slow decline and death from Alzheimer’s disease, it takes the starting point of quilt as comfort and subverts it, using wire wool and plastic. There are twisted strands of wire wool all around the edge of the quilt, representing the way Walker’s mother used to twist her hair hopelessly and endlessly. There’s a long discussion of the quilt as keepsake of identity here.

But of course these named artists’ quilts are very new. Mostly, quilts were stitched by ordinary people whose names we’ll never know. One thing that struck me about this anonymity is its similarity with monastic history. We have no idea of the names of those individual monks who created illuminated manuscripts, just as we don’t know the names of the individual housewives who stitched these objects of comfort and beauty.

I rather like that. As we enter Holy Week, the work of all those anonymous people is like building blocks of history, reaching out to us.

Image: “At the end of the day” by Natasha Kerr

Elsewhere:

Well of course my link today can only be to the acrylic quilt at Mind Sieve’s Capture.

This morning during meditation, my monkey mind was especially chattery, and an image came to me. In the room of my mind, narrow jagged cracks were splitting open in the walls and through them, dark figures came scrambling towards me. Rather frightening, and a very vivid representation of distraction. (Of course, for the rest of the meditation I had to keep setting aside thoughts of how I would share that image with you in this post…)

What has this got to do with books?

I felt quite sad last night as I looked through my bookshelves. So many books I’ve never read, or read years ago and will never return to. And a couple I have duplicates of for some reason.

Every one of those books is a distraction, a reminder of what I won’t do or what is past. Every one a witness to my monkey mind. But I love them and I want them to go to good homes. I’m reflecting that giving things away is actually a subset of hospitality, my word for the year. Sharing ideas and potentialities is one of the most hospitable things we can do.

So below are details of 15 books I’m giving away, with Amazon links for further information.

If you want one or more, let me know which in the comments – by next Sunday 28 February. If there’s competition for a book, I’ll put the names in a hat (do I even own a hat?) and pick the winner. Then I’ll email to ask you for your snail mail addresses. Don’t worry if you’re not in the UK, I’m happy to post anywhere.

1. The Year of Living Biblically by A. J. Jacobs. A very funny and insightful record by a secular Jew living in New York of his year trying to take the Bible literally. A great “delve into it from time to time” book.
2. The Reflective Life by Ken Gire. Creating pauses in our lives to listen and become more sensitive to God in our everyday moments.
3. Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis. His classic autobiography.
4. The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis. His exploration of why, if God is good and all-powerful, do God’s creatures suffer. The pages are a bit yellowed, I’ve had this forever.
5. Julian, Woman of our Day edited by Robert Llewelyn. An anthology of work by eight authors exploring the mystical insights of Julian of Norwich.
6. In Search of a Way by Gerard Hughes. Hughes is a Jesuit priest. This is the story of his physical and spiritual journeying.
7. Transitions, The Challenge of Change by Barrie Hopson and others. A thin, practical workbook with a sense of humour and cool illustrations that will help you meet change more positively.
8. In Search of Stones by M. Scott Peck. Subtitled A Pilgrimage of Faith, Reason and Discovery, and described by the author of The Road Less Travelled as “the closest thing to an autobiography I will ever write”.
9. Befriending, a Self-Guided Retreat for Busy People by Joseph A Payne, O.P. A practical book full of suggestions, exercises, scripture and other treasures. Flicking through it, I came upon lines by Blake: And we are put on earth a little space, that we may learn to bear the beams of love.
10. The Good Life Guide: Saints, Snobs and Sanity by Bernard Basset. A book about prayer and life that tries to draw a distinction between pleasure and happiness and does so in a very unstuffy way. Some of the pages are a bit scuffed – I dropped it at some point.
11. Why Did I DO That? by George New and David Cormack. Subtitled Understanding and Mastering your Motives. Someone recommended it and gave it to me as a gift but I’ve never been able to get into it. It looks very sound though, lots of diagrams and questionnaires.
12. Angels in Art by Belinda Wilkinson. A beautiful and very tiny book with colour plates of angel paintings by some of the great masters, such as da Vinci’s Annunciation and Gauguin’s Jacob Wrestling with the Angel.
13. How Proust can change your life by Alain de Botton. An exploration of Proust’s writing, and how it applies to everyday life. Described (by people more educated than me who have actually read Proust) as intoxicating, stimulating, charming and amusing.
14. A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. Let’s always remember the need for women to have financial, intellectual and creative freedom.
15. All God’s Creatures by Sister Seraphim. Old enough (1966) to be described as “gay” in the former sense of the word, these are the autobiographical writings of an eccentric, animal-loving Englishwoman who became a Russian Orthodox nun and takes “all creatures great and small” pretty literally. She rescues them as often as she can, like the live rabbit brought to the monastery as a gift for the dinner table. I inherited this book from my aunt, who seems to have inherited it in turn from the Surrey County Library.

Image by Vince Alongi
(check out his work – a very talented photographer)

Elsewhere:

Several links for the price of one: Christine’s Lenten Reflections signposts other moving Lenten journeys. By coincidence, she also mentions Jacob wrestling with the angel (book 12 above).

As I begin to write these words it is just after 8.30 in the morning, as the office of Lauds is being said and sung a few miles away at Turvey Abbey Benedictine monastery.

Yesterday, I returned from Turvey after co-leading our first Enneagram weekend of the year, introducing a new group of people to this insightful system of personal and spiritual growth. And what a positive and thoughtful group they were.

At the same time, the six-week online course I’ve been part of, Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist, led by Christine at Abbey of the Arts has ended. I’m grateful to have been a part of this community of people, all of us ordinary yet extraordinary.

I am so full of hope and joy about the groundswell of desire for growth that I sense all around us, and not only because, in the Northern hemisphere at least, spring is beginning to break through the frozen ground. I’ve noticed that increasingly when I talk about what could be seen as a somewhat eccentric preoccupation with Benedictine life and with spiritual and creative growth, people I meet are interested and asking questions. There’s a different feeling around from the days a few years ago when colleagues would look at me as if I’d suddenly grown two heads. Or perhaps I’m simply less tentative in my self.

This morning I read a poem from the awakening hour section of Macrina Widerkehr‘s book seven sacred pauses. It reflects perfectly this sense of grace and renewal that I’m aware of:

What lifts the heron leaning on the air
I praise without a name. A crouch, a flare,
a long stroke through the cumulus of trees,
a shaped thought at the sky – then gone. O rare!
Saint Francis, being happiest on his knees,
would have cried Father! Cry anything you please.
But praise. By any name or none. But praise
the white original burst that lights
the heron on his two soft kissing kites.
When saints praise heaven lit by doves and rays,
I sit by pond scums till the air recites
Its heron back. And doubt all else. But praise.

John Ciardi

What grace and renewal can you see in the moments that make up your life?

Image by S Wolfe

Elsewhere:

And as we approach the sacred time of Lent, Claire Bangasser talks about Cultivating our Soul, and Jan Richardson meditates upon Ashes and Sojourner Truth.

As my thoughts on dropping the pretence of our ego-selves continue, Chris Garrett’s post today on being yourself came at a good time.

He’s talking about authenticity online and he makes some good points around anonymity – that even if someone uses a pseudonym, they can still speak from the honesty of their hearts and you will get to know the real person regardless of the name they choose.

Then he goes on to talk about how well using the web seems to suit introverts, and something occurred to me. I’m a borderline introvert and I suspect that for many of us, it’s easier to drop the mask in writing. Perhaps that seems a bit counter-intuitive, because after all, in writing you have more time and opportunity to dissemble, to embroider the facts, rearrange the words or simply to show yourself in a good light.

But sitting here at my desk, I can take the time to reflect on what I really mean.

Sometimes, in real life, I’m far too affected by the energies of other people to be as real as I’d like. I play to the audience, I’m a bit of a people pleaser. Although I’m articulate, I often over-compensate for my shyness by being loud and hearty. Shudder.

So yes, I think that my written expression of myself and my thoughts is often more truthful than some of my day-to-day verbal interactions, even though for my own peace of mind and the privacy of others I set boundaries on what I will talk about here.

What about you, are you conscious of what masks you wear?

Image by Chiara Marra

Elsewhere:

At Nerdy Renegade News, Lisa uses some beautiful photographs and analogies to explore sinking deeper into the truth of life. Stop reading and do it, she says. Amen.