Where you wander and are held
It is early days.
But the website I'm making — not a website in that sense, but using website apparatus — Chapter Seventeen is…
Hmm. That's the question.
What do I want someone on a dull day six months from now to encounter?
To feel?
That I can tell you.
Perhaps they were ambling through my author's site.
Finding a few interesting ideas.
Almost ready to leave, but noticing –
in the menu site.
Worth a click?
[CLICK]
And then of course, the loss of the header bar.
The black screen.
The faintly appearing sign:
TO THE LIFT
while a voice - white writing appearing in the darkness - welcomes you as a friend, describes themself as the Keyholder…
And the visitor is slightly uncomfortable.
Only slightly.
Fourth-wall broken.
Just slightly.
And they scroll to the button.
And the lift panel.
And —
THAT.
Oh my.
The fourth wall has not just slid away accidentally like the scene in the Truman show.
And not been dramatically presented wearing Laurence Fishburne sunglasses and holding out two pills.
Just a lift panel.
And the visitor sees that ahead of them is:
an airport lounge?
coffee and a bar?
cinema, theatre, studios —
AND
an exit to the side street.
This visitor is sensing thresholds everywhere.
Imaginative lifelines and catalysts.
Places that affirm their working ideas and reaffirm their permission.
And at some point, having wandered and watched and read and seen, they exit the building thinking that was possibly enough for this session.
But they'd just check.
And —
THAT.
Well, just outside is a shop.
Worth popping into?
Curious but warm.
Of course though, the forest beckons…
And there —
places to stay?
Solo and communal?
The Author's Quarters there on the path, ready for conversations about the conversations — a podcast, blog and the chance for asynchronous conversation, or at least a quick word.
Following the path further —
ah!
Seriously?
And —
THAT.
The conference and retreat centre they find is already firing on all cylinders.
They've all been talking about why the theatre back there was so often empty. On purpose.
They've shared their own films in the cinema, and watched others.
Talked about them.
In fact, they've been scouring the whole site for their own inspiration, and wondering how to allow inspiration to flow more easily.
Delegates have hung around together for six weeks.
Shared break-out rooms in groups of six.
Watched and showcased ideas for participation and gentle care.
For fun, they've had their Saturday nights at the Lantern Grove hosted by the current residents of the Forest Lodge (who only met each other last week!).
They've shared their ideas in the Annexe, with feedback and input from current resident artists and practitioners.
Even the current individual resident in the Treehouse was invited.
Those delegates — and others from other conferences — are coming back in the autumn for a month of collaboration on various new projects.
Theories.
Theology.
Pastoral.
Creative.
Ending with a showcase in the Annexe for the outcomes.
Trialling them.
Wondering what might be incorporated.
This visitor sees the clock in their home has moved on.
And this visitor wants a real conversation.
And this visitor notices that membership is free,
and that there is someone around
to say hello to.
And then, this visitor's heart drops.
Hmm.
They remember
the things that go wrong
in places like these.
Usually.
Always.
And —
THAT.
Is also the point.
And what's at stake.
Chapter Seventeen must be a place where you wander and are held.
Not lectured.
Not processed.
A place of theological boundaries and thresholds in keeping with ancient values.
Like the architecture of tents and curtains and open houses.
And even prison cells.
Dry bones.
Wheels within wheels.
The sky bursting.
The ground breaking.
Words that are living.
Communion that is costly, not cheap.
Ssh.
If you capture this and name it, we'll need a wider breakout room.
Critique will kill this.
Hold it gently.
Walk away.
Trust depends on gentle holding, and the scope for leaving.
And yes, this will go wrong.
Of course it will.
That story, though, will also show us
what we were wondering about
in the first place.
