This weekend has been rather good. I've been spending time with the Quaker group as they have their summer weekend meeting.
I also spent time with Gill which was pleasant and had a difficult phone call with Ross when I had to tell him that Pickfords have come up with a quote that will cost hundreds of pounds to move and store his possessions. I'm sure there has to be another way of doing this - like storing things at his parents but we'll see how it pans out.
Meanwhile, back to the Quakers. I helped build a bender on the Saturday morning.
Now, leaving those sniggers behind from those who think that a bender can only
be a slang reference to a gay man, I am here to tell you that a bender can also
be a dwelling structure constructed out of branches which are bent into shape and
then tied into position. During the afternoon, I assisted with Web demos and was
much thanked for my assistance. It was also good just hanging out and talking
with people.
Sunday I cooked a rice and prawn dish which was much admired and I had more talk with people. I felt that I have really been accepted by them even though they aren't pressuring me into any declaration about what I want from them. At meeting, one of the members read the following poem by Michel Quoist. It meant a lot to me. I felt it talked to me about where I am and I felt it summed up a lot about what I feel about the sort of abuse suffered by David and Ross and other people I have known. Basically, when you fuck the child, you fuck the god out of him/her.
I like youngsters
God says: I like youngsters. I want people to be like them.
I don't like old people unless they are still children.
I want only children in my kingdom; this has been decreed from the beginning of time.
Youngsters - twisted, humped, wrinkled, white-bearded - all kinds of youngsters, but youngsters.
There is no changing it, it has been decided, there is room for no one else.
I like little children because my likeness has not yet been dulled in them.
They have not botched my likeness, they are new, pure, without a blot, without a smear.
So, when I gently lean over them, I recognise myself in them.
I like them because they are still growing, they are still improving.
They are on the road, they are on their way.
But with grown-ups there is nothing to expect any more.
They will no longer grow, no longer improve.
They have come to a full stop.
It is disastrous - grown-ups think they have arrived.
I like youngsters because they are still struggling, because they are still sinning.
Not because they sin - if you understand me - but because they know that they sin, and they say so, and they try not to sin any more.
But I don't like grown-ups, they never harm anyone, they have nothing to reproach themselves for.
I can't forgive them, I have nothing to forgive.
It is a pity, it is indeed a pity, because it is not true.
But above all, I like youngsters because of the look in their eyes. In their eyes I can read their age.
In my heaven, there will be only five-year-old eyes, for I know of nothing more beautiful than the pure eyes of a child.
It is not surprising, for I live in children, and it is I who look out through their eyes.
When pure eyes meet yours, it is I who smile at you through the flesh.
But on the other hand, I know of nothing sadder than lifeless eyes in the face of a child.
The windows are open, but the house is empty.
Two eyes are there, but no light.
And, saddened, I stand at the door, and wait in the cold and knock. I am eager to get in.
And he, the child, is alone.
He fattens, he hardens, he dries up, he gets old. Poor old fellow!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Open, all of you, little old men!
It is I, your God, the Eternal, risen from the dead, coming to bring back to life the child in you.
Hurry! Now is the time. I am ready to give you again the beautiful face of a child, the beautiful eyes of a child...
For I love youngsters, and I want everyone to be like them.