Sunday.

I’ve stared at the screen at this one word Sunday for all of five minutes without adding to it in my post.Funny really,but they you are and those scattered thoughts ,those nodules of thoughts rested there on the edge of action ,of growth as it were,only to be discarded as it that important,It’s like speech. Important speech that we might feel impelled to say to another but just at the crucial moment we stop,we just delay saying anything as it were and retreat into ourselves.

There are times in life when we feel that we wished to have said something and the passage of time reveals that it might have been better if we had.Just like my thoughts a few minutes ago after I wrote the word Sunday,they have now been lost in my mind,unable to be retrieved as such.Life has a way of driving forwards ever onwards always supposedly changing in its chemistry.Wether we agree or not with these changes doesn’t affect the outcome always,and we are left on a limb almost in so many things that are beyond our control.

Maybe we feel that our opinions don’t matter that much,or if we said something to another that they might be offended in some way .That said,and there is no denying that some may well be offended by what we say or do and that is their right,but should that necessarily stop us from expressing ourselves on the matter.It won’t surprise you when I say definitely no.

Just as you can’t really ever tell someone not to think in a certain way,you can’t really tell them not to say certain things as free speech is enshrined in our democracy.So ,in the macro sense,you have people voicing their opinions all the time about politics ,religion,the economy and such like and that is healthy because the alternatives are state control,lack of human rights and every abuse that comes with that.

Life though,and on this Sunday morning here in Dorset isn’t really always about the big questions is it.Sometimes,we regret not talking about the small things ,just starting on that path of isolation into our own world of internals,of me,of my phone,my computer and we just stop talking,stop just recognising the things that we want to say and just saying :”Oh,it’s nothing”,when it is really,it truly is.We might do this for reasons that send us in a turmoil of thoughts,of stress almost,but I wonder if it is possible to ever resolve anything by just silence.

This Sunday,this traditional time for contemplation might be a time for silence to many.but too much silence breeds suspicion ,mistrust,and anxiety on the part of all parties and is almost like a Russian Roulette with someone’s emotions,it can’t ever truly be right.

When I was a boy,my mother and step father would tune into a radio programme on Sundays called “two way family favourites”,where families whose children were serving in the armed services abroad would request music to be played for their loved ones in the far flung corners of the world.Places like Aden,Germany,the old empire countries too.These requests were often accompanied by messages and goodwill wishes as those sent their love and deepest feelings over the air waves.My mother and step father never missed this programme and as a boy,I would sing in the church choir ,returning after the service to find them avidly listening to each request and music choice ,commenting on it and how wonderful it was that Brenda from Blackpool asked for “Close to you by the Carpentars”,to be played for Paul in his barracks at Aidan.

It struck me that our home rarely had good wishes,and rarely had a sense a joy or talk,even though there were so many of us in the early days.It wasn’t the silence of deep contemplation ,more of a silence of mood,of sadness that infected the home and so the irony of this radio programme “two way family favourites”,stuck me even as a child as so very odd.It has stayed with me that however hard it is it is always better to talk if you can ,because of “ignorant Library silence” is so very damaging and abusive.

Nowadays,in this busy life of constant pressures,demands if you like on us,I still feel that people need to communicate ,to just be able to say and not to utter:”It doesn’t matter,it was nothing really”,because it is never really nothing, to really.

Have some joy this Sunday.

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