My Father was a”mans”man. A bomber pilot in World War 2, invalided out of the war from his posting in India in 1944, where he had contracted some sort of blood disorder before hostilities ended in 1945. The war changed my father’s character.
My Mother, knew this, and made such unbelievable allowances for him which seems inconceivable to me to day.
One day Charlie had been playing golf. As usual he had enjoyed himself with his mates, Curley Campbell, who loved to bet, and partnering Cuttee the club champion and other players had joined in for a game of “skins”. A “skin’ in golf is a hole won and my father had had a good day, collecting more than his fair share of winning “skins”. So he happened to consume a good portion of his “winnings” at the Club Bar. So much so that it caused him to overlook his planned wedding anniversary dinner date with my mother that night. Much later he drove home slowly, aware he’d had too much to drink.
Meanwhile at home my Mother had been sitting, rigidly in her chair, dressed for the evenings planned engagement, patiently waiting for “Charlie” to finally arrive home.
There was certain tension in her tiny frame, like a steel spring ready to snap at the slightest surface disturbance.
Charlie arriving home saw my mother through the window dressed for the occasion, sitting motionless in the chair and remembered the anniversary dinner plans as he walked up the steps to open the front door.
He opened the door slowly, tentatively; considering an appropriate entrance, at the same time reaching for his hat and crouching forward, as if in combat, gently throws it. It glides over the furniture for the perfect soft “landing” at my mother’s feet.
Bullseye.
Charlie kept a War Diary.
Went on a 1,000 mile trip last night, a “bullseye”. Bags of searchlights and few night fighters. Flew at 13,000 feet and nearly froze.
We are on another “bullseye” last night, airborne from 10pm, until 5am, about a 1,000 miles .Wizard trip. No night fighters but search lights were troublesome, my starboard motor wasn’t behaving very well, (it was a lousy kite anyway) and I was very pleased to return safely to base. Whole crew very tired. Squadron Leaders had given us the night off, so it’s early to bed.
My mother heads slowly turned, coldly eyeing its presence. Eyes glanced to the door; tension subsides at Charlie’s hesitant entrance. A momentarily flicker of compassion passes over her, for her Charlies home.
Charlie’s enters the room, a fleeting glance to my Mother, as confidence returns.
A contrite Charlie stands before the ‘Commander’ for he’s arrived back at base at 9.30am in the morning after a nights celebration ‘and his boys caught AWL are in plenty trouble’ but the incident is quickly overlooked.
He speaks slowly to disguise any hint of slur, ‘Hello Dear. Now I was thinking about our anniversary. Rather than take you out to –night as we planned I have a better idea. Tomorrow we could celebrate, you can cook for me my favourite “Sunday roast’ and I will invite all my air force mates, from whom you will hear some good jokes.’
This reminded me of the frequent stories by “Charlie” of the dear English folk whose homes became a home away from home to the “lads” from Australia.
They outpoured the best of “British” gratitude. The ‘Homes of England ‘became a refuge, a sanctuary, warmth. Stiff upper lips, ‘The British Empire’, don’t worry about the bombs, siren going off, bloody nuisance, those bloody Germans, finish your cup of tea first son. My fathers often spoke about it, almost in reverent tone, not one to normally show his feelings. Land of hope and glory, this was their finest hour. A time to record it.
Arrived at the BBC studios at 9.30am. met several officials then a rehearsal after which we began recording. We made 6 records, 2 of which had to be repeated. because of technical faults. The BBC fellas were very pleased, called in story writers and 2 newspaper correspondents to get our story. To day we are going to have our photograph taken for the papers.
“Feeling a bit peckish Charlie” asks my Mother, fully restored to her devotional self.
Yes, sure I am
Steak and Eggs.
Just what the Doctor ordered.
The Medical Superintendent handed Charlie his papers. Cause for celebration you’re being invalided out of the air force.
The post massage was brief
Darling I’m on my way home. I can’t wait to see you. Everyone at the hospital is jealous. They have drawn pictures of you with me coming towards you. They think you’re a good sort. I nearly died, they thought I was goner, but I pulled through for you my dear, I was unconscious for 10days. I’m coming home. .
Her “Charlie’s returning. It was almost too painful to talk about the long separation to anyone. They (her feelings) must not be mentioned in any detail ever. The emotion is an ocean, and you must not swim against the tide. It’s not a good idea.
The red roofed houses of Sydney have received many telegrams of those who will not return. It casts a grey shadow over the community. A sad note too deep to hear.
His premature death from cancer aged 57 was hastened, if not directly caused by his wartime experiences. I remember he had continued difficulty in breathing and frequent bouts of bronchitis. At his funeral I can remember the streets being blocked off; in anticipation of the large crowd as all of the numerous service organisations he had served so well, came to bid “au revoir” to their “faithful digger”. And of course the spirit of those great mates, the best friends he ever had, who had perished earlier, in the “Theatre of War” were also present in the form of the last entry in his diary. …it seems if the war is like a series of more or less interesting events, with a nightmare of sudden death in the background. Many of the fine lads mentioned in this book will never again to see their homes. They will always, to me, be the good friends they were when we last met, they were men I was proud to call ‘friend”.
My parents marriage appeared to be made in heaven for I can scarcely remember a single cross word ever spoken between them .But it was based on a lop sided devotion of my Mother to my father, who reigned supreme. And to whom she spoilt rotten.
It belongs to a past era, never to be repeated, as the two stories testify
Saturday, July 2
Thursday, June 30
Yarra River-30th June 2005
Sun rays reflection on a brown river affair
Trees guard its secrets no time for despair
A haven for birds their tales are to share
The truth’s in their twitters, loves in the air
It’s a June morning, cold with no breeze
Rivers is calm, not a ripple to see
Ghostly apparitions appear shrouded in fog
Tall city buldings from out of the smog
Yarra flows upside down with no sound
Too thick for swimmmers, none to be found
Nature’s intention to flow in that way
Winding its way through surburbs does play
It’s almost ten times as long as it’s straight
Reminder of twists and our current fate
Steadfast in resolve to follow new paths
Torrent or trickle its plays it’s best part
Trees guard its secrets no time for despair
A haven for birds their tales are to share
The truth’s in their twitters, loves in the air
It’s a June morning, cold with no breeze
Rivers is calm, not a ripple to see
Ghostly apparitions appear shrouded in fog
Tall city buldings from out of the smog
Yarra flows upside down with no sound
Too thick for swimmmers, none to be found
Nature’s intention to flow in that way
Winding its way through surburbs does play
It’s almost ten times as long as it’s straight
Reminder of twists and our current fate
Steadfast in resolve to follow new paths
Torrent or trickle its plays it’s best part
Tuesday, June 14
A poem by Barrie
I'd had too much of Sydney
with its brash and flashy ways,
with its endless push to proper
and those steamy summer days.
Where the agent always prospers
and the cynic holds the floor.
Where appearances are everything
and reality's...a bore.
So I looked away to Melbourne
where the people have a style
that reminds me of my younger days,
when I could sit and think a while.
I'd had too much of Sydney
with its brash and flashy ways,
with its endless push to proper
and those steamy summer days.
Where the agent always prospers
and the cynic holds the floor.
Where appearances are everything
and reality's...a bore.
So I looked away to Melbourne
where the people have a style
that reminds me of my younger days,
when I could sit and think a while.
Monday, June 13
A Mind
The mind so restless, emotions upset
A mind in a dance, longing for rest
Peace and fulfillment its quest to reflect
We are dust of the earth, a new space to create
The truth for her is to be patient and kind
Wounds of a mind need compassion and time
A mind needs some rest, a refreshed spirit will find
We are dust of the earth, a new space to create
A mind is as different as is each conscious state
It emotions respond, a truth to relate
It's free to respond when we decide it's that time
We are dust of the earth, a new space to create
Sometimes it falters and it's not what we see
The spirit is present, the worlds our identity
A hurtful exchange, unintended tragedy
We are dust of the earth, a new space to create
Behold the thunder, lightning, re birth
The birth of a thought, imprisoned so far
The act of forgiveness, the heavens will sing
We are dust of past earth, new space now created.
A mind in a dance, longing for rest
Peace and fulfillment its quest to reflect
We are dust of the earth, a new space to create
The truth for her is to be patient and kind
Wounds of a mind need compassion and time
A mind needs some rest, a refreshed spirit will find
We are dust of the earth, a new space to create
A mind is as different as is each conscious state
It emotions respond, a truth to relate
It's free to respond when we decide it's that time
We are dust of the earth, a new space to create
Sometimes it falters and it's not what we see
The spirit is present, the worlds our identity
A hurtful exchange, unintended tragedy
We are dust of the earth, a new space to create
Behold the thunder, lightning, re birth
The birth of a thought, imprisoned so far
The act of forgiveness, the heavens will sing
We are dust of past earth, new space now created.
Sunday, June 12
All in the Mind
Neuroscientist Professor V D Ramachandran is Director of the Centre for Brain and Cognition at the University of California, San Diego. And he was in Australia for the Alfred Deakin Innovation Lectures in Melbourne recently.
His adventurous book Phantoms in the Brain should be by your bed if you haven't read it. And out recently is also A Brief Tour of Human Consciousness. Ramachandran is celebrated as one of the most creative communicators about the brain and its discontents. And more recently he has turned his attention to the question: What is Art? Have artists been surreptitiously co opted by a brain that's evolved over millennia? For his explorations Richard Dawkins has described Ramachandran's or Rama as he's known, as a latter day Marco Polo, journeying the silk road of science to strange and exotic Cathays of the minds. So is what does it feel like doing brain research at the turn of the 21st Century ?
You can read this fascinating full radio interview by clicking on the icon or link at the end of this posting. Ramachandran suggests there may be some common biological or neurological bases to all aesthetic experience but that's half the fun he tells us. He calls art, by the way, a visual foreplay before the climax of recognition he thinks aesthetic experiences are about generating as many aha's moments as he calls them in the brain as possible. Just as intellectual problem solving is pleasurable long before you solve it, otherwise there wouldn't be scientists, as there's miles and miles of frustration before you hit the jackpot. So what keeps us going is there are many ah's all along the way and he thinks that's equally true in visual problem solving and visual art.
His adventurous book Phantoms in the Brain should be by your bed if you haven't read it. And out recently is also A Brief Tour of Human Consciousness. Ramachandran is celebrated as one of the most creative communicators about the brain and its discontents. And more recently he has turned his attention to the question: What is Art? Have artists been surreptitiously co opted by a brain that's evolved over millennia? For his explorations Richard Dawkins has described Ramachandran's or Rama as he's known, as a latter day Marco Polo, journeying the silk road of science to strange and exotic Cathays of the minds. So is what does it feel like doing brain research at the turn of the 21st Century ?
You can read this fascinating full radio interview by clicking on the icon or link at the end of this posting. Ramachandran suggests there may be some common biological or neurological bases to all aesthetic experience but that's half the fun he tells us. He calls art, by the way, a visual foreplay before the climax of recognition he thinks aesthetic experiences are about generating as many aha's moments as he calls them in the brain as possible. Just as intellectual problem solving is pleasurable long before you solve it, otherwise there wouldn't be scientists, as there's miles and miles of frustration before you hit the jackpot. So what keeps us going is there are many ah's all along the way and he thinks that's equally true in visual problem solving and visual art.
Sunday, June 5
Fundamentalism's Creationists literal interpretation of the Bible
I am indebted to John at Johns Justice for his contribution priot to this posting.
Imagine you are attending a lecture and you are asked to consider writing an essay on “What is Time ” Chances are you would hand in a blank piece of paper, as we can't say what time is, only that we can measure it.
Although it is understood that time is bent by gravity and matter, it’s convenient for the purpose of our current state, to assume time always moves forward. It doesn’t, but its okay for us to think that way as the differences are so infinitesimally small so we assume that if we wish to go from point A to B. And from a biological point of view its ok to assume decay begins at birth and continues on, moving forward in time until death. Hence biology tells us from birth, we will decay until death.
So we use all the tools at our disposal to understand from whence we came and the age of the universe. Why do we do this? Its part of our creation, to be curious, it gives a richer sense of the majestic nature of creation. To deny this, our curiosity, our ability to think, to discover, to change our minds, to find new truth is to deny our creation.
Why would we go to the Bible, with its poetic imagery of a transcendent god, to calculate the beginning of time? The purpose of the Bible, in speaking of time was to indicate the genealogy of Christ, back to the Jewish people which forms part of a Christian or more particularly Catholic view. The Jewish purpose of the 'Bible', as many commentators have explained after cold analysis, is one of land, property and heritage to maintain or get property.
The view whether as a transcendent image, or one to give authenticity to land is a poetic message from the ONE of whom time is present past and future. One that transcends time. As a prophet or as a disciple, the word was to illustrate in imagery a transcendent god, rather than to present a precise time for creation.
It’s sensible for us on our current state to make use of measurements that allow to us make sense of where we are, and where we wish to go. As we can measure the age of the universe and come up with the fact that it’s about 20 billion years old, give or take a few billion years. I don’t intend to go into the theory supporting this conclusion as creationists dismiss radioactive dating, atomic theory, and fusion.
They believe the light that we now see was created literally in just 7 days.
That’s what we see from many stars that have long since disappeared several billion years ago prior to the time it has taken for their light to finally reach us. And that's what we can see, not singularities (black holes) that represents the largest portion of all, perhaps 90% of all matter.
Time has no meaning to my philosophy, my belief in a transcendent God, the alpha and the Omega, the ONE who has no boundaries, to which time is now, the past, present and future. So it seems to me to insist on negating some of these Darwinian theories, is to teach something that was not intended by our faith.
I would like to quote from an article in the tablet on the 30 April 2005 by Richard Major and entitles ‘The Bibles battleground’
He talks about the implications for American Children if “creationism' prevails, as it may well. Views labeled creationist stretch on a spectrum from, the left,“evolutionary Creationists’ whom are really just ‘theistic evolutionist’ within the letter of humani Generis; to hard-line geocentrists, who deny Copernicus a well as Mendel: and beyond them literal believers in the Bible. But the great bulk of Creationists are either Old Earthier or New Earthier. Old Earthier admit that the universe is old enough for evolution to have occurred, but maintain on biblical grounds that in fact God created each species separately, long long ago. The traditional date, calculated from Old Testament genealogies by Ussher, the Jacobean archbishop, was 22 October 4004 BC, New earthier insist the date is about right.
It seems to me such arguments miss the point entirely, and their insistence is providing a lopsided view of creation, triumphed now in many states in America. An alarming development, against free thinking. It’s not as if a balanced view is allowed, to encourage debate, rather to outlaw scientific theories altogether.
I see a leaning towards fundamentalism sweeping the world within the Christian religions whose collective thoughts turn inward to an insistence there is only one truth. That is to literally interpret the Bible in a way that was never intended by its authors.
Imagine you are attending a lecture and you are asked to consider writing an essay on “What is Time ” Chances are you would hand in a blank piece of paper, as we can't say what time is, only that we can measure it.
Although it is understood that time is bent by gravity and matter, it’s convenient for the purpose of our current state, to assume time always moves forward. It doesn’t, but its okay for us to think that way as the differences are so infinitesimally small so we assume that if we wish to go from point A to B. And from a biological point of view its ok to assume decay begins at birth and continues on, moving forward in time until death. Hence biology tells us from birth, we will decay until death.
So we use all the tools at our disposal to understand from whence we came and the age of the universe. Why do we do this? Its part of our creation, to be curious, it gives a richer sense of the majestic nature of creation. To deny this, our curiosity, our ability to think, to discover, to change our minds, to find new truth is to deny our creation.
Why would we go to the Bible, with its poetic imagery of a transcendent god, to calculate the beginning of time? The purpose of the Bible, in speaking of time was to indicate the genealogy of Christ, back to the Jewish people which forms part of a Christian or more particularly Catholic view. The Jewish purpose of the 'Bible', as many commentators have explained after cold analysis, is one of land, property and heritage to maintain or get property.
The view whether as a transcendent image, or one to give authenticity to land is a poetic message from the ONE of whom time is present past and future. One that transcends time. As a prophet or as a disciple, the word was to illustrate in imagery a transcendent god, rather than to present a precise time for creation.
It’s sensible for us on our current state to make use of measurements that allow to us make sense of where we are, and where we wish to go. As we can measure the age of the universe and come up with the fact that it’s about 20 billion years old, give or take a few billion years. I don’t intend to go into the theory supporting this conclusion as creationists dismiss radioactive dating, atomic theory, and fusion.
They believe the light that we now see was created literally in just 7 days.
That’s what we see from many stars that have long since disappeared several billion years ago prior to the time it has taken for their light to finally reach us. And that's what we can see, not singularities (black holes) that represents the largest portion of all, perhaps 90% of all matter.
Time has no meaning to my philosophy, my belief in a transcendent God, the alpha and the Omega, the ONE who has no boundaries, to which time is now, the past, present and future. So it seems to me to insist on negating some of these Darwinian theories, is to teach something that was not intended by our faith.
I would like to quote from an article in the tablet on the 30 April 2005 by Richard Major and entitles ‘The Bibles battleground’
He talks about the implications for American Children if “creationism' prevails, as it may well. Views labeled creationist stretch on a spectrum from, the left,“evolutionary Creationists’ whom are really just ‘theistic evolutionist’ within the letter of humani Generis; to hard-line geocentrists, who deny Copernicus a well as Mendel: and beyond them literal believers in the Bible. But the great bulk of Creationists are either Old Earthier or New Earthier. Old Earthier admit that the universe is old enough for evolution to have occurred, but maintain on biblical grounds that in fact God created each species separately, long long ago. The traditional date, calculated from Old Testament genealogies by Ussher, the Jacobean archbishop, was 22 October 4004 BC, New earthier insist the date is about right.
It seems to me such arguments miss the point entirely, and their insistence is providing a lopsided view of creation, triumphed now in many states in America. An alarming development, against free thinking. It’s not as if a balanced view is allowed, to encourage debate, rather to outlaw scientific theories altogether.
I see a leaning towards fundamentalism sweeping the world within the Christian religions whose collective thoughts turn inward to an insistence there is only one truth. That is to literally interpret the Bible in a way that was never intended by its authors.
Friday, June 3
Malawi
Malawi News -click on the icon
You may be interested in the latest photos I have received from Malawi that are now included on the Malawi site. The Malawi Support Group have been asked to support the building of a community hall. In Malawi such a hall would be used very extensively by the local community for literacy classes, craft and tailoring workshops and as a general meeting place. The 13 Basic Christian Community Centres (BCCC's) have taken responsibility for themselves, and, after lengthy negotiation, purchased the block of land for the above project. But they will need our help to complete this project. Fr Patrick, the resident parish priest informed us in a recent e mails of the lengthy time taken to complete projects which has been frustrating in some respects. He is returning to Ireland in June for a break.
We were also pleased to re establish contact with Sr. Mary who has been back in the St Kizito parish since June 2003, returning from Ireland just after her Dad died in May 2003 after a long struggle with illness.
She works with the women in Mtsiriza and villages in Kasiyafumbi, all part of St Kizito's parish. But some weeks ago she also started assisting a group of widows from 3 other parishes in child care, bereavement counseling and some craft skills
Recently Fr Patrick and Sir Mary Doonhan sent many splendid photographs that are all now posted on the Malawi website.
Tuesday, May 10
Drive Home-Melbourne to Eltham
From a Burke Street window, I look far below
City of silent traffic, I watch it alone
Its journey before me, I must follow its flow
Time to drive off and head for my home
Rush to the lifts, just time for a chit chat
Alight on the ground floor, that’s only the start
I wait for second lift, special key for car park
The lifts to the car park, arrive there at last
A city pulsating, its lights and its clatter
A city so busy, its rush hour traffic
A city for me, it’s simply mind over matter
A city of energy, skyscrapers, and panic
Switch on the engine, drive down narrow lane
Give way to pedestrians, trams and red lights
Traffic inches forward, hard to stay sane
The bicycle passes, this time he is right
The traffic snarls angry, tempers to hide
I need some soft music, it has to be bright
Thank to the music, emotions subside
It calms and restores me, a simple delight
A city pulsating, its lights and its clatter
A city so busy, its rush hour traffic
A city for me, it’s simply mind over matter
A city of energy, skyscrapers, and panic
I tear through the city it lights all ablaze
The whine of the engine, the din and faint haze
I make a fast move, to clear from the pack
Away from congestion there’s no turning back
At last I am home, the home fires burning
I drive in the driveway; it’s so quiet and still
Hello to my wife, then off to my yearning
Off to my writing, my thoughts to relate
A city pulsating, its lights and its clatter
But now in my nest, my mind it at rest
Its light energy, a reflection for me
It’s simply the best, for my poetry
City of silent traffic, I watch it alone
Its journey before me, I must follow its flow
Time to drive off and head for my home
Rush to the lifts, just time for a chit chat
Alight on the ground floor, that’s only the start
I wait for second lift, special key for car park
The lifts to the car park, arrive there at last
A city pulsating, its lights and its clatter
A city so busy, its rush hour traffic
A city for me, it’s simply mind over matter
A city of energy, skyscrapers, and panic
Switch on the engine, drive down narrow lane
Give way to pedestrians, trams and red lights
Traffic inches forward, hard to stay sane
The bicycle passes, this time he is right
The traffic snarls angry, tempers to hide
I need some soft music, it has to be bright
Thank to the music, emotions subside
It calms and restores me, a simple delight
A city pulsating, its lights and its clatter
A city so busy, its rush hour traffic
A city for me, it’s simply mind over matter
A city of energy, skyscrapers, and panic
I tear through the city it lights all ablaze
The whine of the engine, the din and faint haze
I make a fast move, to clear from the pack
Away from congestion there’s no turning back
At last I am home, the home fires burning
I drive in the driveway; it’s so quiet and still
Hello to my wife, then off to my yearning
Off to my writing, my thoughts to relate
A city pulsating, its lights and its clatter
But now in my nest, my mind it at rest
Its light energy, a reflection for me
It’s simply the best, for my poetry
Sunday, May 8
Your the Best -'A Mother'
My youngest daughter wrote these lyrics for her musical composition, which she played on her guitar and sang to her Mother on Mothers Day as her gift to her. It's an example of her philosophy. One presented in a jovial way, that is, less is more. In this instance her gift cost her nothing, but her precious time, a priceless eternal gift to her mother, a Mother whose the best Mother, and oh yes and is simply the best, as she's also my wife.
You're the Best
Thank you for taking me everywhere
For always being there for everything
Thank you for all the warm hugs
For the endless love and encouragement
Thank you for all the small things
Like movies, coffee and cake
Even cans of braised steak
Thank you for always saying yes
To buying me a new dress
Or a new pair of shoes
You're the best
You're so selfless
So much more than many other mums
You're the best
You're ten out of ten
On the scale of selfless devotion
Thank you for singing to me
When I was in the womb
Thank you for my pretty yellow room
Thank you for the idiosyncrasies
Oh how they have taught me
The science of heredity
Thankyou for the words of wisdom when I was sad
For not telling dad, how much my shoes cost
Thankyou for teaching me right and wrong
Thankyou for being strong
When I was awful to you
You're the best
You're so selfless
So much more than many other mums
You're the best
You're ten out of ten
On the scale of selfless devotion
Well I would be singing all day to mention the rest
So in summary I repeat youre the best
I think you should pat yourself on the back
For all that your've achieved
For passing on your genes
Especially the musical one
Of course of those there are tunes
Clearly evident in this piece !! (ha ha)
You're the best
You're so selfless
So much more than many other mums
You're the best
You're ten out of ten
On the scale of selfless devotion
You're the Best
Thank you for taking me everywhere
For always being there for everything
Thank you for all the warm hugs
For the endless love and encouragement
Thank you for all the small things
Like movies, coffee and cake
Even cans of braised steak
Thank you for always saying yes
To buying me a new dress
Or a new pair of shoes
You're the best
You're so selfless
So much more than many other mums
You're the best
You're ten out of ten
On the scale of selfless devotion
Thank you for singing to me
When I was in the womb
Thank you for my pretty yellow room
Thank you for the idiosyncrasies
Oh how they have taught me
The science of heredity
Thankyou for the words of wisdom when I was sad
For not telling dad, how much my shoes cost
Thankyou for teaching me right and wrong
Thankyou for being strong
When I was awful to you
You're the best
You're so selfless
So much more than many other mums
You're the best
You're ten out of ten
On the scale of selfless devotion
Well I would be singing all day to mention the rest
So in summary I repeat youre the best
I think you should pat yourself on the back
For all that your've achieved
For passing on your genes
Especially the musical one
Of course of those there are tunes
Clearly evident in this piece !! (ha ha)
You're the best
You're so selfless
So much more than many other mums
You're the best
You're ten out of ten
On the scale of selfless devotion
Sunday, May 1
Symphony of Creation
My daughter asked me to write lyrics for her intended musical composition, based on my previous "Immortal Quantum Faith" posting.
Symphony of Creation.
Form, of mystery, light spread out from sing-ul-ar-ity
A form, continues, with each breath, symbol of my life as yet
So, let me know no more, that I may know the splendor
Of the light filled, ONE agenda
Form of ONE, itself to know
Form of two, a desire of ONE
Form of memory, the ONE it knows
The ONE true Light of Love
Form, is it but our own reflection, illusions of our expectation
Hidden in the time of present, lonely in its own pure presence
Continued on, deep within us, calling forth, our own surrender
Of the light filled, ONE agenda.
Form of ONE, itself to know
Form of two, a desire of ONE
Form of memory, the ONE it knows
The ONE true Light of Love
Form of worm hole travel backwards, space time changes state
The conscious mind now existing, listens always, emotions birth
Thoughts will now last forever, guided by a spirits a light
To the light filled ONE agenda.
Form of ONE, itself to know
Form of two, a desire of ONE
Form of memory, the ONE it knows
The ONE true Light of Love
Symphony of Creation.
Form, of mystery, light spread out from sing-ul-ar-ity
A form, continues, with each breath, symbol of my life as yet
So, let me know no more, that I may know the splendor
Of the light filled, ONE agenda
Form of ONE, itself to know
Form of two, a desire of ONE
Form of memory, the ONE it knows
The ONE true Light of Love
Form, is it but our own reflection, illusions of our expectation
Hidden in the time of present, lonely in its own pure presence
Continued on, deep within us, calling forth, our own surrender
Of the light filled, ONE agenda.
Form of ONE, itself to know
Form of two, a desire of ONE
Form of memory, the ONE it knows
The ONE true Light of Love
Form of worm hole travel backwards, space time changes state
The conscious mind now existing, listens always, emotions birth
Thoughts will now last forever, guided by a spirits a light
To the light filled ONE agenda.
Form of ONE, itself to know
Form of two, a desire of ONE
Form of memory, the ONE it knows
The ONE true Light of Love
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