It's the first post for literally years... done lots of lerking - and posting elsewhere.

Last night was a Lunar Eclipse... glorious eerie red moon for almost an hour - awesome. I can understand why some ancient cultures would see it as a portent.

Anyways... Hopefully more soon

J

Сегодня я горюю с семьями Belsan. Еще раз невиновные жизни потеряны, более senseless смерть и боль. Остальные в мире.

"Today I grieve with the families of Belsan.

Once again innocent lives are lost, more senseless death and pain.

Rest in peace."

When will the human race stop this madness.... I understand the politics and the power hunger.....I just don't understand how bloodlust has killed tortured and maimed so many millions for the 6 thousand or so years of our 'civilised' history?!

So I do the only thing I can, hug my son and thank the powers that be for every day we have together; pray to whatever deity that may be listening for peace; and work to make the refugees and survivors who land in our city just a little more welcome.

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness.

Concerning acts of initiative (and creation) there is one elementary truth,

The ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:

That the moment one definitely commits oneself then Providence moves too.

All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred.

A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.

Whatever you can do, or dream, you can begin it.

Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

Begin it now.
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Beta - ing for a friend's prose - these struck a cord...

“The great tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love.” W. Somerset Maugham

When the heart
Is cut or cracked or broken
Do not clutch it
Let the wound lie open

Let the wind
From the good old sea blow in
To bathe the wound in salt
And let it sting

Let a stray dog lick it
Let a bird lean in the hole and sing
A simple song like a tiny bell
And let it ring

Yeats (?)

AND.....

"WILT thou forgive that sin, where I begun,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive those sins through which I run
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou has done, thou hast not done,
For, I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sin, by which I've won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more."

John Donne

Reviewing the writing that comes with these occasional quotes - and playing VAST, Hamish, soundtracks for Gladiator and Donny Darko make the event more evocative...

Anyways...Long time no post....

a story

I would like to be a story

Maybe my stomach could be the first notes of an opera
It is soft and round. It could be sung by fat men
in black suits at the top of their voices.
It should wobble and bounce and echo.

Maybe my bones could be the rattle of dancing.
If they were hung in a doorway by the beach, they
would chime in the wind. Fingers could strum
the lines at the corners of my eyes when I smile.

Maybe my skin could be the pale screen of a movie.
Light catches through a window and draws pictures on me.
Cowboys roam the sun-drenched praries on the bakc
of my arms. Gangsters move quietly in the shadows.

Maybe my hands could be the covers of a book.
They are bent over at the edges and well-thumbed.
People read carefully between the lines. They could
make stories from whatever they held between them.

Maybe my mouth could be a poem. It is so full of words.
I should take it down to a choppy sea and leave it on
the beach for the water to bubble on my tongue.

One day my ears could become shells.

My throat would make the sound of gulls.

Birds might pluck at my teeth for mussels.

My jaw would be driftwood.

And in time all that would be left is a simple conversation
Where the words are eroded to notes.

(from The Art of Walking Upright, Glenn Colquhoun, NZ poet)

Finally found the solution to my cold feet at work....

I spend what seems like most of my life at the desk/computer.... I am often there late into the night and in the early hours of the morning and fatigue seems to equal chilled extremities regardless of the number of cups of tea consumed.

.... but recently found the laptop charger... *so* warm.... and busy charging the wonderful sleak plastic 'friend/help' that seems to go everywhere with me.

So now I sit feet on the charger warm as toast - and life just got a little better ;-)

J

there was an update - and it was one of humble acknowledgement of all those who strive to make this world a better place... Many thanks - it *will* happen.... we all know that in our hearts and are part of it....

J

Just came across this site today - interesting for anyone doing a study on the growth of the net and WWW

http://web.archive.org/collections/web.html

about growth
the joy that winter is passing
the heady scent of pollen
the mating cries of birds
the warmth of sun on the skin
the beauty of blossoms
the excitement of sprouting branches
my garden and hope..... synonymous really

it's about intimacy

Experiments in the 50s and 60s proved that young monkeys when brought up in isolation plenty of food, shelter and interesting toys to 'play with' but with no kind touch. The monkeys failed to thrive, were paranoid in behaviour and as adults tended toward withdrawal and aggression even when introduced to company.

The absence of calming hands, loving hugs, caring touches left the little creatures bereft of vitality, the life forces so dimished as happiness and hope engendered in a friendly loving touch was denied.

How many humans - particularly adults are missing this part of their lives. In Western society particularly, how often is touch frowned upon or 'trained out' of the individual.

The mallaise in modern society, the amount of depression, the lack of hope.... could it be that some of that is lack of caring connecting touch?

From the diary of a very famous commedian when accounting for his success despite extreme diversity and parental abuse.....

"I guess I was 6 or 7 at the time ... my mother had left us and it was our lovely aunt [] living down the road that was the one person who truly felt like 'home'.... she was a large and beautifully generous woman with a bossom that, for a child, seemed to block out the sun.

If I was upset, or better, as a friendly hello if we met for any reason, she would instinctively gathered me up in the strongest, most loving hug on the planet. I remember my chin fitting to her soft cleavage and cheek pillowed on her warm left bossom. She always smelled like rose water and whatever she had been cooking that day. Her whispered tones deep and smooth like liquid honey simply told me that things would work out and that I was her lovely boy. Nothing more was needed. As she squeezed ..... all the fear and worry melted away..... It was the warmest safest place in the world and would sustain me through days of hurt if necessary.

I'm sure she did it to all 'her kids' in the area, that simple act of a hug, of caring, her sentiments *always* genuine, ample love to share...."