The Mystery of the Doves

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The Doves once again built a nest in the old yew and once more, I saw them, half-concealed in the boughs of the tree, protecting their nest night and day.

One morning, a dead fledgling lay on the path beneath the yew. It was a young Dove. I did not think it newborn but perhaps one who tried his wings for the first time and, failing to remember the lesson, plummeted to his death. I could be mistaken. it is possible that newborn Doves are larger than I realised and resemble the adults more than I thought they would.

After that, the Doves sat on the nest no more. It breaks my heart a little whenever a young life is snuffed out but, like Tennyson once wrote:

'Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life;

That I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear,

I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs
That slope thro' darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope.'

Even gathering dust and chaff, one must trust the 'larger hope'... and it is not only dust and chaff in any case. Each day there is cause for joy as well as pain. When I see one of the Cats chasing a toy, when not-so-little Cupid, my Kitten, licks my face in love, when I see a work of art that inspires me or read a passage in a book that is perfection itself... life is filled with small joys even when the pain and the losses are great.

'A Jar of Dirt'

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To me, as Winter approaches, when the Trees begin to lose their leaves and perennials die in order to sustain hidden life beneath the soil, the presence of a few living plants inside the house is a symbol of hope and life. Once, I would have assumed that every one felt the same, and that the sight of a thriving plant, whether or not it bore flowers, would excite feelings, if not of excitement, at least pleasure.

Plants in the house give benefits to human beings in terms of oxygen. I believe that they clean the air to some extent, recycling it. House plants are recommended by doctors for that reason. And yet, I was shocked to discover that there are those who look at a plant inside the house and simply see 'dirt'. 'Dirt' in this sense is not 'soil' but filth. To me, soil is not filth. It is the foundation of nature and the cradle of plant life.

Fuchsias may not survive a Winter of freezing temperatures. For that reason, I try to bring the Fuchsia into the house before the first frost. This year, I worried about the plants so much that I decided to bring them indoors a little earlier and was rewarded with new blooms. It gladdens my heart to see the flowering plant at a time when most of the plants in the garden are dying.

When I hear any one ranting against the presence of a living plant in the house, I think of Jack Sparrow in 'Pirates of the Caribbean' with his wonderful speech about his 'jar of dirt'. 'I have a jar of dirt!' he crowed ecstatically... The jar of dirt there was supposed to contain a living, beating heart. Dirt in itself is a living organism, even when not invested with fairytale magical significance. In fact, in times of desperation and starvation, human beings actually have survived temporarily on dirt.

Similarly, although ice and snow in Winter can be bitterly cold and difficult even for humans to survive, without Winter, leaves never would turn colour and fall from the trees. It is the anticipation of dying that lends extraordinary beauty to the Trees. Fallen leaves can be a nuisance in our gardens, but at the same time, they are Nature's exquisite tapestry, a declaration of the incredible variety that exists in plant life.

In Second Life, I often was a little disappointed in the predominance of tropical beaches and palm trees. Yes, warm beaches are lovely and they can give a welcome illusion of Summer to those who are experiencing Winter's grip in the real world, but to me, it is the change of seasons and the variety between the four Seasons that is most magical. The sight of a rocky cliff and evergreens hugging a wild Northern coastline is equally inspiring.

Perception can be a shield against the darkness or it can be a sword turned against the heart. Those who perceives house plants as nothing more than 'dirt' or 'filth', having no right to exist within the home, have chosen somehow to cut themselves off from life. They wage perpetual psychic war against Nature, against anything that threatens their control over the universe. That is what it has to be, the defence of a person who feels impotent all too often and who therefore takes his/her war to every object or entity that he/she has not chosen to allow in his/her world. The same person who raves against house plants is filled with incandescent hatred of squirrels and mice. Any 'rodent' is vermin, just as soil is 'filth'.

I have experienced an invasion of mice in the past that caused terrible havoc with my books and keepsakes but I do not hate them as a species even now. Were all human beings to declare unconditional war against 'rodents', Beatrix Potter never would have created her incredible world. How could one envision a world devoid of Peter Rabbit and Squirrel Nutkins? She had the imagination and love of Nature required to perceive the little 'invaders' into her realm as a source of creative inspiration.
Again, all a matter of perception.

Evocation and Hope: For me or for you?

When I saw Peter Jackson's first installment in the epic 'Lord of the Rings', I realised that Tolkien had been captured in film for me. There were discrepancies, of course. I had not envisioned the elves as embracing Art Deco fashions, nor was my vision of many of the characters, especially Galadriel, that of the actors who played the parts. Ultimately, it did not matter. He brought Middle Earth to life and now, childhood visions of the books are interwoven with Peter Jackson's epic film inextricably.

I found the following video on YouTube. Perhaps it will mean nothing to some one who never saw the film or whose soul does not resonate to it. That brings me to the oft-asked question: why do I write these posts? Is it a journal for myself, placed on the internet as a substitute for creating more stacks of papers in my room or is it for others?

Writers always have kept journals. Non-writers always have kept journals. One of the attractions of the 'web log' is the fact that there is a kind of in-built editing device. The fact that others CAN read the posts prevents too much self-indulgence and the divulgence of too many personal 'secrets' perhaps. One hopes that it forces the writer to be a little more interesting and a little less self-obsessed than otherwise.

When I watched this video, I understood that it had been made by an individual with as much emotion vested in Tolkien and 'Lord of the Rings' as I. It is not only the images themselves or the song, but the emotions that are evoked by them that invest the video with power. Like the bare image of a crucifix nailed to a wall, the images from 'Lord of the Rings' remind fans of the intense moments in the tale. We are reminded of the 'last stand' of the forces of good against the forces of evil. We are reminded of the extraordinary courage and devotion of Eowyn and the heroism at the Black Gate. We are reminded that there are causes that transcend our messy little lives...

An editorial in a local newspaper recently discussed a scam that is being perpetrated mainly against the elderly. It is a letter that contains a 'prayer rug' made of paper with an image of the Christ upon it. Follow the instructions and the eyes of Jesus are supposed to open, purportedly to show that HE is listening to your prayer and will answer it. Like many religious scams, the letter asks for 'seed money' and any money sent by some bizarre process of osmosis will yield fruit in the form of your wish come true.

Obviously, it is nothing more than a very old scam designed to obtain money under false pretenses... As I thought about it, however, it occurred to me that what is being marketed here may not be a complete fraud. It is HOPE. Every 'expert' in the human psyche will acknowledge the power of the Will and the power of 'mind over matter'. If a person BELIEVES, surely that is a potent weapon in his/her arsenal. The aesthetic portion of my soul decries the thought of a paper 'prayer rug' with an image of the Christ with eyes that open and shut, but what difference would it make to any one who believes in its efficacy and changes his/her actions to make the wish come true. I am not speaking here of the 'seed money' aspect of the scam but of the actions of the subconscious that could begin to work towards the fulfillment of the dream.

It is a great pity that some individuals will rely on the tawdry imagination of a scam artist to produce Hope for them but is the Hope itself negative or positive? Without hope, we become paralysed. On the other hand, the capitalist philosophy that brainwashes us into believing that one can place a monetary price on everything, including hope, is corrupt at its core in my view. Yet people do appear foolishly to value items that cost them dearly more than those that are free or inexpensive.

Recently, a study was made that involved wine connoisseurs. They were given a number of different wines to 'taste' with the price of each. The same wines were offered twice with two different price tags. Inevitably, the majority of 'tasters' chose the most expensive as the 'best', even though the same wine was offered with a far lower price attached to it! So much for the power of the mind and the inability to recognise intrinsic value if the market does not act as our guide!

Perhaps it is appropriate to address these issues today on Ash Wednesday. Last year, I devoted my posts to festivals and wrote about the festivals that occur at this time of year. Although the Islamic calendar is lunar rather than solar, 'Ashura this year occurred very near the season of Lent again. Many of the festivals that occur in January and February are devoted to sacrifice and rebirth, encouraging the soul to have faith in the light through the last dark months of Winter.

I never disliked Winter. I find it incredibly beautiful, especially in the North where snow falls and there is a very clear distinction between the trees that lose their leaves and the eternal evergreens. Were the trees not to be denuded of their 'garments', the magic of Spring could not exist, when every tree is clothed anew. The bright buds and leaves unfurl and the stark outlines of the branches are decorated with an incredible display of rich form and colour. Nature long ago taught us about 'fashion' in her rule over the seasons. Spring is glorious only because Winter paves the way...

Is it not enough for us to pay attention to Nature itself in order to obtain the Hope we need? Is not the sight of the first snowdrop far more potent than a paper 'prayer rug' with a religious image imprinted on it? Would not a real seed planted in the soil in autumn be far more potent than 'seed money' sent to a con artist?

In urban landscapes, it is far too easy to lose our natural direct connection to the land. It is possible in ANY place, however, to keep a plant in a pot. In Iran, the small plants that are cultivated for Nawroz are such, immediate proof of rebirth. They are the descendants of the ancient Adonis plants and like them, fragile but fast-growing, destined for a brief but showy life and ultimately to be thrown into the sea or river, a sacrifice of life FOR life.

In 'Lord of the Rings', I find all the eternal messages of hope and steadfastness and above all else, recognition that Self is less ultimately than the causes that transcend Self. The fate of the world is far more important than the individual fate of any human or animal... It is only when we forget this that we actually LOSE our courage and turn inward to a vision that is finite and ultimately lacks any future.

If we remember that we are part of the Earth, we cannot die wholly. If our hearts beat in unison with the great heart of Nature, then we live forever. I do believe in an 'afterlife' or 'hereafter' but even without that, we are part of THIS earth and THIS life after our bodies decay and are consumed by the earth. Moreover, those artists like Tolkien who create visions that capture the imagination of millions live forever in their work. True immortality may be that which inspires others from generation to generation.



'May It Be' Lord of the Rings and Enya

May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you;

May it be when darkness falls,
Your heart will be true.

You walk a lonely road...
Oh! How far you are from home.

Mornie utúlië (Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way.
Mornie alantië (Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now.

May it be the shadow's call
Will fly away;
May it be you journey on
To light the day.

When the night is overcome,
You may rise to find the sun.


Mornie utúlië (Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornie alantië (Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now.

A promise lives within you now.

The Futures that never Were

William Gibson has to be one of the most brilliant thinkers and writers of our age. 'Neuromancer' in particular blew me away when I read it. Most novels can be read effortlessly and one never has to ponder a sentence or an image. If one chooses to slow down, to reread or to pause simply to savour a beautifully crafted sentence or an exquisitely framed landscape, it is a matter of choice rather than necessity.

William Gibson is one of the few novelists who write prose that forces me sometimes to stop briefly and reread a sentence, because of the intricacy and depth of some of his concepts and descriptions. That is not to say that he writes deliberately convoluted prose or ostentatiously crafts obscure words and images into a tortured form. There are writers who do and I abhor them. Gibson is a consummate storyteller whose images are crisp and unforgettable and whose concepts always have been on the cutting edge of reality or beyond. Even so, his sheer brilliance can necessitate a pause to think carefully about a sentence he has written once in awhile.

This is above and beyond the ordinary pauses and rereading of a phrase or paragraph from admiration and delight of the skill of a wordsmith. Gibson forces me to use my brain. He challenges me a little, and that always is a thrill. There are thousands of books that challenge me intellectually or academically, but they are non-fiction, technical treatises for the most part in one arcane subject or another. For a novelist to be able to challenge the mind in such a fashion while managing to create a fast-paced exciting tale has to be one of the ultimate literary achievements.

For an individual like myself who tends to try to ignore the writer behind the work for the most part, I have been reading quite a few interviews with favourite writers recently, all quite by accident, I have to admit.

William Gibson, in an interview about his most recent novel declared:

'I'm sure I must have readers from 20 years ago who are just despairing of the absence of cyberstuff, or girls with bionic fingernails. But that just the way it is. All of that stuff reads so differently now. I think nothing dates more quickly than science fiction. Nothing dates more quickly than an imaginary future. It's acquiring a patina of quaintness even before you've got it in the envelope to send to the publisher.'

When asked if his shift in writing were due to less current interest in imagining a future world on his part or the change in the actual world, he responded:

'I think it's actually both. Until fairly recently, I had assumed that it was me, me being drawn to use this toolkit I'd acquired when I was a teenager, and using my old SF toolkit in some kind of attempt at naturalism, 21st-century naturalistic fiction. But over the last five to six years it's started to seem to me that there's something else going on as well, that maybe we're in what the characters in my novel Idoru call a 'nodal point,' or a series of them. We're in a place where things could just go anywhere. A couple of weeks ago I happened to read Charlie Stross's argument as to why he believes that there will never, ever be any manned space travel. It's not going to happen. We're not going to colonise Mars. All of that is just a big fantasy. And it's so convincing. I read that and I'm like, 'My god, there goes so much of the fiction I read as a child.'

I always perceived science fiction as prophecy to some extent and writers like Philip K. Dick and William Gibson have been truly prophetic in describing a series of futures that have merged into our present reality in the early 21st century.

For all the true depictions of the future, there are as many if not more false futures in the realm of science fiction. On the other hand, it is only in one way that they are false. Even if humanity never colonises Mars in reality, the history of Mars' colonisation has been a long one in literature and film and that has become a part of our collective unconscious for better or worse. In the same way that the vampire culture has been founded and built upon generations of literary and cinematic imaginings to coalesce finally into what amounts almost to accepted 'fact' in terms of their history, habitat, food sources and relationship to darkness and light, there is another Mars that exists apart from the planet that rotates in our skies.

Humanity builds as much upon its fantasies as its realities. Science takes as many leaps by way of imagination's stepping stones as any novelist and although it is the job of Science to fill in the gaps ultimately, very often the pioneers who took those initial leaps were writers of fiction.

Yes, there is a 'patina of quaintness' when we read an old science fiction novel that attempted to depict our contemporary culture and we focus on the little discrepancies and absurdities... but how much of what we live and breathe was conceived initially and brought into being by a vision like that?

Tolkien always averred that he simply rediscovered the 'lost' culture of the British Isles, that what he wrote was not fiction as much as a reconstruction of the myths and tales that would have thrived were it not for the influence of foreign invasions.

What is history after all but the remembrances and prejudices of many individuals painted on a fragile skeleton of 'fact'? How many actors and politicians have become an image fleshed out by the media, the realities of their lives compressed and ultimately lost beneath a weight of popular pseudo-facts that are created over the course of time about any public figure?

'We're in a place where things could just go anywhere,' Gibson declared. How much technological advancement can there be before our species or Nature wipes it all out in some cataclysmic event? Is there a point beyond which our collective stability cannot be trusted, a point at which our weapons outrun our defences, whether in the area of 'weapons of mass destruction', 'biological warfare' or some natural or mutated 'Black Death' or 'AIDs' type of plague?

The 'end of the world' always is floating at the edge of human consciousness. The end of our individual world is death but the end of an era is an end of the world in a way to those who knew a certain way of life. Thus, each new technological revolution marks the end of a world. Mechanisation has put an end to many worlds, from horse-drawn transport to handwritten communications. There always have been those who have believed that mechanisation was not a movement forward but backwards in terms of human philosophy, value and ethics.

The phoenix rises from the ashes of its own pyre. Change both is destruction and the agent of creation. It is possible, of course, that we will continue to advance in technological terms, that we will find replacements for our fragile, human cases or 'live' ultimately in worlds like Second Life that have been fashioned by machines and our minds while our bodies rest quiescent in coffin-like beds all over the globe.

And yet... even in this age, the drive within us to return to Nature is strong. 'Organic' fruits and vegetables, meat untainted by hormones, water that has not been processed... it is not simply a whim on the part of the rich for that which is rare. It is something quite fundamental within us that responds to our roots. Those who long have dreamed of a world where Nature no longer figures as a force will find it difficult to erase humanity's need for our ancient Mother even if we somehow overcome our tendencies towards self-destruction.

Incidentally, for those who may be interested in the intersection of worlds, I have posted a brief video of William Gibson's appearance in Second Life as well as his own opinions of the virtual reality in Second Life. You will find it on my Second Life page at:

William Gibson and Second Life