It’s over there
If you would see,
If you’re not scared
Of mystery.
Continue reading at Poetry, Short Prose and Walking
It’s over there
If you would see,
If you’re not scared
Of mystery.
Continue reading at Poetry, Short Prose and Walking

We had been engaged in one of those long existential debates, discussing life, death and the possibilities of what might come before and after. The debate had gone on for some time, discussion had gone deep and we had covered some serious stuff, including the changing perspective of the years, fuelled by my impending birthday and the universal fragility of life.
“You should make a video,” said my son.
For a moment, I was flattered, feeling that perhaps I had acquitted myself so well that he saw my thoughts as worthy of being shared. But that moment was a fleeting one… he took out his phone.
“What, now?”
“Yeah.”
“But I’m a mess…” Vanity is universal when faced with a lens. Or that’s my excuse.
“Well, I’d rather you were sort of natural anyway…” It all clicked into place then. So much for flattery.
“You mean, for when I die?” My health may be a bit unstable at present, but I’m certainly not planning on dying at the moment. He had the decency to look a tad embarrassed.
“Well, yes… but don’t feel obliged to die anytime soon…”
“Thanks…”
“…I haven’t given you permission yet.” This is true. As he is both my son and my employer, such an extended leave of absence requires his approval and he has made his feelings quite clear on the matter.
By this time, the camera is running and I face the immortalising lens with no make-up, haystack hair and wearing my oldest clothes. We continue the debate, though in a far more lighthearted manner. Even so, it feels odd. Bad enough being recorded, which I dislike at the best of times, but to know you are being filmed as a memory for when you are dead is quite a strange feeling.
One of the things we had been discussing was the value of remembering that physical life is finite. It is a concept that must be taken from rather abstract idea we generally live with and transformed into a practical application. It is not a morbid or depressing perspective, as some might think, but is actually liberating as it shifts the focus from the transient to the eternal.
Continue reading at The Silent Eye

There’s a kind of déjà vu
a message going on here
First Jaye calls me into the office
to see one of our followers
Beautiful pictures of an eagle
Who while flying above his head?
dropped a flight feather
Continue reading at Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

Late summer magic
Multi-hued petals open
Challenging autumn
*
Reblogged from The LIght Behind the Story:

It’s no denying we are living in strange and turbulent times, but alas this is nothing new. We are creatures with a history of chaos and violence that extends through the long lines of recorded history. Then there is that history which was never recorded and extinguished…
But I am thinking of present times and how much the world seems to be tipping on the brink of a major collapse. I am thinking about fear, in particular, and how it has seized the hold of logic and reason, trapping the heart-mind in a suffocating vice.
Continue reading at The Light Behind the Story
Life and love are transitory dreams
through which tokens are spread
like a benediction
over the peaks and valleys
of our existence
Continue reading at Kim Blades

It was either going to be spectacular… or very plain. Probably the latter, as we have found that with the highly decorated churches, it tends to be one or the other, inside or out. It was, then, no surprise to open the door to a calm and simple interior full of soft light. Except… well, the font was pretty spectacular in its own way. The huge bowl dates back to a time when baptism involved more than a trickle of holy water on the brow. It still had the place for the locks too… once upon a time, holy water could be stolen for purposes more akin to sorcery than religion. And it was older than the church… much older in fact and may have belonged to a previous, Saxon church on the site, making it well over a thousand years that it has been used within the community. It used to stand under the chancel arch, with the Devil’s Door to the north so the devil could escape the touch of baptismal water.

It is a beautiful church, its simplicity and serenity untouched by time and the passing of countless feet. But its simplicity is deceptive, for on closer inspection, it begins to yield its treasures.

It is built as a three-cell church, with nave, chancel and an unusual semicircular apse. The chancel arches and ribs are of the same red sandstone as the exterior and the carvings are just as well preserved. The arch itself is decorated simply, with typical Norman geometric patterns.

The capitals of the columns are carved with the ‘True Vine’ that represents Jesus as the Son of God. The vine bears fruit and is the same pattern as the latticework carved on the west window and the foliage coming from the mouths of the Green Men. The symbolism of life and rebirth is obvious and harks back to even older faiths. Even in Egypt, Osiris was depicted as green.

Beneath the capitals are carved figures of saints. While some look like ecclesiastics, and one holds a key so is presumably St Peter, the others remain unidentified.

The inspiration for the arch is thought to have been taken from the Silversmiths’ Gate at Santiago de Compostela, one of the most important places of Christian pilgrimage. The figures are curious. The bottom two appear to be tonsured monks and are smaller than the saints. In many ancient cultures… like the Egyptian and mediaeval paintings that we can still see so clearly… importance was denoted by relative size. I have to wonder if here the carvings are not reminding the congregation that the exoteric Church is of less importance than the saints it ‘supports’… that the earthly Church is less than Divinity. A reminder of humility, at a time when the priesthood held much power in the land.

Beyond the arch stands a very curious holy water stoup that would have once stood at the doors of the church for the congregation. It was brought from a chapel in the nearby Forest of Treville, near Wormbridge… a name to conjure with, given the plethora of dragons here… and is older even than the font.

A bowl upon an inverted bowl, with hands resting as if upon a pregnant belly. A girdle beneath the belly has four serpents heads hanging from it. It is not Norman. It is probably not even Saxon, but may to be even older than that. You have to ask yourself, given the symbolism, if it was ever a Christian piece to begin with…
Continue reading at France & Vincent
Dear Don,
‘Standing under’ and ‘hanging over you’? The immediate image to arise was that of the Sword that was hung by a single strand of hair above the head of Damocles when he experienced the trappings of power for a day… That particular ‘standing under’ brought understanding of the price paid in fear for worldly ambition.
Above, where seated in his tower,
I saw Conquest depicted in his power
There was a sharpened sword above his head
That hung there by the thinnest simple thread.
…so wrote Geoffrey Chaucer of the mural in the Temple of Mars, when the Knight describes the three Temples in Theseus’ amphitheatre…
The fateful Sword, though, could as easily have been a spear, or even an ‘arrow head’… for the weight of the will of the people… or ‘sheeple’, as they/we are too often seen by those in power, hangs also by a thread when duly and justly exercised…
I was thinking about the whole ‘Troy Town’ dilemma too. So, if ‘Troy’ was originally a French ‘trois’, then two stones as three ‘stations’ of the labyrinth works. How about the ‘town’ though? The word could have been derived from the Old English tūn , which means ‘enclosure’ or ‘garden’. So, we would have the Garden of Three. Or it could come from the words for ‘fortress’…or even the Proto-Celtic dūnom, which has even older roots and means to ‘come full circle’… which seems rather appropriate.
Continue reading at France & Vincent

*
We had watched the ferry moored
as we waited to disembark.
*
And its something we do by habit
down south…
Always returning via Avebury.
*
Continue reading at France and Vincent