Category Archives: Literature

Being the rainbow bridge

When we reach out our arms and embrace the broken aspect of the masculine, we bring it home to ourselves and the feminine values that are so needed by this world in order for us to move on together, intermingled as the best of both masculine and feminine qualities, as one unit. When we do this, we allow the masculine to dare to come home to the ever present embrace of the feminine, not to build up its walls of resistance even stronger against it. It is sad, yes, that so often the masculine has to be broken before it will come home in this way; but let it be broken only because of its own doings, not because the feminine contributed to that (which is not what the feminine is about anyway). As such, we all get to be the rainbow rather than chasing down its mythical ending (something I pondered just a few days ago  as I was travelling home along a road arced by a rainbow, wondering which end the pot of gold was meant to be at; surely when we realise it is to be found at both ends, the whole of its bridge, joining one place to another, becomes that long sought-after gold). When we are the rainbow ourselves, rather than seeking it externally, we incorporate the best of both worlds…as ourselves; which makes it less of a destination than a state we get to be in, all of the time.

Rediscovering the much-needed rainbow bridge that I describe as it is so beautifully conveyed in a hundred year old “parable” of our times: E. M Forster’s “Howard’s End”. Continue reading

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Testament of One

It is those who tap those first holes in the glass of one paradigm who enable the next generations to see beyond its almost invisible limitations (so all-consuming can a paradigm be…) so that new light is allowed to enter and a broader perspective obtained. This is the kind of new perspective that Einstein referred to as necessarily “outside” of the current paradigm in order for us to evolve beyond its limitations and repeat behaviours. Light pouring through glass can seem just as real as light outside in the daylight…until the glass itself is shown-up to be what it is; another ceiling, the edge of a box, a particular perspective controlled by someone but not ourselves, a barrier to experiencing something much more whole and direct. Inside a particular paradigm, we experience a version of reality and it only shows us what “it” wants us to see. When we are inside of one paradigm, we can feel as comfortable as a tropical plant in its hothouse, all our needs met by it (if we are so lucky…). All without realising what we are missing, which is the open sky of something that would make it thus for all of us, not just those who are fortunate enough to be living in the most comfortable corners of a botanical experiment operated by those who turn dials to create the artificial heating and water supply that make-up our existence. In a lesser paradigm (an earlier wave of evolution, if you like) there are always those who lose out from its perspective, those who are discriminated against, who become the cannon fodder, the pawns in the game, those who are denied access, whose heads are stepped on by others getting to where they want to be. Someone has always been left out…and we are approaching the time when that is no longer tenable; it is a version of reality that is no longer supported by the universal impulse of this planet. Our time of oneness in the sense that we finally acknowledge and live by the tenet that we are all as-one, thus what we do to “other” we only do to ourselves, is upon us and the last century served as a “darkest before the dawn” moment to herald that new era.
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Leading me up the garden path

The weather that delivered on the day of our long-planned visit to Charleston turned out to be nothing like what I had painted in my head; the sky was tipping water by the bucket-full. But then, of course, everything glistened; the fruit, especially, glistened as though freshly varnished and the petals hugged droplets of water like glass teardrops perfectly poised. We got to marvel at the way the bees knew how to line up with their backs to the wind and hang upside down beneath the flower heads – one on each bloom – until the rainshower was over. We got that kind of light that is clear and crisp, not washed-out and without subtlety as on a typical summer’s day. The velvet reds “zinged” and the greens looked like freshly squeezed life-zest personified; vibrant and rejuvenating to receive with all the senses. One of the gifts was the unexpected juxtaposition of a dripping-wet female form peeking out through vivid wet leaves and abundantly ripe fruit;her wet face had something to tell me and it was nothing at all about tears…”I sleep; I do not weep” were words that came boomeranging back at me later that same weekend in yet another stunning garden and the journey in between turned out to be a labyrinth of self-discovery through a landscape of universal themes. Continue reading

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When near meets far

If there is a dimension in which time isn’t linear then one of the ways we gain access to this is, most certainly, through art. When we identify, and play, with solid themes through the various art mediums we have devised, there is a level at which it also feels as though new endings can be written and thrown back ‘in time’, co-collaborating with the artist in all the ways that their work continues to affect our present day reality. I am particularly fascinated by the way that film adaptations of old ‘classics’ (here, ‘Far From the Madding Crowd’, 2015) hold the potential to ripple information back and forth across the time between their creation and reinterpretation. This cross-pollination across time and space is one of many ways I like to regard inspiration as it wafts into my own creative process as both writer and artist. I am also repeatedly attracted to a genre of art photography that involves recolouring and tweaking vintage photographs to alter and capitalise on what they were originally ‘of’ and in a way that utterly transforms the subject, photoshopped to add colour and whimsical touches. This potential to ‘lighten up’ history is something that endlessly fascinates me, allowing the possibility that – at some level far beyond the logical – we are all (not only artists) just as capable of influencing the past in everything we do as we are, surely, creating the future. Continue reading

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In search of waterfalls

Something called me back to the Brecon Beacons and Wye Valley this year and I responded to it like a knee-jerk impulse (since we hardly needed yet another trip this busy year…), booking it almost before I had time to … Continue reading

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When time stood still in Provence…

We knew we were in France again as soon as we started seeing the electricity pylons that look like giant cats with whiskers. The second clue was the distinctive jingle that always plays (loudly) out of the French railway station … Continue reading

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Flying high, knowing how to land

  “Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect. And that isn’t flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a … Continue reading

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The making of an artist

For some time now, I’ve had a half-formed post just hovering there without the words having arrived… All I had to build it on were some photos from the galleries taken on my recent visit to Nottingham Castle Museum in … Continue reading

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Newness breezes in

This morning, I feel like Virginia Woolf in ‘The Hours’ (which I rewatched just the other night); with misted look in my eyes, I find I want to announce “I believe I may have a first sentence”. And this is … Continue reading

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Love, light and Italy

Have just spent the third evening of the month of May enjoying the film of the 1922 novel by Elizabeth Von Arnim entitled “The Enchanted April“…and so am a little too late to achieve the synchronistic timing of an April viewing … Continue reading

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