Monday, March 17, 2014

Not much of a blog...


Internet cafe.  I miss my computer.

Cigarettes - can't smoke here.  Good thing.

Sunny day - everyone is out shopping.  Every second person is a geriatric.  Hair not all that.  Slow, pondering shop windows, or not, for fear of forgetting where one is going.  I am waiting for a script from my doctor whose name I forgot ... this old age thing is definitely not all that.

Make up  - I have decided that I shall use make-up after all.  I can't think of anything more depressing than looking like a falling over, forgetful, old person.  One scares the young.

Book -  Kabbalah, which is  two in one survival thing.

Family -I am surviving really well with my daughters and grandson. All quite delightful and inspiring. I have finally begun to think of drawing again.  That hasn't happened in a long, long time.


I watched "Fiddler on the Roof" with my grandson. I forgot that it was set in the Ukraine. History is repeating.  


I have only been watching the Ukraine.    "Check mate."  Winner takes all.   What is all?  


Whatever it was I came here to say escapes me.  It has something to do with kings, rules, regiments and the common man.   Putin has figured it out, I think.  I watch with interest and pray without ceasing.

Love and Light

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Departure Notice


No matter what - hold fast to that which is good.

Moving on

Just as you get used to me again, I have to leave.  I am off to cape Town for a spell.

On the Global Front

We are still here.

Just a thought

Do all things in love.

Walk in the Light my lovelies.

Monday, March 3, 2014

"Verveine L'Octaine en Provence"


My desk is my survival kit. 

Contents for survival:

  • And Cream from Ne'  :   Verveine  L'Octaine en Provence  ~ vital for healing,
  • Cigarettes ~ I know. The battle goes on.
  • A screw kept a gate closed ~ about three inches long.= ` wrapped in a gift of beads and interwoven are the words : "I know".  Gift from my gardener's wife.  It kept Alfred in the yard. He did so like escaping.
  • A water vase most extraordinary. Gift from Ne'.
  • Candles ~ a few - gifts from Ne'  ~  Harmony, perfumed.
  • Books - language, spiritual, reference and writing instruments.
  • Stones.
  • Ants and dust.
  • Hebrew lesson paraphernalia.
Bar the cream, the candle and the cigarettes, nothing counts when one's heart lurches and one feels vomit rising. 

Moving on.

My depression hit a rung. We believe that if we take the pills we will not be able to find our creativity.  

I have proved that depression not only reduces one's capacity for creativity, but it affects everyone's capacity for creativity. 

The numbness reduces one's desire to aspire to one's own heights. 

The sight and sound of us removes the joy from others. Mostly our significant others.

That's just not cricket.

Though medication does change one, and none of us know if this is for the better.  We are bombarded by those who don't have our hearts and think that it is pure poison.   Their judgement causes us to doubt the medication.  No matter. Well-intentioned advices do not help me. I must see if I can find my creativity again, words enough to finish the stories.

I am only  63.  There must be something worthwhile that I can do with the rest of my time. 

Depression deprives us of motivation, concentration and appetite.  Cigarettes are the substitute action.  We drink alcohol when drastic action is required.  A doubling up of ... whatever our poisons ... so we can elude ourselves into believing that we are actually doing something.

It is, of course, ego. I truly believe this.  The ego is somehow wounded and a mortified mind can find any manner of means to bring relief and apportion blame.  If there is blame, there is ego. 

Depression robs one of  ideas required to find the proper action.

Mr Piers calmly allows me my bouts of darkness until I come to him in pain.  Then, do the right thing. Don't argue with it. Just do something meaningful to change the fright filled visions.

We are extraordinary.  The pills, I think, help us express it.  But, when depressed, we are convinced that this is not so.  We feel like failures, but without pills failure is sure. The danger is that if one doesn't treat it, in my experience, the low level one falls to can feel pretty normal.  Normal without mojo.  Ego causes it and ego stops active steps to remove it.

I think... so far.  I welcome any debate.

On the Global Front.

The globe just got smaller.  I can only see as far as my heart today.  Earth has fewer inhabitants.  The Ukraine has my prayers, but not my focus. I don't know what progress has been made to subdue powers, hungry for expansion, born of perceived need.

Just a thought

I beg our Creator, King of the Universe, do not abandon us to our lusts.  Turn your eyes back to us and nurture the good in us.  Heal us of our broken hearts, open the windows of Heaven and let your light shine upon us.  My candle is burning.  I send my love to all in war torn places and ask your special hand of healing.  If I am depressed because of my biology and broken because of my loss, how broken, depressed and immobilised are your many souls out there.  Grant us peace in our day.



One gets past quotes that are meant to encourage one to ... Perhaps one falls too low to reach.  I don't know which it is.  Rumi, however, does seem to be the kind of soul I would have enjoyed chatting to.

I've been looking at the life of Jesus lately. Being in "die genade jare" and all.  Have no idea how we got here from Rumi, but no matter.  I have new information compliments of teachers who saw something others seem to have missed.  I know.  I know.  Bear with me.

John MacArthur started me on this journey.

I never realised the import of the time, of Jesus' Jewishness and the impact of his family and his community.  Yes, he had brothers. Yes, he had a father and a mother.  But once you start looking at it you see that his brothers weren't falling over themselves with support. You read precious little to nothing about his father, a only a smidgen more about his mother.

Then there are those years of nothing at all.

Then, along comes Paul.  Now Paul was never my favourite.  Bar the sentences that "spoke to me" along the way, duly underlined in my Life Application Bible, I skipped him.  I did not know why.  He's different ... I thought.  Somehow other.

I did like James though.  I didn't get that Paul was all about Grace and James was more Law. Well, I got it, but not in the sense of really knowing.  Of course I would like James more.  I like instructions and I like rules and I like working hard.

This of course gives me a new desire to read everything Paul wrote.

Moving on

I was lucky when I went back to Jesus.  It was a glorious time of revival and I learned so much so quickly.  The Word became flesh to me.  There were periods where I was gobsmacked and not speaking.  When you can't lash out at the humans you lash out at the supreme being.  I just hope I missed.

I gave most of the Christian books away to customers in the last days of my bookshop because I didn't want them gathering dust.  I did shove books into hands and insist they be taken home. 

I kept one.

"Paul: The Apostle of Grace" by Warren Litzman

Why this one? No idea.  I just felt I had to pick it. Of all the books I took for myself that day when the self picking had to be done, this was the oddest choice.  But, there it is.  Not only do I have many books, but I chose to read this one first.

I don't know anything about the writer.  It is, however, a good pick.  The history of Paul and Jesus and how the time influenced Paul's writings.

Anyway, it's given me a whole new perspective.  If you are inclined, I recommend this read.

On the Global Front

I have no idea why they bothered to have a dedicated channel for the trial everyone is talking about - or forced to be talking about because you can't avoid it. Every news channel I switched to had the sound track of ... and picture of .. and really!  Really?

My prayers lie with those facing the unknown which has taken on a whole new face - it's masked. Can't escape the importance of this moment in history.  You so get this is different. 

May G-d forgive us and grant us mercy and peace in our days.

Just a thought

I rather liked Mathew's Oscar acceptance speech.  Not only because he thanked G-d, in a meaningful way, his parents and his family, but he gave us all a gift.

He said we have to have something to chase.
He chases his future self, the hero he wants to be.

A Capricorn who can't help look ahead, more than at the now, can only find this appealing.

May we all become the great heroes we want to be.  I do believe we do. 

Love and Light

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Untitled 2


The night is somehow comforting.  The stars remind me there is Light in this large Universe and that we are just a speck in the Creator's eye: no less than the moon and the stars ... no less.

Moving on

Inch by inch.

On the Global Front

So, I am yet to see the magic of the Arab Spring. So infectious it was, dreaming that all was for freedom when clearly it was not freedom's invitation we accepted. If not freedom, who or what?

Just a thought

Back in the day when sons went to war they went as proud warriors defending values they were prepared to die for.  These days they cover their faces and have no insignia.

Saturday, March 1, 2014



Your ticket is ready.  You are excited. It's a package deal designed specifically for you.

Mountains, valleys and rivers that carved the canyons fly past while you eat good food and enjoy the company of fellow travellers.

You smile and wave at waiting passengers waiting on the platforms. You tag yourself on Facebook.  You are the shoes! And, the sox!

It's a trick. 

You are the most satisfied soul you know. You hardly finish oozing glee when the conductor advises you that the next station is one of your stops. 

It turns out to be some out of ordinary city. Challenge is the only game in town.  There's a ton of stuff to do. You make a lot of new friends. 

"When are you leaving?" Someone askes.

You say, later. Longer stops are allowed.

You need to get a job to pay for the room. Extended stays are not included in your package.  You get a job in the hotel where you have your room.

You are exhausted. Too much fun and work! You decide it's time to get back on the train.  Thing is, although it comes by every day, it doesn't always stop.

The ticket office guy says you have to be on the platform. If it stops, you get on.

"And," he says pointing a long finger, "it doesn't hover about. If you are not ready ...

"This is ... insanity!" You say.

"It is," he says.

You write letters of protest informing the authorities that you do have a ticket and this is just not cricket. The envelopes come back "Return to Sender". You can't get anyone on the phone. The emails bounce. You can't randomly wait at the station. You'll lose your job.  You'd starve. You'd be homeless.
It's a trick

You can see the train going by from your office.  You can feel the vibrations as it thunders past. You feel funny inside, but ...  You have everything you need.  Why bother with the train? Here's as good as anywhere else.  You are fine until you hear it stop. Then you hear the whistle blow and the conductor shout, "All aboard."  Something inside flips over. Sometimes you cry.

The train stops once a week. Never before 6.00 a.m. since you've been watching.

You book a week's leave.  You pack just about everything because you don't plan to come back.

Passengers in passing trains wave. Your train does not stop once.  You go back to your room and job. 

You realise you can't play it safe.  You resign. You check out of the room.  You give away your clutter and head for the station with an overnight bag.

You sit down.  You have books.  You pick one.  You have ten.  You have time.  You don't care how long it takes. 

You hear a train. The tracks quiver.  The breaks squeal. It can't be your train.  It's not five o'clock yet.  You arrived early to get the spot next to the pillar, something to lean against. Might as well be comfortable.

The train stops. The doors open.  You are reading.  People scramble in. You feel them. You smell them. You hear them. The conductor shouts, "All aboard!"  You don't move.  You only look up when he shouts a second time.  "All Aboard!" You notice the destination board. 

It's your train.

You get up, grab the bag, and start for the door.  It's a step away.

The doors close. Whoosh. It's gone.


You run to the ticket office and yell at the guy.

He peers over his spectacles at you.

"I told you.  You have to be ready," he responds quietly.


"It is, indeed," the ticket guy says.  "Be ready next time," he adds.

"NEXT TIME?  Really?"

It's a trick.

You've lost the pillar spot.  Another train whooshes by. Passengers wave.  You wish you had a brick to hurl at them.

You're wondering if you should go back home.  The bloody thing won't be back today anyway ...

You remember. You have no room.  And ... it never was home.

Another train's on it's way.  It can't be yours.  Yours has already come and gone. It stops.  You read the destination board.  It's your train.  How can it be?  It just left. You shake your head. Perhaps you're seeing things. 

The conductor shouts, "All aboard!"

A few stranglers get on the train.  They forgot to change the destination board. That's it.  The board's wrong.

"All aboard!" The conductor shouts.

You're hungry, need to pee and wash. You get on the train. The doors close. 

You sit down.

"What train is this?" You ask an old man.
He looks at your ticket.
"This is your train," he says.
"My train left about fifteen minutes ago.  It only stops once a day," you say.
"You weren't ready," the old man says.
"Well, I was, but ..."
"You were not ready."
"Either way, ready or not, I'm on the wrong train," you say.
"Your ticket says you're on the right train," the old man says.
"How can it be?"
"When you are ready, it comes," the old man says.

"How far away is this place then?" You ask.
"It's not a place."
"And," not listening, you go on. "How come the train stopped twice today?"
"It's not a train.," the old man said.

You sit back. The old man has lost it.

You close your eyes.

You wonder what day it is.

"It's a new day!"  A game show host yells.

You open your eyes.
You're on the couch.
The television is on.

"Are you ready?"  Jimmy York shouts.

A muffle comes back from the studio audience.

"ARE YOU READY?" he shouts again.

You sit up. 
That's the ticket office guy!

"What is this?" Jimmy asks his first contestant holding up a picture.
"It's not a train," the contestant says.

You can't believe your eyes. 
That's the old man!

The score board clocks up his points.

"What's this?" Jimmy presents a new picture.

"It's not a place," another contestant says.

The score board clocks up his points.
That's the conductor...

"We'll be back after the commercial break," Jimmy says.

You close your eyes. Hate adverts. 
Then you hear it.  The whistle.
You open your eyes. The advert has a train ...

It whooshes past a platform. 
You can't believe it. 
That's you on the platform.
Camera zooms in on one of the passengers.
You can't believe it.
It's you.


Moving On

If the individual isn't powerful why the cameras and the listening? 
If the individual is powerful why is he acting like a lemming or a frog in slow boiling pot?

Global Front

"We do not have instructions to negotiate." An armed person without insignia.

A Facebook posting reports that Christians have signed a treaty of submission giving up the right to publically practice as Christians rather than "face the sword" in Syria.  [I found another article by a different writer on line although  the wording is much the same ... Interesting though that one has Atlas Shrugged roots and the other is a Christian paper. In another article the writer says these persecutions are not imaginary.]

Just a thought

Everything that happens to everyone matters to everyone.

Love and Light