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  • beulah888 3:18 PM on February 1, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , Truth, Weather, Wind,   

    A New Wind Is Blowing 

    A New Chapter has begun.  It began with me moving on.  Now, even more settled into my new life in this part of the world, away from cold and ‘dark’, I feel a ‘New Wind’ blowing.

    A New Wind is blowing.  It is a cleansing, friendly, comforting wind.  It is a sweet, scented wind.  It is more than a breeze but not blustery.  It is gentle, sure, refreshing, and uplifting.  This augurs well for this new chapter.

    The prelude done, the wind blows…blows and blows and blows and blows….away… the cobwebs…

    dscn0083

    the unnatural darkness…the gloom.  The clouds disperse.

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  • beulah888 9:19 AM on December 5, 2013 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Alejandro Morales-Loaiza, caption, , Death stalks, Egypt, Grief Loss and Bereavement, , John Donne, Photo credit, Rest, Sleep, St Anthony, Truth, Twilight Zone, Walking-Dead,   

    Death Life And The Twilight-Zoners 

    Still-Life with a Skull, vanitas painting.

    Still-Life with a Skull, vanitas painting. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    St Antony of Egypt

    St Antony of Egypt (Photo credit: Lawrence OP)

    Death stalks Hackney like a plague.  A Carriage carrying Death to every door is abroad on the streets and lanes and walks and byways.   It is covered in a cloud and cloaked in a cloak; but the cloud is the deceiver.

    La Muerte | Death | La Mort

    La Muerte | Death | La Mort (Photo credit: Alejandro Morales-Loaiza)

    Hackney, London, has given me nothing but grief, so I am pleased to see it get its comeuppance.   Grieved and grief-stricken may those that struck me be.

    How could someone live in a place for over six years and have no-one nearby on whom that person would feel free to call upon for assistance in an emergency?   I figure it is because those that live nearby are not neighbours.  Or friends.  One would call upon neighbours or friends.  Or even good strangers.   So if that person does not feel free to call upon those nearby, then it must be because that person knows (not feels, thinks or surmises) that those nearby are not going to be of assistance.  Does the Butcher save the pig when it squeals?  Can an enemy or foe give you comfort?  Would the Usurer relieve you in your debt?

     

    Death.  A panacea to many.

     

    Life a threat to some.

     

    Some fear Life more than Death.  They have their heads on backwards; are backward facing even as they walk backward, thinking they are facing forward.  Not seeing where they are going, only noting where they have trespassed.  Hoping that by so doing they will not have to face the reality of their transgression.

     

    Life is about forward movement.  About upliftment.  Death is a finality of that.  So the walking zombies, inhabited by bats and vermin and the bugs of death, cannot bear to face Life.  They therefore walk backwards less they stumble upon the truth.  If they try to walk forward then they are forever looking backward, peeping over their shoulders in fear that someone, something, will recognize them for the frauds they are.  They are afraid of the Truth.  That Life is greater than Death.  That the place they belong to is less than a no-man’s land.  And perchance they fall back into the void from whence they came, they pretend to know where they are going, pretend not to care, and turn their back.  But the Truth is there before and behind them.  The truth being that they are a Lie.

     

    They have no future, nothing to look forward to.  Nothing behind them that has not gone on before.  That is past.

    Their future is their past and their past their present.  Hence they have no real present and no future. Therefore, how can they be?

     

    So whichever way they go or turn they are in an eternal never-land.

     

    Twilight-zoners.    The ‘Walking-Dead’.

     

    Eye death

    Eye death (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

     

     

     

     

     

     

    DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee
    Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
    For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
    Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
    From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
    Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
    And soonest our best men with thee do go–
    Rest of their bones and souls’ delivery!
    Thou’rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
    And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
    And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
    And better than thy stroke. Why swell’st thou then?
     One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
     And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!

       “Death” by John Donne

     
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