The Day of Saints - Day 13, Leven

St Leven's Well, above Chapel Cove

"...I've come to the conclusion that while the occasional day on my own is

necessary and useful, two days walking alone is boring and depressing,

and if I don't get some company soon this walk is going to turn into

a gloomy, eventless trudge, and turn me into a morose, unperceptive

robo-hiker." - (Walking Away, Simon Armitage, 2015)

Thinking about the identity and character of saints, though they clearly became known as holy people, with some special insight, spiritual connection to God, or gifting, surely there were also ordinary people in the sense of being incomplete, having hang-ups and defects like the rest of us.

Part of my thinking when I wrote that three line poem in the previous post was that saints in the church militant (on earth - rather than church triumphant, in heaven), are still works in process, justified by being in Christ but not yet fully sanctified (unless one has reached some Wesleyan state of perfection). Following that thought, I remembered what Revd Vanda had said about Cornish born St Leven, or Selevan as he is sometimes known (the Celtic form of Solomon), "He seemed to be a bit of a grumpy old man!" I may not yet be as old as that epithet implies, and probably not as grumpy, but I can identify with feeling like that sometimes, and as a bit of an introvert wanting more space, fewer people around and so on, here is my take on the grumpy old saint. Forgive him, and me for the slightly course language I've included for effect.

Crows above the Cliff Path

FOR LEVEN

Grumpy Old Man

Yesterday, I told a man to 'Sod off!'

(He'd asked me if I was travelling alone.)

but he didn't.

I deserved and apology but what did I expect?

None was given.

It didn't even seem to cross his mind, whoever he was,

but as I strode on again I heard myself,

And that hurt -

because it was meant to.

'This is my turf, my cliff top, my path, in my land,'

(I hoped I'd made my point)

'All I want is a bit of peace and quiet'.

He'd have a resentful look, and would curse under his breath,

but when I looked to make sure, (he was following me, I thought),

I couldn't see him.

This morning, he was there again, ahead in the trees by the gate.

'Give me strength!' I thought,

'I want time to myself, and is that too much to ask?'

Then, shocked by a murder squawking and arcing over,

I heard his words right there in their noise, wounding,

Insistent, like a baby crying nearby -

(Bring it here, I'll pull it in two!)

And I turned back,

And I saw no one.

I saw instead,

I had confused the path of loneliness with that of solitude

I had looked for a life of abandon and found I had abandoned life.

So, lone traveller, what do you seek?

Reaching a cave today,

and squeezing into the dark,

I was alone, but he was there;

in the dripping of water from the walls,

in the slipping of mud on the earthen floor,

in each brushing of the grasses outside and

and in the tumbling of the brine

beyond the mouth of the sky.

I heard my breath against the walls,

And I heard my heart within its cage,

and I heard me speak no more,

and then I heard the silence.

Stay here,

Sojourne with me,

This hollow will be filled,

No more a void,

Let them come,

Let them in.

Ask only for wisdom,

And then Leven you shall be!

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Stained Glass detail, Matthew 11_28