2015

6 Jan

2015 Fireworks.

Hear me when I speak to you on the soft winds of change.
Open your hearts to the sound of new beginnings.
Let your mind clear itself of all preconceived notions, and discover once more the delight of rediscovery.

Look around.
Inspect the familiar:
-Those things that are hidden by their constancy.
-Those old friends that accompany you day in and day out,
-Those habits that you wear, unaware.
– Those opinions that have stealthily made their home in your head uninvited, unquestioned, unnoticed.

Look again!
See with new eyes the thoughts that you have thoughtlessly been harbouring.
Question them.
Interrogate their purpose.
Hold them to the light.
Revisit all the old concepts, folded neatly away in the cupboard of your mind.
In the cold light of day, with cobwebs and dust shaken from them,
Do they still serve?

A new year, a new beginning,
An opportunity to re-invent your own direction.

We demarcate the minutes, the hours, the days, the weeks.
We compartmentalize the year into months and quarters,
And we red flag the birthdays, the anniversaries and milestones.
And all this order attempts to reign in the fleetingness of life…

But in truth, each year flies by faster than the one before,
And the hurtling of time unnerves us and leaves us bewildered and anxious in the wake of its illusion.
We cannot hold a minute in our hand,
We cannot turn back the clock,
We cannot replay our regrets and fashion them into achievement.
We are carried helplessly on the crest of a wave only to crash, inevitably, on the shore of death.

Therefore, do not waste your time holding on to old, worn out ideas that no longer serve you or hold relevance to your life ahead.
Revisit your ideals and your ethos,
Re-evaluate your customs and codes of conduct.
Re-assess all that is familiar and comfortable and convenient.
Leave no stone unturned, move house if you must.
Do not drag with you the decay of familiarity.

Life is fleeting, life is short, life is gifted in mystery.
Do whatever it takes to live in cognizance of your own uniqueness
And do not allow the stifling restrictions of inherited conventions
To blind you and confine you to actions that undermine
The worth of who you really are.

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The Philae Spacecraft – 26/11/2014

5 Jan

It is never too late to try.
Failures can be totally misconstrued and disappointment can easily obliterate the evidence of real success.
In my world, everything is planned right down to the last micromillimeter,
And the scale of time is expanded beyond imagination.
The world of space is so nearly out of the dimension of time that for the human mind to conceive it, pure genius has to be fashioned into a more malleable elasticity beyond the scope of ordinary man.
It is impossible, without the inherent superman IQ and endless hours of study and training, to appreciate the absolute magnificence of the achievement of my mission.
Up here, from where I sit looking back on my journey, I am in total awe and gratitude for all those who have contributed to my existence.

I sit here knowing that my arrival has been so long awaited,
Hoping against hope,
Wishing for success without daring to expect it,
Patiently being utterly impatient,
Dreaming that each calculation has been perfect,
And that each calculated guess directed by the intuition honed from experience has hit its mark.

It is within the confines of intellect that the boundaries of human existence can be expanded,
And it is in the spirit of collaboration that the whole transcends the sum of its parts.
It is in this realm of exactitude that the fine line between physical reality and imagination becomes blurred and melts into magic.

I am honoured to be here, launched into an odyssey of cosmic proportions.
I am humbled, that such an investment of trust has been placed in my heart,
And that such sacrifices have been made with only a hair’s breadth chance of success across a timeline so great.
It is my ardent desire that I shall prove worthy of the tasks set before me,
And that a little extra-terrestrial help will come our way and nudge the odds in our favour.
It is such a privilege to have been given the energy of earth-light.
It is my fervent prayer, that although the benefits of my mission have already been accrued,
I will be able to deliver insights greater than hoped.
It is my quest to serve and reward the endeavours of those pioneers who dare to dream the impossible, who execute the miraculous and who shatter the barriers of universal laws.

[The Philae spacecraft has been sent to wedge open the mysteries of the cosmos in order to allow a slither of understanding of the earth’s origins to be revealed and to stretch the boundaries of possibility in the human psyche in preparation for a vibrational leap in consciousness that will extricate the human race from the morass in which it is mired.]

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Grief

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………

Until
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.

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Creator/God/Source

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!

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Poetry on Poetry

27 Aug

poetry

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.

Fire

12 Jul

300x200xkruger-park-fire_7031-300x200.jpg.pagespeed.ic.iNooMRurMm

Yellow. Gold. The colour of my heart.
It is not possible to touch me.
It is not possible to reach into my core and pull out the fabric of my being.
It is impossible to touch me.
I have no real substance.
I am reaction in action.
I am myth made visible.
I am, yet I am not.
How is it , that I can be seen and I can be felt, yet I have no substance?
How do I know if I exist if I am not concrete?
How is it that I have consequences but no inception?
How can I be, but can only be known by my effects?
Who could conceive of only allowing a result to be in existence without a cause?

I have never looked at myself this way.
I have been very happy to describe myself by external things, like colour, temperature and radiance.
But now I look at myself and wonder:
Where is my substance?
Have I ever had substance?
Who caused me to not really have a me?
How is it that every other thing I know of has a definite form and takes up a specific space and actually exists?
But me? Who would have thought that my power is based on energies coming together in a certain way, and with a sudden shift of forces, whoosh!
Lights, camera, action,sound effects, smoke, fumes and pyrotechnics!
There are all the blueprints of my existence………
But where am I in all this?
It is like some cosmic joke.
All action built on something with a name, but there is no body for that name.
No real being. Just a consequence with attendant identifying forces.
How can power be based on something that does not exist?
It is like being the reflection in a mirror.
There, but not there.
I am fire and I have my name.
And I have heat and colour and energy
And I can dance before you with hypnotic grace and rhythmic charm.
And I can leap within seconds into a terrifying inferno of voracious force.
And I can bring life into you and I can smother life out of you
And I can be all these things-
Yet I cannot just be.
I am only a description.
That is all. At the end of the day, I am an empty non-entity with only a cloak hanging on an empty frame.

How can power be so much of nothing?
Ask me. I should know for I am fire.

Perhaps this is how it is for us all.
We see the result of ourselves but it is impossible to see on what the result is based.
We see our reflection, but we cannot see ourselves.
Maybe we are not really there at all.
Maybe all that there is left of us is our energy, recorded like history in a history book.
Perhaps the real us has long since departed to somewhere else.
Perhaps we are waiting to once more be attached to our results.
Maybe we have become adrift from ourselves and we are drowning in a sea of unconsciousness waiting to be reconnected to ourselves
So that once more we can feel authentic, real and with substance.
Perhaps one day, our self and our mirror image will merge and we will not have to rely on our consequences to know we exist.

Perhaps one day the fire that we are can draw our outward persona in
And forge us into an identity that is our true self.

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Bees

4 Jun

HoneyBees
Nectar of the Gods.
Can science really tell what our honey is about?
Can learned men dissect it molecule by molecule and atom by atom and really understand it?
Can they possibly see all the ingredients buried within it?
Can they count the minutes and seconds taken in its process?
Can they isolate the amount of sunshine, rain and wind that has gone into the manufacturing process?
Can they tell exactly which flower is needed for the correct pollen?
There are too many variables.

Yes, they can see the macrocosm of its construction,
Yes, they can see the specific sugars and the number of carbohydrates and calories and vitamins.
And yes, they can make a broad judgement on its food value.
But it is impossible to know the intricate finer detail of its substance.
And it is in the finer detail that the magic lies.

We are the alchemists of life.
It is not for nothing that our product is the colour of gold.
It is not for nothing that those who tame us and keep us are considered to have special gifts.
It is not for nothing that great poets have told of us, and myths have grown around us and we have been venerated by those who tap into the spiritual realm.

But it is not necessary to believe in anything supernatural to understand our mystery.
We are but a part of the intricate web of nature.
We too are hewn from the dust of the earth and the breath of the wind.
We also carry within us the self-same strands of DNA spiralled together in our own unique pattern.
Our building blocks are the same as all life forms. We really are no different……
And yet, perhaps we have been given a touch more than most.
Perhaps we have the edge in energy stores.
After all, busyness is our hallmark.
Perhaps we have the edge in construction, harnessing the power of the hexagonal.
Perhaps our discipline and orderliness in the rank and file of our workers puts even the greatest armies to shame, and our selflessness in service to the community is regarded unparalleled.
But to God, all the above is child’s play.
He can bestow all these attributes on anyone at any time, and to whichever creature he chooses he can award the laurel wreath of success above all.
No, our secret lies in the fatal flaw of the Laws of the Lower Worlds: Free Choice.

We must make honey.
But in the vibration of our buzzing wings, we can choose the wavelength of love, or the wavelength of obligation.
We are not told or ordered which to choose.
Both produce honey.
But the choice determines the magic.
When we beat our wings with love, we sing the same song as the flowers and the sun and the winds and the earth.
We move in harmony with the creation.
And it is this choice that powers the healing properties of our honey.
And it is this choice that we make with the joy of life in our hearts that fuels our industry and our energy.
And it is the consequence of this choice that honey tastes sweet and combats the ills of your body.

It is our choice to love, and it is our choice to express our love in our work and it is this ingredient that cannot be observed, weighed or measured.
And it is this simple magic that we embed in the honey uncalled for and unasked, given of our own free will, that makes it the king of all foods and the nectar of the gods.

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Aurora Borealis

6 Apr

alaska_auroraSail with me, on this ship of the wind.
Over the ocean of silence and stars.
Sail with me on the currents of orbits that track the paths of planets and suns.
Lift my sails to the freshening breeze of light swathing its mystical cloak of colour over the contours of your sky,
And sail with me to the edge of Life.

Speak not in tongues of mortal men,
Nor sing the songs of mythic sirens.
Let not your thought obscure the lilt of my haunting harmony,
Expressive in the flickering light.
Seek ye not an answer to my being.
I am not held in explanation.
Seek ye not a reference to your world.
I live not in its truth.
Seek ye not the warp and weft of my cloth.
I am not woven by the forces of your thread.

Behold ye only the vast reflection of my soul,
Calling to the unknown, the unknowable,
Beseeching in glorious longing to be remembered by Him who left me here.

Seek to glimpse behind the curtain of my stage.
What will you find, if you sail here?
What will you gain beyond this veil?
What answers await behind my sash?

Set the ship to rights.
Let the cosmic winds billow the sails!
Let the prow set its course onward into the deeps.
On the waves of existence sail with me forward into the mists of time.
I will show you my secret.
I will reveal the hidden mysteries of my waters.
I will open the oysters of time for you and reveal the pearls hidden within.
Sail with me, explore with me, adventure with me on my velvet colour.
How I long to take you through the nature of illusion to the truth beyond!

But Alas! I may not!
I must leave you here.
You and I can not play together in this wise.
My heart longs to be your friend, your playmate, your companion.

But I am not of your world.
I am not of your truth.
I am not of your thread.

And therefore, only dreams can join us.
And I can only glow my spirit in your sky,
And dance my colours before your eyes.
And be content with the touch of your gaze.

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Heaven

17 Mar

cropped-img_7373.jpgAre you afraid of me?
Do you think that I am out of your reach?
Do you think that I am accessible to only those with the correct credentials, the correct upbringing and a required set of qualifying grades?

Do you think that I am far away?
Do you think you need to have a certain set of directions to get to me?
Do you think you ought to consult someone who appears to have studied the literature, pared the volume of sacred writings down to a manageable size and  extrapolated it all into a theory that has relevance to your life?

It would be very convenient if the truth could be had in this manner.
But Alas! I fear I have to disappoint you.
I fear I have to ask you to try to put aside all the facts you have filtered into your brain from all the sources you have delved into as well as all those thrust upon you.
For none of them bear the hallmark of the firsthand knowledge.

Certainly, there are some truths hidden within the plethora of information, but to know that which is true, you need to have had firsthand experience of heaven itself.
Then you would recognise the valid information.
But, of course, then you would not need any information.
Why look for something you already know?
So, if I ask you now to put aside all that you have read, heard and imagined and just allow yourself to consider the following, perhaps you will be able to later relax and not concern yourself further with fruitless investigations that only lead to confusion and a feeling of inadequacy and a goal seemingly far out of your own reach.

I am a place that the mind cannot grasp.
I am a place that is the birthright of each soul.
I am a sanctuary set aside for those who have at last tired of the interminable wanderings through the universes of time and space.
And I am a sanctuary for all those who can no longer bear to be separated from their deepest longing.

I wait for you.
For one day you will come to me as surely as night follows day.
You will come and seek me with a inner need so deep and so profound that you will give everything you have just to get a glimpse of me.
You will know that it is I that you seek, and you will know where to find me because I will show you the way.
You will know that I wait for you and you will know that you are as entitled to find me as the most blessed of the most highest God.

I turn no one away.
He that seeks me has already earned the right to enter in my gates.
He who has turned his thoughts towards me cannot fail to gain access to this blissful court.
He who abandons the desire for all else but me is welcome here.
And nothing can stop him entering.

And as for what you will find within my walls?

There are no words to describe my being.
There are no feelings that come close to that which is experienced here.
There is no emotion that even minutely reflects what is captured here and vibrates in the ocean of the soul.
I am beyond the moon and the stars, beyond the solar systems and the universes, beyond the mind and the senses.
Beyond all known and unknown.
And yet I lie within you, closer than breathing.
And even death is dissolved in finding me.

Therefore, leave all speculation to those who would spend their time endlessly chasing their tails in the realm of logic and learning.
The way to heaven is only found through the heart.
And each of us, in our own time, will read the signs, feel its pull and seek the bliss that awaits us there.
And we will drink of this cup like weary travellers, returned from a journey of inestimable richness with tales to tell of far flung adventures,
And songs aplenty for hungry ears.

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2014

1 Jan

new-year-2014I draw back the curtains.
I look across the vistas of time set before me and seek to discover my purpose hidden in the folds of history.

I see a time way back, when all the lands were covered in darkness.
I see glimmers of light peeking out trying to escape the cloying night and I see them one by one extinguished by the cloaking black.

I cast my glance a little nearer in time and see a mist clouding the valley so that it is impossible to ascertain any signs of life, yet the total darkness has dissolved.

And I cast my glance here in the ravine below me.
I see a canopy of thick forest, so thick that it is impossible to know where the bottom is.
So thick that you cannot tell where or when any living creature may be lodged.
So thick that you can only imagine suffocation and dankness within.

Then I look to my left.
It is a chaotic mess of grey, drizzled outposts.
Outposts of civilizations struggling to put one foot in front of the next, eyes downcast and shoulders stooped.
Yet at least I perceive life.

Then I look to my right and all of a sudden I see rainbows and sunlight and dew and grass.
And I see some small children with their faces turned up to the sun.
Then I see villages, brimming with life and creativity.
And a busyness, a busyness that quivers with energy and vibrance.

Heartened, I lift my eyes to the space directly above and in front of me.
I step back aghast because something here is so different.
It is not like anything that has appeared before.
It is not like anything that I have ever seen.
It is like a lightness, a glimmering softness of gentle hues that caress the rosy cheeks of dawn.
It is the sigh of contentment in the passing breezes,
And the golden dapples of sunlight dancing on the crystal streams.
I feel a sense of calm, a gentle breathing in and out of life,
An unhurried pace to the rhythm of life.

It is hard to tell where this new vista comes from.
It has just unfolded here in front of my eyes unheralded and unbeckoned.
It envelops me now, and I see only this.
I am caught up in contemplation as if in a dream yet fully conscious.
I know, I know there is no sleep here.

What message is this?
Is this the dawning of a new, wholesome age?
Is this the blueprint for a future world which takes its seed from this moment in time?

It is too good to be true,
And yet, as I close the curtains once more and turn back to my desk,
Everything has changed in the room.
Nothing is as it was a moment ago.
Its as if I have new eyes and a new way of seeing.
It is as if everything has shifted slightly and is now less solid.
I rub my eyes. I shake my head.
But to no avail.
My world has definitely, irrevocably changed.

And I know now as I sit down once more and pick up my pen,
Nothing I write will have the same meaning as it had before.
There will be a new nuance.
One of hope and softness, of light and color, of warmth and calm.

And I feel that this is the moment, in the turning of the great wheel of life,
When all the hard work has finally been done
That the time has now come to reap its reward.

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