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The Crucifixion of Christ

17 Aug

I hang my head in shame.
I am forever condemned.
As a prisoner of my own indiscretion
I have forfeited my life to an
Eternity of hell.

No one can take this burden from me,
No one can release me from the chaos of darkness,
No one can ever strip away the horror of my own iniquity.
I have been tricked by my own mind
Into committing this foul and heinous crime
On the pretext of justice
Oblivious of any wretched guilt consequent to my greed.

I cannot beg forgiveness
I cannot ask for mercy.
I cannot allow any leniency or
Relaxation of the laws of clemency.

I, of all people, have allowed
That which should never have been sanctioned,
To be actioned.
I have allowed,
Knowing the colour of innocence
And the colour of guilt,
A bloodbath of torture and cruelty.

Now my hands are stained
Permanently with the slaughter of
The innocent
The kind
The just
The compassionate
The gentle
The loving
The champion of mankind.
And from this I can never hide.

There are many reasons for murder.
And every one has, at its core,
Some semblance of justification
Some sense of reasonableness
Some grotesque payment of debt.
And as an administrator of peace and political will,
I have demanded and ordered
Brutal acts of violence
To quell the discontent of the masses
In order to rule according to the sentiments of the era
And the demands of the title of kingship.

But this,
This conundrum placed before me,
This impossible, unpalatable circumstance,
This dilemma set at my feet
Which threatens the very core of my fragile control,
This distasteful, despicable obnoxious affair
Looms in front of me
Like a grotesque monster breathing into my face
Its fetid breath of noxious vapour
Demanding retribution for a crime
That does not exist.

I am comfortable here
Curled up in the armchair of my
Remorse and guilt.
Though I am thrown into the darkest abyss
Of torture chambers and horrors
No pain can be too great,
No night nor day too long,
No event can be so cataclysmic
That the Universe of evil is smashed upon my head,
For me to wish myself dislodged from this unspeakable suffering.

And with open eyes and outstretched arms
I beseech the heavens
To ensure I am immortal.
For death, even at the end of eternity
Will be too light a sentence
For the poisoned arrow of my sin.

I look into the eyes of my plaintiff.
I see the depth of his compassion.
I see the lineage of his soul
And I see the grace of God
Enveloping him in a translucent, effulgent light.

I am a man of the world.
I have lived amongst the richest and poorest of souls.
I have been graced with an intelligence and perception
Way beyond my just deserts.
I have been given the sharp cunning of the fox
And the guile of the snake.
I have been given the strength of the bear
And the perception of the eagle.
I have risen among the ranks of the generals and the nobility.
And I have paid my dues to each and every one
With favours promised behind closed doors.
I have played the game of power
With the skill and genius of the professional,
And I have relished my advancement
Unashamedly at the expense of others.
And I have always known the price to be paid for this –
Long term pain for short term gain.
And for me it has always been the victory of the moment
Which fuels the blood in my veins
And the triumphal drumbeat of my heart.

Yes, I am a man of the world
And the world of man has lain in my palm of my hand,
Mine, all mine,
Like taking candy from a baby,
As natural as the playground bully,
As effortless as the tattle-tale words of the teacher’s pet.

And each move of mine
Has been as calculated and as strategic
As the greatest army generals that ever lived,
For the purpose of immediate personal gain
Regardless of the cost to any
Unfortunate who may cross my path.

Most people would see me as cruel, heartless and uncompromising.
And in dealing with the world, I am,
For that is the game of the era in which I find myself.
And I respect the rules of this engagement.
Its a dog-eat-dog time,
Kill or be killed,
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
No quarter given nor taken.
Mercy is weakness exposed
As fodder for the adversary.
To the victor goes all the spoils,
And the vanquished lie as
Rotting carcasses in the barren
Plains of contempt.

And into the midst of this
Shark-infested ocean of corruption,
Here, amidst our battered sensibilities
And greed for self,
Into this pit of filth and betrayal,
Comes this quiet, gentle man,
Who only seeks to heal the wounded,
Broken heart of humanity,
Restore the memory of our own heritage
And remind us of the meaning of life.

I remember him.
In my dreams I have seen him.
In the recessed vaults of my memory
I have stored his image.
I had hoped to let sleeping dogs lie.
I had quelled the nagging reprimands
Prompted by his image.
I had managed to sidestep the possibility of this encounter
By being absent from my duties.
I had begun to believe in my own power.
I had managed to conveniently forget this day might ever come.

Hell bent on my own mission of destruction
I had forgotten that even the best laid plans can go awry………

And in one split second,
I am confronted by the baying masses of wolves outside my enclave,
And the pure gracious spirit before me
Of a man of God.

The story of my actions is well documented.
It would be pointless to revisit them here.
Each word, each question, each answer
Is indelibly marked in the history of mankind.
My journal of political suicide is forever exposed to the public
And in the passing of my damning judgement,
I damned myself.

This is no ordinary man.
This is not your run of the mill political pawn,
This is no murdering, plundering beast of wanton destruction.
This is no ordinary mortal reaping the reward of past indiscretions.
Here is a pure and gentle being,
Standing quiet and still in the will of his own god,
Not wishing for miracles
Which would only feed into the superstitious minds of his persecutors,
Wanting only to show his people
How to serve God, unquestioningly,
By example,
Under the most dangerous and trying of circumstances:
The sacrifice of the lover for the beloved
Encapsulated in this significant spotlight of time,
Here at my feet, in my domain.

And seeing all this, as clearly as I see the usual
Strategies of war demarcating the boundaries of my life,
I, for once, so used to betraying my conscience
For the principle of self gain,
Mistaking the wretched knot bound in the pit of my stomach
For illness instead of fear,
Wantonly throw in my lot
With the baying pack of ravenous wolves.

Cold and wretched is this space of self loathing,
Cruel is the torture of mistaking the truth for a game.
How bitter and damning is this hindsight
Of living with the knowledge that,
For all my astuteness and genius,
I missed the only chance I had in a million lifetimes
Of redemption in the sight of God.



20 Oct

I sit here and I do not know where I come from.
I have no idea how or why the world turns,
Only that it does and I too must turn with it.

I have no comprehension of the sense of existence.
It just is, and I am stuck here,
Welded to the passage of time
With no control of the forces that waylay me.

Who can tell the hour of their departure?
Who knows when the train will leave?
Who can plan any day with certainty?

And it is in this state, that I find myself sitting here trying to pretend I am in charge,
Trying to figure the odds of my dice –
But knowing the inevitability of being wrenched from my seat of comfort
And being hurled into the unknown.

I listen to the whispers around me,
I strain my ears to catch the disembodied voices that swirl around me.
I know they know, but they cannot tell.
They cannot flesh out whispers into words.
So I am stuck here with no hope of knowing my fate –
Like a condemned man who sits in his cell awaiting the final turn of the wheel in the works of the judiciary.

I am waiting, that’s the truth!
And who knows? When this wait is over will there just be another ‘wait’ on the other side?
Maybe nothing happens there, maybe that is the end.
And if that is the end, all I have waited for is nothing.

So I am left with three possibilities:
a waiting and an end,
a waiting and some more waiting,
or a waiting and then the objective of all the waiting is reached.

Now that I think about it, for me, only the third scenario has any interest for me.
Why wait just to dissolve as if you have never been?
Why wait just to go on waiting?
Therefore I choose a purpose.
And because I have no hard evidence to base my purpose on, I make one up.

I go through all the possibilities I can find.
I research the libraries of the world.
I eliminate all that that seems inconsequential, stupid and foolhardy.
I eliminate all that wastes my time on empty actions.
I feel my way through dark corners of intellect and logic.
I gather together all that I like, that seems common sense to me,
That gives a reasonable answer to every question I have.
I make sense of my world, and in every area I explore the thoughts of others
Comparing the ideas of ancient voices with those more present.
I look for synchronicities and agreement where it is impossible for one voice to have heard the other.

And after gathering all this information
I form my theory.

As time goes by I hold the theory up to the light for inspection to see if it holds
Knowing that if one uncomfortable thought emerges,
I will be plunged back into the search.
Now I have a plan,
And life becomes meaningful:
I know where I am going,
I know what I am doing and
I know why I am doing it.
And on the surface this seems enough.
I have an answer for everything,
I’m ready for anything and prepared for the best and the worst.
Heart, mind and soul are aligned………

That moment,
When the world goes black.
That moment,
When all the lights go out.
That moment,
When an enormity of catachlysmic proportions tears the sinews from my bones,
Wrenches my heart from my chest and flings my mangled, pulped body against the heartless cliffs of circumstance!

What is the use of intellect?
What use is research?
Who cares about waiting for purpose or not!

It is only in these violent moments of disruption and chaos,
That the mind is swallowed up in the agony and horror of loss and despair.
It is only in these interminable minutes, where time slashes away at our armour of sense
And flings us into an abyss of torture and incessant lament.
It is only in this depth of carnage that hopes and dreams are as incoherent as the languages of the past.

It is here, where only tears and heaving sobs,
Uncontrolled from deep within,
Have any place.
And there is no remedy for this.
Only maybe the passage of time might shroud us
And take us on a journey far from the memory.

It is only here, where the present completely absorbs us.
And in this abscess of dank, dark grief
We touch the chord of who we really are.


14 Sep

Alpha and Omega
How can I tell who I am?
How can I know I exist?
How can I see what I look like?

I have often pondered this.
I have often speculated on my own consciousness.

If you were me, what would you do?
If you had thought so hard that your brain nearly burst and yet you failed to answer this fundamental question of “Who am I?”, what would you do?
Imagine you are cognizant of your own self, but there is no outside containing you and giving you form – you have no parameters, no end.
How could you define yourself?

Then I ask myself, why should I bother to know?
I come to the conclusion that since I am “All That Is”, I must know everything, and yet I do not know what I look like.
So clearly, I do not know everything!
Therefore I think I better as sure as hell find out, so that I do know. I must know what I look like!

If I am seen, if another consciousness can experience me and I then absorb that consciousness, then I will know who I am because I have seen myself.
So within myself, I set out a space from where I withdraw my consciousness.
And into this empty space I inject millions of tiny particles of my own consciousness-
And then I watch what happens.

I see all these small particles floating about, helpless and disconnected, blindly vibrating with no direction.
So I think I must set some rules and guidelines to stop them wandering aimlessly.
And also, I see the panic in their energy field, a hopelessness and despair of feeling abandoned and lost.
So I make sure there is a way for them to return to me when they know me, so they can report back.
And I send a few bright sparks who are still tethered to me who can show them how to find the way back when the time comes.

All in all, its the best idea I can come up with.
From some of the report backs I am now building a picture of myself by comparing the different perspectives.
It is interesting, I must say.
And I am quite enjoying the whole project.

The surprising thing is, though, that these millions of particles of consciousness are displaying remarkable powers of creativity within the confines of the laboratory.
Its quite amazing how the laws I set down can be bent and manipulated, depending on the desires of the individual entities.
And when groups join together with similar intent, great shifts occur.

Who would have thought?
And seeing their antics, so minuscule in the grand scheme of things, yet the fact deters them not;
I have to give them credit for their grit and determination to organize their surroundings to suit their own ends.
And considering these are all particles of me, I also have to say I admire them and therefore I admire myself.

It is also quite pleasing that in all the confusion and chaos, these particles are also asking the same questions
“Who am I” and “How do I know I exist?” as I ask myself.
Yes, I am really quite fond of them all.
Some of the rules I set out now, in hindsight, seem rather harsh and unnecessary.
But the plan is set and can’t be changed now.

So let us just see where it all goes, and as more and more reports come in, the reconnaissance troops will have done enough investigation for me to get my answers.
Then I will draw all the particles back to me,
And I shall be richer for the experiment!

Poetry on Poetry

27 Aug


Craft my words
Into a vessel.
Carrying messages
Across oceans of understanding
Calling in at diverse ports.
Unloading goods for trade
Taking aboard new ideas
And hearing voices
Never known before.

Captain Expression, will order the crew,
Able Seamen Feeling and Emotion,
To man the decks,
As our small craft bobs over the seas
Tossed on stormy waves of passion
Propelled by currents of life
Governed by tides of thoughts
That ebb and swell with the moon.

For rest, seek refuge in a hidden cove.
Anchor there,
Protected from the sentiment of prevailing winds,
Contemplate the heritage of the past
Look to the horizon
And see what fate awaits
When men have no longer use for form.

But then, recklessly, throw aside all maps!
Set sail once more
Seek far distant shores of strange sounds and exotic perfumes.

Watch as the words weave their magic spell and
Borne on the pure joy of rhythm
Watch our little craft seek its own fortune
With no regrets.


2 Oct

Feeding the GeeseWe are happy.

We sense a relaxation within.

We feel that sense of belonging without obligation.

We understand the unspoken tryst of acceptance.

And we know that our time together is playtime.


We imprint ourselves in each other’s energy field and leave our contours there to be examined and explored and experienced.

And we fear it not.

Our light filters into the darkness of each other’s heart and it lifts the burdens that lie therein – maybe only for a short while- yet long enough to allow sapped strength to be renewed.

Ills of the world are left at the doorstep of our engagements and in the lightness of our conversation is camouflaged a deep sense of truth.


It is not always easy to recognize a true friend, and our journey together may be short or long.

And it is often that shifts in our own consciousness cause rifts in our relationships.

But it is all good.

We meet fellow travelers along the road of life and share a cup of mulled wine at inns on the way.

We view the hills and valleys together and cross streams and rivers.

And in this way the sometimes endless road seems shorter and easier to tread, inclement weather is parried with shared umbrellas, and individual experiences added together make problems easier to solve.


Friendship is that mystical sense of understanding without explanation,

Of caring without reason,

And of connecting on a subtle vibration of joy that permeates the barriers of our social conditioning.

We all have the capacity to love and be loved and within the bounds of friendship we are given the opportunity to flex our relationship muscles.

It is a safe place: room for error is generous,

Misunderstandings are incidental and forgiveness abundant.


It is all about warmth and congeniality.

And with only the most basic training all of us can be experts in this most rewarding and enriching language of life.





3 Apr

964_2825ad973817b1101f83075e1095b77aI am the sighing of the wind in the trees.

I carry with me the deep sorrow of the soul.

I am yoked to the burdens of life.

I am tethered to the storms of the angry seas and

I am bound as a slave to the chains of despair.

I am forever welded into the innermost recesses of your heart,

Because I come to you as a gift from the Lord.

Continue reading


10 Jan

I have a sweet smile and shiny eyes.

And I look to you for wisdom.

And I trust you.

I trust you with a trust so profound that it is impossible to fathom its depth.

My trust in you is that of the flower that unguardedly opens its petals as wide as it can in expectation of the visit of the bee.

My trust is so clear and unclouded that it is almost as if I am not there, just my heart is present so that I do not crowd your presence out with mine.

I look to you and put my very being in your hands, for there is no thought or concept in my head to do otherwise.

I drink from your cup and I eat from your plate and I fear nothing.

What is there to fear?

You have the knowledge I seek.

You have the key to the mysteries of life.

You have the answers that my heart desires.

And I look to you for meaning in my world.

And I hide nothing, for what is there to hide?

I know nothing, only that you know, and will tell me all I need to know.

And if you do not know it, then I do not need it.

Only our lives are shaped by the patterns that surround us.

Only our hopes are planted in the soil of the earth.

Only our mind has any attachment to the world around us.

That which is important, that which lies buried deep within us, that which pulls us so relentlessly to God, only that is still and unmoving.

And it is there, in that place, that a little heart beats with love and stretches out its chubby arms to be lifted up and carried over the rocky ground and swirling rivers.

And it is there also, in the midst of the chaotic traffic of life, that a small head with golden curls rests upon the shoulders of the divine, and slips, heavy-lidded, into the unconscious oblivious sleep reserved solely for the innocents.

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