So today didn't start off too well. There was an issue with me losing a bag of keys and then I went into meltdown as the implications of this were immense and I got a bit stressed and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz , ok I'll stop now, it's boring as heck isn't it and after yesterday's horrifically boring blog I have decided today I am going to mix a bit of St Ives with the meaning of life.
As I have already mentioned, the September Festival has started. There are lots of very special and creative people in town at the moment. Now I consider myself creative, to an extent.
Words? Yes I would like to think so.
Anything else vaguely creative ? Ermm that would be a no.
Anyway, the town is rammed with lots of people that just look arty. I am not wording this very well but I think you all know what I mean. My sister in law is an artist ( just got a big wig job at the Tate thank you very much ), I am friends with some artists and I know a lot of people that fling a piece of fuzzy felt on a rock and say ''hey, yeah, are you seeing it?''
No, I'm not seeing it at all..... but I am waffling.
So, in celebrating the artistic and festival side in town, we have had a lot of goings on. There were these ladies on the harbour ............
shaking their booties to a samba band. There had been a very local wedding an hour or so before and the newlweds were driven around town in a VW camper van adorned with the Cornish flag as bunting along the windows. There were also flags hung out on the fisherman's lodge which is a sign of a local nuptial too and if my very limited memory of local tradition serves me correctly then the parents of the couple would have paid for the privilege of having this done, with a bag of coal?
Anyway, in between the fun and games and all the noise and booty shaking I stumbled across these fellas.
They were wandering around, rather aimlessly I thought and one of them was strumming a guitar. I saw them and then had to walk past them and they started singing Damien Rice's 'Cannonball' song in very Chinese accents. I don't know why, as I am not prone to laughing at cultural differences but it cracked me up. It made keygate seems years ago and sometimes it's the silliest things that amuse you isn't it? They then parked themselves outside the church next to the gallery my friend Angie works in and she claimed they were singing about Jesus. Well maybe they thought I was a lost cause and Jesus doesn't want me for a sunbeam as it was most definitely Damien that they crooned to me.
And they were / are some sort of missionaries . They are outside St Peter's Street church happily spreading the word and giving out the literature to passers by. I asked if they minded me taking their photo and they said no and then said that God blessed me. I thought that was nice.
Which brings me on to the whole God debate. Now a bit like the artists , I have friends that are Christians, friends that go to church and friends that are like myself that aren't quite sure what to believe. I used to go to church many years ago. I loved the routine and the calm of it. I wanted to believe more deeply than I ever actually did and this frustrated me. I even wrote a poem about it a few months back and it was about my whole 'journey' with God. I had become involved with a group of born again Christians as a teenager and to be honest they scared the life out of me a bit. It was from there that I went on to go to a more conventional church and I even became a Catholic when I was 18! This is my thoughts..............
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Him and Hymns
So let me tell you this my sweet
I always had my god
It was always there
Someone I couldn't see
Tapping at my back
Poking softly at my conscience
But it was never more than me
But still, I was sucked into circles
of responsible adults
The joyous tears
And then there came
and the laying
on of hands
And for me?
Well, if truth be told, I never shed one tear
I would read the book
And good old VHS and BETAMAX would be trundled out
So I could watch the rejoicing throngs in action
And then there was the clapping
And I would feel slightly humiliated
And even more sad
Because I never felt
That all the others had
Tongues whispered in languages unknown
Did it comfort me
Did it warm my heart
Did it fill my soul
With assurances of salvation and afterlife
For a child
Looking for the answers that I could never hope to find
of course there was the official outlets
Where we could see it all done
Pomp, circumstance and no smiles
Just half empty pews of punters
Dusty old aisles
Getting their Sunday fix
And assuring themselves
That during that hour of him and hymns
They’d more than done their bit
Musty old halls and energetic ladies
With colourful hats
Would entice us to beetle drives
Social events and dances
No touching or dalliance but good clean fun
For us soon to be adults
With our fresh open minds
Just ripe for the writing
Of their doctrines
I made my escape in favour of general teenage pursuits
The devil didn’t appear by side
Nor by my bed at night
I didn’t get cancer
I wasn’t injured in some freak newsworthy accident
Maimed beyond recognition
I haven’t suffered
Any unique personal tragedy
I am still here
And so is he
Deep stuff for a Saturday isn't it? But it sums up my feelings and memories perfectly.