Last week I had the good fortune to be involved in breaking a Guinness Record: the world’s longest flower garland. The previous record was 1.6 miles in Tahiti. This was 2.15 miles: an unbroken circle of carnation blooms around Meadow Lake, Flushing Meadow, New York.

I did not have a religious or overtly spiritual upbringing, and I am grateful to my family for not forcing any beliefs on me, but it seems quite funny now looking back on my first childly interpretations of religion, not really having a clue what any of it meant inwardly.

What of Rydal Cave, I ask? Why is the Concert-In-The-Cave Not-In-The-Cave this year? Stones were falling from its roof. Such scant facts were enough from which to fashion a legend over the past twelve months: that Adarsha’s mighty voice brought down the cave last year and it is now no more than a trembling pile of shale.

In 1985 I first went to Burma (as it was still known then). Twenty-seven years later, a very different ‘me’ is returning to a very different country, but the things that matter are still the same.

On July 28th, renowned Olympians, peace leaders, artists and musicians came together in London to celebrate the Olympic spirit of peace and universal friendship, by unveiling the “World Peace Dreamer” statue – a bronze sculpture of Sri Chinmoy holding an Olympic-style peace torch.

I still go at least twice a year to visit the place where Sri Chinmoy spent most of his time – once in April and once in August. Some things are naturally different since his passing in 2007, but some things are still the same.

Is there such a thing as a junkophobe? That’s me. I buy the same thing over and over because I keep throwing useful stuff away; I’m ruthless to the point of impracticality. I can’t tolerate anything old, broken, unlovely, unclean, or out of place. Then what is this old Cheese Doodles packet doing here?

I am often reminded of a parable related by Ramakrishna to his disciples over a hundred years ago – a striking analogy of spiritual learning. As I recall, a tigress went to attack a herd of goats, but a hunter saw her and killed her. As she was dying she gave birth to a cub, who was left behind…

I’d put off visiting Scotland for over a year, even though York is inexcusably close, and even though a very kind open invitation stood since I moved north from Wales. That’s the trouble with open invitations, and things that are close: they hover just below the top of the list.

Alleluia: Qui timent Dominum “He healeth those that are broken in heart: and bindeth up their wounds.” This line shines from the page handed to me at the entrance of King’s College Chapel, part of a sung mass I am about to hear.