Imitation Cobwebs

*

I’m making innumerable cobweb strings with
dewdrops on them, found fishing line as thin
as can be, but stiff and so easy to string through
small crystal beads

Adding fake snowflakes and a crystal flower and
my cobwebs go around my neck, Nici looks down
her nose at my transparent dewdrops and gave me
a book about the fine art of beading

I can see translucent crystals are not fashionable,
yet I am entranced - I am still shocked after peeking
at my new translation assignment, in the first letter a
woman bad-mouths the Cricket World Cup

The second letter refers to parents assaulting their
minor kids, I have no endurance for such sad, painful
things, making imitation cobwebs with dewdrops
suspended in time forever being the only way

To calm my spirit, I need time to assimilate the des-
perate, fearsome tales spun by these authors who
were so good to share their delightful information
and opinions with the President

What he should do about it no-one knows - though
personally I recommend euthanasia
for all of them…
*

Never met your Needs

*
I am watching ‘Sister Act’ tonight, ever since you
told me it helped you to get through a difficult time
I have planned on watching it, tonight I went ahead
rented the DVD trying to find the solace that kept you
going while you lived without hope

How you kept going I never understood, tonight I caught
a glimpse of the fire that kept you alive when everyone –
especially I – left you to fend for yourself, I was looking at
facts while you were living LOVE - I am guilty - I did not
understand that you needed to tell lies

In order to support someone you loved more than yourself
you were always there when anyone needed you, when I
expressed a wish you complied - and I thought cold facts
were more important than that - I was wrong, YOU and
the lesson from Sister Act brought the message home

NOW I understand how you managed to survive the pain
of dreams all squashed – in one thing I was right: NEVER
offer people too much because then they will take you for
granted without ever meeting YOUR needs – I took you
for granted myself, never met YOUR NEEDS…


Movie: Sister Act – Whoopi Goldberg
*

All Comes Alive

*
It is amazing, I don’t know why
buying something useless with
aesthetic value only, just a small
trinket, is so comforting

Makes me feel alive, gives me a
sense that life has value, that beauty
will always survive: bought imitation
orchids during lunch hour

Lifting the feeling of sadness incurred
by repetitive tasks, a cobweb string at
my side, shiny with crystal bead dew-
drops, a seashell with droplets also

With the orchids and colourful birds
there is very little austerity around my
computer, fairies could easily make a
home for themselves – this is a

Veritable forest of magic, at night it
all comes alive…
*

Open To Change

*

‘The Cross and the Switchblade’ - struck by the wonder
and power of faith, just as quantum physicists determined,
human consciousness changes the world it observes and
is changed by what is observed, the spirit is strengthened
by a creative interaction with everything

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

David Wilkerson envisions a course to a parallel universe
where Armageddon will destroy places of hate and defeat
yet it is but one of many possibilities and probabilities - as
only human choice to follow that path down the trousers
of time will bring it about

Future predictions pivot on people choosing; a true prophet
knows peoples’ decisions change everything, quantum physics
shows there is a wide range of probability for all possible events –
predictions can only foretell the most likely

The choice of the people involved changes outcomes; no-one
can prophesize what that choice will be, they can only conjecture:
If they are given a vision in time’s relativity of one accomplished
future, they can CHOOSE to go that way

The future is open to change, I choose a different future to the
doom Wilkerson portrays, going down the trousers of time to
where unconditional love is triumphant - where the envisioned
image of Wilkerson’s judgmental God does not appear

To smite the ‘unrighteous’ - as there won’t be self-righteous
gods and people judging others in a world of unconditional
acceptance of things-as-is entailing choices to realize
potential in whatever way an individual pleases

A new universe without hypocrites and Pharisees because
revealing one’s essential being will be praised, those who
like to wear masks and use charades and deceit will not
even stay as it would be too boring for them...
*



Quotes shortened - found at:
www.cs4fn.org/quantum/quantumuniverse.php

Quantum Virtual Reality

Reality [could be] just information in a computer world fooling
the senses. The real universe could be a computer if a new
theory of the universe from theoretical physicists, is right.

Physicists search for a "theory of everything" - a mathematical
way of describing reality so space, time, properties of particles
(electrons and neutrinos), gravity - everything - follows
as a consequence.

The latest attempt at a theory of everything is "loop quantum
gravity" from Einstein's theory of relativity and the idea
everything is a network of relationships tied in tangles.
Particles are just tangles.

Space might be a web of information - like virtual world in the
Matrix – the universe might be a giant quantum computer.

Quantum computers store qubits that can be both 1 and 0 at the
same time and will be more powerful than current ones.

‘Quantum loop theory’ is promising; starting from relativity, it
describes space-time and particles, though needs testing to
be sure it can describe everything.

That's where practical science starts: good scientific theories are
testable. The theory should describe reality and predict new things
that experiments can test.

If it passes the tests, Douglas Adams in the Hitch Hikers Guide to
the Galaxy may have been partly right - the whole universe is
a quantum computer.
*

A Benevolent Protector

*
All day long I kept my head down, we were
festive last night, overjoyed that you were
not going away, feasting on our version of
Asterix’s ‘Wild Boar’ - I paid the price

Feeling unwell all day, attention deficit as I
cannot concentrate in pain, but you were
home, we had to celebrate, this weekend
I shall work at home – happy, so happy

Because you did not leave us, I know that
pain is okay, trying to please my employer
while meeting home needs: variety in the
food we eat – you are here

Instead of going off to a meeting; no need
for embittered acceptance or cold resignation
you are home, in charge, telling jokes - I kept
my head down in pain - aching - yet

My heart is glad, you are still here - as long as
you are a benevolent protector, we are safe, I
surfed the Internet, found my favourite book
on a Gutenberg site, read to find help -

The message is You are a manifestation of
Love, a Loyal Protector, a Grand Vassal in
Integrity’s Halls, as I passed the kids
watching comics, I thought:

It is so nice to have you and the kids
in the house…
*

Joys Of Life

*
I am glad I am so ill at times that I cannot
work at all, when attention deficit makes the
world shrink in size, when I am forced to hunt
for a device to focus my mind

This teaches me to take such delight in the times
when I am well, when my mind is clear and I can
converse with who-ever crosses my path; health
is so ordinary to other people

But to me feeling good is a wonderful experience,
I crave nothing so much as the ability to feel this
joy; pain teaches us to survive the bad times by
finding the beautiful aspects of life

To overcome the throbbing that causes a feeling
of boredom; I am learning how to fill reality with
more meaning than the five senses can ever
reveal – I am glad to be forced into this:

Only after conquering a challenge can we exult
in the joys of life!
*

Authority Allotted Mere Mortals

*

Reading Internet debates regarding the author
of ‘The Cross and the Switchblade’ prophecy that
God will bring doom to the world real soon and we
should prepare immediately

I wondered why David Wilkerson, who did so much
for New York’s youth gangs - started prophesying -
then remembered ‘he who believes God is speaking
through him is suffering from megalomania’

The special guidance David Wilkerson received at the
beginning made him feel infallible, his delight with his
success led to his making prophecies which prevent
people from following him

Though admiring his deeds, do not adulate him, fame
corrupts the ego, infused with a higher consciousness
when helping others, he now wants to claim more
authority than allotted mere mortals

Unfortunately, that is his undoing…
*
http://www.conservativeunderground.com/forum505/archive/index.php/t-12205.html

Famed pastor predicts imminent catastrophe
31 posts - 10 authors - Last post: 15 Mar 2009
David Wilkerson “The Cross And The Switchblade”
*

Life holds a Charm

*
I left a little girl crying when I stopped reading
my book this morning, when I drove off to get
Tiaan for rugby practice I cried, though I was
glad that you were no longer going away, I still
had to shed the tears gathered in my thoughts
on this day of sorrow

Then the joy of your stay made me laugh when
I got home - I called my dad and with schoolboy
exuberance he said the big trucks are as high as
heaven, sleeping compartments contain TV’s and
radio equipment, trains passing nearby keep him
running to see them

But they run on diesel, he gets goosebumps when
watching his favourite steam locomotives, I wish we
could arrange a trip on a steam train for him, he loves
steam power to distraction, when I need to meet with
sheer enthusiasm I call my dad, his zest for life is more
pronounced than that of

Anyone I know - it makes sense: Growing up a battered
child in a dysfunctional family, life holds more charm for
him than most people will ever know!
*

Champagne in my Veins

*
My father has a new interest, every morning
he runs down to the truck stop to admire the
enormous lorries on their way to Mozambique
and Zimbabwe

He is as excited as a little boy, told me every
single one is as big as Noah’s ark, he chats
to the drivers, happy on the farm, plans on
making a vegetable garden

Loves the quaint charm of fresh rural air - at
Christmas I shall see him again, mother’s
ankle is mending nicely, she fell just before
they moved out

She also is happy enough, before long she will
have reams of friends; my sister is on the run -
it was good for them to move, good for my
brother to broaden horizons

I am glad for them though I shall always look
forward to a reunion, luckily my favourite TV
programme is back to put some champagne
in my veins - one night per week

When my hero starts flashing and doing judo
and playing guitar and the heroine looks like
a doll; I am delighted, just a dream or two,
even three or four

Always help the medicine of life - with its
chores and discipline – to go down…
*

Strange Godly Beings

*

With the beauty of beads in my eyes to keep my
spirit strong and my heart warm, I continued reading
“The oldest of the Kurus, Duryodhana, his brother
Duhshasana, the foundling Karna, and Shakuni,
Brother of Queen Gandhari, and their mother Kunti…”

I had to stop, the story was lost, all my mind retained
were the names, singing a song: “Duryodhana and
Duhshasana, Karna and Shakuni, Gandhari and
Kunti” – after writing them down in wonderment
I continued reading: “Vidura warned them

They went to Viranavata; Duryodhana called his spy
Purochana… We must escape, said Arjuna, Not yet,
said Yudhishthira…” I read and read, and could not
imagine Charlotte Bronte or Jane Austen ever reading
the Mahabharata, and when it was said

That Draupadi, daughter of King Drapuda would marry
five men, five husbands she would have, I gave up; this
must be another reference to celestial phenomena to do
with Precession, no Princess could ever survive such
a life, a timid Jane Eyre and a lively

Elizabeth Bennet could only ever love a Rochester and
a Darcy Fitzwilliam - neither my favourite authors nor I
can visualize the grandeur of these epic loves of gods
and demons, Draupadi stepped from the sacrificial
hearth – a sign that she is a symbolical being

I need time to assimilate all these facts before
continuing with the fates of these strange
godly beings…
*

Reading The Mahabharata

*

I wanted to start on my document first thing today
but since I did not deal with the allergy with self-
discipline, feeding Friday night’s dinner to the cat
and not eating a full meal on Saturday, enjoying
an illegal rusk and a rich ice-cream and my own
version of yuk-butter and tea á la Tibetan custom
according to Lobsang Rampa, I got up with head-
ache - must make a plan to clear my head

It is just as Paul Twitchell said, the only mastery we
ever have is victory over the self yet my tongue al-
ways wins, whether in talking too much or eating
lovely, illegal stuff; I must have chosen this life as
James Redwood blissfully claims with his Birth
Visions to learn the patience of a Buddhist, the
self-discipline of an Eckankar chela without the
aid of a Living Master - and the work ethic of a

Good Calvinist, just for good measure I started reading
The Mahabharata as retold for children for the first time
though I know De Santillana and Von Dechend* claim it
is another version of the celestial events of precession
its culture is strange to my ears, the names are long
and sing with a strange intonation – Hastinapura and
Hangadatta and King Pratipa – three names sing:

Amba, Ambika and Ambalika – I wonder why I never read
this in my youth, yet it is never too late
to start anything new...


*Santillana, Giorgio de and Hertha von Dechend
Hamlet's Mill: an Essay on Myth and the Frame
of Time. Boston: Godine, 1977
(transcribed by Clifford Stetner)


p.76 CHAPTER V

V. The Unfolding in India 76

Quotes shortened:

"The fire brothers, with Draupadi forming the sixth
[she was the joint wife of the brothers], and a dog
forming the seventh, set out on their journey

One by one the pil¬grims sank exhausted and expired,
first Draupadi, but Yudhishthira still pressed on, followed
by the faithful dog who turns out to be Dharma (the Law),
in disguise and entered Heaven in his mortal body, not
having tasted death

The epic Indian myth of twelve volumes, The Mahabharata,
states a tremendous war was fought between the Dvapara
and the Kali Yuga

This "dawn" between two world-ages can be specified further

When that portion of Vishnu (born by Vasudeva and Devaki)
returned to heaven, the Kali age commenced. As long as
earth was touched by his sacred feet, the Kali age could
not affect it

As soon as the incarnation of the eternal Vishnu had departed,
the son of Dharma, Yudhishthira, with his brethren, abdicated
the sovereignty - The day that Krishna shall have departed
from the earth will be the first of the Kali age which will
continue for 360,000 years of mortals"
*

Wildly Gyrating Mind

*
This isn’t fair – after translating all day; after
searching for resounding imagery to see what
resonates and only coming up with see-through
beads, not able to visualise colours for my auric
dreams - no soft golden light

I cannot compose my mind, jumping from book to
book like a restless bird in its flight, from Asterix to
the Mahabharata, from speed-reading ‘The Spiritual
Notebook’ to ‘Johnny and the Dead’ – I have reached
the end, nothing is working

In the end I wonder again about my fairy notebook, how
the pink paper with fairy illustrations is working so well, the
main colour is a soft pink, while the pretty intense dark-blue
notebook does not fire my imagination at all, I suppose small
figures work better than butterflies

Still, why can’t I concentrate, why does nothing seem to calm
my wildly gyrating mind, why can’t I settle on one arresting image?
Paul Twitchell takes delight in dismantling all religion and spiritual
imagery – but does not offer me something I can lock on to –
why is it so painful to read his words

- denouncing everything I hold dear? I agree with him that control
of the inner self are required for happiness and peace, but to re-
duce everything to total subjugation to a Living Master is too
much, apparently only Soul Travel means anything to him -
while I think life in physical

Has so many lessons to teach – so much more than visiting astral
and spiritual realms – we shall be going there anyhow, why
not enjoy life in physical instead of leaving the world
all the time - travelling to non-physical realms?
*

Much-Maligned Imagination

*
Junior was lucky tonight, I could scarcely eat a bite
of the meat I prepared, Scotch fillet, I never tried my
hand at that, your new red pan did not help, it did not
taste nice, I fed my dinner to the cat and our Jack
Russel known as Junior

I warmed sweet potato from last night and watched ‘Agent
Cody Banks’ with Tiaan and Nici, a story reworking James
Bond - ending in the same way, lovely - Romeo and Juliet -
read Paul Twitchell claiming that ‘Imagination is of little use’*
and I laughed for the irony

If I had no imagination I would never have read Twitchell’s
“Spiritual Notebook” - he claims ‘Existence is a reality state
separated from the imagination to become a consciousness
requiring SELF-consciousness; a private individual universe
to be kept for ourselves’*

His words echoing Margaret Evening saying ‘There needs to be
a secret place kept for God’s ear alone, He should be special in
a way no human friend can be because all else is dangerous -
our security is only ever found in Him as He appears within our-
selves, the perfect place where God abides’**

I just smiled coming across this synchronicity, I am sure James
Redfield would approve as I am following my instincts such as
he recommends in ‘The Celestine Prophecy’ - working hard at
keeping my feelings to myself - crying secretly because my
twin sister, father and mother

Are too far removed to visit freely- convinced I remember my ‘Birth
Vision’ à la Redfield;*** that I myself chose my parents and siblings
especially my twin sis - to prepare for my mission of spreading the
message that the universe lives IN us, not the other way round:
we do not inhabit external reality

Everything is illusion, best understood through stories and plays,
books, movies and TV shows, in other words, the much-
maligned IMAGINATION - I am happy with that, though
I cry for loss of family…

* “The Spiritual Notebook” Paul Twitchell, Eckankar 1971,
Second Edition 1990 - quoted from p. 97

** “Who Walk Alone – A Consideration of the Single Life”
Margaret Evening, Hodder and Stoughton, 1974, quoted
from pp 51, 52 & 53

*** “The Tenth Insight” James Redfield
*

My Freedom to Dream

*
Wondering why the Dianetics of Ron Hubbard did
not have a wider impact on the world, I checked
the Internet and read more about him:

Though his imaginative theories are great fun, he
made such grandiose claims and his church has
such strange practices

It becomes clear how imagination can be misused
by disciples and followers; making me more de-
termined never to become the follower of anyone

To use my imagination for my own ends and to
enjoy the imaginative tales of others without
joining their cults and clubs – because:

People can make ANYTHING true by believing in
it, can achieve any personal ends by choosing a
strategy from all the dreamers out there

I enjoy the ideas of every system I come across
but stay faithful to my own ends, never giving my
power away to a Living Master, a church, whether
Roman Catholicism or Scientology, a new World
Vision or Celestine Prophecy

When people form groups, they use their power to
take away the freedom of others – I will not give up
my freedom to read and learn, dream and envision…


*************************************************
The following is a summary of information found at:

http://www.discord.org/~lippard/bfm/bfm09.htm

“Bare-Faced Messiah – The True Story of L Ron Hubbard”

Chapter 9 - The Strange Début of Dianetics - Pages 147,148

“Ron … first began to propound his theory that the brain worked
like a computer which could be made more efficient by clearing
its clogged memory bank.

Hubbard possessed a natural ability to marshal a smattering of
knowledge into a cogent and authoritative thesis, interwoven with
scientific and medical jargon.

His 'scientific' approach to unravelling the mysteries of the human
psyche accorded with Campbell's own view that humanity could be
investigated with the techniques and impersonal methodology of the
exact sciences, although Ron's ideas stemmed more from his
imagination than from any research.

He compared individual memory to a 'time-track' on which every
experience was recorded. Using a form of hypnosis, he believed
painful experiences could be recalled and 'erased' with consequent
beneficial effects to both physical and mental health.

'L. Ron Hubbard’s approach is, based on some very early work of
Freud's, some work of other men, and original research. He's not a
professional psychoanalyst or psychiatrist, he's an engineer.

He approached the problem of psychiatry from the heuristic
viewpoint - to get results.'”
*

Wide Wondering Eyes

*
The little fundamentalist I was at thirteen read "The
Late Great Planet Earth" by Hal Lindsey with wide
wondering eyes, sitting on the school bus, finding it
impossible to make friends, accepting every word he
wrote as Gospel, enjoying his superior rejection of
astrology and every esoteric and occult thing

Today the grown-up relativist who likes “Seth Speaks”
by Jane Roberts rereads Lindsey with an amused and
new tolerance, enjoying the author’s serious intent
for its own sake, not because he knows the truth
as he believes, but for his kind concern for the
earth and its people, it does not matter that

he thinks only he is right, as long as he is faithful to
what he believes with integrity and tries to redeem
other people in love, I can respect him, our idea
of reality is not important, love and kindness to
our fellowmen count, the rest is a way to
show we care

Everybody’s perspective is unique and appropriate for
their individual situation, although we are all guilty of
forcing our views on other people, beliefs are based on
experience - I enjoy reading the words of inspired
authors, the New Testament Paul, Richard
Wurmbrand, Hal Lindsey, Paul Twitchell

Fired by high ideals, I also enjoy Don Quixote, Paul
Gallico and Terry Pratchett; looking at the way their
minds work and the arguments they use - the way
they present them, the degree of tolerance - I love
reading Jane Roberts and Esther Hicks; trying
to live life according to the ideals of

special thinkers and visionaries; through trial and error
I discovered that it is impossible to be happy when ap-
plying the ideas of cynical people, or to be loving when
following fundamentalists, today I am a relativist
because unconditional love for people as they
are when given freedom

Has brought me more joy than anything I ever tried
before, superiority leaves a bad taste in the
mouth, all rejection hurts myself
most of all…
*

Recordings by Body Cells

*
Time to go walkabout, seek guidance
from various spirits as recommended
James Redfield says animals give us
guidance, maybe I’ll find a dog or cat
to play that role, otherwise I must be
content with the lion statues

Guarding the bridge I pass on my way
to the library to exchange Redfield’s
Tenth Insight for another book, maybe
Ron Hubbard’s Dianetics, read it long
ago, it revealed I had two mental ‘video
clips’ running in my head side by side

Whether I choose for or against anything
I feel guilty with headache, my brain is
closed off in compartments, I can’t use
my whole brain at once, this explains the
mental blocks that prevent me from
mastering the magic of numbers

Even if I could figure out the ‘keys’ that un-
lock these video sequences, I can’t get rid
of them - I live with the headache of worry
and guilt wondering whether Ron Hubbard
himself would have traced these feelings
to recordings by my body cells

While my brain was unconscious?
*

Read My Book Piecemeal

*
Reality, the fertile soil in which ideas
and dreams can bloom, I need reality
as background, framework and structure
within which to live while reading my book
thinking my thoughts, investigating feelings

Without reality punctuating my reflective mood
of continuous contemplation, I run the full gamut
of events without pausing to savour and reflect, but
it is better to read my book piecemeal, a sentence
here, a page or two in a fast-food restaurant

Three pages before going sleep; when translating
researching terms, taking my wooden dolls from the
drawer – I could not let them languish there so they
were given place on the hat-stand bulging beyond
control with flowers and leaves and dolls

Even a little snake to round off the whole – I pick up my
book when going out in the passage, when a waitress
asked You are always on the go, so energetic, how do
you do that? I laughed because I am running to get to
the next stop where I can sit down and read

But reading non-stop until the book is finished with no
pressing duties to make time for reflection, does not
work so well, emotions are squashed in information
overflow, I prefer thinking about Eckankar before
making comments, while enfolding myself

In the pretend games of a book heroine, adventures
and tribulations of a young protagonist is the only
successful antidote to the religious and spiritual
prophets I enjoy reading, I need a young mind
to keep me strong when Twitchell requires

Abstention from passion; when Hal Lindsey
predicts Apocalyptic doom…
*

Burning Coals Sky

*
The most beautiful sunrise: clouds soft grey
obscuring the sun, suddenly a pinkish hue
indicating the sun breaking through, lighting
fiery coals everywhere, changing the sky
to the most magnificent enchanting blue

How to describe a translucent luminescence
iridescent, opalescent, sublime, descriptive
words depicting the scene is all that is left
no picture or photograph can capture the
feelings evoked by this scene

The colours seem wrong when recalled, the
vibrancy can only exist in real life, becomes
psychedelic when retained beyond their one
glorious moment in time, a fabulous moment
never to be recreated

Burning coals in the sky are too garish to be
retained permanently, though the sacred
memory lives on in the mind…
*

Even Despair is Better

*
It is heart-breaking to read a sad story again
just as it is painful to watch Puccini’s Madame
Butterfly, knowing what will happen next makes
me cry right from the start

Ill with allergy I need to read, I have only one sad
book, though not finished with Eckankar as yet –
but Twictchell’s Living Master promising his chela
much suffering, his insistence on

lack of desire creates a grey emptiness that is worse
than pain, I prefer crying with my little heroine than
being resigned with Eckankar students who depend
on a very strict Master

As usual the new religion is a mixed blessing, the
chela should know that some Masters suffered much
although there is a chance that doing it right will keep
followers safe – yet there is no guarantee

All depends on soul travelling without getting hooked on
soul dimensions, I prefer to deal with physical while I am
here on earth and tackle spiritual problems when I get
there after death

Right now I enjoy crying with Madame Butterfly as
she discovers Sharpless knew all along that her
beloved married another; the constricting pain
is a blessing compared to what is asked

from the disciple by a Living Master – living without
joy and elation in physical manifestation – I prefer to
love and lose to never loving anything so as to remain
detached – it is a worse fate than

The joyous indulgence in glorious self-pity we feel
when dreams desert us; even despair is better
than nothingness!
*

Shivering, Inelegant, Shocked

*

Feeling alone and bereft with only James Redfield
and Frances Hodgson Burnett for company, I turned
to Goscinny and Uderzo for light relief, what a joy,
Asterix and Obelix on their adventures

Yet I felt aloof until one of Uderzo’s masterpieces
awakened the old deep-seated sense of wonder with
his depiction of a Greek slave posing as the ‘Discus
Thrower’ until he is attacked by Asterix

In the next picture he joins the rest of humanity as a
shivering, inelegant, shocked human being, toes and
fingers splayed, face contorted, neck and body deformed,
hair standing on end

We read Asterix as children and the same sense of fun
lightened my heart, time rolled back and I laughed till tears
streamed down my face, how hilarious when classical grace
is replaced by existential emotions like shock and fear

I hold these Asterix books very dear, a saviour whenever life
becomes overwhelming, a tonic, a total delight!


“Les Lauriers de César – Une Aventure d’Asterix le Gaulois”
Text de Goscinny, Dessins de Uderzo, Dargaud Editeur 1972
Pictures on p 16
*

Image is the Thing

*
I am not completely unteachable
Yahoo trains us to become better
employees and citizens, showing
how a cluttered desk fails to inspire
trust in clients and management

Leading to no assignments, though
I don’t want any, image is the thing
I dismantled the Persian market on
my computer screen, though the hat-
stand still blooms in

yellow autumn leaves and soft spring
pinks, my console is deprived of most
of its accoutrements - the fake snow
flakes adorn my stones in black and
white, yet I cannot live

In complete austerity, the miniature
birds and dragonfly, wooden violin,
small guitar, butterfly and the metal
ballerina cannot be cleared away -
I cannot return to

One-dimensionality at once, resigned to
typing words in official strings, to read
my books afterwards, living my inner
mental life quietly, the right corner of
my console is still alive

Besides, my injured right-hand forefinger
needs encouragement to heal, what better
way than these few symbols of eternal
beauty, contrasting with a still-life of
silent voiceless words…
*

He Reinstates Mystery

*
Does James Redfield's vision enlarge the imagination -
definitely, it offers an alternative view, energetic and
refreshing, I enjoy his lyrical descriptions, but resent
his forcing HIS view of world peace on us

All other views encompassed by his delineation of
history as evolution towards consciousness; whereas
I believe consciousness came first, made the plans,
laid the blueprint; convinced the universe is filled

With higher forms of intelligence than humans - his view
is restrictive, yet he subsumes everything, though bigger
than materialism, it is a local vision not taking millions of
alternative life-forms into account

He reinstates mystery, but it is localised, limited to planet
earth and one Afterlife, he wants all fighting groups to start
discussing their life and views – it will not work because
Redfield uses Christian religion as the umbrella framework

He fills the contemporary Western view of human history with
Eastern mysticism and calls it a new World Vision…
*

Red-Blooded, Hot-Headed

*
Then the whole Spiel disintegrated into a
‘synthesized global spirituality’ where each
religion supplements the others – a utopia
that sounds so boring - and worse

James Redfield’s literal interpretation of
Biblical vision with all religions and secular
idealism coming together in a grand temple
in Jerusalem - a vision of world peace

represents the flattest, one-dimensional,
undifferentiated picture, no excitement in
conflict and argument to lead to new con-
sensus - just one big loving feeling

No way, earth could never become so tame,
seekers of world peace will have to create it
in other spheres, earth is meant for drama,
intrigue - even when my heart is pierced

Even when champagne stops fizzling in my
veins in resigned acceptance of a way of life
that compresses the mind into the smallest
space, the world is a much too adventurous,

exciting place to be run by the sweet, no-conflict,
all-loving vision, dissonance must provide a back-
ground for harmony, it is great to hate in frustration
in order to see the difference between

love and rejection - I cannot imagine a peaceful
earth, this physical dimension is meant for valour,
war and challenge and fighting and victory – not
for smiling blankly in some kind of nirvana

Those are peak moments only, let them go, they are
reserved for the non-physical dimensions where red-
blooded, hot-headed conflict-loving humans cannot
go! We are not ready for that yet!


“The Tenth Insight” James Redfield – Bantam Book 1996
Quoted from p 211
*

Set My Mind Racing

*
The red-hot passion of James Redfield’s Tenth
Insight, birth visions and loving involvement in
creating a wonderful new society for planet earth,
his warm embrace promising humans a change
in consciousness

Led to my deserting the cold detachment of Paul
Twitchell’s Eckankar religious system recommend-
ding lifting off from the earth sphere to reach inner
peace, Twitchell reveals no bright visions for the
current establishment

His cool treatise did not stir my imagination while
Redfield’s first person voice, delineating events in-
between lives and characters spreading ideals
including descriptions of Nikola Tesla’s brilliant
energy systems, set my mind racing

Once again my mental gyroscope is turned to an
exciting mental station, though as I lower the book
and return to the fatigue that sent me on a quest
for transcendence, becoming aware of sensory
evidence, a noisy world

My brain short-circuits and fails to register sense
and I climb into bed, too tired to care
for anything any more…
*

Beauty of Sound and Song

*
When silence descends
only a thin line of events
lighting up emptiness -
my mind switches back
to the wavelength behind
the physical world

The atmosphere becomes
overpowering as the world
shrinks to one shiny point-
when I put the book down
nothing is left, only black-
ness covering everything

I like the experience of the
third stream, background
consciousness - enduring
when the senses, the first
defence against the inner
world, are gone

I no longer lament descent into
darkness that hides a myriad other
alternatives - though we cannot live
them in a body required to interact
with illusions in a three-dimensional
world - if I lift off as I dream of doing

I can only observe, not communicate,
no longer react - though lonely in all
experience, we can record thoughts,
ponder feelings, make decisions
envision various universes,
dream about probability

Physical being is limiting, but it serves
a purpose, and hope of rebirth into a
new form of existence, enables us to
repeat meaningless activities - the
only worthwhile goal is to have fun
we live life all wrong

Yet the beauty of sound and song,
colour and form, unbridled creativity
and the wonder of transcendence
keep us alive far beyond the time
allotted for one learning experience
on planet earth
*

Compassion For Our Fellowmen

*
Sitting in icy cold in a deep dark place, no
hope of escape, typing in frozen resignation
black words conjuring images of despair and
death, Siyanda Municipality demanding levies
while neglecting to maintain roads between
Kakamas and Riemvasmaak

Road deaths proliferating, Namaqualand’s
newspaper reporting on the death toll of the
nightmare road to death, from Gordonia to
Kuruman people talk about the bad dirt road
while Siyanda insists on levies, Omdraai and
Sonvallei must pay for non-service-delivery

Valentin, Vaaldrif, Bakenrant and Oorkant all
pay to maintain the road themselves, yet the
district municipality requires levies for their
non-service existence – it is cold, nobody is
listening, nobody cares about Keimoes roads
in the North-Western Cape

People from Verneukpan and Boegoebergdam,
Kombersbrand and Putsonderwater have to fend
for themselves; I am sitting in an icy hell reading
devilish messages about incompetence and lack
of service sending people to their death and I
wonder what am I still doing here

on earth - where we experience hellish conditions
teaching us the difference from heaven which is
created through compassion for our
fellowmen…
*

Day In Antananarivo...

*
...Madagascar
*

My dear Abderrazakzidane, please call Tehindrazanarivelo
and Andriamanjato, I want to see you Three Musketeers
in my office, said Mr Tajudeen’s strict voice and our Three
Musketeers glanced at each other, guilty consciences going
into overdrive to compute the list of their latest misdemeanors
and slowly they advanced to that dreaded place of reckoning
where Mr Tajudeen was never loath to use the rod for any
little matter of discipline…

Just then little Miss Svoboda and pretty mistress Calibouly
passed them and three pairs of eyes looked more positive
when little Miss Svoboda smiled shyly at the three naughty
demons and pretty mistress Calibouly nodded haughtily –
the universe changed, suddenly there were three new black-
guards on their way to the headmaster’s office, three young
men walking proudly, each seeing in his mind’s eye those
adoring and flashing eyes, each to his personal taste…


[I love these bohemian names found in exotic places and
want to use them to make a story sing, some languages
consist of melodious notes]
*

Means To Inner Peace

*
What is happening is not important, eight
storylines, context and presentation make
all the difference in a sunshine world of
translucent blue

People with velvet eyes, music playing, a
narrator adding multifarious dimensions
and the moments happening quietly for
people with happy smiles

Time-travelling for a young boy, lovely
discovery of solitude, the means to inner
peace meditating on the qualities
of godliness

The world is a noisy and busy place, a stimulant
I need time to analyse these impressions, words
rolling on without singing a song in papers
marching before my eyes

Yet feeling, emotion and sentiment keep growing
shining and filling me even without champagne
bubbling in my veins, though I listen
to the wavelength of reality

I hear the golden music of solitude reverberating
through purple halos whirling with silver threads
while the silence of contentment rejoices in the
mystery unfolding in a secret place

To explode in joy…
*

Treasured In Memory

*
Several wavelengths in my mind, different voices
coming through, Tiffany Aitching* spoke of her third
thoughts regarding life with a satirical eye, I have a
Tibetan monk on my third-thought-wavelength

It warns the others they are going too far, the madcap
leading the crew who insists on being right even while
she is being crucified is the most dangerous one, that
path is blocked, stopping the flow

Of champagne bubbles in my veins, the Tibetan monk
tries to inspire enthusiasm for decent activities and
exemplary ideas, but without the madcap, inspiration
does not exist, her wavelength will remain closed

Until I have overcome obstacles blocking my way to
executing my duty - refusing to listen to the happy
Mad Hatter and fanatic March Hare until I have done
my job, if fatigue makes me stop long before you

I shall rest until I can toil again, there is no reason to
seek escape just because the depression of restraint
is making life hard, life is supposed to be difficult -
no games can change that

Soaring on beautiful notes is a once-off occurrence to
be treasured in memory while getting on with the job
at hand, not looking back, fixing my mental radio on
one wavelength and working till I overcome

Eschew excitement to complete our earthly pilgrimage
wavelengths must lie dormant until there is room for
them - maybe I need never dance again, learning to
derive joy from resignation and acceptance…


*“Wintersmith” Terry Pratchett – Tiffany Aitching,
main character
*

Playing With Knives

*

Trying to live without champagne bubbling
in my veins, without expectations that take
me away on flights of fancy, concentrating
on Wusthof Santuko knives that cut to the
bone, slippery sponge, right-hand forefinger

I felt something burning, saw red seeping
out - ran towards you with my hand held
out – the knife cut me, see it’s bleeding!
thick, like sponge, a deep cut, thick red
blood, you bandaged it well

When I bend or bump the finger, it hurts
like hell, here at work typing is making it
throb, I love that knife for what it can do
but now I respect it too – my throbbing
finger tells me all too well

It’s dangerous to play with knives…


I can endorse their advertisement:
“…the cutting edge of the knife is razor sharp
and also easy to resharpen”
*

Every Symbol Is Precious

*
Nici deplores imitation flowers in the open-plan office
but not even humans can live and breathe here, how
would real plants manage to survive, these creations
offer infinite choice, underwater hyacinths and orchids
and make-believe roses in silver, a reminder that
beauty exists in pleasing colours and forms

Just as fairies remind me of our having an aura - and
stones on my computer, striking with imitation crystal
creations, like water frozen in mid-air - real crystals
would be stolen and need more care than can be
bestowed in an office – are symbolical of a wider
reality out there; just as every individual

Is but a symbol of the concept of intelligent creation
every act of love an example of magnetic electricity
vibrating as energy recreating the world according
to personal perspective - just as glitter and shine
remind me of sunlight and warmth, every symbol
is precious, labels like kitsch and lack of taste

Cannot deter me!
*

I Cannot Be Holy

*
Every time I explain why Margaret Evening makes me sad
you give me a speech about reserving permission who is
allowed to upset us - I sigh, I know you are right – though
if I did not give authors the right to make me unhappy, they
might also lose the ability to make me happy

I must take the bad with the good, if I closed off my heart
nipped sad feeling in the bud, happiness will be lost later
on, Khalil Gibran said wounds made by pain open more
space to be glad, so please, easy with the speech, do
not recommend I stop reading Margaret Evening

I have to know how missionaries manage to keep their faith
when life goes awry, allow me freedom to commiserate with
their pain and sacrifice, then I will be able to rejoice in their
triumphs also, I trust every outcome is to our advantage, the
tears that I cry about their lives take my own pain away

In comparison my cross is light, my goal is small, it is but the
ideal to love inclusively, learning to escape the tyranny of
exclusivity, accepting every individual unconditionally, it is
a strange concept in a world of possessive jealousy, yet it
is important to understand the sublime principle

Illustrated in the life of Jesus Christ – I do not aspire to an
ideal so high - merely want to combine wisdom with affection
see where that brings me, we need discipline as Margaret
explains -we want to be free, it is our dream- strangely
enough freedom lies in restraint and control, though

I cannot ever be holy nor would want to be, yet love the
mental freedom attained by the spiritually advanced
looking into their lives I learn more about the way
in which bondage is released…
*

The Singing Nuns

*
The cold outside delicious, heat inside
making me nauseous, softly singing my
latest theme song “I will follow Him, follow
Him wherever He may go, There isn’t an
ocean too deep, a mountain so high it can
keep, keep me away, away from his love”

Rocking to the beat of the song’s second
part “I love Him, I love Him, I love Him, and
where He goes I’ll follow, I’ll follow…” then
it struck me, I am old enough to let go of the
idea of a God as father figure, now He is the
bridegroom and the bride is anyone

Renouncing the world, I feel an affinity with the
nuns dedicating their lives to Him, since His is
the only image that warrants the kind of love
giving meaning to life - I would love to chant
“He is my True Love” with the singing nuns,
I look with new eyes at my surrounds

I used to lament the lack of grandeur in life here
on earth where people and things fall short of the
magnificence my soul wishes to experience - but
they are only concepts in my own consciousness,
images of the principles that created this world -
as long as I keep my eyes on the loving energy

Flowing eternally, I can rejoice in the beauty of the
creative idea that will always be my ideal without
blaming anything for imperfectly representing the
love and integrity I shall always delight in!
*

Obtain Forgiveness Myself

*
I covered a new notebook in pink paper with
one fairy wearing purple as well as little white
flowers in place of silver glitter, their wings are
symbols of the auric light shining all around us

Found an imitation opal ring in remembrance of
grandma Alice’s opal brooch small enough to fit
me, complementing the colours of my auric note-
books beautifully, with a translucence suggestive

Of pinkish hues adding depth to its beauty – to
give me strength when reading Margaret’s strict
admonishing; so much we strive for is unnatural*
to love our enemies, bless whoever persecute us

Turn the other cheek, accepting more humiliation
cut out wrongful ideas as if with a surgeon’s knife
though I always cut off wrongful ideas after trying
them out by means of my fictitious characters

When they react with heartbreak and sorrow, deserting
the story or threaten revolt and play dead, I can see the
scenario will lead to great tragedy, I never explore such
events myself as the experience gained is good enough

I never hurt other people through my experiments with
various personalities in strange situations, enjoying the
advantage of wisdom though I have not mastered loving
of enemies and being tolerant of the self-righteous as yet

Maybe I am too arrogant and prejudiced myself to show
true compassion to Pharisees, it must spoil my aura with
red streaks of anger, I had better forgive them so as to
obtain forgiveness myself…


“Who Walk Alone” – Margaret Evening, Hodder and
Stoughton, 1974 – Quoted from p. 112
*

Shine of my Nimbus

*
I have a pink-and-blue blanket and
similar pink-and-blue cover on my
new notebook, my auric taste has
not evolved, a blanket bought
twenty-two years ago -

My preference for aura colours still is
the same, I suppose pink-and-blue
is very important to the shine of my
nimbus - every time I’m offered a
choice I eschew the golden light

Considered to indicate high mental
powers; at least the other colours I
favour are black and white, black to
fade me out of existence and white
to indicate: I am not dead as yet
*

Time For Reform

*
Working on a project of reform after reading Margaret
Evening, we should have friends everywhere but not
get involved with them, we should keep our secrets
to ourselves, carry the burden of our misdeeds in
our own hearts, not telling anyone

She recommends confession to priests, I do not trust them
nor the religious system, I shall never confess anything
she warns against love being exclusive, it should be
inclusive, standing side by side in a row, no two
people monopolising each other too much

Never become dependent on anyone, be ready to take
leave of loved ones if God takes them away - I spent
some time weeping about those on whom I used to be
dependent, preparing for losing should anyone
consent to accept that life has to end

I am used to solitude, but lately grew weak, started
to lean too much on people, time for reform, such a
saddening thought, keep repeating it to desensitise
me, to get used to the concept, a feeling of loss
like a surgical wound to the heart


“Who Walk Alone” – Margaret Evening, 1974
*

Enjoy Sensory Illusions

*
People and extraterrestrials have already met
according to many eye-witness accounts, it is fine
that aliens want to stop us from destroying ourselves
what we do not like is when they want to force us into
brotherhood and peace

Wars CANNOT cease because peace means one
dictator enforcing his will, extraterrestrial dictators
sound even worse than human ones, even if they
think we are un-evolved – and we are, primitive –
true, maybe - we must be free to be

What we are, evolve by choice, not hidden stealth
employed by alien minds, we shall enjoy sensory
illusions, we do not accept being told how stupid
we are - if we are dumb in the eyes of the super-
intelligence, we still need freedom

If they really think we shall blow up the earth or harm
the whole universe, they can interfere without asking
consent, without our being aware, we shall be happy
at play as the kids we must seem to the spiritually
advanced, and slowly evolve

All by ourselves - emissaries teaching all to conform to
unworldly precepts is a recipe for disaster, I regard
contactees with a prejudiced eye, their insistence on
the loss of unique viewpoints and acceptance of one
global world law threatens evolving freedom

The earth is a place where we learn by experience, NOT
by lectures or words, telepathy also would take
freedom away!


Discussion triggered by information seen at:
http://lobsang-rampa.net/karen2ufo.html
*

Spiritual Need

*
Having discovered a place which makes chicken
mayonnaise sandwiches in brown and white, I went
to investigate and found the food so good, I wanted
it again, food intolerance simply thrown to the wind

Now my burning skin in this overheated room once
again indicates fever and discomfort, a chocolate to
take the pain away made my eyes go out of focus
the list of my woes can go on and on, my back sore

After feasting on a rack of ribs, if only I could stop
eating, given my system’s inability to process food
life would be so easy – but to me food is more than
nourishment, it is a plaster, bandage, medicine

And nurse-maid, it stands in for everything I cannot
master or obtain, I laugh about diet pills, suppressing
appetite – I have a spiritual need that cannot thrive
on what we are given to feed our thoughts

The only alternative on which my soul can live, albeit
superficially, is food, glorious food, the sweeter, the
better, the larger the quantity, the more commendable
the only thing that stops me from eating till I burst

Is when my rations’ finished - and allergy of course
I was born allergic to stop me from committing
spiritual suicide with my teeth!
*

A Bewildering Text

*
Nursing a psychosomatic headache caused by trying
to decipher a bewildering text about soccer about which
I know NOTHING, nothing, less than nothing – except
that a lot of men tippy-toe, tippy-tippy toe, around a ball
using dainty steps to make a ballerina envious -

All sentences ending in question marks although written
as statements, the author insinuating he has mysterious
knowledge regarding the game of soccer that enables him
to make any team win; this is the best way to drive anyone
insane, I go mad with wondering what he could mean

Maybe an illegal breakfast is in order, my red cheeks are
indicative of abortive mental absorption in my impossible
task, believing Six Impossible Things before breakfast is
one thing, but accomplishing a true translation of a sense-
less, Sphinx-like text is a completely impossible deed

I cannot accomplish it, the pain of contracting muscles
in my head tells me I am in a mental dead-end, I might
as well throw in the towel and find food for my mouth
since food for thought there is none…
*

Snowdrops Opalescent Sheen

*
I like covering my notebooks with interesting paper
now I know why – because I want it to resemble my
idea of a positive aura, my clothes have the same
function, this is why I cried when Linah destroyed
my purple top

Today I found the perfect paper to create my aura, I
am not pure enough for a clear golden light, but purple
with pink and silver and yellow and white, with patterns
of butterflies, is just the right combination to entice me
to a special aura

If I could sew I would have created these covers from
shimmering fabrics to make them long-lasting, I would
have made bohemian dresses in purple, dark blue and
white with silver sparkles - I went to the craft shop to
stare at shiny ribbons

To decide on the perfect aura, I am in a purple-and-pink-
shining highlights phase, always finished with silver sparkles
to create the effect of iridescent reflection, I love clarity and
golden sunbeams, snowdrops with an opalescent sheen - I
wish I could dress according to my

Auric dreams – but wings would do just fine, I am sure the
halo around heads is the nimbus represented in
old-fashioned portraits of saints…
*

Shadow-Play of Illusion

*
The brilliant genius in charge brought the temperature
to 30 degrees Celsius - did I mention my lamasery? It
will be freezing in there so my monks can think and
enjoy being cool, in this heat we are preparing for the
symbolical fires of hell

I am wearing my swimsuit and pirate jeans, not suitable
for any lamasery, no dark robes, a migraine threatening
to become a full-blown desert storm, during lunch I softly
filed out with the monks and wandered the streets forlorn
cool air exquisite on my skin

All us monks are anonymous, never converse, only do astral
travelling together, visiting the realms described by Robert
Munroe, we telepathically communicate with more evolved
life-forms, no need for language, only sound as vibration
remains – but I am too uncomfortable

To describe my lamasery, here is a crackpot document to
translate in this physical world where I am paid to be
an unevolved, animalistic life-form in a
shadow-play of illusion…
*

A Strange Opalescence

*
Some time before, I always turned back
from the door of total subjective fantasy
since nobody accompanies me on mental
trips, making discoveries, no reason to
turn back again, instead of pulling back
into reality, I just keep walking, love the
expanded awareness I brought with me

Fictitious characters in a lamasery of my
own invention accomplishing everything
mastering meditation, auric vision, astral
travelling, levitation and herb gathering
wearing dark robes enfolding them with
ascetic beauty that ennobles the face
with a mystic grace - ascetic aspect

Of giving up worldly ambition, a strange
opalescence derived from service and
sacrifice, never talking, only chanting for
hours, spirits soaring on sound climbing
higher and bringing about a new state
of consciousness of epiphany in ecstasy
leaving the world of illusion behind

Returning to the origin of the world in the
mind, reclaiming the rightful place of
intelligent energy, crowning the soul
as the vehicle in which to progress
through eternity…
*

Purple Silkiness, Silver Glitter

*
Ah, bravado is all-right for hiding feelings
but heartburn cannot be wished away so
easily, without access to the Internet all
my attempts at guessing meanings are
just hit-and-run accidents, a dark spectre
of work returned criss-crossed by changes,
lines deleted and misconceptions, to add
to my woes

My first thought is, what to eat to replace
the sadness in my soul with more physical
discomfort; since suffering is good for us –
if a Tibetan lama becomes a holy saint by
suffering meditation in one position for hours
surely allergic reactions have the same up-
lifting effect on me, eating is the shortest
route to ennobling suffering for me

Last night I looked at the fairy wings next to
my bed, the soft purple silkiness and silver
glitter - and realised its resemblance to an
aura is the reason why fairies are so impor-
tant to me, I have only one fairy at work, she
is purple with silver also, a gift from Hanlie
I wish I could ask Lobsang Rampa whether
my aura contains purple colours

Flecked with shiny silver glitter, since this
attracts me so much - even my colleagues
see these colours for me; maybe the wooden
dolls in yellow and blue also convey messages
about my auric colours, I don’t care for physical
appearance, I prefer a beautiful, life-giving, love-
sustaining, golden aura and melodious voice
to resembling a pretty siren

Hiding a heart full of spite and green jealousy
though whenever someone is nasty to a weaker
person, I turn into a vixen, it must mean I have
not yet mastered the mindset of a St Francis of
Assisi who never harboured a negative thought
and tamed wild animals that way, I think meeting
truly nasty people would make my aura turn
smoky blue and red

I would look like I were on fire, just as well I do
not know any like those…

[Though if I really could choose, I would like to
resemble the unblemished crystals shining in
rainbows of colours from a myriad aspects and
facets while at the same time being a sweet
melody like Boccherini's Minuet or
Mozart’s Sonate in C…]
*

Magic My Heart

*
Eating as a way of handling frustration is
self-destructive, or maybe self-aggrandizing
every time we encounter problems with the
Internet – and that is ALL day long – I eat
and eat, then my clothes feel so tight, I
can’t breathe, it makes me despair, then
I eat some more – to control the depression

Then I have nothing to wear; that makes me
desperate, so I eat some more to fill up the
holes in my heart made by the problems of
life with more food – I suspect it is time to
stop before I start rolling about like a big
beach ball, though I am already waddling
like a duck, eating is a dangerous pastime

As medicine for the soul, it seems utterly
useless; but what the heck, let me just eat
something else, maybe the last bit required
to magic my heart back to health!
*

Voice of a Pedagogue

*
Found a book by Ruth Chew looking as good
as new in an edition of 1976, the title is ‘the
Trouble with Magic’ a glance makes it clear
why books by Lois Lowry are falling apart
being read so much while this one is in
pristine condition in the library

The author does not know the enchantment
of magic, uses the concept in the voice of a
pedagogue explaining the dangers of it, her
characters stick figures without sparkle and
life, Ruth missed the uplifting powers in PL
Travers’ Mary Poppins, did not feel

The adorable quality of Margery Sharp’s Miss
Bianca who drew hats instead of maps, yet the
mouse pilot found his way with the hat-map in
the Rescuer series - I was fooled by the word
‘Magic’ as title, did not realize it is a treatise
warning against fantastic power

No wonder the book looks new, it is bound to
continue doing so because it fails to entice the
reader’s mind and open reality to the beauty of
creative invention which bewitches life!


“The Trouble With Magic” Ruth Chew
Dodd Mead & Company, 1976
*

One Spiritual Stream

*
What a contrast between Lobsang Rampa
and Eckankar - I look with new eyes - from
a new perspective because I have read other
self-created universal religions such as Sufism
insisting on uniting all

Twitchell claims Eckankar is the unifying origin
of all viewpoints, which means he is justified in
imposing his ideas on everyone for world peace
trying to make the world conform to his rules, I
shudder to think of it

People love diversity and unique thought, freedom
and difference - we flee when a dictator wants all
and sundry to accept his ideas, now I know why
I read this book only once long ago; why I read
Lobsang Rampa several times

Lobsang’s life reads like a piece of art, describing
personal experience, while The Spiritual Notebook
propagates the views of Paul Twitchell who strung
all religions together by pointing out similarities in
a so-called common origin

Exhorting people to unify under the teaching in his
treatise - Lobsang’s story about Tibetan Buddhism
is exciting without Paul Twitchell’s pedagogic tone,
calling all to follow him, appropriating everything
in one spiritual stream to subsume all

Twitchell crowns himself a new prophet who teaches
discipline, I am only on p.31, it is difficult to keep
going, maybe now I can tackle my nightmare
document and translate negative thoughts
of a self-righteous Pharisee…


“The Spiritual Notebook” by Paul Twitchell
Eckankar 1971 - 1990
*

Creating a New Synergy

*
Finished The Third Eye, feel bereft, withdrawal
symptoms, just when I started to feel so happy
in his personal world, Planet Lobsang, Universe
Rampa, tonight I will begin reading Eckankar by
Paul Twitchell – read it long ago

Rereading I look with new eyes, find thoughts
I missed before, I love diving into an author’s
atmosphere, giving him my trust and attention
while drinking in his words and ideas, trying to
apply them in my life

Weighing them against other systems, enjoying
the feelings authors evoke, deciding whether to
incorporate his concepts, comparing with others,
creating a new synergy between various view-
points and opposite perspectives

Asking whether the new information enlarges the
imagination, makes me feel free and aware of a
benevolent universe; I will take some of Lobsang
Rampa’s ideas, but his insistence on pain
will have to be amended

To fit into my visions and dreams of spiritual
progress and evolutionary improvement...
*

Charming in the Extreme

*
I was reading Lobsang Rampa while you
were watching soccer world cup, I had just
concluded that I must be related to the Lama
from Lhasa when it was announced that the
Dutch had won against Uruguy

I recalled my maternal grandfather came directly
from the Netherlands, Mijnheer van Wijk, my mother
is Dutch in appearance – therefore I rejoice with the
House of Oranje*, though my grandmother Margaret
Alice came from Scottish stock

Her mother being a lady Powell, while her father is
from German origin – Puth – and my paternal grand-
mother is from French descent – De Lange – while
the Botha clan came from ‘Friesland’ – and YOU are
from Germany also, called Koch

I am so happy – ecstatic – to claim the victory of
the House of ‘Oranje’ as my own, I have genetic
roots everywhere, and being South African, I also
have African genes, go Bafana and Ghana; should
a South American team win

There are Afrikaans people in South America also
in Patagonia, does not matter who wins, I am related
to ALL of them, though the legacy of Jan van Riebeeck
landing in 1652; and Langenhoven writing stories for
Afrikaans children - predisposes me

To adore the victory of the Dutch soccer team – I LOVE
the World Cup as presented in South Africa, enjoying the
way in which the continent of Africa presented this mar-
vellous event for the first time in history - with vuvuzelas
taking the world by storm –

This is what dreams are about, I love the whole tournament
and who can blame me when everything that happens is
charming in the extreme?


*Oranje = Orange
*

Life of a Buddhist Monk

*
Compared to Lobsang Rampa’ s trials – Lobsang being
the spirit of a Buddhist monk who took over the body of
Cyril Henry Hoskins – my life’s a feast, where Lobsang
had to sit still with a yak-butter lamp balanced on his
head at the age of seven

All I had to do at that age was sit with unseeing eyes in
a class and learn tables by heart, a feat I never accom-
plished, I still cannot do maths today - though I love the
statistics required to compute precession of the earth’s
equinoxes and astrogenetics -

The influence of the sun’s rays when reflected from
various planets - on living systems; Lobsang suffered
the operation to open the Third Eye without complaint
and loved the golden auras of the Tibetan monks who
led a blameless life

Ran from painted women with their hair spread over
wooden frames worn on their head – though I would
have run also, paint irritates my eyes and I have very
thin hair – shocked by their ugly auras and screeching
voices, Lobsang could see hatred

And jealousy whirling around hostile people; and slept
very little – maybe the life of a Buddhist monk would have
been better for me also, it holds a charm that lifts me from
the feeling of self-pity because I find my prescribed text so
dry and boring

Useless for spiritual growth and totally meaningless in the
grand scheme of things…
*

The Fragile Dreams

*
Stuck in twilight’s mental station, all I think
makes me sigh, envisioning my own dream
well nigh impossible with my physical system
malfunctioning and brain shortcircuiting

I know it is a subjective perspective, the world
still is beautiful, as soon as I tumble from the
black hole in my brain to see light reflecting in
enchanting colours and hear the wonder

Of soaring melodies, I shall be fine again, if only
I was aware of reality as energy moving in and
out of existence, entering various realms in
between the here and now and over there

I want to seize the mystery of the moment in the
joy of knowing that life is the happy experience of
sweet awareness – but caught in the maelstrom
of my mind where my brain has gone out of kilter

I cannot filter the toxic fears of pain and loss and
death, caught in the whirlpool of despair, a tornado
of scary thoughts threatening to blow me out of the
joyful zone so carefully constructed with

Reinforced steel girders around the fragile dreams
that infuse every human being…
*

Amazingly Chaotic Legalese

*
Does it seem that I complain for nothing?
Come, come read with me, the Geopolitics
Book Of Morocco, come and see how lacking
in rhythmic prosody and melody and interesting
meaning a boring legal text can be, come and see
and feast your eyes on material so biased you will not
be able to believe without seeing for yourself, come,
laugh with glee because you are free from such a
constraint that changes life into living purgatory
whenever I am forced on a course of this
amazingly chaotic legalese that reads
like incomprehensible Greek to me:

“The Public Ministry is represented by the
Prosecutor of the King or his substitutes
for the court of 1・ authority and by
the Prosecutor General of the King or his
general substitutes for the Courts of Appeal
and the Special Court of Justice

These courses do not benificient a body of
information very effective and miss scientific
matter experts 279 (a), 279 B, 280, 281 and 282
of the code, the public action can be put moving
either by the public ministry or by the Minister for
Finance, or by the Director of the Administration
of the customs or one of its representatives
competent this effect…”


Excerpts quoted directly from:

http://www.intelink.info/fre/forums/
renseignement/geopolitics_book_of_morocco
*

Very Sweet Nuance

*
The James-Bond-movie pole-dancing hat-stand
in the form of a cross-cum-street sign with the
power of a dangerous weapon can no longer
be used for hanging extra clothes

I come to work dressed like Michelin man, three
layers of clothing at least, since the air-con now
makes the office too hot - I strip off my jersey,
leggings and long-sleeved T-shirt till wearing

My sleeveless black school top and pirate jeans,
using the blanket for changing discretely just as
people do with big towels on the beach, though
Mr Bean’s rendition of this is cause for concern

Then hang everything on the hat-stand - but no
more, transferred all my flowers to it, pink roses,
a tulip, yellow autumn leaves, poppies in orange
explosions, even the silver rose - in order to

Create the austerity required for my collection
of stones; only the fake snow-flakes and small
ornaments adorning the computer screen are
left for the right ambiance - also the dragonfly

And small wooden dolls - to add a very
sweet nuance…
*

Monument To You

*
Taking the stones you gave me
to the office, removed the flowers
from my computer top, once before
when I was lonely and lost, I used to
fill my sad little space with shells and
stones - in my brick phase when I
pasted pressed leaves on them

I am building a monument to you, to
the turbulent times we knew - when
we tried to get along and often failed
to agree about anything – you insist
it was me who caused the problems
while I am firmly convinced you are
partly to blame, at least we tried to

Bridge our differences and you do
understand about my fixation with
important things like stones and
memories, I hope we shall both
be wiser when we meet again…
*

Tomorrow

*
Tomorrow – I wish to flee tomorrow
confronting things I detest, for how
long can I flee and keep my head
down, keep out of sight, not repeat
the crushing words of people who
live in spite, in self-justification and
judgmental elation, people who
should have been dunked as
babies – in icy water, like me
who should have died with
me, instead of messing up
this beautiful earth?
*

Bad-Aura Words

*
Tonight I escaped the spectre of awful hatred
and lack of love - the warnings of doom and
destruction - tomorrow I must tackle the text
of such life-destroying documents, confront
the auras of people who have no love for
anyone, especially not for themselves

Hate-spewing people who believe in a malevolent
universe, lack of all they want, and they are right -
since they do not honour themselves, they can’t
love anything; without love, they have nothing -
they are wrong in blaming the government and
everybody else for the emptiness they feel

Without self-love and high self-esteem, love for
other people is impossible - I have to honour
their words as if they were all right, entitled to
doom us to hell, their curses will come home
to roost on them, they make me suffer by
their unloving, judgmental words - BUT

They suffer more themselves, I was put on earth
to suffer the humiliation of reading their bad-aura
words, yet the hatred they feel will devour them
even when nobody is worried about their self-
destructive, horrible denunciations of every-
thing good - even though they put me in

Purgatory through their stupid, selfish, useless
criticism of other people’s right to life…
*

Dauntless Bionic Colleagues

*
Did not sleep at all last night, in semi-comatose state
compiling a list is almost impossible, forgot what I did
the moment I did it, no short-term memory, luckily lost
my personality also, the stranger in my place has such
a heavy, tired head - completely resigned to accom-
plishing nothing, going nowhere, seeing no-one except
colleagues who never experience any fluctuation in
emotions, calm and collected, rational and superior

Never fazed by life-sucking auras and mind-numbing
terms, never bats an eyelid when the world explodes
just lift a sardonic eye-brow as I jump from my chair,
everybody believes they have already turned into
machines, I am the only person about who still thinks
in terms of feelings, I wonder if my soul will also die
eventually, though every time I read Lobsang Rampa
my soul revives again, maybe the books I read

Will feed my soul so that bureaucracy’s Dementors will
fail to kill my emotions and dreams, every time my crystal
creations grow stale and my fragile self-esteem is impaled
and bleeding by a myriad failures, I die in the night and
get up a new person, once again laden with thoughts and
feelings - maybe I am a vampire who subsists on the energy
generated by the ice-cold power of my dauntless bionic
colleagues…
*

An Etheric Aspect

*

Serious backache keeping me awake, saw a book
today called Women Who Think Too Much, worrying
about every aspect of life – well, at least they have
social lives to worry about, I have none, so I think
about things like Lobsang Rampa and Buddhists in
Tibet who can see the aura

Lobsang was shocked to see women’s auras outside
the monastery and hear their shrill voices, their hair
shiny with yak-butter, sounds yuck to me, faces
painted - I wonder what my aura looks like tonight
after the joy of discovering that Lobsang knew
about Astrogenetics

Without reading Maurice Cotterel, that Tibetan Astrology
entailed configuring the night sky at time of conception, I
hope my aura is bright blue and purple with spiritual delight,
Lobsang knew that sunlight reflected from heavenly bodies
influenced chemistry and personality from the embryo’s first
moments of existence

I also suspect that the pain in my head might confer an etheric
aspect to my appearance – or I hope so, I am not free to divulge
what caused this allergy upset, hubby says I am indicting him
for preparing such heavenly food, suffice it to say the dish was
wonderful and I bear my pain like a martyr, or I would have
if I could have, I feel more like

Death right now…

[Picture: Claude Monet, Impressionism, on Internet:
Monet-Artist-Garden]
*

Eternity In Harmony

*

Anastasia bought a plaster bust of Sigmund
Freud and confided her troubles to him, I was
going to consult Lobsang Rampa myself as I
like the Tibetan culture in which he was raised

Young babies were dunked by grandmothers
in icy streams and if they survived, it was clear
they were strong enough to face the Himalayan
cold, it is primitive according to some, but to me

It seems brilliant, if only my grandma had done
this to me I might never have had to live this
terrible unending life; one other thing, Lobsang
Rampa says we need not worry about meeting

Our enemies after death, everyone vibrates to
a certain frequency and only those vibrating in
harmony will meet again, so we won’t ever see
those who could not stand us in life, I prefer

Lobsang to Sigmund as the problem of hostility
really bothered me - and I dream of becoming
a melody, ‘a minor’ just above middle C being
the right note, trilling the notes ‘a minor’ and B

Just before the next octave C creates a perfect
nostalgic sound, I am afraid Freud never said
much about the soul’s inner music, even my
good friend Seth channelled by Jane Roberts

Never mentioned these strange melodies, I will
always remember two facts imparted by Lobsang:
babies should be tested and people are vibrating
musical themes; we spend eternity in harmony…

[Picture: Claude Monet - Impressionism
Internet - Monet-Irises-Monets-Garden]
*

I Accept The Blame

*
I was born a caring person - took care
of a few loved ones - now they are all
gone there seems no job description
left in my life

I am surprised, there is nothing I can do
to provide for mother, can’t support my
father, my twin sister refuses to listen
to my advice

My friends are all independent, my kids
are grown, I am redundant in this world
born superfluous, one of twins with two
elder brothers

Never had a goal in life, forced my help
on others who found my presence more
irksome than helpful; it finally transpired
that everyone

Forced to suffer my help became self-
sufficient; I managed to talk, write and
sing myself out of their lives - it is time
to go, I cannot stay

Concentrating on anonymous words while
playing meaningless games to earn money
I never use myself, safeguarding it for the
spectre of ‘Old Age’

My idea of fun is reading and writing poems
and philosophy, I do not know anyone on
earth who shares my interest, I tried to
correspond with people

Who liked poems - but my ideas were so very
strange, they have all gone - the fault all mine
I accept the blame for everything that ever
went wrong

No-one needs me as I am; I have to serve by
doing a useless job, paid to read words I
do not understand, the money goes to
whoever uses it

In the world’s best interest - I cannot
continue this way, there is nowhere
to go and on-one who cares and
nothing to say

I was born a caring person, on my
gravestone it should say: ‘I went
nowhere, saw nobody and did
nothing’ - although

I went into the life of Charlotte Brontë,
the books of Jane Austen - also into
Pygmalion; I loved my father
so much…


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

[My father introduced me to ‘My Fair Lady’
kept the music and score in his cupboard,
he bought Langenhoven’s ‘Assembled
Works’ - but my mother introduced me
to them, pointing out the parts I should
read - my father bought Mantovani’s
rendition of Mozart’s sonata in C, my
mother bought Jane Austen and
‘Die Lustige Witwe’ by Franz
Léhar…]
*

Renew Our Dreams

*
We cannot suspend
waterdrops in the air, though
the multifaceted crystals stay there
the wires supporting them grow shapeless
dust covers every facet, beauty once pristine is
lost, the shimmering crystal cascade which seemed
to be an arrested waterfall reflecting a myriad miniature
rainbows in crystal drops creating a universe or two
consisting of heavenly spheres floating up high
is losing its bewitching charm as time keeps
passing by, like ancient dreams growing
stale, dust in the air signalling
time to throw them out


[As I stared at the crystal chandelier in the shop
I wondered why the beautiful multifaceted crystals
failed to stir my affections, then realized that dust
and bent wires were not kind to crystal creations,
they should be taken down and washed; the wires
should be replaced - in the same way we should
always renew our dreams instead of suspending
them until they grow too vague to bring us joy.]
*

Hole In My Heart

*
The BBC took pity on me, broadcast
all episodes of ‘Allo Allo’ in one go, I
have never had the chance before
to see so many in a row

I laughed so much, my face muscles
are sore, before this, we saw Nether-
lands team even the score against
Brazil - a brilliant match

The conquistadores triumphant once
more, but when I look at history, it is
clear victory means nothing to no-
one - the spirituals are right:

Nobody wins unless EVERYBODY
WINS – said by Bruce Springsteen
‘The Boss’ - using lyrics to express
lyrical thoughts; called dad tonight

He sounded happy, though a little
bomb-shocked, mom in control as
always before, my heart is sore -
you went to bed, oblivious

Of the fear I’m harbouring, the need to
escape the necessity of doing things
I cannot do without gashing
a hole in my heart…
*

In Times Of Need

*
I love the idea of falling in love, I fall in and
out of love with sublime ideas and lovely
music, words and songs, with beautiful
objects and charming theories

I love books, fictional characters and lyrical
authors, I adore Charlotte Brontë and Jane
Austen, Paul Gallico, Lewis Carrol, Hans
Christian Andersen and Terry Pratchett

I love family and people who love the things
I love, I cry when I lose enchanted objects
or beloved people, cry about losing you to
a new lifestyle that takes you away

From my little world of subjective fantasy, I
know you lead a big life with grand emotions
I am glad you found new love with beautiful
people who fulfil your dreams

Losing you to happiness means I should be
delighted with your good fortune – yet since
it means losing your presence, it is a sacrifice
that costs me a lot – I must learn

To live lonely again, I have forgotten how deep
the pain goes of not confiding in anyone, of
not sharing my strange ideas, trusting you
will remember you can lean on me

In times of need…
*

Bow To Each Other

*
I know Paul Twitchell’s Eckankar religion,
which he developed himself, which allowed
followers to leave the body at will; Lobsang
Rampa’s Tibetan Third Eye Buddhist faith
written by an Englishman; Wayne Dyer’s
Patanjali and Ramakrishna and Sai Baba,
Universal Sufism, Hal Lindsay’s prophetic
predictions for Planet Earth

Are all valid and true and successful for those
who study and practice them; everybody has
their own image of God such as Paul Gallico
described the personal God of Mrs Harris -
cheeky Cockney charlady from London who
went to Moscow as Lady Char – my own
image of godliness is Superconsciouness

Manifesting as a loving, intelligent energy
suffusing everything and the source of all
creation and physical manifestation, I love
the channelling presented by Jane Roberts
and Esther Hicks; and I adore the Mystery
Play entailed in the miracle life of Jesus
Christ, I admire the amazing code

Found in the Torah, Old Testament, I know
awareness and acceptance, belief and faith
can make anything true - all according to
preference, faith and hope - I never want
to be the follower of another, nor do I ever
want to be followed; if we can all respect
another, stop insisting that only

One creed is true; we could bow to each other
as we pass in the market place of ideas; though
I suspect Muslims will invoke the Sharia against
us for being so tolerant and all-encompassing –
the indication of failing is intolerance, even if the
beauty of dedication is an enchanting sight –
freedom is everything!


What Abraham says here must be right:

“Every religion on the planet, and there are
so many more than you are even aware of,
has the potential of absolute thriving. But
when you think that you must prove that
YOU have the only one that is right - and
you use your condemnation to push against
the others - your condemnation separates
you from your own Connection that, before
your condemnation, you were finding in
your own religion. --- Abraham
*