On a day when Crich is wrapped in a grey, thick wad of fog it’s good to know that it’s Deewali. I’ve always been a great fan of Deewali, ever since, many years
ago a student of mine invited Deirdre and I to their celebrations. These were first generation Ugandan Asians, victims of Idi Amin’s cruel expulsions. I was teaching several of them and they had ghastly stories to tell that no 17 year olds should have experienced. Yet there was no trace of darkness or shadow in this Festival of Lights – it was a joyous celebration of sparkling saris, candles, laughter, dancing, warm welcoming and divine food. Yesterday Chancellor Rishi Sunak lit ritual candles on the doorstep of Number 11. For those families celebrating this heritage it is all rather enclosed this weekend and inevitably they are longing to be closer and more intimate with their loved ones. We sat on two benches in Matlock Bath with a few coloured lights around us, and the grandchildren at a safe distance eating fish and chips. One for Deirdre and one for me (child not chips!). We too would have loved to have been able to slide along the bench and snuggle up a bit closer, maybe even sharing some mushy peas.
So I love the idea of Deewali, blazing lights against the gloom and decking out with jewels and sparkle. Having a feast in late November is an aim, a consummation, whether Deeweali or Thanksgiving. On Zoom the other night with some American friends, apart from lamenting their political chaos, we were told how they will be celebrating Thanksgiving. As it happens the Wampanoag tribespeople didn’t rescue the Pilgrim Fathers of Crich with corn and pumpkins as they did the original Pilgrim Fathers, so we have to plod on through November in our own dour way. If you’re interested tomorrow in the Liturgical Calendar is the 23rd Sunday after Trinity, but hardly a reason to cook the turkey, wind our glorious saris around us and do the Conga in the streets.
But it is also the 2nd Sunday before Advent. So here we are this year, with nothing to distract us, thinking about Christmas and waiting for Advent, or to put it another way waiting for the Waiting. It may be waiting for December 2nd and whatever mystery will unfold, and/or waiting for that ultimate mystery of Christmas. This year that in itself may be even more mysterious than usual. We’re struggling with just waiting, urged on by the need to take control of time and do something. I’m drawn at this point to Samuel Becket’s ‘Waiting for Godot’, a play I think I know, just as many people think they know ‘Catch 22’ or ‘1984’.
“Vladimir: What do we do now? ‘ Estragon: Wait. Vladimir: Yes, but while waiting.
VLADIMIR: Well? Shall we go? ESTRAGON: Yes, let's go. (They do not move.”) “VLADIMIR: Well? What do we do?
We either face this existential dilemma, to quote Becket again, “There’s no lack of void,” or we’re spurred on by our Western Protestant Capitalist mentality, or we lose consciousness and go into suspended animation, or we learn to be, and just wait. I haven’t achieved this last state very often. Once, staying in an old cottage on an island in the middle of a large American Lake I wrote this, written as a round, in other words starting again as soon as it’s finished. To make the point I’m quoting it again, having quoted it in an earlier Blog.
LINGERING AROUND
We've lingered a long time here,
You and I.
We've seen the sun shining
And watched the frost melt
From spider webs.
We've gazed into the fire
And you were the fire
Who flickered warmth
And flickered thought.
And we lay on our backs
And named the stars
And wondered which way the pine trees grew.
So this is as good a place as any
To linger a long time,
You and I.........
..........................
The waiting theme has caught on in the village. This morning long, spaced queues waited masked and patiently outside each shop. In self-congratulatory style I reflected how in the summer I had commented that it was fine queuing in the sunshine but it would be pretty miserable in the winter. And I was being proved right. In fact I cheered some fellow shoppers by pointing this out. But it was a lesson in waiting – waiting was accepted and communal, the repartee was good and there was nothing to hurry for.
Crich is planning its own Festival of Lights, gardens to be lit up, candles in windows, singing on doorsteps. I think it should be to celebrate the Now rather than what’s coming. Whatever is coming had better be worth waiting for!