Good news . . . green news!

I wonder if you share my sense of trepidation when you turn on the news?
Never before have I used the television mute button with such enthusiasm!

On the surface, our current world appears chaotic and confrontational . . . which, when taken together with the hurricanes and volcanic activity, makes it also seem rather scary.

So . . . how about some good news for a change?  I think it's just what we all need.


When we last exchanged ideas we pondered on the crumbling walls of our political and social society.
What I didn't know then was that a special kind of wall is being constructed in Africa, one that's wholly beneficial.   It could, in fact, be looked upon as a wall that's coming to our rescue.

No, it's not a stone barrier, nor is it a divisive wall made out of brick or constructed from mud.
This is a wall that is living, growing and uniting, it's a green wall . . . a wall consisting entirely of trees

Since its inception in 2007, this inspired project has spread.  It now involves eleven African countries and has already transformed countless lives.

At total variance with Donald Trump's plans for a restrictive barrier along the Mexican border,  the Great Green Wall is wholly welcoming.

Eventually it will span the entire width of Africa and, from Senegal to Ethiopia, the countries participating are confident that it will help to counter some of the world's most pressing problems . . . problems such as climate change and the current migration crisis.

Not only that, amongst its many other benefits will be the restoration of arable land, the provision of economic opportunities and the stabilisation of communities.
Click here to read  the impressive details for yourself.

This ambitious enterprise could be termed a social and economic miracle, one brought about not by man's technology, by quite simply by the unquestionable power of trees.

As a wise person once said, 'it's not the survival of the fittest, but the survival of what fits best'.

Trees, as Africa is discovering, not only produce the oxygen that is vital to our existence, but can help our communities to survive if we're wise enough to fit them into our lives.


Could it be that we're finally waking up to our inter-dependence with the living world, our total reliance on the myriad life forms that share this planet?
If so, Africa's Great Green Wall is leading the way, and it's one we all should follow.

So, where should we place our trust . . .  in the branches of a poplar or in the hands of a politician?

No, I don't think we need to answer that question!

The Wood Wide Web

If you're planning an autumn walk in the woods, may I waylay you for a moment?  The facts revealed in an intriguing new book will definitely add to your enjoyment.
Let me whet your appetite.

Called "The Hidden Life of Trees", the book's author, Peter Wohlleben, a German forester, was interviewed on the "Today" programme on Radio 4.
"For the past hundred years," he told us, "we've been looking at nature like a machine . . . " he then went on to prove just how mistaken we've been.

Trees, it seems, are tribal.  Each member of the same species is intent not on personal growth, but on the wellbeing of the family.   Each species, according to Peter Wohlleben, is "genetically as far away from each other as you and a goldfish".

He went on to tell his listeners that the trees within each tribe communicate by means of electric signals from the roots, these roots being brain-like structures which have brain-like processes.  This information can range from the whereabouts of nourishment in the soil to warnings of insect attacks.


What's more, it seems that, at the point where the web of roots cease, the information is still carried forward, this time by means of the surrounding fungal network . . . not so much an inter-net as an under-net.  In fact, this is what scientists have named the complex network, they call it The Wood Wide Web.

Just think about it for a moment, centuries before the advent of the computer, trees had an equally efficient social network by means of which they could support each other.  By this understanding, a spruce tree in Sweden, known to be well over nine thousand years old, has been 'online' for a very long time!


The information was fascinating.  Did you know, I didn't, that a mother tree can recognise its own seedling?
Not only that, it can provide the seedling with food, and nurture its growth.  It will even curb its own root growth to make more room for its progeny.

I was equally astonished to hear of the antipathy between the beech and the oak.  A hostility so strong that beech woods can intentionally weaken the growth of any oaks on their periphery.  Willows, it appears, are loners . . . poplars keep themselves to themselves.


Wohlleben's experience had taught him that trees can make decisions, have memories and even different characters.  "City trees," he declared, "are like street kids, isolated and struggling."
I'll be looking at London's trees very differently in the future.

It was an absorbing interview . . . but surely some of its conclusions were anticipated by Shakespeare?

"And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."

Enjoy your walk!

Friends for life!

I'm going to come clean . . . why not . . . let me willingly confess that some of my best friends are trees.

This confession is prompted by the discovery of a fascinating book, 'Blinded by Science' by Matthew Silverstone.
Amongst many other revelations, this book scientifically validates the incredibly beneficial effects that trees can have on us.

Did you have trees in your life when you were young? 
As a child, my closest confidante was the walnut tree at the bottom of our garden.  Easy to climb, it would harbour me in its branches and offer support in every sense of the word.  It was my friend.

Later, whilst at boarding school, I made a new friend.
Well off the pathway in the wooded grounds I discovered a massive beech.   A tree so huge that the tips of its branches reached down and touched the earth in a vast circle.

Carefully pushing my way through this hanging canopy, I'd gain access to an enchanted, green sanctuary . . . a secret retreat, provided by the tree, that supported me throughout my schooldays.
All friends deserve a name . . . I called the beech tree 'Jonathan'.

What children know instinctively has now acquired scientific confirmation, namely the wide-ranging benefits obtained from contact with trees.

Did you know that the wood oil, phytoncides, exuded by each tree has physiological effects on our bodies . . . including lowering blood pressure and calming anxiety?

It's also been discovered that trees have unique vibrational patterns, patterns which cause positive changes in us when we touch them.
Hugging a tree, it would seem, has much more to offer than mere emotional benefit.

Nor is that all, have you ever thought about the air quality in and around a tree?  Not only does the tree absorb carbon dioxide and emit oxygen, but a tree's leaves serve as filters which remove dust and pollution.
Bear this in mind the next time you stand beneath a tree, and remember whom you have to thank for the invigorating, clean air you're inhaling.

Have I any trees in my life at the moment?  Most definitely!

When my cat and I go walking in the garden our minds are set on a common destination . . . a seat deep in the wooded area beneath a canopy of horse-chestnuts.

True, Chloe's eyes are usually fixed on potential excitement at ground level, but this photo shows you what I see when I gaze upwards.

I see sunshine filtering through the leaves and, in Spring, branches laden with chestnut blossom which, in falling, lays a delicate white carpet beneath our feet.
I gaze up at beautiful, much-loved friends . . . friends who, standing quietly through centuries of massive change, show no signs of exhaustion.

These are uncertain and disturbing times    . . .   times, wouldn't you agree, when we could all do with the reassuring friendship offered by a tree?

Earth Day

Yes, I'll celebrate the 400th Anniversary of the death of Shakespeare . . . where would the English language be without him?
Yes, I'll honour the Queen's 90th birthday . . . her years of service deserve our gratitude.
I'm even willing to give thanks for St George . . . a fine man, I don't doubt, although probably the dragon would disagree.
What seems a little unfortunate is that these three anniversaries should have coincided last week, and, even more unfortunate, that they squeezed out Earth Day.

Did you know that it was Earth Day last Friday?
I saw no mention in the media, and it was only thanks to the internet that I was able to access the many speakers called upon to mark the occasion.

Yet, without the Earth there would be no Shakespeare, no Queen, no St George.  Whilst the sobering discussions I heard online underlined the seriousness of the Earth's fast-changing situation.

Listeners were reminded of the increase in erratic weather patterns, the worldwide shortage of fresh water, the loss of fertility in the soil.  And did you know that there will be no more expeditions to the North Pole?  The ice has become so unstable that rescue aircraft, if needed, can no longer rely on landing safely.

The Earth will survive . . .  but, unless we dramatically change our abuse of available resources,  we could be the ones to go.

We've lost touch with the Earth . . . physically, mentally and spiritually.  We concede that it produces our food, our air, and our water.  But, in our hubris and self-detachment, we imagine that we'll always be able to bully it into contributing enough for our needs.


I say we've lost touch with the Earth, and this is physically all too true.   When did you last walk barefoot in the open air?
Not easy, I grant, for city-dwellers . . . but there are always parks and gardens.
Our ancestors often walked barefoot.  Not because they had no shoes, but because they valued the vital connection with the soil beneath their feet.

They knew instinctively that this contact provided the anti-oxidants that improved their overall health,  and added to their energy levels.


We've literally lost touch with our base.
And, although we badly needed a wake-up call,  Earth Day came and went largely unrecognised.

So, what can we do?  Time isn't on our side.
We can reduce our consumption of the world's resources, even a small reduction in the amount of meat consumed would make a major difference.  We can promote locally-grown produce, we can treat water as a precious commodity, and we can take steps to slow down the rapidly increasing problem of air pollution . . . in the UK alone, air pollution kills over forty thousand people every year.
The one certainty?  Something has to be done.

Who better than Shakespeare to sum up our current dilemma.
To be . . . or not to be?  That is the question, the vital question . . . and it's one we need to answer.

But, if we're such stuff as dreams are made of, then let's dream of a profound change of heart.
Let's dream of a heart that enables us to recognise where we've gone so badly wrong, a heart that encourages us to put things right.

Will it be a case of 'all's well that ends well'?
As Earth Day demonstrated so profoundly  . . . that's entirely up to us.

A message from Planet Earth?

I wonder, might Planet Earth be trying to tell us something?

Since last October, when the Met. Office decided to launch the 'Name Our Storms' project, the UK has been visited by no less than five turbulent, unruly storms.
In less than three months we've suffered the buffeting of Abigail, Barney, Clodagh, Eva and, most recently, Frank.
Nor is there peace in sight.  Gertrude, it seems, is already gaining strength on the far side of the Atlantic.

Nonetheless, whilst the damage we've experienced in this country has been devastating, it pales in comparison with what's been going on elsewhere.

Did you know that over 750,000 people have been evacuated in the Philippines, forced from their homes on account of violent typhoons and flooding?
Or that a similar number of people have been evacuated in Argentina, Paraguay, Brazil and Uruguay?

I'm sure you've heard that the USA has been blown apart by bush fires in California, typhoons in Texas, tornadoes in Dallas, flooding in Missouri and Illinois, not to mention the severe snowstorms that have been experienced elsewhere.

Nor has the souther hemisphere been exempt, bush fires have ravaged south-eastern Australia, and the Northern Territory has suffered severe flooding.

On top of which, stirred up no doubt by all the excitement elsewhere, Mount Etna, on the coast of Sicily, has just chosen to erupt.

Why the dramatic weather conditions?  We're told about El Nino, but shouldn't we be thinking about our relationship with the planet we inhabit?
Isn't it true that we take Earth for granted?
We exploit it . . . abuse it . . . destroy it . . . and never pause to think that we are, in effect, heedlessly cutting off the branch we're sitting on.


It would seem that human beings crave not only profit, but also speed and a sense of imposed order.  Accordingly, and without taking other important factors into account, we remove the trees from the hilltops to provide grazing, and straighten the rivers.

The outcome?  You've only to look around you.
Without the roots of the trees to absorb the surplus water, the rain flows straight down the hillsides.  Without the facility to meander, the rivers become fast-flowing and can quickly produce serious flooding . . .  something we're witnessing all too graphically at the moment.


Could it be that our beleaguered Earth is using El Nino for a purpose?

Is it trying to point out that we're nothing more than cocky newcomers,  newcomers with the dangerous illusion that we're separate from all other forms of life . . .  that we're the ones in control?

Whereas we couldn't exist without our planet's freely-given bounty  . . .    it hasn't the slightest need of us.

What's more, there's no doubt that, should it wish to do so, it could resort to far more drastic and disturbing measures than it's chosen up to now.

Earth is all-powerful . . . click here for a graphic picture of what I mean.
Before we cut off the branch completely, mightn't it be wise to pause and think?

Below the manhole covers . . .

Walking home the other day, I tripped . . . luckily, the shopping I was carrying cushioned my fall.
What had caused me to trip?
My heel had become stuck in a small opening in the pavement.  A manhole cover had been removed and someone had forgotten to replace it.

Not surprisingly, I now pay far more attention to the pavements I walk on, and what I've noticed has come as a considerable surprise.

Try it for yourself.  Look down as you walk through your neighbourhood.
You'll discover, as I did, that manhole covers are everywhere.
Small ones . . . large ones . . . holes covered in metal . . . holes covered in framed tarmac or concrete.

If you study them, you'll see that they allow access to gas pipes, to water pipes, to telephone cables, to electrical wiring, to sewers.  The ground beneath our feet isn't solid . . . on the contrary, it's an active workplace for all that's keeping the surface structure functioning.


This discovery spawned another discovery . . . the realisation of how little we appreciate all that's going on down below.
Unthinkingly, we switch on lights, turn on taps, and access the computer and the television.  When we pull out the plug in the bath, do we stop to consider where the dirty water is going?

Our tendency, it seems, is to place value and attention on the superstructure whilst taking the foundations for granted.  Yet the prized housing above ground would be no more than a useless shell if deprived of the vital utilities below.

These last few weeks have made it clear to all of us that there's something else we take for granted.  Below the manhole covers of our daily existence lie the essential components that underpin all life on this planet . . . namely air, water and sunshine.

Accepting the reality of climate change has forced us to peer cautiously beneath those manhole covers . . . and we've had a shock.

Did you know that, in 2004, nearly three hundred million people were effected by climate disasters, ninety-eight per cent of them in developing countries?
Or that, in the past thirty years, vast swathes of the African continent have been reduced from fertile farmland to arid dust?
Or that, according to Sergei Petrovskii, a professor of Applied Mathematics at the University of Leicester, the warming oceans could seriously deplete the world's oxygen supply?

Did you realise that, as you read this, thousands of refugees are swarming northwards in Bangladesh, fleeing the rising sea levels engulfing their towns and villages?
Or, to come closer to home, that erratic rainfall in southern Europe is seriously impeding the UK's supply of citrus fruit and bananas.

The western media keeps such news firmly below the manhole covers, it was the opening of the Climate Change conference in Paris that enabled the facts to escape.

Click here to listen to the eloquence of Xiuhtezcatl, a fifteen-year-old delegate, when speaking of the global catastrophe that his generation is likely to inherit.

It's a week since the world's leaders gave their impassioned opening speeches in Paris, and much of the media have replaced the manhole covers on climate change.
Although the conference continues, you'd hardly know it.  We're more concerned with war and politics.

Is there anything we can do . . .  anything to ensure that we'll be walking the streets of the future?
Let's breathe in deeply, appreciating the oxygen available to us, and ponder that question.
Surely it's the one that really matters . . . ?

The gift of the mysterious

The days are getting shorter . . . the nights are getting colder . . . and, with the increase in darkness there's a corresponding increase in an underlying sense of anticipation.

Ever since the late Stone Age this has been a significant point of the year . . . a time of mystery, a time of wonder, a time of revelation.

It's little wonder that early Christian leaders interwove myth and prophecy to create a Christmas story in Midwinter.  But they also gave us the shadowy pathway that leads to Christmas . . . the mysterious weeks of Advent.

We live in a world that enjoys a mystery, it sees it as a challenge . . . something to be solved.  It's a world in which it's felt that all questions should be answerable, all conundrums understood.

But, by and large, we're not so fond of the mysterious.  We turn away from the strange and the unusual, all that defies an easy explanation.  We like certainties.

Nonetheless, if we think about it for a moment, even the word 'understand' implies a position of deference in relation to knowledge.  And isn't it true that, in our hearts, we all need the mysterious?

What is it that holds a blade of grass erect?
What resonates so clearly in the song of a bird?
What departs from the body at death?

The answer to each of those questions is 'life'.   We all know that.
But can you, or I, or anyone else explain what 'life' really is?
We know when it's gone . . . that's all.
But, as it says in the Talmud, 'Why ruin a perfectly good question with an answer?'

Christmas is approaching, the New Year will follow . . . and something new will be emerging from the darkness.  It's a time of birth, and all births are mysterious.

There could hardly be a time of greater uncertainty than we have at the moment . . . environmental uncertainty, international uncertainty, future uncertainty.   But mystery lies at the heart of uncertainty and mystery creates wonder.

As we wait in the shadows, mightn't it be wise to acknowledge the enriching power of the mysterious?

It's a quality that words can't fully convey.  Instead, I've something profoundly mysterious to offer you.

Click here for a moving prelude to whatever lies ahead.
And remember, no questions . . . just wonder . . .  and gratitude.

Here Be Dragons

Did those ancient maps really exist?  Or were they a myth, along with the dragons themselves?

True or mythical, we all treasure their memory.
Jerusalem was usually depicted at the centre of the known world.
At the fringe of the parchment, where land gave way to uncharted, un-named oceans, there you'd discover the carefully-etched words, 'Here Be Dragons' . . . an inscription which must have effectively discouraged any ships from further exploration.

Along with the unicorn, centaur and phoenix, the dragon has long been banished from our science-based world.  They've all taken refuge in the world of myth and imagination.


Nowadays, in the real world, we're uncertain whether we're even entitled to write, 'Here Be Fish' on the maps of our depleted oceans.  On account of man's over-fishing, many species are in danger of disappearing altogether.

As for the birds . . . tell me, did you hear a cuckoo last spring?
Where are the London sparrows?
And, if we're thinking of amphibians and mammals, when did a once-familiar frog or hedgehog last cross your path?

May I share a statistic that was told to me the other day?

Apparently, if all the insect life on our planet were to disappear overnight, all the remaining life-forms would survive for no more than five years.  Insects, it seems, are vital to the existence of everything else.

If, on the other hand, human beings were to disappear overnight . . . well, you can guess what I'm going to say.
On the physical level, mankind is wholly predatory.  Every plant and animal species (with the notable exception of our forgiving animal companions) would, I strongly suspect, heave a collective sigh of relief!

Before it's too late, let's remember that we're not omnipotent.  We're an integral part of the whole, our existence being totally dependent on the welfare of that whole.
If we trample our Earth, pollute its water, exhaust its capacity for renewal, we are destroying ourselves . . .. there isn't a spare planet to switch to.

I wonder, may I offer a suggestion?
It came to me after hearing Benedict Allen make an appeal on Radio 4 on behalf of the Environmental Justice Foundation.
May I suggest that we invite those dragons back?  No, not as symbols of intimidation, but as mythical creatures of protection.

We need protective dragons to sit atop the highest mountains and encourage us to gaze upwards in awe and admiration, not climb heedlessly to the summit to plant flags and leave litter.

We need protective dragons to stand guard over the rain forests, and stop us destroying the all-important vegetation.

We need dragons to reside in the depths of  the oceans, and ensure the welfare and continuation of all marine life.

We need dragons to protect those all-important insects . . . insects that we, in our foolishness, classify as pests.

We also need those dragons to point out that the 'quiet and unspoiled' corners of our planet must be treasured, and preferably remain unvisited.
If we persist in our current belief that we should travel everywhere and see everything, those quiet and unspoiled corners could easily disappear in our lifetime.

Finally, we need the dragons to remind us of the honour we should pay to every aspect of our incredible world.

And, if the dragons fail . . . what if we continue on our unthinking pillage?

Might it be that, some day in the future, when an alien being on a distant planet decides to chart a map of the universe, his depiction of planet Earth will be of a barren land . . . a land bearing the telling inscription, 'Here Were Humans'.

There's still time, but the dragons may well need the co-operation of the phoenix if we're to rise from our self-created ashes.

And if we do . . . if we come together, acknowledge the wisdom of St. Francis and recognise our unity?
Let's hope that that alien cartographer will smile through space and bestow on Earth the welcome caption, 'Here Be Harmony'.

Hear the circles sing . . .

Crop circles, it seems, are no longer considered the province of the fanciful.
On the contrary, when one appeared in Bavaria last week it received respectful news coverage worldwide.

Whilst we may not know what they are, nor understand how they come into being, we now accept their reality . . .  along with our own ignorance.

I say 'our own ignorance', but that isn't strictly true.

If you'd like to watch a fascinating, science-based video on the subject, I strongly recommend that you click here.

May I also suggest that you have a look at this display of recent crop circles selected by the BBC.


However, before you do either of those things, please sit back and simply enjoy these truly breath-taking pictures.

Notice the bold, intricate designs . . . no two are similar, far less identical.

Wouldn't you agree that they intrigue, captivate and enchant?  Call me fanciful if you will, but, to me, it's as though they fill the countryside with joyous, silent music.

But, to explain why they mean so much to me, let me tell you of my own encounter.

On a window-sill in my flat lies a treasured ear of wheat.  It came from a crop circle that I was privileged to visit ten years ago . . . an experience I'll never forget.


It was the shared sense of awe and reverence that I particularly remember.  We said little as we walked along, and when we did speak it was in hushed voices.  We moved slowly, and paused frequently . . .  in many ways it was like visiting an ancient and venerable cathedral.

At ground-level you don't experience the pattern in its entirety . . .  what you do witness is the incredible intricacy of the inter-weaving stalks, what you feel is an overwhelming sense of calm, cohesion and power.

It's said that a force of energy moves through the corn stalks to make these circles and, in so doing, pierces the nodules.

In fact, if you examine a nodule of one of the bent corn stalks you'll find that it's fired with tiny holes . . .  holes that defy any other explanation.

But my knowledge of this fascinating subject is limited, you'll learn far more from the video.

Just one final thought.
These past months have been turbulent worldwide. Nations have come together to mourn the tragedy of wars past, to confront the intractability of wars present.

Wouldn't you agree that we are all in need of harmony, strength and stability  . . . qualities so graphically displayed by the crop circles?

It's a long way from Christmas, but let me misquote two lines of a favourite carol, what about:

"Oh, hush the noise, ye men of   strife,
  And hear the circles sing . . . "

Something to share . . .

Quite a while ago we pondered on the power of the 'koan' . . . do you remember?

The 'koan', the unanswerable question . . . best illustrated, perhaps, by the well-known Zen question, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"

Wouldn't you agree that this picture is, in effect, a visual koan?

Directly I saw it I knew that I wanted to share it with you.

It offers no theories, no ideas, no arguments or messages  . . . just a feast for the eyes and a resting-point for the questing mind . . . it certainly needs no additional words from me.

Now . . .  if you've enjoyed that, and have an hour to spare, may I share something else?

It's a film shown recently on BBC4.

It can best be described as a visual feast . . . superbly constructed . . . cogently argued . . . in all, a memorable experience.
May I recommend that you have it on full-screen, it warrants as much space as it can get.

Do you know what I enjoy most about writing these letters?
It's the pleasure of sharing with you the things I value . . . the ideas, discoveries and stories that mean a lot to me.

Here, to move you to awe, and also to give you pause for thought, is the perfect example . . .

'Our Planet From The Air'

The Tipping Point?

I wonder if you've come across an interesting study that was published earlier this month?

By and large, the media ignored the findings, although they were picked up and debated in major scientific journals.

Nonetheless, it had something very important to say to all of us.
May I give you a layman's analysis and reaction?

The research was carried out by the European Space Agency, whose three-satellite mission, known as SWARM, tracks the activity of the magnetic north pole.

I was intrigued to learn that this magnetic pole is subject to a complete reversal every 200,000 to 300,000 years.  However, as it is 780,000 years since the last pole reversal took place, a switch is long overdue.

This latest report indicates that the magnetic pole is currently on the move.  After centuries of relative stability, not only has there been a recent acceleration of its journey from Canada towards Siberia, but there have also been dramatic fluctuations in the power of its magnetic field.  This field, it seems, is weakening at a rate of five per cent every decade, the rate previously experienced every century.

Scientists are not alarmists, so when do SWARM predict that the total shift will take place?

Within the next hundred years is the figure they quote, studiously avoiding mention of the fact that, as the final flip is rapid, it could just as easily happen in the next ten months, ten days . . . or even tomorrow.

And what would be the short-term outcome of such a shift?  Apparently all life on earth, deprived of magnetic stimulus, would become comatose and larval . . . in addition, there would be complete disruption to the world's communications networks and power grid.

This state of inertia would persist, so it is thought, for around three days.

And after that . . . ?
According to scientific and archeological research, on each occasion in the past when life has re-established itself it has done so at a higher level.

Do you find, as I do, that mention of such things causes distant memories to stir?  Deep in our collective subconscious we dimly recall a lost Atlantis . . . a long-forgotten Golden Age.

Which brings me to something not mentioned in the scientific report, the fact that this tipping-point tallies with the beliefs of major world religions.

As recorded in the New Testament, all early Christians believed in an imminent end to the world.  Were they, I wonder, interpreting the magnetic shift as a divine means of spiritual evolution . . .  and could they have been right?

For Hindus, this belief remains dominant.  According to Hindu tradition each age is divided into four eras, eras that are known as Yugas.   We are now in the fourth era, the Kali-yuga . . . a time that is said to precede the End Time and foreshadow the Golden Age.
Read this description of the Kali-Yuga and I think you'll agree that it all sounds strangely familiar!


As I said, I'm no scientist and my analysis of SWARM's recent report only touches the surface.

But might this shift concern you . . . ?  Might it concern me . . .?
Are we, in effect, standing at this moment on the heaving decks of 'The Titanic'?

We don't know.
All we do know is that, on the question of time, there appear to be two certainties:  the over-riding importance of the present moment, and the fact that the magnetic shift will fundamentally change all life on this planet . . . some time in the next hundred years.