Joy Archives - Gillian Monks

Tag: Joy

“Christmas is just for children.” How many times have I heard that said? Not nearly as often now as when I was young. Thankfully, I suspect that most of the population under the age of forty would be totally horrified if you tried to suggest that to them. Judging from the many adult themed seasonal gifts and activities which are now on offer – even if many of them are based on over-indulgence – it definitely cannot still be claimed to be the case.

Like many of our so-called children’s activities and customs, including Father Christmas, the Christmas Tree, the nativity play and carol singing, these entertainments were once an integral part of the adult social calendar with their roots in ancient spiritual practice. The celebration of Midwinter is the marking of a solar event which has been crucially central to peoples around the globe since the dawn of time with tremendously serious implications for the future well-being of all mankind. Many religions throughout history have chosen to adopt this hugely significant event, Christianity being only the most recent.

If there is any justification at all for the claim that “Christmas is for children” it is in the fact that children best learn by example; our Midwinter/Christmas activities each year should provide all our little ones with ample demonstration of kindness, generosity and love so that when they, too, grow to adulthood, they will be able to function as caring, responsible and loving members of society.

Here is the real nub of the matter though. Are our modern Christmas activities and ethos fit for purpose in the kindly and caring education of our young? Yet whatever one’s views on Twenty-first Century society, millions of tiny, unnoticed acts of loving thoughtfulness occur each and every day and once a year, at Christmas, we are all given the opportunity to unashamedly demonstrate what genuinely lovely people we can all be. It also gives those who would never otherwise think of performing a charitable act the excuse to display the ‘softer’ side of themselves, disguising embarrassment and self-consciousness in the general melee of seasonal good will.

Who among us is willing to be thought ‘soft’ and carry the Christmas bon homie on further into January and the springtime? These days, another more frequently heard question in relation to the Christmas season is “Why can’t it be Christmas every day?” No one would actually want it to be Christmas Day every day of the year – we would very soon be utterly fed up with it! – but surely the question really appertains to the generosity and love engendered in so many hearts, which, on mass, is a potent and powerfully wonderful occurance. The answer, of course, is that we can have this every day… what is stopping you?

We are the people now grown to adulthood who’s parents made many small and large sacrifices and efforts to give us as perfect childhood Christmases as possible. In every generation there have been wars – or their aftermath – economic crises, health concerns and social challenges. Here we are again, about to enter another new year, with overwhelming social difficulties, even within our so-called privileged and secure United Kingdom: millions of people who work full time but who still cannot earn enough to adequately feed or keep themselves or their families. Others who are struggling with physical and mental ill-health; and the desperate yet ‘invisible’ section of society who live deplorable lives of struggle and hopelessness.

Isn’t it time to demonstrate that we genuinely understand the principles behind our Christmas celebrations and have learned our childhood lessons well? Share whatever little we have with our struggling neighbour? Do not simply think in terms of finance. A smile… a kind word… a friendly gesture… these cost nothing but a fraction of thought and effort and are a good start in bringing ‘Christmas’ into our every day lives throughout the other eleven months of the year.

Remember: Christmas is a state of mind and way of life, ALL the year round.

Think about it!

Just Ambling Along

By Gillian Monks

On October 13, 2021

In Out and About

Yesterday I went for a walk, out into the autumn sunshine among the browning bracken and the gold and copper-coloured trees. We left home in low cloud and drizzle, but on leaving our slate valley (which attracts moisture like a sponge!) we drove out onto sunshine.

The magical hill of Dinas Emrys

The path we took follows the River Glaslyn from Craflwyn to Llyn Dinas, passing the ancient hill fort of Dinas Emrys on the way. Legend tells how it was here, aged little more than a boy, that Merlin first flexed his magical powers by identifying the battling red and white dragons which lived beneath the pool on top of the hill.

Llyn Dinas also has its legends and stories – one in which the local community would build a raft at the time of Beltane (beginning of May) and using it to transport their chosen May king and queen across the water to the opposite bank where an ox would be slaughtered and great feasting and celebration take place.

It all looks so placid and tranquil now. Yesterday I was content to sit upon the rocks and simply ‘be’… to absorb the heat of the sunshine, the warmth of the soft breezes, the beauty, space, silence and peace of the place. That is, until a walking party began to approach down the hillside. Loudly talking all the way I could hear them from quite a distance. Unfortunately for me, they decided to make brief temporary camp at the end of the lake where I was, still loudly talking all the while.

The path home

I suspect that they were missing a vital part of their experience by taking their human busy-ness and gregarious sociability with them as they walked. What greater wonders might they have experienced if they had quietened and simply stood or sat for even just five minutes to allow themselves to absorb their surroundings via all their senses on every level? The fact that by the time they reached me I was standing stock still in an inch of lake water, eyes tight shut, with my hands raised to the sky perhaps might have given them a clue.

I recently read in the newspaper that English Heritage have launched an initiative this autumn whereby visitors are encouraged to spend the final hour of opening in silence – switching off their phones and other devices, finishing conversations and deeply entering into the peace of their surroundings in a more contemplative day. What a marvellous idea! After all, what has initially prompted these people to visit such venues in the first place? A different backdrop from which to send their texts, emails and play games from? Surely not.

The problem is that folk tend to immediately jump to the conclusion that if they are asked to be contemplative they must dive into some deep, difficult, mystical form of meditation which they don’t know how to ‘do’. All it needs is a little stillness and silence; to take the time to look about one and absorb one’s surroundings as best one can… look, watch, smell, feel and taste where you are with appreciation and gratitude… and so we begin to more deeply connect with our wonderful world and our own unique life.

Through the woods besides the Glaslyn

I once suggested a little exercise to my Earthwalking students whereby they were to stop every hour – just for a minute or two – and look about them. (I also advised them to set an alarm to prompt them not to miss the hour.) It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing – on the bus, in the middle of shopping, eating a meal, at work, bathing the kids, hanging out the washing, (not driving, of course, unless they chose to pull over and stop). I asked them to then take that minute or two to look about them and really see where they were; touch, smell, listen to their surroundings, and be thankful for them…

By the end of one day doing this every hour, most of them felt much calmer and far more engaged with their ordinary mundane surroundings – some even began to see how lovely they were and feel joy and thankfulness for them. Try it and see for yourself. You don’t have to go and sit besides a gorgeous lake in the mountains, anywhere and everywhere is magically beautiful. It just depends on how you choose to see it.

Falling Leaves

By Gillian Monks

On October 1, 2021

In News

The kindness and support I have received from friends, family, acquaintances and medical staff alike over the past few weeks has been a constant source of delight, wonder and amazement to me.

For those of you following me on this journey, I did indeed manage to lower my blood pressure sufficiently and my operation at Glan Clwyd hospital went ahead as planned.

That was on Monday, 20th September. I returned home the same afternoon, totally as high as a kite on the after-effects of the anaesthesia. After napping for three hours, I was then awake for twenty-five hours, planning my future, mapping out my winter and spring work schedule, even designing the cover of my next book and bopping around my bedroom in the golden autumn sunshine to the strains of favourite pop music from my young years back in the ’70’s.

Then I worked for three days over the weekend – admittedly at a slower, more considered rate… and then went down with a throat infection which has made me feel vulnerable and miserable with a stiff swollen neck, rough throat and cough. I hold my hands up. I should have paced myself better. Mea culpa. Happy days!

Yesterday, I attended a consultation with my specialist at Ysbyty Gwynedd. The cancer has been successfully removed. None of the lymph nodes also removed during the operation had been in the least affected. All clear. Celebration!!!

But. There always has to be one, doesn’t there? There must always be some ‘governor’, criteria to steady and balance and help to slot everything into perspective. Mine, now, is that the cancer might still be lurking around and in my system somewhere, ready to dive in and stir up my life all over again when I least expect it.

I had already been informed that I would have to take medication – in the form of tablets – each day for the next five years, also take a course of radiotherapy, have regular yearly check-ups and mammograms. Now my consultant is advising me about the efficacy and wisdom of that other emotionally loaded little ‘c’ word… chemotherapy.

Some forms of breast cancer respond very well to chemo and shrivel and die at the mere suggestion. Others are completely unaffected by it. To discover which category my little ‘visitor’ falls into, some of the cancerous cells have now been dispatched, post haste, to a laboratory in California.

It will be about two months before any further treatment of the nasty invasive kind can take place. My task at present is to recover my health and strength.

In the meantime, I have other tasks to fulfil on other levels.

My heart goes out to all the many people who are currently undergoing or have in the past gone through the painful transformational challenges of ill health. It is tough in the extreme. Personally, I have learned to bless my physical body and the varying state of my health. It is a great guide, an all-knowing teacher and a source of wonderful experience and opportunity.

Right now, I have a great deal to process and work through on many levels, so none of you – even my nearest and dearest – might hear anything from me for a few weeks. I am absolutely fine, but I ask that you understand that I need this time and space – please do not take offense. I love you all dearly – and yes, that applies just as much to the reader who has only just discovered my blogs as it does to my closest friend and is not said lightly or glibly but felt deeply and sincerely by me. Love and gratitude – along with the inevitable accompanying sense of joy – is what my private, inner philosophy is based on.

You might come across me sat alone at the beach, or somewhere along a woodland path or out on the mountain side, but I shall be in deep communication with all that is around me and with all that is buried deep within me. I shall be full of love and joy. Rest assured that everything is just as it should be with me.

I might even post a few blogs during that time – I have some ideas which I would love to share with you all.

In the meantime, a huge ‘thank you’ to you ALL for your loving support. It is also incredibly humbling. I have verily floated on a warm sea of good will and loving wishes and it has been such a massively beneficial part of my experience recently – I cannot convey just to what degree I feel wonderfully blessed by you all.

With my love.

Perspective

By Gillian Monks

On September 17, 2021

In Musings of the Hearth

At the end of July I found a lump. As the advert says, just a very little thing. This coming Monday, I am having a cancerous tumour removed from my breast. The prognosis is excellent and full recovery expected.

Yet there are always those unpretentious yet niggling and unsettling little words, ‘what if?’

Throughout my life I have had numerous challenges provided by my health; some have been long and protracted, some agonisingly painful, but I have never had anything which was potentially life threatening before. For many years now I have learned to accept the fluctuating state of my health as opportunities in disguise, wise guides, to be given gratitude and blessed.

My current situation hasn’t affected me any differently. After a very difficult, draining and traumatising time this past year in connection with close family members, that little ‘c’ word has given me focus and permission to leave the past behind and fully enter into and relish every moment, to stop procrastinating in any way and do it now… whatever it is.

In the past few weeks there has been so much love and laughter in our home. Every moment, every breath has become a sacred joy and my gratitude and exuberance to engage with everything around me has brought intense wonder, fulfilment and enlightenment. I find myself continually cresting a wave of energy which is perfectly formed from unconditional love, and I am completely blown away by it.

However, I now find that there is even more to my current situation than I first thought. Our physical bodies and our higher selves will go to the most extraordinary lengths to bring into our circle of experience just the right situation, activity or understanding. In this case, it has been discovered that my blood pressure is far too high; so high that they may refuse to give me the operation in three days time and the procedure may have to be postponed until my B.P. is more healthy.

Now, I have to confess that I have known that my blood pressure was not as it should be for some time; that I wasn’t successfully controlling it any more as I have for the past eighteen years, but I have had other concerns to deal with and have kept ignoring it. Now, my body has taken a firm and unrelenting grip of the situation. I either address the problems with my blood pressure or I eventually die of cancer. No wiggle room. No argument.

Even more staggering is the thought that everyone is so terribly fazed by cancer, but here I have been walking around with a condition – quite easily treatable – which could severely incapacitate or even kill me in the next hour. Where is the sense in that? Therefore, I have even more reason to give deep gratitude to my little ‘blip’ – my cancer has possibly saved my life.

It is all too easy to rant and rage against what life is apparently throwing at us. Right now, I feel even luckier than I did a couple of weeks ago. Life is good and it works in mysterious but amazingly wonderful ways which so often are not at all obvious. I humbly submit to whatever life has in store for me next.

I completely agree with the closing of words in the book ‘Journey Into Spirit’, written by Kris Hughes, who is head of the Anglesey Druidic Order:

‘LIVE! Take this life and be it, run with it through pain and joy, and bring every ounce of colour and brightness you can to the song of the universe. This is your story; make it a good one.’