soulMerlin's Reflections

a tale of two plants ~ the flowering

The kitchen is my favourite room – the morning sun streams through the windows (which need cleaning) and no matter how tired or ‘down’ I am, a cup of coffee with the two plants, never fails to give me a boost and lift my spirits.

Since the flowering of the Begonia, I have made it a habit to spend at least fifteen minutes with the plants each morning and my moods have undergone a distinct change for the better. I tend to become depressed and negative very easily and the time I have spent with both plants has helped me enormously.

The Begonia really does have an eternal quality about it - certainly its blooms have lasted since the beginning of the year and look as if they will last for a few more weeks to come.

 

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I did regret that the Busy Lizzie had flowered in November and that its blossoms had fallen, before the Begonia transformed into unexpected Scarlet delight – but I was well-pleased to see both plants so obviously flourishing in each others company.

I was indulging in my new-found kitchen-habit,  when I noticed a tiny, purple-green bud, hidden underneath the leaves – a great photo opportunity

The sun was shining after the rain as I clicked away. The kitchen was brim-full of beautiful light and I felt I was swimming and submerged in it – but still able to breath the smell  of my wet garden/wilderness - which went along with my visual experience and augmented it.

 

 

 

I was delighted when I loaded the photos onto my computer, to see that my camera lens had acted like a prism and revealed all the colours of the visible spectrum within the sunlight that filled the room.

There was something really animal or repitle-like about the new arrival - and also human. The bud reminded me of the embryo in the closing sequence of 2001. I’ve embedded a YouTube video of the scene at the end of this post, if you haven’t seen the film – or want to see it again.

I did feel sorry for the Begonia however – although its red blooms looked lovely, the sheer weight of the flowers had caused it to stoop. So I set about improving the ‘scaffolding’ around the plant, by adding another chopstick to lift its flower-head.

 

 

 

 

The chopsticks resembled two legs and so, after briefly transforming itself into a hen, the Begonia finally morphed into “Flower Dragon”.

Remarkably the attraction between the two plants had caused them to grow toward each other, instead of towards the window and the sunlight, as I would have expected. The day was warm, so I took the two plants into the garden and spent a good hour photographing them.

The next day was dull and wet, but as it was warm, I took Lizzie outside once more and managed to get the photo opposite. Like the expression on an unborn child, it seemed solemn as it bowed to it’s new world. The somber day, matched the bud perfectly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I estimated the bud would split in two days time… the time I returned home that night, there was a tiny, purple-red tongue, just starting to appear out of a slit in the ‘nose’ of the pod.

I hoped that the next morning would see the slit grow longer – I was in for a shock, my solemn little bud had changed into a moist, primitive life-form, slowly unfolding in unfamiliar air.

The metamorphosis had completed by the following day and Lizzie stood with it’s flower in full-bloom, apart from two petals which remained permanently half-closed, giving the little flower an unusual, rose-like appearance. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My ivy and jasmine jungle provided the ideal backdrop for the flower, and the early-morning sun which filtered through the leaves, gave a gentle dappled effect.

 

I eventually returned to the kitchen feeling very positive, not only about the flowers, but also about the day ahead

Almost six months have passed since my ‘Flower Dragon’ Begonia first produced the buds which made up it’s head and the subsequent flowers have lasted for six weeks to date. In contrast, the Busy Lizzie flower lasted only a week, before I returned home one night to find it lying, face down on my draining-board.

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

It seems however that the two plants may have synchronised. As I entered the kitchen the following morning, I saw not one, but two flower-heads on the draining-board. My flower-dragon had also shed a large blossom, which looked remarkably fresh and lay to the right of the tiny Busy Lizzie flower…(but don’t worry miffy, it’s got around twenty remaining and still flourishing in all their scarlet glory)

Already there are two new buds on the Busy Lizzie,

I really like my kitchen.

:)

henry

 “The young sow wild oats, the old grow sage” ~ Winston Churchill

 

 

 

 

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Happiness 3 ~ Serenity

 

In fact, the first word I thought of, when I saw her standing in the middle of Stonehenge, was "Tranquility". It was just before 6am on the morning of the Summer Solstice. The ancient stone-circle was packed with revellers and the atmosphere was electric.

We had all spent a wet and wonderful night with the stones and now that the dawn had broken, the noise of chanting, drumming and singing had risen to a crescendo.

She stood, motionless and  transfixed, by the light and power of the rising sun.  People were dancing -  pushing and stumbling on the damp muddy turf - but I knew no one would touch her.

 

She was an island of tranquility in an ocean of Happiness.

 

If you had to paint your happiness, what colours would you use? Would you use the reds of Mirth and Laughter, the gold of Joy, or the gentle blue-greens of Peace?

 

(then I looked again and there was more)

 

How would you mix your colours to paint Serenity?

 

 

The Stonehenge Trilogy

The Miracle of the Solstice ~ Part One “The Spectator   Part Two “The Player”   Part Three “The Biggest Joy”

 

Technorati Tags: happiness,serenity,tranquility,summer solstice,stonehenge

Happiness 2

I had a great holiday with Liz last week. She showed me this photograph which had been taken a couple of weeks before. The look on her face is pure joy and makes me smile.

I just wanted to share it with you on this sunny morning, before I

go down to Eastbourne for this week's performances.

Liz hadn't been on a horse for - well - maybe around 40yrs.

So...when the opportunity came, she ran upstairs and found my son's riding hat from when he was a teenager.

 

Doesn't matter that she's got a bad neck

 

Deosn't matter that everyone was a bit anxious

 

I think she just glows with happiness.

:)

 

Click for Happiness 1

Technorati Tags: happiness

The Odyssey ~ Christina's Telephone

Christina's death came as an almighty shock, a total body-blow that stunned me, both mentally and physically. I had  previously considered myself an Agnostic, which I considered as a 'get-out' clause in my 'Atheist's Contract', that allowed for  the 'Unexplainable'. In other words, 'an Afterlife Insurance'. The wake of her passing affected my spiritual development in many profound ways.

Although I had many spiritual experiences around that time,  the particular event below has given me the most tangible proof' of an afterlife I have ever received. As the factor of 'Belief' is not brought into the equation, my tangible proof' seems to withstand the interrogation of doubt and 'reasonable' thought.

It helps to anchor my belief.

The morning after Christina died, I forced myself to get dressed and go to the town centre. My new grief had started to attack like the cutting of a knife. One moment I would be literally doubled up with sorrow and the next, I would find I could function for a short while. During one numb period that at least gave me some respite, I drifted into a bookstore.

I was floating just above and slightly to the right of myself - I watched as I went along the shelves as I  looked for something that might stop or  lessen the pain.  I opened a book by a prominent spiritual medium and found myself reading about  spirits and how they sometimes make contact through electronic equipment such as radios, TV’s and telephones. This was the sort of re-assurance and proof I so desperately needed.

Later that evening my friend Debbie dropped by to check up on me. I remember Debbie remarking how tense and strange she felt, which I thought was understandable, as she had gone through the ordeal of my mother being taken ill, while I was rehearsing a show in Bristol and had stayed with her in the ambulance and at the hospital, until she passed away nearly three hours later. I arrived about ten minutes after she died and although I regretted it at the time,  I now take solace in the knowledge that people often ‘pass on’ when their loved ones are out of the way in order to spare them the ordeal.

We were standing in the kitchen talking about Christina when the house phone rang. Debbie went to answer it; “They’ve rung off” she called from the living room. There was silence, but a few moments later Debbie spoke again: “It was your mother” Debbie had dialled 1471 to identify the caller and the number recorded was my mother’s mobile telephone.

Faced with the reality of Christina’s death, my 'fair-weather' belief had already begun to cloud. Although I had the constant feeling that she (and many other spirits or forces) were around me, when the chips were down, I did not really consider a belief in the afterlife as anything more than a cushion to soften the harsh reality of unavoidable oblivion.   This was a glimmer of hope - If the telephone call was a genuine contact from my mother, the none-existence of an after-life would become the least likely possibility. 

I remembered that I had put Christina’s phone in the inside pocket of my jacket  which was hanging over the back of a chair in the dining room. I carefully removed the phone, looked at ‘calls made’ and sure enough, a call was listed as having been made from the mobile to the house phone, some two minutes earlier.

Debbie and I were stunned; we repeatedly checked the mobile and the house phone to try and find a logical reason. Debbie wondered why the call had been made to the house phone and not to my  mobile? To me it seemed ‘right’ that  my mother would have tried to contact us both, as Debbie had taken care of Christina over the previous two and a half months and had been her last contact before she died. The more I considered it, the more I became convinced that my mother was still around and in some way, still ‘herself’.

Maybe it was simply a telephone malfunction - but if so, who or what caused the malfunction? It is part of my nature to look for a logical material reason, no matter how extreme and convoluted the co-incidental sequence becomes, rather than simply accept the most likely explanation.

                                                                             ~

¹  ‘Talking to Heaven’ by James Van Praagh, published by Piatkus – www.piatkus.co.uk. JVP asserts that spirits have an affinity with electronic media – Telephones and Answering Machines. “After someone dies, it is possible to receive a phone call and no one is on the other end of the line. Or you may actually hear the voice of the spirit. In some cases the voice has been recorded on answering machines” ~ James Van Praagh.

© soulMerlin

Technorati Tags: spirit contact,afterlife

The Story of Foxy

Sometimes an animal from the wild is chosen to spend a lifetime in surroundings that nature never intended, but which enrich not only the animal itself, but everyone involved.

 

Foxy arrived in Cousin Jean's life, in her husband's jacket pocket - all babies have the same look of newness, no matter what their species...

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I must  admit that my first reaction to the farmer shooting the vixen was rather negative -  but foxes can wreak slaughter on a poultry farm, although arable farmers and horticulturists, involved in the production of fruit, vegetables, ornamental trees and shrubs,  can find value in them, as they control the animals that damage crops. A farmer must balance a love of animals with practicality, otherwise headless chickens, together with attacks on lambs, sheep, goats and even small calves, will be the order of the day.

Considering how hard they work, I appreciate the farmer, digging down and saving  Foxy.

  

As I grow older, the miracle of life has made it increasingly harder for me to destroy anything that lives and exists on this planet - even wasps are "Shooed" out of the kitchen, rather than being walloped by a rolled-up newspaper, as was my previous method. Earlier this year, I was staying in Durham, when two wasps invaded my guest-room, making it impossible for me to get to sleep, without worrying that I would be stung in the middle of the night. After trying for a long while to get them to leave via the open window, I whacked one with my newspaper and deposited it's remains out into the night. The other wasp then began to attack me repeatedly, as if angry at me for killing it's companion - it was very un-nerving.

The conclusion is obvious - I must never consider being a farmer.   

 

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Nine weeks later and we find Foxy; growing up rapidly and becoming part of Jean's family.

I always find it fascinating how animals that are supposed to be natural adversaries, become friends when they are brought up together.

 

 

.Jean always felt guilty about robbing Foxy of her 'wild' life - even though she would have had no life at all if the farmer had not rescued her. It was this concern however that eventually caused Jean to create a unique environment for the new arrival.

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On the other hand, Foxy seemed completely unconcerned - and no fox ever had a more comfortable lair...

 

 

       

                                                   

                                                  

                                                    

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At three months of age, Foxy was becoming a very beautiful young lady

 

                                           

When Jean took Foxy to the annual service of the Blessing of the Animals, all the villagers were fascinated at the wild spirit amongst the puppies, kittens, hamsters and budgies that filled the church  

Foxy's 'wild side' continued to develop however and living in the house as a domesticated animal became increasingly difficult...

 

 

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Foxy was fortunate to live in a rambling cottage, surrounded by fields and woods.  It is impossible to know what impressions she received in her unusual life - a life that had removed the 'eating to live, to hunt to eat' cycle, perhaps allowing her to 'think' more about 'reasons'. 

A fox in the wild only lives for around three years on average and in captivity for around eight...

 

...Foxy lived for more than fourteen years in an atmosphere of love and care and a relationship with Cousin Jean and her husband that must have expanded and enriched her canine brain in a unique fashion. At the very least, as the photo below shows, she was a happy and healthy little fox.

  As her knowledge and expertise grew, animal organisations began to contact Jean, to see if she was able to take in  yet another orphan. One orp

was a young male. Jean was concerned as Foxy was a vixen, but her initial fears were allayed when she was assured that the dog-fox had been neutered...

As you can see from the photo however, the neutering operation must have been somewhat less than successful as the small black objects nestling beside her show.

Two of the pups were released into the wild, when they were old enough to fend for themselves - the other two, a boy and a girl, were named 'Wordsworth' and 'Vixy' and stayed with Jean and Foxy for over a year, until they were moved to an animal sanctuary, where they quickly settled into their new community.

Although the male fox is variously called "reynard" or "dog fox", there is a distinct cat-like quality about them - more so with the female "Vixen".                    

The Cat-Like Canine

"Fox eyes are gold to yellow and have distinctive vertical-slit pupils, similar to those of domestic cats. Their eyesight, despite having cat-like eyes, has been described by fox expert J. David Henry as "poor" and "near-sighted" Their behaviour, and eye-slits, combined with their extreme agility, warrants the Red Fox to be referred to as the "cat-like canine". Its long bushy tail provides balance for large jumps and complex movement. Its strong legs allow it to reach speeds of approximately (45 miles per hour), a great benefit to catching prey or evading predators." ^{~ Wikipedia}

 

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.Each new arrival was named and spent time with Jean, until they were well enough to be released into the wild, or transferred to an animal sanctuary.

One fox was transported 250 miles by car, from Essex to the cottage in Cheshire - a great compliment for Jean's self-taught expertise. Not all of the arrivals were fortunate. "Tassy" who is being cuddled by Jean in the photograph to the right, had been mauled and her mother killed. Tassy was also traumatised and despite loving care and attention, she died soon after she arrived. At least her last days were spent in the comfort of Jean's strong arms.

Although Jean was to care for many foxes over the years, Foxy was different. Jean never referred to Foxy as a pet and Foxy in turn, seemed to consider herself a companion and protector of her unlikely mother. The closeness of their relationship, although unusual for a fox and a human being, is not surprising, as Foxy was weaned on evaporated milk, fed by Jean through an eye-dropper; so to all intents and purposes, Jean was indeed Foxy's mother. A foxes sense of smell is highly acute and Cousin Jeans scent would have been firmly imprinted - certainly Foxy's smell was well imprinted on Jean, as she remembers being tactfully advised that a change of clothes might be desirable. 

It seems colleagues at her work, were unused to the pungent smell of wild fox, wafting through the office air conditioning system. The day Foxy hopped in the car and went to work with Jean must have been most interesting.

Foxy it would seem, had the best of both the 'natural' and also the 'civilised' world. The cottage and the grounds fulfilled her wild soul, whereas the domesticated and civilised part of her being continued to develop as the relationship between her and Jean deepened over the years.

Jean would often take a book and read to Foxy on summer afternoons. Foxy would listen carefully and (as long as no one else was around) jump up and sit on Jean's lap as the story was being told.

Foxy was well aware of the sound of words and the tones of a human voice and she would also communicate with Jean by adapting the natural calls of her species. A fox in the wild will make three high pitched 'yip' sounds  when it is trying to locate other members of it's pack - Foxy changed the 'yips' into three deeper, human-like  "Humph"sounds, to which Jean would respond. It was their greeting to each other.

So Foxy had a bridge between the wild and civilisation - a bridge she was able to cross with ease, according to her instinct and desires. She had settled down well in her pen, which was the size of a large garden shed and many times the size of a dog-kennel. The interior of the hut had a ledge where Foxy could groom or eat and below that was a small chamber where Foxy could feel safe when she slept.

Even so, Foxy was a unique blend of domestic wildness and Jean fondly remembers one chilly night, where the remembered comforts of her childhood, must have compelled Foxy to sneak through the cat-flap and up the stairs, to snuggle down for the night on Jean's bed. In the morning Jean made Foxy her breakfast and then together they pottered down the garden path, back to Foxy's outdoor home.

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 Eventually Foxy's final winter arrived and Jean cared for her soul-mate by lugging large cobble-stones home in a rucksack. She would then heat them on a fire and push them into the hay in Foxy's pen, in order to keep the ageing animal warm during the cold nights. Foxy was now fourteen years old, and had reached almost twice the age of a fox kept in captivity and nearly five times as long as a fox living in the wild. Liz tells me that the effort of taking care of Foxy, 'almost finished' Jean, but soul-mates they truly were and Jean continued to heat the stones every night for her beloved friend, so that she could sleep snug and warm.

                                                                                                                                                                                                          

The end, when it did arrive, came from medical treatment, rather than nature. Foxy had developed a polyp in her throat and although the operation was successful, Foxy's old body could not cope with the effects of the general anaesthetic.

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Sometimes the Universe will pay homage to a returning child of nature.

The day Foxy died, Jean waited until her husband returned home from work. They went down to Foxy's pen and dug a simple grave. The sky was pitch-black and starless, but at the same moment they laid Foxy to rest, the clouds parted and the moon joined them, covering the whole of the countryside in bright silver light...

 

  "What is man without the beasts - If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth, befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit on the ground, they spit on themselves. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected. Man did not weave the web of life: he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself." ~ Chief Seattle

                                                                       ~

 

 

(c) soulMerlin - all the photographs, illustrations and accounts of events are property of and, where appropriate (c) Jean Warren. 

Technorati Tags: fox,vixen,red fox,nature,fox cub,blessing of the animals

The Journey

 

 

There is something about a misty Autumn day in England which can make me both happy and sad at the same time. Like age, Autumn brings its own beauty - it's own happiness and it's own wistfulness. The physical energy of summer has gone and the raw cold of winter is yet to come. But everything about life is cyclical and Spring will return once again...

  As I grow older, hopefully wisdom will also continue to grow from my repeated 'ups' and 'downs'. The same or similar problems tend to  recur in my life experience -  but happily, so do the good times.

 

At one time I thought I was simply going around in circles, until I realised that I was actually spiralling - the trick seems to be to determine whether I am circling upward like an eagle on a rising thermal of warm air, or downward, like a World One bi-plane, spiralling on it's way to destruction.

                                           And I have done both.

 

Last Sunday was Remembrance Day which was broadcast on all our major TV networks. Liz and I watched the service and procession from the Cenotaph in London's Whitehall, as the Queen and all the heads of state, both national and international, gathered to pay homage to those that died in the first world war, which used to be called the "Great War" and which ended 90yrs ago. Each year there are less and less old soldiers, but they are replaced, as Liz noticed, with their sons, daughters and grandchildren. We must never forget, and resist the downward spiral to carnage.

My latest 'bad luck' period came round on my own spiral of fortune. I had endured a remarkable run of bad luck in the Spring - had the 'Hurtful Spirit' returned? More importantly, what if anything had I learnt from my first encounter of the year with capricious fate?

After the Remembrance service was over, Liz and I decided to take advantage of the  hire-car which I have been renting and take a drive to Lotherton Hall near Leeds.  The drive to the hall, through winding country roads was a pleasure and the hire car was so much easier to drive than my old Peugeot. I'm not used to power steering and braking, but after initially trying to stand the car on it's nose several times, I soon began to enjoy the experience of a top of the range automobile...

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  The spiral returned to ill-fortune once more, when the temperature gauge on my old car suddenly glowed red. I was late  and had to be on-stage in Dartford by 2.30. I stopped and discovered that the radiator had sprung a leak. I grew up on old cars and had learned always to have a supply of water and oil, tools and bits of tape and wire in the boot. I discovered a rusty tin of  radiator sealant and after trying for several minutes to open it, I managed to puncture the can with a screwdriver and poured in the gungy treacle. I then refilled the radiator with water and tried to ignore the fact that it was still leaking as I set-off again; convincing myself that the leak would seal as the water temperature went up.  Around five miles further on my hopes were dashed however, as the red light reappeared. "Damn" I was around fifteen miles from the next services and continued with the vain hope that I would get there before the engine seized...

 

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...Liz was really enjoying the ride, even though she had to sit on a cushion to see out of the windscreen. For Liz, Lotherton Hall is so near and yet so far, as there are no bus services. We eventually arrived, parked the car and set off in the damp smokey air, toward the old house, which is surrounded by beautiful gardens and woodland paths.

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...Needless to say, I missed the show and wrecked the engine.  That together with rehearsing and generally trying to  keep my life together, left little time for writing. I did however, visit Liara Covert's 'Dreambuilders' and left a comment which indicated I was going through a bad patch. Liara's reply was encouraging...

                       "May Higher Forces guide you to find new strength."

...a few days after Liara's message, a guide arrived in a most unusual way. Returning home one night, I noticed what  seemed to be a small catalogue in a transparent plastic bag amongst the junk-mail and free newspapers on my doormat. Further investigation revealed it to be a dog-eared and torn book....

 

Rounding the corner of the stately home, Liz and I came upon a statue of an ancient oriental priest, reading a sacred book. The interesting thing was that the priest was holding the book at an angle, as if to share it with someone beside him…

                                                                        ...I picked it up and read the following lines:

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"Our life is an endless journey; it is like a broad highway that extends infinitely into the distance. The practice of meditation provides a vehicle to travel on that road. Our journey consists of  constant ups and downs, hope and fear, but it is a good journey.

The practice of meditation allows us to experience all the textures of the roadway, which is what the journey is all about..."

 

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I'm never quite sure if there are separate forces; I'm more sure of collective forces, both spiritual and physical - indeed 'physio-spiritual'  - and yet there does seem to be a force that can help; a force that cannot be manipulated, coerced or controlled, from a selfish motivation...

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...The statue was of Sho-Haku a pilgrim priest, carrying a gourd and reading a divine work. According to legend, this priest travelled from town to town reading the Scriptures to all with whom he came in contact. He was also known as the Paeony Priest because of his love for the cultivation of Paeony flowers.

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There was no message, inscription or any clue as to who had put the book through my letterbox -

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                               It was mysterious and I enjoyed the mystery...

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....after a while, we stopped for a hot drink in the tearoom and then made our way to the car...

                                      

                                         

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                                                                     .I got lost a few times on the way back - but I eventually found it.

 

 

 

       

           It was a good journey and I'm sure we will return. 

 

 

 

 

                                              And in a mystery to be, when time from time shall set us free, Forgetting me Remember me 

                                                                                                       E. E. Cummings

Technorati Tags: shambhala,reincarnation,journey,spiritual journey,autumn,spiral

Cousin Jean and Foxy

Last week in Lowestoft was very cold and wet. Heigh Ho - at least it gave me a chance to write up the story of the Angel of Inverness, which is probably one of my most scarey encounters with the supernatural and the forces of good and evil. I write my 'main' pieces very slowly - unlike this more relaxed scrawl - in consequence I was working very late one night (well it was around 4.30am), to try and get the atmosphere of the river banks in Inverness 'just right'.  I had been typing for around four hours, when I decided to have a cigarette break at the doorway of the guest house I was staying in. My digs were situated on a long road, lit with sodium street-lamps (which I always find very lonely), but the night was peaceful and still...

...I suddenly (and quietly) became aware of a form moving along the footpath opposite me. It gave me a quiet thrill to realise that the silver-grey apparition was a fox - an urban fox - living with and yet separately from civilisation.

 

I stayed very still, making sure that I didn't look directly at the fox and at the splendid tail or 'brush', which seemed almost as long as the animal itself. Then the fox stopped just opposite me and started to eat something it had found in the grass verge by the road. It was a great sight - the fox continued to rustle and scratch around, looking for all the world like a grey phantom, when I made what could have been a fatal mistake - I flicked my cigarette...

 

...Two sharp eyes looked across at me instantly...two sharp eyes stared and concentrated to detect any movement...any danger.

 

I looked across at the fox and then slowly and deliberately turned my head away and looked down the road. I could see the fox looking at me out of the corner of my eye. For a moment all was still and then the fox recommenced the search for food. For a while, all I could hear was rustling and scratching and then a tiny chewing sound reached my ears. I looked across at the fox; my gaze was returned by a simple stare - again stillness - and then the fox returned to the matter in hand. I was allowed to look. I was accepted.

                                                                                                        ~

 

 

I was relating the event to Liz at the weekend, when she promptly showed me this picture of 'Cousin Jean' and her pet fox. Just look at the direct stare of both the fox and the lady.

 

They really 'know' each other. I realised I had previously thought that there was a clear distinction between human beings and animals, in that 'they' do not like being stared at, but that 'we' do. It seems to me there is no real difference at all. After a careful ritual of slowly glancing then looking away, performed with easy but neither quick nor slow movements, the fox had either accepted me within it's territory, or had acknowledged that I was within my own territory (the doorway) and that I was not going to attack or in any way intrude into the fox's domain.

 

Let's face it (literally) - try staring at another human being..!..unless you know them, you could be in serious trouble. ("Who yuh lookin' at Buddy?) On the other hand, lovers spend eons of time looking into each others eyes. I can see a lot of love between Cousin Jean and 'Foxy'.

 

Foxy was brought home to Jean as a baby in a jacket pocket and lived for over ten years - but I will not tell more, as 'Cousin' has agreed to write-up an account of, not only Foxy, but all the other foxes she cared for over the years. I'll publish it on this site when it's ready.

 

 

 

Liz and Cousin Jean went on a tour of the Lake District, courtesy of their Senior Citizen's Bus Passes, all around Windermere, Coniston and Ullswater. Liz has always been an enthusiastic photographer; it was our mutual hobby when we were young and she came back from their Safari with lots of great shots. She had tried to take several shots of a scene, to get a panoramic effect, not realising that I could merge them in Photoshop (she hasn't seen the shot below yet) - I think she'll be delighted. I may try to get rid of the dark patch in the middle of the shot, but I think that was the effect of the sun through the clouds. I love it when cloud-shadows sweep across a landscape.

 

 

Finally, do have a try to outwit, or at least have a converstion with the Artificial Intelligence character at the top of the sidebar, or the larger version below. I'm trying to build up the intelligence database. All conversations are recorded, but IP addresses and other details are not, so your conversation is monitored but anonymous. At the end of each week, I will scan the conversation 'scripts' and add  information where the character's knowledge base is insufficient. If you give your name, the character will remember it for the session only, but can relay personal messages to me.  If the feature proves popular, I will leave it up for several months and try to accumulate masses of data about spiritual and general conversational facts and knowledge. and also unusual and funny events. I hope it will become an unusual but useful, animated encyclopedia. I also hope to compile a script of excerpts from the conversations recorded. if you tell the character if you are unwilling or willing for anonymous excerpts to be compiled for a future post, or if you are happy to have your name used (you'll have to type it out if you want to be a star)  I will quite literally get the message. :) 

Technorati Tags: fox,AI,artificial intelligence (AI),human beings

9/11 Remembering them

  What a piece of work is man

  How noble in reason

 How infinite in faculties

 

In form and moving

  How express and admirable

  In action how like an angel

  In apprehension how like a god

 

  The beauty of the world

  The paragon of animals

 

  What a piece of work is man

  How noble in reason...

  William Shakespeare

  

 

 Dancer  Simon Murphy

Photographer  soulMerlin

 

 

The Giant's Causeway ~ A Bridge Across Forever

  Following on from my previous post on Depression, one of the ways I climb out of the mire, is to go and meet nature head-on. It was therefore natural I would say “Yes”, when Emily, one of our dancers and the ‘cover’ Narrator, got her act together and organised a trip to the Giant’s Causeway.

We usually have two late shows on a Friday (5pm and 8pm) and so it was the ideal day to go on an adventure...

So we all met at 9am, (a very unusual hour for theatre people) and set off in the coach Emily had arranged for all of us. I say “All” as only a brave nine thespians, out of a cast of thirty, arrived outside the stage-door. When the coach eventually arrived at 9.20, we were getting a tad anxious, as we had to be back at the theatre by 3.00pm in order to get ready for the first show – as it would take from 1 to 2hrs each way, there was no time to waste.

 

                As it turned out, the driver had been parked outside the front of the theatre (well it was Ireland) so we all piled in...

 

 

Our first stop was at the Bushmills Whisky distillery, near to the Causeway. I was quite looking forward to the visit, but I went ‘off’ the whole idea, after I was told rather loudly and with imperative urgency, that I couldn’t smoke outside the entrance - (I was around 12 feet away from the glass doors) - but in the car-park some thirty feet away.…so I went back to the coach instead and shared a cigarette and a chat with the driver. I was at this stage, totally unaware of what the Giant’s Causeway was and I asked in all innocence, if there were any stone circles, thinking of Stonehenge-like, Druid creations. The driver’s affirmative reply left me none the wiser for the revelations that lay ahead…When the others arrived back from viewing the ‘approved’ drug, as opposed to the ‘outlawed’ one, we continued on our way. 

...Remember prohibition? (well, not you personally - unless you're even older than me)   I predict that one day there will remain a solitary Pacific Island, where it will be still possible to smoke. Planeloads of the rich and famous will jet to the outrageously priced, island “smokeasy”…!  (every law is an opportunity for profit)

 

 

 

As you can see, the sky was overcast as we all walked down toward the Causeway. I find landscape photography difficult in dull  light, so I thought I’d try some panoramic shots. I’m glad I did because I don’t think I could give you an idea of the expanse of the scene otherwise.

 

After around half a mile, we arrived at the stones, it took me a while to realise that they weren’t limestone or granite, but Volcanic rock. Not only was that a surprise to me, but also the shape of each stone. It was as if they had been machined into tall columns by craftsmen of a by-gone era.

I later found out that people for many years had thought that it had all been the work of ancient labour, however it seems more likely that the lava flow from an ancient volcanic eruption had solidified, and then contracted, to crack into perfect hexagonal-pentagonal columns.  

In order to get a photograph of all of us together, I became the rather demanding director of a friendly tourist.

       I only saw later on that Naomi had gone missing (as usual.) Heigh Ho. 

   The ‘smokeasy’ conversation with the coach driver had begun to make sense. When I asked about the stones, he replied:

                                                                     

                                                                                             

 

                                                                                               

 

                                                                                                                “Do you know about Finn?”

 

                                                                                                      

 

                                                                                        

                                                                                                             To be continued in a few days…

 

 

Many thanks to Dave of www.littlebookcreative.com for letting me use some of his photos - he is an excellent web-designer (and boyfriend of Emily) So drop him an email if you need anything done.

dave@littlebookcreative.com

Technorati Tags: giant's causeway,northern ireland,finn

Depression...(the clouds lift)

 

 

I have been rather depressed since I finished the story of Hakon and Brigid, for Flowers and Scorpions. I had become so involved with the characters, that when I finished, it was like leaving people who I knew so very well...and then the clouds of depression gathered. Hakon and Brigid had become so very real to me - like thought forms or Tulpas - so to finish the story, was like saying goodbye to people I knew and loved. But then I have always been the same - rather disfunctional - except when I am creating something.

Around 13 - 15 yrs ago, I didn't know how to handle my 'dark-times' and on three occasions, I had to leave my work and go home for a week or so, until I could feel the ground below my feet once more.

Christina used to say to me "give yourself a shake and let the hens have a feed" - but it was so hard that it was impossible...until I found the "key".

The "key" for me (and perhaps it might suit you, if you tend toward immobilising periods of numbness) is not to fight it, but... 

...indulge in it.

I play sad music, look at sad paintings and let my feelings of uselessness run riot, until I get fed up with the whole ghastly state of being - rather like eating too much ice-cream - after a while I just want a hot cup of tea and a laugh.

The other thing is to look up

The sky in Bournemouth last week was wonderful.

Depression is downward - Aspiration is upward.

If I really feel bad (as I just have been for the last few days) I look upward.

 

Also, I've made a simple card, which helps me and may help you if you walk a solitary path.

(and we all do,  in a way)

God Bless

henry

photos and artwork (c)soulmerlin

Technorati Tags: depression,sky,creation