Chewing on metaphors!

SYDNEY HARBOUR BRIDGE

There is something about metaphors that make me go into a metamorphosis state of a mind filled with a kaleidoscope of words rather than colours. Almost like a jigsaw puzzle that is done upside down and one only sees the true and real picture when the puzzle is turned the right way round and then displays all its glory and the meaning becomes suddenly clear.
How lovely too it is to see picture conundrums where one has to look and think hard before the riddle of circles and lines becomes clear. To improve the mind, just like any muscle in the body, one must exercise it to the extreme to get the Goliath type image without the Achilles heel of weakness. How easy it is to fall off the band wagon of braininess and into the quagmire pit of the ignorant in their bliss.
To be illiterate must be similar to being colour blind in the world of words and although often when one is unable to read or write they do have a great understanding of words and their meanings they still might have an immense feeling of lack when they open a book and are unable to decipher the beauty of what is written within.
I thank my luck stars for gracing me with an education and the ability to think and react in my own way about what goes on, in and around me.

Blue meditation, when the owl calls my name.

Heaven only knows why I link the colour blue to peaceful happiness in a perfectly still world. To me there is nothing nicer than to put on soft chanting music and climb into a warm foamy bath in the knowledge that the next few hours are for yourself alone.
I love to lie in water and forget the world around me and it is then I find that I am just "me". Being myself is very important, it is at these times when I am "me" that I find I can discover more about all that is around me and affects me.
If blue is brought into this equation then an acceptance of self follows and peace on all levels is maintained. It then matters not if one does not show the human outlook of perfection in the physical, nor the mental capabilities expected from those around one who only seek to criticise .
It is when immersed in soft comforting warm water, almost like the foetal womb, that the calling of the owl is heard. The wisdom of the owl and his calling of one's name are the combining of human and animal ancient intelligences and therefore when the two are brought together they bring about an almost total understanding of all that is and all that was.
To know and accept the calling of one's name by the owl is to realise that the soul is what controls our existence, not the physical body. When this fact is realised then one can only grow forward in the total knowledge that yes, perhaps man can be immortal, but only his soul and when physical importance falls away true meaning of everything will become as clear as the proverbial mountain stream and all false thoughts and ideas will filter away and the pure truth will be known.

Churnings of my mind.

Do you ever get the feeling that some foreign and strange being is trying its hardest to take over your mind by filling your everyday thoughts with the most pathetic trivial matter that can be found? Or perhaps, is it that for the moment you are losing things, particularly sanity, for wayward ideas and almost thoughtless visualisations that cross through the wave patterns of brain matter.
I intensely dislike any form of losing control over my mind, the drug and alcohol induced stupors that so many think helps them find something or loses them in nothingness are not for me. My brain, no matter how good or not, is what I depend on for thought patterns which are my self inflicted form of sanity and how I am able to work through whatever the Universe happens to throw my way.
The biggest part of me is not the overextended waistline caused by an overindulgence in edible matter, but the overindulged brain that is never allowed to be quiet, rest can only weaken the soul, so onward forever in the search of something new and more interesting on the horizon of mental sanity, the hunt for the elusive metaphorical butterfly of perfect human intelligence that will open all doors and windows of my mind and forever refresh it with new and wonderful thoughts.

A comfortable winters armchair.

It's halfway through May already and although the nights are chilly the days are soft and warm and constantly inviting one to step outside the door and see what is going on in the world outside. The air feels like velvet on the skin almost as if one is wrapped in a weightless cloak that does not warm one up, but is there rather as a reminder that soon the time will be upon us to take out the winter warmers and snuggle down into the comfort of the old armchair.
It is past autumn time, but she seems to be hanging around almost as if she has not quite finished all her work for this year, or perhaps she is remaining to play with us as a naughty child that does not want to go to bed would do.
Why I ask are birds so alive in this weather? There is a constant chattering of reminders for me to scatter crumbs and treats out the front door for them and as they float down on pillows of soft air to have their meal there seems to be a laziness about them, a slowing down of the system so that they can almost melt into winter when she finally does arrive.
For myself, I love the feeling of coolness on my skin when I wake up in the middle of the night and stick an exploratory foot out from under the covers. I love the feeling of the cold air as it gently massages, bringing blood to the surface and reminding me that life is good whether or not you have a blanket over you.
That in the end brings me to my armchair, with is high back and wings to snuggle into, to copious cups of coffee, to marshmallows and to good books that have sat on the shelf all summer long patiently waiting for winter to arrive so that they can be dusted down and brought to life just by the turning of their pages.

Genre - the juicy red apple of the day?

Why does some word or other suddenly come to the forefront of spoken word and is thereafter heard on every tongue and in every text until we tend to lose all possible significant meaning and it becomes another of the over-used and over-abused victims of the lazy English speakers repertoire of what is fashionable and in at the moment.
Genre seems to be top of the list at present and one cannot turn on television or radio without someone mentioning it at any given and available opportunity. It is almost as if once the word is tasted as it leaves the mouth the speaker has to keep going back to the juicy apple of it all for just one more taste of fashionable speech. The trouble here is that it might be a delightful word to utter over and over but for the poor listeners the sound, in the end, seems to leave a rather sour and unwanted taste in their mouths.
No wonder that we seem not to be producing Shakespeare, Milton and Burns type literature any more, it is as if we have taken the traditional claymore and shattered the hopes of the English language by following in the footsteps of each others mutterables in the fear of ever sounding even the slightest bit original in our own speech.
Why on Earth did Edison give us the light bulb if he did not intend for each one of us in some way to see some of the light ourselves.
Humans are becoming more followers than leaders by trying to impress others we are oppressing ourselves.

Pins in my bottom

In childhood days often we would have a much younger child to stay and because of the age difference we would often tease him, just because. He would get so cross and then storm out the room informing whoever had annoyed him that they were, "A pin in his bottom". His delightful expression of anger has stayed fresh in our minds and is still used to describe any annoyances that happen in our daily living.
I am feeling at the moment that my bottom is more like a pin cushion than anything as so many things seem to be forcing their attention in a prickly manner towards my rear. Television at the moment is more like a hat pin than a sewing pin and as one floats in channel space looking for something they have not seen in the past week despair seems to creep slowly into the soul as once again the realization is made that there is not one single thing to watch that is new and fresh on the screen. It is almost as if we are being forced to go out and by the entire set of DVD's of, "Little house on the prairie", remember that perfect family that perfected boredom for the viewer.
Then there is the filthy supermarket down the road where on hot days one can smell the meat as they step out of their cars. A bit of personal puzzlement here, why would anyone want to buy meat that is very obviously going off in the first place? However perhaps this is an acquired taste as the meat seems to willingly follow its purchasers out the door, often almost on it's own legs.
Can you remember when last you have made an appointment with doctor, beautician, hairdresser, psychiatrist, manicurist or whatever and they were on time? Do they think that their time is more important than yours? Me thinks they all ought to be doing time management courses instead of playing computer games between appointments.
What about medicines that make you feel worse, or am I an unknowing guinea pig made to suffer for the betterment of human kind or whatever? Why if we keep getting told that we are capable of healing ourselves do so few of us manage to do it? Why are we so important that we think we deserve immortality? But that is another subject that might take me more than one lifetime to discuss.
The more I think about things the more punctured my bottom seems to get so perhaps I will hit the coffee pot of pure pleasure and go off into some mindless world of my own where I can visualize the perfect world and perhaps with a bit of luck manifest it into the physical.
Wish me luck.

Political wastage.

For weeks on end as the South African public has taken to the streets for whatever reason, we have been inundated with the not very becoming portraits of our political party leaders smiling or scowling down at us from lamp posts and trees. When one thinks about it surely we do not have to see their faces every fifty meters or so, in my mind once per kilometre would have been very ample.
It has been interesting driving down quiet and seldom used country roads and seeing stuck to the barbed wire fences of our time all these faces that keep promising us peace, health, education and work. Admittedly the signboards have probably fed numerous goats that have happened to pass by and so have, in a small way, at least helped to assuage the hunger in the animal population.
I do however wonder at how many trees were chopped down to produce all this, in the end paper wastage? How many tons of paper and cardboard were produced for the rather massive and I wonder how futile attempts to persuade one to put ones crosses on two other pieces of paper that after being accounted for will also become some part of this massive political wastage.
In a world where responsible leaders are trying to influence their public towards a greener planet is it the right thing to do to destroy forests and create, after the election process, massive mountains of political paper wastage.
Personally I think not and so I will keep the subject "current in my affairs" until perhaps one day someone will manage to come up with a suitable alternative and I will be able to place a mental tick on an imagined piece of paper in my mind.

International differences

Each nationality seems to have it's own high and low points and when wishing for what I would really like to be I have to look at the world pool of what I like and dislike to help make up my mind as to how I could be drastically improved upon.
So here goes, I think a West Indian should have chosen my name, have you ever heard a West Indians name that did not sing? Then I would want to speak English with an Italian accent, very creamy, dreamy. My height would have to be of a Maasai warrior - tall and straight backed. The African black woman's ability to stand and walk properly in very high stiletto heals, another definite must.
An even English mixture of Oscar Wilde and William Shakespeare's ways with words and then the added ability of putting said words to the music of the great European composers, Handel and Beethoven in particular.
The attitude of so many North Americans that they are indeed the chosen ones, and perhaps they may well be! The unfreckled porcelain skin of a Scandinavian teenager, the piercing eyes of a Russian Cossack horseback dancer, the French style of fashion. The nomadic ways of a Bedouin tribesman, the tiny feet of a Chinese woman.
The mental precision of a Swiss watch, and the strength of a Canadian lumberjack. An Amazonians link to nature and the spirit world.
Hair, any colour but red, from anywhere. Passion from all the great poets that ever were.
An Irishman's laugh, the wisdom of an ancient Greek and an international attitude to just be me!!!