Saturday, June 17, 2017

Over the wall!


By one of those timely gifts of fate, the picture you're looking at arrived in my email box earlier today. 
It was just what I needed to see . . . could it be that you need it, too?

In so many ways it epitomises our current situation.
After the events of the past week, the base of our ladder, here in the UK, is embedded in the smouldering ashes from an appalling and avoidable fire.  It's leaning against the unstable and crumbling wall of a hung parliament.  The ladder itself is precarious, and all that's visible on this side of the wall is in a state of dismemberment, disunion and fear.

But, as we can see from this picture, if you climb up the ladder and look over the top it suddenly becomes clear that there's life beyond our crumbling world.
It's hard to make out the details, when you've lived in the dark you can be dazzled by the light, but it's undoubtedly colourful, energetic, and alive with potential.  Look at our bowler-hatted representative who, having climbed to the top, is clearly entranced.

And can you read the message that someone has written on this side of the wall?  It isn't a prophesy of doom, there's no mention of the end of the world being nigh . . . on the contrary, it promises that the beginning is near.

So, what can we do?  Surely we can start creating ladders?  We can learn from our mistakes and, supporting each other, climb up out of the past and into the future.

But we should probably get a move on . . . by the look of it, that wall won't hold for ever!

Saturday, April 29, 2017

The Phoenix Needs The Ashes




An organism crumbles from the core
And we, who dance on the circumference,
Stick paper on the cracks in the pretence
That they will disappear if we ignore
The stench of death. It all took place before,
Man's empires come to pass and no defence
Of the perimeter can check the sense
Of creeping rot within. What lies in store
Is lawful and deserved; we should not mourn,
Or curse the fading light, lest inner eyes
Grow dim and fail to see a seed is borne
In rotting fruit, a seed that never dies.
In Winter's discontent is Spring re-born,
The phoenix needs the ashes to arise.