I always think of him at this time and that he left an album behind called, You want it Darker. But yet there is nothing dark in his music. His ability was to layer the shadows with lyrics of power and hope and Alleluja. And I went walking to the beautiful graveyard of Tarmon, where the old monastery ruins are beside Lough Allen this week. And I stood at the graves of a few neighbours and thought about the same amazing mystery of life, and the gift it is to be alive in this present moment. Take comfort in your own being, in the wonder and mystery and beauty of who you are, for this short time. And believe that beyond what is you, lies the vast possibilities of love and that even in these shadows you are held and cherished and will be so forever.

No background music this week. let me know what you think in the comments; should I keep the background flute or not. Thanks.

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Community makes you human. Joy is found in other people. So how is it that sometimes when the church is completely empty or when we are alone in the house we experience such peace and serenity. Who is there? Who is calling?

Enjoy.

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There's something about the trick or treat and the horror film and the ghouls that stalk the shopping malls that reflect a strange satire on the medieval fear that people had of death. This does go back to Samhain, the Celtic festival,, when it was believed people returned from the dead, in disguise sometimes to demand offerings, and so the children wandering around the doors looking for sweeties and money as they stand and play tin whistles in masks resembling demons, is certainly a touch of nostalgia for that long ago Celtic Festival. And the lighting of ritual fires and the the games in the houses were all similar remnants of ancient days.

But that was a time when people believed in many gods, and feared that gods were not just multifarious but capricious and often not the best company for humans. it was a time when people didn't know what caused the storms and the changes in weather, the weakening sun in the winter sky or the death of children from disease they as yet did not understand.

But what I like about the Christian input into this festival is the sense that we are reassured that the universe is a singularity and that the ground of all being is a personal presence, a mysterious otherness that knows the hairs of our head before we were born and loves us. That the universe loves us is a wisdom that gathers not just us but those who have passed beyond this life into the shadow of death and allows us to hope in a place of refuge deep beyond this visible reality, a place where we and our loved ones are even now united in God's presence. That's a big hopeful idea underneath the darkness of winter. So for me this November is a time of sheltering. A time of hibernation and stillness. A time of paying attention to the peace that underpins all reality. my memory is of my mother in the kitchen on the eve of All Souls Day more usually, acting out a ritual of love and connection with her ancestors.

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For fun I am spelling his name like I imagine it sounds. and you might find this fellow in the gospel, or someone very like him. But there are characters like this, ghosts in my heart who have originated in the gospels but who now live inside me. And I can measure myself against them; against their successes or failures in the struggle to be human. So I think there is more to the gospels than people imagine; it's peppered with characters who are like vectors, compasses for our own life. And as I say; they are like ghosts inside me, fragments of my own psyche.

In fact I was going to call this episode Alone; With Christ Alone. But the reason for that will become clear in the second half of the episode.

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Thich Nhat Hanh

Just now

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So this podcast I did just this time last week, and I wanted simply to remember Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Zen master, who stands as a beacon of non-violence, embodying "engaged Buddhism" during the horrors of the Vietnam War.

One of the main things I struggle with at the moment is equanimity. I did a podcast on equanimity recently, but in the storms of rage and the noise of war that is at the moment enveloping so many parts of the world, I struggle to retain my inner peace, and detachment. I am driven by anger and rage, and it's so hard sometimes to just keep calm and serene and enter the room of the heart, when there is so much fury in the air.

But I don't think I'm avoiding politics. When I engage in non violence or peaceful mindful practises, I feel I am responding to the violence around me. I am offering a critical and radical alternative, and if there was a single person in the world of all the buddhist teachers that excelled in this wisdom of non-violence it was the great master Thich NhatHanh.

Exiled for his tireless advocacy for peace, he refused to side with any or either camp, instead founding the Order of Inter being to promote compassionate action amid conflict. His non-violence wasn't passive; it was a fierce, loving resistance born from deep awareness of suffering, as he taught that "nonviolent action... born of the awareness of suffering."He urged, "Peace begins with you," weaving activism into everyday mindfulness to transform anger into understanding.

This profound non-violence grew directly from his meditation practice. Through mindful breathing and walking, Thay cultivated inner peace—the foundation of interbeing, where all life interconnects. Meditation dissolved the illusion of separation, birthing compassion that naturally opposed violence; as he said, "Violent action creates more violence." From silent retreats emerged his global teachings, like Plum Village, where practitioners meditate to heal personal and collective wounds.

But there is no need to share his insights with you because his own words and voice are abundantly available on the internet. find him in Audiobooks, or You Tube, or Podcasts, or just google him. Listen prayerfully to him. You don't need me to add anything. And so what I share with you this week is simply my admiration of his life and the light and compassion that he holds out to the world.

His life inspires me endlessly: a person who faced bombs and exile yet smiled through it all, influencing leaders and everyday souls toward mindful peace. In a world of rage, his example calls me to pause, breathe, and act with kindness. And oh, that face—serene, eyes twinkling with joy—always brightens my spirit, a gentle reminder that true strength radiates from within.

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So this is the final in a series of 4 where I've been thinking about some beautiful ideas in the Buddhist tradition. There is a melancholic air in the garden now. not as much light as there used to be in August. WE've come to the turn of the year. so here we go again. But I'm so happy.

I'm so happy to be talking to you. this is a strange thing, I've never got over it; the mystery of talking to you. being present with you. Sharing at this level my faith.

My faith is like the wind. Like gossamer. It comes and goes. Except when you share it. And next week I begin the big journey into the winter. I love this and if you've been with me for winter on previous years you'll know I feel hugged and loved by the cosmos when the light fades. the tree outside my door is the cosmos. that's the tentacle that connects with me. and I too am the cosmos. and so are you. me and you and the tree are just the cosmos talking to itself. And when you get into that space you could stay there forever. and finally

maybe we are eternally there. or here. or together. Forever.

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