Blogging, baking and an 80,000 word-sized hill to climb

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return”

My conceptual understanding of the world is changing; sometimes I feel I’m breaking down walled boundaries brick by brick and sometimes I feel the embrace of a new understanding coursing through me in a moment. This must be fairly normal for a PhD student, especially one without an undergraduate background in philosophy.

I’m writing this blog in a beautiful, aged library, surrounded by books and scholars quietly interacting with their thoughts through words. The carved, wooden beams remind me of the church where I was married, and the sense of occupying a church-like space does not only come from the hundreds of books devoted to theology all around; it is a space designed to praise the written word.

This library is situated in a residential place of study, and I feel so fortunate to be spending some time here. Three of us from our original writing group of four have come for five days to share writing practice and discuss our research. We each plan to write our theses this year, and are all facing ascent of a very large hill. Of course, when we talk, it is clear that we know so much of what we now need to articulate. But place an 80,000 word requirement in anyone’s hands and so many distractions and excuses suddenly fill the foreground. My baking skills are really improving, for example.

Today is Ash Wednesday. I am wearing the remains of a cross of ash on my forehead from the service in the chapel this morning. I have been starting my day with a service every morning, and, for me, it is the most gentle way to prepare myself for a full day of thinking, questioning and positioning. It has been so rewarding to spend 20 minutes reflecting on my place in the world, remembering those who are less fortunate and making an inward promise to live within ethical and moral boundaries. As today marks the beginning of lent, it has been all the more important to allocate that time.

The visiting resident vicar here, Caroline, bought ashes from her home parish in Gippsland, Victoria, an area that my husband and I remember fondly from our travels in Australia. The ashes, rather poignantly, were taken from some burnt ruins from the horrendous bush fires last year.

Looking south from Wilson's Prom, Gippsland. I think the most reflection-inspiring view I have ever gazed out over.

We accept the ashes on our person as a sign of repentance, and a reminder of the temporal nature of our human presence on the earth. And as we enter lent, remember that to celebrate life and all that we have, we can first reflect by stripping away indulgence to give a clearer picture of what is important. You do not have to consider yourself a Christian to appreciate this act; whilst the language of lent is caught up in the Christian construct, such thoughts and actions can benefit anyone who is a member of the human race.

So whilst I have now successfully deflected an hour of thesis writing this morning, I feel I have in a small way articulated the significance of viewing life through a post-structuralist lens.

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