Thursday, 28 December 2017

Wednesday, 13 December 2017

That Hideous Strength

There are only two dreams which I can remember from my childhood.
In by far the worse of the two, I am pursued through a deserted tar and concrete cityscape by a Brontosaurus.

I must have been around eight or nine years old and that dream frightened me so badly that I remember it to this day.

Eventually the symbol for fearsome creature was replaced in my dream imagery by big cats - lions, tigers and panthers - and they were usually menacing someone I loved, rather than myself. I remember more than one terrifying nightmare where the big cats were after my son, and I seemed powerless to stop them.

Today in waking consciousness I am more likely to be scared of a couple of tons of metal and plastic alloy barelling through life's spaces with a semi-somnolent anthropoid at the controls than I am of dinosaurs or lions.

But that's just the shape of the threat morphing. As far as I know, the threat is the same within this dimensional existance; something huge, something excessively powerful, something not quite under any form of rational control.

My baseline fear is this massive, seemingly unstoppable force which can easily swat the life from a fragile, unarmoured mortal body; which cannot be reasoned with and whose blows are shockingly fast, almost infinitely powerful and swiftly lethal.

In fact, my baseline fear has a name which has swum up out of my un-indexed mind just last night and the recollection of which has prompted me to draw an old trilogy of fiction by CS Lewis into my Kindle. It is

Saturday, 30 September 2017

Terrapin Station

"Some rise. Some fall. Some climb. To get to Terrapin"

And here we are.

Thursday, 28 September 2017

Rain Coming

A dream involving fire will always capture my waking attention, ever since I dreamed  of fire and a Lamborghini before a 2-car crash and burn some years ago.

So last night's dream needs recording and I'm doing it here as writing in my dream diary has become haphazard.

There were three dreams, actually, all of them interesting to me.

The first was a lovely dream of me explaining to anothe part of Me the spiritual underpinnings of Samhain, while in the corner of the room a creature I knew as the Ancestor Spirit supported and inspired me. Although this creature looked like a version of the Fisher King from Doctor Who, I was not afraid at all, rather comforted. I was lying on a bed with another part of me beside me, holding my hand.

Moving on into the next dream I found myself in a beautiful bathroom, the legacy of the woman who had lived in "this house" before me. Blue and white tiled and mosaiced, this room featured all sorts of luxurious plumbing, some of which I had never seen before. it was also larger than it appeared at first glance, having annexed room space for a dressingroom.

From the bathroom I walked into the third dream - on a grassy hillside at the end of Winter, preparing meat on hooks and sticks for cooking. A spark landed on the dry ground and a smouldering fire started. As the fire grew, myself and my companion moved the meat - to the bathroom - before it could catch fire.

End of the night's dreams. Move forward into the morning, where low grey clouds obscure the predawn sky which so dazzled me yesterday. Rain coming, I hope.

Wednesday, 27 September 2017

And The Year Was Turned

There comes that morning every year when you notice - with something like a start - that the seasons have turned and that either Summer or Winter is really coming back.

That point in the annual round of the Earth about the Sun is said to coincide with the first day of Spring: the midway point between the Winter Solstice and the Vernal Equinox, or sometime in the first week in August for the Southern hemisphere heading away from Winter.

It probably depends upon the time you rise and are up-and-about, but for me this year that point was reached today and around 5:30 am.

Riding from Randburg to Sandton on the early morning Gautrain bus, I've grown used for months to the dark sky outlining the irritating lights of Sandton as we draw near the Centre of Greed. But this morning, as we rounded the corner from William Nicol into Ballyclare - turning East from South - I looked up from my Resident Anti-Hero reverie and saw the Shining City on the Mound of Murdered Lives struggling to outclass the jewel-blue and gold sky of the breaking dawn, backing trees so dark as to be almost black against the brilliant skycloth.
My breath was taken. And the year was turned.

And no, I don't wish I had taken a photo. it's here in my mind, clear and bright and beautiful and unstained.

Photo from photowalkers