acceptance

Looking at the news and hearing about the numerous difficulties and challenges of others, one might be forgiven for slipping into a sense of despair. The climate crisis alone is sure to give one pause. And no matter what deals are written this week at COP26, they are as insignificant as warm air upon the wind unless they are acted upon.

All of this got me to thinking about hope. It was the middle of the night and I was lying awake fretting over the very troubling news of a good friend. What is hope, after all? Is it, as the ancient Greeks claimed, but a cruel trick?

Pandora’s box

According to the myth, Prometheus angered the gods by giving the humans he created fire. As a consequence, he was doomed to daily, insufferable torture, but his brother Epimetheus was allowed to remain living among their creations on Earth. Having the faculty of foresight, Prometheus begged his brother not to accept any gifts from the gods, as he feared their vindictiveness would not end with his own punishment.

When Epimetheus was presented with the exceptionally lovely Pandora to be his wife and an exquisite box as a wedding gift from Zeus; however, he was unable to refuse. We all know the rest. Pandora, overcome with curiosity, opens the box, which releases the evils of the world. At the bottom lies hope. This is often interpreted as an act of kindness, but the more likely explanation is rather more bleak. The Greek gods were not famous for their altruism, after all. Hope is there, not to give succour to the humans, but rather to perpetuate their misery by giving them the strength to continue amidst all difficulty.

So, in the depth of night, I wondered if this was true. Was hope only a way of making us endure with false optimism or was it something else? Dawn was a long way off and I had plenty time to contemplate this.

**Holding hope in our hands** Image Ronak Valobobhai on Unsplash

Here’s hoping

My first thought was how hope was not hope but merely wishful thinking when we use it to desire a good outcome without having done much to secure it. I’m certain that I’m not the only person to prepare insufficiently for an exam or event and still keep my fingers crossed that the result will be good. Occasionally, we are lucky and it is; however, more often than not, it isn’t.

Many of us will be hoping for a good outcome of the COP26 summit, but unless we are willing to give that hope assistance in the form of life adjustments, our dreams are unlikely to be fulfilled. Such hope is, in fact, dangerous. The attitude that technology will save us; science will save us; politicians will save us, absolves us of responsibility and we need do nothing but wait. I would not wish to gamble on those odds.

**If I wish hard enough it will come true, right?** Image: Dayne Topkin on Unsplash

Good intentions

The road to Hell, they say, is paved with good intentions. I had always interpreted this to mean that without action, our good intentions are worthless. But it can equally mean that good intentions do not ensure positive outcomes. Those scientists who developed pesticides and herbicides to increase crop yields no doubt felt they were benefitting farmers and us by ensuring a bountiful and affordable food supply. The devastation that it has brought to the entire insect world would not have occurred to them. For a thorough examination of this phenomenon known as ‘the law of unintended consequences’, you may like to read the article here: https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/word-less/201904/the-road-hell-is-paved-good-intentions

Yet, without intentionality and the belief that we can improve situations, we are rendered powerless. So what exactly should we do? I confess that I’m not certain. For now, I’m going with a sort of two-pronged approach: to spend time in contemplation seeking a compassionate mindset and in making small steps in what I hope to be the correct direction. A gentle, methodical approach may not be exciting, but it does allow for flexibility and adjustments.

The urgency surrounding climate change may seem to warrant a rapid response, but it also means that we must get it right. If we take it upon ourselves to be as well-informed as we possibly can and to act without self-interest, I do believe that some good can come.

Sometimes, what we hope for simply isn’t possible. No amount of wishing will ensure it. Here, all we can do is bring acceptance to the situation and attempt to minimise the obvious stress and suffering of those involved. I do not feel equipped to do this yet, but I can certainly try to learn the skill of compassionate listening in the desire that it might help.

**From the heart**
Image: Photo by Meghna R on Unsplash

Equally, often what we hope for does not materialise. Life has a habit of taking us by surprise and the goals we have laboured for so long are snatched away. Hard though it is to appreciate at the time, this might be better for us. Though my life has hardly gone to plan over the last several years, I’m not sure that the outcomes have been any worse than if they had. What I have lost in health and material wealth has been more than compensated for in leisure time (to write this, for example), friendship and an opportunity for spiritual development. On balance, I believe I am better off in all the ways that count. Though I regularly have to remind myself of this when frustrated by my limitations. You really can’t have it all.

All will be well

When life seems especially bleak, the words of the medieval anchoress, Julian of Norwich, are very welcome. Sometimes I repeat them on an indefinite loop, but only today did I look up the source. I discovered that these words came from a vision she had while dangerously ill. She was questioning why God had allowed sin (all the contents of Pandora’s box) to enter the world when he was omnipotent. Here is the answer she received:

But Jesus, who in this vision informed me of all that is needed by me, answered with these words and said: ‘It was necessary that there should be sin; but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love

It seems that despite life’s suffering, we need not despair for ultimately, ‘all will be well’. Is she right? I certainly hope so.

As I get older and myself enter my autumn years, I’ve found my affection for this season increasing. It is a subtle time full of muted colour, mellow sunlight and crisp, dry days.

It is tempting to think of autumn as summer’s swan song; a last performance before the chill of winter sets in. Yet, autumn is not an addendum to summer, a nostalgic nod to former, warmer days, but a season in its own right filled with the matured glories of the ending year.

Harvest

Pumpkins and plenty Image: Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

Until the 16th century and our gradual move from an agrarian to industrial society, autumn was known as harvest. Indeed, in some Germanic languages, it still is.

I think it a more fitting name, for this is the period when the crops are brought in; a time of plenty, even glut. Keats describes it as:

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run
John Keats ‘To Autumn’

Looked at in this way, it is no longer summer’s poor relation, but a period of joyous abundance. Though my garden is less colourful than before, there are still apples and pears to be picked, raspberries on their canes and a second wave of squashes flowering. My black kale is now large enough to crop and my giant sunflowers are growing apace. Across the land, there is a profusion of wild and cultivated crops. Hedgerows are laced with elderberries, blackberries and sloes. The last perfectly timed for making special Christmas gin.

Autumn crocus Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Celebrating autumn

Though autumn technically begins on 22 September with the autumn equinox, I like to think of it as beginning on the 1 September. Though few people decorate to celebrate autumn, I have always liked to – not least because it also marks the beginning of a school year and my students enjoyed the changing environment of my home classroom.

Though I have few students now and need to teach on-line, there is nothing to stop me creating my own autumn display and I encourage you to do the same. There is an abundance of beautiful foliage, seed heads and hardy fruits and vegetables that you can decorate with and of course, those rare, delightful autumn blooms.

Floral tribute to the season Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Bringing nature inside (whatever the season) invariably uplifts us. We do not need to have floristry skills to arrange a bouquet- only a vase. And if our display ends up like a primary school nature table, so what? I like those.

A dear friend in the States always honours every season with elaborate decorations (even when travelling with her job). What appeared, at first, as an adorable idiosyncracy has become a model for living. Making the effort to mark the season in and of itself makes it special. Selecting, picking and arranging flowers and objects makes us focus on their meaning. These little tableaus offer perfect life lessons that we absorb almost unconsciously – and the pleasure of our finished work brings us (and others) joy.

The dying leaf has a poignant beauty Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

I confess that I now follow her lead shamelessly and look forward to the challenge that each new display brings.

Quiet times

The occasional riotous assemblies of Halloween and Bonfire Night aside, autumn is a quiet time, ripe for reflection and contemplation. The gentle melancholy that accompanies the end of summer is more to be enjoyed than shunned. Just as a picture without shadow has no depth, so a year.

And I like the stillness of the season. We have no great expectations. We require nothing of autumn. If it gifts us with a balmy day, we greet it with gratitude. If we are given rain and drear skies, we try not to complain. Autumn helps teach us acceptance – and we are all the better for it.

Tag: acceptance

Giving Hope a Helping Hand