tariki

On the cover of the book Carlo Rovelli is termed "The Poet of Physics" and for once such book cover claim is not exaggeration. And given my mark of 5 out of 100 in my school Physics exam it is poetry I need rather than algebraic equations and constant reference to quantum leaps. Poetry. Our world is one of "becoming", not "being", of "events", not "things". Inter-being. Or as the poet (Carlo Rovelli) himself expresses it:- "A kiss not a stone". And humour too. Here is Mr Rovelli explaining that such events do not follow a precise time that is unvariable:- "The events of the world do not form an orderly queue, like the English. They crowd around chaotically, like Italians."The prose of the author is humane. As an example, here he speaks of another physicist who he has admired but has now passed on (or passed back perhaps?) Rovelli writes that he "can no longer tell him I believe that he was the first to come close to the heart of the mystery of quantum gravity. Because he is no longer here – here and now. This is time for us. Memory and nostalgia. The pain of absence. But it isn’t absence that causes sorrow. It is affection and love. Without affection, without love, such absences would cause us no pain. For this reason, even the pain caused by absence is, in the end, something good and even beautiful, because it feeds on that which gives meaning to life."This is fine. Humane. Science meets our humanity.Next stop the "Shobogenzo Uji" of the Zen Master Dogen, who seemed to anticipate much of this in 13th century Japan, in his famous essay "Being-Time". Being is time, and time is being. Dogen sought his very own time and place as we must continually seek and live in ours. The journey itself is home.

I love that you spun off at a sort of tangent. One thing suggesting another. Correspondences, one thing not quite the other, but suggestive. Merton goes on to speak of another type of consciousness, beginning not with our thinking self, but with Being itself, prior to any split into subject and object. Hitting the "ground" of Being first, in Faith, will eventually bring forth all the various diversifications of our own search for our own "time and place", our own journey. Beginning with some assumed split between "self" and "other" will lead to the endless confusions of thought that constitute suffering (dukkha) As one wag once said, we must rest on the firm foundations of emptiness. Or as St John of the Cross...... "If we wish to be sure of the road we walk on we must close our eyes and walk in tge dark" While I'm waffling, another verse or two from St John of the Cross:- On that glad night in secret, for no one saw me, nor did I look at anything with no other light or guide than the one that burned in my heart. This guided me more surely than the light of noon to where he was awaiting me — him I knew so well — there in a place where no one appeared. While I'm waffling, drinking coffee in McDonalds, another thought just popping into my mind, Case 2 of the Blue Cliff Record, all about not having preferences, of Buddhism teaching nothing. In the little book by Terrence Keenan, a commentary by some modern zen worthy:- In the old city at the head of Grafton Street a busker plays his fiddle. First Brahms, then Bach and a little Paganini for fun. Fingers run up and down strings. Is it the vibrating air, his skill, or the old melodies that bring tears to my eyes? Tell me, I need to know. It is that "need to know" that causes all the misery.

This is why I think it best to simply ask if Reality has significance rather than asking ourselves if we "believe in God". For me the simply FACT that there is indisputably something rather than nothing implies "significance"; rather than Reality simply being mindless matter in motion, a "tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Once we start asking if there is "One who speaks" (or any other phrase denoting some "higher" being) then we are sucked into the endless dialectic of reason, its conflicts and confusions. One thought leads to another, questions, objections. And "who shall untangle this tangle", as per the very beginning of the Visuddhimagga (the Path of Purification) by Buddhaghosa. The Buddha's answer, as mentioned elsewhere, was to be silent in the face of all metaphysical questions, simply because any "answer", clung to and "believed in", was inimical to the Holy Life, the path to the final end of suffering (dukkha) The true path is pathless, beyond definitions, beginning where we are. Faith. But if we confuse faith with "belief" the game is up, at least as I see it. Faith is a complete letting go, which - strangely perhaps - guarantees absolutely nothing.

Hi Paul, good to hear from you again. Not actually my signature, which is further down, and the full words are:- May true Dharma continue. No blame. Be kind. Love everything. I just thought that the Inquisition would be after me if I quoted it in full. 😀

Hello there 'goose (if I might be so familiar.....😀) Like Rom above, I don't really fall into the category you specify. I would say however that there really is no need to feel compelled to assert and believe in many of the beliefs of "fundamentalists" in order to explore and deepen your faith, or to identify as Christian. Christianity really is a very broad Church, embracing the Catholic, Eastern Orthodox and the various Protestant expressions. One theme often articulated by many of the Early Church Fathers was the incomprehensibility of God. Some of the great Christian mystics have explored this in their own spiritual journeys, with Meister Eckhart (13th century) saying:- "Nothing that knowledge can grasp or desire can want is God. Where knowledge and desire end, there is darkness - and there God shines" Such words are far from any transcendent Being imagined and "believed" in by many. Anyway, the above just one example. Recommended is "The Universal Christ" by Richard Rohr. All the best

When I first started looking back at some of these old poems there were one or two that I simply could not remember writing. One was obviously about an incident of seeing some old and vacant lady wandering down the street and my reactions. It was particularly striking in a very emotional way........this because eventually my own mother declined with dementia, and her last three or so years were particularly stressful in many ways. So my words, written before this happened, made me think of those who may have just passed my own mother by as she must sometimes have stood, bewildered and lost. And When She Had Gone, Pity Came She seemed to have no yesterdays And very little else As she stood alone in the passing crowds Staring, talking to herself. I approached her with a numbing dread. Would she turn to me and speak And isolate me from a kinship made With all others on that street? But I had no need to worry - Her mouth gaped and trembled wide; So I passed her without a sideways glance And left her far behind. Yet looked back. She had moved at last To the pavements edge, still lost - (I remember thinking how strange it seemed That she looked before she crossed) I also happened to hit an old poem that I remember at the time as being fraught with a deal of anguish. It came from a news story, of a young boy, just five or so, who fell down a man-hole. His mother rushed to the opening but he was too far down. Soon a rescue squad arrived, a microphone was set up. His mother could hear the little boys cries. Calling for his mother. Eventually one guy went down on a rope. At one point his hands and the hand of the little boy clasped each other, but then slid apart because of the slime. The little lad slid away. Basically, that is the end of it. I found it all shocking at the time and I think anyone will still find it so if they still have......what can you call it....... "imagination". I see from my old book the use of much tippex as I tried different words. But really, what words could ever be adequate? The boy was called Alfredo, my poem "Alfredo is it dark?" Curled within your shocking tomb As once within your mother's womb (Alfredo, is it dark?) On microphone, soul destroying Hear the muffled fearful crying (Alfredo is it dark?) When you lie so far below Can any stand and worship now. (Alfredo is it dark?) The horror of your mother's grief Rips the heart of all belief Far beyond the empty skies The still and silent figure lies Drawn the final muddied breath Died, the tiny lonely death At the time I was into Theodicy, the attempt to justify God in the face of our world's evil and suffering. Sometimes I thought that I had "the answer" but I now think any "answers" are virtually blasphemy. The "answer" does not rest in any "belief" but is found at another level of being (or non-being) As I have said, I have moved east. But really, "east" and "west" are indistinguishable at certain levels. There is a fancy word to describe what is claimed to be the central philosophy of Buddhism. The Madhyamika, initiated historically by a guy called Nagajuna, around the 2nd century AD. There is a quite famous book on this, a sort of classic, by T.V.R.Murti. It revolves around the "Middle Way" which is said to be not a mid position between two extremes but rather a "no-position" that supercedes all positions, and also relates to the "silence of the Buddha" in response to any metaphysical questions, his refusal to take a "position", claiming that "views" were detrimental to the actual living of the Holy Life, the path to the end of suffering (dukkha) Murti speaks of all the dichotomies, opposites. Being and becoming, eternalism and annihilationism, the substance view and the non-substance view (atman and anatman) and asserts that though most would associate Buddhism with - in this case - the second of each, in fact the Dharma, the living truth, is the "middle way" beyond all views; lived, not thought. Some assert that having no views is itself a "view" but Murti insists that awareness of being free of views is not a view, but freedom itself. Getting back to theodicy, I see this as relevant. It relates to Faith/trust, of letting go. To the book of Job, where eventually God tells Job in effect to shut up! Who was he to judge, or to "take a position", where was he when all came into being? The Richard Dawkins et al of our world often object to this, yet there is a profound sense in which we can "shut up". No blame. Be kind. Love everything.

I must admit that I have not yet found the time to listen to this. I had never heard of Mr Peterson and googled. Apparently seen by some as one of our ages greatest interpreters of the Bible, yet who resists declaring whether or not he actually believes in God. That is about par for the course these days. Whipping the thread onto ground that I can relate to (not having listened), Thomas Merton traces the inability to "believe in" God back to Descartes, with his "I think therefore I am"... "Cartesian thought began with an attempt to reach God as object by starting from the thinking self. But when God becomes object, he sooner or later “dies,” because God as object is ultimately unthinkable. God as object is not only a mere abstract concept, but one which contains so many internal contradictions that it becomes entirely nonnegotiable except when it is hardened into an idol that is maintained in existence by a sheer act of will. For a long time man continued to be capable of this willfulness: but now the effort has become exhausting and many Christians have realized it to be futile" (From an essay in "Zen and the Birds of Appetite") Anyway, Stephen Fry I like. A gentle soul, intelligent.

Glad to hear it! Maybe a few other "lurkers" will be inspired to join in with some chat. I tend to phish these days, throw it out there and see what comes back. Nothing usually. But it keeps me amused. But the world is strange, very much so here in the UK. Surreal at times as our country sinks down the plughole, everything falling to pieces, with the people at the so called "top" either silent or if they do speak, incoherent in terms of any factual reality.

Yes, language is a treacherous sea. Yet as Dogen says, "nothing is concealed". There is no riddle. I downloaded a sample of a book that is about the influence of Wittgenstein on the thought and works of Samuel Beckett. Not much chance of me buying it, it is one of those ridiculously priced ebooks books. But the sample, free, contained a few quotes which I found interesting, in between cracking another couple of levels of Candy Crush Soda Saga. Here are a couple:- “Words fail us.” Why then don’t we introduce more? What would the case have to be for us to be able to do so? (Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations) Is not that so, Willie, that even words fail, at times? (Pause. Back front.) What is one to do then, until they come again? (Beckett, Happy Days) Good stuff if you want to confuse yourself. I'm just rambling really, back in McDonald's after getting the grandchildren to school, then a bus into town. I actually read the Samuel Beckett play "Krapp's Last Tape" again yesterday. Short, like a lot of Beckett's plays. The guy listening to his "wise" words of yesteryear and wondering where all the "insight" went......😜Is there ever a "summing up"? Where are we now? Beckett once wrote a few words about the ending of Dante's Divine Comedy, about eventually "seeing the stars again." He put these words into the mouth of a tramp-like waif as he contemplated death: - "There's a way out there, there's a way out somewhere, the rest would come, the other words, sooner or later, and the power to get there, and the way to get there, and pass out, and see the beauties of the skies, and see the stars again." Apparently from the "Ninth Monologue" whatever that is, so I don't really know the full context of the words. Knowing Beckett, he was expressing the forlorn hopes of another character lost in a bemusing reality. Yet, strangely, I see more compassion in his words than in virtually all the "religious" b******t that is passed around. No blame. Be kind. Love everything.

Words. I've always been interested in translation, one language into another. An art. What changes, what remains the same? "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent" —Wittgenstein, Tractatus What is it that "cannot be spoken"? From Chuang Tzu:- "The purpose of a fish trap is to catch fish, and when the fish are caught, the trap is forgotten. The purpose of a rabbit snare is to catch rabbits. When the rabbits are caught, the snare is forgotten. The purpose of words is to convey ideas. When the ideas are grasped, the words are forgotten. Where can I find a man who has forgotten words? He is the one I would like to talk to." Dogen, the Soto zen master, took issue with the oft quoted:- "Do not mistake the finger that points for the moon itself". Dogen's point was that such an "instruction" implied a duality. Finger and moon. His implication was that "reality" could actually be found in the word; some commentators claim that Dogen saw a fundamental identity of language and enlightenment. All much to do with the Word as text. My main objection to certain claims found in Christianity, that Jesus is the Word par excellence. Uniquely unique! Many see each and every "particular" as containing the universal. Even those such as James Joyce, in the world of literature. Alas, Christianity often makes the claim that Jesus, and Jesus alone, is the "way" and "no one comes to the Father" but by him. The source of so much conflict, of Inquisitions, bigotry and intolerance. One of the great Christian mystics, Meister Eckhart, once said:- "They do Him wrong who only know God in one particular way. They end with the way rather than God." When offering such words for thought and reflection, some have been known to throw back the well known NT verse:- "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father but by Me." Spoken by Jesus. There is a branch of Christian thought concerned with interpretation of the Biblical text. Hermeneutics. Some claim that the Spirit guides the true believer in their interpretation. Which leads to those who believe vastly different things each claiming to be the "true" Christian..... As I see it, the actual import of Eckhart's words can be related with the words of Jesus by a simple application of hermaneutics. A way of understanding, of interpretation, that is NOT "new age", NOT a "turning away from what has always been taught" - NOT any other claim made by a certain kind of Biblical Fundamentalist. It is rather an understanding that has been held throughout the twenty centuries of the Christian Faith. The One who speaks is the Eternal Logos. The Universal Christ. Otherwise known as the Tao, Brahman, Buddha Nature. "Truth is one, sages know it by various names". Well, I am no sage, but I get the drift..... In fact, it is the Biblical Fundamentalist who is the "modernist". Their way of thought, their teaching, their understanding, is derived from Martin Luther and the Reformation. Such thought is NOT "going back to the Bible" and the "original teaching". There was no Bible back at the start, during the early centuries. Since, we have various Canons, and there have always been a rich diversity of teachings, of understanding. And so we each must find our "way". The One Way is, given my argument, unique to each of us. Declaring ourselves the "true" this, that or anything else, is in fact a denial of Christ; the Universal Christ. The Word as text. Each and every particular is the Universal. Suggesting that only one has ever been the "truth", uniquely unique, is disjointed, corrupting. Well, possibly this post has been a bit disjointed.

Musical interlude.... https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=tUqAGoPtfto

After that welcome interlude, I find myself once more in McDonalds, white coffee in hand. A stopping point on my way to Oxfam for my four hour stint on the till. Hopefully very few customers this week and my reverie, listening to Bob Dylan and Marc Bolan, will not be rudely interupted. But as Rambling Syd Rumpo would say, I'm dipping once more into my tucker bag, digging out some old odes. Rambling Syd was played by the late Kenneth Williams, in the radio show "Round the Horne". Rambling Syd was an itinerant folk singer, whose songs were written by Barry Took and Marty Feldman, using Olde English words, which when placed appropriately, would be full of lurid innuendo. Such great old English ballads as "The Song of the Boggle Clencher" (who would "often clench his boggles for less than half a crown" and whose delight was "a shiney night (and a foggy night as well)" . Well, you get the idea. One of his greatest was the "Song of the Somerset Nog" and Syd explained how the nog was "half Suffolk Punch and half dachshund".A strange looking creature he added, "three hands high and eighteen foot long". "Not much to look at no doubt" Syd would say, "but they do say as how the rhubarb in those parts of the world was something mighty fine." But back to the poems, I tend to digress, and there are only so many. As the supermarkets say of their latest "unmissable" offer, "when they're gone, they're gone"! I was struck once when hearing an office colleague offer some sort of response in a situation. Being instinctively judgemental I saw "fault", a lack of sincerity, a grasping after "received truths" and saw no "heart". Anyway.... Convention speaks The heart is dead Only the remembered said. The mind revolves Within its files Choosing words And picking smiles To convey to watching eyes If the heart laughs or cries. But it does neither. It is dead. Only the remembered said. Maybe others here are familiar with The Blue Cliff Record, a collection of Koans. I have a book by Thomas Cleary, "Secrets of the Blue Cliff Record" and over the years I've managed to get to Case 64. Sadly, most of it remains secret to me....... There is another little book, by Terrence Keenan, which is an updated, "modern" version of the Blue Cliff Record, with an abstract art work alongside each "case". More my style. Pretty cheap as a download on Kindle which makes a pleasant change from a few other zen books I could mention. In the Introduction is a little verse by Joshu:- Remake what has gone by and work with what comes. If you don’t remake, you are stuck deeply somewhere. Which I think now can relate to the words of Yu-men, when asked what were the teachings of a whole lifetime. He answered:- "An appropriate statement". Anyway, I would recommend Terrence Keenan's little book, available from all good ebook stores..... No blame. Be kind. Love everything.

Hi there! It seemed like the Mary Celeste around here! Hope all is well with you. 🙂

Mental Health Day today, and mental health now much talked about in the UK, much less kept in the dark, complete with "stiff upper lips", "pull yourself together" and "man up" (or "woman up")and other such nonsense. One feature today was the "Three Men Walking", three (who'd have thought it.....😀) men who each lost a young daughter to suicide. Now they seek to raise awareness. The first "feature" of the day was the missile strikes on Kyiv, and then Mr Putin sitting safe at his desk, black suited, accusing the Ukraine of "terrorism". Instantly I get the feel of "Dr Stangelove" and other satirical movies, yet here is hard reality. "The world is too much with us". Yes, it is. But do not be "conformed" to it. Moving on, a trio of poems from yesteryear, all "christian" in a way. Making connections and disconnections, I have moved "east", and so I read them again, looking and wondering. The first is "Palm Sunday" which is deeply ambiguous. Its ambiguities still puzzle me. I was standing on some low ground Near the road to Bethany When suddenly the distant sound Of cheering came to me. I looked up, saw a distant crowd Where rocks and roadside met But what was causing cries so loud I could not see as yet. Within my heart a wonder flowed - A longing to draw near, Yet as I reached the winding road I found the way was clear. The cheering crowds had moved away, Left nothing to be found. Just dust upon the beaten clay And palm leaves scattered round. It could be seen as "buddhist", i.e. much ado about nothing......😊 The second..... Once shield and witness to a faith A platitude become A church in silence offers now No homage to the Son So solitary building Whatever be one's taste More suggestive of bazaars Than any saving grace Impossible to comprehend That stone of such reserve Once shook in exaltation As host to second birth That offers now but of itself No kingdoms to endow No longer with compulsion acts But as our saviour, Now I was experimenting with half rhymes, with a full rhyme at the end for emphasis. It was "inspired" (surely the wrong word!) by Philip Larkin's "Church Going", a fine poem well worth looking up. My third is called "Church Service". Now I will only enter a church for weddings or funerals (funerals more often these days) I will have a humanist service, with "Mr Tambourine Man" (Dylan) as the intro, and "Gracelands" (Paul Simon) as the outro. I'd love to be there to hear them again. Our breath like demons casted out Our noses pinched by frost and doubt We faithful wend our Narrow Way Betwixt the graveyard's clodded clay. Soon the cold stone church is reached Wherein the Crucified is preached Demeanours miserable as sin With solemn gait we enter in. Then, sought and found, a frozen pew We seat ourselves, the Chosen Few Beneath the stained glass windows glow Black-bibled all, row on row. Too soon the vicar comes (with style) Replete with oily, plastic smile And all resigned we hear him say:- "Welcome all, now let us pray" Heads all bend in pious prayer The God Man's words fly thick and fair (Some brethren muse upon Good News Others contemplate their shoes) Then heads are raised, the organ booms Throats are cleared, the first hymn looms Hymn-book pages softly rustle Through the flock a gentle bustle And then all sing of Love Eternal Voices torn and cracked, infernal All wondering at God's wondrous ways That turns such discord into praise. Watched by the Vicar's gimlet eye More hymns and prayers pass by and by Then to his pulpit, proud he goes, To spout his Sermon's sundry woes. It's "Woe to this" and "woe to that" And "woe to those who chit and chat" It's "woe to those who smile and sing" Woe to almost everything! But joy! yes joy! to those who mourn To those whose yokes are bravely borne. To everyone now graced by dread:- "You can all start living once you're dead" Then down he comes, another hymn Its words unyielding, stark and grim. But then at last! an end to woe! Those Holy Words "You now can go" We shuffle out into the aisle Shuffle up it, single file. Just one thing now to look out for The silver plate beside the door. We all approach it in a line Each fumbling for our smallest coin. The vicar's eyes speak loud and clear:- "Please, no Widow's Mites in here" And so we place a note instead And passed the vicar proudly tread And so on through the oak door where We breathe once more the Lords fresh air. That's all for now. No blame. Be kind. Love everything.

Moving on. I really don't like sundays, they just don't agree with me. I wake up with the anxiety at the highest levels. A bit of therapeutic baking and other household chores and such brings calm of a sort. Really, in some ways it's been all downhill since the UK's then PM Dave Cameron called an EU Referendum. His Party haemorrhaging votes to the UK Independence Party, he sought to put the matter to rest. Instead he let the cat out of the bag. As I say, all downhill from there. Musical chairs at what is called "the top" (for reasons unknown), with Dave, having so unexpectedly lost, giving way to Theresa May, then Boris Johnson and now Liz Truss, of whom Matthew Parris (a Tory journalist) has said:- "there is no more to Liz Truss than meets the eye". The UK has now reached the very bottom of the barrel in terms of what little talent pool it had in the first place. Now the Tories have morphed into the England Independence Party, with the absurd slogan of "Global Britain", which could act as a fine zen koan. Of course Covid had not helped, and alas our world is dysfunctional and even dystopian (without the "speculation" part - who needs speculation when it is in front of us?), with North Korean missiles let loose over Japan, wars here and there, jeans produced with ready made tears, people walking down the highstreet talking into their mobile phones, headphones stuck in ears (our "age of communication") All no doubt prophesied in Revelations if you have a rich enough imagination. The "End Timers" are having a field day. Well, I'm waffling again. Letting it all hang out. A poem... We had relatives down in a small village near the coast. We would walk our then young daughter around a park. Often we would see a mother and her teenage son walking across the grass, I think between the village shop and their home. A bit ungainly, the young lad was a downs child. He was always holding his mum's hand. We mentioned to our relatives once that we had not seen the couple for a while and were told that the mother had died and that the young boy could not really understand. He kept asking where his mum had gone. Anyway, at the time I wrote this.... he did not understand where his mum had gone his mind was childlike and fed upon small things and the living of day to day more than on what the religions say that death came through Adam eating the apple and suchlike - his mind just could not grapple with justifications for evil and such he could not be expected to worry much and never did - just smiled as he walked beside his mum and talked to her - because only she could understand the awkward shaking of his hand and everything he had to say and all he needed in each day O Christ, it hurts to dwell upon his simple question - where's mum gone Once I spent time at a sports club for the physically handicapped and when first there there were three downs youngsters. To begin with you see the obvious similarities of their features but in time they became what they were, unique individuals with their own names. It really is a blessing. The beauty of difference. A bit disjointed here, being interrupted by various things. "Krapp's Last Tape" again. Making connections, or not. To suffering, its cause, its solution. From the Buddhist texts, a guy called Kassapa questions the Buddha... "Is suffering caused by oneself? "Do not put it like that Kassapa" "Then is suffering caused by another? " "Do not put it like that Kassapa" "Then is suffering caused by oneself and another?" "Do not put it like that Kassapa" "Then is suffering neither caused by oneself nor another? " "Do not put it like that Kassapa" "Then there is no suffering?" "It is not a fact that there is no suffering: there is suffering, Kassapa""Then does Master Gotama (the Buddha) neither know nor see suffering?""It is not a fact that I neither know nor see suffering: I both know and see suffering, Kassapa" The conclusion is that we are being asked to "come and see" (for oneself) or in Pali "ehipassiko". The same sort of exchange can be found in the Buddhist texts for much else - life after death, the beginnings of the world, etc etc. All "views" , "conclusions", "answers" are renounced, as not being conducive to the "holy life", the path to deliverance, the "heartwood of the Dharma", which is said to be "unshakeable deliverance of mind". We must open to the reality of suffering (dukkha), not seek "answers" in any text, however venerated. No blame. Be kind. Love everything.

Back in McDonalds, with a straight white coffee. A bit downmarket from Costa's ( 😀) but the price is better in these tough times. I miss those barista's eyeing me up but a young lass crying out "Number 47! " has its upside if you use your imagination. As said, a few old poems. The next two can be dated. They came with the Falklands War, so early 1980's. Anyway, the first was just a short verse. I wrote this after watching the news, another plane landing at Brize Norton with returned servicemen. A tape would be put across to hold back the families, women and children. The soldiers would disembark and at some point the tape would be breached and the little kiddies would run forwards towards their dads. Soon after came another news item, this from Buenos Aires, a funeral cortege for young airmen killed in the conflict. Following the coffins were the mothers, faces torn with grief, wringing their hands. No words are adequate to capture the dualities of our world. "Realising" non-duality within duality is the journey, and can only be lived, not thought. At least as I see it. And the journey is home. But I wrote this short verse: the faces of grief are on the marchfar from where reunions bless(where sons and daughters are lifted highby arms returned to tenderness) Following the war, there was a "Victory Parade" arranged in London by our then Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. The so called Falklands Spirit of national unity was to be celebrated, even fueled. It was declared that there would be no room (at the inn) for any wheelchairs, the walking wounded. Now, such a decision would bring outrage, but then it was accepted with barely a whimper. Here is my poem, "Falkland's Victory Parade". Keep well to the back there boys, There's no votes to be won by you, It's only the able in body and mind We want in the public view. No wheelchairs now, no white sticks; I'm sorry - they must be banned, To preserve the new found unity That's spreading through our land. We need just the beat of marching feet That bursts the heart with pride; Even, perhaps, a prayer or two For the ones who fought and died. So please, keep well to the back boys, Let the healthy take your bow. We all enjoyed the battle - Don't go and spoil it now Keeping to the war theme, the Ukrainian conflict is never out of the news. We have been told by our grandchildren that a little Ukrainian girl has joined their school. Our grandaughter, 8, tells us that this little girl could only say "hi" in English when she arrived, but now could speak a lot more. We asked her if everyone chatted to her and were told "mainly the girls, not so much the boys." But anyway, a little light in the darkness. The current conflict introduces another poem, written in a deliberate boring monotone (so what is different here I hear some say....), called "Those Programmes Are Always the Same"... Those programmes are always the same; Those Current Affairs programmes are always the same. The editions that deal with some new war, Those programmes are always the same. First the historical background is given; How historically the conflict arose, How the crisis began - such information is given. Then the World Perspective is given; Everything is put into context. The conflict is put into focus. The Superpowers - all are placed in perspective. The relevant politicians are referred to; The words and attitudes of the relevant politicians are referred to; A relevant speech of a relevant politician is referred to. There is some in-depth analysis. Then some film is shown of the actual battle area; The areas actually touched by the conflict are shown. Where the bombs have fallen - some film is shown. Then come the women and children screaming. Then come the women and children screaming. Then come the women and children screaming. Then come the women and children screaming. Then various solutions to the crisis are discussed; Various proposals for resolving the conflict are discussed. The various experts discuss the various proposals. Those programmes are always the same. I remember once when the UK Red Arrows put on a display near to where we lived. The planes roared overhead and even though they were "friendly" the roar shook me and had a frightening aspect. I thought then, and think again now, what effect such a roar has on young children in any war zone, knowing that missiles of destruction can wipe away everything they know in an instance. I think of my own grandchildren. No blame. Be kind. Love everything.

Hello again. I was back a year or so ago. I tend to drift around - in more ways than one. I have given up Forums about five times ( 😀) but I really do find waffling on very therapeutic and though in many ways I'm simply talking to myself, the vague sense of an audience is needed. I have mental health issues, mainly anxiety, which hits in the morning and fades, hopefully, during the day. In fact one of my last sojourns was on a mental health forum. Some of the stories there, the personal struggles, made my own seem fairly minor, yet the overall "feeling" of the forum was one of acceptance and warmth, making me think of Leonard Cohen's words from "Anthem"... "there is a crack in everything that's how the light gets in" I can see, looking back, upon my last return, that I spoke of "Krapp's Last Tape", a play by Samuel Beckett. About a guy who records his thoughts or whatever every ten years or so and when listening back struggles with making a connection. What stays the same? What changes? Disconnection and continuity. Buddhist ideas of "rebirth". Once or twice now I have run a thread here and there posting some of my old poems. I recall posting a couple on here before, as and when some thread seemed to all them forth. Back in the day I often wrote poems, in my twenties and early thirties, but they dried up when I began to discover the "real stuff". Which is sad in a way. I think now that any attempt whatsoever at creativity will never be fruitless, however "poor" at another level. Anyway, this is all a preamble to running through a few of my old poems. Each time I seek the connections and discontinuities, ramble on about autobiographical tidbits that surrounded the writing of them. They are my own "tapes". The first are two that I see I have posted before, as mentioned above. I was reading "The Sleepwalkers" by Arthur Koestler, about "Man's changing vision of the Universe" (woman's too I assume) I was exposed to the so called "Copernican Revolution" (and all the subsequent revolutions) as our earth, our home, was displaced from the centre and set into orbit. Then Darwin - we were no special creation. Then Freud - just who was in charge? Enough there to create the angst of modern times and for many the desperate, yet forlorn, clinging to any "old time religion" that didn't seem totally absurd. Before Bacon (and ode to despair) Oh! I wish I'd been born before Bacon When the sun still moved in the sky, When hope was in more than a daydream And beauty in more than the eye. When the Great Chain of Being had God at the top And Old Nic down below in his lair, When people were burnt for love of their souls And not just because they were there. Back in those days before Auschwitz When there was still trust to betray, Before Symbol and Myth became Number And the Cross became DNA. Oh! I wish I'd been born before Bacon When Saints trod the Pilgrim's Path, When people still jumped at a bump in the night And not at a bump in a graph. When Crusades were fought for Truths believed And Faith was the Devils hammer, Nothingness only the clay God used, The Absurd a Bishop's stammer! When Man was seen as something more Than atoms swirling in air, Before the face of the Risen Christ Became the face of despair. Yes, I wish I'd been born before Bacon Though there's not much to choose in the end; But I might have had serfs and a castle And I might have had Christ as a friend For me the whole thing was light and satirical but it was actually read out once at a local prize giving evening and was read rather seriously, even pompously. Such is life. The second. We once lived next door to a couple who had a severely handicapped son, Georgie. One day as I left the house a lady was chatting to the mother and the little lad was in his pushchair. As I passed by the lady reached down and tousled his hair and said:- "He's a kittle angel." I don't know why but I felt anger at hwr words, as if the little lad was being betrayed in some way. Anyway, I wrote this:- see no wings on georgie else he would be bound set no seal upon him place no fences round see him not as what he could be what he should or what he would be see him as he is before you love the living truth, see georgie hope for guidance, hold no answers in the mornings when you wake him as he casts his eyes upon you your response can make or break him Since then I've spent a few days now and again at a Playground for Special Needs Children, where my daughter was supervisor. Once I asked her, about a particular child:- "What's wrong with that one" and she just said: - "You don't have to know what's wrong with them, you just treat them for the child that they are." I mentioned this to her once, saying it was something I had learnt from her. She told me that she had learnt it herself from the previous supervisor, a lady called Di. (I had met Di once, and have a memory of her once being struck over the head repeatedly by an irate child. Di just went down slowly under the blows (they were a bit vicious but not life threatening!) and she had a smile on her face. A lovely lady, who died far too soon of cancer. Anyway, enough for now. No blame. Be kind. Love everything.

Now, following what could be called The Invasion of the Body Snatchers" (😄) I shall depart. I have found a home on a Forum devoted to Mental Health. It has its Chill Out Lounge and Debating Areas, some quite lively, yet involving others who you have learned are facing traumatic experiences It is often demanding to participate. Some stories, the situations others find themselves in, often call forth more than I have to give. Yet in trying I find myself. Platitudes there are useless. There is a place for debate and discussion but eventually you have had enough. You need to reach deeper. Sorry if that sounds like a platitude itself. I have my own mental health issues. I remain a vulnerable person. At this moment this new Forum is my home. Thank you all. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness"

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Nothing like referring to a book for all your answers. Just make sure you choose the right book and come up with the correct interpretation. 😊

Nothing like referring to a book for all your answers. Just make sure you choose the right book and come up with the correct interpretation. 😊

Hi there Mad one, I'd say it happens ROYALLY all the time. It's called the presumption of having and speaking the Truth oneself. 🙂

Regarding guarantees, or lack of them, maybe the confusion rests in the prevalence of what is called the Cartesian self-awareness, an "awareness" that assumes without thought that the empirical ego is the starting point of any advance into the perception/experience of "truth/reality". Fortunately, there will never be guarantees for any such.

I usually refrain from using the word "faith" as it comes for most (it seems) with baggage i.e. they equate it with "belief" (in whatever) I use trust. And as I have said, strangely it comes with no guarantees. Yet my own experience tells me that my Trust in Reality makes a difference. A big difference. Maybe that is simply because I am not very logical..........🙂 So much for logic (of course, there are different kinds of logic)