She's Alive... Beautiful... Finite... Hurting... Worth Dying for.

Take five minutes out of your life to watch this amazing video. A message we all know but is worth remembering.

Beautiful, Melancholy Ophelia

Rory, The Scottish Scribbler, posted five of his all time favourite works of art (paintings) and asked those following him to do the same.  I haven't been blogging for a while, more of a reader than a writer, but he got me thinking on what I would choose. So, here is the first.





'Ophelia' by Sir John Everett Millais is a painting depicting the tragic death of the character from  Shakespeare's play 'Hamlet'.  It's such a beautiful interpretation of the demise of this most romantic of heroines.  As the episode was never actually seen on stage, there has been much debate as to whether her death was the result of an accident or suicide.  Although I studied Hamlet at school (many moons ago!) I never really took much of it in, much preferring the War Poets to boring old Shakespeare!  However, the description of her death, given by queen Gertrude, must have touched me as I've always remembered it.  Below is an extract, given by Gertrude, and praised as one of the most poetically written death scenes in literature:

There is a willow grows askant the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead-men's-fingers call them.
There on the pendent boughs her crownet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And mermaid-like awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element. But long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Millais used the flowers from the description of Ophelia's garland in his painting, adding the prominant red poppy to depict sleep and death.  The accrurate depiction of these flowers, even in the printed copies, gives me a sensation as if I'm almost smelling them.  It is currently held in the Tate Britain in London and I plan to make a visit there soon.

As an aside, whilst I'm not a fan of either Nick Cave or sweet little Kylie Minogue, the video below always reminded me of the Millais painting.  A bit creepy but beautifully done.

Air Monopoly

When I was younger, I used despair at how ordinary people readily accepted the conditions that were forced on them.  I 'raged against the machine' that was greedily eating up everything in it's wake to satisfy the few.  Later on, whilst studying the social sciences, I read Antonio Gramsci's theory, cultural hegemony, and came to realise that people were just not conscious enough to see what was happening all around them...

Below is an extract from 'The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists'.  I find it as relevant today as when it was written 100 years ago.  The scientists still haven't quite managed to harness the air we breathe (as far as I'm aware!) but I have read a few articles on how they've managed to 'seed' clouds... the five Wisdom Dahkinis must surely be running out of patience!

"Poverty is not caused by men and women getting married; it's not caused by machinery; it's not caused by "over-production"; it's not caused by drink or laziness; and it's not caused by "over-population". It's caused by Private Monopoly. That is the present system. They have monopolized everything that it is possible to monopolize; they have got the whole earth, the minerals in the earth and the streams that water the earth. The only reason they have not monopolized the daylight and the air is that it is not possible to do it. If it were possible to construct huge gasometers and to draw together and compress within them the whole of the atmosphere, it would have been done long ago, and we should have been compelled to work for them in order to get money to buy air to breathe. And if that seemingly impossible thing were accomplished tomorrow, you would see thousands of people dying for want of air - or of the money to buy it - even as now thousands are dying for want of the other necessities of life. You would see people going about gasping for breath, and telling each other that the likes of them could not expect to have air to breathe unless the had the money to pay for it. Most of you here, for instance, would think and say so. Even as you think at present that it's right for so few people to own the Earth, the Minerals and the Water, which are all just as necessary as is the air. In exactly the same spirit as you now say: "It's Their Land," "It's Their Water," "It's Their Coal," "It's Their Iron," so you would say "It's Their Air," "These are their gasometers, and what right have the likes of us to expect them to allow us to breathe for nothing?" And even while he is doing this the air monopolist will be preaching sermons on the Brotherhood of Man; he will be dispensing advice on "Christian Duty" in the Sunday magazines; he will give utterance to numerous more or less moral maxims for the guidance of the young. And meantime, all around, people will be dying for want of some of the air that he will have bottled up in his gasometers. And when you are all dragging out a miserable existence, gasping for breath or dying for want of air, if one of your number suggests smashing a hole in the side of one of the gasometers, you will all fall upon him in the name of law and order, and after doing your best to tear him limb from limb, you'll drag him, covered with blood, in triumph to the nearest Police Station and deliver him up to "justice" in the hope of being given a few half-pounds of air for your trouble." 

My Husband's Herakhan Baba

Many years ago, I travelled through India with my husband.  My impressions of that time are of him wearing a very fetching lunghi and reading 'An Autobiography of a Yogi', and me wearing my Che Guevara t-shirt and reading 'The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists'; of him wanting to find his inner spirit and spend time with his beloved Baba in the Himalayan foothills, and me wanting to spend time in the inner cities where, I believed, real spirit resided. We must have come across as a very strange young couple.

I remember realising that I felt no 'culture shock' when I was living alongside the 'real' people of India, even when we were in the most poverty stricken of areas.  The people, like most 'real' people everywhere, were kind, happy and accommodating.  However, living in the Baba's ashram totally freaked me out!  Although I respected and honored my husbands Baba as a person, I always harboured doubts about his religion and religion in general. Who were these crazy westerners, parading about with heads shaved, chanting om namaha shivay at every corner and behaving like they were anticipating a vacancy in the Holy Trinity!  Hadn't they heard that religion was the opiate of the masses?  You may be wondering how two people, such as myself and my husband, ever got together in the first place?  All I can say, on my part, is that I loved him with my heart and soul - he was the most 'real' person I had ever met.

Herakhan Baba

However, looking back, I realise that the Baba was, in fact, 'real' too.  He must have 'sensed' how out of place and time I felt and, against all the rules of the ashram, he offered us the garden cottage across the river and away from, whom I believed to be, the crazy westerners.  To my eternal regret, we had to refuse.  Spring was just around the corner and we had our own market garden back home to attend to, and there were still places and cities that I, selfishly, wanted to see. I promised my husband that I would return one day and try to understand what all this spiritual malarkey was really about.  But life moves on and motherhood was calling and we never got back to visit my husband's Baba... 

Not long after we arrived back home, I found out I was pregnant with my first child (I had been trying to conceive for over a year).  We were both delighted to realise that I had conceived this baby by the river at the bottom of the ashram (I can hear my son call out, 'Too much information , mum!).  He was quickly followed by two beautiful daughters, and our life and our hearts were filled with wonder as we raised them and watched them grow.

Herakhan Ashram

Two years ago, with my children now grown up, I decided to check the Baba out on the Internet.  My husband was going through a seriously rough time and I felt it was about time we made that visit back to Herakhan.  Heartbroken, I discovered that the Baba had died only a few weeks after we'd left, on the 14th February 1984 (my son was born 9 months and two days later). The news of the Baba's death not only saddened me, but shocked me too.  He was only a young man, perhaps only in his early thirties.  It's difficult to find out how and why he died, there are so many conflicting stories.  However, the ashram is still there and it is there that he's been laid to rest.  I hope to go back this year sometime and pay my respects.  And also to thank him and his Gods for the gift of my son.



Magic Dance

This poem, somehow, reminded me of a book my friend is writing.  It's by Thinley Norbu, a Tibetan Buddhist, and is called 'Magic Dance'.  The Tibetan Buddhist tradition carries exotic tales about fearless female sky dancers or wisdom 'dakinis' who dance in limitless space and act as messengers, guides and protectors. These five dakinis manifest the feminine wisdom energy, bringing strength, power and transformation to our lives.



Magic Dance

Even the most mysterious miracles cannot occur without complementing your purity.
Buddha Shakyamuni cannot rest with the tranquil gaze of his lotus eyes underneath the Bodhi tree;
Guru Padmasambhava cannot play magically with countless sky-walking dakinis;
Lord Jesus cannot walk weightlessly across the water;
Prophet Moses cannot see the radiantly burning bush;
Brahman Sarahapa cannot straighten arrows, singing wisdom hymns with his arrow maker girl;
Crazy Saint Tilopa cannot eat fish and torture Naropa;
Greatest yogi Milarepa cannot remain in his cave singing and accepting hardships without complementing your purity.

You are so patient.
Whoever wants to stay,
If you don't exist,
Cannot stay.
Whoever wants to go,
If you don't exist,
Cannot go.
Whoever wants to taste or touch,
If you don't exist,
Cannot taste or touch.
Whatever our actions,
You are always supporting
Patiently without complaining.
But we ignorant beings
Are always ungrateful,
Stepping on you,
Calling you Earth.



You are so constant.
Whoever wants to be purified,
If you don't exist,
Cannot be purified.
Whoever wants to quench their thirst,
If you don't exist,
Cannot quench their thirst.
Whoever wants to hear,
If you don't exist,
Cannot hear.
Whatever our actions,
You are always flowing
Ceaselessly without complaining.
But we desiring beings
Are always ungrateful,
Splashing you,
Calling you Water.



You are so clear.
Whoever wants to fight,
If you don't exist,
Cannot fight.
Whoever wants to love,
If you don't exist,
Cannot love.
Whoever wants to see,
If you don't exist,
Cannot see.
Whatever our actions,
You are always glowing
Unobscuredly without complaining.
But we proud beings
Are always ungrateful
Smothering you,
Calling you Fire.


You are so light.
Whoever wants to rise,
If you don't exist,
Cannot rise.
Whoever wants to move,
If you don't exist,
Cannot move.
Whoever wants to smell,
If you don't exist,
Cannot smell.
Whatever our actions,
You are always moving
Weightlessly without complaining.
But we envious beings
Are always ungrateful,
Fanning you,
calling you Air.



You are so open.
Whoever wants to exist,
If you don't exist,
Cannot exist.
Whoever doesn't want exist,
If you don't exist,
cannot cease to exist.
Whoever wants to know phenomena,
If you don't exist,
Cannot know phenomena.
Whatever our actions,
You are always welcoming
Spaciously without complaining.
But we ignorant beings
Are always ungrateful,
Emptying you,
calling you Space.



You are our undemanding slave,
Tirelessly serving us,
From ordinary beings to sublime beings,
To fulfil our worldly wishes.

You are our powerful Queen,
Seductively conquering us,
From ordinary beings to sublime beings,
Into desirable qualities.

You are our Wisdom Dakini,
Effortlessly guiding us with your Magic Dance,
From ordinary beings to sublime beings,
Into desireless qualities.

A Fairy Tale Lullaby

If you want to ride a rainbow, come with me
And I will take you to the magic purple sea
And maybe we will find a thousand sugar fish
When you eat them they will grant your every wish
And if you want your friends to come
Then bring them all along

If you want to catch a star then walk my way
I will take you where the night is always day
You can follow me if you really try
Maybe we will find a rainbow to teach it to fly
And if you want your friends to come
Then bring them all along

I will take you through the magic dancing wood
And I will take you where the goblins are all good
I will take you where the elfs and pixies do sing
And I will take you round the magic fairy ring
And if you want your friends to come
Then bring them all along

Bow your head and let your eyelids close on down
Where we're going you won't need to bring your frown
You will find that all the things that I have said
Will come true when you are lying in your bed