Ons Lot Filistyne

*
Ek wil eers Wayne Dyer se "Spiritual Solution
To Every Problem" klaarlees, van die geestelike
oplossings is om tuberkulose te kry, gif te drink
of aan kruise gespyker te raak; synde dit die lot
was van die hoogste heiliges soos St Francis en
groot filosowe soos Socrates

Klink my dis gevaarlik om geestelik ontwikkel te
wees, lyk my 'n heiden het 'n beter kans op ‘n
welvarende lewe; dan moet die skrywer self 'n
heiden wees want hy spog so hoe voorspoedig
en gesond hy en sy familie is, geen tuberkulose
soos St Francis van Assisi

Geen gifbekers en kruise vir hulle nie - dit laat
mens DINK né, terwyl die skrywer uitwys dat
heiliges ernstige probleme gehad het, vertel
hy hoe voorspoedig en gesond ware gelowiges
is as hulle net vertrou en liefhet – wat op aarde
het die heiliges dan aangevang

Dat hulle so kranklik was en afgemaai is deur
hulle mede-naaste; het hulle nie vertrou en
onvoorwaardelik liefgehad nie - en as hulle
het en so benadeel is, watter voordeel kan
dit inhou vir ons lot Filistyne van vandag?
*

Spiritual Content

*
I have been washing dishes tonight, without crying,
made dinner for Tiaan, he barbecued the meat, I
cleaned, you came home, refused to eat leftover
vegetables, created a bacon and egg concoction

I washed again, my heart as light as a feather, I
called my dad, he is happy in moving, a family
member moving away into happiness, far away
from me, yet all family who become inaccessible

Are growing happy - I miss them all terribly, but
it is their life at stake, my staying behind without
them does not count, I have you and Tiaan and
Nici when she returns, I am glad for ALL my family

Discovering their joy - though it means I cannot
talk to them, it is my loss but their gain, they make
new friends, find new interests, everything I could
never offer them, I am so glad for them

I cry missing them, when they call, I smile and
crack another joke, we laugh, laughing with them
is all that is left, my dad sounds joyous in change
I have his music to keep me company

Seven books of spiritual content to read, I only
cry when no-one sees me
*

So Very Irreverent

*
Dad left today, you are not here
I came home alone, prepared
dinner for two, Tiaan and I, the
house is empty without you

The world is growing cold, I have
books to read, my citadel against
life, I accept Wayne Dyer there is
spiritual solutions to every problem

Illness and death or drinking poison
I only disagree with Dyer about his
imperative that we must be healthy
to prove that we believe in God

He explains the suffering and pains
of old saints away, it is strange that
he insists nobody else has the right
to suffer and die in a similar manner

Apparently he and his brood and his
lovely wife are all healthy and good,
he recommends we do as they do
prove spiritual health in physical

He happily dismisses all the saints
who succumbed, I shall join them
quietly, allergy is a sin according to
Dyer, but without it I would not

Write another poem, I would go out
and enjoy life, smile at people to
show them how good God is while
they suffer in vain, like the saints

I cannot understand how authors
manage to convince themselves
we have to prove our love in
health while the saints

Dramatically failed – they are all
dead today – and - I hope you
come home soon, I miss your
voice berating me for being

So very irreverent
all the time…
*

A Wide Ballroom Gown

*
Dancing down the street, small pointed shoes
on my feet, the sweep of a wide ballroom gown
billowing around me in soft layers of pink, scores
of dancers waltzing with me to the sound of Strauss
waltzes playing over headphones in my ears

Entering the library, pirouetting in the non-fiction section
bowing to Charles Fort, Prophet of the Unexplained
curtsying to Hal Lindsay explaining The Future of
Planet Earth, smiling at James Redfield offering
The Tenth Insight, flying high into the sky

When discovering Lobsang Rampa’s Third Eye, ending
in the arms of Paul Twitchell seriously regarding us from
the back page of his Spiritual Notebook, waltzing in strings
to the check-out counter, a treasure-trove of books to be
our bulwarks against endless official texts

The promised joy in the scintillating thoughts of deep
thinkers offering emotional succour and spiritual upliftment
to help me through the waterless desert of unsentimental
letters to the President…
*

Living In God’s Light

*
On page 186 Wayne Dyer claims
saints die of terminal illnesses like
tuberculosis and cancer, but it is
fine because in the spiritual realm
disease and death are unreal, not
nonexistent - just an illusion -

On page 187 Dyer says anyone can
be a healer, a spiritual channel for
perfect love in God-realization - Why
does he exhort us to chase healing
after admitting saints failed in using
these techniques to heal themselves?

He finds it perfectly acceptable when
saints fall ill and die, but we common
people should prove spiritual prowess
by healing ourselves and others; either
the saints were a bunch of losers just
like us and it is all right to be ill

And Dyers’ claim that spiritual love will
manifest in perfect health is hogwash
as no saint has ever been exempt from
illness, death and decay through that
very saintliness they have been living -
If we all, according to Dyer’s book,

Have the power to cure ourselves by
living in God’s light, why did the saints
choose to fail so spectacularly in
manifesting the perfect health that
should prove our nearness to God?


“There is a Spiritual Solution to Every Problem”
Thorsons Edition 2002, pp. 186-7
*

Siren Song Leading On (Rev.)

*
Last night I read Dante’s masterpiece
Hell and Purgatory is precession based
discovered delightful scary pictures of him
passing robed skeletons on precipitous
mountain sides depicting travels in space
he describes the Circle of Hell as Mars’
red ring in the sky

Enjoyed piecemeal reading ‘Hamlet’s Mill’
online, as I read I delete to create a
single narrative line – the authors mention
too much detail; their contention that all
ancient fables, myths and legends were
based on astronomical observation
becomes a siren song leading me on

I used to abhor irrational behaviour
and cruel immorality of these stories’
murderous characters; finding a golden
thread manifest in texts is a wonderful
discovery, my interest piqued by Sitchin’s
literal interpretations of the Babylonian
clay tablets

Thirst for more information awakened to
become a stimulating game, I shall always
be a Pyramidiot before turning to scholarly
works, the fun of free imagination lends
interest to dry academic material by
juxtaposing alternate ideas against
cool, boring evidence


http: //www.believeallthings.com/4667/
hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

“Hamlet's Mill” - An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine Publisher Boston 1977
*

Clothe In Dreams (Rev.)

*
My sachet of sadness burst tonight
while washing dishes, I cried about
what keeps me awake: within three
months a performance assessment

Scared of my inability to become an
expert, use correct terms rationally;
I prefer to sing and dance joyfully,
spasm when forced to contemplate

Ice-cold words strung in rasping lines
sandpapering my mind into bleeding
barbed-wire thoughts, every time a
sentence starts to sing it is wrong

Correct terms destroy possible rhythm
no emotional content to bring comfort
only headache and pain accompany me
on the dark, slow Via Dolorosa

I must learn rules, apply them consistently,
work briskly like a machine in the clang of
threatening ideas, boring repetitions,
ignore my heartfelt feelings

Act as if my shortcomings do not lead to
self-contempt, anguish and despair in
acronyms that refuse to sing – tonight
I cry for what I have to conquer

Tomorrow I shall be strong again,
take refuge in books and fairytales,
clothe my rebellious spirit
in dreams…
*

Golden Section In Song

*

After in-depth analysis it seems the only job
which I would be able to excel in would be
sweeping streets, done according to the
principles set out by Beppo Streetsweeper
in Momo by Michael Ende

I cannot be a nurse, I injure myself with hairpins,
or waitress, hairdresser or beautician; the most
suitable occupation for me as shamanistic reader
of books, applying literal interpretations of all
kinds of spiritual advice

But not dietary prescriptions; the universal water
cure, drinking four glasses of water before breakfast
might prolong life-span by making life seem so awful
it will be endless, all bland diets supposed to let
us live longer are carefully eschewed by me

I don’t want a long life, I prefer a short one full of
excitement and fun – to give up challenge and
adventure for a safe, boring life seems idiotic,
though the only dangers I can negotiate are
heavy traffic, dodging cars, eating junk food

Drinking stuff, taking medicine, swimming in the
sea, driving a fast car recklessly – it is good
enough, the challenge of staying alive while
doing what I like is wonderful, being safe
would be living death

I shall leave that for the undead among us
with all due respect, my consciousness wants
variety, visiting other dimensions, move on from
life to life – to be trapped in one manifestation for
too long must be detrimental

We all must leave physical reality for astral realms
where thoughts manifest without delay; it would be
such fun to think ‘kablam’ and see an antagonizer
fall, ‘kazaam’ and see flowers springing from the
soil, ‘beauty’ and see one’s own being bloom

To think of the Golden Section in song and create a
dodecahedron by dancing, lift objects by happy
thoughts, fly through the air like thistledown;
there are so many new sensations to be
tried in ethereal dimensions

I can’t wait to discover them all!
*

Disaster

*
Studying an uplifting text, contemplating spiritual
solutions to every problem, smiling with the bliss
of the uninformed - we create our own problems -
how to solve them applying advice from a Cloud
Seven guy who smiles when someone robs him,
lovingly concedes when cars cut in, sends free
gifts to those paying with bouncing cheques

Strangely enough, the rest of us blighters find that
we cannot wash and salve the feet of the black-
guards we meet, we do not register an outpouring
of love when people defraud us – but apparently
the author of spiritual texts is the exception that
proves the rule, he lovingly whispers sweet
songs to his children and coos to his wife

I suppose this is why I am not in the same holy
league - I shout at my children and mutter under
my breath when I have to serve hubby and them
as a symbol of obeisance; my service is window-
dressing because underneath I am just a normal
human being who bit off too large a piece from
life’s smorgasbord and cannot chew it

I have a low boredom threshold disqualifying me
from excelling in any bureaucracy - the author of
‘spiritual love’ books is leading me astray claiming
nobody has to perform to another’s standard to be
loved, nobody has to be mistake-free – hah, has he
ever come across mistake-ridden me? My reputation
at work is moth-ridden, attempt at improvement

Ends in spectacular disaster, blissfully happy this
spiritual master exclaims ‘I never had a problem
that did not succumb to love and gifts of affection,
affirmations of godly presence, insistence on
absence of strife’ - I suspect a movie of his life
would be too boring to watch - while a movie
of my own disasters

Would drive people to tears – of helpless laughter
depicting my literal interpretation of all advice and
clever dictums, my subsequent failure and con-
sequent shame would cause such mirth, I might
become a comedy queen; while I would be
stuck with embarrassed red-glowing cheeks
everybody else would enjoy the show…
*

Legion of Drum Majorettes

*
Library books long overdue glaring at me
donned my pirate jeans to march down the
street without messing up my new leggings
with shimmering beads of which Nici is quite
heartily ashamed, why, she laments, why
wear shiny beads in the middle of day?

I usually wear them with my Bafana T-shirt
because everything looks terrible with such
a glaring yellow; staying in the festive soccer
mood, listening to Leon Schuster’s rugby tune
“Here they come, the Springboks, while the
English Roses play like men on narcotics”

and Steve Hofmeyr “Bring your whole life in a
suitcase, I am saving for a donkey cart to transport
the *predikant” and oom Chris Blignaut “Come and
greet your nation through the wireless bully-beef
broadcasting station” - lustily singing along while
determinedly marching to the rhythm

Thanking my lucky stars nobody openly laughs at
the spectacle I present, feeling like the leader of a
legion of drum majorettes stepping high to the
songs playing in my ears…


Leon Schuster “Here they come, the Springboks”
“Hier kom die Bokke - Die manne van die Rose speel soos
manne met narkose”

Steve Hofmeyr “Pampoen” "Bring jou hele lewe in ‘n tas"
*predikant = pastor

Oom Chris Blignaut “Come, greet the nation by
broadcasting through the wireless bully-beef tin”
“Kom groet nou jou nasie oor die uitsaaistasie »
*

World Out Of Kilter (Rev.)

*
In Book of Enoch, an Angel said ‘The stars rolling
over fire at rising time over-stepped God’s orders,
not rising at their appointed hour’. Saturn - ‘originator
of times’ – separated ‘parents’ of the world’ – the
Equator and Ecliptic Axes fell apart; before this
‘time’ did not exist

Forces in ‘Enuma elish’ – Babylonian Creation Epic
‘children’ of Apsu and Tiamat, crowded their parents,
disturbing Tiamat’s mood as they surged; unsavory
were their ways, Apsu could not lessen their clamour
the Equinoctial Sun was pushed out of the Golden
Age ‘sign’ to go on to new configurations

‘Sin’ ascribed to the ‘Children of Heaven’ nudged
the sun out of place, setting it on the move, the
world out of kilter; nothing – not days, months, years
rising and setting of stars – fell into its rightful place,
the Equinoctial Point forced its way forward
like automatic gears unless put in neutral

Yet equinoxes cannot be disengaged, the Time
Machine will roll forever, bringing forth a New
Heaven and Earth at every New Age, ‘Original Sin’
ascribed to men – were conflagrations in heaven
planets and stars were affected by precession, a
meteor or two à la Velikovsky –

Thus Sitchin’s literal interpretation of Sumerian
script presents impossible murder and incest –
I prefer de Santillana’s and Von Dechend’s rational
way of explaining how astronomy was preserved
in these tales, not how ‘aliens’ colonised earth
as Sitchin so fondly relates;

Whether Planet X called Niburu crosses earth’s path
every thirty thousand years or not, technologically
advanced, intelligent beings could never live like
gods of ancient Greece and Rome, be more immoral
and commit more incest without being intellectually
deprived and destroying themselves...


1. “The wars of gods and men” - ZECHARIAH SITCHIN

2. http://www.believeallthings.com/4667/hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

3. “Hamlet's Mill” - An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine Publisher Boston 1977

4. “Enuma elish” Babylonian Creation Epic
*

Beauty Of Existence

*
According to myth, Saturn was Lord of the Mill,
dethroned by his son called Zeus, known as
Jupiter, he threw Saturn off his chariot and
banished him in chains to an island; being
immortal Saturn could not die, sleeping in
funerary linen until the time comes to be
reborn as a child

Delightful to learn that John the Baptist, Jesus Christ
and Saul who became Paul, knew about precession
wove tales of beautiful visions based on these facts
using details of equinoxes changing to explain the
redemption of man after the Old Testament
doomed mankind to eternal hell for
breaking God’s law

Though they must have known original myths were
based on astronomical observation, they created
a new creed to make men feel saved once they
accepted the universe was good, held together
by love, they showed that love was laying
down one’s life for others and their
future well-being

Creating the miracle play of a god coming to earth to
atone for men’s sins to illustrate how people could
forgive themselves and everyone else, to help all
accept the origin of the universe and their own
selves as good; but men used the teaching to
subject other human beings - no creed can
ever change anything

Only a personal choice for spiritual love for the self
and ALL forms of existence can bring us joy, no
amount of cajoling or enforced coercion can
ever change anyone into a joyous being,
discerning the beauty of existence
wherever we look….

***********************

Twilight of the Gods: Once there was
a Golden Age. Why and how did it come
to an end? It is refracted in a hundred myths,
explained in sorrow, nostalgia and despondency.

Why was the Garden of Eden lost? The answer is
because of ‘sin’. Yet the theory of Adam and Eve
being guilty is not very old.

The authors of the Old Testament developed a
conceit while Christianity rescued and restored
the cosmic proportions, insisting God alone
could offer himself in atonement.

In archaic times this was self-evident. Gods
alone could reign over or wreck the universe.
THAT is the origin of ‘evil’.

Evil remains a mystery, it is not innate in nature.
The all-powerful machine of the heavens should
yield only harmony and perfection, a reign of
justice and innocence while rivers flow with milk
and honey. It did, then everything changed.

Why did history begin? History is terrible. Men
claimed when Pure Being is confronted with
Non-Being, the result is Becoming, which is
uninsurable.

The archaic answer was derived from heavenly
motions. In myths, the stars and planets are gods,
the divine enclosing the whole of nature.

Ancient myths reflected cosmological information:
Chaos, struggle and violence; portraying the forces
which shaped the cosmos.

“The Fixed stars are the essence of Being, their
assembly stands for the hidden counsels and
unspoken ruling the Whole.”

“Planets are gods, representing Forces and Will:
All forces are aspects of the heavenly power and
the ruthless necessity and precision expressed
by heaven.”

http://www.believeallthings.com/4667/hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

“Hamlet's Mill”
An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine Publisher Boston 1977
*

Planets And Stars Personified (Rev.)

*
Zechariah Sitchin’s translations of Babylonian
clay tablets are enjoyable reading – but legends
and myths of immortal gods are too overbearing
to be true – and like bizarre Roman and Greek
legends, unacceptable as literal events

As De Santillana* and Von Dechend* explain
the Babylonian creation myth is a rendition of
precession, basis of the Bible’s Old Testament
stories described in the life of Samson,
a series of absurd events

Precession was an enormous mill grinding out
peace and plenty in a Golden Age, ruled without
war or bloody sacrifice and no inequality of class
by Saturn (called Kronos) who was Lord
of Justice, the Enki of Sumerian days

Sitchin sees Enki as an extraterrestrial with
an enormous life-span, describing origins of
man by the interference of aliens messing
about with animal genetics – adding alien
DNA to life forms evolving on earth

The academics* explain all these characters
were planets and stars personified as effects
of equinoxial precession, amazing immorality
of all being taken literally but in context,
events happening only in the sky

My awareness delights in ancient tales as a way
of conserving such knowledge, even numbers
and figures lose their scary aspect when seen
as concrete event of planets swirling up high,
I need never know a single number

Observing kingship and executive power in planets
and stars, their material appearance an assurance
numbers are just a description of the life we lead,
not life itself, merely a representation of life as
figures in perfect configurations

We are the outline, need never know mathematics
to understand precession and its implications…

“Enuma elish” Babylonian Creation Epic:
Fixed stars represent kingly power, silent,
unmoving, while planets are the executive power.

http://www.believeallthings.com/
4667/hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

“Hamlet's Mill”
An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine Publisher Boston 1977
*

Most Scrumptious Experience

*
When I first wondered about black eternity
if I had never been born taking on physical
form with five senses to take in the world
around me, shattered by the idea of non-
being, because I assumed I was my body

Religion made it all worse, teaching being
human was sinful as a result of a ‘fall’ then
requiring sinful me to love all sinful people,
I could not, I studied the commandments
and knew I was doomed for being unable

To love and serve people like Jesus did,
if I were good, yet aware of being sinful,
I would be given eternal life, the church
claimed, and to add insult to injury, we
might be preordained to be saved or not

The choice was not ours, a check-mate
situation! When I discovered the spiritual
teaching I am already a soul, an eternal
spirit that always has been and would
always be, regardless of events

In the script that is my life, and I learnt
that we orchestrate the play ourselves
and realized I had chosen an eccentric
father and an artistic mother, bringing
me to what I am now

And where I am, surrounded by love, by
beauty and mystery while reading about
electromagnetic impulses proving that
everything in existence has its own
form of awareness - oh joyous life

Magnificent consciousness, extending
beyond my body to unending parallel
universes - I adore quantum physics
for lifting the veil of being as energy:
loving, intelligent, aware –

Being, just Breathing and Being: The most
scrumptious experience there is!
*

Bizarre Tales (Rev.)

*
Three pairs of socks, Linah adds more,
clothes spread everywhere, I can‘t take
something that’s too tight, it means no
jeans, no short tops, I am confused with
what to take and leave, in the end I take
everything, my hot water bottle, pillow
and most important swimsuit and shorts,
there is a warm water pool, I want to
relax and reflect upon Hamlet’s Mill

Disappointed with myself discovering myths
of gods and men do not enchant at all, seem
pointless, reveal nothing about the creators
except their complete immorality – it is
clear those weird tales are actually ways to
explain precession of the equinoxes
all detail contained

I no longer feel ashamed of my youthful
inability to appreciate bizarre tales,
as symbols and similes they are superb
as allegories ideal!
*

Storm-Swept Abyss

*
It is so cool to know that the river Styx
actually is an immense abyss in outer space,
to know that myths which seemed meaningless
before relate the tales of the precession
of the equinoxes, the futile stories that
only appealed to the driest academics
are actually brimful with real meaning
and portentous significance,

I love it when the world starts to make sense,
absurd tales placed in context and situation
fulfil my most cherished ideal of universal
truth and eternal description!
*************************************

Storm-Swept Abyss

The river Styx is an immense storm-swept abyss
in outer space, the world of dead souls carried
by backtracking rivers, creating images of
astronomy - not hydraulics

The seesaw swinging of earth is the swinging of
the ecliptic, the sky with the seasons; strange
entities appear - Okeanos and Chronos
Chronos is time

Chronos‘ mate is called Ananke - Necessity
Time and Necessity circle the universe in
heavenly motions, timeless in a
moving image of eternity

Okeanos is deep-flowing, untiring and
placid, silent, deep, still, no billows
while rotating - the starry heaven

Okeanos is a swirling river, flowing on
neither sea or land but in the air above,
mythical Okeanos, remote, silent

Okeanos is the original god of heaven,
the ruler of the pole – his name
derived from heaven...

Hamlet’s Mill
*

Sphere Of Twelve Pieces

*
I love to read as De Santillana and Von
Deschend explain that mythology was a
way of recording astrological information
how the figure of Samson in the Bible is
another description of such phenomena

Plato recording the stories of Socrates
concerning heavenly bodies forming the
zodiac in the sky, a sphere of twelve
pieces in which the golden section
can be discerned – so delectable!

***************************


Golden Section - Delectable
*
True earth, a ball, twelve colored pieces
above us, Plato knew it as stratosphere
in the aether above, centered on the
centre of the universe

Celestial bodies called gods, the temples in
which they dwell are the houses of the
zodiac, the world is a dodecahedron
a sphere of twelve pieces

A dodecahedron resembling the zodiac and
the year in twelve equilateral equangular
quinquangle pentagons - consisting of
thirty scalene triangles

Numbers twelve, thirty, three-hundred-and-sixty
dividing a pentagon into five isoscele triangles
divided into six scalene triangles: the golden
section – so delectable...


Hamlet’s Mill
*

Pernickety - Unpernicketious

*

I cannot create bureaucratic translations
I play the spiritual game in life – cannot
become pernickety. Any word conveying
general meaning will suffice as long as it
makes a sentence into a song, adds a
tune to the line as prosody; any term that
doesn’t appeal to melody won’t satisfy
the crocodile living in my brain, I ignore
him too long and he swallows my mind,
consciousness closes down

I am left with an aching hole in my head
luckily I am an alien like fake Rolex and
alien weapons seller in Men In Black, my
brain grows back, but it is a slow, painful
process – my embarrassed red cheeks
while consistently choosing wrong terms
given the crocodile’s inability to consider
anything but rhythm and rhyme, so that in
the end I make a bigger mess with every
decision to reform and do my best

- is a clear sign that my brain has not been
rewired as yet…

Wordsmith [wsmith@wordsmith.org]:

Pernickety
Fussy about minor details, requiring keen
attention to detail, as a job.
*

Dance For The Angels (Rev.)

*

Overjoyed with a new computer just bought,
a laptop, my old one’s broken; I was stuck
in an icy kitchen with a go-nowhere screen,
now I can type where I want, in front of TV,
at the little school desk

Watching Leonard Cohen’s DVD ‘Live in
London’ on the new PC, preparing dinner
in between, sound weak, volume low, when
he sings ‘Dance Me To The End Of Love’
I cup my fingers over my ears to hear

He sings ‘Tower Of Song’, I cry, he looks so
frail, so elegant, singing “I’m crazy for love”
saying the answer to life’s question is open
ended, leaving the mystery intact – a poet
to my own heart, he is clever, leaving it to

a listener’s imagination, humble and cool,
I tried to capture the feeling in words but
they ran away, my cupped fingers made
recording thoughts inspired impossible
while typing on the old laptop anchored

in the cold kitchen, tonight I want to watch
him singing with surround-sound on the big
screen, toasting him with vodkatini, paying
homage to everything he has been, still is
and always will be

“I loved you when you opened a thousand
kisses deep”*, sounds too good to be true
but I share the dream when he sings ‘So
Long Marianne’; you say it is one of your
favourite songs of all time –

when we forget to pray for the angels –
they forget to pray for us; I DANCE for the
angels to keep them amused so they won’t
forget to pray for me...

Leonard Cohen ‘Recitation’
Leonard Cohen DVD “Live in London”
Recorded live in concert 17 July 2008
*

Nightmare Ideas Of Non-Being (Rev.)

*
At six starting school overcome by the most
overpowering mystery of all: Where was I
before I had become, would there have only
been one long dark night of blackness where
my mind was if I had never been born?

Could the World have become without me
being aware of all-encompassing sensory
embrace? Troubled deeply by an image of
blackness that was me until I arrived in the
light, tried to figure it out

If the vacancy that would have been me were
never filled by light of my seeing eyes, if the
World never came into being for me, did it ever
exist – given that I would never have been
possible or remotely aware of it?

Would my life have been eternal unconscious
nothingness? How was it possible I escaped
the blackness whence I came, and did I not
come, would the World have been a non-event?
I was deeply troubled, all strange new things

The school compound, large fir trees standing
high, doves cooing morning greetings before
class, bright sunrays flooding the passage, a
wedding doll someone brought to school, the
most beautiful thing I had ever seen

If I’d never seen them then for me there would
not have been a World; where would I have
been before then, where and how? Easy to see
this perplexed state caused me headaches,
had to stop thinking in order to rest

Nightmare ideas of non-being and vagueness
without light – my consciousness just dimly
aware of blackness for eternity, fatiguing
and scary, knowing in the end my perceptions
were the only door to the world I’d ever have

and I was scared not knowing whence
I came and where I was headed…
*

Rather Be Impressed (Rev.)

*
I shall always admire mother’s ability to
surmount obstacles to her dreams, those
things being my dad, my siblings and I
grandma Alice and the rest of the family

Mother could have easily succumbed to
defeat of marriage and five unruly kids,
but she never gave in, followed her own
dream-star, played the piano

Organ lessons at the conservatorium,
playing Bach, church hymns, conducting
choir, never allowing reality to interfere,
else she might have been a drudge

But her grooming impeccable; if I had
to choose between her and a defeated
mom, I’d take her, not needing her
affection, as is, she needs nothing too

Grandma Alice ran her household ‘til
we kids were grown while she flew free
returning to bankrupt dad yet he claims
he enjoyed living in her universe

Betray her – she’ll have you exorcised; I
leave her alone, unsure what she’ll do next
but I prefer a mother I can admire to a
dependent invalid in need of sympathy

I’d rather be impressed than agonized by
her sufferings, but she must remember
when complaining why we do not offer
the affection that she thinks her due…
*

Dad And Five Children (Rev.)

*
I reminded her she was not around
when we were small, yet yesterday
before I’d even arrived to say goodbye
she’d already gone

She never does it on purpose Mother says,
she’s popular but her orchestrated absence
proves the converse - going back all those
years nothing’s changed,

What made me think she’d wait to say
goodbye? Was I foolish thinking she might
care enough to be at home, a sign
of real feeling, but she scorns family

The message is she doesn’t give a damn,
my lecture on spurned children was
meant to make her play “caring mother” –
I was wrong, she could not be bothered

Long-distance trips with friends is priority,
yet she complains grandchildren do not visit,
why should they when she so obviously
doesn’t care about them

I do not wish my kids to feel unwanted by
her lack of feeling; yet the same woman
immorally rejected grandma Alice while
asking her to serve in all emergencies

She brought dad inebriated to see Nici just
three weeks old, he insulted her and me, I was
ill with shock, mother claimed she did not know
he drank though Grandma Alice warned her well

With “religious” friends support she claims she
plays a martyr’s role as her family rejects her
I wonder why WE are evil, starting with her own
mother, grandma Alice, dad and five children...
*

Freudian Slip

*
Mother not home when I paid my goodbye visit
in great insouciance went off to have some fun
a Freudian slip made once too often, family too
boring to sacrifice a friend’s invitation

I was rather shocked by her overt declaration of
alienation, Tom Thumb insulted my sister but was
never reproached, dad chased from the house, he
looks like a slob, she knows her own mind

No room for family feeling, no loyalty to anyone
except her own self; got over it by reading about
Anastasia’s friend asking the mayor to leave,
thought him a deinstitutionalised psychotic

Because he bored everyone while drinking too much
she invited several psychotics to her grandma’s party
in a nasty plot, then tried to chase them, unfortunately
the mayor seemed psychotic to her

His jacket buttoned wrongly - he fitted the bill; I laughed
what an embarrassment - What happened today was a
repeat of the past, consideration for her daughter has
never entered my mother’s mind

Though she offered to illustrate a book for me should I
be daft enough to ask her to – as long as I remember
her friends are priority and do not expect her to
finish the project at all....
*

Mental Gymnastics (Rev.)

*
Tomorrow I’ll say goodbye to my parents
as they leave for Messina; I am going to
record the funny song from dad’s tape,
Chris Blignaut singing about the baboon’s
face stuck in the ape’s wireless – an
ant-filled bully-beef tin

The tin’s too tight so he gets bitten; I love its
absurd comedy, want to have it with me when
sister leaves taking mom and dad – it may be
a good thing – talking to them I discover they
do not share memories but at least my dad
remembers

We were babies – he had us fall asleep in
a row on the carpet, mom doesn’t recall
she’s forgotten – claims she never knew
in the first place, living her own life
before we were born; I must guard
against my need to withdraw –

Remain focused – people discuss mundane
events and I tumble into mental gymnastics;
tomorrow I’ll ask my dad about his memories,
of the time when he was intimate with the local
Mafia – I want to record his unique life for
posterity;

As for mother – when I ask about our early
years she says she does not recall; she’s right,
her spirit was absent, she abhorred home life –
I make sure that home is where my heart is,
though it is not easy for me to keep my feet
on the ground...
*

Castle Of Quantum Physics

*
When I look at my dad, I see me, when I
speak, I hear my mother’s voice, when I
look at my hands, stocky and short, I see
my father’s hands, when I sing, I hear my
mother’s song, like my dad in appearance
but like my mother in sound, my mother is
music, my father poetry, yet the two

Never got along, no wonder I never got on
with either of them, I have lived in my own
world since I was small, when I try to leave
sharing my thoughts with others, my sand
castles crumble, my soap bubbles burst -
feeling naked and sad, alone, abandoned;
I immediately return to my mental citadel

Where no-one can get me, no feeling can
reach, no-one can hurt me, I have a secret
castle of quantum physics more mysterious
than the lore of the ancients, legends and
myths that feed my soul, a source of af-
fection and energy that keeps me strong
when reality strangles life out of me

Every time real-life events kill a dream, I
find spiritual books assuring me a vision
is more valid than physical things, I look
at fearsome ghosts and scary phantoms
conjured by fancy, I can make them real
or let them go by offering them love and
- I actually DO love them

For the role they play, keeping me en-
sconced in a dream that one day there
will be a world of unconditional love in
which spirits like me will exist happily...


Song:

“Listen to the ocean, echo’s of a million
sea shells, forever it’s in motion, moving
to a rhythmic and unwritten music that’s
played eternally...”
*

Magic Relief (Rev.)

*

This is a day of amazing insights: I realize
wearing an oversize sizzling yellow
Bafana T-shirt does NOT make me
a buttercup but rather a big pumpkin
or yellow barrel animated on legs

I realize a cardboard tasting vegetarian
burger did not make me ill, realize I think
like a pompous thirteen-year informing
psychiatrists eating lasagna with patients
would solve all their problems

I want to inform all mental patients
that reading children’s books will offer
a safe and beautiful sanctuary while
instantly curing them of cynicism, despair,
depression and boredom

I felt despondent until I read Anastasia’s
false bosom was hanging in devilled eggs,
she and her friend were set to become
The Bosom Phantoms, yet had to take
her mother’s soiled clothes home

I laughed outrageously, deciding that
being an oversized pumpkin was okay –
then I read about a professor lecturing sniggering students to find afterwards his
fly was unzipped – yet he endured

I realize I’ll survive my yellow Bafana T shirt,
live on through more boring patches of
life to read more comedy; my belief is
comedians go straight to heaven for the
magic relief afforded sad people like me!
*

Simile Of Deliverance (Rev.)

*

I love ancient minds, the grandiose
thoughts of bygone tale-tellers, their
sense of awe, infusing all they saw
with supernatural significance and
deeper meaning

I share their cosmological delight in
a machine too vast for mankind to
penetrate or understand, reject their
helplessness and despair in a
mystifying universe

To succor my belief I NEED a kind
intelligence as creative origin of all that
exist, ideas of malevolence as creation
kills my spirit; though I cannot
breathe in materialism,

the thin, cold air of cynicism, nor feel
joy in small three-dimensional reality
I will not face over-powering tragedy
of an evil universe blindly grinding
its unfeeling millstone

If I am to live as a useful, pragmatic,
hard-working human being I need to
rest my mind in beautiful thoughts of
harmony, benevolence and rational
self-interest

I won’t be the toy of harsh, unfeeling
powers else I die of despair, I admire
loving intent of a Christ-dreamer using
ideas of Precession to create a simile
of deliverance

for a suffering humanity …
*

An Intellectual Companion

*
We love some things while hating the idea
of it – we love babies but giving birth is a
most distressing experience

The idea of some things are wonderful while
the practice is questionable – like attaining
unity through true love

The actual event never realises the ideal -
leaving most people confused about the
meaning of romance and love

Professed love seldom lasts - it is another
mystery, lucky the love that lasts when
chemical imbalance fades

Romance is fantastic, the idea of a wildly
beating heart, but the real relationship is
seldom very grand, serving blindly

In order to show gratitude for everything
a partner does, kills the feeling in the
heart – yet most people

Insist on ceremony and form, nothing wrong
with sticking to one who shares life and
good sense of humour

Friendship and affection last forever while the
afterglow of bodily sensation dims completely
as time goes by

Finding an intellectual companion is the
sweetest thing in life…
*

Mysteries Never Solved

*
I remember how mystified I was on watching the Sound
Of Music when I was small, it puzzled me where those
lovely songs came from, the idea of composing them
for the movie especially seemed so foreign

On first discovering Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom
of the Opera, another mystery presented itself: Where
did the opera’s Hanniball and The Mute come from,
composing them with real operas to choose from

Seemed just as strange; as a child who only knew a
piano, I could not fathom the mystery of a violin’s
unending sighing - or understand how one note
could continue reverberating ad infinitum

In primary school there was the mystery of sacred
melody, why the hymns we sang in church differed
so much from modern songs; then the even more
titillating mystery of singing

Why did a coloratura soprano differ so much from
an ordinary pop star’s voice; I never asked anyone
pondering the mysteries in silence, enjoying their
magical power, adding them to

The mystery of Easter Island, the Pyramids in Egypt
- even then I knew a mystery should NEVER
be solved!
*

0d, 0h, 0m

*
I love technospeak, I was assigned to Vinal
Rathod; in technospeak the message says
Responsible person: Anyone - that’s neat
Subject 'Anti virus pop message'

Expected duration: 0d, 0h, 0m, response
6h 0m; repair 1d 0h 0m, message states
'Anti-virus pop message error every time
she’s trying to work'

'User's signatures were outdated, have been
updated' - I repeat, I LOVE technospeak, it
sings to me: 0d, 0h, 0m
*

I Follow a Heroine

*

Ouverture of La Traviatia and Barcarolle
from Hoffmann’s Tales, nostalgic music
filling the kitchen, filling my heart, here
where I am typing, a feeling of saudade
to keep me company

Anastasia by Lois Lowry propping up the
document I am working on, Nici and friend
Lee-Anne watching Animé, hubby and Tiaan
ensconced in front of the TV watching a
soccer game, I’m in the kitchen

My notebook hooked up to a new screen, typing
a complainant’s letter about a monument he has
to maintain himself while I follow a heroine in my
mind, facing challenges, having a wonderful
time; fingers on the keyboard

Still typing complaints….
*

I Created A Character

*
This is why I cannot day-dream
since I was small I was puzzled
about people daydreaming, but
I never sent myself as I am into
a scene - I created a character
to have my lovely adventures

I can’t do the things I dream about
singing opera, traveling the world
write a book, publish it, when it is
me doing it, I see myself having
many allergy attacks, knights in
disguise turning away in disgust

On discovering I am unmoved by
their charm, disappointed in their
minds; I need to construct a fiery
girl to face challenges, able to be
charmed by men brave and strong
a real heroine with self-confidence

Not afraid of anything - the me
that I am only enjoy reading too
much, dreaming of a new world
with space for me as I am, not
the mask and role created for
society, no feelings showing

Freezing emotions because I
cannot see any room for being
myself, revealing the self is the
most dangerous thing, might be
forced to take poison or be
crucified…
*

I Am No Saint

*
I don’t mind not sleeping when I’ve
got a head full of dreams and other
beautiful things, from time to time I
can eat pizza and still be fine – but
not this time, can’t close my eyes

Can’t lie still, some people say they
have NEVER in their life been bored
why then have I been suffering from
boredom since I was small? Allergy
is the reason I can’t sleep or feel

Interest in anything, it forced me to
start recording my thoughts, I am so
dissatisfied with my lapses in concen-
tration, I must express my disgust or
explode with pent-up emotion

Eating pizza tonight was my undoing
can’t lie in bed with my back stiffening
can’t focus enough to read – all that is
left is looking at pictures, watching
National Geographic on TV

Even lost the power to conjure visions,
ability to create is gone, I am so sleepy
falling asleep in my chair, yet when I lie
down I am wide awake, maybe I should
sleep in front of the computer

Because lying down is not working, all
accompanied by profuse perspiration,
it is enough to try a saint’s patience
and I am no Saint…
*

Mysteriously Ordained

*
The sun rising in a constellation or sign
means they rise together, the sun makes
the sign invisible

The constellation and planet in which the
equinoctial sun rises are sacrificed,
bound to the sacrificial post

This is why Christ, opening the world-age
in which Pisces rose in spring, was the
sacrificed lamb

Pisces was the last constellation visible in
the east before sunrise, the sun rose
in the next constellation, the Ram

Ancient people believed the heavenly sphere
was mysteriously ordained, no-one could
escape astrological emotion

Precession had overpowering significance as
the impenetrable pattern of fate, one world-
age succeeding another

The invisible pointer of the equinox sliding along
the signs, indicating an age with the rise and fall
of astral configurations

Of rulerships and earthly consequences, tales were
told about the creation of the world, but some knew
the world’s origin was a point

In the precessional circle like the 0 = 24 of our clocks;
bygone tale-tellers faced the immense, slow-moving
machine of eternity

Keeping track of SEVEN planetary pointers beside
the daily revolution of the sun’s fixed sphere – and
its motion in the opposite direction

All part of time and fate - the unhinging of the Mill is
caused by the world axis shifting, MOTION is
wrecking the universe

The millstone ends up at the bottom of the sea where
its hole become the funnel of the whirlpool, the sea
churning, then the Mill is readjusted

Working on a New Age…


http://www.believeallthings.com/4667/
hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

“Hamlet's Mill”
An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine Publisher Boston 1977
CHAPTER IX “Amlodhi the Titan and His Spinning Top”
*

Pitfalls

*
My computer closes documents without saving
generally behaving like a naughty three-year-old
until I report the problem to IT, as soon as email
confirmation is received the experts are on their
way, the problem ceases, making me look like
an overzealous fool

Maybe one of Colin Wilson’s carefully delineated
Poltergeists got hold of my computer’s soul and
is now messing with me, using the energy of my
dissatisfaction with my poor performance to carry
out its tricks – whatever it is, machinery mal-
functions whenever I appear

The screen of my notebook stopped functioning,
modern-day life is full of unlimited opportunity for
all kinds of spirits from the dungeon dimensions
to play tricks on silly people like me who have
not learnt to regard life with the cynical eye
of a Douglas Adams

I shall reread the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the
Galaxy to familiarise myself with the pitfalls
of false hope and trust, maybe then I shall
be able to take problems in my stride and
laugh at adversity, especially the illogical
behaviour of all kinds of machines!
*

Wandering Spheres

*
The Little
Bear constellation
at the North Pole, a
conglomeration of stars
representing the hole made by
the mill axle ring turning around
within the North Pole region
creates a polar
axis acting as the
equatorial axle meaning
heaven’s orb is a grinding
millstone within the axle of the
North Pole, the starry
spheres forever
wandering
*

http://www.believeallthings.com/4667/hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

“Hamlet's Mill”
An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine Publisher Boston 1977
*

Churning Whirlpool

*

Seek origin of image “the Mill”
meaning of it breaking up
origin of churning
whirlpool

In northern latitudes "Heavens turn
around like millstone" - star called
Kochab, beta Ursae Minoris
"Mill peg"


http://www.believeallthings.com
/4667/hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

“Hamlet's Mill”
An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine Publisher Boston 1977
*

Not Important At All

*
Mother broke two bones in her left foot
she will be moving out with dad and twin
sis to Messina near the Zimbabwe border
suddenly my sis and dad are not moving
alone, mother with her all her esoteric ideas
about spiritual guidance will be accompanying
them - wherever they go

They are both liable to insult everybody else
BUT mother will stop them, now I am content
they will be guarded by mother’s belief in angels
and guardians - though I suspect it is a matter of
good manners - they will be better off with her
around, she cannot remain behind when my
dad is carted off

He will have her while he adjusts to strange places
though he does not deserve anything, just like me -
I am glad that he has her strange sense of goodness
to introduce him to people around, though I cry at night
because my dad and I are not normal - I rejoice whenever
miracles happen to us - I never wanted to be a carbon
copy of my dad – yet I AM

Therefore whenever good things happen to him and me
I rejoice in unfettered joy, I think we are both just worthy
of early death – yet we live on; it is all wrong because all
the good people die as Hamlet and every other intellectual
illustrates – dad with his baboon in the bully-beef tin and I,
unworthy of mention amongst holy people – live on, probably
because we KNOW we are

As NOTHING in the eyes of society – we do not pose a threat
to those who know how wonderful they are – my dad and I
know – we are not important at all!
*

An Interloper

*
Impossible to say for sure, but it seems
I was successful, another aspect of me
appeared, another person who deals
with life in a new way, who reacts dif-
ferently to the same stimulation

She brought determination and a joyous
new dream, she sleeps, the fear of pre-
vious me is under control, she is from
somewhere else, though a tight band
around the head accompanies her

She is full of ideas, she carries out her plans
which changes my mental gears, she is al-
ready there where I want to be, I will let her
stay as long as she wants – maybe she is
the real me; the other one an interloper

I am waiting to read her verse to see what
interests her, she refuses to reveal her
delicate dreams, saying confidentiality
is her most precious possession, after
translating all day, she is bored

She claims I am free to read my book, watch
a comedy, she will stay within her bauble of
dreams and reappear as soon as translation
begins, she does not mind marching
through an unending desert

Because the power of dreams carries her, if I
give her freedom to eat what she wants and
takes the symptoms in my stride, she will stay
as long as I want – I like her so much, I will do
anything she says, she might be an alter ego

She might be Real Me, I agree: Never reveal the
meaning of life, though she will not identify her
protagonists, the effect of joyous trust is saving
my life, went to the library so she could
choose what she wants to read

Her choices are brilliant - now she and I know we
do not have leprosy, we laugh incessantly about
the secret meaning of our esoteric knowledge,
we like it there…
*

Self-Appointed Judges

*
Reading judgmental criticism and prejudice
expressed by self-righteous Pharisees,
megalomaniacs presenting their
selfish desires as God’s will

Destroys all sense of magic and wonderment,
kills all hope for unconditional love, the self-
appointed judges of humanity - so unlovable
in their rejection of all I adore

Trampling honour and freedom underfoot, de-
secrating every ideal for a new society based
on respect and happiness - change me into
a hopeless person filled with despair

My heart is freezing over, my mind numb, my
thoughts dark and heavy like lead, I detest the
loveless judgmental types who have no regard
for the needs and desires of others

Reducing everyone else to the status of slaves,
the revolt I feel in serving such haughty types by
translating their spiteful words, sickens my mind
and makes me ill

I prefer salt-of-the-earth criminals led astray by
their love for wealth and ease to self-righteous
saints and evangelists who condemn everyone
else, except their own holy selves!
*

Allegory Of Precession

*
I have forgotten, only John C Maxwell is allowed
to air his ethical, moral opinion; individual feeling,
emotion or thought is outlawed, only consummate
superiority is recognised in this house

I forgot and explained how I felt, you bit off my head
how dare I fly in the face of Maxwell’s wonderful max-
ims, how dare I feel unsettled when reading certain
things, I should react as YOU and -

Your brilliant colleagues do, with total unconcern - how
dare I express a contrary opinion? What a total idiot
I am for telling you what I think, everyone knows my
thoughts and feelings are treason!

So I bite on my tongue and meekly agree with everything
you think, the ethical categorical imperatives are to be
obeyed as Maxwell claims, my idiotic feelings are fit
only for still-born deaths - just be glad

I did not insist on sharing “Hamlet’s Mill” with you, explaining
Samson is an allegory for the process of precession, once I
take on the Bible also you will really blow up, I suppose…
*

Space To Live & Breathe

*
Been working as I should, translating, translating,
looking neither left nor right, reading Hamlet’s Mill
on line, embracing the hopelessness that enables
me to continue doing a hopeless task, home com-
puter breaking down, my own pain the cause of
this event - translating the angry thoughts of
real nowhere women and men

Complaining about their nowhere plans, burning
all their bridges through vengeful thoughts and
negative ideas, no beautiful point of view to grow
into visions good and true, destroying opportunity
to create something wild and wonderful - while I
look on as they destroy themselves, strangling
their lives through self-righteousness

I am not allowed to say to them ‘There is a better
way if you would but take it, forgive your enemies,
embrace your friends and grant your fellow human
beings space to live and breathe – and you will be
surprised to see how uplifting life can be, count
your blessings and you will discern your
benefits, advantages and privileges

What you are demanding in a harsh, grating voice
are ALREADY yours, stop complaining and blaming
everyone you come across - for the frivolous things
you do and think yourself!’
*

Looking For My Soul

*
Translation returned, everything wrong
opened work I did at home, saved in the
wrong format, nothing shows, survive
the painful blow by disapparating

Came home ready to work and to save,
the laptop is broken, the screen con-
nection is gone, I cannot think
clearly, nor will I ever again

My life is over, there is nothing left except
waiting for the painful conclusion, nothing
is left, I smile in the morning, then take
the multiple blows as they come

As pain weakens my head, I simply sit still
in my chair, physical life is a total disaster
but I believe in the hereinafter, probably a
spell in hell to purge the sin from my mind

Then ever after, working my spirit to death
or looking for my soul…
*

Panmathematizing Ideation*

*
I know the power of unbounded belief
the excitement of mystery, but why
should we see the belief of the ancients
as so much more superior than ours
why should we feel inferior when we
read of the archaic sense of time

I believe we have the power to make
anything true; to reinstate the feeling
of determination that held sway over
the ancients does not seem more
preferable to me than present-day
wide-ranging ideas and dreams

I LOVE learning about ancient culture
and their obsession with mills grinding
out of control and world ages lasting
26 000 years at least; but why should
everything modern be regarded as
inferior by De Santillana

And Von Dechend, surely there must
be place for everybody and every theory?
I prefer making freedom my doctrine to
the belief that the universe is 'determined
on many levels at once' – why should we
subscribe to ‘panmathematizing ideation’

Just because our brilliant forefathers did?


http://www.believeallthings.com/4667/
hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

Quote taken from:

“Hamlet's Mill”
An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine Publisher Boston 1977
*

Attempt To Make Penitent

*
In an attempt to make me penitent, the
fates inspired Screwtape, Wormwood
and various Machiavellian characters
masquerading as members of public
to write the most illegible letters to the
President, repeating the same requests
making me reread the same stuff

I bravely made a perfect list of the
fourteen precious missives, brought
them home and typed away while
preparing mince and spaghetti for
dinner, the mess was too much, I
removed the computer from the
kitchen and set up base

On the little school desk, by quarter
to ten I lost heart and stopped in my
thankless task, tomorrow is another
day, after leopard crawling about
I might settle and take the weird
letters in my stride...
*

I Curtsy and Leopard Crawl

*
Feeling ever so much better with offi-
cial punishment, it will not make me
a better person, but it sure will im-
prove my colleagues’ mood

Just as Maria Von Trapp knelt and
kissed the floor when superior sisters
passed, I curtsy and leopard crawl as
supervisors descend on me en masse

Knowing nothing I do will ever be good
enough even when I try my best, I am
happy to offer them my efforts as they
are, at first I was frozen in angst

Trying to do it right, but the crocodile
in my head played dead and my brain
refused to produce, once I promised
myself to accept being a fool

Demoted to the level of lower devil, but
still allowed to stay in administrative
heaven - still suffered to wander the
sacred corridors of holy bureaucracy

I am so thankful for my punishment, so
glad I may do my little bit to keep these
lists rolling along and everyone singing
their virtuous song while my discordant

Croaks of ‘Absurd, how absurd’ are drowned
by angelic voices chorusing ‘Oh Holy Grail Of
Sacred Administration and Sublime Translation
The Sole Reason for Humanity’s Existence

Amen!’
*

*

Song on the Equinox

*

Sing me a song on the precession of the
equinoxes, sing me a song that will lift my
heart above the here and now and give me
hope for a revival of hope and belief, sing
me a song about the sun’s ancient meaning
to kindle the fire of passion in my mind:

‘Myths tell about stars and planets, the sky
above, true observations by ancient peoples,
says De Santillana, myths commemorate
complex cosmological facts – the modern
idea of linear time as an arrow flying for
a duration in a certain direction, differs
from ancient concepts of cyclic time

The ancients conceived time repeats itself –
like a rotating wheel returning to a starting
point in daily cycles, rising sun moving
through sky, setting, starting again,
the changing of seasons, the
planets, moon and stars
moving about

The cycle of life repeating itself
governed by time cycles, the longer
cycles governing shorter ones - therefore
the equinoxes determine when seasons will
come while the seasons determine what
the days will be like

Cycles govern all aspects of
life, precession of the equinoxes
as the longest cycle of 26,000 years
governs all other cycles, the driving
force behind all aspects of life
determines the fate of men’

I LOVE these theories inspiring authors like
Zecheria Sitchen to interpret the meaning of
ancient myths, concluding modern astronomy
is recapturing ancient knowledge; what a thrill
to delight in ancient times being victorious
over the limitations of modern theories!


Summary of information found at:

Hamlet’s Mill • Believe All Things
http://www.believeallthings.com/4667/hamlets-mill/#ixzz0qGOvODKd

"Hamlet's Mill"
An essay on myth and the frame of time
GIORGIO de SANTILLANA & HERTHA von DECHEND
David R. Godine . Publisher. Boston. 1977
*

Damasio* Damaged

*
Mental cramp, when deciding, all muscles
tense, sharp pain shooting through my head
burning in my ears, suffocating slowly, forcing
me to stop, become catatonic, I need another
personality to lead my life, my current ego
is Damasio* damaged, cannot function

When life became too painful, Eileen Garret* fell
asleep, I think I could sleep a hundred years, I
need another shock to wake another personality to
live my life since the me sitting here cannot work
at all, every thought painful, every moment filled
with fear, pain like lightning in my head

I’m on the brink of tears, now how to let a strong
alter ego take my place, without help, nothing gets
done, falling deeper down the Rabbit Hole*, spinning
faster within the Abyss, the deep, ice-cold, pitch-
black hole of Nothingness…


*Dr Damasio described how an iron rod penetrated
Phineas Gage’s brain and he lost the ability to make
decisions as he could not determine priorities, his
emotional intelligence quotient was irrevocably injured

*Eileen Garret – Irish medium who discovered she could
escape severe physical punishment by falling asleep

*Rabbit Hole – Now almost a universal symbol for the
experience of losing control and finding a strange world
full of unexpected events, originally created by Lewis
Carrol in “Alice in Wonderland”
*

A Perfect Team & Play

*
The sun took pity on me, shone its bright rays
all over my pretty flowers, I am free to choose
how I want to feel, even when nothing changes
immediately, as long as I retrieve the ability to
dream, I am safe from death and decay, from
despair and dismay

Why did I give up the dream, it did not harm
anybody and made me so happy, I could dance
and sing, keeping my eyes on the inner vision,
so I close my eyes and float up to higher realms
where beautiful thoughts congregate, I forgive
myself my shortcomings

My lack of interest in activities I cannot master
I shall do my best while keeping my focus on the
most delicious vision of happiness created by love,
unconditional love for myself as I am and all others
who are wonderfully different, trusting that together
we form a perfect team…

*************

Play With The Sun
*
The silver sun is growing insistent, shining
in my eyes and making me smile, although
I cannot make much progress today the sun
wants to play, mischievously persisting in
heating my black top until I am too hot

The joy of the sun finding a space between
the sun screens like a naughty child lifts my
spirits, with the sun sinking lower I cannot
see on my computer screen - willingly
I turn away to play with the sun
*

Struggling For Breath (Rev.)

*
Watching the movie ‘Twilight’ with Nici,
THIS is what we need for creating a thrill
that is larger than life – a vision and dream

Always victorious over mundane events - my sister is
leaving, marrying a hero I don’t know, my life is changing
also and all I have to show are several nightmares the
past few nights; dreaming of being strangled

And persecuted, overrun – Why do you wait until the
cries become too much before waking me, can’t you
see I am suffering distress at night, can’t you wake
me immediately when you see

I am crying, sobbing and struggling for breath?
*

Never Attain the Golden Rain

*
Pretty, industrious stepdaughter, spinning until fingers
bled, bloodstained shuttle fell into the well, she jumped
in after, landed where bread were to be taken from an
oven, apples to be shaken from the tree, she did
everything happily

‘Mother Holle’ asked her to shake her bed well, making
feathers fly for snow on earth, she complied, going home,
she was covered by a golden rain; stepmother sent her
own idle daughter down the well to ‘Mother Holle’ also,
she refused to do anything

When she left pitch fell over her, stuck fast for as long as
she lived – I read and blushed and blushed, I did not work
diligently in the office, did not study the Assessment Form
or the Work Agreement or edit a long, boring letter
thoroughly when I fell ill

Just like the idle daughter I did not help to shake snow on
earth for the season’s proper course, hiding my feeling of
confusion, instead of admitting openly I could not carry out
instructions, tonight I am covered in pitch for
doing badly in my duties

And I’m sad, I want to do my job – and I cannot, I shall never
attain the golden rain, however hard I try, inside I remain the
same, tired and fatigued, the best intentions come to naught
- what a terrible shame!


“Favourite Tales from Grimm and Andersen”
Orbis Publishing, London, 1985
“Mother Holle” by the Brothers Grimm p. 121 – 125
*

Challenge Is Immense (Rev.)

*
My temperament is very good for writing limericks
but unsuitable for leading a routine-bound life, I
madly love words and language and doing trans-
lation keeps me in contact with that, I cannot
waft off on a cloud though I wish I could

I love the sound of words when they dance and sing
in rhythmical cascades forming melodies, while the
kind of translations we do makes it very difficult to
hear the song, but it only makes me more
determined to try harder to improve

The challenge is immense, given the wild desire for
rhythm and flow, symbol and image and beauty, I
am determined to keep the dream alive even if
I have to bury it deep underground…
*

Shiver In Tremulous Exultation

*

Brought ALL documents for administration with me,
beloved, most honoured, joyous Production Sheet
recording every moment that I breathe, every move
that I make, counting seconds, minutes and hours

The most lovely pair of manacles ever devised by
mankind, the absolutely perfect form for recording
every moment I live under the sun, I shall only ever
escape once I die, but while in physical form

I shall never be lost again, the form is my Bible, my
guidance, the dictum and maxim, my only reliance
to determine whether my soul is still pure from the
terrible omission of sin, the regrettable aversion

To the wonderful, comforting words written by super-
intelligent correspondents out there who love to
advise and kindly criticize our President, who air
their lofty opinions in the most elegant way

Who share their marvelous, enchanting ideas in the
most endearing way, who bring light into darkness
shining like gems and precious jewels in the rank
dankness of this material world in need of -

Their succor, who convey wonderful thoughts in the
most scientific and uplifting – may I say – sublime
terms, who fill my heart with delight – oops, back to
the Masterful Production Sheet, god-ruler of my life

The incense altar of bureaucracy at which I sacrifice
selling my soul for the marvels of modern technology
I still shiver in tremulous exultation when I think of the
weekly Work-On-Hands list, to be listed

Into a bigger List to be included in a Monthly Report that
will be subsumed in a Sectional List to be incorporated
in a Departmental Journal to be used to indicate we do
exist; never again shall philosophical questions arise

Our existence is infinitely proven, eternally unquestionable
by means of the most overpowering device mankind has
ever devised – statistics entailed in interminable, delicious
scrumptiously magnificent – LISTS!
*

Eternally Valid, Beautific Ideas

*
I fully submit to and accept as my due
any punitive measures that are applicable,
I shall reread every document and if I cannot
master the art of studying unmusical stuff, I shall
expire quietly, seek the Bermuda Triangle and
disappear within its embrace, or sink into the
growing Black Hole in my mind

I shall persist in affliction and self-immolation
until I can desist from committing gross negligence
in failing to research the correct terminology for every
concept and grammar rule, for every thing that is claimed
in the source document

I see visions of a future wherein I shall conquer the evil
sin of omitting to pursue my duty single-mindedly or die
in the attempt, let my spirit expire and my soul shrivel if
I have to in order to serve the community in expressing
their eternally valid, beautific ideas, in honouring every
word that was written by another hand other than mine,
in idolising the magnificent officials and brilliant authors
out there who so graciously honour mankind by putting
their stupendous and scintillating ideas on paper for me
to adore and translate without changing a single concept
or idea, magnifying the grace of their eternal creations by
translating faithfully, trying to probe obscure meanings
with supernatural force if I cannot fathom it immediately,
in short, I shall render my due unto Ceasar as behoves the
serving bureaucrat that I am

“In future, any report or assessment you submit, whatever the
state thereof, will be given as is to DD/FLEA and D/TE and
will serve before the moderation committee

In future, if your work is not of an acceptable quality, it will be
returned unto you, repeatedly if necessary, until it is acceptable”

I apologise for my inability to master administration and
bureaucracy, I know I am an unworthy official and accept
all censure as my rightful due and hope to humiliate my spirit
sufficiently to become an efficient bureaucratic official

I am sorry that I did not idolise this status and ideal before and
will try to make amends by elevating it to the status of highest
objective of my life
*

Apologia

*
This I am telling you not to excuse my negligence
and mistakes, simply by way of explanation of
behaviour that must seem self-destructive to
you - and definitely is, my driving has
deteriorated to the point of my trying
to kill people on street - as the
allergy increased.

Please accept my sincere apologies, at
the moment I cannot get anything right
I am guilty of negligence, too stressed
to regain calm now that I realize how
many negligent mistakes I have made
today, let alone the whole of the previous
month, and even further back.

Hubby added a new sauce to our food
for the past few months without telling me
and the build-up of allergy led to increasing
mental confusion and stress, and painkillers
do not suppress built-up allergy symptoms.

Nothing can excuse negligence, I accept full
responsibility for the fact that I have not handled
my allergy problem well and became guilty of
gross overall negligence.

I accept that my eating disorder cannot excuse
any mistakes and errors, and willingly accept all
punitive measures as my due.

I can only offer my sincere apologies and attempt
to manage my life and diet better in future, while
expecting no leniency when I shirk my duties.
*

‘Arcane Spell Failure’

*
A brilliant example of the Ubiquitous Acronym
Syndrome*: ‘ASF’ has only 91 possible meanings
I cannot determine which fit my document on
discovering mind-blowing alternatives

‘Apache Software Foundation’ evokes scenes of
Indian Spirit Guides appearing to Victorian mediums
‘Administaff’ reminds of Professor Dumbledore’s*
wizard staff, ‘Arcane Spell Failure’ indicates

Magic spells wearing off, ‘Avenged Sevenfold’ recalls
the French Foreign League, ‘Alabama Shakespeare
Festival’ makes us see Old Man River dressed up
for a rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream

‘Association des Sclérodermiques de France’
suggests Boris Karloff appearing as Frankenstein -
my favourite is ‘American Schizophrenia Foundation’
I would love to clock in - last but not least

‘Assignable Square Feet’ creates scenes of round feet
being replaced by square ones to dance the fandango
with more conviction than stomping about on round
yellow ones like Donald Duck

But Agatha Christie-like I suppose the mundane meaning
of the acronym ASF is ‘Africa Standby Force’ within the
context of my document, no Hogwarts* spells and staff
seem to be applicable…


*Ubiquitous Acronym Syndrome: UAS

*Professor Dumbledore & Hogwarts: From
Harry Potter Series by JK Rowlings
*

Flummoxed And Flabbergasted

*
Irate translator: ‘Good Morning Ladies
Just wanted to inform you, although I
waited the whole day yesterday, the
courier did not pitch up.’

Sherlock Holmes – Incumbent of the post
Language Practitioner:

‘Don’t know what gremlin got into the system
I’m flummoxed and flabbergasted, now playing
sleuth and investigating; if I were Miss Marple
there would have been a few murders in the offing

As it is, I suppose it is pure oversight or even
malicious spite from spirits, demons or something
more atrocious, just keep your calm and we’ll
whistle the storm down!

I requested a courier to be sent to your august self
to collect the most important documents - now
to find where the system broke down…

Kind regards, Sherlock Holmes.’
*

Better Run Away

*
Charged in to the office today
to try my best to catch up and
sign all official forms and get
my translations underway

My Production Sheet still isn’t
done, Nici also sick - coughing
and wilting, I am tired already
but the show must go on

The courier did not collect very
urgent documents, my throat is
burning, ambushed by accusing
papers, overworked colleagues

I think I had better run away!

(Just a diary note to vent my despair
as I stare at the chaos reigning
in the office...)
*

Recreating Everything

*
Pills for attention deficit problems suppress creativity
changing people into perfect recording machines, heard
about sociopaths, no conscience and no empathy, unable
to learn from mistakes, the result of a derailed civilisation

We are all neurotics with warped brains, sociopaths and
schizophrenics – our instincts trying to survive attempts to
kill our inner being, sterilise our minds from all independent
creative thoughts, new ideas and dreams

ALL people have good intentions, although the consequences
of our deeds are detrimental to society and ourselves, we cannot
accept responsibility with mutilated brains, the result of society’s
insistence on changing all people into filing cabinets

Sent to school to regurgitate false so-called “facts”, if we don’t
change into filing cabinets, we are given brain-disabling drugs to
kill original thought; instinct, emotion, inspiration and creativity
are exorcised to compensate for being human

We must repeat false claims without mistakes, brain-washed to
become robots storing and pouring out “facts”, praised when we
delete original ideas, dreams and inspiration from our minds, paid
to do routine work, bury desire, hope and dreams

But I prefer visions of a new universe, recreating everything
while dreaming dreams of humans learning
to love themselves…
*

The Sun’s Beloved Bride (Rev.)

*
the kitchen amplifies its power as sun
gilds wooden cupboards with a patch of
gold, ice-cold tiles acquire a warming
balm but feet still bare beware, cold is
yet intense, left my bed to find its warmth
and stand refreshed, my heart rejoicing,
white wall tiles softly glow

the sun, my constant lover, ever faithful,
loyally returns - laughter brimming in his
brilliant eyes though clouds obscure him
for too long, he knows he’ll overcome –
I ADORE the sun, I’m Mayan by consent
they worshipped him like me

though I will not tear out hearts beating
from living victims as they would have
done, we share the same fascination of
sunshine and delight in the sun’s velvet
touch, I wish I could stay here forever
dream of being the sun’s beloved bride....
*

The Chaos Inside (Rev.)

*
Linah bristles, anger justified at Tiaan’s
messy habitat, his room a mess, his
cupboard bound to scare observers unaware,
refuses cleaning where she neatly
folded clothes just yesterday

Tonight we must converse - there are ways
to keep this clothing off the floor I’ll say, ask
of me, I too began a mess, untidiness was
me personified - perhaps I am still chaos lead,
but I have learnt to put things out of sight inside

My cupboard scares me too, several bogeymen
take refuge there and haunt us all at night, but I
hang everything on hangers (though I’ll never
find a thing again) and now it all looks neat

And ordered to the untrained eye, only I
know chaos reigns inside!
*

Life In That Noisy Place (Rev.)

*
I freeze in a dark cavern of this house
my room the black hole of Kalkutta
swallowing me, my jeans icy against
skin, the sunroom only being bright

but there’s no room for me and a book to
read, my beloved sun weak, like an old man
losing his powers, I cannot think
how did it come to this?

Coldness of this house threatens, I want
to run and hide at work, legs not strong
enough to carry me, a prisoner feeling weak
only solution is to dream –

Of brilliant sun in summertime, any dream
any wonderful fantasy, anything to escape
bleakness of today, the trenches infinitely
more interesting, with their casualties

Voices that sing inappropriately – spirituals
and kwaito music, though I bristle in my seat,
I love energy, optimism, a voice calling “Ntsoaki”
and cell phones ringing

Activities outlawed, we must live in quiet
solitude, a nunnery – luckily my colleagues
don’t agree and no amount of scolding can tame
their spirits, I plug a headset into my ears

When I need to concentrate - life in that noisy place
is fun and games creating a feeling of infinite grace!
*