Category Archives: Life

The Mirror Man…


If it were possible to achieve objectivity for a space…

We could reflect on what it might mean for man.

Yet, even the most spotless surface,

would only hold its image reversed.

And since we have now out grown

the perfect symmetry

of our own form…

that we might come

to yearn our other halves…

The halves we thought we knew

when sumberged as subject.

Like serfs striving to serve an ideal…

We could not help but see ourselves exposed.

But would such exposure lead to selflessness?



Accidents of Light…


Our experiences in dream, if often enough repeated,

become as much a part of the fabric of the soul

as our waking experiences.

The man who regularly flies in his dreams

will be initmate with the nuances of flight.

His soul will know how to ‘skit’ and ‘scurry’

and ‘dip’ and ‘bob’ but also how to ‘soar’…

His rising will lack tension or constraint.

His descent will be without gravity.

Would such a man not look askance

at some of our concepts in the waking hours?

His notions of ‘contentment’ may hop, skip and jump

a little more than our own, and be a bit more ‘airborne’…

And would the poets flight of fancy not seem

to him somewhat ponderous and earth bound?



Threat of the New…


The man who has plotted the course of science

will have discovered in its development

the key which unlocks the doors to knowledge and understanding.

Both portals have fictitious hinges and hypothetical handles.

By stepping beyond their frame our senses become subtle.

The eye reacts to ‘the new’ by immediately reproducing ‘the familiar’ as if in counter-point…

In this way can that which is ‘alien’ move secretly amongst us.

…The novel sound initially causes so much pain to the ear

that we even seek to model a foreign tongue

on our own meanings…

“Wie spate ist es?”


“What is the time?”

As if time were a mere matter of counting.

Yet, how many hours have come and gone

since the ‘beginning’ of time?

Precisely none!

…To be involved in exceptional experiences, therefore,

is to become, in part, their inventor.

In this our art knows no bounds.

Fancy Dress…


Pity the man who sees too deeply

for he alone knows the terrible secret of superficiality.

It is self-preservation that demands we be fickle, and false, and frivolous.

Anybody dependant upon this ‘sorbet of surfaces’ to any extent

must at one time have tried and failed to penetrate beneath it.

Yet to find pleasure in falsifying life’s image,

precisely to the degree in which their own world was spoiled,

can be regarded as the mark of an artist.

And perhaps it is only artists that can dress man

in colour, and light, and goodness

so that we no longer have to suffer

at the unadorned sight of ourselves.

Heart and Soul…


Pious people generally are unaware

how much latitude is necessary for

 a scholar to take the religious problem seriously.

It is only by viewing the question historically

that it seems to make any sense at all.

But even then our scholar stands no nearer piety.

Every age possesses its signature niavety

of which all other ages are envious.

How charming the notion that a pious man

be surpassed by the scholar,

by that presumptious half-man,

inventor and High-Priest of ‘modern ideas’!


Cycles of Life…


Does the religious life require leisure,

or the idleness of the leisured class?

Certainly, those classes have always held work to be degrading.

It is easy to see why.

Modern labour, predominantly indoors and sedentary can educate one into disbelief.

The past two-hundred years have shown us how work in heavy industry

is wont to render refinements of the soul redundant.

A generation or two after any revolution of this sort

and the very term ‘religion’ elicits only a dull, uncomprehending stare.

But could there be a correlation between religious sentiment and the natural life?

Most traditional deities slot seamlessly into the seasonal round.

And work in this realm serves to remind one of the greater cycles that govern existence.

One of which, it may be argued, is… religion.




Game of Bones…


With what gusto the horizons of our world expand.

Our enthusiasm grasps at each new enigma like a child its toy.

Perhaps one day the most solemn problems of the past

will appear as mere playthings to us…

The plight of the poor.

Souless wealth.

Our treatment of animal species.

Man’s inhumanity to man.

Perhaps ‘Old Man’ will then look for new problems to amuse himself.

Endless Round…


To gaze with eastern eyes

Into the abyss of pessimism

Is to emerge

On the other side of life

And to wander for a time, agape,

In the antipodes…


Here, we take in anathema

As though it were nectar

Or some other more exotic god-food.


This new lust for life leads to…

An insatiability for all that was, and is, and will be…

To the extent that no other outcome of events is conceivable or desirable.


In fact, it leads…

to an Endless Round.




If we want a yardstick,

for how far we have travelled from our Gods…

We need only consider the once widespread custom

of sacrificing a first-born child…

It hardly seems credible from this vantage,

irrespective of its counter productivity in an era of high infant-mortality.

What can these religions have been thinking?

That God was greater than mankind?

Heaven forbid!

Of Sophists and Soporifics…


With the advent of the Peripatetic Philosophers and their schools,

where students could learn to aspire,

to all that is good in life,

and the roaring success of these ventures,

came, inevitably, another sort of instruction,

one based solely on false promises,

and flattery,

and mutual ‘appreciation’,

and favour.

In short, on rhetoric, or hot air…

very expensive hot air.


First, one yawns…

Then, one becomes drowsy…

And finally, one falls asleep.