Sometimes the things that we do are amusing but in themselves silly. Sometimes what we do is hurtful but does not sink to the level of being disgusting. It is always better not to hurt people and it is also better not to gauge their level and drop lower. But what do you do when there is no recourse other than to speak out against their nastiness. I feel that for a spiritual person this requires a degree of restraint and also it should not involve other people as in other than those who have struck the first blow. It would be lovely to turn the other cheek, but then we live in a world of rabid barracudas and small minds who fester and grow with their bullying techniques and attempts at distortion and invalidation using technology to oppress and demean.
What I saw today will haunt me as probably the lowest that these sick beings can sink to. All children have a right to be treated as innocent and vulnerable not exploited by twisted and manic minds and used for the furtherance of a so called spiritual site. A site I might add that is supposedly in the honour of one of their father’s who must be writhing in his grave at this excess of perversion.
They have already made jokes about a baby whose organs were removed in the Alder Hay scandal. They have made suggestive and sickening remarks regarding a young schoolgirl. All of this despite their statements that the police are investigating and that they have legal representatives working on it. I am sure that if they have, all of these people are as disgusted and horrified as I am at the depths to which they have plunged themselves. So now to their sins they have added child pornography.
Why are they doing this? The very woman who hit out at myself also drew the woman, whose child has been demeaned by these perverts, into this argument. They are attempting to use her as a tool to hurt yet another woman who had the courage to stand up and be counted against their evil ways. This latest horror is a direct result of her not becoming their weapon of choice. How dare they create victims and then victimize them further with their obscenities. May God have mercy on their sick souls.
Why am I surprised at this behaviour? I guess it is because I do not believe that people that I have known are capable of this but the evidence is there and it is clearly stated by the moronic trio that they employ to do their bestial work, that they are involved. Why I have any faith left in people that hit out at myself for no reason other than their petulant bitterness I am also at a loss to qualify.
I could have died through the machinations of one of this group’s leaders but have I been apologized to? No, I have been slandered further for daring to speak up with the real truth. Yes real truth. I have no reason to lie or misrepresent anything to anyone and I have held back from tales that are truly horrible but would effect the well being of those innocent.
Innocent is as innocent does. My next blogs may well be encompassing the reality behind a certain persons ‘innocent’ behaviour.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
In Memorium
Today is the anniversary of the death of my dear friend Roy. He was someone very special and a brilliant Scrabble player. He died of a heart attack whilst out shopping for herbs and spices. He was also a great cook and at one time had worked as a butler. Through him I met another great and long term friend who was his partner for so many years. There were times when he could be quite acerbic but that was true Yorkshire coming through the London polish. I miss him as I know that John does too.
I did a small reading for a local Medium, a few months back, and he came through during it. The Medium described him as a father figure to which I had to giggle, but he often spoke to me as if he was one, as well as a friend, and I always felt deep down that he saw my middle daughter as a grandchild.
I wrote this small Capulet for him many years back when we were both in hospital together.
One person cannot hold up the world,
Even though it clamours to be held.
Sometimes we all need space to breathe,
Who gives to those that cannot take, but need.
I miss the scrabble, Roy.
I did a small reading for a local Medium, a few months back, and he came through during it. The Medium described him as a father figure to which I had to giggle, but he often spoke to me as if he was one, as well as a friend, and I always felt deep down that he saw my middle daughter as a grandchild.
I wrote this small Capulet for him many years back when we were both in hospital together.
One person cannot hold up the world,
Even though it clamours to be held.
Sometimes we all need space to breathe,
Who gives to those that cannot take, but need.
I miss the scrabble, Roy.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
“Master, when do we return to Transylvania? I grow weary of this world.”
Games are an important tool in the development of the human child and even as adults we do not outgrow their attraction. In fact many grow up to manufacture the games of a new generation. My first husband was a chess master and if you have ever played the game with any interest then you will realize how humiliating and counter productive it can be to lose continually. A game needs a learning curve and that curve should build gradually to the point where the participant has mastered the skills necessary to the best of their ability. At this point there has to be a manifestation of their achievement either in a scoreboard or the personal satisfaction of beating a known opponent.
I taught my friend’s teenage son to play chess and many years later he informed me that one of the high spots of his life was the time that he finally won a game from me. I never had that satisfaction from my ex husband and to this day I no longer play. Childish in its way, which is a strange overused statement. Children apply the ‘not fair’ rule to anything that stands in their way, but then so do the majority of adults. My moment of satisfaction came when one year we bought the board game Risk and played it non-stop for twenty-four hours. It took that long for me to form a tactic that ultimately defeated him and then we never played the game again. I guess that proves that we all hate to lose, particularly when we feel a certain amount of superiority to others.
Some people like to move outside the structured safe area of games, or maybe they are just not as good at certain games as others, (this is a hypothesis that requires further deliberation), and they prefer to play with the lives of real people. This gives them a feeling of being powerful and in control of their own narrow existences. This is one reason why the manipulators and bullies exist and why they self perpetuate their nastiness in a never ending drive to achieve mastery over others. The trouble occurs when the would be masters are the puppets of other would be masters. You can “cry havoc and let slip the hounds of war” but then you have to take some responsibility for the damage that those beings inflict, and it is not uncommon for the rabid pack to turn on those that have thrust them out upon the world.
I see the three-headed dog is back and this time the puppet master’s strings are even more visible. The name of the game is divide and conquer but the trouble is most of the participants have not mastered Risk yet let alone World Domination. As usual there is one amongst them that is attempting to be intelligent. Always a bad mistake when your English language skills are not up to par, but then everyone has to commit to their own learning curve in this life. True to the type they are also producing a satellite of neophyte bullies who are drawn like jackals to where the hounds feed. You could say that they live in Interesting Times but I hear that that is a curse.
I taught my friend’s teenage son to play chess and many years later he informed me that one of the high spots of his life was the time that he finally won a game from me. I never had that satisfaction from my ex husband and to this day I no longer play. Childish in its way, which is a strange overused statement. Children apply the ‘not fair’ rule to anything that stands in their way, but then so do the majority of adults. My moment of satisfaction came when one year we bought the board game Risk and played it non-stop for twenty-four hours. It took that long for me to form a tactic that ultimately defeated him and then we never played the game again. I guess that proves that we all hate to lose, particularly when we feel a certain amount of superiority to others.
Some people like to move outside the structured safe area of games, or maybe they are just not as good at certain games as others, (this is a hypothesis that requires further deliberation), and they prefer to play with the lives of real people. This gives them a feeling of being powerful and in control of their own narrow existences. This is one reason why the manipulators and bullies exist and why they self perpetuate their nastiness in a never ending drive to achieve mastery over others. The trouble occurs when the would be masters are the puppets of other would be masters. You can “cry havoc and let slip the hounds of war” but then you have to take some responsibility for the damage that those beings inflict, and it is not uncommon for the rabid pack to turn on those that have thrust them out upon the world.
I see the three-headed dog is back and this time the puppet master’s strings are even more visible. The name of the game is divide and conquer but the trouble is most of the participants have not mastered Risk yet let alone World Domination. As usual there is one amongst them that is attempting to be intelligent. Always a bad mistake when your English language skills are not up to par, but then everyone has to commit to their own learning curve in this life. True to the type they are also producing a satellite of neophyte bullies who are drawn like jackals to where the hounds feed. You could say that they live in Interesting Times but I hear that that is a curse.
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Flood Tide
I was sitting by the river bank at Twickenham, just down stream from Richmond, which was visible from where I was seated on some concrete steps of a mooring place. It had rained heavily and somehow it reflected all the mixed emotions I felt concerning my friend David. He had sent me a postcard a month or so before his suicide and he seemed to be happy, but then he was good at covering up pain with humour. He had accompanied his mother on a trek across the Yorskshire Dales and he referred to himself as Sherpa Tensing, as she was using him to carry the backpacks.
I have always wanted to put a tribute together for him as he was a wonderful raconteur and a very caring friend. He would have made a brilliant mark on the world if he had lived. It is so hard to be caught between two worlds.
Floodtide
The River swollen like a toothache.
Waterfowl fight the currents.
Mud brown water
Runs like treacle.
Eddies, eddies, eddies.
Floodtide.
I cast my soul into these waters,
Watch it fight against the current.
Watching from the bank,
I’m drowning.
Floodtide.
If it rains anymore,
How will I take the shore?
Floodtide
(c) 1994 December
I have always wanted to put a tribute together for him as he was a wonderful raconteur and a very caring friend. He would have made a brilliant mark on the world if he had lived. It is so hard to be caught between two worlds.
Floodtide
The River swollen like a toothache.
Waterfowl fight the currents.
Mud brown water
Runs like treacle.
Eddies, eddies, eddies.
Floodtide.
I cast my soul into these waters,
Watch it fight against the current.
Watching from the bank,
I’m drowning.
Floodtide.
If it rains anymore,
How will I take the shore?
Floodtide
(c) 1994 December
Sunday, 22 March 2009
Some Days it is Good to be a Mother
There are people for whom the truth is a strange and convoluted device specifically designed to hide the inadequacies of their home lives. That is to say that they have to manipulate the actual truth to make it seem as if they do indeed enjoy basking in the warmth of their children’s adulation and care. This is sad and on a day such as this when Mothers are being remembered it must seem even sadder. It is little fun to receive an expensive bunch of flowers when no one visits, or to wave at an ensemble of cards when the reality is respect for tradition rather than love.
Despite her strange belief that I spent vast hours visiting her I did try and keep my trips to the Dragon’s Den to two or three hours a week. This was largely due to the fact that it was boring having to listen to endless details of people that I did not know on the Internet or again listening to the inane happenings of reality TV shows. My middle daughter had a period of unemployment some two years back when she was made redundant from the BBC. I was happily at work on my computer as I do on occasion sell readings on Ebay. The telephone rang. It was Dragon. She was upset. She radiated panic and anxiety. This was not normal Dragon mode and it was also unusual for her to telephone me. She had bad news and no she could not say it on the telephone. She seemed near to tears.
I put the telephone down and middle daughter asked me what was wrong. “I am worried about Dragon”, I said. “She sounded so distressed and she has had bad news from the hospital.
“What is wrong with her?”
“I do not know as she would not say over the telephone so it must be bad.”
I will point out at this stage that there are people who do not dance to the Dragon’s piping and one of these is her daughter. It is not just that the girl has her army career to think about or her marriage to take care of. She enjoys the company of her cousins and is frequently a visitor to their house two streets away from Dragon. This has been a bone of contention for some time now as her trips home are a trifle infrequent, but then children grow and live their own lives, and a good parent understands this. In fact the obvious answer would be to take a walk to her sister’s house where she would be welcomed and then able to enjoy the company of all. I can even remember that the consultant at the hospital recommended that she get out for a short walk every day so that she would not be putting on so much weight, as I had tried to encourage her in this.
Middle daughter thought briefly and then she pulled a ten-pound note from her purse. “Buy her some flowers, Mum, “ she said.
“Are you sure, I queried?” As she was surviving on unemployment benefit.
“It is okay,” she said I will manage.
I stopped at the local shop to buy flowers and secured these in my backpack. Then I cycled to the Dragon’s house.
She seemed bemused to see me and a little surprised at the flowers. She did not seem anxious or upset now.
“We were worried,” I explained, “Worried about your telephone call.”
“Oh that she,” said and at this she looked a little shifty. “They said I have to have a diabetes test”.
I swallowed and took a deep breath. I have had three such tests in my life and they are fairly standard, but then who am I to judge others. I smiled wanly.
“Did you phone my daughter,” she asked
Despite her strange belief that I spent vast hours visiting her I did try and keep my trips to the Dragon’s Den to two or three hours a week. This was largely due to the fact that it was boring having to listen to endless details of people that I did not know on the Internet or again listening to the inane happenings of reality TV shows. My middle daughter had a period of unemployment some two years back when she was made redundant from the BBC. I was happily at work on my computer as I do on occasion sell readings on Ebay. The telephone rang. It was Dragon. She was upset. She radiated panic and anxiety. This was not normal Dragon mode and it was also unusual for her to telephone me. She had bad news and no she could not say it on the telephone. She seemed near to tears.
I put the telephone down and middle daughter asked me what was wrong. “I am worried about Dragon”, I said. “She sounded so distressed and she has had bad news from the hospital.
“What is wrong with her?”
“I do not know as she would not say over the telephone so it must be bad.”
I will point out at this stage that there are people who do not dance to the Dragon’s piping and one of these is her daughter. It is not just that the girl has her army career to think about or her marriage to take care of. She enjoys the company of her cousins and is frequently a visitor to their house two streets away from Dragon. This has been a bone of contention for some time now as her trips home are a trifle infrequent, but then children grow and live their own lives, and a good parent understands this. In fact the obvious answer would be to take a walk to her sister’s house where she would be welcomed and then able to enjoy the company of all. I can even remember that the consultant at the hospital recommended that she get out for a short walk every day so that she would not be putting on so much weight, as I had tried to encourage her in this.
Middle daughter thought briefly and then she pulled a ten-pound note from her purse. “Buy her some flowers, Mum, “ she said.
“Are you sure, I queried?” As she was surviving on unemployment benefit.
“It is okay,” she said I will manage.
I stopped at the local shop to buy flowers and secured these in my backpack. Then I cycled to the Dragon’s house.
She seemed bemused to see me and a little surprised at the flowers. She did not seem anxious or upset now.
“We were worried,” I explained, “Worried about your telephone call.”
“Oh that she,” said and at this she looked a little shifty. “They said I have to have a diabetes test”.
I swallowed and took a deep breath. I have had three such tests in my life and they are fairly standard, but then who am I to judge others. I smiled wanly.
“Did you phone my daughter,” she asked
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Crime and Punishment
Many years back, in fact so far back that my middle daughter had great difficulty remembering it, an incident occurred in the local park. The park that backs on to Dragon’s house was also the local sports ground and had a cricket pavilion with tearoom. Not quite as posh as it sounds but definitely better that Greenford’s local park that boasts none of these wonders. Teenagers like to hang out. I can remember from when I was a young teenager that we would hang out in the local recreation ground. My daughter being no different and needing the company of her own ilk hung out at the park with Dragon’s daughter, as they were once great friends. The main focus of this behaviour being to hang out either inside or outside the tea room/café and get chatted up by the local boys.
The lady that ran the tearoom lived locally but not on the actual estate. She made the mistake of sensing that the girls had psychic potential and offered to help them develop this. Dragon was furious. She did not want anyone but herself to teach her daughter and she telephoned me in a great temper to suggest that we descended on the park and confront this usurper. This we dually did on the following Sunday. The tearoom was shut when we arrived and I heard no further on the subject.
Years past as they tend to when you are not watching them. (The years actually numbered twelve at this point but then one of Dragon’s favourite sayings is “Revenge is a dish best tasted cold”) The chat site had been running for just over a year when a new member joined. She was a lady from Lincolnshire way who claimed to be a medium. At first Dragon was happy to have her on board, so to speak but then, as she told us more about herself, this started to change. It seemed that she had moved from Southall to set up a cat sanctuary in Lincolnshire and yes you have guessed it she used to work in the local tearoom in the local park. It did not take long for Dragon to humiliate and belittle her and her abilities as a Medium. It did not take anytime at all to degrade her in front of other members and to drive her away. They say that punishment should fit the crime. I would hate to be Dragon.
The lady that ran the tearoom lived locally but not on the actual estate. She made the mistake of sensing that the girls had psychic potential and offered to help them develop this. Dragon was furious. She did not want anyone but herself to teach her daughter and she telephoned me in a great temper to suggest that we descended on the park and confront this usurper. This we dually did on the following Sunday. The tearoom was shut when we arrived and I heard no further on the subject.
Years past as they tend to when you are not watching them. (The years actually numbered twelve at this point but then one of Dragon’s favourite sayings is “Revenge is a dish best tasted cold”) The chat site had been running for just over a year when a new member joined. She was a lady from Lincolnshire way who claimed to be a medium. At first Dragon was happy to have her on board, so to speak but then, as she told us more about herself, this started to change. It seemed that she had moved from Southall to set up a cat sanctuary in Lincolnshire and yes you have guessed it she used to work in the local tearoom in the local park. It did not take long for Dragon to humiliate and belittle her and her abilities as a Medium. It did not take anytime at all to degrade her in front of other members and to drive her away. They say that punishment should fit the crime. I would hate to be Dragon.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
You can Change the He to She; One Size Fits All
You have no substance
Only shadow, merging into shadow.
A bright technicoloured screen.
Dream state images,
Of a mind,
Wrapped in the grey, ice-calmed fog of unreality.
But he’s a kind man,
(They say),
Sensitive, kind to others.
All part of the illusion. Build yourself a personality.
Easy stage assembly kit,
As used...worldwide....
By the professional classes.
Paint this section with a touch of sympathy,
And here a small trace of humanity.
(Words shielding emptiness).
You too can have the ‘Good Image’,
Build yourself a personality.
You have no substance,
Behind the bright colours, I see,
Only shadow,
Merging,
Into shadow.
Dream state Images,
Of a mind,
Wrapped in the grey, ice-calmed fog of unreality.
© 1973
Only shadow, merging into shadow.
A bright technicoloured screen.
Dream state images,
Of a mind,
Wrapped in the grey, ice-calmed fog of unreality.
But he’s a kind man,
(They say),
Sensitive, kind to others.
All part of the illusion. Build yourself a personality.
Easy stage assembly kit,
As used...worldwide....
By the professional classes.
Paint this section with a touch of sympathy,
And here a small trace of humanity.
(Words shielding emptiness).
You too can have the ‘Good Image’,
Build yourself a personality.
You have no substance,
Behind the bright colours, I see,
Only shadow,
Merging,
Into shadow.
Dream state Images,
Of a mind,
Wrapped in the grey, ice-calmed fog of unreality.
© 1973
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)