Chair's February Blog: A New Season - Translucent, Elusive, but Growing Stronger…

A New Season: Translucent, Elusive, but Growing Stronger…

By Anne Dixon

“A new season had crept into me, a softer season of acceptance. Burnt in by the sun, driven in by the storms. I could feel the earth, the sky, the water and revel in being part of the elements without a chasm of pain opening at the thought of the loss of our place within it all. I was a part of the whole. I didn’t need to own a patch of land to make that so. I could stand in the wind and I was the wind, the rain, the sea: it was all me and I was nothing within it. The core of me wasn’t lost. Translucent, elusive, but there, and growing stronger with every headland”.

The Salt Path, p.185 

With these words Raynor Winn captures the moment of realisation that something within her has changed. In the face of devastating losses, she and her husband, Moth, begin a long trek along the South Coastal Path because they simply have nowhere else to go. They have no idea how much of the 613 mile path they will cover, where they will end up, or what they will do when they get there, but it’s better than doing nothing. The physical exertion and the practicalities of securing food and shelter for one day at a time keep their minds occupied and the pain at bay. And while they are not looking, something changes.

Change is something that happens when we’re not looking. We think that we’re doing one thing, but it turns out to be something completely different. After the disappointment of a curtailed Christmas celebration and little to lift the lockdown days, January seemed interminable. February appeared, to me, to stretch ahead with little promise (apart from two family birthdays on Zoom). Then, two things happened at once - I began reading the Salt Path, and I started a new project.

The combination turned out to be salvific (though I didn’t immediately see the connection). Events conspired to create a favourable time for a covid-secure project and my diary was clear, so  I seized the opportunity. I would love to tell you I’ve been doing something noble and magnificent, but the truth is, I’ve been decorating! Emulsion, undercoat, satinwood, walls, skirting, architraves, kitchen, lounge bedroom and bathroom in an endless repetition of Brilliant White (with occasional grey highlights). I dream of dust sheets and sandpaper, I have paint under my nails and my clothes smell of white spirit, but every evening, despite the tiredness, there is the visible evidence of progress and it is deeply, and surprisingly, satisfying.

Now, the days, like those of Raynor and Moth, are filled with a physical exertion that has left little time for introspection, just work, eat, sleep, repeat. Yet, as the month of February now races to a close, I realise that I too have walked out into a new freedom, ‘a new season has crept into me’.

In the midst of the month, Lent arrived and we were ready for it. On Ash Wednesday, we knew we were dust - we were covered in it! We enacted an examination of conscience by taking down the curtains and letting the light flood in, the pure daylight revealing the areas needing the most attention. As an exercise in contemplative prayer we adopted the slow rhythmic motion of the paintbrush on woodwork, up, down, up, down. Step back, consider, continue. We entered a slower time, silences were longer, conversations deeper. And somewhere, sometime, something changed. The restless impatience left us to be replaced by an odd contentment.

Lent is not over, the decorating project is not finished, and in truth, just like the spiritual work we do in Lent, we could go deeper, we could do more, but for today, it is enough. We have discovered that when we are unable to influence the big picture, it sometimes helps to focus on a smaller area to address our spirit’s agitation or the core of our being. It may be translucent and elusive but it is growing stronger with every paint pot.