My silence here on the blog last Monday said more than any words of mine could have. It was a terrible week in the UK. Probably the worst week of my life, even when compared to the very young death of my father and the deaths of my beloved grandparents some years later. I was in agony last week. I couldn’t talk.
With a tiny number of dignified exceptions (Nicola Sturgeon, Caroline Lucas, Jeremy Corbyn) our national politicians embraced the don’t want to adult meme.
They’re inadequate, and so are we. We’ve spent decades putting them in power and rewarding them for abusing it.
The infantile behaviour in Westminster continues. So does the raw racist hatred and violence on the streets of England and Wales, the scapegoating of our most vulnerable people, the villifying of our innocent neighbours, the reckless endangering of peace in Europe, and the deliberate ignoring of the awful plight of war refugees when there are more displaced people on the move now than at any time since the end of the second world war.
I couldn’t talk. Sometimes I felt like a small black hole of despair. Other times, like a simmering volcano.
My twitter feed exploded with distress, anger, fear, and analysis. Naturally. Like many people, I expect, I tend to follow and be followed on there by people with whom I’m in broad agreement on political matters.
Much of the analysis and comment was intelligent and right on the button, even amusing…
…but for most of the week I couldn’t engage.
By Friday, I was here:
Yesterday morning, I made it to my local Quaker meeting. And that’s where it all started falling into place for me. My silence, or, rather, my inability to talk for several days. As I sank into the cherished deep silence of the meeting, I felt I’d been unconsciously preparing for it all week.
Peace filled me.
I don’t have any answers for our country or our continent. I certainly don’t pretend to have any answers for individual people. But for me, I will continue to seek and live that peace.
Yesterday evening I stood out on our front patio and took this photo. Captioned it: the evening side of our valley, from the morning side.
It isn’t a great photo, but there is light. There is peace.
Brexit isn’t a great situation, but I’m not going to fall apart. My inner peace will hold me together.