Genergy

Giggle, woof, bedtime

What shall we do today before bedtime? In how many ways are you still the child you once were? How many of those you things that you did as a small child do you actually still do? What are those beautiful things that made you you when you were 3 that you still sometimes do? This last month, three things have challenged me a bit – made me realise how easy it is to act too serious. One was an eight month old puppy, another was a room full of retired linguists and the third was a very rare group of 1950s French schoolboys. Between them, they’ve shown me that age doesn’t really exist. Fancy talking about it briefly before bedtime? 

This starts a bit serious, but don’t worry, smiles are on the way. 

I’m on the committee of our village’s European Association. I’ve worked in lots of countries, adore languages and having returned to the UK, I enjoy keeping the Europhile side of me alive. And the committee I’m part of is fantastic. Though we live in a village, our European association has hundreds of members. We’re constantly organising something fun and the committee is run with brilliance. 

At 37, I am the youngest member of the committee - and possibly of the entire association. Many of those I sit alongside are retired and bring years of experience. To be blunt, their maturity brings an exceptional level of capability. But therein lies a challenge. We want the association to grow in the future, so how can we get more young people involved? 

The villages in France and Germany we’re twinned with are so passionate about their relationship with us. Everyone over there gets involved. Children, grandparents, aunts, uncles, dogs, cats – everyone. And with each visit to our village, they bring more and more children, keen to create ever more new relationships, always ready for more connection and shared experiences. But our village doesn’t work the same way. It’s an exceptionally friendly and welcoming village - quite well-to-do in fact - but the average age here is quite high. The children raised here quickly grow up and look for more excitement elsewhere.  That said, in our village, we have an amazing school. It has a strong focus on languages, and it enjoys a powerful national reputation. So why not involve these passionately linguistic youngsters in our European activities? 

In the French and German villages we’re twinned with, the communities are integrated. But Britain doesn’t seem to work the same way at the moment. Our country still seems to be going through a ‘disproportion’ phase. By that, I mean that Britain’s previous government introduced lots of laws which seemed reasonable to some at the time, but with hindsight, don’t seem to make much sense. Our village’s European association wanted to go to this fantastic school, meet the children and see if they wanted to get involved with the association so that they can speak languages a bit more, have fun and get involved. But when we enquired, we were told we can’t have access to the children without going through lots of checks. Might we be perverts? In an effort to keep these lovely children safe from that possible one in ten thousand who’s damaged, the other 9,999 of us who want to help these children grow and love life are forbidden from trying. 

So about a month ago, I was a bit frustrated. I stood in our garden one morning wondering how we will ever bring a bit of new, youthful energy to what we all love in this village’s relationships with our friends in other countries. And at the same time, I was thinking about so many serious things in the world. Global politics, the economy, business trends, culture change. To be honest, I was being a bit old. And then it happened. 

“Jonathan, look at this! oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!!!!!!!!!”.  Just-look-at-this!!! 

Our Labrador puppy had come bounding up to me. She was so excited. So, so, so excited. Jonathan, never mind that ‘world stuff’ you’re thinking about – look at this… I’ve found a stick!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh my God, oh my God, oh-my-God… I’ve found a stick!!!! Look at it Jonathan! I can get it in my mouth, it’s got 2 ends, there are sticky-out-bits on this stick and everything. Jonathan, I love you so, so much, I love you so, so much, look at my stick, look at my stick, look at my stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Do you ever have one of those moments when you realise you’ve been complicating things a little? When you suddenly see how much more difficult you’re making things? 

I picked her up, gave her a kiss, smiled, then laughed to myself. And then I conjured up a cunning plan.

One of my personal mini-projects for the European Association was to organise its first ever French film evening. We’d show it in our village’s Old School. The people coming would be typically over 55. So how could I bring in some youthful energy? I decided to reconnect everyone with the beautiful child they still are. 

The film I chose was “les Choristes” (“The Chorus” in English). Have you seen it? IT IS AN ABSOLUTE MIRACLE OF A FILM  – WATCH IT SOON! I chose it because it’s about a failed musician who takes a job at a post-war French boys school. When he gets there he sees how the school is run with an iron fist but that the old teachers have no connection at all with the beautiful energy of the children. The children are bonkers. They have chaos, love and passion written all over them, but the teachers see only non-discipline. The teachers are old and the children are so beautifully young, vibrant and eager. The man quickly begins to speak the language of the energy of the teachers while secretly inspiring the passionate youngsters. And slowly but surely, this man starts to ignite and unite the boys. The musician has never been married. Never been loved by a woman. And so he’s never had children. He has been alone all his life. And one child in particular – Pepinot -has lost both his parents in the war. But no-one dares tell him they are dead. So each night, he sits alone on the stairs with his teddy bear waiting for them to come home. And they never come.  I won’t tell you how the film ends, but it’s what this film unlocked that brings me to share this. 

We must have had 50 people at the film night. They were all over 55, well dressed and so very courteous. And they sat in polite silence at the beginning of the film. Then the laughter started. And hands started to be held. I saw a few kisses, and all the time, eyes never left the screen. And as I served drinks from the hatch during the interval, the most stunning, massive change washed over me. The people were talking differently. Completely differently from anything I’ve heard here before. Faces were truly animated, they were talking with each other with jumping intonation, they were having fun, they pushed the boat out and had another glass of wine, their faces were red with excitement and they were truly buzzing. They were alive. They weren’t aware of their environment. They were experiencing something they’ve missed for so, so long. They were playing. They were giggling. For the first time in such a long time, they were 3 years old again. 

I don’t cry often. But when the film ended and these excited, beautiful people thanked us with a glorious new giggle in their voice and left the building, I held it in. I cleared up the room, locked the doors and walked past the church. It was ten thirty. And then I burst into the happiest tears I haven’t cried in such a long time. I felt 3 years old. 

What makes us smile our biggest smiles? What makes us feel so glad to be alive? Is it when we’re successful? Is it when we’re rich? Is it when we’re clever and better than those around us? Or is it when we’re playing, sitting with crossed legs sharing each others’ toys and smiling about nothing of consequence? And when we’re smiling our biggest smiles, what happens to our energy and lives? How much more are we capable of? And how much more can we grow? Let’s leave it there. I’m just going to quickly put my pyjamas on. Come on, come upstairs, let’s go and play with the toys I got for Christmas. They’re amazing. Come on, quickly!... it’ll be bedtime soon.   

Jonathan 

Accent runways

What exactly does ‘philosophy’ mean? And what about ‘moral philosophy’? Will we ever reach consensus on the meaning of ‘our responsibility to the world’? To what extent should we protect ourselves from the world and to what extent should we get involved? And when we hear or see something we don’t like, is it ok to tut, moan, and recriminate, or should we use it as a trigger to be the world we’d like to see? Shall we?

How should we respond to what’s happening in the world at the moment? Widespread energetic uprisings across Africa and the Middle-East have caught everyone’s attention. Power is changing, reforming, moving and being used to further differing agendas. And the lives of our brothers and sisters in Japan are being turned upside down, inside out. People just like us have lost those they love just as deeply as we love our own. People would give their own lives to protect those they have lost. Japan is far away, but what if the same things happened here? How would we cope? And if life is indeed so fragile, with our realities able to change but in a breath, what should we be doing until then, with each of these unique moments, opportunities and breaths of love we’ve been gifted?

We can’t bring back others’ loved ones. And it’s debatable how far we should go in deciding what is best for the people of other countries. Yet people-development circles often speak of the ‘circle of concern’ and the ‘circle of influence’, or in other words, “what’s worrying us” and “what we can actually do about it”. So what on earth should- and can we do?

Let’s merge two very different concepts.

What can we learn from what’s happening in the world? Japan is in pain and at the same time, the news is full of talk about what to do in Libya. One story that caught my attention was that many nations’ Air Forces have been active in the skies above Libya in recent days. During my time being taught to fly by Britain’s Royal Air Force, time after time, I was instructed to ‘look down the runway’. What my instructors meant by this was that with so many things to do, you’ll take off and land much more safely if you don’t look right in front of your aeroplane, but well ahead. If you’ve flown a plane before, forgive me for simplifying this. You’re sat in the cockpit. In front of you, there’s a long runway. You’re scared. There are lights everywhere. You’re nervous. But when air traffic control tells you that you may take off, you take off the brakes, open the throttle (turn the engine to full power), keep checking the temperatures and pressures inside your engine as you start to move, and at all times, you look toward the far end of the runway. Looking down the runway automatically helps you steer in a straight line. Then, when you’ve reached a high enough speed, you pull your stick back and take off. And just for a moment, you realise you are so, so vulnerable and exposed. Anything could go wrong. You might die. And all the time, by looking far ahead, your immediate actions stay aligned with what’s really important. In other words, you constantly balance what you’re doing with why you need to do it. If you thought about all the reasons not to try, you’d get out of the plane and hide in a cupboard. You’d achieve and change nothing. So what can we take from this into loving our loved ones? Reasons not to try are the circle of concern, and looking down the runway and doing what we can in each moment is our circle of influence. In terms of what each of us can bring to the world, where is the end of the runway?

If tomorrow were our last chance to give something to the world, what might we do?

Amid the shouting power of the world this last week, my ears have been opened to some new languages of giving – the languages of love. And they had some fascinating accents. In fact, there were 5 such accents.

On Saturday, we attended a course of a very special kind. It was a ‘Preparation For Marriage’ course organised by the church where my partner and I shall soon marry. As non-Churchgoers, we were nervous about this. Would it be preachy? Would it be about someone trying to get us to see things the way they see them? Trying to persuade us of the beliefs they are so persuaded by? If so, we feared the day might be a long one. But we couldn’t have been more wrong. Because far from it being about “do this, do that”, we were met with a day of passion hosted by a number of couples who have been married for years, who love each other dearly, and who have learned their very own lessons. They spoke about the languages of love. And amid this loveliest of preparations for the privilege of being husband and wife, it struck me that marriage is also a metaphor. Marriage is about the potential of relationships, and which little things we can do that will have a huge impact on how we nurture and nourish those around us. And with each marital lesson-learned, I found myself noticing that the world would love just that little bit more of what makes any marriage successful. So what were these accents?

Accent 1. “Communicate”

One couple after another was shown, with one partner next to the other talking about the impact on their relationship of how they both communicate differently. There were lots of laughs. But each couple had initially done each others’ heads in at times, because what they heard wasn’t quite what they themselves would say. So what was the conclusion?

We should always hear the ‘intention’ of what someone’s trying to say, not the ‘literals’ of what we quickly hear. So, what if we – all of us - each took a little more time for each other and made a point of truly connecting with the intentions behind what people are actually trying to say? What could that unlock in others?

Accent 2. “Resolve conflict”

We human beings are all so very different. We assume that others should be able to ‘get’ us. But they often don’t, even when they try, no matter how clever or sensitive. We human units often move in one gear and the others around us move in another gear. So where’s the clutch? What is that beautiful, virgin middle-ground where we’re both challenged, and we meet each other halfway? How does it make other people feel when they realise that they’re so important to us that we’ll walk into the unknown because of them? And what would motivate them to reciprocate?

Accent 3. “Meet each other’s emotional needs”

If our thinking and actions are so powerfully triggered by our reactions to what we witness, what can we do to not just respond like apes, but to transformationally speak the language of others’ needs? Just how much beautiful improvement can we unlock by simply understanding how others react quietly inside to the little things we do? To us, it’s a foreign language. To them, it’s the most obvious thing in the world. How much power of loving life can we unlock by showing patience and trust while everyone tries to understand each other?

Accent 4. “Build friendship”

If each person perceives ‘friendship’ very differently, how powerful is the potential of these differences? When we hear the word ‘build’, what could happen if we got rid of the limitations we impose on what we create? Is true friendship about what we want, about what others need, or actually, at source, about something we just can’t begin to describe? Language is just a really good tool we’ve created to meet many of the needs we’ve learned to articulate our experiences and responses. So how powerful could friendship be if we enjoyed its true beauty – and didn’t lock it down with words?

Accent 5. “Determine your roles”

What does the word ‘role’ mean? How ‘confirming’ is it? How flexible is it? What kind of ‘role’ should the word ‘role’ actually play? In those very precious last breaths of our beautiful lives, when we look back at everything we’ve done, what will make us smile? What’ll make us feel that we’ve brought something eternally good to the world? Which roles have you chosen so far, which have you played today, and which roles would you love to assume from tomorrow?

Some of us live in the moment. And some of us focus on the potential of future moments. And of course, some of us are too busy looking after allsorts – loved ones? Friends? Reputations, mortgages or just bank balances?  -  to even think about this stuff. So what are we actually, ultimately, at the end of the day, really about? Why bother? Why would those beautiful people of Japan and Libya want their dearly loved ones back? If we’re not about anything at all, why are we still here?  Should we stay? Yes we should. Our runways are long and sometimes full of curves. It’s often not easy to steer straight.  But look down our runways we should. Our lives aren’t permanent. So what would make us feel like we’ve made the world that teeny weeny – massive - bit better? Let’s forget the circle of concern for a moment. Let’s enjoy the power of our very own, very unique circles of influence. Whether you’re Japanese, Libyan, British, European or other… if today were your last day, what would you love the world to thank you for? 

Jonathan

The presents of boys and girls

If you could give someone the perfect present, what would it be? And if you could choose the perfect present for you? This last week has been so beautifully powerful that it’s taken a few days to put it into words. So bear with me. It’s about the presents of boys and girls.

My partner and I are about to get married. It’s getting nearer. And nearer. And nearer.  I simply can’t wait.

And last weekend, 6 of my closest male friends took me away for my stag weekend. As they’d joked and hinted at things by email in the run up to the weekend, I’d become a little nervous. But they knew what was important to me and as we all met, I trusted them. I haven’t seen some of them in a while – in one case for years. And they’re all from different meals of my life. One was my brother; another had recruited with me in Switzerland; another I met while researching Austria and MI6; another brings laughs to every sentence we share and introduced me to Hong Kong; another once shared the shame with me as we missed the plane for a friend’s stag do and had to “use some initiative”, and the other I have known for 15 years. My friends are so close and important to me. So close, that I’ve asked three of them to be best men at my wedding.

But it’s what happened before I met them that set the tone for the weekend.

I received a call from my mum. We had the briefest, most powerful conversation I’ve ever had. One unlike any other we’ve ever had. She and I have a fantastic relationship. We’re truly great friends. She has raised me in a way that most people can only dream of. She’s raised me to care for people, to be natural, to have fun, to be honest, to enquire, to love, to respect, to have self-discipline, to laugh, to trust, to grow, to listen, to enjoy thinking and to love living. She also raised me to feel how inside each of us, there’s something stunningly unique waiting to be seen. And she’s always fostered in me a sense of challenge. When I was 7, I hated reading. Hated it. Words and language and all that stuff - it was for girls. And so one Sunday evening,  she wouldn’t let me out of the bath until I’d learned to have fun with words. After the initial tears, she simply asked me how I wanted other people to feel when I spoke to them. And we played a game. There were 3 sentences I had to say and we laughed while I practised them in different ways to make whoever heard the words feel “surprised”, “scared”, “amused” etc. It was the best bath ever. I loved language and connecting with people and enjoying their uniqueness from that day on. And many years later, as I walked out of the office of the Head of Austria’s Intelligence Service, having interviewed him in Austrian German, with his personal, private thesis on Intelligence and Security and that of his daughter under my arm, I remembered the bath, smiled and quietly thanked my mum once more.

Mum has given me the love she missed. As a girl, my mum had adored her mother. But my grandmother died when my mother was very young. And growing up in Belfast without a mother wasn’t easy. My mum missed the girl things. As she’s grown, my mother has always missed her girl relationship with her mum. And my mum has raised 3 boys and needed to let go of her girlness. But our relationship has blossomed with the love my mum had for her mum. It’s almost like when my mum and I are together, she can have fun as that girl again. The girl she had to stop being such a long time ago. And so when the girl that is my mum called on Friday, and told me how proud she was of the man I’d become; how ecstatic she was that Lisa and I are so deeply in love and how together she feels our family now is, I realised I was being given a present. And I held this as I travelled to meet the boys for our journey to Brussels, then for the whole weekend. And I always will.

As we all met at the Eurostar terminal in London, there were smiles and giggles all round. And as we boarded and talked, the fun flowed like a torrent of purest goodness. Memories were shared. Experiences were laughed about, we had a couple of beers and I was the recipient of the warmest possible ribbing (which did not stop all weekend). When we arrived, one of the boys had stocked the fridges with fantastic food. We ate, laughed, laughed some more and laughed again. All weekend. And we bowled. And we danced. And we laughed. On the Saturday night, we ate the most sumptuous meal in one of Brussels’ finest restaurants. And we laughed. And it became clear to me that each of these boys was giving me their finest possible present.

On the Sunday morning, I was presented with 2 more presents. One was a Hawaiian grass skirt and the other a Hawaiian wooden bra. I was instructed to put them on and walk around Brussels dressed only in these. Now, this is not something I do. I was horrified. But the whole weekend was their present to me, so it was my turn to give something back. So I went along with it. And as we walked through Brussels with tourist after tourist taking photos of me, with people applauding as I danced to the music of accordion buskers, I felt something powerful. It was the purity of the most amazing present the boys could give me. It was the beauty of people giving themselves to those close to them.

When we arrived at Customs to get on the train to come home, there was another present waiting. As I went through security dressed à la Hula, I was summoned by stern-faced security officials to open my bag for inspection. There were loads of them standing around me looking serious. I opened my bag to find that the boys had somehow secreted a special ‘something’, something very dignity-robbing into my bag without me knowing. I’ll leave it to your imagination to guess what it was. But I froze in utter terror. Time stopped still then went into slow motion. But as I slowly looked up at the officials, they were all laughing and clapping. One of the officials told me in French that he’d never seen a more terrified face, then he shook me by the hand and waved goodbye. In fact, everyone in the security hall was cheering, clapping and laughing. The boys had got the security staff in on the joke. As my heart started beating again, I realised this moment was just one more of the most fantastic presents I’d received since my phone call with mum.

But it’s when I was back home, on Monday morning, that the beauty of my true presents was waiting for me. 

Lisa was there. Beautiful. Uniquely Lisa. Full of love for me. Dying to be with me again. Speaking with the loveliest melody that only she has. Gliding around our home. Hair swaying as she moves. Full of fun and naturalness. Speaking about our wedding, our marriage, our life together, our growth, our plans, our love, our future. And running around next to her, over the moon to see me was our Labrador puppy Rosie. So excited that I was back. Wanting every cuddle. Wanting every sock. Wanting every stroke and moment of fun. I was surrounded by perfect, eternal love. And I realised what all these presents had been.

My mother has given me the love she never had, but also more. Her present to me is the unique beauty of who she is. Every bit of it. And on Friday, she was handing me over so that I can now give the same love to the one I adore. And as the boys temporarily walked with me during the transition this weekend, they were giving me the present of who they truly, fully are. And I have given them all of who I am. Each of these relationships I share with them has been the life-transforming, loving present of who they are and what they enjoy sharing with me.  They will always be with me, wherever I am. But this weekend, they too have handed me over.

It’s now my turn. All of these presents of love, relationship, support and togetherness I have received all my life from my mum, my brother, my friends, they’ve all been funnelled, turned into one big, pure present that sits inside me. All this love is waiting as a present inside the boy that I am. It’s all inside, wrapped up. Waiting. It’s waiting to be shared with the most fantastic gift from heaven of a girl that is my darling Lisa, the loveliest energy that is our home and our manic female puppy. Lisa, thank you for being so excited about unwrapping this present with me each day for the rest of our life together.

Boys, boys, boys, girls, girls, girls… thank you. x

Most irreverent symphonies

Church. Vicar. Reverend. Canon. Organ. Bells. Hymn. Donation. Sermon. Communion. Commandments. 

For you, which images do these words conjure up? Which of your memories and experiences are awakened? This weekend, my perception of all these things has changed tune. All because of the symphonies of a most irreverent Reverend. Let me explain. 

Two and a half years ago, I met a beautiful woman. Her name is Lisa. I very quickly fell in love with her and she with me. Each day, we love each other that little bit more and we love helping each other grow, learn, evolve and feel truly alive. It’s not an icky, sickly love. It’s healthy, true love. What she does for people in this world is life-changing, she’s true, and she has nil ego. She loves helping others enjoy the divine purity that is their own life. Just knowing her is a blessing. So imagine how it feels knowing that she cannot wait to marry me in a month’s time. I never dared dream that life could feel like this. I’ve never laughed as much as I do with her, I’ve never been challenged as much as I am with her, and each sound of her voice, each blink of hers, each glass of water she brings, each footstep is a gift of change to my life from  God. And both God and change are a bit of a theme at the moment. 

When Lisa and I first met, it quickly became clear that she likes to change her mind. Alot. All the time. About everything. Apparently, women changing their minds alot winds some men up. Not me. I love it. It’s who she is. And meeting her helped me realise it’s who I am too. When researching some well disguised parts of MI6’s secret history a few years ago, I quickly realised that that we human beings are the loveliest, funny bunch. Our reasons for thinking the things we think are often not quite as reasonable as we’ve reasoned. So while keeping balance, it’s good to be flexible and welcome powerful, irreverent change in the very moment it occurs. I’d always been a plan-man. But then I changed and loved the change that change can change. And then I met Lisa. And in the week following our first meeting, amid this beautiful change, Lisa told me that there were only two things she could never be flexible about. 1. She was a vegetarian and would never eat meat, and 2. She would never, ever, marry in a church. She went to a Catholic School as a child and it put her off religion. Since then, she’s never liked it when someone tells her “That’s just the way it has to be!”. I thought to myself at the time “If that’s what makes her happy, fine by me :-)”. 

Then things changed. The following week, she ordered a Club sandwich full of chicken and bacon. And on 9^th April, we marry in Cuckfield Holy Trinity Church. She’s changed her mind about not changing her mind. I love her. Problem is, I think she might sort of love the Vicar. Not in a weird way, but in a lovely way. Lisa can be quite irreverent. And this Vicar is the most irreverent Reverend you could meet. 

Our vicar is something else. As we one morning walked to the Vicar’s house to meet him for the first time, I quietly wondered what would happen if the vicar was “well, I’m sorry, that’s just the way things have to be”. I knew how Lisa would react. And I was a tad nervous. But when we got there, it took about 10 seconds before I realised Lisa and the vicar are a match made in heaven. 

When you look into the vicar’s eyes, you see a man who sees everything but comments on little. He’s constantly doing his very best not to smile about something he just thought about. He holds back the one-liners, funny stories and amusing gags he’s dying to share. He’s a truly lovely man. He used to be a professional musician and he has all the calmness of a man who has travelled the world. And he glows with the centredness of a life that’s been full of love. The face is still but there’s always something there under the surface just itching to make you giggle. But hold on to it he does. He is warmth itself and he lets YOU do the talking. And when Lisa asked whether we can write OUR OWN vows, he said “Officially, no.” before smiling, winking at us and saying “but unofficially, I’m sure we can sort something out!”. Lisa smiled and they both connected. And when we met with him again on Saturday to talk through our wedding ceremony, he couldn’t do more to bend the rules to create the right ceremony for us. But as we got to the end, I realised something had been missed out. So I asked: “At what point in the ceremony will you say ‘you may now kiss the bride’?”. And the broadest grin came over his face. “Jonathan, don’t jump the gun! This morning has been about me telling you exactly how the  ceremony will flow. But on the day, I’ll change it and it’ll be completely different! You won’t know what’s coming… Ha Ha Ha!!!”.  And as Lisa and our Vicar laughed furiously, so too did I, just with a taste of terror. We can’t wait. And I can’t sleep. 

But this is about the beautiful symphonies our vicar creates.   

He’s just rescued an Oboe. This oboe was given to him by his parents 44 years ago, and he recently found out that it was made in 1896. He’d never played it, but when it fell into disrepair, he decided he’d have it restored and then learn to play it and enjoy it, and enjoy the energy it was created for. And yesterday, he gave his first ever recital at our church. And I took a break from Genergy and wedding planning to go to the church and listen. 

The symphony was stunning. I don’t mean the music. When I arrived, he hadn’t started playing yet.  I’m not a church-goer, and I was stunned at how packed – rammed - this old church was. There were people of all ages and colours. They knew how important this recital was to the Vicar. This vicar is always there for others, but this day was different. This time, they were all there for him and he needed their love. And you could feel the passion in the room. Couples were smiling and laughing, holding hands. I even saw one old couple having a snog. Most irreverent. And as our normally-so-confident vicar took his place at the front, he was nervous. He said it’s the first time he’s stood terrified at the front of a church. But when he began to play, the energy of love in the church unfolded. It lasted an hour, and between pieces, he’d tell the story of the oboe, and talk of the parallels between the Oboe and the church. We were all entranced. 

And as the music continued and the symphony gently kissed the entire room, a wave of beautiful recognition flowed through me.  The people around me were squeezing each other’s hands as they listened. Faces touched each other. Smiles shone from faces young and old. And the symphony of the love I share with Lisa danced through me. It was the purest moment I can remember. I didn’t hear the music anymore. The symphonies I was listening to were those of the love that the people around me have for others. The love that people have for what’s important to them. The notes were not of Oboe, but of what- and who people truly bring to our world. It’s everywhere all the time, and yesterday, our vicar brought us together to help us all hear it. And as his recital reached its end. The most beautiful face looked up at our vicar from behind the piano. It was the vicar’s wife playing it. And in one smile, she sang him the note of love of a thousand first dates and an eternity of shared loving togetherness. 

This world, this orchestra we're all part of is the most glorious, divine symphony we could ever listen to. And we all play a part. That part can change. And so it should. It’s great to be irreverent. For irreverent releases love in new ways. But when we look around us, stop and listen for a moment to the flow of what these beautiful notes together create, we realise that the symphony of the world just wouldn’t be the same without us. Not the yesterday us, not the ‘normal’ us, but the loveliest ‘us’ we decide we’d like to be in each and every moment. 

Thank you Nick. Amen. 

Jonathan