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On Saturday I attended a mini retreat in Brighton, a small seaside town, where with a few quiet others, I was encouraged to think, read, write, ponder and reflect.

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Metaphors and symbols rolled at my feet:  ripples, a pure, clear creek cutting clean lines through the sand on its run to the sea, notes left behind by the random calligraphy of leaves and seaweed.

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It was a soft, late autumn day, the mid-day sun like tepid tea.

As I was growing up ‘Love’ was a word that was bandied about with more and more abandon (especially as I headed into my teenage years, which coincided with the decade of the seventies). For better or for worse (and among other things) we were the Free Love generation. Turned out it wasn’t as free as we thought …

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During my time at the beach on Saturday,  the word ‘love’ was brought to my attention again. This time in a spiritual sense. What does it mean in specific terms, examples and instances, for me to respond with love, rather than anger or bitterness; to eschew jealousy or envy in favour of generosity and kindness? Tough questions to mull over. In silence.

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That night, back home again, The Wedding (Harry and Meghan) was on TV. Love personified. Something positive to participate in, knowing that I was part of a wider community also watching and participating; all accentuating the positive, eliminating the negative. For a while anyway.

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Love and Freedom. Two words underpinning my thoughts lately.

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