Behind closed eyes you stroked my hand last night,
Transformed the Winter, charmed it into Spring,
Then drew me close as dark turned morning light,
And wept to hear a single blackbird sing.

We walked dawns air, felt dappled light discrete,
In dreams glade soft, saw sun through dewdrops shine,
A heady scent to tease still air, so sweet,
Where honeysuckle and hawthorns breath entwine.

We moved in time, all else was no regard,
Where by the pool on lilies, dragons feed,
And perfumed waters blend with spikenard.
Translucent eyes, reflect desire and need,

Wakening sounds make gentle thoughts abate,
Sad, must I rise to later dream your face,
Thoughts fade, sleep goes; you’re gone. But wait,
I wake in bliss, I’m wrapped in your embrace.

Copyright © 2011 Roger Grice – all rights reserved

 

My Grandfather wore
A watch chain
Across his waistcoat
Greasy stains
Of last weeks fish in butter
Sucking bones,
And tea from a saucer.

A folding wooden table
By the wall
The plastic cloth
Slippery to touch, smelled
Of lard and
Grandfathers fish.

He couldn’t see or hear
A thing in the end
He smelled of age
And anger
No shirt collar
No smile.

Copyright © 2009 Roger Grice – all rights reserved

 

A warm sofa in Kiev
An icicle bigger than a wine bottle
Struggled with gravity, outside a grubby
Fifth floor window overlooking
A Sunday building site, wet wood and
Cement smells mixing with a soft
Drizzle of watery snow. A defiant
Ice-blue paradox smoothed and
Shaped by relentless steppe-wind.
On the other side of the window
A warm glow came from the sofa.

 

Still, in the quiet hours of night,
Laid shuttered, hid, ’til fleeting chance,
Made thoughts of you spark to a light,
And witnessed flushed emotions dance.

These stirrings stole through feelings deep,
And dreamed, perchance you close above,
To brush my lips, my heart make leap,
And kiss away those tears of love.

Such kiss with length and rapture sweet,
Will rouse a hunger, strength of need,
Until the morning light can greet,
Our souls in paradise will feed.

A dream or real, I know not which,
But feel sweet breath upon my cheek,
With perfumed breeze of pleasure rich,
Our mouths move much, yet not to speak.

Heart trembling first, now bold, beats true,
As aching breast of mine meets yours,
Just skins sweet scent between the two,
Like waves of silk stroke velvet shores.

Moist lips together, lightly touched,
Intense we melt, two halves of one,
As passions surge hands tightly clutched,
And radiant bursts that dim the sun.

Our faces warm with passions heat,
We dance together thoughts entwined,
A last release, with joy complete,
From hope to perfect love consigned.

Copyright © 2009 Roger Grice – all rights reserved

 

I was talking to someone I met on-line recently. They were telling me about the pollution that comes from an industrial area near where they live that sometimes makes the air difficult to breath. It made me realize how lucky some of us are to have clean air. It brings home the fact that if we don’t stop our bad habits, eventually we will all have this situation. There won’t be any clean air left for anyone to breathe.

Hey, that’s ok, as long as we make a profit. Who cares about the quality of the air we breathe or we leave for our children to breathe, let’s focus on important issues like money. We know it’s important, don’t we? After all we have been given an example of the right way to do things from the triumvirate of despotic evil, Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld. Thankfully their time is up, it’s a pity no-one will hold them accountable for the death and suffering they have caused to hundreds of thousands of human beings. Maybe the Universe will administer a dose of karmic revenge at some point, and cosmically wipe the smirks from their faces.

Anyway, there it is. Some of the things that were said to me, stuck in my mind and motivated the poem Summer Wheat.

 

It’s four o’clock and I can’t sleep,
My God it’s cold, and what’s that smell?
It’s half past four and I can’t breathe,
I dreamt and then I thought I fell.

Central heating broke again,
Factory smoke burns eyes and throat,
It creeps in through the broken pipe,
I’m in my bed but need my coat.

Thank God my son is with my mum,
Else stunt his growth this smoke it would,
Where can I breathe at five a.m.,
We must get out, if once we could.

The river fog creeps to my door,
When make the boats their mournful sounds
It mixes with pollution smoke,
And silent ‘gainst my window pounds

I seek a chance, escape this place,
Where air tastes cool and fresh and sweet,
To find that land of which I dream,
Where sways the golden summer wheat.

Copyright © 2009 Roger Grice – all rights reserved

 

Last Friday evening I had one of those daydreams (I dozed in front of the computer) that seems so real. When I say “those daydreams” I mean, lucid, full colour reality, but you still know it’s a dream. Loads of different things were swirling around in my head. Anyway, the upshot of it all is that in the dream I wrote a poem. Well, when I say poem, you should think of a ditty, more something of novelty value than having any inherent literary merits.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Even the title Life On The Surface was part of the dream. It is the first time it has happened to me, creating something while asleep, and then waking up and writing it down, I was amazed. Not only because of the event itself, but also that it stayed in my memory long enough for me to write it out. I have heard of it happening to others, obviously Kubla Khan springs to mind but unlike Coleridge I wasn’t under the influence of narcotics. Perhaps that explains why my few lines are as an offcut of old cabbage fallen and trodden into the garden path on the way to the manure heap compared to Coleridge’s massive banquet; a feast laid on a groaning table of plenty.

In any event, there you have it. I wonder if it will happen again. Should it be a reason to take massive amounts of Laudanum mixed with huge draughts of brandy? Probably not, though Thomas de Quincey actually managed to turn his addiction into literary success. So it’s a plausible but fatally flawed concept. I’ll just stick to a glass or two of Cabernet Sauvignon.

 

Could have been; passion slash,
Perpetual machine; inspiration flash,
Yellow green; fashion clash,
Mountain scene; falling crash,
Visually obscene; body smash,
Removal routine; amputation ash.

 

Copyright © 2009 Roger Grice – all rights reserved

 

correlation is not causationHere we are at the end of another Easter weekend. A religious feast celebrated by Christians with prayer and deep thought in equal measure with a zealous over indulgence of chocolate eggs and, bizarrely, chocolate rabbits.

That probably should read most Christians, of course, as many reformation churches, amongst others, discarded Easter, along with Christmas, as being pagan, ironically.

I have also discovered, refreshingly, that the US is now calling Good Friday Spring Holiday. I suppose this is another push toward a globally euphemistic holiday system, to avoid conflict between race, ethnic and religious groups (please excuse me for missing any other taxonomic sub-divisions who may be so disappointed at their exclusion as to burn flags and/or effigies).

The final Orwellian result is predictable and expected to be displayed in calendars and diaries of the near future in the form of numbers. For example, New Year, would be Holiday 1; Epiphany, Holiday 2; Shrove Tuesday, Holiday 3, and so on. Any new religions, including political flavours, demanding inclusion within the existing structure would be given temporary status using alpha-subdivisions, for example, a holiday introduced between H1 (New Year), and H2 (Epiphany), would simply be called H 1A. This would be ratified and agreed by the UN council for Holidays and Free Time, and the numbering system re-aligned each 100 years.

In keeping with the pseudo-mystical spirit of the weekend then, I have been giving thought to Life the Universe and Everything (sleep well, Douglas).

I’ve spent a large part in the free time of my life absorbing, among other things, the offerings of the more famous world religions, to try to find out the truth that lies behind them all; if there is, indeed, a “universal” truth. I was always concerned at the reconciliation between science and religion; like most human beings, wanting to cling to a belief that there must be more to life than spending four score years and ten wondering how we are going to die, and what happens afterwards, if anything, and what we can do, also, if anything, to make that transition as successful as possible.

As an aside and by way of illustration, let’s briefly mention Zoroastrianism. It is one of the world’s oldest monotheistic religions, yet most people can’t pronounce it let alone come to terms with its tolerance and simplicity. Zoroastrians traditionally pray several times a day. Some wear a kusti, which is a cord with three knots tied in it, that reminds them of the maxim, ‘Good Words, Good Thoughts, Good Deeds’, this phrase could, in fact, summarize the religion. Zoroastrianism is a home and community oriented religion. There is no tradition of monasticism or celibacy. Most worship happens in the family home. Yes, nowhere to go to show off your best Sunday hat.

Zoroastrianism is also about action. Zoroastrians work towards improving the local community and society in general. They tend to give generously to charities and are often behind educational and social initiatives. Men and women, rich and poor, and young and old are all seen as equal. One only surpasses the other through their righteousness.

Ahura
Obviously such a harmonious religion which has been extant for some 3500 years is bound to attract the beady eyes of the Christian Police.

Which politically incorrectly reminds me of fire. Zoroastrianism uses the flame to represent God’s light, or wisdom; other religions use fire for different purposes, for example on February 17, 1600 the Catholic church hung Giordano Bruno upside down and naked, and burnt him to death. Yes, not much tolerance or reconciliation there. Why was he murdered in this gruesome way? Ahh, that’s easy, for “holding erroneous opinions”. So how come George W hasn’t been dragged kicking and screaming into the Campo dei Fiori? For goodness sake, who knows how far we would have come by now without the destructive, bigoted dogma of organised religion, or organised incompetence (George W, once again) come to that, but here, I’m jumping ahead and beginning to sound like a bigot myself.

A Bigot is a person or organisation obstinately or intolerantly devoted to their own opinions and prejudices, especially one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance.

Some people who have been interested or patient enough to scratch the surface of my soul, know that my personal belief structure lies in the ever present, integrated and fully saturated nature of the Universe, let’s call it universal interrelatedness. More economical use of words may have resulted in “omnipresence”, but then you’d think I was talking about religion again, and even though it’s Easter, we really don’t want to go there. but we will another time, I promise.

I recently finished reading the Dan Brown novel Angels and Demons again. It reminds us of the apparent dichotomy of science and religion, but offers a neat solution. That, in turn, reminded me of Giordano Bruno, mentioned above, for speaking his mind. Arguably the first martyr to science. This also brings us nicely back to omnipresence and my concern at the reconciliation between science and religion.

White out

Perhaps you may consider me a butterfly, scavenger, or simply a misguided soul, depending on your strength of belief. Why? I have identified the common features of most religions, taken the bits I think make sense, filtered out anything that smacks of intolerance and ended up with a life philosophy that I can really believe in, without the need for images, books, old men with long white beards, amulets, symbols or a perfect smile.

This obviously goes against the grain of mainstream thought, which dictates that a component of your religion, to be effective, must be painful, mysterious or at least test your patience. Most importantly, apparently, is that it isn’t something you should be able to pick and mix. Hah! This is where developing your own belief structure suddenly has advantages.

I discovered something that I am really comfortable with, though I don’t have a name for it, as this would detract from its strength, and simply turn it into Yet Another Religion; a category, a name, the word you put on the form when you’re asked your Religion. If you really forced the issue and I had to hang a label, I would hesitatingly and reluctantly call it the Universe.

Suddenly science and belief philosophies start to sensibly meld into one. Everything is connected. The universal interrelatedness. Whatever you would like to label the focus of your belief, God, Allah, Ahura Mazda, Ain-Soph-Aur, and so on, is the collection of all components, particles, atoms or bits of matter (or anti-matter) – I don’t really mean tiny components like the bits of sand you get in sandwiches on holiday in Margate, but I know you understand where I’m coming from.

Physicists already know this. Material objects dissolve into patterns of probable interconnections. Suddenly a particle is no longer an independent entity, but a collection of relationships that reaches outward in an unbroken web to encompass all dimensions of the universe.

This is why, in quantum physics, it is not possible to measure an experiment without affecting the experiment itself. The act of observation changes the object of measurement.

The world thus appears as a complicated tissue of events, in which connections of different kinds alternate or overlap or combine and thereby determine the texture of the whole

W. Heisenberg – Physics and Philosophy

I suppose a big chunk of my personal belief comes from Mahayana Buddhism, because itself is a eclectic bundle of teachings; of course the inseparable nature of philosophy and religion naturally leads any seeker toward Zen and its delightful, paradoxical, in-your-face sensibility. Two hands clap and there is a sound. What is the sound of one hand?

Old pond
A frog jumps
The sound of water

Matsuo Bashō – 1686

A lot of the flavour in my belief also arrived via Raja Yoga. Raja Yoga aims at controlling all thought-waves or mental modifications. It was, in fact, during the study of this I had my first out of body experience!

All of this goes a little bit toward explaining the butterfly flapping its wings in a jungle in Brazil causing a tornado off the coast of Florida – I did say a little bit.

Well, anyway, try to imagine that everything is interconnected, and has an effect on everything else. At a more discrete level, our moods can cause an effect on those around us, our anger and fears and can cause dangerous ripples of negative emotion to wash over people and things in our immediate vicinity, and of course pass that on to people and things in its immediate vicinity, and cascade away to touch everything else on the planet, and outwards into the Universe, obviously in a diluted way. Likewise, positive emotion, love, happiness can have the same effect of being passed on almost indefinitely and create waves, or ripples, of positive emotion.

This may even be a “Theory of Everything”. It would explain why astrology seems to work, how we sometimes think the same things as people we are tuned into – think about it.

Animals sense this effect really well, they are more sensitive than us humans. We have been desensitized by generations of sex and drugs and rock and roll. Lovely.

Even plants have this ability. It might have been Lyell Watson (New Age Scientist) who talked about a room of plants reacting to someone who walked into the room who had earlier been in and violently smashed and trampled one of the plants – the plants remembered, or sensed. The experiment had hooked the plants up to sensitive instruments to measure subtle electrical changes. It was a while ago when I read this, it’s possible I have paraphrased or misquoted this beyond all vestiges of original content – well, why not – but you get the drift.

Finally, a most important ingredient in this New Religious Construct is tolerance. I have discovered that tolerance is a real alternative emotion. Don’t get angry, get tolerant. Developing tolerance, I suppose, is the bit I mentioned before where some part of your religion must be painful or test your patience. But at least I’m not asking you to believe in a virgin birth.

Anyway, looks like we have run out of time again. Maybe more on tolerance (and anger management) another time.

 

Saturday afternoon in Central Switzerland. It has been an unusual weekend, so far, but lately, many weekends have been a bit unusual.

Come to think of it most weekdays are a bit screwy too. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things relative, that would make today normal. So perhaps I should begin instead by saying it has been a normal weekend (even though it hasn’t). More on this later.

The weather was spectacular, wall to wall blue sky and glorious sunshine. Snow covered mountains sparkling white against a polarized azure backdrop – simply breathtaking. Not that I got to see much. I spent most of the weekend in my basement office, trying to clear a backlog of issues that just can’t wait anymore.

snow

Somewhere along the rock strewn path that has been this weekend, I managed to stumble into the last three verses to a poem I’ve been trying to finish for a while. This one is called the Power of Love. I started it about seven months ago it was inspired by someone close to me, maybe you will feel or hear that in the words. I thought it might make a refreshing change to write something positive, and inspirational. In fact it is very positive compared to the last one, Unrequited Love, which was an attempt to convey the gut wrenching feelings you get at the end of a one sided relationship. You got all the way there, and you finally discover that it’s only you that has the feelings. If you know what I mean, you’ll know what I mean. You do know what I mean don’t you?

You start drinking neat Vodka from the freezer and every time you think of them you puke, or maybe gag, in the pain of hollowness and loss, and it’s made even worse when you realize that the other person is probably out with their mates having a good time, and you are the last thought in their mind – which is exactly what you should be doing, and not having your head down the bowl of the toilet. You are so convinced you will never get over it; sometimes you don’t, but mostly you do. I think it all depends on how close and perfect you thought it was. Of course, it has nothing to do with how much vodka you drink or how much you puke. But for incurable romantics, it is a pattern that repeats itself until you find your perfect partner, or overdose on vodka. And that’s all I have to say about that. Except that it could be that incurable romantics may possibly place themselves in positions to make sure that they remain incurable romantics. I mean how can you write poems about unrequited love all of your life if you don’t keep going out and having failed relationships – something to think about though.

This new poem (The Power of Love) had it’s foundation in the once in a lifetime discovery that you have found your perfect partner, your soul mate; the successful result of the quest for perfect harmony between you and a partner, a best friend, actually slightly more than a best friend. This may sound like a load of romantic bollox, but I happen to believe it’s true, well, it can be true. But then I’m a hopeless romantic.I guess it comes close to what you might call a religious experience, I don’t think I’ve had one of those, so I’m only guessing.

Sometimes, unfortunately, I suppose it can be like part of a 1000 piece jigsaw you’re looking for, the colours are all in the right places, the images seems to line up, but it just doesn’t quite fit. I think it’s possible to find the perfect person that harmonizes with you, but they are not quite ready to recognize it yet.

Of course, from a philosophical point of view, you could postulate that if the person doesn’t recognize it, and they are not ready, then it’s not the perfect person, is it?

Anyway, I guess from a purely logical, un-emotive view, there are many points of measurement. Maybe you’ve come across them. Saying the same things at the same time, having the same taste in music, having many things in common, hobbies and so on. On top of all of this can be the comfort you feel in their presence. I reckon a good rule of thumb is this: if you can sit in the same room together, doing something different, and just appreciating each others company, it’s the Real Thing.

When it happens, you know it, and if the Universe has got it right, you are on track for an amazing experience. Sometimes to get it kick started you have to put in some effort though, and never give up, you will be rewarded. Here’s a tip though, tell the truth. When they say “Do you mind if I clip my nails in bed”, don’t say yes if you don’t mean it, that is definitely a foundation for failure (and the clippings stick in your back in the middle of the night).

Mostly though, we always sell ourselves short. We make do with the inadequacies or shortcomings of our partners, or overcompensate for our own inadequacies – we turn a blind eye to those annoying habits that we really don’t like but don’t want to say anything in case the person takes offence and leaves. We get the fear upon us that if this happens, it will be the kiss of death in romantic terms. They will leave and you will never find another partner again – irrational? Of course, but hey, that’s how love works. It’s a Class A drug that you can get anytime anywhere. Notice I didn’t say it was for free…? Yes, that’s right, to seriously paraphrase Mr E, there are no free lunches. Coming down from love can be worse than the worst cold turkey you could imagine. And here we are back at the ice cold vodka.

Swiss time is running out, so let me leave you with this quote from Robert H Schuller, one of my favourites, kind of inspires you to never give up trying: “I’d rather attempt to do something great and fail than to attempt to do nothing and succeed.” Pretty good eh?

OK, ’til the next time. Ciao!

© 2011 Designed by Roger