Anna Magnusson

Each one of us wakes in the morning to our own story, looking ahead to what we think we know about the future, how else could we go forward each day? 25/3/24

Keep talking and remembering, with one another, for someday to understand fully how fragile and precious our lives are. 14/7/22

Strength and purpose in the years to come. As always, time and future will tell. 1/7

It's getting harder with each Thought4Day not writing about Ukraine. Not only because the war is everywhere, in news, social media, every minute, stories, videos, voices, streaming into our homes, and phones like a swollen river. Not only that, but because of the human catastrophe banishes so many other thoughts from my head.

On Tuesday, I spent most of the day listening, I was at conference of ministers and lay people. We gathered to explore ways of opening up churches to local communities, so they’re more engaged, inclusive. How to break down barriers getting close to people. Churches wrestles with these question all the time. But what struck me the most throughout the day was the emphasis on the act of listening.

Today is Chinese New Year, the year of Tiger. In the Chinese zodiac two of the traits associated with tiger are power and rebelliousness. Characteristics which we’ve been rather familiar this morning. But the person in my mind today has nothing to do with politics or power.

Here’s the question, What you think would be most difficult, to look back in time, through massive telescope across space, to see the old stars in the universe, or persuade two governments to work together, to bring your wife back from captivity in Afghanistan. Richard Ratcliffe knows the answer, on Saturday, the husband of Nazanin entered his 21 day hunger strike outside the foreign office in London. After 5 and half years, the UK and Iran still not won’t compromise to resolve a political problem.

On the 24/12/1968, 3 men have seen something no human has ever seen before, Apollo 8 was coming out from far-side of the moon, suddenly the astronauts see the earth rise above the lunar horizon, half of it was lit by the sun. They could see the south-pole and the swirl of cloud and the bright blue of the oceans of our planet. A breathtaking light in the darkness of space.

I'm reading yesterday about a young man in England was found guilty of downloading thousands of white supremacist documents and bomb making instructions. Jury convicted him of possessing information likely to be used for preparing act of terror. But the judge thought differently, he considered the young man was lonely and misguided, and not intended of causing harm. So he gave him a 2 years of suspended sentence, and told him to engage with great literature, instead of trolling the internet for right wing hate, he was ordered to start reading the classics, Charles Dickens, Jane Austin, Shakespeare, and come back a few month to talk to the judge about them. The story reminded me of my uncle who was a sherif, who's known for issuing unusual punishments, one time, a man appeared to his court convicted of stealing a flute, and my uncle told him to go away and learn the instrument and then come back and play a tune in court, and he did.

Two years ago in Edinburgh festival, city was heaving with tourists and street performers, as I pass a young woman step forward and held out something towards me, it was a small square badge, on it were two lines of words of capital letters. In red at the top with the words, "I CANNOT GO ON", below in white, they changed to "I'LL GO ON", Edinburgh as last return a festival city again. And I never forgot that encounter, the badge was advertise an installation by an artist, he designed a huge neon sign with the words from Samuel Beckett, "I cannot go on, I'll go on." The artist said it spokes to the world what he calls chaos and confusion of the times. That was 2 years ago, before the chaos and confusion of Covid, and the overturning of much we thought we knew about ourselves and the world. Now the words stands out even more strongly. The fact that Edinburgh festival are back, albeit smaller in scale and different, it's testament to the unquenchable spirit and determination of artists, performers, and organisers. They've kept going through dreadful times, to bring back theatre, music, and dance, stories, imaginations, the things we need to help us understand, and question the world.

For the first time in my life, I'm going to plant a tree, after 27 years of living in the top floor flat, we've moved. We've got garden now, so the moment has come. And something else has changed. When you young, trees are for climbing, we have a huge tree at back of our house, we used to race to each other to the top, and stand at the highest branch surrounded by big flappy leaves.

Let me tell. you about moving house, moving house is life lived in limbo, for weeks, in the run up to the moving day, you inhabit a kind of no man's land, between the old place and new place, never quite leaving or arriving. Our moving day is later this week, at last, at last, the end is in sight, even though piles of todo lists, still on the kitchen table, carpets are half empty, and we still cannot find umpteen things we stuff somewhere to keep the place tidy for viewers. We stare hollow eyed at each other, when we realise how much is still need to be done. Nothing but books, is the hardest thing for me. I can't take them all with me. There're piles of them, on the floor around me, and dozens more waiting to be culled. It's like leaving part of myself behind, I remember when I first read them, what age I was, the ones that read, reread at different stages of my life. Their stories and words became part of me, even the ones I haven't read, I'm thinking I will read them, one day. Too late, it's time divest, let go and take a step.

I’ve kept family photograph from early 1980s taken on a sunny day showing us all walking along the road outside the house arm in arm. I love it because we’re in open air all smiling striding along together shoulder to shoulder. That’s what I’ve craved this year, like everyone else, to be in the same real physical space with those we’ve been separated from. I remember my aunt telling me about her mother’s youngest brother who immigrated to Australia for works in 1920s, the family never saw him again, there were letters of course, but no phone calls no chance of coming home for holiday. That’s going to the other side of the world would meant then. I’ve missed walking with my two sisters, our own mother had dementia, my London sister would travel up to Scotland regularly, to help with exhausting caring. Once or twice we managed precious time away together, just three of us for a long walk in the hills, we talked and talked, voiced our worst fears, drink coffee from a flask and eat crisps, comforting each other, laughed, we’re ourselves again.

It used to be we make a noise to remember people during this year of Covid, we used to clap for carers, stand doorsteps banging pots and pans for frontline workers. It will stay with me forever, the sound of that cracking gust of applause from flats where I live. And the sight of people leaning out of their windows. But noon today, a year on from first lockdown, we remember in silence, we mark and moan all the lives lost. More than 126k people, a wordless, soundless act of remembrance for the dead. A silence of deep jaggy loss, the silence of incomprehension still, that how the world has changed. The silence of solidarity and love, of facing hardship together and supporting each other.

When Scotland won Six Nation on Saturday, after 38 years wait, I longed for our living room to be full of families and friends, all jumping up and down, hugging each other. That's how celebrating used to be. It made me remember all our agonising world of football matches, when Scotland raised his hopes and cast them down, over and over again.