State of Alarm- day Seventy Two

I woke up to more physical improvement on day five of the antibiotics after a good night's sleep, but still with a sense of anxiety and insecurity clouding my brain. threatening to drive me to tears with nothing specific to cry over. Things are sorting themselves out slowly. Anthony is coming to stay in the spare flat down at ground level in this house, a 'just in case' measure suggested by the chaplaincy council, as there's no guarantee that improvement won't be followed by another setback. It will be nice to have company. I think this is a good idea.

Solveig came, bringing a cooked lunch with her. I was already cooking having forgotten she'd said this. She also brought me my next lot of prescription meds, and a pack of wound dressings to try out, as the one's I brought with me for eight weeks are coming to end. After lunch, I felt the need to lie down and relax quietly for a moment while the coffee was brewing. I relaxed but wasn't aware of falling asleep, perhaps I did. Solveig went out on an errand. In fact, throughout I felt fully awake and relaxed in the still silence as if in a trance. When Solveig returned I heard her and got up, aware that the toxic dark emotional cloud had gone from my mind, leaving me feeling clear sharp and ... as normal as I'll ever be.

As far as I am concerned, only God hands out gifts like this, far more discretely than Santa! But I do know that I'm being prayed for here across Ibiza, in Cardiff, at my beloved Ty Mawr Convent, and other places too. Lying there conscious was like the sensation you can get, floating perfectly in a swimming pool. Upheld by prayer? No doubt. In the past few days when I didn't have energy to read the Daily Office, all I could do is say the Jesus Prayer and our Lord's own prayer, and let myself be carried on the prayers of others. 'Members of one another' St Paul calls it.

Then we drove down to Cala Conta and walked along the bear to the 17th century watch tower I took a photo of from the top of Sa'Atalaya. It's a three kilometer trek to the headland along the pine clad cliff edge, stunningly beautiful in perfect weather. All my photos are here. In the harbour boats were full of local youngsters partying. Speed boats were out joyriding, and paddle boarders were out enjoying the absence of wind and waves. 

Normally, the island beaches are full of foreign holidaymakers, and these young people are working to serve them. Holiday flights aren't likely to re-start for several more weeks and there's no work. Lock-down has eased enough except at urban beaches to enable local people to treat this free time as a holiday respite before the work season begins. The competing heavy sounds of disco music pulsating from different craft isn't my taste, but happy voices laughing and chattering certainly is.
For a few moments at the start of the walk I wondered if I'd be OK, if I'd drunk enough water etc, but this gave way to the rhythm of the walk and taking pictures, The clearheadedness remained and there was no hint of fatigue. What a blessing! 

If the cloud returns, I know what I need to to do prevent it from having a nasty impact on me. I have long known how to let my head clear. It's not a technique I can describe to others, but it's wherever God is - a still silent holy place inside. It's what St John of the Cross speaks of in his poem made into the  Taize chant. 'De noche, eremos de noche, que para encontrar la fuente' This Spanish phrase aroused my interest in learning the language. I'm still taken with the fact that 'encontrar' is used both for 'to meet' and 'to find' - 'We go by night to meet/find the Source ..' only thirst lights the way. It's enough to give space to this need, to put it first, then God acts in God's unique subtle way  

Mild PTSD symptoms due to this ailment of mine are part of what I must live with until the physical causes are put right and even if there's no recurrence, there's no cure for those memories. Letting go of them straight away, not letting myself to be distracted by anything else is essential. It's just as you'd do if you accidentally took a poison, you'd quickly make yourself get rid of it. But on your own it's impossible, and it's fatal if you don't see the need.

By the grace of God today I broke out of a toxic vicious cycle I didn't know I was in. The Almighty is a practical teacher if needs be, but His aim is to enable you to learn for yourself, remember and use what you've learned.

After supper Anthony called around to say hello. I haven't seen him since that first Sunday lunch at Sarah's after I arrived, just before lock-down. We chatted for an hour and agreed it would make a welcome change to have company and a neighbour to chat to. He moves in on Monday.

The ground on which we stand

I was back on midweek duty this morning, celebrating the Eucharist at St Catherine's with eight others. Because of the readings, I took the opportunity to reflect with them on the church's ministry of healing, making use of the laying on of hands. It's struck me how important that is in this day and age when medical treatment is all narrowly specialised and organised around tests and procedures. It may indeed all be very effective, but the process reduces the case load to patient and procedure numbers. The whole person isn't treated, only presenting problems and symptoms. The best medicine is holistic and some of it happens in GP surgeries where a real effort is made to care for people, but even those generalist doctors are obliged to be a specialist some of their working time. It's right and good that the Christian community addresses sick people as whole persons first and last. Ministry of Unction and Laying on of Hands represents this affirmation.

At least the rain has been lighter this past few days, but colder. The wind has been occasionally gusty, making my daily walk a little challenging on times. I was amazed to see a ten foot long branch on the ground along the avenue of trees across Llandaff Fields, which had blown down overnight. What was unusual was that it had completely disintegrated into rotten fragments on hitting the ground. How the dead branch had stayed attached to the tree for so long without breaking off is remarkable. It fell over the touch line of one of the rugby pitches. If that had come down during a match, the consequences could have been tragic. I can't understand why Cardiff Council's parks department tree officers didn't notice it before. It could have been up there decomposing for several years since it died.

Down at Blackweir Bridge, the river management crew has been at work since Sunday removing tons of silt washed downstream by the floods. There are tons more silt in dark red tide marks at the edge of the lower field as well, and huge reddish silt stains in the upper field where flood waters reached. It must be rich with microscopic organisms, as flocks of crows, starlings and gulls spend a long time on the ground foraging. The soil of the flood plain is for the most part greyish in colour, as coastal rock strata are Jurassic / Liassic Limestone. The waters of the Taff pass through a gorge to entre the flood plain, part of a long rocky outcrop at the southern end of the South Wales Coalfield. The strata in this outcrop are various ages of sandstone, some blue Grey Pennant, but also Old Red Sandstone, which is darker in colour than the New Red tends to be. It's fascinating. In the countryside on both sides of the city flood plain the soil tends to be red, reflecting what's in the rock below. The variety is fascinating. My Grandpa Kimber taught me all about local geology when I was still in Primary School, and for this lifelong interest I'm indebted to him.