handful of dust

There hasn't been any word of the ones who went away,
Letters didnt arrive like had been expected.
Whispers on the wind. Echoes bound off a vast mountain,
Who's roots hadnt really so much to explore -
Yet deepened, and fastened, holding on.
Old wives tales; from marauding tiger to kingdom come
We haven't heard enough to understand what we say.
Ideas hadn't had time to become realised,
Shadows in the cave. Fading world is a crumbled dream,
Who's images werent captured in any sense of the word -
But remembered, unforgotten, reassured.

There's one of the ones who's been fooled -
Fooled into thinking it's easy to unexist.
Reasoned to a wish that all turns to dust -
And blows away. To immateriality...
Now, in dream's essence the spirit has always been,
Since blown into the mould and held in esteem,
And holding to account it's own peurile promise -
A Just action. Your own doings are wrong.
And forgotten naivetes emerge and solidify.
A script already written - pages acted but unread.

A hand deftly, and timidly lifts a curtain,
While the observers turn away, wings covering teary eyes.
Dark timelessness beyond, an unavoidable inevitibility -
Not dead you are, and not living.
Peerless possibility. Fallen to your knees.

rhyme of the ancient and misguided

if one were inclined, it would be folly, though never undermined,
to live and unwind, to forget the end of time,
and to be lost in that untold misery of the blind,
unseeing, and unhearing, and never wanting to know any more
a blot on the landscape, ever-growing, ever bored
never knowing what you're here for
knowing only that you are you, and that's all
no matter what you want, we're enthralled
all for you, and other is trampled upon
worship you, you are the one.

but only you know your weakness and low esteem
they'll never trample on your dreams
because you never acknowledge their right to be
they're nothing but followers, uneasy

so the darkness has long since taken hold
you're too old, your soul has been sold
and there's no chance to turn back anyway.
you've exceeded the bounds a hundred-fold
cant regret, abused times have flown away.

there comes a time, eternity, where always is your ever-more
death comes once, but then life only begins, and death no more
more, ever? never? what has it even meant?
our time's going by and it's almost all been spent
time to take the choice to repent-
to turn back and give away all that freedom to choose,
to submit and to live, and not to lose.


no, listen, dont fret til your final breath
but take heed of these words you've read.
you still have the chance to surrender yourself
and erase what's been done and said.

ask

Whatever happened to that energy?

That Father Ted 'I could convert gays' -esque energy.

Was it naive, and has realism set in - or is it just creeping apathy?

The world is full of 'ethical hunger' (so says some English cardinal on BBC), and at the same time has numerous aggressive atheists/secularists peddling their wares. They're convinced that 'religion' was created by humankind as a means of societal control, and cling to some faux-rationalism of probabilities - moving from God probably exists, to God probably doesnt exist, to God doesnt exist.

What an illogical statement!

If God didnt exist then there wouldnt be a subject for that predicate.. i.e. if He didnt exist then no-one would be spending time trying to prove He didnt, because there wouldnt be a He in the first place. Ill-logic.

Yes, it is a sickness - possibly (and now academically termed) 'affluenza', where the world's stuck in a middle-age 'big fish eats the little ones' worldview which demands ruthless individualism and all for material gains. Spirituality is seen as 'tales of the ancients', and only suitable in the realm of mad poets and metaphysicists, but that in itself is nothing new - merely an old tale stretching back as far as what it's opposed to...

So it's time for someone like this author, who has the alternative, and the only balanced view, to give that view out to the fellow humans, in hope that someone else will understand too...

farms

i had a good chat with a nice egyptian man, who does odd-jobs around the mosque. previously we hadn't talked much cos i was not in an understanding mood - plus, if you've ever talked to an egyptian in his language (a warped version of arabic) then you'd know what i was talking about.

well, it was after friday prayer, on a lovely sunny day, and we'd gathered at the little tea-stall that the prayer-caller's brother owns, and drinking something called sahlab - which is milk-based, and really sweet, with cinnamon powder and coconut flakes, and i got to chatting this guy.

we chatted about farming, and the differences invloved in irish and egyptian farming, and i was surprised at my own ability to speak on those topics - it being such a long time since i've done anything remotely resembling farming, but the more i spoke the more it came flooding back. those old roots don't die - merely hibernate, ready to be revived.

the farmer is close to the earth, and far from the city, and thus is in prime position to appreciate God's wonderful creation. he takes what he needs from the earth, and doesn't settle for frozen, or preserved, or plastic-wrapped tasteless luxury.

i was reminded that itwas the same one day in my country, but with the advent of cars and huge supermarkets, and the ingrained notion that you need to be a part of the economic system to survive, that simple life seems dead - but perhaps it can be ressurrected. i now recall the earthy neighbour who moved in close to my home, and respect his decision to live the 'good life'. (remember that british comedy?)

it is one of my latest dreams to do the whole 'sheep-raising' thing anyway, so...