Friday 31 August 2012


Consider your life - has it
really been the catalogue
of disaster, annoyance and discontent
you believe it to be?
'Why is everything always against me?'
you often wail, 'Why is no one
ever on my side?'
your life is progressing perfectly.
You are simply being groomed
for Soul integration.
That is the purpose of physical life...

So your parents weren't exactly loving,
and encouragement appeared to be
an alien notion to them.
You felt overlooked, unwanted,
Yours was no accident of birth.
You chose those particular circumstances
in order to learn independence
and self-motivation.
The lesson was simple.
The difficulty: perspective.

And those school bullies
who made your life hell on earth?
Best friends in disguise.
Think for a moment:
who else could have taught you
to stand up for yourself
and your principles as effectively?
Or instilled lasting self-confidence?
When you're backed into a corner,
inner reserves have no option
but to rise up and save the day.
Didn't you turn out
to be much stronger
and able to stand your ground
than you'd ever have believed possible?

That demoralising first betrayal
in love?
what a lucky escape!
I mean, did you honestly want to be
stuck with a bore like him?
(Or any of those other self-serving
liars and cheats who followed
for that matter?)
Think of them as minute, insignificant squalls
on the surface of a bottomless ocean
of genuine love.
Instead of crying for weeks
you should have been out there diving deeper!

And failing those wretched exams
was no more than the blocking
of an inappropriate career choice.
There is no shame in being destined
for much greater things, and you know
that stagnating from nine-to-five,
seven days a week
in a solicitors office -
just to impress your parents -
would never have made you happy.

So, you see, your vocation as a human being
is to follow the promptings of Spirit,
while searching for the positive
in every situation.
Because each challenge you overcome
brings you one step closer to The Infinite.
Nothing ever happens by chance.

Above all, think of how little
these things will touch you
in middle-age
when you have arrived at your Greatness,
and can see in retrospect
life's lessons for what they were.
And no one will know, then,
how hard you once struggled
against the truth except, perhaps,
those who are struggling still:
those who sense in you a Kindred Spirit,
and search your face
for common ground.


Saturday 25 August 2012


Sometimes it just happens.
Seems like a good idea at the time.
I'm sure you get the picture:
It's been a bad day -
one of the worst,
and you've had it with everyone,
So you decide to go out,
to forget.
Here, there are a myriad of diversions
in multi-coloured cylindrical forms
that seem to say,
'We can make you feel good!'
And that's all it takes
So you succumb, all too easily,
to that exhilarating transition
into an alien world;
where walls are alive,
floors undulate and ripple.
And it's funny.
So funny.
You stumble.
Concerned faces loom over you.
their absurdity provokes
paroxysms of giggling.
You have to get out.
You need some air.

Golden globes that float
in a black Universe.
Dancing, swirling.
Trying to catch one
in your hands, but
the sidewalk tilts
forty-five degrees and splat,
you're flat on your face.
There's no pain, but there's blood.
A lot of blood.
It's dripping onto your hands,
making pretty patterns.
You stare at it,
detached, without wondering why or how.
It just is.

Iron railings
become a crutch.
You're on your feet
and begin staggering off
in what you hope
is the direction of home.
A car parked in the street.
Catching sight of your reflection
in a side window as you pass.
'Carrie', the movie,
comes to mind.
Your laughter dies.
You feel suddenly sick.
You lean against a wall for support,
only to slither back down
onto the pavement.
Cheekbones and nose are beginning
to seriously hurt.
Fumbling through contents
of your bag
for something to numb the pain.
A vodka bottle comes to hand.
You try to line it up with your lips,
but that hand seems to be a separate entity
that you have no control over.
Heavy glass bashes against tooth enamel,
knocking your head back against red bricks.
A pointless exercise anyway
because the bottle is empty.
But the beautiful red patterns
your hands make
on the smooth glass
remind you of
a Turkish Delight sunset.
And you smile,
for the realisation dawns
that you, too, are a part of this miracle;
just as it is a part of you.
And today no longer matters.


Friday 17 August 2012


Oh woe, oh woe,
It's raining again.
The sad sky is weeping
Cold tears for my pain.

It clearly must know
That you're leaving today
In your silver bird
To fly far away.

And does it know, too,
Who awaits you there
Behind pretty pink walls
In her Stockholm lair?

My trust you've betrayed
For, alas, it seems
You've abandoned true love
For ephemeral dreams.

So with broken heart
I make my way home,
Getting soaked to the skin;
Feeling so alone.

Saturday 11 August 2012


'She's a bit weird,' they said,
hurrying past her place as if being different
was somehow contagious.

A Green Man stood sentry by the front door,
and a miniature Stonehenge dominated
an unmowed, weed-conquered lawn.

Deadly nightshade and foxgloves grew profusely
along it's borders, and from the roof of her shed
hung bunches of drying herbs.

'She's either a Witch or a mad woman,' they surmised,
wondering if that freshly-dug patch of soil
might be the grave of some hapless victim.

She'd cast a spell on her next door neighbours,
they knew, because the daughter ran away;
the cat was run over; and then they split up.

That house had been on the market
for over six months as no one would touch it
because she'd been seen, they'd heard,
performing some sort of ritual in billowing robes:

wafting incense smoke over the fence
while chanting in tongues, ringing bells
and whirling like a Dervish.

'She should be locked away,' they concluded,
'from normal decent people like us:
not be allowed to roam free and corrupt
our children with her devilish ways!'

She packed her belongings and quietly departed
soon after those harsh words reached her ears.
And they patted themselves on the back with pride
for ridding their town of her evil presence.

New people live there now who tell
of amulets of love and healing they've found,
and of the tranquil atmosphere inside their home.

'She was a wonderful person - we really liked her.
We can't imagine why why she left,'
they say now, with averted eyes
and fingers crossed behind their backs.

And their words belie a nervous unease.
Do they truly believe themselves jinxed?
Or is it simply the working out
of a Universal rule that decrees:
Your every deed, whether good or ill
will return to you in kind - times ten?

Sunday 5 August 2012


The girl at the checkout
handed it to me.
It was part of my change,
that five pound note.
It stung my hand!
So I jammed it
into patchwork purse
and hurried home.

Safe in familiar territory,
with eyes closed
and mind open,
I took it out and held it
in receptive hand.

The blow to my chest
was debilitating.
Reeling, winded
and on the point
of collapse, I saw
the underside of a car
above me.
And the blood - so much blood,
spurting fountain like
from mangled thorax,
to drip ghastly strings of gore
from murderous metal ceiling.
Inside me,
crushed lungs
gurgled helplessly.
Absolutely horrified,
I threw it down.

It seemed an age before I dared
open my eyes,
pick it up and look.
When I did
I found the stain:
a huge sprawling patch
of faded sepia that
tainted the Queen's head
with tragedy.

I couldn't bear to spend it.
That would have seemed
somehow sacrilegious, like
robbing a Pharaoh's tomb.
So I wrapped it in silk
and buried it deep
in the womb of Mother Earth.

Then I prayed for your safe rebirth.