Beverley Minster – Green Men, Musicians & pagan medieval masonry, treadmills and wonder.

Beverley Minster is a beautiful medieval church. The early church collapsed and this one was started in 1220 and took two hundred years to build. So far so good.

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They were gay old times back then. Old time religion was fun. The stone masons had a sense of humour. All around the place you can find evidence of the pagan religion still showing through. The Green Men peer down at you through the foliage. IMG_2072 IMG_2074 IMG_2075 IMG_2076 IMG_2077

There were also a lot of musical instruments. Church was a bit of a knees-up and kicking your heels. They even had sheep and cattle in the place!IMG_2080 IMG_2081

The stain glass is impressive.

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We went up into the roof space where they have the original treadmill that they used to raise the stones in its building – and it still works!

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You can look down through the hole that the stones were brought up through. IMG_2121 IMG_2132

This is looking down through the hole at the organ below – very optical illusionary.

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Poetry – Treadmill – a poem about the life we get caught up in.

Sometimes we seem to be going at life with our heads down, trying to keep up and never getting anywhere. We lose sight of the most important things and get caught up in the trivia.

The little things clog up our minds and take up all our time and energy. We can only glimpse the things that are important to us. Love, friendship, creativity and our passions go out the window – there’s no time left.

The modern life is so destructive. The pace of life and pressure becomes insane. We need to take time-out and reconnect with nature. But the life we lead often prevents us doing that.

TREADMILL

We are living in this treadmill

That keeps ever going faster

Spinning our silk cocoons

Spiralling towards disaster

 

It’s hard to see through the webs we weave

To glimpse what it is we’re doing

It’s so hard to see where the energy goes

As we spin this web of ruin

 

So what is this whirlwind we’re harnessing?

The trap we make of life?

Dieting on light slipping through the walls

As the spinning produces strife

 

Surrounded with the baubles

Attached to the threads around us

Blind to the horizon

Where love can never find us

 

Our home can be a prison

And the planet much too small

The mental tendrils we weave

Produce a steely wall

 

OPHER 29.1.97