Coursing through Life
Coursing through Life
Coursing through Life
Coursing through Life
What Britons want
is anybody’s guess.
Do not ask me, for
I am only one;
I did not seek this mess:
not for my gain
not in my name,
was Brexit’s pain begun.
I did not seek this source of stress
that stalks my country,
walks her backwards,
makes her people less
I did not seek a council of
emboldened third-rate jesters
nor the laissez-disconnect
from fact and intellect that festers;
sends attacks across
my patriotic bows and, even now,
undaunted by reality, does will
a march of muddled expectations.
No, nobody knows
what Britons want,
as a glaring guarantee
while glowing Pride
befalls a nation.
Progress ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Let there be many windows in your soul
That all the glory of the universe
May beautify it. Not the narrow pane
Of one poor creed can catch the radiant rays
That shine from countless sources. Tear away
The blinds of superstition; let the light
Pour through fair windows broad as truth itself
And high as God.
Why should the spirit peer
Through some priest-curtained orifice, and grope
Along dim corridors of doubt, when all
The splendour from unfathomed seas of space
Might bathe it with their golden waves of love?
Sweep up the debris of decaying faiths,
Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out beliefs,
And throw your soul wide open to the light
Of reason and of knowledge. Tune your ear
To all the wordless music of the stars,
And to the voice of nature, and your heart
Shall turn to truth and goodness, as the plant
Turns to the sun. A thousand unseen hands
Reach down to help you from their peace-crowned heights,
And all the forces of the firmament
Shall fortify your strength. Be not afraid
To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole.
Merry Solstice xXx 🌻
Extract from ‘Hymn of Love’
“Love redeemeth, Love lifteth up, Love enlighteneth, Love advanceth Soules.
Verilie Love is doubly blessed, for she enricheth both giver and receiver.
And if any creature whom thou lovest suffereth death and departeth from thee:
Fain wouldst thou give of thine Hearte’s Blood…
Behold, Love is a ransome and the teares thereof are prayeres. Yea, thy love shall enfold the Soule which thou lovest. Thy prayeres shall lift him up and thy teares shall encompass his steppes. Thy love shall be to him as Light shining upon the upward Waye.
And the Angels of God shall say unto him, ‘O happie Soule, that art so well beloved; that art made strong with all these teares and sighs. O little Soule, thou art mighty if a child of God love thee. Thou art possessed of great riches.’
For every cry is a prayere and all prayere is Power.
For in the eyes of Love, there is nothing little nor unworthy of Prayere.”
[Anna (Bonus) Kingsford, Clothed With The Sun]
**** *** ** *
When the worst of us takes the best of us,
Let not the bright embodiment of Hope be lost
But pour the Light of Love into the void,
That Humanity may rise to honour Life.
Light isn’t all soft love and fluff.
It also pierces, sears and blinds,
To better find the darkest stuff,
The sharper to define.
When fear and hope and wrong and right
Turn inside out, it brokers bright
And what is stirred is why it fights
To air that which it brings to Light.
It shines with omnifarious gaze
That doesn’t favour where it bides
And draws reflection to its rays
From what begins inside.
Light isn’t only safe and kind.
Its ruthless microscopic eye
Is fixed to game the heart and mind
Of what it seeks to purify.
Structured play, its grey delight.
Teaser, tempter, teacher, faker:
Doubt and faith give way to sight.
Silver linings; golden threads;
Black light; white night, sharp and hazy.
Tricksy slick to honest wed:
It’s madness but it isn’t crazy.
[punctuate as you will]
I accept that Brexit won
But I choose Remain
And Democracy is dynamic
As I accept the rain
But still have an umbrella
And I still bring the cushions in from the garden
As I accept mozzarella
But I also want diversity
And cheese is a beautiful plural
May an abundance of Light put a fire in your belly ⚡️
All of human history slaps us in the face. Screams
look at me! Witness: I did not end. I am born again and again to grow and shed infinite skins. Potential does not die but can be bound by the drawing of a line.
You, who crossed a thousand Rubicons of shame and hope, for love of my gifts: built walls and prayed for unicorns; slew dragons and mended fences.
The sum of all human consciousness is here, now. Who can contain its conscience? Where shall it be comprehended?
Witness. Else, why are you?
Every age knows fools and visionaries. Filter your vicarious indulgences but all is revealed, eventually. Each, to their unspeakable acts and heroic deeds, be true. By your own lines, rise or fall.
The identity of the UK is in a crisis of much longer-standing than the disgusting populism that currently discerns it by such criteria as your socio-economic influence, what colour your skin is, whether you lean Left or Right, what religion you might practise or where your parents were born. Politically, that is as much about how certain people so badly need to mark or choose our personal identities for us as it is about how we might or might not identify ourselves – because finger-pointing and division serve their social comfort and agenda.
Also apparent, particularly since the first Scottish independence referendum, is the severity of the identity crisis of the UK, itself, which, post the Brexit result, is now a direct, overt and rather urgent matter. We should all care, whether petty tribalist or sincere patriot; scapegoated or scapegoater.
Unionists, Nationalists, Independents and Federalists; centralisation, devolution, globalism and localism; Brexit-Remain; Left-centrist-Right: somewheres and anywheres: we’re all being stitched up, in whichever part of the UK we live, howsoever we identify or have been categorised.
Conflict within and between our individual and collective identities are not recent phenomena. Anyone who reads history and/or literature, has lived long enough or just pays general attention to human nature knows there has always been friction and tension between the micro and macro. At this point in our timeline, though, when malice, mischievous tinkering and authoritarianism are determining the future at a confluence of circumstances, it behoves us to think more deeply, sensibly and bravely.
What and who and how is the UK to be, now?
One big country with one central government (beneficial democratic reforms notwithstanding)? Four separate countries joined in equal union? I said equal. Four co-dependent states under a mishmash of overlapping powers and inconsistent arbitration, secretly content in their mutual aggravation?
Or are we four ideologically disparate nations, who merely happen to share a lot of history, mostly by quirk of geographical proximity but who should just call time and separate? Or is it too easy and too terrible to think that? I hope so.
Whichever we are, we need to decide. And fast. If we can’t even negotiate and co-operate with each other – with ourselves – with mutual respect and for mutual benefit, then what of our prognosis, with the rest of the world?