Lesism - by Les Floyd

Stop. Look. Listen.

2013-03-15T13:01:00.001Z

I’ve been reminded once again, over the past few days, just how powerful a tool the practice of present awareness is, and how much strength can be drawn from anchoring ourselves in the moment.

Facing up to the impending loss of a dearly loved parent is no trivial life event – it’s up there with the very worst - yet, somehow, I’m doing what I would have considered impossible just a few years ago… I’m coping with it, and I’m coping well.

Sure, there are a few jitters and my mind does wander, but I’m able to check that mental process, draw myself out of thought and back into the present, and there really is no emotional pain in the present moment, even amidst such seemingly harrowing circumstances.

Unconsciously succumbing to the lure of the egoic mind would have me fall into a pit of agony that would be so difficult to scramble out of… if I made it out at all. If I wanted to make it out at all.

Staying present allows me to reject this pain and see it for what it is: useless.

If I were to bang my fists, stamp my feet, pull my hair out (okay, maybe that’s not an option), wail until my eyes bled or cut my wrists, just what good would it do anyone?

It’s not going to change the fact that my Mum is close to death.

It’s not going to be a comfort to my siblings.

It’s not going to help me work towards tackling the challenges I’ll have to face in the weeks and months ahead.

I’m certainly not going to beat myself up if I lapse into a trance of sadness or if I shed tears (which, of course, I do from time to time), but allowing the tortuous ego to overwhelm my being is not an option… not any more.

The Awakening I experienced in February 2010 has, at the very least, prevented me from the most excruciating suffering of this time I’m going through… and it may well have saved my life.

Instead of collapsing into an irreversible and crushing depression, as I would have predicted to happen if you’d asked me in January 2010 about the prospect of losing my Mum, I’m becoming stronger.

My comfort zone is being ripped down and rather than taking the drastic step of forcing myself into a purchase of agricultural property, I’m already laying the foundations of something new which will harbour and sustain me for years to come.

This is the power of present awareness – an energy of positive creativity, rather than destructive negativity, that you too have access to.

It is not a superpower possessed by the few or some secret skill taught to a select sect of the deserving, nor is it the ultimate prize gained only after decades in pursuit of spiritual understanding; it’s a gift to all people, ready and waiting for them to discover it inside themselves.

Imagine a life free from guilt and regret?

Not in a callous way, where you stomp through all your born days with complete disregard for the feelings of others, but in the sense of having the insight to know that what’s done is done and can’t be changed, no matter how much you hurt yourself wishing it could.

A life without fear? Being able to recognise and let go of the thoughts in your head that cripple and cloud your true consciousness, blighting your happiness and dragging you outside your inherent state of peace, but which do you and everyone else absolutely no good at all?

The truth is that you can have that, right now, yet there are still countless millions, even billions of people across this planet who just can’t see it, and that’s why, when you watch the news, there’s so much chaos and suffering in the world.

We are a microcosm of the macrocosm.

As within, so without.

But beneath the cacophonic clatter of egoic thought in our own minds, and behind the bluster and blare of global drama, there’s the peace of true, tranquil consciousness that has no interest in or use for prolonging strife and hardship.

I’m fortunate to know that peace, within, which will allow me to grow when I would otherwise have been stagnating in deep suffering, but I’m not unique in being able to harness the energy of this awareness.

I’m not special.

Or perhaps I am… but so, then, is everyone else.

And for the love of God, Allah, Jehovah, the Universe, the Great Spaghetti Monster or Darwin’s Monkeys, if your parents are alive and you haven’t spoken to them in a while, give them a call and tell them you love them.

Facing My Greatest Fear

2013-03-14T08:00:00.002Z

My Mum is gravely ill and it won’t be long before I, and my siblings, and our wider family, and all her friends, lose her from our lives.

The truth is, she’s already gone… her body remains, but she has fallen into a long and restful sleep. This has been difficult to come to terms with.

She is loved and we have all been blessed by her love.

Her passing has always, throughout my life, been my greatest fear… and those days of perceived incomprehensible terror have arrived.

I have to admit that the past few months have - with the deterioration of her physical health and cognitive function - thrown me into a state of incredulous confusion, but clarity returned in the early hours of this morning and I am no longer afraid.

I broke up with my girlfriend, yesterday, and the culmination of all this chaos had me, last night, seriously consider whether it was worth sticking around at all. I couldn’t imagine a future after so much loss. There are many challenges to come, including the possibility of homelessness and abject poverty, and the dark imaginings of the mind were clouding my consciousness.

My Mum brought me into this world and, through my ‘depressive’ years, saved me so many times, when many other parents would have kicked me out and turned their backs on me.

What an insult it would be, then, after all that love and saintly patience, if I were to transmute the positive energy she gifted me into something dark and negative, which I would use as fuel to compel myself to a miserable ending.

Although there will be those who say I’m wrong or uncaring, when the time comes, I’m not going to grieve her physical passing… I’m going to celebrate her by living my life the best I can; by growing stronger and making sure that the gift she gave me is treasured and put to the best use I can find for it.

Overcoming Anxiety Webcast

2013-02-19T14:02:00.004Z

I took part in my first ever webcast yesterday evening, joining Anxiety Social Net founders Talha and Saloman for their Overcoming Anxiety series, to talk about my experiences with depression and how I overcame it with the use of present awareness/mindfulness.

It was a daunting prospect and, as I joked with the guys, caused me quite a bit of anxiety in the run up to going live, but I had a really good time. They’re both great hosts and helped put me at ease before and during the recording – also saving me a few times when my mind when completely blank mid-sentence.

I hope, if you didn’t get the chance to see it last night, you can have a view on YouTube, here:

(I’m looking rather tubby in that video, but considering I had major chest surgery four months ago and have barely moved in three of those months, it’s cool with me, and also fits neatly in with the refreshed impetus to get super-fit and manfoxly by the Summer – something I’ll be blogging about in the next few days.)

You can follow Anxiety Social Net at: @AnxietySocial

Their website is:

www.anxietysocialnet.com

And please check out the other videos in the series:

Saloman:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Bajbx2eHN4&feature=plcp

James & Misty:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CGlWNNeFuw&feature=plcp

Kevin Patton:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3utt4azwtc&feature=plcp

Tarryn:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMa0xOw0VAw&feature=plcp

Shira:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=QsQGkUY110A

Rebirthday & Forgiveness

2013-02-15T23:44:00.000Z

Three years ago today, in the early hours of the morning, while pinned down under the opening salvos of what I resigned myself to believe would be another long attack of deep depression, I experienced the spiritual Awakening that changed my life, for good.

It took about an hour of spontaneous enlightenment to wash away the associated detritus of more than twenty years of mental suffering; the guilt, anxiety, fear and a whole host of other negative emotions that had ensnared my being were finally gone, leaving me free to start again and live my life with a peaceful mind and open heart.

Literally even just a day before I experienced this shift of consciousness, I wouldn’t have dreamt it was possible that such a dramatic change could come about… especially not to me.

It still feels like a miracle, of sorts. I didn’t pray or hope for it. It just happened, out of the blue, without me setting down an intention or attempting to will myself into being happy, at long last. My mind was clouded with self-loathing and gnawing sadness, and, lost in the fog of ego, the urge to destroy myself would have been much higher on the ‘things to do’ list than seeking salvation from the torture I was going through.

Although I’m still not quite sure what happened, it felt as though some supernatural force had decided that enough was enough and since I couldn’t find my own way to achieving inner peace, they’d give me a boost. That hour of revelation and the waves of energy I felt pulsate from my crown, down to my chest, made me feel as though I was downloading a secret rulebook on being a happy human.

Without the events of that day, it would be impossible that I’d be writing this now. At best, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the extraordinary journey I’ve been on over the past three years, and at worst, I may well have ended up killing myself.

Hindsight’s speculation doesn’t matter, now, though. Whatever happened happened, and here I am, firmly planted in the now.

I believe that this same enlightenment is open to just about everyone in the world, and – without meaning to sound like I’m full of myself – I know that, through my writing, I’ve helped an awful lot of people towards discovering their own space of inner-tranquillity.

There have been ups and downs over the past three years, but the downtimes are simply not comparable to the severe plunges I experienced before the Awakening. I have the occasional bad day – like any other, normal human being has – but I don’t let psychological debris collect in my mind. If unpleasant or negative thoughts enters my head, I have the awareness to shoo them away and think of something useful and positive, instead.

The greatest lesson I learnt was the gift of forgiveness; the ability to forgive not just those who we consider have done us harm, but also – and, arguably, more importantly – to forgive ourselves.

Forgiveness of oneself is an exquisitely liberating process. It allows you to unchain your spirit from egoic, mental suffering and begin afresh.

Forgiving others does not even mean you have to tell them that they’re forgiven. If you consider someone has hurt you deeply, in the past, letting go of that pain is a gift, first and foremost, to you. Once you learn to jettison the thoughts that hurt you – which are only ever negative and needless – you clear extra space for good and positive energy to enter your world.

When you forgive, do it whole-hearted. Don’t just say it or think it; feel it in your being and know it in your soul. Anchor yourself in the present moment and reject the inane and incessant babbling of the egoic mind. It is generally an idiot.

The same peace within me is waiting for you to discover it within yourself. It’s available right now, if you’ll only see it.

Peace.

Going Back

2013-02-08T14:02:00.001Z

A Guest Blog by Virs Rana

For a long while, I felt this was a story that could not be told, because I could make little sense of what really happened. To me, the experience was…and I hesitate here because I'm not sure how to use this word, ‘miraculous’, that is to say, outside the normal occurrence. But as we are frequently informed, there are inexplicable events every day in all areas of peoples’ lives.

Still, I found it difficult, as if I was protecting something special that would be diminished in the telling. And then, there was my ego trying to convince me I had achieved a certain purity of heart, or mind, or spirit. But I had not. I was ignorant, self-serving, even dishonest in my behavior. So why me? Later, I found the answer to that question, and as the saying goes, 'It’s all in the timing', and the opportunity has now graciously been given to me…

It was a clear blue-sky day, mid-morning in the fall, the air still crisp from the cooling night. The jutting mountains, with their embowering pines and aspens, provided a comforting seclusion from the outside world. I had driven up the narrow dirt road near the building site, a plateau of trees and flora turning to reds and golds among the evergreens. I had to hike the last quarter of a mile on foot. I grabbed my daypack out of the bed of the pickup truck and began to scale the circuitous path. I breathed deeply, as you can only do at the higher altitudes, and the infused fragrance carried by the morning dew filled my body and thoughts with promise. As I got about a third of the way up, I stopped…cold…

It was unusually silent. Birds were not fluttering from tree to tree. Their chirping had ceased. The chatter of chipmunks was absent. I looked up. There were no hawks circling overhead. Then I heard it, in the distance, the echoing crack of a high-powered rifle. Of course, hunting season had just begun. The pristine ether of the forest would frequently be shattered for the next few weeks.

It's interesting how, to some, that blustering 'civilized' sound is a clarion call, and, to others, like myself, it is a violent intrusion. The gun argument aside, I have no problem with humans hunting and foraging for their food. It's the sport aspect, the antler trophies, that bothers me. But I dismissed these thoughts, remembering that we come to our 'senses' in good time, or so I believed.

I continued up the path, which coiled around the plateau, and I remembered what the local *American Indian realtor who had sold me the site had said, "Listen to the land. It will tell you where to make your house." I had heard this before, but didn't put much value in it. But I tried, camped out on the land, became familiar with its wildlife, and finally picked the spot with the best view.

Reaching the top, I threaded my way through the pines and aspens to the southern edge that looked out over the lush meadow that skirted the plateau. I saw that the creek snaking across the property was being dammed by a family of beavers, and a large pond was beginning to form. New neighbors, why not, I thought.

Kaboom! Again, unfurling from another direction…I turned toward the sound and gazed into the foliage across the plateau. The red, orange, and green palette seemed to shudder…Or was it me…No, something had moved, something big. I slowly and quietly drifted through the trees and into the dense thicket, and froze. It could be a camper or a hunter passing through, I guessed. Then I saw them, the pointed tips of a large pair of antlers floating atop the burnished leaves of brush. Surely, he had caught my scent…

Thus it began, the deliberate and cautious strategy of human and wild animal 'feeling' each other across the great divide of noise and silence, cacophony and symphony…I moved…It moved…We moved in unison, a dance around the recognition of other life. Catching glimpses of colors, shapes, seeing more, and less, quickened by some revived connection… I lost all track of time, but it seemed like this play was inherently choreographed, an ancient ritual with roots in a new and vital earth.

Moving on pure instinct, I eventually found myself in a small clearing, I stopped, feverish, yet surprisingly calm. My thinking returned, and I thought, perhaps, this wild animal might finally show itself, a curiously improbable notion.

Suddenly I felt it, a presence I'd never experienced before, a strange energy pulsing, surrounding me, entering me…I breathed in a different world, comforting, sustaining, vibrant…Yet not different, familiar, like living the dream that set you free. I slowly turned to my right and saw it, a most magnificent elk arcing into the clearing, no more than thirty feet away. Part of me was stunned, and the other part said, 'This is the way'…I watched as this regal animal stepped definitively, purposefully, until it stood directly across from me in full profile. I could see the details of its tawny thick coat and the dark brown swath highlighting its broad chest. He turned his head toward me, and large elliptical eyes captured me, told me a story I could not put into words. Then he dipped his head slightly, like a bow, or greeting, and turned back so he could watch both his flanks.

The only thing that crossed my mind, at this point, was how to respond. Stand motionless, just observing? Try getting closer? Closer? No, he had defined the space. Just observe? No, it was my turn…so I spoke. "Hey, you're an awesome animal…I appreciate your trust and your greeting…I guess you know they're after you…" Not exactly profound or poetic, I know.

He exhaled a snort and stomped at the ground with his left front hoof, three times. I waited, struggling; what could it mean… About thirty seconds passed, no time, no thinking, just being together; my turn again. "Be careful when you go to water," I said, "Take care."

Then this mysterious, extraordinary animal casually stepped into the brush a few yards off the clearing, and was gone. I didn't hear anything and raced toward his exit point to see if I could spot him running into the meadow toward the creek. Nothing…another gunshot echoed in the distance.

I started to come down, or back to reality, as I knew it. What just happened? Why didn't this hunted elk bolt when he first picked up my scent or heard me on the plateau? He did not appear to be wounded or disoriented in any way. As I said previously, I was, and still am not a man of the wild, or some enlightened being. The stories of Francis of Assisi come to mind. Yes, accidental and surprise confrontations in the wild happen every day, but this was more than accidental. This transcended every wild animal to human relationship I had ever heard of.

Finally, I dismissed it as something I had inflated beyond the coincidental. But it would not lie. It even came up in my dreams. So I told a good friend, as best I could, and she said it was a special gift.

"From whom or what?" I asked.

"That's for you to decide," she replied.

"You mean like God, or the Universe thing?"

"Have you ever heard of that happening before?"

She had me. I thought for a second, then said, "No."

"Maybe you need to listen to the elk," and she walked away.

*Many 'American Indian' friends told me that's what they preferred to be called, rather than Native Americans, as anyone born in the U.S. can be 'native'.

Virs Rana 2013

Twitter: @VirsRana

Website

The Vision of Success

2013-02-02T00:08:00.002Z

This week’s guest blogger is Emily Sandberg: an actress, businesswoman, blogger and genuine supermodel, having graced the covers of fashion magazines all over the world, including Vogue.

She is the founder and CEO of Super Model Central (www.supermodelcentral.com), contributes to The Huffington Post and a radio host for a show called,' Matters of Today", which airs on Blogtalk Radio every Wednesday at 1 PM EST.

You can follow Emily's adventures on Twitter at @Emmalish

Now Here's A Super Fun Tool To Make 2013 Your Best Year

By Emily Sandberg

2012 knocked the crap out of a lot of us. It's time for a fresh start and a new perspective towards reaching our goals. We all deserve a little spiritual magic this year. Who doesn't like a little magic? The very root of creation is spiritual in nature. It begins with an intention and an image.

I wanted to write an article about one of my favourite tools I use for creating events and things I'd like to see happen in my life. I started at a very young age and trust me, I wouldn't continue doing it if it didn't work.

Anything that has materialized in my life has begun with a vision. Some people call it a dream. Others call it goals. I put them all into the same category – “Things I'd like to see happen”. The next step is to put these visions and goals on paper. Take them from the inside to the outside.

You can use pictures, magazines, glitter, objects or a simple pen and paper. The point it to get your ideas out of your head and onto something that feels similar to how you feel when you envision this particular thing or life or situation.

My first vision boards I drew myself. They were words and pictures.

How I saw myself: EMILY: Entertaining, Magnificent, Intelligent, Lively, Yellow Skippy (I liked to skip)

6 days later I created my first logo to represent me. Here I am as a clown. Today I know that this represents me in so many ways I didn't even realize as an 8 year old. You see, I've always been fun loving and entertaining and I have a very sensitive emotional pain detector, which I believe is why I am attracted to clowns. I also drew no hands and no feet. That's another part of me that I instinctively knew but couldn't articulate. I'm trapped in a clown suit. And the clown is trapped in a world of straight brown lines. A searing red streak goes right across my emotional centre. The red is encased in darkness. However if I filter this red through the darkness and wash it out with my beautifully ruffled voice it appears on my face as a smile. One year later I became a mime. Ten years following that I became a model. Three years into modelling I began finding my voice. And twenty years after I drew this logo, I began to write. I think I may have been onto something as an eight-year-old. I don't know how this logo will be materialized in another ten years, but I do know that it continues to resonate with me today. It is basic and elementary, but I see parts of myself when I look at it. I've been able to work through this puzzle of the clown slowly by the expression of my inner self.

It's become my first stamp of self-approval.

Another way to create a new reality is to use the tool of goal setting. I like to envision a life beyond my wildest dreams and then I work backwards. Right before I left for New York, I wrote down 5 wildest dream goals for myself as a model. If I remember them correctly they were:

1. Walk on a runway.

2. Be on David Letterman.

3. Be in a fashion magazine.

4. Be in an advertisement.

5. Make enough money for college.

I then took each goal and broke it down into more manageable steps. For instance, I wrote:

1. Work out 5 days/week (I joined a gym and started jogging or walking every day)

2. Find out what size I need to be (I used the internet at my college to find out)

3. Buy a fashion magazine to study (I chose Vogue. It was a big thrilling deal carrying it home. A whole new world to explore!)

4. Study models in magazines once a week (I cut out the photos of ones I liked and made collages)

5. Eat less food every day (I wrote down everything I ate and tried to make healthy choices)

6. Pray and meditate to make sure I'm doing the right thing every day (this one always ends up on my goal lists)

A few years later I had accomplished all of these goals. Not only had I been in a magazine, I'd been on the cover of numerous magazines. I'd been to David Letterman with a musician I'd been dating who performed on the show. I had enough money in my bank account to pay for college (I ended up not going). I'd walked not on one runway but every major runway in the world. And not only was I in one advertisement, my face was plastered on bill boards, bus stops, phone booths, busses, on top of cabs and in store windows. I could literally not escape myself. The entire time I modelled I did my best to stay in conscience contact with a higher power. About five years in I got the message clearly that it was time to back away from working full time and start developing new skills.

I pulled out my pens and markers and magazines and started cutting pasting and writing. I had no idea what I wanted to do next but I knew that if I could capture the feeling visually, it would help me get focused on the next chapter of my life. Indeed, it did work. I've used vision boards to create a marriage, a family, a baby, a home, new mentors, new friends, freedom in my body... the list goes on and on. The point is, whatever you want in your life, you have the ability to create it. It starts with you. And you can start just like my 8 year old did by writing down your name and make an anagram of yourself describing your most magnificent qualities. Try it! It's super fun!

The point of a vision board is to give yourself a visual reminder and focus of what it is you'd like to create. Vision boards help give us an image to manifest. Much like dreams at night, vision boards don't have to be literal. For instance, planes and watches and jewellery tend to end up on every board I create. I don't know what exactly they're meant to represent but they feel right so I include them. One day, it'll make sense.

The past 5-6 years my goals have been mainly internally focused on emotional clarity and spiritual growth. But this year my goals have gone from internal growth to external growth so I thought it'd be fun to share with you my goals and then revisit them in a year to see how far I've come.

Here's the vision boards I'm working on for 2013 (click to enlarge):

Here's one I did with my girlfriends. There are some images that mean literal goals for myself and others that are more symbolic and I included them because they "felt right".

My friend Dean came over to visit one afternoon. We hadn't seen each other in quite some time so I thought it'd be fun to create vision boards while we sat in my office and caught up with each other. After we were both finished, we shared our visions with each other. I told him what I saw in his board and he told me what he saw in mine. That really opened my perspective and shed light on things I hadn't seen but he saw in me. Super fun.

I'll be adding to both of these boards throughout the year and next January I'll take a look at how my life has evolved to mirror my vision.

So, today, I challenge you to go out and create a vision for yourself. Here's an easy way to get started:

1. Start by keeping a journal on your desk.

2. Every day write down one thing that happened that was unexpected but for which you are grateful.

3. Begin to create images that represent a feeling or an event or change you'd like to see in your life.

4. Put it in a place that you can see it.

5. Watch you world change and keep track of it in your gratitude journal!

Have fun!

By Emily Sandberg

www.supermodelblogger.com

Twitter: @Emmalish

Disidentifying From Depression

2013-01-28T22:19:00.000Z

It saddens me when I read profiles on Twitter and biographies on other social media outlets, where people state, almost proudly, that they are depressives or have other mental health issues.

As I did for more than two decades, until a few years ago, many people seem to wear depression as a badge or flash it, on introduction, like a journalist would their ‘Press Card’, as if saying: “This is who I am.”

As much as I feel it’s important – vital, in fact – to communicate and discuss our feelings in regard to these disorders of the mind, I think it’s counter-productive to identify with depression as if it’s a central part of who we are. It’s not.

The more we attach ourselves to the idea (i.e. the dysfunctional thought) that we are in some way ‘faulty’, the more we galvanise that notion, within. It becomes a form of self-discrimination, perpetuating the ego’s perceived control over us, and the more we feed our ego, the tougher it is to break the cycle of critical over-thinking, which is the source of emotional anxiety and pain.

Acknowledgement and acceptance of any depressive episode is imperative in taking the first steps to overcome it, but no more than a person who has cancer would call themselves a cancer, those who experience depressive states do not have to identify themselves as depressives.

I doubt there is one person who has experienced or is experiencing depression that doesn’t have a whole host of other, positive qualities that far outshine that perceived negative.

I walked for too long in the shadow of my ego, much to the detriment of my early life, but I don’t – now – consider myself a depressive, a recovered depressive, a depression survivor or anything else along those lines.

I’m a human being. There are good days and not so good days, but the adoption of a positive frame of mind and the rejection of the egoic compulsion to think I’m imperfect means there are no more terrible days.

I hope some people find this post useful.

A great site to discuss depression, read inspiring stories and find real help, rather than sympathy and the perpetuation of misery, is Ruby Wax’s ‘Black Dog Tribe’:

www.blackdogtribe.com

The Weight of the World

2013-01-26T15:41:00.001Z

“My head’s full of the screams of all the dead and dying children in all the world’s war zones and in Americas colleges and schools.”

One of the people I follow on Twitter sent me this message earlier in the week.

I replied:

“No, it's not. Your mind is making all that noise and it's helping nobody - not the kids and certainly not you.”

At first glance, my response may seem unsympathetic and, perhaps, flippant, but there’s a wisdom behind those words which I received through experience. I can relate to this person’s fears and ‘dark imaginings’ (as Max Ehrmann calls them, in Desiderata) because they used to be my fears, too.

I used to worry about everything I could find to worry about. I’d actively hunt down subject matter that would help me wallow in that fear, such as watching footage of the Asian Tsunami or the World Trade Centre atrocity. I’d consider what it must have been like to be on the beach and see that tremendous wave coming, or to feel the floor beneath my feet give way in those towers, visualising myself utterly powerless to prevent my imminent doom and demise.

Did my grim empathy do anyone any good? Did it force time to rewind and allow me to save lives? Did it comfort the survivors or the families of the dead?

No, all it did was help exacerbate the depressive, negative swirl of thought in my mind, further deepening the darkness of my perception of life.

This process of thought was no use at all, to anyone. Quite the opposite: it caused mental torment within myself and that negative energy would have spread to the people around me, either through my communication with them, or because of my general sullen demeanour.

Adopting the pain of others in such global events – when you were not directly or even indirectly touched by those events, except to read about it or watch the video footage on the news - is, at best, futile, but it can also be very damaging to a person’s mental wellbeing…

Taking on these burdens are an example of how the ego schemes to keep us unhappy, and while this dysfunction of the egoic mind remains unchecked, it will always seek new attachments to fear and pain.

Your life could be, to all intents and purposes, perfect, but without the ability to discern the quality and value of your thoughts, your ego will find fault in anything it can and lure you back into a false perception of imperfection.

When you can’t get to sleep at night, or your days are consumed by macabre thoughts about such events, and you haven’t actually experienced those events first hand, then you are imagining it and your own mind is hurting you.

It is a false, selective and imaginary pain – and why would you want to imagine such horrors and play them in your head, when you weren’t involved?

The massacre of young children at Sandy Hook Elementary School, in December of last year, was something that every good-hearted person in the world would find abhorrent, and the outpouring of sympathy and sadness was – of course – a natural reaction to such a terrible event.

But what about the multitudes of children killed in the conflict in Syria, or those starving to death in Sub-Saharan Africa? What about the baby girls murdered or abandoned in India, because they were born the ‘wrong’ sex? What about the kids the world over who live and work on rat-and-disease-infested waste dumps to find scraps of metal they can sell, for a pittance, to recyclers? What about those who live both here and abroad who live in misery, under the constant threat of mental, physical and/or sexual abuse from the people they should most be able to trust?

If you consider them all and take their pain as your own, before too long you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.

And here’s the truth: that weight is not yours to bear, so let it go.

Relinquishing that pain does not mean that you don’t care. In fact, it puts you in a stronger position to do something that may actually be of use.

Leave the true, close-up grief to the survivors of these tragedies and give them your strength when they need it, or leave them alone, if they express that wish. (How many TV trucks turn up at school massacres and doorstep the families of the victims, when those families have asked for privacy?)

If you’re worried about the world, the most positive thing you can do, today, is to clear up your inner-environment – i.e. yourself – and make it a calmer and more peaceful place to live.

Once you’ve mastered that, you’ll radiate positive energy to those around you. Be kind to those you love (and even to those you don’t), make them smile when you have the chance and do what you can to help, when they need it (which isn’t necessarily when you think they need it).

To focus solely on the perceived negatives of this beautiful and vibrant planet is like viewing in a mirror the incredible machine that you are in command of - the human body; one of the most complex and brilliant organisms in the known Universe - and deeming it unworthy and imperfect because your mind judges the nose to be the wrong shape.

“With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.” – Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

If Money Was No Object...

2013-01-25T17:13:00.001Z

A guest blog by @AlyHazelwood

If money was no object, what would you do with your one short life? This question has been bouncing around in my head for a couple of years now. I feel that 2013 is the year to finally address it with focus, clarity and vigour.

I’ve had several job changes throughout my career history. I started out in I.T sales, moved to I.T Recruitment, then Financial Services, eventually ending up running the European operation of an American soft drinks company. In between these soul-numbing, desk-bound jobs, I spent several years travelling around the world, having the kind of life-affirming, deeply connective, free experiences that are the ones you really remember with fondness in your twilight years.

Finally, at the age of 29 and with the encouragement of my wonderful female boss, I decided it was time to think about my future. I knew that it couldn’t possibly play out behind a desk; it just wasn’t ‘me’. Having been passionately interested in all things artistic and mercurial, I longed for a creative outlet. I researched careers in TV, Journalism and the Music Industry and, with a mortgage to pay, found myself daunted by the prospect of embarking on a lengthy study schedule, or a low paid internship the likes of which are so common in the competitive creative industries.

I settled on a course in Make Up Artistry, figuring that it was a career I could slowly build around 2 part-time jobs that kept the roof over my head. Since childhood I’d shown flair for painting, colour and composition, and as a rather lonely only-child, I learned to love the state of immersion and flow that accompanied my artistic endeavours. So I quit my job, and went back to school just as I turned 30.

A combination of good luck, natural ability, being in the right place at the right time, and application of the business skills I’d gained during my years in a corporate environment, resulted in my career as a make up artist taking off with rocket speed. Not for me the usual route of years of unpaid assisting. Instead upon graduation, I was catapulted into working with huge international music acts at MTV and within a year was signed to a top London agency, having left behind the part-time jobs and bar work.

It was an interesting time in my life; I relished the freedom of being my own boss, the international travel, celebrity clients, great money, and the creative outlet I’d been longing for. I felt blessed and thankful. But I also felt the familiar sadness that comes from not quite fitting in. I quickly discovered that the fashion industry wasn’t ‘me’ either. And I couldn’t shake off the disquiet I felt about contributing to the global media’s warped portrayal of female ‘perfection’.

10 years on and the tide is turning once again. At times, I feel I’ve lived a hundred lives already. However, the last 2 years have seen a concentrated period of change and self-inquiry borne out of years of suffering, insecurity, depression and dysfunctional relationships.

The final proverbial straw was the end of a relationship that meant the world to me. It wasn’t a good relationship, but I loved him deeply nonetheless. After it’s inevitable, scorching breakdown, and the subsequent destruction of every mechanism I had formed to cope with life thus far, I awoke one cold morning when there were no more tears left to cry to the realisation that something had to change. I had been broken open and I had to stay open.

For me, this has taken the form of meditation, yoga, mindfulness training, volunteering and spiritual enquiry. Everything I learn brings me to a state of realisation that I know nothing and this requires me to be profoundly gentle with myself. I have been helped (and sometimes gently nudged) along this road-of-no-return by incredible, light-filled people such as Jamie Catto, Simon Paul Sutton, Neil Hill, Elizabeth Garvey and of course, our very own Lesism.

Sometimes I buck and writhe against the challenges that come with increased awareness, and have been known to whine “can’t I just go back to sleep?’ But in reality, I could never - would never - choose to do or experience things differently, for I may never have arrived at this calmer, happier place. Depression and his thuggish friend self-loathing no longer take up residence in the shuttered rooms of my consciousness. Instead, they pass through quietly as I tip my hat in acknowledgment.

Perhaps it’s simply one of the inevitable symptoms of getting older, but I have found myself repeatedly questioning ‘What use can I be to our beleaguered little planet?’ rather than “Why don’t I fit in?” Furthermore, upon the recent sorrowful, but not unexpected discovery that I’m unable to conceive, ‘What will be my legacy?’

“Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.” Here Teddy Roosevelt made a most salient point. Of course, being a make up artist is fun, it often doesn’t feel like work at all, and can at times be creatively rewarding, but is this really the most passionate, world-changing work I am capable of? And I don’t mean world changing in an egoic, look-at-me-aren’t-I-great sort of way, nor in a Nobel Peace Prize winning way. I mean, what can I do, however large or small, to make a positive, lasting difference to people’s lives? What can I give of myself?

It’s a tough question. It gives rise to feelings of doubt about my ability to affect any kind of positive change in the world; after all, who do I think I am? Gandhi? It also triggers me into deeply held feelings of fear, fear of loss, of money, status, my home, and at its core, loss of the self. This last one is a tricky customer. With awareness I can shine the light of truth onto this preposterous notion, for there is no ‘self’ to ‘lose’, just a constructed and conditioned set of ideas I have about my ‘self’. However this devious character often operates under the radar of awareness, subtly spreading its icy tentacles of egoic fear up my spine until I feel paralysed, immobile…

Despite the annoying, insistent voice of my demon inner critic, this month I’m embarking on the first of a series of courses in Non-Violent Communication, a process created by the inspirational Marshall B Rosenberg to bring about harmony, empathy and connection between humans. There is not a single person in the world that does not have a relationship of some kind to another person, and I’d bet my money on the fact that at times, we all suffer imbalance, disturbance and disconnection from the souls we nudge up against.

I passionately believe in the benefits that Non Violent Communication can have on the individual, i.e. me, and that subsequently, bringing it to a wider audience can be a vehicle for long-lasting, positive change in the world. So I’m making baby steps towards being the change I want to see in the world. I also passionately believe in petitioning the universe for the things I want, and what I want right now is an opportunity to change the conditions of my life and career so that I can be of service. Perhaps someone reading this article will be the most qualified person imaginable to help bring about this change. If that’s you, please holler. I come armed with bags of enthusiasm, drive and pluck.

I have no idea what lies ahead for me, or whether I’ll make a ‘success’ for want of a better word, of this new phase of my life. But I can’t spend a lifetime wondering ‘what if?’. Would you join me on a path of self-actualisation if you could? If not, what would you do, if money were no object?

If you are interested in the work of Marshal B Rosenberg you can watch one of his talks on YouTube here.

And further useful links for those wishing to change their lives: www.liveyourlegend.net

Twitter: @AlyHazlewood

Blog: http://TheTruthAboutBeauty.co.uk

Website: http://Aly-Hazlewood.co.uk

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Truth-About-Beauty/141616932531002

Lose to Win

2013-01-17T20:29:00.000Z

A guest blog by @CornellThomas

Every game I have ever played ended up with a winner and a loser. I never played soccer when I was little so I never experienced what a "tie" was like. Either I was walking off the court smiling with my head high, or I was walking off upset and disappointed. In sports you learn at an early age the difference between the two.

You are taught winning is everything. After you "win" a game you get to go out for ice cream, mom and dad are a lot happier, and even your coach kind of forgot the three plays you screwed up in the fourth quarter. In contrast after you "lose" there is no ice cream, mom and dad are giving you a detailed breakdown of your teams’ performance, and your coach somehow has channelled the power of time travel and can recall each and every one of your mistakes, including the one while you were on the bench.

No one celebrates a loss. In the coaching world you hear phrases like, "there’s no such thing as moral victories". Which basically means ok so you only lost by four points to a really good team but you lost, still no ice cream. I think what a lot of people (including myself sometimes) tend to forget is there’s a bigger lesson in losing than in winning. Now that’s not to say you should lose every game just to gain more knowledge, but you shouldn’t look at failures like you're a failure.

When I was seventeen my mom decided to reluctantly take me to my driver’s test. We're talking a little ways back so bear with me on the car reference. Our family had a Chevy Lumina van. It looked exactly like one of those bullets that try to kill you in Super Mario Brothers but about 13 feet long. We didn’t have another vehicle I could use so I did my test with the soccer mom special. As soon as my tester opened the door he said, "Son I couldn’t past this test with this van, I'm going to have to fail you before we even start". He wasn’t kidding either, he took out my sheet and wrote FAILED, in big red letters across the top of it.

My instructor then put his seatbelt on and told me to go through the course. I was perplexed by what was going on. I already FAILED why the heck am I doing the test still? As we went through the test I realized how impossible it would of been to pass it, but during it he showed me every little thing they looked for when determining if a student is a competent driver or not. After we went through the course I was amazed how much I learned in that ten-minute span.

Even if I did have a normal sized car, it would have been a tough test to pass. Back then you could only fail one thing; today I think you can text while you do the course and still pass. When I came back a month later I had a different instructor but aced the test.

Everyone loves the underdog because it gives us hope that we can fight past our own failures. Rocky, Rudy, Ralph Macchio (ok the last one was a reach; I was going with the letter R theme, but in fairness his last name in the movie Karate Kid did have one) - they all failed before they succeeded.

The next time you lose don’t look at what you lost; look at what you can gain from that loss.

Web: www.powerofpositivity.net

Twitter: @CornellThomas

2013: A New Hope

2013-01-17T04:53:00.001Z

As 2012 came to a close and the New Year dawned, so, too, for many people, came a new hope.

2012 – particularly, the 21^st December - was touted, for decades previous, as a time of either cataclysm or catalyst to a new era of peace and cooperation, depending on who you listened to or which authors you read.

In truth, nothing of any great spiritual significance occurred on the 21^st. There was no ‘cosmic moment’; no Galactic alignment; no balancing of the ‘divine feminine’… no rapture… no earthquakes… no collision with Planet X/Nibiru.

It was, to all intents and purposes, just another day.

Those who placed great significance on that day may tell you otherwise; particularly if they sold a lot of books and seminar seats in the run-up, imparting secrets of how people could attune themselves to receive the angel’s blessings, or whatever other spiritual gifts they were touting…

There are ‘spiritual teachers’ who remain at least outwardly convinced (and, I suspect, have fooled even themselves into believing) that there was a ‘cosmic moment’ and a new, spiritual energy has entered humanity.

One prominent angelologist insists that 31% of humanity have transcended to the fifth dimension, as well as 57% of animals – no doubt, including some particularly friendly wasps.

She also infers that the outbreaks of ‘flu and norovirus is directly related to the ‘purification process’ of this new energy. Of course, the truth is that these sicknesses appear every single winter.

Although it may have seemed as though these people were offering a chance of salvation to their loyal fans, what they were actually doing was exploiting their fears.

As many as one in ten people were afraid of the eventualities that the 21^st December, 2012, could bring about. That fear didn’t just fall out of thin air and into their minds; it was, like most irrational terrors, taught… or bought.

Now, it’s 2013 and we should all resolve to reject further ‘prophecies’, however well-intentioned they may appear on the surface. We need to put an end to collective superstition and start living without fear.

That’s not to say that we can’t make transformational changes to improve the world, but we can begin or reaffirm that process today – right now – by adopting a more positive and cooperative mind-set. We don’t have to wait for some mystical set day in the future for conditions to become right.

It is right, now.

Make 2013 your greatest year, then 2014 even better… and so on…

“No fate but what we make.” – Sarah Connor, ‘Terminator 2: Judgement Day’

Introducing... Orion the Jedi Cat!

2013-01-14T21:39:00.003Z

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but my superb, little fluffy friend, Orion, is proof that kitties are far superior at advancing their skills in later years.

Orion - non-identical twin of Titan the Ticklepuss - developed the Jedi Mind Trick ability (displayed in the videograph above) at the aged of 12, and while his brother has to meow loudly to demand us to do his bidding, Orion learnt that waving his paw at his human assistants melts our hearts and makes us carry out his wishes in a much more prompt fashion.

It is completely irresistible and I'm surprised he doesn't weigh 50kg, since each time we open the fridge, he's there on the kitchen table, paw out, with his cute commandment to feed him bits of ham or chicken, or ham and chicken.

When he's sitting on the computer desk and we're looking too long at not him, the little paw gently brushes against our forearms and a snuggly stroke is immediately delivered.

I don't know what compelled Orion to teach himself how to do this, especially in his advancing years, but it was a stroke of feline genius.

Clever boy!

There’s now a Lesism Facebook Page! I’d be most appreciative if you’d give it a LIKE:

www.facebook.com/Lesism

Be My Guest

2013-01-13T02:34:00.001Z

UPDATE: Currently unable to take any more guest blogs, due to the fantastic response, but may open the scheme up again in future.

I’ve decided, after many requests over the past couple of years, to open my blog up to guest bloggers.

The idea is to feature one guest per week, promoting their writing and their ideas throughout that week in the same way that I would my own new blogs, then possibly adding them to my ‘blog roll’ of scheduled Tweets which appear every three nanoseconds in my Twitter feed.

Since February 2010, I’ve had over 750,000 individual page views on my blog, with many articles being read tens of thousands of times, in over 170 countries around this world of ours. I’ve built up a following of more than 100,000 people on Twitter.

All things considered, it’s not a bad arena to present your writing to.

I am looking for quite specific topics, however – which I’ll detail shortly – and it’s important that any articles I consider publishing to my social network are quality pieces, completely original (i.e. having not appeared on your own blog, previously, or lifted straight out of an Eckhart Tolle lecture) and of a good standard of writing.

You’ll be fully credited (with links to your Twitter/Facebook/Website, etc.) and, of course, retain copyright of anything that I may publish through @Lesism.

(I won’t publish anything that’s overtly commercial, but I am happy to include links to books and so on.)

The only thing I ask is that you refrain from re-publishing the blog on your own site for a minimum of seven days, though I'm happy to remove content on request.

To the topics…

If you’ve read through my blogs, you’ll have picked up that there’s a general theme of self-help, in areas of present awareness/mindfulness, spirituality and depression, and those are the subjects I’d like guest bloggers to write on.

Now, I think I have to make a distinction between spirituality and religion, because I’m not religious and I won’t publish fundamental religious stuff, but that’s not to say I would dismiss genuinely helpful articles that include reference to a person’s faith.

Also, articles on depression need to be uplifting! Whether you’ve found a way to cope with it or have overcome it completely, present it in a way that will inspire and help others.

I’m particularly interested in hearing other ‘Awakening’ stories, and I know there are many of you out there who have experienced the phenomenon.

If you feel like you could produce a solid blog on any of the above (or you have a REALLY GREAT cat story), please email me a pitch at:

lesfloyd@gmail.com

Please write ‘GUEST BLOG’ in the email header.

Looking forward to hearing from you!

Hugs,

Les

I'd be most appreciative if you’d give my Facebook Page it a LIKE:

www.facebook.com/Lesism

The Transformation of Humanity

2012-12-20T18:54:00.002Z

Good news is rarely reported in this world of ours.

In each minute of the horrendous events in Connecticut, last week - which left 27 innocent children and adults dead – there were approximately 255 births across the world… perhaps a thousand new births while that man I don’t want to and won’t remember unleashed his madness.

I don’t believe in supernatural evil, but it’s true that some humans are capable of expressing and executing a most unnatural and malevolent manifestation of hate. This is a psychological aberration, rather than demonic influence.

The mind – the egoic mind - can become a very dark place, and it is a human trait that we can become, all too easily, lost in that darkness.

I found out, a couple of weeks ago, that my friend from school killed herself.

Ironically, she was a mental-health nurse, and cared for many people through her career. She made some bad decisions, it seems… she slept with one or more of her patients, and when that was found out, she spiralled into that shadow of mind which convinced her that the best option was to take her life. She died in a mental hospital.

I loved that woman, when I was a teenager… I adored everything about her… and I mourn her. I am so sad that I wasn’t there to help her see a way through.

I realise she’s like humanity in microcosm.

All the people she helped, and all the life she had ahead, and she must have been so focussed on the negatives that she neglected to realise how bright and beautiful she was… and is… and how much she still had to give to the world.

What she did… it didn’t matter… not in the grand scheme of things… she just had human feelings with others who had human feelings… but the pressure from outside caused her to believe that she was no longer useful or worthy to this world of ours. And she killed herself.

When tragedies occur, in our world – when many people die at once – we too quickly assume that it’s the state of our world.

What we fail to remember is that for every person who dies, many children are born; or for every celebrity divorce, multitudes more fall in love.

We are a beautiful species, bound by love, and love is such a special thing.

We wouldn’t still exist if we didn’t love each other.

Humanity is transforming all the time. It doesn’t take one day of superstition to mark this.

Love.

Everyone close to you.

Love.

Everyone you think you can’t love.

Love.

Forgive.

And you WILL transform humanity.

And if you can do that, you are a gift to our species and this Universe.

Love.

Present Awareness & the Conditioned Ego

2012-08-17T21:46:00.000+01:00

I want to address some common misconceptions about the practice of present awareness, using a few paraphrased, generic statements – the bones of which have been expressed to me over the past year, in response to various blogs I’ve written.

Firstly, though, I’ll reaffirm that I firmly believe that there are no negatives to present awareness; that it releases us from emotional pain, fear, worry, anxiety, depression and a whole host of other mind-related issues and problems that are too common in our world, up to and including civil and global warfare.

Some people aren’t so convinced, to the point they will dismiss and argue against the concept from the outset, without investigating the potential benefits.

Human beings have been conditioned to become creatures of ego, through the manipulation of - amongst others - political, religious, corporate and media institutions.

If you disagree with that and would brush me off as a conspiracy theorist, here are a few questions for you to consider:

What makes a person racist? Did they come up with their cancerous belief system themselves, or were they taught it by others – their parents, their communities, etc.?
Why is there still such animosity against the gay community? Is this the product of individual experience, or is it in response to what religious institutions tell people is right and wrong, and which has seeped into society as a whole – even taken on board by those of a non-religious persuasion?
What drives millions of people to destroy each other during national and global conflicts? Is it that every person suddenly decided that they wanted an enemy, or were they told who their enemy was – often, under punishment of social isolation or even death if they disagreed?

So, although the thoughts and opinions in your head may well be your experience of life, they’re not necessarily the product of deduction in your own mind – in many cases, they’re enforced upon you through conditioning.

The above are extreme examples of the collective ego; our ‘pack mentality’, so to speak.

Here are four examples of how conditioning affects us, on a smaller scale:

A child is three times more likely to smoke if their parents smoke.
Girls are ten times more likely to be overweight if their parents are obese.
Boys who witness domestic violence are more likely to commit domestic violence as an adult.
A child is more likely to experience depression if one of their parents suffered from depression. That risk doubles if both parents were depressed.

No parent wants their child to be an obese, depressed, spouse-beating smoker, but, just as they themselves have been unconsciously conditioned by their parents and society, they unconsciously pass on these flaws to their offspring.

There may be arguments on genetics, here, but even with a genetic predisposition to obesity, you still have to physically load the food into your mouth. You don’t gain weight from swallowing air.

Likewise, a predisposition to depression does not mean you will suffer from depression, but if your environmental conditioning is full of negativity, causing you self-doubt, low self-esteem and anxiety, you may very well become depressed.

What can we do about this?

The remedy to unconscious living is conscious living: i.e. present awareness, or mindfulness, or however you prefer to label it – it’s the same thing.

This is available to pretty much everyone, right now, and it’s free.

Which leads me to the first of those generic statements I mentioned at the start of this post:

“It’s easier said than done!”

Being happy and content is just about the easiest thing in the world, when you remember to look at life in a positive way – and this is something you already know how to do, instinctively, but which you’ve unlearned through conditioning.

What’s really, really, really hard is going through a severe bout of depression, when your ego has tricked you into giving it all your energy and your mind is consumed by negative, destructive, compulsive over-thinking.

The ‘easier said than done’ statement comes from your ego, because your ego doesn’t want you to be happy. It will put mental barriers in the way of that possibility, because it thrives on the suffering it causes both you and itself.

Ignore it. It’s an arse.

Rather than the pessimistic affirmation of “It’s easier said than done!”, charge your mind with positivity and say to yourself: “Yeah, I can do that!”

What have you got to lose from studying, learning and living a live of present awareness?

Second statement:

“Living in the moment would mean abandoning my studies and not caring about my future. My whole life would collapse.”

Present awareness doesn’t mean that you float through life, in the moment, disregarding your ambitions and dreams.

Rather, you’ll find that those ambitions and dreams are more readily transmutable into intentions and plans, because once you flush all of the negative crap out of your head, you uncover a seemingly miraculous inner-energy well of creativity, and that floods the space where all that pointless debris you’d clung onto for decades used to be.

If you build a house, you build it in the moment. The placement of every brick, beam and frame is done in the physical, living moment – not three months ahead.

Maybe in three months, you’ll want to put a roof on it, and perhaps you’ll write up some designs and plans for what you want that roof to look like, but you’ll never get the chance to do that if you don’t keep building the walls, will you?

Your life won’t collapse by engaging in present awareness. You’ll be able to build it stronger than you ever thought you could.

Statement three:

“Letting go of my pain from the past would mean I don’t care. These things made me who I am and I don’t want to forget, or I wouldn’t be myself.”

I jumped off a wall when I was a young boy and landed on a stick that went through the join in my knee; I once stapled my thumb – the staple went right in and I had to pull it out; I stood on a nail that was sticking out of a plank of wood; I once pressed my finger against a car’s cigarette lighter to see if it was hot… and it scorched my fingerprint off…

I don’t jump off walls into bushes any more; I don’t staple myself; I am cautious about nails in planks of wood and I don’t put my fingers on things that I know will probably scorch me.

I do all of the above without feeling any pain.

How absurd would it be if I’d kept all of those things still sticking in me, or stuck onto my sizzling skin, for all these years?

Many of us learn valuable lessons from the episodes in our life that catalyse emotional pain (and remember that nobody can cause you emotional pain – that can only come from within, with your interpretation of their words and/or actions), but what most of us don’t seem to learn is that we need to let that pain go.

Without that process of acceptance, forgiveness and closure, it would be like me keeping that stick in my knee… trying to struggle through life, bearing the agony, the wound septic and never healing…

Don’t let your ego drag you into the past to justify the misery of your unconscious existence, when the past is nothing but electrical patterns in your brain.

Consider… if you could let go of all your negativity, distrust, anxiety, sadness, fear, and so on, and so on…

… and if you could live with contentment, in peace, with frequent bouts of joy and happiness…

… do you think your life would be a better or worse experience?

You have something so powerful inside you… and if you haven’t found it yet, but you want to find it, you will.

The truth is you could have it right now.

Desiderata

2012-08-15T21:03:00.001+01:00

Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann, is my all-time favourite poem. Where some people cling to the words of the Bible or the Koran through arduous, challenging times, I smile at these words.

There is a bit of backstory to how I discovered this poem, though…

Seventeen years ago, before the Internet, I met a girl named Jo at the nightclub I used to haunt, in my home city of Carlisle.

She was beautiful. Brown eyes, olive skin, a perfect body, and she would have earned a Gold Medal in bedroom gymnastics.

It turned out she was not for me… actually, I found out a few weeks later that she was engaged to a police detective in the city, and he had the capacity to get quite annoyed about his girlfriend’s indiscretions… but, ho-hum… I didn’t know that, previously.

So, when she left, the next morning… a little later, I was going to write in my diary (which I still kept, back then) about the previous night.

On the page I was going to write on, I read the words:

“You are a child of the Universe; no less than the trees or the stars. You have a right to be here.”

Jo had scrawled it in there.

She seemed the sort of person who could whip those words from her heart, so I always thought they belonged to her.

We only ever met each other in passing, after that momentous night, but she’ll always be someone important, to me.

It was around 15 years later, when the world was getting to grips with the Internet, that I put those words she wrote to me into a search engine, and found this wonderful poem:

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter,

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.

And whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life,

keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

The Cat Olympics 2014

2012-08-14T17:41:00.000+01:00

Now that the Queen has finally stopped Jubilating, and with the rather enjoyable London 2012 Olympic Games done and dusted, I get the impression the people of Great Britain (and Northern Ireland) are going to feel a bit lost over the next few years.

With the exception of the impending Paralympic Games, and excluding the remote possibility of a state funeral for yet-to-die former Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, there are no great celebrations left on the horizon. We’ve done them all. Granted, we did them well, but now they’re over.

So, in order to invigorate and ignite the British spirit once more, I’ve decided to push my best idea ever (thus far):

The Inaugural Oxfordshire Cat Pride Olympiad 2014

In 2014 (subject to funding), the Oxfordshire town of Wheatley, in England, will be hosting its inaugural Cat Pride Olympiad (which you may have realised is just the same information in the subtitle, above, but padded out a bit to more effectively fill some paragraph space).

Cats, kittens and their personal assistants will gather from all four corners of the globe to compete in a multitude of disciplines, including:

The High Jump of Surprise

Judged on the vertical launch height achieved by the cat when it is startled.

Laser Pen Gymnastics

Judged on grace and poise, with extra points for red-dot contact and buffoonery.

Boxing

Single and synchronised attempts to fit into the smallest box possible.

The Down and Up the Stairs (Singles)

The cat runs down the stairs, stops stock still in the living room, looks up at the ceiling with lowered ears, growls, then runs dramatically back up the stairs, freaking out the cat’s personal assistant, who now thinks the house is haunted.

The Down and Up the Stairs (Doubles Relay)

One cat runs down the stairs, stops stock still in the living room, looks up at the ceiling with lowered ears, growls, and the other cat - who was just sitting quietly on a chair, snoozing – spooks and legs it up the stairs, freaking out the cats’ personal assistant, who now thinks the house is haunted.

Snow Jumping

How far a confused, cold kitten can jump from the hole they made when you dropped them in deep snow, for a giggle.

The Catathlon

Across a fence, down a wall, through a cat flap, curl into a ball and sleep.

The Grass Throw

Both a timing and distance discipline, beginning from the moment the cat begins eating a clump of grass, then the distance from the cat’s mouth the pool of bile and chewed grass eventually ends up. Double points if it’s on carpet. Triple points if it’s on the cat’s assistant’s bed.

The Superbowl

How fast can a hungry kitty clean its bowl of meaty chunks?

The 5am Howl

How loud, in decibels, can a cat meow before its personal assistant feels compelled to get out of bed to feed them?

Dressage

Timing how long it takes, from beginning to dress the cat up in an humiliating outfit, until its personal assistant loses some blood.

Synchronised Sleeping

The Perch of Danger

The cat’s attempt to find the highest, most precarious place they can sit. Extra points if they fall asleep, there, without falling off.

I’m sure you’ll all agree that this festival of the world’s finest felines will make London 2012 look like a gathering of village idiots, and I hope you’ll all give me your support as I move forward and work towards raising the mere $30 billion needed to ensure the Games are a stunning, and secure, success.

This $40 billion will go primarily towards:

Cat toys.
Cat food.
Lactose-free milk.
Scratching posts.
14 x 2.5 megaton nuclear warheads, with ICBM delivery systems (for general security purposes)
A giant, 500ft high, solid gold statue of a cat, with living quarters, which – as Executive Chief King of the Feline Olympic Committee – I’ll live in, during the games.
A hollowed-out volcanic island – which I’ll live in, after the games.

Every single penny of the £55 billion budget will go towards advancing the spirit of cats competing in Olympics, so, please, donate today!

Looking forward to seeing you in Wheatley in 2014! :-)

Goodbye, Cool World

2012-08-13T22:28:00.003+01:00

I have to confess (though it’s technically not true that I have to confess – it’s not like I’m sitting at the keyboard because someone’s standing over me with a loaded harpoon gun) that I wasn’t completely convinced about the whole Olympics thing.

I was quite the lardist when I was a surly teenager, so never really took part in sporting activities in school. In fact, I’m certain those were the lessons I most frequently truanted.

I have post-traumatic flashbacks of the zing noise a rugby ball makes when it punts off your face, first lesson on an already red-faced, frosty December morning; the agony of being punched right in the nuts when in a scrum; panting for miles, down the sloping school playing field, chasing a tennis ball that had been whacked past me, again; and standing around in a field, yawning, waiting for cricket to become interesting, which never happened.

I wasn’t quite in the camp of people who wanted to burn down the Olympics, melt all the winners’ medals and from that metal, cast bullets that could be used in an uprising against the Queen, but I wasn’t too enthusiastic about the arrival of the Games, and sometimes got quite irate about it.

Here were my main gripes:

It documents sport.
The military put ground-to-air missile launchers in civilian areas around London, and I’m thinking: you can’t shoot a jet down in a city as densely populated as this and not have massive casualties.
The whole Coca-Cola/McDonalds/Scientology sponsorship pact that outlawed mortal use of the number 2012.
Sebastian Coe.
David Cameron’s face… all the time… going on about the Olympics…
The fear that women beach volleyballers would all opt to wear shorts instead of thongs.
That bloody torch… everywhere… each day…
The over-zealous heavies acting as jogging body guards around the torch, who actually threw an old woman into a bush.
Sport… everywhere… for two long weeks…

All that changed when Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II accompanied James Bond to a helicopter…

As with the Royal Wedding, The Queen’s Jubilee and Princess Diana’s funeral, the Olympics reaffirmed that Great Britain (and Northern Ireland) can really throw a groovy party… or whatever the youngsters say, nowadays. A sick party, maybe?

Anyway, so – like countless others, I’m sure – I pretty much relaxed to the idea of liking the Olympics, especially when there was such a great buzz about the country.

Watching Andy Murray get Gold in the singles tennis was my biggest highlight, though I was disappointed he didn’t start crying again.

Murray is the only person – amongst more than seven billion people on the planet – who can say he won the London 2012 Gold Medal for men’s singles tennis.

It was a bit of an epiphany to realise that people like Murray, Hoy, Wiggins and the outstanding Ennis could only have dreamt of those gold medals if they hadn’t dedicated themselves, absolutely, to the pursuit of personal perfection and transmuted what most people would allow to remain thoughts, into action and results.

What we put in, we get out, as so many of the athletes who contested these Olympics will know already. (I don’t think that rule applies at sperm banks, though.)

Sport aside (and thank chemical chance/God/Odin/L.Ron.Hubbard that cricket isn’t in the Olympics), I really enjoyed the pageant of the Games. We put on a great show and it was wonderful to be reminded just how rich Great Britain (and Northern Ireland)’s cultural heritage is… and that’s the way to capture the real heart of a people… not by looking at our politicians or assuming we’re all like Daphne from Frasier, or her supposedly English brother who sounded just like an American doing a very bad English accent.

Pink Floyd, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Queen, The Who, Madness, The Kinks, Genesis, Duran Duran, The Reynolds Girls, Titchy Straddler… the list of musical masters goes on and on…

It actually seems like Great Britain (and Northern Ireland) has been in party mode for the best part of more than a year, after the Royal Wedding, last whenever, and the Queen’s Diamond Jubilations, earlier this so-called Summer.

On behalf of Her Majesty, and on the behalf of cheddar cheese, Cadbury’s chocolate, Stone Henge, Big Ben, Piers Morgan, Monty Python and rain, I would like to extend my deepest thanks to everyone who participated in London 2012, whether that was by volunteering, competing, watching, or by flicking a channel and cheering your team from thousands of miles away.

And how nice that North Korea and Iran could win medals alongside the UK, the US and Iceland.

Perhaps all the problems of the world should be solved through competitive sport?

The Hugs of Safe Harbour

2012-08-11T01:09:00.000+01:00

My Mum told me something, yesterday, that had me with tears in my eyes, while talking to her on the phone, sitting in the light of a golden Sunset, in the middle of Wheatley – the village I moved to a few months ago.

One of my childhood friends, Mandy, died last weekend, at the far-too-young age of 41-years old.

She’d had a lot of health issues over the years, along the same lines as my oldest brother, Paul: chronic kidney disease, resulting in the need for dialysis, then a kidney transplant… and there are so many issues that result from this… it really is like the medical equivalent of spinning plates.

The thing is, Mandy had been through some tough times and had been very ill, but – doing quite well, of late, it seems – out of the blue, she had some internal bleeding and when surgeons operated on her, her aorta ruptured, and there was effectively nothing they could do to save her. (I’m not sure of the exact details, but my Mother told me this.)

I hadn’t spoken more than a few words to Mandy for more than 20 years, I guess, but she was such an important part of my childhood. She was three years older than me, and our families were so close, she was like a sister to me… back then.

It was a real shock to hear the news. It still seems impossible. I can only hope that (and I do feel that), after all her suffering, she’s in a better place… and her family will be reunited with her, at the right time.

The thing that really got me, yesterday – the day of her funeral – was my Mum telling me that she’d been across to see Mandy’s family a few days ago. She gave her mother and sister a hug.

Mandy’s father… who was always a reserved kind of guy and not the most tactile of people… gave my Mum a hug.

This was a surprise.

She told me on the phone that he’d ‘never been the hugging type’, and he said to her that, before last weekend, he hadn’t even hugged his own sister – in his whole life - but all that had changed, through their shared ordeal.

He said that he didn’t realise what he’d missed out on, until then.

Hugs are such a beautiful gift, in times of joy, sadness and overwhelming grief.

Don’t wait until it’s too late, and you wished you could hug them…

… and if you can’t hug them, pick up the phone and tell them you love them.

RIP Mandy – Corby Hill’s Steffi Graff, from my early memories.

Teenage Suicide & Reaching for Help

2012-08-07T21:50:00.001+01:00

I received one of the most gracious and humbling emails that anyone has ever written me, this morning, from a woman who left a comment on my blog post, ‘The Woodpecker at the End ofthe World’ (where I write about a close encounter with suicide, when I was ‘saved’ by the sound of a woodpecker, which pulled me away from my dark mind and back into the light of the moment).

The comment read:

Followed your link from twitter. You and your story were my woodpecker today. Thank you for being there.

I told her to email me if she needed to, and received this, today:

Hi Les!

I follow you on Twitter and saw your post yesterday about the woodpecker. I'm the one who left the comment. I hope I didn't alarm you.

I just wanted to say that you never know who is reading your posts and how much you are helping them, even if they leave no comment at all. And you are very special to share your stories with others.

The truth is, I'm not okay and I haven't been okay for a very long time. I try to sound positive and upbeat when I am posting and corresponding with others but some days are worse than others. And yesterday your link to the post about the woodpecker helped me through the day.

Again, I hope I didn't startle you or worry you.

Thank you for being there. You mean a lot to many, even if we've never met in person.

[Name Withheld]

I was intending to write a blog about just this (after asking for the woman’s permission)… and not to massage my own ego… but to remind us all that, sometimes, the things we say or do can be all that’s needed to help lead others out of very dark places.

I write stuff. I do hope it helps, but it’s always great to find out it does help. It compels me to keep writing, because now and again, my words seem to be read at just the right time… which is also the reason I persist in spamming my poor Twitter followers with repeated and rotated blog links a zillion times a day.

The Woodpecker blog was written more than 14 months ago. Barring a few breaks I’ve taken, I’ve repeated it about twice a day ever since, and though this has pissed a relative handful of grumpy people, hundreds of others have appreciated it – many of whom have thanked me for sending out those words at just the right time for them. It’s certainly been the blog I’ve received the most emails about.

I write about my experiences. Sadly, too many people can relate to those experiences, but by sharing these details, they help to remind others that they’re really not alone.

I recall quite a few people, over the past year or so, who have told me they’d like to write a blog about their own experiences with various debilitating conditions and illnesses, but they worry that nobody would want to read them.

The thing is, us humans have so much in common - when we forget to hold on to the things we believe set us apart - that pretty much whatever you write or otherwise communicate about your problems and triumphs to the world outside your mind, there’s going to be someone who understands… who can empathise and perhaps relate to their own experience… people who you can help, or who will help you…

So don’t be afraid to speak out about the things that are truly important to you.

Don’t be embarrassed to write it down, paint it, sculpt it, dance it, or whatever… as long as you are creative, rather than destructive, send your message out to the world, and then don’t hold back on promoting and broadcasting yourself, because you may just be the big difference in someone else’s day, to help them see another day.

That’s the beauty of humanity… we’re better when we care about and share with each other…

And this would have been the end of my blog, but something else happened today that I want to write about.

My friend, Georgina, from @M40Offices, posted a message on her business’s Facebook and Twitter feeds today – an appeal to find a young girl, Molly O’Donovan, who had been missing since Sunday morning.

She’s a ‘local’ girl, from Banbury, in Oxfordshire - not far away - and M40 has business connections in that area, too.

I help with M40’s social networking, so I did a few retweets and shared the information to my own pages, and I kept looking in on Thames Valley Police’s missing persons page, because I felt sure that they’d update it in the day to say Molly had been found, alive and well, and then all the kind souls who shared those messages could stand down with a sigh of relief.

Late in the afternoon, Thames Valley Police did indeed update the missing person’s page, with this:

Missing girl - Banbury - update

07 August 2012, 3:51 pm

Thames Valley Police can confirm the body of a teenage girl was found in a wooded area near Foscote Rise at 11.40am this morning (7/8).

The body has now been formally identified as that of missing 14-year-old Molly O’Donovan.

The death is not believed to be suspicious at this stage and enquiries remain ongoing. There is no further information to release at this time.

The family of Molly do not want to speak to the media and have asked that their privacy is respected at this extremely difficult time. Members of the media are asked to respect their wishes.

I don’t mean to offend anyone with speculation, but the fact that Molly was found in woodland, and that there were no suspicious circumstance, infers that she took her own life.

She was 14-years-old…

A childhood friend of mine, a beautiful soul named Mandy Thompson, died on Saturday from internal bleeding. She was 41-years-old, and she’d had kidney problems for most of her adult life, but this was such a mean, totally unexpected curve-ball and her family are obviously crippled, now. She’s a sister and a daughter and an auntie. My own family are devastated, but I can’t imagine what Mandy’s are going through.

I think the only positive I can find in Mandy’s death is that she’d been seriously ill in the past, and her family must have considered the possibility of her passing, even though they’ll have been praying it wouldn’t come any time soon, so there would have been that knowing of love… that whatever happened, that love was never far from heart or mind.

Molly O’Donovan was 14-years-old. She went out of her house on Sunday morning and didn’t come back, and bless the poor girl – if she did commit suicide – she would have felt so alone and so afraid.

I almost hope that it turns out she’s died in some freak accident, because at least that would be easier for her family to eventually digest.

It breaks my heart… that someone so young and with so much life ahead of them could face that same moment of personal Armageddon as I did, back in Woodpecker Woods, and lose to their demons.

We have to break the stigma of talking about our feelings; of communicating that catastrophic sadness and confusion to those around us… who care for us… and despite what we may think when we watch or read the news, there is so much love in this world of ours, if we just look right, without fear of embarrassment or the crippling reluctance to show that, yes, we are sometimes weak and need help.

Better still, let’s sweep the stigma away completely and allow ourselves the freedom to feel we can speak up when we need to.

Until that happens, love and cherish all who are dear to you, because none of us are here forever; but together, there’s always the shine of something so special… of life… and life is to be lived to its fullest…

RIP Molly O’Donovan

RIP Mandy Thompson

Wally of Shoreshire

2012-08-06T16:15:00.000+01:00

The soft, sodium streetlights of Shoreshire twinkled, far across the lake, as the tired Sun fell from the powder blue sky and slid behind the mountains.

Dusk settled in the valley and, drifting in his kayak on the undulating, blackening expanse, Wally wept in frustration. He gazed at the horizon with tear-filled eyes, his heart heavy. It was such a long way to the warmth of home.

A panic gripped him.

“Lord!” he shouted, looking skyward. “Lord, help me!”

He waited, expectantly, scanning the darkening sky for signs of divine intervention, snot dribbling from his nose.

“LORD?”

A minute passed, and still there was no sign of God.

“Lord? Why hath thou forsaken me? Why? If it’s because I haven’t been to church for the past thirty years, I think that’s very petty indeed, considering your position!”

“Jesus, then?” he asked, after a while. “Or are you all in it together?”

No reply.

Wally sniffed and let out a whine, his face contorting, reflecting the desolation he felt in his heart.

“Allah?” he said, in a whisper, so not to alert his main brand of God to his two-timing.

Nothing.

“Jehosephat?”

Silence, except for the slapping and splashing of small waves against his kayak. The wind was picking up and the water becoming choppy.

His shoulders rocked as the sobbing became a convulsion. It was hopeless. He was going to die, he felt sure, and the pike would probably eat his remains. His wife (if he’d had one) would have probably stood on the shore each morning and night, singing laments to his loss, vowing never to marry again and forever wondering: "Where's Wally?"

A flash of inspiration struck him, and he let go of his paddle with one hand to reach into his jacket pocket, for his mobile phone. With a cold finger, he stabbed ‘999’ then swore loudly when he realised, in his haste while leaving the house earlier in the day, that he’d accidentally picked up his television remote, rather than the phone.

He flung it into the lake, with a closely-followed yell of “Bastard!”

Abandoned by two or possibly three gods, and without the ability to call for a helicopter rescue, he resigned himself to his inevitable, early death, hoping that the process of drowning wasn’t too distressing, and also that he drowned before the pike started to eat him.

Then, there was a shrill cry in the air. He looked up and saw a white figure hovering over him. He squinted.

An angel?

Could it be?

In answer, a slithery turd slopped against his forehead, splashing over his face, with a bit of it going in his mouth. The rather large seagull – as it turned out – gave a mocking cackle as it beat its wings and, to add insult to injury, made its way straight towards Shoreshire.

But it gave him an idea, and he shouted out: “Archangel Michael? Please? I’m begging you – take me home on angel’s wings!”

Again, he waited, staring into the sky with hope and anticipation…

… again, nothing happened.

“Angel Gabriel?”

Nope.

“Angel… ina Jolie? Will you adopt me?”

He realised that was a long-shot and was unsurprised when she failed to materialise. It was worth a try, though.

“Rrrraarrrr!” he roared, losing his temper. “What is the point of you all, anyway, if you won’t help people when they need it?”

He scanned the waters and looked about the kayak, hoping for, perhaps, a friendly dolphin or even a mermaid to tow him to shore, but it was becoming so dark that he couldn’t have seen them even if they were there.

Then he looked again to the lights of Shoreshire, a pang of sadness in his heart. Families would be sitting down to their evening meals, laughing and basking in the joy of not being out in the middle of a stupid lake, destined to die, like he was. He wasn’t even 40-years-old.

He lowered his head, tears welling again, and pondered the double-bladed paddle he held in his hands.

“Hmm…”

He looked up once more to the glow of his village.

Slowly, he lifted the paddle and sliced one of the blades into the water, pulling hard.

The kayak moved forward.

He repeated the effort with the opposite blade and his vessel lurched.

Pumping his arms, he kept going, heaving and panting, putting all the effort he could into reaching the shores of Shoreshire.

Within minutes, he could clearly see the village pub and the floodlit jetty. He was getting closer! His chest throbbed with breathlessness and exhilaration, and he began to feel like – barring a last minute pike attack – he was actually going to make it back to dry land.

He laughed, longer and louder than he’d ever laughed before, still pounding and pulling the water past him, and before long, the hull of the kayak scraped over gravel and he slid onto the shore.

Jumping out of the boat, he danced on the solid ground, punching the air and cheering himself.

“And THAT’S why I’m becoming an atheist, you wankers!” he declared to the sky, before tramping to his beachside house.

* * * * *

With the gas fire turned on full and a welcome heat beginning to fill the room and warm his bones, Wally collapsed into his armchair and breathed a loud sigh of satisfaction. He picked up his mobile phone from the coffee table and tried to turn on the television.

“Bollocks!” he said, his brow creasing.

After long minutes of staring blankly at the lifeless screen in the corner of the room, his lower lip trembled and a tear ran down his cheek. A terrifying thought struck him: would he ever see Downton Abbey again?

He looked up to the ceiling and pleaded, with a sob: “Buddha? Can you hear me?”

* * * * *

In the darkness, King Bitey – the largest and lord of all pike – watched the light of Wally’s window from the cold water and seethed bubbles through the too-many teeth in his oversized mouth.

“Next time, human… next time…” he vowed, before slinking back to the black depths of the lake.

The End

Syria, War, Peace and Armageddon

2012-08-03T00:46:00.000+01:00

Kofi Annan – the former Secretary-General of the United Nations – has resigned his position as UN-Arab League joint special envoy to Syria.

He authored a six-point peace plan for Syria – intending to bring a halt to the atrocities in that country - but he realises, now, that his vision has little or no chance of coming to pass…

This isn’t because of the actions of the Syrian people.

This is because of the bickering of the international community; the member states of the United Nations – an organisation which was founded in 1945 (taking over from the League of Nations), in the cauldrons of shock at the end of World War II, to ‘to stop wars between countries, and to provide a platform for dialogue’...

… essentially, to support world peace, after the war-loss of roughly…

… and I’ll put this in caps, and embolden it…

SEVENTY-ONE MILLION PEOPLE

… in the first 45 years of the 20^th Century, in two World Wars.

World War II was a NUCLEAR WAR, which a lot of people don’t grasp, so I’m capping that, too.

I’m not casting blame on the USA – which, it’s true, is the only country to deploy nuclear weapons in anger – because if Germany, Japan or even the United Kingdom had been able to utilise that technology first, then history would have been very different.

Now, in 2012, we have this situation where the five permanent members of the United Nations (China, France, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States) – which have veto rights – essentially cancel each other out at nearly every opportunity, because of their political affiliation to a country in question.

It’s a political power play and generally never considers the actual people of a particular country, or the deaths they endure; rather, it’s posturing… for the governmental benefit of the super-force of the day…

Iran used to be friends of the West, but now they’re our enemies.

Iraq used to be enemies of the West, now they’re our friends.

Afghanistan fought against the Russians, then they fought against the US, and now they’re friends of the West.

In a nutshell, it’s fucking crazy.

It’s like George Orwell’s ‘1984’.

Read it and you’ll understand, if it doesn’t burst veins in your head while you try to consider how quickly Big Brother decides to change sides, and you can then equate it to our own non-fiction governments and their own actions.

In Syria, the ‘West’ is backing (and very likely arming) the rebels, who have been cutting off the heads and otherwise executing captured Syrian soldiers, and these soldiers opposing them are only fighting because, if they don’t fight, they’re going to be shot by their own side, or because they’ve heard stories about the soldiers on their side having their heads cut off, so they’re so incensed and afraid and compelled to kill these people who will, they believe, cut off their heads, if they’re captured.

The ‘East’ is backing (and very likely arming) the Syrian ‘regime’, which is fighting against perceived rebels that are cutting off the heads or otherwise executing captured Syrian soldiers.

The thing is, the ‘West’ are backing (and very likely arming) many of (not all, by a long shot) the same sort of people they’re fighting in Afghanistan, and have been fighting in Iraq… just as they did to groups in Libya, when they decided that Gaddafi was no longer their friend, after being his friend and taking his oil in the decade previous - until which he wasn’t their friend - despite knowing his record of dictatorial abuse against his own people, before they decided he was no longer useful to them.

We – the ‘West’ – are fighting the same people in Afghanistan that we’re (very likely) arming in Syria.

We’re killing the fundamentalists in one arena and arming them in another.

We’re playing them like pawns.

I don’t know what the ‘East’ is doing, because I can’t read their newspapers, but I suspect the same sort of games are going on there, too.

And the people who are dying, right now, are Syrians… just normal people, who don’t want to be in a Civil War… who have become lost in the anger of seeing their loved-ones die, and are taking up arms because they’ve been swept along by games played in ‘corridors of power’, thousands of miles from their families and their homes, which are decimating their families, killing them and their children, and destroying their homes.

We – the ‘West’ – have done this over and over and over again, and I’m not differentiating: so have the ‘East’.

When’s it going to stop?

I can tell you one scenario – which isn’t too far-fetched, sadly – but you’re not going to like it…

Here it is:

Syria have already alluded to the fact that they have chemical and biological weapons - and they have the ability to arm them on delivery systems - but they won’t use them internally, against their own people; so the threat there is that they’ll use them to external forces that interfere with the Civil War that they’re now embroiled in.

So, when the Western-backed rebels crush the Syrian ‘enemies’ into the position where they know that, even if they’re captured, they’re going to die, they decide to go out with a bang and launch whatever chemical and biological munitions they can against targets in Israel.

They may have got these weapons into the Lebanon already, so there will be launches from there, too.

Israel – a nation with a great deal of nuclear weapons, though they’ve never signed up to agreeing that they have them – see thousands or tens of thousands of their people slaughtered by Syria, which they know is backed by Iran.

This is perceived as Holocaust Part II.

In their anger, they launch their nuclear weapons against both Syria and Iran, killing millions of people who never wanted to go to war at all.

The rest of the world waits, in agony…

Then we have China and Russia against the US, UK and France, as permanent members of the United Nations…

… with enough firepower to wipe out all life on the planet.

You may think I’m being unpatriotic, but my nephew is in Afghanistan at this very minute. My brother spent 30 years in the Army and retired this year.

I’m supportive of our troops, because they believe they’re doing the right thing, and they genuinely do care about their missions.

What I’m not supportive of is the same mechanic and dynamic of ‘dark corridors’ in government that puts my nephew and my brother in the same position as the millions of people in both world wars, where many were forced over trenches towards certain death by the fire of the ‘enemy’ machine guns, just as their ‘enemies’ were forced to do the same, on pain of execution.

When are we going to understand that most of us really don’t care about global domination, and we’re more than happy to live our lives without the threat of being shot at?

I really do believe that, without the mass-hysteria of the governmental and political systems of World War II, and the disgraceful assumption that the people of any land should work for their perceived leaders (rather than those leaders work for their best interests) it would have been Adolf Hitler and Winston Churchill having a punch-up in field somewhere, and the majority of German and British people would have left them to it, with the afterthought of: “Fuck ‘em.”

Nobody that fought in World War One or World War Two, or any other War, didn’t want to go home.

They were terrified.

In the midst of battle, they didn’t want to be there. They wanted to go home.

They wanted to be with their families, to forget war, and to live…

There was a ‘great’ moment, in World War I – on Christmas Day, in 1914 (the first year of the war) – where British and German troops put aside their troubles and played football (soccer) on what would have been their killing fields.

Despite having previously tried to destroy each other, they played together and had fun, just for a while…

Then, their ‘superiors’ put them back to killing each other.

What can we learn from those people who kicked a ball about, with joy? Who seemed to have something so terrible to fight about, but who laughed and played together?

… that there is no difference between Conservative/Republican and Labour/Democrat; that there is no difference between black and white; that there is no difference between gay or straight; that there is no difference between disabled and abled-bodied; that there is no difference between Christian/Muslim/Jew/Atheist/Humanist/Agnostic and every other faith or belief; that there is no difference between auburn, blonde and ginger; that no noses or bodies are the wrong shape…

… that we’re all human beings, trying to be… throughout all the heartache and agony and joy and triumph… the best we can…

… then we’ll finally understand this one thing…

… we are the same.

And then there’ll be no more fighting.

War will end.

Peace will liberate us to explore and advance the greatest aspects of our species, and we’ll build, together, rather then focus our technology on new ways to kill each other.

You may be scoffing that this will never happen; that humans will always fight against each other, but consider this…

If one person can make that change of perception: if just one person in this world of ours can reject conflict and give their heart and faith and voice to peace, when the egoic mind would want for war, then surely we can all do that?

We are the same.

It could be you who starts that chain-reaction.

The Gift of Consciousness

2012-08-01T23:15:00.000+01:00

Consciousness is the foundation for everything we have and do in our lives, but this gift of awareness is so often overlooked or overshadowed by the grumbling of the egoic mind.

You could live a seemingly blessed existence, surrounded by luxury and comfort that few people can even dream of, yet still find a multitude of things to worry and complain about.

In contrast, there are those that seem to have very little in terms of monetary wealth or possessions, but they lead – by and large - happy, fulfilled lives.

Is the awareness of consciousness – the ability to see and feel life for what it really is, not the illusion our minds create - the key to contentment?

No matter what faith or belief you have - maybe you feel certain we’re reincarnated; that we go to some magical, happy, gated-community in the sky, or somewhere a bit hotter; that we’re here as a spark of life, surrounded on both sides by half an eternity of nothingness - one thing is for sure: we will never walk this Earth in the same form again, once we pass the moment of death.

It seems a terrible waste of life to wrap ourselves in a blanket of discontent and fear… to let concerns of how others perceive us be a barrier from taking action and setting out on a journey to achieve our dreams…

Our own minds judge us through speculating on how other people judge us. It’s a bizarre mental interplay that holds so many of us back.

If you had no life or consciousness, then you suddenly flashed into existence, wouldn’t that be a beautiful thing to experience? The colours, sounds, intricate details of the world around you… the heat of the Sun, the scent of the trees… it would be an awesome, magical adventure of discovery.

We all have that ability, to experience the world afresh, every moment, but as we become accustomed to what once filled us with awe and wonder, we fall back to a robotic unconsciousness and lose sight of the greatness of life.

Look around yourself and take in all the things you should be thankful for, whether it’s your children, your pets, your partner, your parents, your siblings, the roof over your head, the food in the fridge, the water that runs from your taps, the amazing communication devices that hook you up with the rest of the world, the light from the Sun or the clouds in the sky…

We should be dizzy and drunk on the joy of life, not – instead – focussing on all of the perceived negatives we can find, which cloak the beauty we’re both surrounded by and also an integral part of.

Whoever or whatever caused us to have it, consciousness is such a precious gift.

Cherish your present.

The Denver Shootings

2012-07-21T00:25:00.001+01:00

First of all, I’d like to express my heartfelt sorrow and deepest, deepest sympathy to everyone affected by the truly horrible killings in Denver, this morning…

… to those who were killed; to those who were injured; to those who survived, physically unscathed, but who will have years of torment ahead of them as they come to terms with the horror of this atrocity; to the families of the dead, the injured and the traumatised, as they gather together and scream and cry and shout and try to comprehend what has happened; to the community, the emergency services and even the journalists sent to the scene to cover this awful story… and to everyone whose hearts are aching, right now, willing with futility that events could somehow be unfolded and made right.

It would be easy for the rest of the world to dismiss this as just another ‘only in America’ mass-murder-by-firearms, but it was two years ago, on the 2^nd June, 2010, that 52-year-old Derrick Bird raced around the quiet, country lanes of rural Cumbria – my home county, in England – and left a trail of incomprehensible slaughter, killing 12 people, including his own twin brother, and injuring 11 more.

I didn’t know anyone killed or connected to the Cumbria rampage, but there was an almost tangible sense of shock that it could have happened… here… of all places… so close to home… in such a quiet and peaceful community…

It’s not like we have the same level of access to firearms in the United Kingdom, as is a ‘right’ (I believe?) in the United States.

There were two previous atrocities which brought about massive changes in the law regarding the possession of guns.

The first, in recent history, was 27-year-old Michael Ryan’s rampage in 1987 – know as ‘The Hungerford Massacre’ – where, armed with two semi-automatic rifles and a handgun, he shot 16 people dead (including his mother) and injured another 15 before turning the gun on himself.

This incident sent shockwaves through our society and led directly to the ‘Firearms (Amendment) Act 1988’, which tightened controls on the possession of firearms in the United Kingdom (except for Northern Ireland).

The UK has no ‘constitutional’ right to bear arms. Our police forces (in England, Scotland and Wales – which, along with Northern Ireland make up the United Kingdom), by the large, never carried firearms, and nor do they to this day, so why should the general public be allowed such ferocious weaponry?

The second atrocity, in 1996, was probably the most cowardly and disgusting act of internal slaughter in the history of Western society…

Thomas Hamilton, 43, a former Scout Leader, took four handguns into a primary school in the Scottish town of Dunblane, and executed 16 children and one of their teachers. The children were, with the exception of one six-year-old, all aged five. The teacher, who tried to protect them, was 45.

Hamilton shot himself dead soon after, amidst the corpses he’d made of his victims, who simply went to school that morning; pupil and teacher.

In the wake of this, the Firearms (Amendment) Act 1997 and the Firearms (Amendment) (No. 2) Act 1997 were enacted, which effectively made private ownership of handguns illegal in the United Kingdom.

Yet, in 2010, Derrick Bird still murdered 12 people with legally licenced and owned shotguns and rifles.

This is not an ‘only in America’ problem…

I don’t believe in evil and I don’t believe that there are evil people, but, absolutely, there are people in this world who seem hell-bent on causing untold pain and suffering to others, and though I would have previously said that I felt the availability of firearms was a catalyst to these slaughters, it’s a truth that the people who commit these atrocities would likely have found some other way to at least attempt to cause this pain, if guns weren’t available to them…

There were three incidents of mass stabbings of young children in a single month in China, in 2010.

It’s the person, not the weapon, that kills and maims, and it happens all over the world… not just in the US, not just in the UK, not just in China…

I just want to give some advice to anyone who feels they are becoming compelled to hurt others on this sort of level…

I am, I hope you realise, an advocate of the importance of communicating to others if you’re feeling down and depressed, especially if you’re reaching the point of suicide and you can’t see a way out.

Ask for help, always. Make it known that you’re struggling to cope; that your mind is torturing you and you just can’t imagine a future. There are people who will help you.

But if it comes to the point where you’re all set to actively go out into the world and destroy the lives of others… to go on a gun rampage… to slash up a class of kids… to rape and bury a child…

… do this one thing, before you take action…

… kill yourself.

If you are so determined and at the point of ripping apart the families of strangers or friends, do the right thing and end yourself before you begin their endings.

The Beauty of Clear Vision

2012-06-22T20:23:00.001+01:00

Specky Four Eyes

I picked up my first pair of glasses today… well, as long as you don’t count glasses in a pub… and I have to admit I feel a little stupid that I haven’t sorted that out earlier in my life.

I had to get them for my impending driving lessons (yes, I’m 38… I should have sorted that out earlier, too), but have quickly realised that they’re a far greater benefit than I originally envisaged.

For more years than I can rightly remember, life has been a blur beyond middle distance, so, for example, I had problems reading street signs until I got close up to them, and the stars – which I’ve always loved - became a fuzzy soup of diffused light.

I went out the back of my office, earlier, with the glasses on, and nearly cried happy tears, just watching the clouds…

With a little help from modern science, my long-distance vision is now perfect; it’s like upgrading from watching television on a 1970s set, to a modern, widescreen HDTV system. Even the colours are brighter and more vivid through the lenses of these glasses.

The level of detail in the banks of clouds that I simply couldn’t see before is astonishing. It’s not that they didn’t look great before (I have a thing about cloud-watching), but the feathering and definition is so much clearer.

Yes, I am rambling, but really… if you were like me and dithered over whether glasses would improve your life, don’t hesitate.

Now, I’m waiting for the Sun to go down so I can see the stars clearly again! And I can’t wait to get back to the mountains, before too long.