February’s Musing is an indulgence in a little silliness, for which I ask forgiveness, especially from the more sober-minded among my readers

TRANSITION – what an ‘overworked’ word … methinks it could prove to be an excuse for instability, or even confusion, in some cases. I’ve heard it in so many contexts, it now makes me want to scream … I hear it from the mouths of preachers, politicians, journalists, football-managers, the ordinary bloke-in-the-street. Yes, okay, we’re in ‘transition’ – but does anyone know, and if so can they tell me, from what to what, from where to where.

With this in mind, please forgive me if in this brief, written transaction, I transgress into scepticism by transcribing my transitional thoughts concerning the transformational process through which I presently am being transfigured (or should that be transposed). A transcendent power, so it transpires, is committed to transferring me from where I am, to where I ought to be.  This probably does not easily transliterate for too many of my readers, but ought to offer a degree of translucence regarding my ongoing transmutation.

(Picture inserted here in transit, in order to alleviate possible boredom)

I offer these words, therefore, with the utmost transparency, so that those who share in this transitory moment will be suitably justified in thinking that the writer is due to undergo a brain transplant in the near future. Whatever, I am totally transfixed by the thought that my transatlantic, transcontinental  & transvestite friends are utterly confused by now, after such a terrible transmission of vocabulary, and may be requiring some translation – oh, not forgetting to mention my dear Catholic friends (with whom I have often debated the issue of transubstantiation)…

But ah, I hear the sound of footsteps. Men with white coats coming to transport me away, in their little green van, to the local lunatic asylum, where it is believed, my mind will transmigrate to higher things … helped by trance-inducing substances (sorry if that wasn’t trans !!)

God help those of you, who similarly are passing through one of the phases of transmogrification, whether utterly, strangely or grotesquely (as provided by the Oxford Dictionary definition)…I hope the experience is not too painful for you, and that you will survive these transient moments, without the need for a transfusion of any kind.

So, in bringing this ramble to it’s conclusion, on a slightly more serious note,  whether you’re transitioning from one season to another, from one job to another, from one partner to another, from one hobby to another, from one church to another, from one political party to another, from one country to another, or whatever … it may be in order if,  at this point, I encourage you to keep the ‘trans’ (Cross) before your eyes, as the hymn-writer rather solemnly puts it:

“Keep Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me”
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