Shining threads

Shining threads

Saturday, 30 July 2011

The sky and the sea

The sky sighed to see the sea looking blue - 'Don't be down. Blue does not have to sink its ship but can grow wings (and things) and fly high like me.'

The sea replied to the sky's lofty words: 'Word, brother, for you are my brother - made of the same stuff. I hold the visible and you the invisible. I make waves in the world whilst the swaying of the trees makes you blow. But what do you know of trees? Higher and lower doesn't mean better and worse - just different vibrations in the architecture of life.'

The sky saw the sea's reasoning and let his compassion melt into the choppy rhythms of the ocean. 

Friday, 29 July 2011


She's my birthday and Christmas rolled into one.

A pagan and Christian mix.

She's the place that capitalism and communism meet.

The space where masculine and feminine collide.

She's the bridge between heaven and earth.

The mid-point between up and down.

She's the middle-way within poles of left and right.

A blend of work and play.

She holds a fusion of East and West.

A good balance between hot and cold.

She hangs together between extremes.

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Many peaks

From the peak of the mountain, she realised her enlightened awareness was only partial. She knew the terrain of the humble trail she had partly followed and partly forged on her way up and now could enjoy the view across valleys and rivers to see other peaks - yet the knowledge of those on the other peaks remained unknown to her apart from general principle.

She had held a conceit that she would be Queen of the world once she reached the top and mounted the throne but now realised that there were many royal positions forming a council of Kings and Queens, each surveyors of their own realms and in sometimes communication.

Not only this but there were many others at the peak - some had stayed, others had reached the top and then descended to help those lower down.

Monday, 25 July 2011

Kissing the ground

My feet kiss the ground as I remember what I've found, in the past and the past and the past as it seems today.

Somewhere I seem to be - like a fish out of the sea - and my memory is crumbling like an avalanche of snow falling away - to reveal myself to all who could not see.

Castles in the snow

She builds castles in the snow in the land where they have a million words for sand.

And the sun loves everyone equally, whatever they choose to become.

She builds expectations in my mind so I find when we meet it is on the crest of anticipation.

There is no disappointment. For how could there be when it is you who makes the picture complete.

Saturday, 23 July 2011

The dazzling light

The dazzling light we perceive crashes in from all directions, gleaming with meaninglessness.

It is we who create the meaning - we are the creators. The light is merely given and sets off the process.

Cells invented photosynthesis. They're clever like that!

We invented log-fires and gunpowder and i-books.

From the shining threads of majesty we weave sculptures of gods to which we bow.

From the jumble of sounds we make discrete letters and then assemble them, through various alphabets, into complex works of literature.

And flowers just smile for a while before fading back into the earth.

The blessings of life are transient and all the more so for that.

The dazzling light might wink at us if it could and it does from our perspective, but my feeling is this light has no on-off switch; only we do.

Sunday, 10 July 2011


The ability to split hairs and discern which hairs are worth splitting requires a high degree of acumen and an astute mind to tear the wheat of wisdom from the chaff of mediocrity.

It is just a heart-beat's distance to move from useful hairsplitting to destructive fault-finding.

The pedant's task is weighed down by the responsibility of precision yet paradoxically rewarded by the levity of clarity.

There are three levels:
1 - the realm of fine-tuning - subtle phenomena - poetry of precision
2 - the realm of practical achievement - manifestation of desire - walking the path
3 - the realm of slovenly mass - cesspit of energy - the soil of raw material

Each dimension is important and different people specialise at working at different levels. In the example of pottery, we need to dig the clay, to shape the design, then sculpt the detail. In the example of poetry, we need to take the words, write the story, then tweak the work to increase its beauty.

Too much emphasis in one realm may lead to an unhealthy disposition. Though some may be specialised in hair-splitting, they need to be restrained from spending too long tuning the car, otherwise it will never be ready to drive - and that is its purpose, after all.

Tuesday, 5 July 2011

No second, only now

There is not a
There is
There is not
There is not a
There is
There is not a
There is not
There is not a second
There is not a second
There is not
There is
There is not a second
not a second
not a second
There is not a second to
There is
There is not a second
There is not
There is not a second to waste

Tempting fate

I saw Fate sitting there in a darkened corner, so I sidled up to her and offered her a sweetie.

'No, thank you.' She said primly.

'How about a pair of earrings?

'I'm good for earrings.' She replied briskly.

'A bottle of perfume? It's really rather good.'

'I don't wear perfume.'

'Well, then, a £40 voucher for Selfridges.'

'You're going to have to do better than that.'

'How about a Gucci handbag?'

'Oh, frightfully garish.'

'An electric bicycle?'


'A BMW convertible?'


'A semi-detached house in Brighton?'

'Do me a favour.'

'A penthouse suite in Canary Wharf?'


'Alright then. A 50% profit share in my property development business?'


'Hmmm...' I said, feeling incredibly frustrated and running out of options. 'OK. How about power and dominion over all the lands of the world?'

Fate awoke abruptly from her nonchalant aloofness and stared directly at me.

'You really want me, don't you. All these offers, just so I will go your way. Think about it, really. I am the providential force of the universe - the unseen pattern which links all events. The magic of synchronicity and the teleological purpose bubbling at the depths of the soul of all humanity. No lures of the ego are going to snare me aside from my resolution. I may curve to weave in wayward threads and jive to a tune too complicated (and yet paradoxically simple in its symphony) for most to fathom, but I am not for sale. Not now, not ever.'

I felt crushed. All the power and wealth I had been accumulating for years was being made worthless by the formidable integrity of this supernatural agency. Crumbling in her presence I surrendered my will and life to the ways and whims of Fate herself.

And together we danced gloriously into the night and beyond.

Monday, 4 July 2011

Dancing with your eyes shut

Dancing with your eyes shut.

For a few moments there is only the dance.

The space might be without boundaries for all I know.

Only the music and me.