The Unifying Factor.

This battlefield where the warriors unite in their defencelessness. Unified by an unforeseen horror. Frightened by the day and each passing one. And we seem to be armed with not a lot more than statistics. We are set upon, and we don't know why, and for how long, and we don't know the reason why. This evil mystery plays about with our lives, and we have no choice but to succumb to it. And we as a race don't tend to take adversaries seriously enough to allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by them. We are spirited and within the spirit lies our character. And within our hearts lies our love. There are many aspects to love. There is the love between a man and a woman and there is the love in a simple friendship where nothing much is asked for and where only friendship is gained. And from these things lies our oneness as a race. Love is the essence of our being, it can deceive us but we are unable to deceive love. Because without it we lack and are weak and are possibly devoid of spirit. And when a mysterious and evil enemy comes looking for us all, I believe that we would have to gather up all of the love that we have to attack it and to defend ourselves with.

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This world is at the mercy of a murderer. Inviting itself into the community. And we live in fear. and we really have no understanding, of how long this murderer will murder, nor why he would wish to do so. And we reach for our defenses, and all that this can possibly can turn to is hope. If this world is truly an evil place, then the murderer will murder as he wishes, but if this world and its community has the strength of goodness within it, then, we all will see goodness triumph. A murderer is simply one who takes lives away, but goodness is one that gives love and understanding to the world community.

Dark Surprise

Dark surprises. In the search. And the search goes on. My eyes on a certain one and no other. She could be my dark surprise. Light within the dark, or only dark? I will have to wait and see. And at times there is denial, of myself, mainly. And there are memories that still haunt. Happenings of the past that amounted to nothing really. Sometimes I wish to get away from this self. And I wonder if I could've been born another person. With another life, with other thinking. With other feelings and with a different mind. And on this day, I just have the feeling that I wish to relax, and be easy.

The Thought Police

Shampooed and conditioned with political correctness. The thought police are in town, and they mean to reach inside of your head. There are no names nor faces to speak of. They withhold the democratic rights, that they probably profess to believe in. They wish to colour your opinions with guilt. They wish for you not to be free for personal expression. And they wish for sameness, because they can gain some kind of narrow comfort from it. They are opposed to imagination and creativity. They fear people who refuse to be the same as they are, when they are bland and shallow, and above all are insecure and fearful. They believe in 'wings' in Political rhetoric and the causes of their 'right' or their left. Their ideas are outmoded and obsolete, and beneath free thinking. They are dictators, and they despise truth. They hunger after their own vanity, wishing for it a general acceptance. And the thought police wish to take from you, your freedom. They would like you not to question any single thing of them. If you don't feel and think the same as they do, then they are at war with what they could very well term the proletariat. And they condescend, deeming you not as an equal, but as a lesser human, with lesser rights. I hereby declare war on the thought police.

Truth and the Struggle for Truth.

There is light in the shadows. Ties, even familial, cannot be perfectly broken. All, is a part of the whole. Memory is a truthful guide. It must be consulted and trusted and believed in. This picture cannot be denied only ignored. Life runs its course. It is complete in itself. It isn't of one scene or another, it is of the totality of things experienced. And memory is the gift that leads to a truth, not the perfect truth, as this isn't given to man or woman. The truth belongs to God, and he only allows us to know what we deserve to know I believe. There is as always, the fight for truth. It cannot be known purely with mind. The truth is still not available with mind, no matter how smart we may think that we are. I believe that humility and memory are more of a way to truth. And there is soul and spirit in the shadows. I believe that they are closer to truth than mind is. And I am tried and I am challenged, but I won't relent. Truth is the greatest word that I have ever been aware of. And if I can't find truth, then I will find my personal honesty, no matter what the price may be to pay for it. And hurt can be overtaken. It can be subdued. What is it anyway but negative feeling towards the self? Or an assault by injustice? And injustice is in itself, an assault of cruelty and inconsideration. Empathy and compassion, have been left behind. Love has been confronted, by at the very least, indifference. And perhaps it has been confronted by evil.

Night and Day

And the night comes again, when the day relents.

We Celebrate the Sun

And we celebrate the sun In the peaceful spirit of tranquility.

What is the Way to the Truth of Dream?

Searching for truth in the secrets of dream. Faces appear, some known, some unknown. Sometimes the expected and ordinary, and sometimes the unexpected and extraordinary. I wonder if sleep was meant for dreamers, or if dreams were meant for sleep. And I wonder how one can connect with the truth in the secrets of dream. And does dream hold truth anyway? And who is the dream maker? And are there more forces at work, than just I? And what is the way to the truth of dream?

Memories of Life

And a good memory is a serious recognition of this visit to life. Respectful, very, of the then and the now. And to be haunted by it, is also to haunt it. And who is in charge>? Life or this particular life? Or is there a good relationship between the two? There is no escape, and the immediate answers only create questions. And then there is the experience of looking at the lives of others, attempting to perceive what their experiences of this very same thing is. Futile of course, And criticism of others on this same road, leads to more futility. Perhaps it returns one to the emptiness within. And how far can one go, before bringing God into the picture? He is the one who knows when we certainly don't. And he refuses to grant to us the understanding of truth. We are like a dog that is kept on a close rein. And within this closely held rein, we can become overcome with our abilities and what we perceive to be successes. And this is the vanity of an humanity free of God.

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Heat on a page, and the world is becoming colder. She doesn't care, and neither do I at this stage. Love has retired. It is gone. And the closest thing that I can find to love is music. And I've been searching with my memories, and sometimes I think that memories are not a good place to be. And sometimes I think that they are a good place to be. And I do believe that there is someone in my head in my dreams in the night. My thinking is that my mind could not possibly be this crazy. And in the evening I look back on the day, and where I went to on my daily walk. And today I walked strangely. I had walked a route that I had never quite been before. And I am tempted to walk the same route once again, or something similar to it. And this evening, there is warmth in the air, and I have a glass of wine before me, and all that I can see is my emptiness.

Nevie

And she was with me and I with her. And we would remember we said. We both said. And I do, and I wonder if she did or does. And whenever I think back to her, it seems today has love for me to accept. A spirit of freedom, sharing a bed, and loving in that physical way. Loving as I had never known it before. Enough to remember with passion. Enough to recall with pleasure and excitement. And then she would turn away. To be apart, I think from what had just taken place. To detach herself from it all. And I remember a limp embrace of farewell. But mostly I do indeed remember her. And I often wonder where she is today, and I wonder where it was that she went. And I wonder about the place that I was with her, and what she thought of it, and perhaps today, now thinks of it. And memory is a dream that cannot reach into the present day with reality. But memory is of something that was once real. And memory suggests romance to me. And where it is love that is concerned then memory can be a beautiful and romantic thing. And we are all imperfect people in this imperfect world. Where there is no-one to praise and there is no-one to blame ultimately. We just get along and get on with it. In a world where there really aren't answers to the questions. And I'm not really sure that I can remember the original question. Perhaps life itself is the question.