Where are You With Me?

Dancing my imagination within your mystery. My eyes turn inward and question my ambition and motive. There is a faulty connection, and it tries to imbue me with guilt. And I ask myself, 'am I doing right, or am I doing wrong?' And this love, that we speak so often of: Is it a righteous thing, or is it something that belongs in a back alley? And my thought takes me to you, yet again, despite physical reality. There is great vagueness in the picture of the story, and you declare your love for me, and I am in the corner, and I don't know which way to turn to get out of it. And you are in the heart of me, when the heart looks for real answers. So you, are not then a conclusion, you are dancing in mid air somehow, painting your dream on the outskirts of my thinking mind, and all I crave is feeling, that feeling of justice, of doing what it rightful.

The Artist

The song and the sound have gone to sleep, who knows, if it is to return? and the creation of the song dies in its creation, it cannot linger, it can only be memorised and repeated, so the song belongs to the particular moment, mood, feeling and soul of the song. And if you care to record the song, you lose its real truth, yet, you can still hear its sound. A particular moment of love is like this too, and love is its own kind of song and it lingers. and it also subsides. And artists can say the most vain of things, like 'I am the messenger' 'I am the intermediary' outside of the creation of their art. And I wonder if outside of the creation of the art, is the artist still an artist. I guess this is the point when perhaps the artist embraces his ego. A person is an artist, no less than a classical author or writer. Artist, you should moderate, you should be selfless you should lose your self in your art, or you are not an artist.

Taxi in Belfast

I'm in Belfast and there is a connection I have to make to get to the Ferryport, but I can't be bothered waiting for it, as I got an early bus, so I decide on a Taxi, so I approach the Taxi rank outside the Europa bus station, and then this guy says to me 'are you looking for a taxi, where are you coming from?' I tell him 'Dublin' and he directs me to a suitable taxi, and I get in, and it only then I realise, that if I had been a Protestant, I would have had to get into another taxi. How sad is this in the 21st Century?

Heart and Mind

And sometimes crazy is the right way to go, far from prudence and austerity. Perhaps, just a single time, when a particular situation has been created, has been a confrontation. And sometimes the heart demands to be heard, and to be in control. And romance invades reality, or stands lateral to it, and mind, is old and out of originality, and when it is total, it is boring. And love is little of mind anyway, and mind cannot know not even in its wildest most sustained study. Perhaps the heart is a student too, and perhaps it can sense more than mind can think, that it can know.

Analysis

Somebody said to me recently 'why do you feel that you have to analyse everything?' and then I had to sit down and analyse that.

Closing the Door on the Loser

Self pity arrives at my door, with a face of the child in the man. And at times I have accommodated him, the loser. And then I see that he has lost one time too many, for in his losing he has dumped me into a part of his losing also. And finally, I chose to to turn from compassion, and to my own personal needs, and the work is, to feel justified in, that I am not showing cruelty or inconsideration. Gnawing at me, a softer part of my conscience, which I prefer to see now as my own personal weakness. So as I close the door to the loser, I open the door to my own dignity and strength.

Troubles

I remember during the troubles the incredible bias of the British media, all they wanted to do was to condemn the nationalists and in particular the IRA, who many times deserved to be condemned. But they were extremely blinkered, and it was like no atrocities were committed by Loyalist paramilitaries, And I remember there were no expressions of sympathy from Unionist politicians whenever Catholics were killed. They tried to brainwash the British people, and probably succeeded. I think I have even read that more Catholics were killed by Loyalist terrrorists, than were Protestants by Republican ones. And of course, it was all very wrong.

God

Some are gifted with magic. It happens to pure hearts without expectation, without reliance. Perhaps God, is after all available, is not so silent, but is still, waiting, anticipating, looking for those headed in his direction, to impart his gift upon them. Man is vain, he gives all the credit to himself for the things that he seems to achieve. But man, cannot gift himself with a gift, he must realise his limitations, his reality. God is the highest point of achievement, and when you have reached this particular point within yourself, you are in touch with him, he is at your side, and encouraging you. God can dwell inside of you, when you yourself have given yourself to the idea of understanding, and humility is the basis of understanding always, it is aggressive in its way, and it is aggressive in its passive way, but its passive way is just a part of quietude, which is a part of peace. So I will believe in God, as I may believe in myself.

Me

I'm pretty quiet, sensitive, introspective, I like people of thought, I like very much words and music and I particularly like the power of words, I would like to meet someone who was something like me but not a mirror image, someone gentle and genuine and loving. With insight gained from the pain of living. I am separated and on my own, I am not afraid of myself so therefore am not afraid of being on my own, but I would like to link my life with someone I could progress along with mutually, I think that this has to be an important part of a relationship, unless you just want to have a relationship for relationship's sake. I am open to the idea of difference as we all are different. I don't expect anyone to be the same as I am nor will I. I will study the differences as I look to the other, I will search for the value and the beauty within that difference that I perceive and ultimately take it to my heart if it belongs to the person I truly feel bonded with. I believe that love is a miracle and I believe in love, so I don't know why I should begin to feel bonded with one and not another. I like the spiritual and pyschical aspects of love. I like the mystique and the understated and unstated, the talking with the eyes, from the questions of the soul

Orangemen

So its the twelfth of July once again, and Orangemen are remembering to be Orange and they march and they sway in their determination to rid themselves of any kind of reason. Like Ostriches with head stuck in the sand, they refuse the idea of progression. Theirs is a purely negative philosophy, and I am sorry to you, the word 'philosophy' for involving these fools in a word I particularly like, which means the love of wisdom. I wonder how much of their hatred is down to personal frustration, when they aren't together in their group, their highly suspicious and hateful group. I can't believe that luck and good fortune can ever fall to them, for anyone who believes in the basic goodness of humanity.

The Truth of the Aging Heart

Embracing the wink, his lesser self receives his smile of sane judgement. And the lady is now a suspect, although she shines in an area of cloud, in summertime nonetheless. And eyes twinkle within the entertainment, not expecting deliverance. And there is great distance, and it helps to create some kind of vagueness, obscurity even. And an empty heart is a vulnerable thing, it is hungry and can be easily gratified. And youth can very easily flatter age, it has a mighty power in its grasp, and sometimes it may know how to thrill, how to get what it wants, how to gain control. And the heart and its search can close its door to discernment. But the heart has a mind right beside its romance. The heart is not a fool when it has gained experience. It matures, as it has learned the lessons that life has put in its way. Crazy love has given way to a real love, and real love is the truth of the aging heart.