I have been silent the last ten days and I want to thank those who have visited and read this blog.

I am in hospital after a nasty bout of flu which brought on another dose of heart failure...in which my poor broken heart started to close down...as Nancy Griffiths wrote

"My heart is on the baggage rack
It's heavy as can be
I wish that I could find someone
To carry it for me
To pay it some attention
And handle it with care
Because it has been dropped
And is in need of some repair"

I'm waiting to be shipped off to a large new hospital where Mr. Patel, a surgeon with a wolrd class rep in heart valve repair will hopefullly do the necessary to fix my problem. I've been waiting for almost a year (in the UK we don't pay but must queue for expensive treatment.)

So I ask for your prayers, good thoughts and wishes that this will go forward soon and that will soon be back here...asap sharing the words and pictures.

The Hospital Chaplain came to see me and gave  me travelling communion and spoke of the 'broken Christ' That image has stayed with me...the Christ...not whole, triumphant, risen but the Christ who was broken by the sourge, on the cross..broken in body and spirit; 'My God' why hast Thou forsaken me'  despair...the agonized cry of a broken spirit.

This hospital is full of broken people, broken hearts, legs, arms, and worse broken minds..old ladies like Nora who is 82, slight as a girl and who forgets..every few minutes where she is and why.

But worst off are those who despair and for brief times...that includes me. So if life is being kind to you...enjoy all the good stuff, the sun, the air, the freedom to walk and talk , and think for a moment of us 'broken' people. And if you too are broken...at least you are not alone. I  and the broken Christ am with you..
Much love
Suzi

I have been silent the last ten days and I want to thank those who have visited and read this blog.

I am in hospital after a nasty bout of flu which brought on another dose of heart failure...in which my poor broken heart started to close down...as Nancy Griffiths wrote

"My heart is on the baggage rack
It's heavy as can be
I wish that I could find someone
To carry it for me
To pay it some attention
And handle it with care
Because it has been dropped
And is in need of some repair"

I'm waiting to be shipped off to a large new hospital where Mr. Patel, a surgeon with a wolrd class rep in heart valve repair will hopefullly do the necessary to fix my problem. I've been waiting for almost a year (in the UK we don't pay but must queue for expensive treatment.)

So I ask for your prayers, good thoughts and wishes that this will go forward soon and that will soon be back here...asap sharing the words and pictures.

The Hospital Chaplain came to see me and gave  me travelling communion and spoke of the 'broken Christ' That image has stayed with me...the Christ...not whole, triumphant, risen but the Christ who was broken by the sourge, on the cross..broken in body and spirit; 'My God' why hast Thou forsaken me'  despair...the agonized cry of a broken spirit.

This hospital is full of broken people, broken hearts, legs, arms, and worse broken minds..old ladies like Nora who is 82, slight as a girl and who forgets..every few minutes where she is and why.

But worst off are those who despair and for brief times...that includes me. So if life is being kind to you...enjoy all the good stuff, the sun, the air, the freedom to walk and talk , and think for a moment of us 'broken' people. And if you too are broken...at least you are not alone. I  and the broken Christ am with you..
Much love
Suzi

Soho Square

There's a melancholy elegance to autumn
The grace of falling leaves
Chrysanthemums in saffron sheaves
A buffered metal sky
Reminding every passerby
That each of us, my dear
Like this settling worn out year
Must inevitably die.

The disinterested wind
The cold plashing rain
Constantly repeat, constantly proclaim
That winter will soon be here
Darkening of the light
Ice bound turning of the year
The deepest watch of night
Must run it's painful course,
Before the dawn, the melting of the ice
Before spring can return again

You and I, my dear, my love
Must one day walk into the dark
Past fallen leaves and friends
To find what lies beyond the end
Of time and life's bright spark.

But in the coldest, darkest night
Past black despair and frozen fright
Whisper to yourself the same refrain
Spring must surely come again.
Spring must come again.

copyright 2006 Suzi Pritchard

Most people have 'normal' relationships, marriages, affairs. friendships; they also have pets, usually for the animal's lifetime or the owners. Yes, strange old ladies and gentlemen may keep 47 cats but most have sensible, healthy human/animal bonds.

For years, I had cats, or perhaps they had me. You know the saying: dogs have owners. Cats have staff. Then, without rhyme or reason, I became allergic to my furry friends. Even a few minutes with them started major itching and scratching.

I missed it all, the affection, the silent companionship, the silly games dreadfully.

Every other winter, I travel to Florida, to visit my family and escape the dark, cold, wet English  winter. Three years ago, I rented a ground floor apartment across the street from my sister Binnie and her husband. The second morning, the one after jet lag had paralysed me, I woke up to a shining, sun washed world, made coffee and took it outside along with a bowl of grapes for my breakfast. I sat down  on the tiny porch and soaked up the sweet air and light..

A Peahen strutted into the garden, marched up to me and squawked. She wanted coffee or grapes or both. I had never known that peahens roamed wild and free in Southern Florida.

I offered her a grape which she greedily gulped down. The grape lodged in her long throat, clearly visible and she began to choke.

Oh my Lord..was I killing this beautiful creature with misapplied kindness? Was there a Heimlich Manoeuver for Peahens? Would I go to prison..or a zoo if she died?

She gave a terriffic gulp, crushed the grape and swallowed it. We both breathed easier and I cut up a fresh bowlful specially for her.

She turned out to be a very liberated, feminist peahen who had no interest in cocks. She'd  been taken in a truck to meet and greet a local flock with plenty of spare cocks who were delighted to make her or her acquaintance.

She sneered at them and headed back home, away from the bright lights of Red Barn and the sensual delights of pea fowl love.

Most mornings, she showed up to share my breakfast, listen to country and western music (she had a special liking for Emmy Lou Harris songs) exercise..hers was running around two trees, flapping her wings. I named her Tina Ballerina because of her long, elegant neck, jeweled crown and sooty dark lined eyes.

Once, my sister came to visit, followed by her two grown cats; when Tina saw them she fluffed her feathers to twice her size, gave out a HONNNNNNNNK like an ocean going liner and ran toward them .The terrified cats skidaddled back home as fast as they could run.

Then, the English winter was over. It was time to go home and I hadn't even got a single picture of Tina.

I explained to her that I was borrowing a camera the next day but my independent friend never showed up. I had to fly away without even saying 'good by'. I missed her more than all my sisters...well both of my sisters...put together.

A week later, my Binnie called. 'The strangest thing happened. I heard a knocking on the back door and looked out. It was your friend, the peahen. I opened the door and she marched in, squawking and looking in every room. I'm sure she was looking for you. Fortunately, Bi took lots of pictures, To see them, look in my album.

Last winter, I went back. I saw Tina again still roaming wild and free but if she did recognise me, she snubbed me. Probably thinking, 'hmph...what kind of friend dissapears for years and doen't even write?'

I wish I could explain and that she could understand.

Perhaps I can't have a house cat or walk a dog or keep a canary in a cage. A butterfly once landed on my hand and kissed me for several minutes, it's probocis gently nudging my skin and a pidgeon harrassed by cats walked into my house as if following a map. And best of all, my friend  Tina Ballerina the peahen and I danced in the moonlight to the strains of 'That Lovin' You Feelin' Again'.

This morning I recieved the newsletter of the Prison Phoenix Trust, which teaches yoga and meditation to long term prisoners. The goal is to teach them to turn their prison cells into ashrams.

It reminded me of  one of my all time heros Bo Lozoff who wrote, "We're All Doing Time"   More than 30 years ago, Bo and his wife asked to teach yoga at a prison in North Carolina. and later wrote the book which is distributed free to those in prisons all over the world.

In the USA it's called the Prison Ashram project.

The book is divided into three sections. The Big View...a history of the project Getting Free an honest, strightforward, funny guidebook on how to achieve enlightenment  and "Dear Bo" a selection of letters to and from prisoners, some of which can still raise the hairs on the back of my neck when I read them.

I am still in my own prison, a prison of my own pain, anger, hatred,  and resentment but have had many  glimpses of the light and belive that I am moving steadily toward it. Because whether you live in a palace or a prison cell you are always have  yourself as company,  the one person you can change.

Quakers say, 'mind the Light' beccause it's always there if you can just remember it.

So if today is a dark day for you...as it is for me (being bullied out of a community I had worked for years on and have it happen because I was sick and weak), day of grief or pain remember that not only is the Light always around us..it is us.

You'll Never Be the Sun

written by Donagh Long
© 1994 Little Rox Music (ASCAP)

You'll never be the sun
Turning in the sky
And you won't be the moon above us
On a moonlit night
And you won't be the stars in heaven
Although they burn so bright
But even on the deepest ocean
You will be the light

You may not always shine as you go
Barefoot over stone
You might be so long together
Or you might walk alone
And you won't find that love comes easy
But that love is always right
So even when the dark clouds gather
You will be the light

And if you lose the part inside
When love turns 'round on you
Leaving the past behind
Is knowing you'll do like you always do
Holding you blind
Keeping you true

You'll never be the sun
Turning in the sky
And you won't be the moon above us
On a moonlit night
And you won't be the stars in heaven
Although they burn so bright
But even on the deepest ocean
You will be the light
You will be the light
You will be the light

Among The Roses

As peaceful as the roses in the morning sun
Rooted in quiet and prayers
I watch white butterflies
A small brown bird
Midges, bees and wasps

Going about their daily business
A community worshiping God
Praise Him, praise Him, praise Him

Somewhere there are traffic jams
Supermarkets, TVs, radios, angry men and women
The hard, noisy clutter of daily life
Here, only the muted hymn of birdsong
And the roses, flaunting a delight of colour and perfume
Flower, scent and thorns
All rejoicing, announcing, celebrating
The glory of God. __________________