Island of Spirits

Crete is a mountainous land and the usually dormant volcanoes of this island have carved a treacherous terrain for the motorist, even if the goats thrive. Obviously, the roads must go over the top to get to the other side, and if you want to travel to anywhere else from the beach it generally means climbing to the top of the peaks. I took one such journey from Chania on the northwest coast to Fragocastello on the southern edge of the island, where a magnificent rocky shore, with its coral reefs and undersea wrecks awaits adventurous swimmers and divers.
 

It was an eventful drive but well worth the effort. Although I loved being in Chania, having made friends with some of the locals (even those who had come from France or Sweden) and enjoyed the stunning ancient town with its magnificent harbour, I wanted to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life. I couldn’t have chosen a better place, as I reached a peaceful oasis of calm that was so far removed from the highlife of the more touristic towns in the north that even the short time there soothed the spirit in a splendid sea of tranquillity.

Fragocastello is haunted. Legend has it that the dead roam these parts on a schedule. Every year on May 17^th the spirits of the soldiers who were slaughtered defending this outcrop against the Turks over a hundred years ago, come up out of the sea and make their way to the castle in ghostly procession that is anticipated by the locals with flowers and prayers of remembrance. I didn’t get to see the phantoms approach, but there are plenty of other spirits around to keep everyone entertained throughout the long night’s wait for the spectres of the past to rise.

The sunsets and sunrises are amazing and unlike in the UK you actually get to see them both happen with regularity. Many of the buildings, like my place in Turkey, are solar powered – that’s a welcome source of renewable energy that makes one feel okay about plugging in the pc while having the lights on.

If you get the opportunity, try visiting Crete. If your spirit needs a boost and you have an interest in history and culture as well as the obvious sun, sea and sand and simply desire a ‘get away’ from the routine, it’s like discovering light at the end of the tunnel. 

There’s a lot to do and see (I’ll feature a few of the sights here soon), the people are welcoming and friendly, the nightlife is superb and let’s face it, their economy could do with a boost. Oh, when you see Corrine and Maria, tell them I sent you.

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Back On Top of the Mountain

Due to so many commitments over the past couple weeks I haven’t really had time to write for the Blog, but today being Father’s Day I’ve been given the occasion to relax and mention a few places I’ve been recently. However, I promise to begin the new format soon and hopefully share with you all some interesting thoughts and photos of remarkable places to visit. From Scotland to Turkey and Greece to California I hope to inspire a little of that sense of adventure and excitement I get when travelling around new places to see wonderful art and encounter historical sites, or trying new foods and meeting fascinating people. Because I’ve been back in the UK I’ve been terribly busy, but getting out and about is also a requirement.

English summer weather can be a serene pleasure or a complete nuisance, but it’s nothing if not changeable. The weather is mild by comparison with the Mediterranean coast, but it can’t be relied on; one moment it’s warm and sunny and then suddenly thunderclouds roll in to shower the hills and vales with a rain that keeps everything green. A famous saying about British weather is that there can be all four seasons in a day, and it’s true, one can wake up to sunshine and clear skies and blustery winds or a damp mist can quickly give the bones a chill. But the weather in Britain is a constant source of conversation. This is a busy week in England, with Wimbledon beginning tomorrow, and the summer solstice approaching, bringing the inevitable festivals, the calendar of events is upon us.

With prehistoric shrines and places as religiously significant as Salisbury, Wiltshire is a county laden with historical importance. When I lived in the heart of this area, halfway between Avebury, with its magnificent standing rocks in a series of elevated rings and the mysterious site of Stonehenge, with its world-renowned puzzle of solstice aligned monoliths, I began to consider the essential balance between tourism and protection.

Although these monuments belong to everyone, as we are all recipients of this veiled knowledge, there is a real need to ensure future generations benefit from the experience of connectedness to ancestral sites and every year this week it seems there is the argument of who determines access to these hallowed places.

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England’s green & pleasant Land

~ William Blake ~

According to tradition, when Jesus was a child Joseph of Arimethea brought him to Glastonbury on a trading mission, and that the Holy Grail, the cup the Christ drank from during the Last Supper, was transported to England following the crucifixion and is buried in a mound at this site. People outside of England may find it interesting to know that there are still those who claim to be Druids and, dressed in robes and pointed hats, demand right of entry to these sacred sites in order to perform ancient rites to the sun, obviously without the actual sacrificial virgin.

From the Vale of Avalon and Glastonbury with its regular summer festival, now a huge business enterprise pulling in hundreds of thousands of people seeking an alternative outlet from their mundane office jobs, to the Lake District with its water sports facilities and quaint cottages that rent for hundreds of pounds a week, England’s countryside mythology has inspired generations of artists, storytellers and musicians to create a unique cultural identity in keeping with the legends of King Arthur and Robin Hood.

Travelling across this island nation, regardless of the time of year, is a worthwhile experience that enriches the soul with culture and a sense of personal and shared history. As bumblebees sample the flavour of elderflower, before it's made into a tasty wine or fizzy drink, and elderly women exercise loyal retrievers along gravel paths, the fragrance of fresh blooming wildflowers in glorious understated colours adds a storybook quality to villages that still revel in the imagery of folklore. Of course, returning to Derbyshire has provided me a great location from which to explore the central England countryside.

Rambling through the meadows and climbing the tors and dales followed by lunch in an ancient rural pub is truly English culture at its most traditional. Nowhere is this more revered than in the heart of the region that gave birth to the industrial revolution. Overlooking the mills and factories in this textile rich area the Heights of Abraham cable cars that remind us of the beginnings of modern machine power provide a stunning view across the fertile land that was once the main source of so much of the world’s economic growth.

The lofty summits above the Derwent Valley are an excellent vantage point from which to look down on over 2000 years of human history, from ancient stone circles to medieval castles and Victorian workhouses. The wide-open spaces and protected woodlands of this idyllic region are a wonderful place for family holidays as well as discovering the character of pastoral England.

The vibrancy of the arts and crafts community that continues to operate throughout this district gives rise to galleries and museums of the highest quality. From Buxton, where the mineral water is sparkling and crisp, to Nottingham with its fabulous new urban gallery space, the arts are alive and well. From Ashbourne, the town that claims to have invented the gingerbread man, to Wirksworth with its annual festival of modern art, middle England definitely has its finger on the pulse of current fashions in fine and crafts.

It has been a sincere delight to spend time back in this land, seeing a few friends for lunch and visiting family made tolerating the weather a fair trade, and yes I did manage to find some different chocolates – for purely experimental purposes of course. However, with the reason for the visit being my son’s operation it was also a bit stressful and hectic at times, though all credit to the surgeon and anaesthetist who were understanding and approachable, making it easier to handle the obvious fears of any parent in this situation. Of course, he still managed to remind me in a humorous way that it was Father’s day and I wouldn’t have expected any less from either of them – they didn’t disappoint!

Personally, although I’ve never been one for these recently invented card-giving holidays I’d like to see it become ‘Parent’s Day’ or ‘person who helps you grow up and become a great adult’ day or something similar because I think each provider of support and love and encouragement is worthy of recognition without the necessary gender or biological role specification. Then again, it’s wonderful to have two great sons who love and respect my place in their lives, and to know I mean as much to them as they do to me. I hope everyone’s day was as great as mine.

Now, as I head back off by myself to the blue sky I know another adventure awaits before I return to this rainy little island. It's always a bit frightening travelling by oneself to culturally different places but I look forward to the challenge of a new land where I expect to see more old friends and meet new ones. I have many half-written Blog entries to complete and as I make the changes to the structure I’ll share them with you but, if you would prefer to join me you know how to reach me. Drop me some sincerity. Or, would you rather dream of living than be living the dream?

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Food, Glorious Food ..

Or, A Steak Through Your Heart

It’s National Vegetarian Week! So, here are a couple scary anecdotes from eating abroad and that wonderful mix of substances we often take for granted .. and some stuff for the cynically inclined ..

A few months ago while staying with a group of Kurdish university students I was treated to a homemade meal called çiğ köfte (pronounced chi koftey) that they organized especially for my visit. I arrived with a friend, the only one amongst the group who spoke conversational English, and after changing into the slippers I was offered at the door and ritually washing, sat on the floor alongside several others who had gathered for the feast.

In the middle of the beautiful woven carpets that covered the floor was a large silver tray the size and shape of an extra large deep pan pizza dish with a sharply corrugated bottom. One of the men poured a bag of bulgur wheat grain similar to couscous into the pan, and after adding a little water began the lengthy time-consuming rolling and kneading the grain into a lump of pasty dough.

 

Although language presented a barrier to complex discussion it was still possible to enjoy each other’s company, and with my few words of Turkish and their smattering of English we managed to exchange opinions on the televised football match, establishing common ground while awaiting the evening meal. Oh yes, they attempted to teach me some Kurdish, telling me it was easier for English speakers to learn than Turkish because it was of the Indo-European family of languages, but quite frankly it was far too difficult to grasp more than a few words intelligibly, although they continued to prompt me to little avail.

It was fascinating to watch the process of food preparation unfold whilst being offered tea from a large urn with extraordinarily long spout and hand-rolled tobacco from the family farm to smoke. After the grain was readied into a ball of the correct consistency our cook unrolled a hefty bag of meat and added it to the mixture. Well, for those of you who don’t know, I have not eaten meat for about 27 or 28 years, and this was a little disconcerting. I had previously dined with Turkish friends and been served only vegetarian food, so expected this to be the same type of fare. However, they reminded me that Kurds consider themselves a culturally distinct group who try to maintain their own traditions in spite of suppression by the majority, and this was a traditional celebratory dish.

Being adaptable, and accepting what appeared to be inevitable I casually inquired what kind of meat was being put into the pan. I was informed, with amusing animal noises (once we differentiated between the sound a goat makes and a sheep makes) that it was ground lamb fresh from the farm, and that it would take about half an hour to mix the two ingredients into a perfect blend. Everyone was happy I was interested in the particularities of their exceptional regional dish and cheerfully began setting places around the vast carpet. Incredibly long lettuce leaves, cucumber, tomato and lemon slices and wonderful warm pita bread platters were laid out.

Pots of chilli peppers, onions, stewed tomatoes and tabasco sauce and a bag of indeterminate aromatic spices were brought out and the cook began to carefully measure these ingredients into the pan as he continued to roll and shape the mixture. After achieving the balance he was seeking, he set about pushing the concoction around the ridged pan with a ferocious pressure for another twenty or so minutes until he appeared happy with the texture.

He began shaping the huge ball into individual size portions so I took the opportunity to ask how it was to be cooked, whether the meat was fried in oil or placed in the oven.

 

After an attempt at translation the cook and I were still baffled with each other, when one of the other men began pointing to the chillis and saying, ‘this cook’ and I finally grasped the concept. The lamb, he was telling me, heated while rolling in the peppers – the acidic chemistry of the hot chillies interacting with the meat to ‘cook’ it and kill the bacteria in this 'clean meat' to a safe level for ingestion while adding that unique spicy flavour. Yes, I was staring at my first meal of raw minced lamb.

The banquet began in earnest. The correct way to eat çiğ köfte is to roll the meat/grain substance into a rough sausage shape insert it into a large lettuce leaf, squeeze on some lemon juice and enjoy. I felt ill knowing that I would have to be polite and eat this unusual but lovingly prepared dish; needless to say I did make an effort. Although I honestly had reservations about what I was doing to my body – after all, by Western standards, this was raw lamb. However, I felt explaining the concept of vegetarianism was going to be lost on these people in this setting, and it would be very impolite after they had gone to so much trouble especially for me.

I thought I could survive the taste if at least I could wash it all down with a large glass of water or maybe even a raki (local alcohol flavoured with aniseed), but that was not to be.

A huge jug of thick white liquid was produced and everyone, myself included, was poured a large glass of what I discovered was a stirred mixture of freshly cultured yoghurt and unprocessed salted ewe’s milk, called Ekşili ayran. It truly was one of the most unpleasant taste sensations I’ve ever endured; the tart acidic bubble of the yoghurt and the thick creaminess of the salted sour milk did little to alleviate the texture of uncooked ground lamb sliding down my unwilling throat, wrapped as it was in a lettuce leaf. Feel free to try this at home, but don’t blame me if you can’t find enough antibiotics or Pepto-Bismol for the week of stomach aches you’re likely to suffer.

I tell this story now because the 23^rd to the 29^th of May has been designated ‘Vegetarian Week’ in the UK, and I feel it is useful to illustrate the differences in culture and tradition that those of us who try to live without meat as a product in our lives must be aware of and tolerantly accept. These people don’t eat lamb because it is the only thing to eat, in fact they regularly eat more fruit and vegetables than I’ve ever seen anyone in the West eat, they eat it because they believe it necessary and it forms part of their ancestral and cultural heritage that defines their identity in a multiethnic society.

One evening after playing cards and talking had exhausted all of us (being the only true English speaker and continually searching for translations can be extremely draining after a while) I was asked if I would like some fruit. ‘Sure,’ I said, expecting the choice of an orange or a plum. A huge bowl of half a dozen varieties of fruit was procured from the kitchen, including oranges, melon slices, sweet yellow plums, an apple, two bananas and grapes as well as a few exotic fruits I didn’t immediately recognise. This bowl was placed before me and I assumed I was to help myself and pass it along.

As soon as I selected a juicy orange I offered the bowl toward a companion to my left, but it was waved away. Within seconds I understood as more dishes were brought through to where we sat on cushions. Each person was served with a massive bowl of fruit and soon everyone was eating grapes, bananas and oranges one after the other until the bowls were clear.

I was astonished and could not possibly eat all the food before me. I was chastised loudly if somewhat light-heartedly for not finishing everything – I had insulted my hosts by not eating like a pig. However, it was certainly better than actually eating a pig, or a just killed lamb.

People around the world have many different eating habits, but essentially we all need the same intake of nutrients in their basic chemical form. How we achieve the balance that maintains health is open to much debate. Personally, the above tale aside, I don’t eat meat – that is: mammals, but I do occasionally eat fish or other seafood and I'm fond of animal products such eggs, cheese and honey. This, naturally, makes me akin to a traitor to vegans and extreme vegetarians, however we all have our preferences and I feel justified in the choices I make, and make no apologies for my habits.

Many meat-eaters assume people who don’t partake of animal flesh lack protein or other basic nutrients. But, it's now widespread knowledge that proteins are found in greater quantities in some vegetables and pulses.

There are stricter vegetarians and vegans who claim it is possible to get their omega-3 (an essential mineral found in fish that builds our carbon-based bodies) from Soya. However, these people often overlook the fact that 93% of all US soy products (the world's largest producer of soy bean) now come from genetically modified or enhanced plants (created by the worldwide seed and chemical fertiliser corporation, Monsanto), and some of us would rather avoid this unnatural approach to farming with its potentially frightful effects on the human body and the earth’s eco-system.

As the example shows, deciding how to ethically and healthily approach our relationship to food is more complex than simply giving up animal products. How you and everyone else decide what is right depends upon a number of factors we must all consider when sitting down to a healthy and tasty meal. Where we live, and our personal effect on the environment is paramount. Because I live on the Mediterranean coast I choose a diet to support local farmers and producers that is rich in fresh vegetables and seafood; thank goodness I love olives and fruit and the natural healthy lifestyle associated with the local customs.

Generally I only partake of fish when eating out, as it is often the only reasonable option, or because I can’t see paying top dollar for a spinach pie I can make better at home, haha!). Others, in places where fish might not be available would obviously attempt to receive their nutrients from other sources, and I can respect that inevitability, however fast food enterprises that destroy rain forests and deplete the ozone layer to mass produce burgers are entirely unnecessary and quite irresponsibly are among the main culprits to our planet’s health and our own.

People often ask me why I gave up meat and what benefit I get from it, assuming that giving up pork chops means living on a boring diet of nuts and berries that leaves one skinny and pale. How very mistaken are the unenlightened. My own transition to a healthier more ethically balanced lifestyle took shape many years ago without the influence or assistance of anyone I knew, and the resistance and even anger I faced from family and some friends was extraordinary. I believed then as I do now that I made the right choice and that my own experience of food and its many varieties has improved dramatically by not relying on the Western staple of a slab of meat and two veg.

Although, it took several years before I had the ability to prepare as many different and varied meals as there are days in the week, now the availability of options (particularly in Europe and specifically in the UK where 10% of the population is vegetarian) seems almost endless. Recipes I learned by trial and error and my own research into different cultures over many years are now readily available in neighbourhood supermarkets and all over the Internet. It is easier than ever to make educated and healthy choices while expanding your diet to include previously unfamiliar delicious foods.

Even though many of the so-called ‘ethnic’ foods, Chinese and Indian for example, grew partially from religious considerations, many people in the West look at alternatives to meat for the sake of the environment, for personal health reasons or not wanting to be party to the slaughter of animals. So, if you want a few fun facts to share with your friends over that next relaxing coffee or pint of locally brewed ale to help them understand why people make the decision to give up eating meat, read on.

Vegetarians and pescatarians (people who eat fish but not meat) have 34% lower risk of heart disease; although vegans only have a 26% lower risk it is still significant for avoiding that potential heart attack. Livestock production is responsible for 70% of deforestation in Latin America with the typical meat eater’s diet needing two and a half times the arable land for sustenance than a vegetarian diet, and livestock animals are responsible for 20% of all greenhouse gasses and consume 8% of all drinking water (over 1 billion people in the world don’t have access to clean water with twice as many not having a decent standard of sanitation).

Additionally, cows and sheep are big global warmers; a single cow emits about 500 litres of methane a day, which has 25% times the impact of carbon dioxide.

Without boggling the reader with information, or getting up on my soapbox to proclaim the health statistics in attempt to convert anyone, let me remind you that eating healthier is good for your overall well-being and significantly reduces your personal carbon footprint – plus you get to eat loads of really tasty food you might not otherwise have tried.

Altogether it is a confusing and multifaceted subject that most people avoid in their daily lives, preferring instead to let others worry about how to feed them and meet their requirements of necessary nutrients.

This is a shared earth and we all have a responsibility to ensure that we continue to exist in harmony with our beautiful planet, because regardless of whatever we do to it, the earth will survive.

However, if we continue to consume and produce the way we do now, we humans may not be around to tell our grandchildren of the day we thought about our impact on the world and changed to a healthy meat-free lifestyle.

So, raise a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, or a smooth organic wine from nature’s own pleasant vines, and celebrate every day. Look to the earth for it’s best natural produce and feel better about yourself and the life you have ahead in balance with the environment and your neighbours; not only will you be a more socially conscious and ethically altruistic person, you’ll be happier and fitter than ever – and hey, we can all enjoy the benefits of healthy ecologically-minded living.

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If you want more information on this topic, or would like to investigate some of these facts for yourself, all of these facts and figures are available on the internet from many sources, but here’s a few links (I’m not associated with nor support any organisation, but you may) to help get you started with information and recipes:

http://www.nationalvegetarianweek.org/ http://www.vegetarianusa.com/  http://www.vegetariantimes.com/

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On the Eastern Front

Appendages of light traced lines along windswept acres of dune grass and reeds as a golden sun gently kissed the rippling sands of a lonesome beach on a sheltered cove. I sat on a lounge chair beneath the wooden awning and awaited sweet creamed coffee. An ancient fortune-teller approached and taking the seat beside me lifted her head to look into my eyes. The last cool blast of winter blew snow from the mountaintops and as a glowing shaft of morning sunshine pierced the shuttered blinds she pulled a fraying shawl around her shoulders, gripped my palm and sighed.

 

I read her thoughts as she examined my life through the touch of a delicate finger, criss-crossed paths and parallel creases that told her much about the past and so little of future events. I couldn’t give her the answers she sought, for whose life is truly in their hands? Are not mystics dressed in rags that offer us kingdoms at the drop of a hat simply another aspect of fairy tales, invented to amuse and teach? For the drop of a coin and a simple coincidental phrase, who would wish to see what is to be, or not to be?

What is past is history and what is yet to be is a mystery. Holidays come and go and while the rock was symbolically rolled away yet again, no trumpets blew announcement of a new dawn of transformation. Though even the least faithful painted eggs, lit candles and celebrated rebirth in the season that reminds us of the ambiguity in childhood stories, no revelation of heavenly kingdoms was unveiled. Here in the East the festivities, though familiar, are distinctive, and I was at least able to participate in an allegorical renaissance.

The streets were alive with bands and military parades, processions of icons through the older parts of the walled town and hundreds of devoted followers carrying candles and roses in sacramental tribute to the occasion.

Even the alleys had been washed with rose water on Good Friday in anticipation of the midnight pageant, and at least the scent was divine. In a holdover from the carnival that historically marks the end of the Lenten fast, onlookers threw lemon tree petals from balconies while children danced in traditional costume and a dozen priests carried crucifixes and paintings of saints through the tightly packed alleys that weave like a web through the old Venetian city.

Following the march past each church in the walled town, around the dockyards – an homage to its seafaring past, and the obligatory return to the central cathedral, everyone dispersed to restaurants and cafes around the harbour to dine on seafood and drink spirits in a toast to the day’s events. Lanterns were lit and music played as the celebrants danced the night away.

Local bistros came alive with joyful singing and even though there was another day of festivities before the resurrection was officially declared, the party had already started. My friend handed me a glass on arrival and with a shrug of one shoulder said with subtle French inflection, “hey, why not, it’s Easter.” And so the King would arise in true style.

Future kings and queens of many nations were out and about in a spectacular display of force in the UK this past week also as the ‘royal family’ held another of its ostentatious events designed to lighten the mood of perpetual world crisis and raise the British profile with global traders of retail and finance – oh yes, many millions will flow into the coffers as a result of this majestic façade, an exchange for the small price of a luxurious fantasy for a select few – and just in time for Christmas babies too. As wannabe celebrities bemoaned their lack of invite those with units secure in the stocks waved ceremoniously from regal carriages on the way to disco in the throne room after a family function of six hundred odd close friends shared bubbly and nibbles of the highest quality.

Tradition is wonderful when function serves interests of the age, the continuity of shared belief, and those whose vision of a moral system of political stratagem (at least on the surface) provide stability through times of crisis. However, those clinging to established structures for the sake of wielding rule must eventually loosen their grasp to allow a real meritocracy to flourish. Though a photo released by ‘the palace’ of the happy couple surrounded by a group of children is noteworthy by its implicit hint at a next wave of royalty waiting to come out. With all their privilege will they have the strength of character to make a positive difference to this world?

Whether the new generation of royals has a notion of the depth of significance their role assumes is yet to be seen. Only time will tell if those sacred vows exchanged ‘in the sight of God’ have meaning to followers obsessed with celebrity fashion. The media as information machine relegates experience quickly to the historic past as it lurches from one global catastrophe to the next, alienating us from the emotions that human interaction assume. We have become integrated as part of the machine and the machine never stops.

How long this public fascination with the pomp of ceremony lasts is a question for the future, and how long people will be entranced by the spectacle of new love is undetermined. We must reach out to others and remember that love is not a device to be reified along with social norms of care and comfort. Will these sovereign dignitaries reach for a significance beyond the pop-star image that fuels so much of today's culture, or be enamoured by the presence of their own importance as icons in the star-studded magazines read by an increasingly anaesthetised populous.

As the newlyweds drove off in the ethanol-converted sports car we could only wonder if their sanctification in the eyes of the world will usher in a new dawn of environmental and humanitarian compassion, a vision of an integral spirituality bolstered by the words of their sermon, or tighten and secure the partition that leaves some hungry while others seek equality with a passion for justice.

Dostoyevsky wrote a fine story within a story in The Brothers Karamazov about a character named ‘The Grand Inquisitor’ (such an impressive tale that Orhan Pamuk retells it as ‘The Grand Pasha’ in his novel The Black Book, setting it in Istanbul) who encounters Jesus during the Spanish Inquisition. The Inquisitor sees the Christ resurrect a young girl and immediately has him locked in a dungeon. He goes to speak with Him and tells Him that He is unwanted at this time, that the people are not capable of accepting His hope and faith in the Kingdom of God, that people are weak and need to be told what to believe.

The Inquisitor accepts that Jesus’ message would set people free, but reminds Him that people have no inclination to be free; though all are bound for hell at least they’ll have the comfort of security in this life through being relieved of the responsibility for truth and spiritual awareness, which demands a change of life that they are not strong enough to bear, like the cross Christ carried to His death. His Kingdom, the Inquisitor reminds Him, is not of this world, and people must be fed today or anarchy will reign supreme.

In true sacrificial fashion the Inquisitor accepts his own sin of deceiving the people, but also that he takes upon himself this burden for the greater good; ordinary people need something tangible to believe in, and the Church offers ‘bread and circuses’ to sustain the people through the suffering they endure in His name. After speaking the Inquisitor tells Jesus not return until his appointed hour, at which time the Christ kisses him and leaves.

It’s time to end my story here also; it’s time for me to move on. This part of my life is over and has served its purpose. This journey has been exhilarating at times and a genuine discovery, but as we all awake from the most pleasant of slumbers, it is time to rub the sleep from my eyes and renew conscious efforts to continue in other ways. I will continue to seek ways to explore an integrated vision of tomorrow, a future wherein we, as evolved from the earth but formed of the matter of the universe, can proclaim a unity and fellowship with every being toward a greater understanding of our potential.

 

I’ve never been one to believe in the circus as exemption from truth, but merely as another sideshow in the pageant of life, an illusion that only momentarily entertains with its necessary suspension of disbelief.

To me the wizard behind the curtain is merely a man, no man is a king but raises his honour to match virtue, and the royal opera is simply staged celebration of a fantasy others need to provide faith of power in a world where the truth has been hidden by the obscenity of wealth and personal revelation obscured by the constant barrage of false idols that clutter the airwaves. Fortune-tellers might interpret wrinkles or comprehend the movements of stars through lives, but our personal history is a narrative we are writing each day and the flame in our eyes is brighter than any distant fire.

My spirit is filled with a new purpose. I have things to do, places to go and people to meet, as they say. Although no one knows what the future will bring, it’s time I travelled without the baggage old dreams or future promises bring – occasionally our dearest desires come true and we can rejoice in the celebration that all in love is right and will be justified in the end, and other times that kiss is simply a betrayal that can never be forgotten.

I wish I could have lived the dream as I perceived it or as some believe it happened, but alas, all dreams are just the imagination of ideas that trick us into faith and faith is but the confidence to believe we can achieve what the heart desires and soul demands.

With a few new wrinkles to mark passing time, the glow of hope and the experience of having lived under golden palms will at least partially compensate for the patience of waiting to continue the journey through a life that has been on hold far too long. Over the past year kind words and thoughts, and a few nice photos have carried me through changing times; I sincerely thank those that have travelled hopefully with me.

As I watch the sun etch shadows across the contours in the sand I draw a line under this part of my life. The future for me will exist in a new format with different emphasis, but for now I give a wave to the beacon that guides me and a wink to the midnight sun as I say farewell and fly off the Edge of the Map ..

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