20160429

You know very well



I used to wear shoes. I had black lace-up shoes like this one that I wore on Sundays and had to polish every week. This was done outside, for fear of spreading shoe polish beyond the remit of the shoes. I did not like the job. On one occasion I remember my mother telling me I hadn't done a good job on the *** part of the shoe (I cannot remember - maybe heel, sole...). I asked - where is that? And my mother answered - "you know very well what I mean". But I didn't. No good arguing. So I remain in ignorance to this day as to what that part of a shoe was.  All this I explained in a previous post and no apologies for repeating myself.

Sometimes I hear parents in similar dialogues with their progeny and my heart misses a beat. But not just children - so often there is such an expectation that one should already know a thing that even eating humble pie and admitting one's ignorance does not evoke an explanation. Whilst playing soccer at grammar school I wished someone would tell me the rules - but boys are supposed to already know by that age. Or in the matter of sex - our biology master, when faced with the requirement to teach the subject, observed to the class that doubtless everyone knew all there was to know so there was surely no need to teach it and did anyone have a problem with that? Obviously no one owned up to his ignorance. Thankfully in this matter nature herself taught me and I have four wonderful children to prove the point.

My father taught me that it is always better to admit that one knows less than one thinks one knows: they might be some embarrassment in the admission but one ends up knowing more that way. I have tried to apply this principle but what does one do if, after such admission, they still won't tell you?

So much of a person's life is taken up with learning to live. What a joy it is to see a young teenager taking responsibility, learning a life-skill, taking an interest in things that matter.

20160425

Tripartite man




The colouring in this picture, grabbed somewhat at random from the internet, suggests that the "spirit" is the most important part of the human makeup, using the same logic as the king is the most important because, after all, he is king. Which doesn't necessarily follow.

The Bible is pretty consistent in its dividing of man into body, soul and spirit through both the old and new testaments, even if there is only one verse that actually includes all three. And it is pretty consistent in its word usage which I could go into but this is hardly the place and anyway I am no language scholar so would probably get it wrong.

I'm on this subject because we've been studying it in church and reading some of Watchman Nee and had several sermons on the subject. It's not that I am opposed to the doctrine but it seems strange that, in all 6,000 years of modern history, man is still uncertain about his makeup. I've spent some time recently thinking about this - trying to see inside myself and figure it out. The bits of my body that I can see are pretty obvious but beyond that it gets fuzzy.

I struggle with the idea that I have a spirit which can communicate with God but only if I am a Christian. True, there have been times when I would say I have "heard" God in that I have known that a particular course of action was what I had to do. But I'm nowhere near the league of constant dialogue that some suggest should be the norm. I'll go along with Jesus' "my sheep hear my voice" as a statement of fact, but not as "my sheep ought to hear my voice" which is what I sometimes hear. But Ali says what I hear is not necessarily what is said.

I like this definition: He knows there is only one thing that separates us from the beasts: is is that everyone carries his Eden, an inner realm of silence, and this is what some call the soul, having no other name for it. The point is to allow people to reach it, be blessed by it, even briefly, to save them from the filthy under-murmur of living. (Joseph O'Connor, Ghost Light).  This expresses rather well that which I inwardly long for. I may have a conversation with Meg (the dog), stroke her, give her the odd biscuit - but there's nothing deeper there.

I'm looking for an equally good definition for the human spirit. 

There is this: For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. I think of carving a chicken - if under-cooked it is remarkably hard to separate the leg joints even with a sharp knife: how much harder to get to the marrow? The suggestion is that the soul and spirit are not easily divided and that marrow (thus spirit), though hidden, is essential in its role to produce blood cells, the stuff of life. Perhaps my answer is that I can no more detect the existence of my spirit than I can my bone marrow!



20160424

The morning after

Yesterday's run was relatively strenuous and hard on my feet. I was running or walking over rocks by the lake-shore, over heather on the mountain slopes, picking my way across a felled forestry area on the lower slopes and then along the uneven surface of a minor road on the return. And pushing myself all the way as I had said I'd be back before 6pm.

Last night I suffered from leg cramps and sweating - almost as if I had a temperature. They say drinking pickle juice is good - pickle juice?! And this morning some stiffness whilst I repaired various small cuts on my feet. All par for the course. You don't get joy without a bit of suffering.

In church a visitor commented on my feet and, on hearing about my escapade, put his arm around me as if to offer consolation or condolence. But I don't run barefoot to gain prestige or sympathy - I do it because I want to and because it feels good. And I'll run again this afternoon, albeit not 10 miles.

Advice to would be barefoot runners - don't give up!

20160423

Mountain barefoot




I've hiked parts of this route before but never tackled the whole as a "run" starting from base. Not that I ran up the mountain - I wish I could!  Something went wacky with the GPS whilst climbing.

Stats: 10.55 miles (19km), 12:46 min/mi (4.7mph) time 2:14:46. Barefoot of course.

I followed the lake-shore for starters: it was sandy until the corner where it looks like I swam (I did not: the tide is out at present). But then it became increasing stony and I whacked my toes several times. I intended to join the road at "Jonathan's bay" but passed it without realising, so followed the next water course which involved several fences and other minor difficulties. Then past the Ballyknockan quarry and straight up to the cairn atop Silsean (698m), one quick loop around the cairn (hardly visible on the map) then down via the back road behind Knockalt.

You can enlarge the images by clicking on them.

The corner I cut

Ballyknockan from the corner, Silsean in the distance

The watercourse I followed

Ballyknockan from the quarry road

Doubtless an essential part of the quarry works

Looking back, a third of the way up

Half way up - can you see the hang glider?

I live somewhere over there

The hang glider is clearly visible at horizon level, centre

The cairn at the top, which I circumnavigated

On the way home

In Valleymount






20160420

Jungle Book




I went to see the new Jungle Book in 3D. If I were to sum the film up in one word I would say "beautiful". The sheer beauty and realism amazed me, knowing how the whole film was shot in a studio and the only human actor you see is the boy who apparently first had to be taught how to act. In the film he is superb, so natural, such a good match to the younger Mowgli in Kipling's original stories. Stories that were an essential part of my childhood and which I still love to read.

There have been various Jungle Book films including 1942 and 1994 but till now the only one that has counted had been the 1967 Disney cartoon which I will gladly re-watch any number of times. The plot of the new film is a predictable but satisfactory mix from the cartoon and the original book - but I went for the experience rather more than the plot, and the experience did not disappoint.



Virtually everything else you see in the film, apart from the boy, is CGI. I found a good description of the making here and here:

When you have that much hair on an animal, and you have 5 to 15 animals in a scene, and then you have every blade of grass and piece of floating dust, you’re into a tremendous amount of computing power.”... That required “literally thousands of computers,”... and sometimes it would take two or three days to render a shot... as powerful as the computers were, they ultimately were just taking cues from the human innovators who spent years on the film.

This film defines new standards, just as its predecessor Avatar was. I honour Jon Favreau for his achievement and look forward to the sequel.

And what's with everyone filing out now-a-days when the credits begin?  Back when I was a boy one was obliged to stay until the National Anthem finished. Because I went with a group it would have been antisocial of me to stay to the bitter end - but I just don't get it.  If a film (or a book, or a concert) is at all good I want to extract every last ounce of goodness as well having some interest in who did what. In this instance I sadly missed reprises from the cartoon's musical numbers.

Take Finding Forrester for example, a film that ranked reasonably high - if you had walked out before the credits you would have missed Israel Kamakawiwoʻole's most excellent medley Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

And as for popcorn, rustling paper bags and talking during a movie - I just cannot understand the mentality. If a film is an audio visual smörgåsbord as this one was then it is plain disrespectful to do ought but become satiated. A film in which I would deign to eat popcorn must rank very low on my scale.






20160417

Wanna photo?


The appointed place

There were two girls (in particular) who attended our church "adventurers club" meetings, back when I was a teenager. One, 'S', a sensible girl, somewhat matronly. The other 'C' with an impish face. I thought I liked 'C'. I suppose I thought I might love her. But she was more worldly wise than I and returned my leers with "wanna photo?" - I too nervous to reply in the affirmative. Only later did I realise that it was only her face I liked - herself I did not know at all.

Not knowing how else to force the issue, I wrote her a letter inviting her to meet me, one evening, in Drove Lane. For her it was a short walk from her council estate home. For me it was several miles. With some trepidation I set off - I cannot remember what story I told my parents to mitigate my absence - and was somewhat surprised to meet 'S' at the appointed place. She came bearing a negative message from 'C' - my plan had been spilled and thankfully nothing more came of it. But to this day I have wondered what might have happened. What consequences was I eternally saved from by dear 'S' who, of the pair, was much more worthy of love?

That was long before 'J' loomed on my horizon, a more suitable girl who I had much more deeply rooted affection for. For whom I would spend long hours (or so it seemed) in prayerful agony. Mini skirts were "in" and she had the most awesome legs. And 'J' did have good credentials - her father was one of the church elders, her mother spread the best young-people's-meeting food and besides 'J' herself made the most delicious cheese straws. But it was not to be. For which I also thank God, otherwise I would not be were I am today blessed with a lifelong companion and lover who makes up for my many lacks and encourages me, and four most wonderful children each so gifted and blessed of whom I am unworthy.

20160414

Freedom


Sunday, on top of Church Mountain

There is an amazing sense of freedom at the top of a mountain, especially when you have nothing on your feet, no money, no cellphone and only minimal clothing. And you have already run eight miles to get here and will have to do another eight to get back. It is kind of cool being isolated from all that clutter that modern man takes for granted.

I do realise I am a long way from true freedom of this sort. I still need and depend upon my warm bed, meals provided and companionship.  I would not do well relying on hunting and gathering.

from the new Jungle Book

But I suppose that is why stories like Mowgli appeal to me. They let me imagination run riot; I go places that in reality I'll never go. Did I say I am planning to see the new movie next Wednesday? If it is as good as is made out I guess it will be as close as ever I'll get. A bit like driving a car is as close as perhaps I'll ever get to flying. Which I have always wanted to do. Real flying, of course, although a small airplane might be a second best.

The 1967 cartoon version is still a favourite for me. I never tire of watching clips from it. And I didn't realise until writing this post that there was an earlier Jungle Book film dated 1942!


20160410

Church Mountain barefoot run


The route

Sometimes you have to just do it. I'd been contemplating this route for some while and waiting for decent weather. I knew it would be a long haul but tried not to think about that aspect too much. My outward journey took me to the pass that leads to Donard and goes between Church Mountain and Corriebracks (Kocknaboley on the above map), then straight up to the summit, around the cairn at the top and down to Hollywood Glen. The ascent and descent were fantastic, though a bit breezy at the top. But the long slog back home again was hard work.  The last time I did Church Mountain I was on my bike.

Aerial view of summit

Statistics: 15.98 miles, maximum altitude 551m, average speed moving 5.19 mph, total time 3:20:33, barefoot all the way of course, but I have to confess I didn't run up or down the steep bits! The descent was a bit of a mistake - I had intended to drop down further north which might have cut a mile off the total distance. It was a long time ago since I was last on this side of the mountain - back when my children were still children. And I wasn't running barefoot back then.


Church mountain from the top of the pass

The final ascent and why barefoot is the way to go

View of our lake from near the top

The cairn (or church ruins) at the top

Nice path for barefoot down from summit

The steep descent

Forestry track nearer the bottom

Near Hollywood - St Kevin in the distance

The village of Hollywood

Hollywood woods

Hollywood woods



20160408

Grown ups at Lulleymore

So, today the whole community trogged off to Lulleymore for the day, armed with packed lunches, then back home for a fish dinner courtesy Macari's takeaway. It drizzled all day, then poured thankfully after we got home. The drizzle only slightly limited our activity - we live in Ireland after all. The purpose of this post is not so much to describe what we did as to observe the strange behaviour of grown-ups. We had agreed to do something together first of all, before splitting up. So we hung around waiting for this one and that one to be ready for a together walk around the property. How long does this take? It has been suggested that the time waiting to get started is proportional to the number of people involved, possibly exponentially. Part of the waiting was because some had to get their coffee fix. Whilst waiting I went outside and did a quick recce of the place and still got back well before the others were ready.

My run took me around Lulleymore

After we had (eventually) done our together things, and consumed our various lunches, and digested same, I decided to go for a run and found the Bog of Allen. I left the road at the bottom of my aerial view where I found a warning sign prohibiting the unauthorised use of quads and horses. So I figured that gave me free passage to run barefoot. Barefoot running is much kinder on the environment than shoes anyway.

The long straight cut

I found that Irish bog is generally quite firm and slightly springy to run on, with occasional wet and more boggy bits, and thus is excellent for barefoot running. I completed my circuit and returned to find the same handful of grown-ups still hanging around. The children and some more adventurous grown ups were enjoying themselves in the well equipped indoor children's play area. I did a quick recce of this: slid the slide, clambered the rope bridges, fell in the plastic-ball-well, after which I went out again for more running and, on returning the second time, found that the grown ups (but not the children or me) had had enough and wanted to go home. At 3pm and having spent vast sums to drive here and gain entrance to the property. I could have explored much longer. Such are people.

This bog railway is on the property but not in use

The boglands are serviced by ad-hoc railways for carting the cut turf and the park property has its own circuit which, sadly, was not in use.  Instead they have a "road train" which is not quite the same thing. Perhaps they intend to switch to a proper railway version in time. Certainly they have invested a lot of expense and effort in the various attractions so far.

I had always thought those bogs that they told me in school pervade the centre of Ireland were boring places, places to avoid in preference to mountains and lakes and beaches. But I now know otherwise. I can thoroughly recommend bog running.

20160403

New running route


Exactly 12 miles door to door

I like to vary my running routes. During the week this is not possible because of time constraints but at weekends and if I feel suitably motivated... Today the women folk were having a "shower" for a girl who is about to give birth, so I took the opportunity to explore.

I may have been trespassing a bit to start with - hard to tell in Ireland. At Poulaphouca I left the safety of the roads and skirted a field containing two horses, keeping just outside the fence and through the wooded area shown below. At the jiggle in the path I was obliged to enter the field for a few yards because the ESB well fenced area comes right up to where I was. I then followed a farm track that turned into what looked like an old railway embankment. Maybe there was a branch of the Poulaphouca tramway leading to the Woolen Mills, but I can find no record of this.


From road to field


Ruin and Water Works

The track leads to a farmyard in ruins (yellow square on the aerial view). Here was a foot-path sort of gate so I climbed over and jogged uphill but found a residence but no footpath (blue diversion). So I retraced my steps and continued along the "embankment". This led me to the Golden Falls ESB dam.

ESB Golden Falls dam

Here I was surprised to find the beginning of a well-trodden path, complete with rough steps cut into steep declines down to the new river level.  This path continued, with a proper small footbridge crossing the outflow from the Dublin Water Works until it met a new hardcore track coming down from the main road on my right. I followed this track which took me the derelict Woolen Mills and from here to Ballymore Eustace.

The existence of this footpath made me think that perhaps I was not trespassing, but who can tell? Rights of Way don't happen like they do in the UK. And the rule here is - never ask for permission because the land owner granting permission makes them liable so they must decline.

From Ballymore I kept to roads - to Boleybeg crossroads (on the way to Dunlavin), turn left here and back via Broadlees and Ballysize.

Stats: Total distance almost exactly 12 miles, average speed just over 6 m.p.h.  Barefoot of course.