Our Universal Chairperson...

Our Universal Chairperson in outer space, your identity enjoys the highest rating on a prioritised selectivity scale. May your sphere of influence take on reality parameters; may your mindset be implemented on this planet as in outer space.

Allot to us, at this point of time and on a per diem basis, a sufficient and balanced dietary food intake, and rationalise a disclaimer against our negative feedback as we rationalise a disclaimer against the negative feedback of others.

And deprogram our negative potentialities, but desensitise the impact of the counter-productive force. For yours is the dominant sphere of influence, the ultimate capability, and the highest qualitative analysis rating, at this point in time, and extending beyond a limited time-frame. End of message.


(by Kenneth Scott)

I Wish You Enough

I wish you enough sun
to keep your attitude bright

I wish you enough rain
to appreciate the sun more

I wish you enough happiness
to keep your spirit alive

I wish you enough pain so that
the smallest joys in life
appear much bigger

I wish you enough gain
to satisfy your wanting

I wish you enough loss
to appreciate all that you possess

I wish you enough hellos to get you
through the final goodbye.


(I don't know who wrote this)

A Certain Man

I didn't write this one, but I really like it, and somehow it feels oddly relevant to the alone-ly world of cyberspace.


A certain man decided that life was too hard for him to bear. He did not commit suicide.
Instead he bought a large corrugated iron tank, and furnished it simply with the necessities of life – a bed to sleep on, books to read, food to eat, electric light and heating, and even a large crucifix hung on the wall to remind him of God and help him to pray. There he lived a blameless life without interruption from the world. But there was one great hardship.

Morning and evening, without fail, volleys of bullets would rip through the walls of his tank. He learnt to lie on the floor to avoid being shot. Nevertheless, he did at times sustain wounds, and the iron walls were pierced with many holes that let in the wind and the daylight, and some water when the weather was bad. He plugged up the holes. He cursed the unknown marksman. But the police, when he appealed to them, were unhelpful, and there was little he could do about it on his own.

By degrees he began to use the bullet holes for a positive purpose. He would gaze out through one hole or another, and watch the people passing, the children flying kites, the lovers making love, the clouds in the sky, the wind in the trees, and the birds that came to feed on heads of grass. He would forget himself in observing these things.

The day came when the tank rusted and finally fell to pieces. He walked out of it with little regret. There was a man with a gun standing outside.

“I suppose you will kill me now,” said the man who had come out of the tank. “But before you do it, I would like to know one thing. Why have you been persecuting me? Why are you my enemy, when I have never done you any harm?”

The other man laid the gun down and smiled at him. “I am not your enemy,” he said. And the man who had come out of the tank saw that there were scars on the other man’s hands and feet, and these scars were shining like the sun.


James K Baxter – from JERUSALEM DAYBOOK, 1971.

Letting The Light Shine

I was sitting at my prayer and listening time this morning (as I do sometimes, but not as often as I’d like you to think…), and I noticed that the candle was guttering, though only partially burnt down. I took it up and poured off some of the hot wax to stop it drowning in itself, and it burned up bright again for a while. Eventually I had to repeat the process.

It got me wondering about the Wise and Foolish Virgins, trimming their lamps. Sometimes a candle – like a life – needs some adjustment, some removing of the excess, a little tipping sideways, and even emptying out, or reshaping, before it’s potential can be realised.

This particular candle was set in a jar by its maker, which means it can’t drain as it normally would by melting a gap in its wall. Sometimes we must change our environment in order to function at our best. A melted wall might seem like an imbalance, a weakness – but it serves the candle very well.

I can nurse this candle along; pour it off once or twice a day, which is OK. Alternatively I can smash the jar, or try to prise the candle out. Liberate it. Maybe I risk breaking the candle if I do that. Maybe not…
Change requires stress and risk. Staying the same requires more and more maintanance, also stress. Either way the candle needs attention if it’s not to be wasted. Either way it’s a pretty thing. Either way it’ll only last a little while. Either way, it’s just one of many, many candles….

Masks And Chains

I’m not superstitious
There’s a black cat standing at my door
I’m going to let him in
He just wants some fuss
We all need a friend

And if the sun should rise
In the middle of the night
I won’t close my eyes
That’s just fine by me
Must be how it’s meant to be.

I’m not superstitious
Though this world weaves a web of chains
And we all live like slaves
But I’m rattling my cage

Ever since I was quite small
They told me "this is it" and "that is all"
But I don’t believe that
I don’t believe that.

You can take away the veils and shadows
Because I won’t fade away
I’ll be the same as today
There’s no reason to be afraid.

Though life is just a breath
Still I’m not dead
And breathing is enough
When you’re in love with life
The masks and chains fall off.

I’m not superstitious
There’s a ladder standing in my path
I could walk under it
Maybe I’ll climb it, just because I can.

Analyse This

I’m sending a message to you
can you feel it coming?
I impart my emotion and logic
through pressure of fingers
on tablets of plastic
my intentions are racing
through wires, through space
at speeds much faster
than mind or sounds can travel
and somehow they find you
in places I have never been
and if the ones and the zeros
successfully untangle
then the miracle of mind-travel
which we now take for granted
will translate me safely
from my soul to your screen.

The Soul Of The Machine (also the title of a good Wyndham Hill album from the '80s)