Not Ego, After All

I had no intention of ever standing up and speaking in the Meeting because I've been a vicar and I don't want to do anything that harks back to that time.

Only this inner voice started up.

We have books laid out on the table in the centre of the circle. "Pick up the Bible," said the voice.

"No".

"Pick up the Bible..."

"No, you're just Ego speaking. You want me to make an exhibition of myself."

"Pick up the Bible."

One of the Friends stood and told a story about how all living things are connected.

"Pick up the Bible."

"O very well, but I'm not agreeing to actually read anything out of it."

I got up, went to the table, picked up a book. It was the wrong book. The Bible was at the far end. By the time I got back to my seat I'd already drawn attention to myself.

Another Friend stood and said something that enlarged on what the first Friend had said.

I opened the Bible at the Book of Psalms. "That's where you'll find the bit you need to read," said the Inner Voice.

I lit on Psalm 148. And, O yes, the Inner Voice was right.

I mentally edited the text. I wasn't going to read the whole thing- just the bit that capped and rounded off everything that had already been said. Keep it brief. Friends aren't about words. Not lots of words, anyway.

"Praise the Lord from the heavens, praise him in the heights
Praise him all his angels, praise him, all his host!"

And so on... through the ranks of creation, down to the "Young men and maidens together, old men and children."

There was even a particulary timely mention of the "Kings of the Earth."

"Go on," said the Inner Voice. "Your turn now"

So I stood and spoke as directed...

Threnody

The day of the royal funeral dawns orange with a smudge of rainbow in the western sky like an angel's thumbprint.

Then the clouds move in.

I listen to Gregg Braden and John Robertson talking about how we stand between two worlds, one falling apart around us, the other struggling into the light. Never, they agree, has there been so much opportunity.

I walk down to the sea. The streets aren't empty. People are about- mostly people with children.

As I stroll the Inner Voice comes online again and offers me some doggerel verse which I accept reluctantly, knock into shape and decide to call "Threnody".

Isn't it pretty? Isn't it fine?
It isn't mine, it isn't mine.

The world takes stock, the world moves on,
Glitter and gone, glitter and gone.

I look to the sea and the sea says "Hush".
Dustpan and brush, dustpan and brush.