The Blogging Words of Philip Bradbury

The Grandmother

2010-05-25T09:44:00.005+01:00

There was a time upon the long ago when the Grandmother could walk through the Gates of Clarity and into the House of Knowledge. In there, in the library, she could pick up a book, any book. But only certain pages and certain words would be shown to her. So she had to be clear of her intention and her purpose and only then would she know which book, which page, which words she had to turn to.

At this time she had to observe certain rules:
Firstly, she had to acknowledge and thank her God, her Source, at all times.

Secondly, she had to accept that the words she was allowed to see, and take away, were the right ones. She was not given the information her seeker wanted. She was given the words her seeker needed.

Thirdly, she had to return the book to exactly where it came from, otherwise her next visit would be very confusing.

Fourthly, she had to treat the house with respect and shut the door when she left. Also, she had to treat the Gate with respect and shut it when she left.

Then she could return safely to the waking world. If these things were not done, then the Word People would not come with her.
These Word People would then be passed on to the seeker, the person wanting the answer to a problem or a thirst for more knowledge. The Word People would, however, only go at the right time and the Grandmother had to accept the timing from them. They were always ready to pass the words on to the seeker, but the seeker was not always ready. When the seeker was ready to accept the words with faith, trust and understanding, they would be passed on. This might be immediately, it might be several days or it might be never, depending on the openness and honesty of the seeker.

The Grandmother would then summon the seeker to the quiet shelter of her abode and they would purify themselves and pray together. This helped to cleanse the channel so the Word People could pass easily and unhindered by human egos. After the passing of the words, the Grandmother would ask the seeker what they thought of the words, the first gut reaction.

If they were accepted with quiet acceptance and a determination for them to be used for the betterment of all, then the Grandmother would know that she had done well. If they were accepted with anger, indifference or objections, the Grandmother had to look to herself, her methods, to see where she erred. This could be a hard time for her as there was no one to help her in the waking world - it was a lonely, inward road to travel, to honestly question her emotions, her ego, her intentions and her purity. There was nothing to tell her if she was ready again to pass on the Word People, except her own inner knowing. She had to learn to fully trust, with humility, her own being.

If the Word People were not accepted, then they would leave the seeker and he or she would feel more uncertain than before the visit. If the seeker was truly intent on self-improvement then they would, like the Grandmother, look inward at their own heart. This was not an easy time but there was no blame on the Grandmother or the seeker if both were honest in their intentions. They could help each other and this could be a time of great learning.

If the seeker was not ready to accept the Word People at all or to see why it was so, then he or she was likely to become more angry or confused and their relationship with others in the clan would suffer. When this happened, the clan would get together and honestly examine its purity of heart - everyone had to bare their thoughts and expose their true feelings on the matter. If something in the clan was found wanting, then it was addressed and corrected, for harmony had to be with the clan. Again, there was no blame on anyone; it was simply a learning.

If the situation appeared to be entirely in the hands of the original seeker and that person would not accept and change, then this was very hard for all, as the seeker could not remain in the clan - he or she would then live alone, at a distance from the clan, and fend for themselves. This caused much sadness and fear for everyone and, thankfully, this did not happen often.

As the Grandmother was the agent of the change she had to take on the weight of the clan's sadness and fear. The clan had to go on and live in harmony so the Grandmother would take that sadness and fear from them, into the wilderness, and would spend whatever time was needed to release that pain - the clan's and hers - and did not return to her abode until her soul was cleansed and her heart was pure again.

The onus of being a Grandmother was very heavy and these times were very hard. However, while it was always hard work maintaining that pure heart and integrity within herself, it was very joyful to be able to pass on the Word People and see the seeker (and the clan) smile and go forward.

To an observer, the Grandmother's job seemed to be the best in the village - she didn't have to do any manual work, she was always wanted by all sorts of people and she commanded great respect. In many ways, the village life revolved around her words and her presence. Though there were many inward satisfactions, it was a hard and lonely road, at times. Everyone wanted to be a Grandmother until the time they were chosen for the job ….

From The Royal Bank of Stories available at The Write Site

Asharif the Boatman

2010-04-26T09:02:00.001+01:00

In the boat with Asharif are three very wealthy and elegantly dressed people. The man has a grand hat and many layers of flowing robes, while the women are dressed in much lace and silk, with delicately embroidered parasols.

As Asharif rows, he doesn’t think about the disparity between these sophisticated people, with their fine talk and smooth skin, and his own blunt manner and blistered hands. These people of high standing may be comparing their impeccably buckled shoes with his bare feet, their flowing garments with his tattered shirt and shorts, the large jewels on their fingers with his broken and dirty fingernails. Asharif could have looked at these outer differences if he’d chosen, but his interest was in that which lay beneath the human veneer. This is why these people chose his above all the other water taxis.

Some of the other water taxis were very beautiful craft, with brightly coloured paint in intricate patterns and scrolling words. Some gleamed in the bright sunlight and were decorated with streamers, bells and garlands of flowers. Many of the taxi-men wore what we might call uniforms – smart clothing of particular colours and patterns that matched their boats. Most of them were well groomed and, despite the hard physical work, kept themselves very clean. Many of them practised speeches and phrases and were able, after some time, to imitate the language, tone and gestures of their educated customers.

There was, it seemed, a common idea that the cleaner, smarter and more clever you were, the more customers you could get, enabling you to make enough money to sell your boat and live in a manner that more closely resembled your customers. It was not possible, of course, for taxi-men to ever become society-men, for the brand of their birth could never be erased or exchanged. However, a taxi-man could always, with foresight, perseverance and ingenuity, become a manservant or horseman – positions which meant less physical work and more contact with the “people of society”. Somehow, the unspoken belief was that the more contact one had with people of society, the more likely one could become one – almost as if their wealth, silks, jewels and powders would rub off. It never did but all lived in hope.

For the society people, there was an unspoken belief that the less contact one had with the “lower elements of society”, the less chance one had of becoming (at least fractionally) like them. Most society people, then, chose the more colourful craft and the most “cultured” taxi-men.

So why did this unkempt Asharif prosper so much? In a tidy-but-unpainted boat, in purely functional and slightly tattered clothes and with an accent and manner quite unchanged from birth, he should have been the poorest of the taxi-men. But he wasn’t. Further, instead of actively engaging his customers in bright and enthusiastic conversation, he assiduously avoided saying anything unless asked to do so. Yes, he was polite, but it was as if he didn’t care. And yet, through the layers of cosmetics, jewellery and clothing that surrounded and protected these society people, some particular ones among them felt that he actually cared more than anyone else they knew. While Asharif’s outer appearance and behaviour belied his caring, it was plainly evident to a small number of them.

Obviously, most society people would choose not to travel with Asharif, the plain and sullen one and, initially, he sat at the wharf for hours while the more splendid craft plied their trade with vigour. This seemed not to bother Asharif, who simply sat and waited, as if knowing of some divine event on its way. Then, once in a while, a society-person or group, feeling a little adventurous, would deliberately choose the taxi that no one else would, perhaps hoping to have more to boast about than others of a more conservative nature.

Most of these adventurous passengers had a need of noise, hustle and bustle. Asharif’s silence would unnerve them and they’d have to fill the space with chatter. Eventually they’d have to risk the taboo of talking to the lower people – they’d comment on the weather or some other irrelevancy and he would nod and, maybe, smile. If nothing needed to be said, he said nothing. In desperation they would (in their need to fill the silence with noise) ask a question which he would have to answer.

So, after deep thought (as deep as they were capable) they might ask a question about marriage and Asharif would tell them that the man they were about to marry was actually in love with another particular lady (who he’d name) and that their impending marriage would last 3½ years and end in bankruptcy and misery. Or they might ask something about politics and he’d tell them who the next Shamir (or Governor) would be, what he would do and what effect that would have in their businesses. Or they’d ask about health and he’d reassure them that their father’s terrible illness would soon be gone and that full health would be restored in seven weeks, if they administered a particular herbal concoction to him.

Whatever subject they alluded to, he would know, somehow, of their personal concerns and future and, without discrimination, he’d simply give the facts. As time went by, they realised that he was never wrong. In time he came to be respected, though many first thought of him as a charlatan and felt bound to test him. He never faltered and his answers were equally caring, dispassionate and accurate for all questioners, no matter how cynical, aggrieved or wide-eyed they were.

Without looking, it was as if he could see into their hearts and know the real questions they were afraid to ask. Then, in the same way, he seemed able to look into their souls and their futures and give answers from the heart of one who was incapable of judgement. He seemed unable to judge people by their dress or behaviour, and unable to judge the impact of that which he told. As a messenger, he dispassionately delivered his messages with no thought of softening or “adjusting” them to the sensitivity of the listener.

And yet there came with these (sometimes) harsh messages, an overwhelming sense of caring and compassion. Even the most difficult-to-swallow pills were rendered sweetly edible. Though he volunteered no advice, if a wise questioner asked for advice around his or her future, the counsel was ever wise and reassuring.

By attraction rather than advertising, then, Asharif became a very busy man. Though he might have rowed all day, he always had time for another customer – his energy was boundless. Sometimes he would be spared that hard work as a customer, trying to get to the bottom of a major problem, would ask him to stop rowing and to simply advise. Often this plain craft could be seen quietly drifting with the tide while the more garish and noisy taxi-men ploughed through the water with great gusto and a little envy.

And, in the middle of the harbour, bobbing in the wake of other water traffic, large amounts of gold and jewels would be proffered in grateful thanks for the knotty problem solved. Asharif never refused these gifts, accepting them with the same simple “thank you” that accompanied the compliments for him. He did, however, turn down other offers. Sometimes he would be offered a position as an advisor for a nobleman and, always, he’d decline. It was as if he wanted to remain available to all, without discrimination – to be the exclusive property of one (no matter how wealthy) was not his way.

At times, an astute observer might see a thankful customer alight from the humble craft and know that changes were afoot. Within a week the people would be astounded at the brilliance of some political or business initiative, and all their lives would be enhanced a little. While the masses would shower this ingenious politician or businessman with their approval, two or three people would smile and nod to each other, knowing where the seed of the progressive changes really started. Asharif was never acknowledged for his part in any of the happenings and one suspects that’s how he would have wanted it.

He plied his trade untiringly, provided his truth when asked, accepted that which his customers offered, offended no one and remained in the simple integrity of who he really was. A more innocuous man could not be imagined and all who knew him well, grew to love him.

For some reason, though, some were not happy with him. Many speculated on whether it was a jealous taxi-man, a jilted lover, a dishonest politician or a greedy businessman, but we’ll never know the real culprit. An uproar ensued after his boat was found floating in the middle of the harbour. On closer inspection, his body was found face-up, with his arms and legs nailed to the wooden seats, while his craggy and serene face smiled at the peaceful sky above. Several official inquiries were instigated but no offenders were discovered, though two taxi-men and three politicians were found to have left the city abruptly.

There was a mass wailing for the loss of this simple man and different groups began to frantically create books from the words that had been remembered from his boat trips. There was, of course, bickering between these groups of Asharifts (as they called themselves) as to who was the authentic group and who had the most accurate accounts of his life. That bickering continues today and while they may focus on proving themselves the most righteous and the chosen ones, they forget that whatever version of the Asharif story is believed, it provides a profound understanding of life and it enables many confused, pained and anxious people to realize the power and beauty they have within.

Strangely, his death meant that he now lives eternally, forever carrying people across the harbour of their doubt and fear, to the safe harbour of their peace, joy and acceptance.

The Science of Buyology

2009-12-19T12:00:00.001Z

Way back in the olden days – back when men were men and so were women – everyone knew their place and came home every night. Men went out and hunted mammoths during the day and came home to sex and dinner every night. They provided the ingredients for dinner and the next generation while the women stayed home to cook up and deliver them.

Thousands of years later – or maybe it was tens of thousands of years later; history is not my strong suit – life hadn’t really changed. Men went out to work and, when they got home, they mowed the lawns, cleaned the car and played golf. Meanwhile their women stayed indoors, cooked, cleaned and played ladies. Men stayed out and women stayed in. All very respectable, simple and predictable.

And they were all happier, going by their lower crime statistics.

Then, in 1893, New Zealand was the first country to give women the vote and all hell broke loose. From that moment, nothing was certain. We’re not blaming anyone here – not New Zealanders, not women, not politicians – it was just a certain turning point and we’ve never looked back.

Women got the vote, they came outside, they stopped riding side-saddle, they wore trousers, they joined golf clubs*, they cut their hair and then men got in on the act. Men started growing long hair, wearing kaftans, becoming nurses, wearing makeup, cooking and looking after the children.

[* GOLF stands for Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden]

Then sex popped up. People started doing it before they got married. Then people of the same sex started doing it. Then people had babies before they were married. Then same-sex people started having children – proving that the impossible is possible. Then people really got up themselves, got married and decided NOT to have children – what an affront to church and country!

So now everybody can be anybody and they can change that at will. Nothing is certain and, instead of meeting someone and asking them what job they do, we now ask them what gender role they’re playing this year. And we daren’t remember what they told us because we’ll embarrass ourselves next time, assuming they’re still the same ... which they probably won’t be.

Then, amid all this confusion and mixing it with each other’s gender, we have shopping supermarkets, malls, hypermarkets and bigger and bigger places to shop. As if we haven’t got enough already!

Well, now there’s oniomania! Argh! I even had trouble spelling it, let alone saying it. So, what is oniomania? It’s shopaholism, the uncontrollable urge to buy stuff, and up to 10% of women worldwide have it. Psychiatrists tell us it’s driven by the same kind of motivation that fuels alcoholism or drug use ... and psychiatrists would know because they’re scientists and wear white coats. They tell us a woman feels bad - anxious, lonely, worthless, angry or lacking love. So she goes out and buys things - not only to give herself love, but also to prove to the world that she's 'worth it'.

Psychiatrists haven’t studied men (nowhere near as interesting as women) but I’m sure men have this oniomania too. I mean, just how many drills, golf clubs and pairs of driving gloves do you really need, huh? And if men don’t have it their wives probably do so we have it vicariously.

So, is there a cure for this oniomania? Yep, a team of Stanford researchers have found that the antidepressant Celexa might help obsessed shoppers overcome their compulsion. Yes, you guessed it – you get over your shopaholism by shopping for chemicals! A viscious cycle, really.

However, don’t get depressed just yet as Dr Philip is here with the ultimate solution. You see, as we’ve discovered, all this shopping started when men started trying to be women and women tried to be men and then we all got depressed, felt unworthy and got oniomania. So, the answer is staring us in the face, right?

OK, I’ll spell it out: Men, get out of the kitchen, out of your frocks, cut your hair and get back into men’s work – earn money for your lady at home. And women, well, get out of work clothes, stop fixing the mower, hand over your $100,000-year salary to a man and get back in the kitchen and make life more simple and predictable. If history is any guide, we’ll all be much happier (watch the crime figures plummet) and we won’t need to shop at all as we’ll all be so deliriously happy with our now-certain gender role.

I don’t know why someone else hadn’t thought of this before – so simple, really!

The Gnu Story

2009-12-08T19:19:00.002Z

Once upon a time, in the land of Great Creatures, there lived a family of Gnus. Mother Gnu had served up a delicious, hot dinner (badger steaks with prairie grass salad and thistle nuts) and called everyone in to eat. Father Gnu and Little Boy Gnu immediately came in, licking their lips, but Little Girl Gnu was nowhere to be found.

"Oh, no!" said Little Boy Gnu as he rushed from the table, "I bet that Horrible Old Troll has got her. I'll fix him!"

Certain that Little Boy Gnu would handle the Horrible Old Troll, Mother and Father Gnu started eating. However, when no one had come back by the time they had finished their first course, Mother Gnu began to worry that the Horrible Old Troll had got both her children - she decided to see what had happened to them.

Confident that his wife could handle the Horrible Old Troll, Father Gnu started on the delicious dessert of deep-fried dragon-flies, candied trout tongue and pureed turtle tails. As he lapped the last luscious lashings of the liquid with his languorous, licking tongue, his limpid, luminous eyes lingered on his wife's lovely, 'luptuous photo, while he wondered if she, too, had been got by the Horrible Old Troll. He lowed lovingly and lumbered leisurely out the door, down to the bridge, where the Horrible Old Troll got him too.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the end of the gnus. And now for the weather …

So, what's the moral of the story? You can choose from:
1. The good gnus always end up as bad news,
2. Mind your own business, eat your dinner or you'll become someone else's dinner,
3. Work together rather than leaving the messy jobs to the little people,
4. Maybe horrible old people are actually really nice, when you get to know them, and, when you do, you won't want to go home,
5. If you want to buy a gnu's property, employ a troll for your real-estate salesman,
6. No gnus is not good news,
7. Who cares about the weather when the news is all bad,
8. Learn from others' misfortunes,
9. Trolls need feeding and/or company too, or
10. Who cares?

Eyelids

2009-12-08T19:16:00.000Z

Did you know it’s impossible to sneeze with your eyes open. And, if you could, the force of the sneeze would blow your eyes out. Well, that’s what I’ve been told.

Quite handy, then, these eyelid things - keeping out the dust and stopping your eyes from popping out when you sneeze.

When was the last time you thanked your eyelids for being there and keeping your eyes in? And when did you last thank your feet for being down there to stop your legs wearing out, or the hair up your nose for stopping the dust, thereby reducing the frequency of sneezes and the chance of your eyes popping out should your eyelids malfunction? We all take these little bits for granted, don’t we? And it’s quite nice that we have full control - we can choose whether to have our eyes open or shut all the time.

The Ordinary Bloke

2009-12-08T15:50:00.001Z

I met a man who ran a factory, a factory that made furniture - things for sitting upon. He was an ordinary bloke who smoked and joked and talked in a foreign accent. His factory (he didn’t actually own it as he was an ordinary bloke) was quite ordinary too and the sit-upon things it made were nice and comfortable but did nothing especially memorable - it just supported a lot of bums.

I gradually got to know him over a few months and it soon became apparent that ordinary wasn’t a very good word for him. I’m not sure what was but ordinary wasn’t. You see, behind his ordinary factory manager label, his ordinary factory, ordinary clothes and other ordinary bits, he was a bit of an adventurer. He didn’t actually climb the Matterhorn on his hands; hop across the Arctic on one leg, naked; swim the Adriatic with both legs tied to a brick or undertake any other body-risking venture. He wasn’t that sort of adventurer, but in his ordinary every-day life he had an adventure every day. These weren’t Earth-shattering, front-page-news types of adventures that you would write about (though I am) but they were very real adventures for him. And, without them, his life-force would certainly have withered and died.

He started working life in his family’s furniture business and that was an adventure because, before then, he hadn’t done that. He learned to cut and sew and upholster and each new learning was a thing to be cherished and improved upon. And each new design and fabric was savoured and remembered. He designed, bought materials, built and then went out and sold his creations. Each sale was an adventure, as were the friendships and ideas he got from his customers. Nothing was boring and even the complaints and rejects were fun for they took him on a new adventure of doing things better.

Then he moved house, from England to New Zealand, and that was an adventure - kinda’ scary and kinda’ fun. He ran furniture stores, managed furniture factories and immersed himself in every aspect of his trade. Some thought he was a little unstable, having so many jobs, but he was happy finding and meeting every new challenge. He was recently asked to design 15 new lounge suites and so he designed 25 - he just couldn’t help himself. Each day he drives 2 hours to and from work and many people might find that boring, but not him. Every day is different - different weather, different routes, different traffic jams - and all the while his mind is surfing over new waves of ideas.

For 30 years he has been in the same business and some may find that boring, but not him. There is always a different pleat, a different chair-arm shape, a different customer, a different sunset. He knows he doesn’t have to go to Spain to run with the bulls, to the Sahara to smell the desert, to India to meet a guru, to have an adventure. He can wake up, open his eyes and say, “Wow, they do open”, and that’s an adventure. He turns on the shower and exclaims, “Wow, hot water still comes out,” with glee.

Of course, being an ordinary bloke, he does get depressed, angry, sad and all those other things us ordinary folks get. But somehow, his anger, sadness, depression or whatever, lasts for only a flicker (compared to yours and mine) for it isn’t long before another adventure, another challenge, turns up - his eyes sparkle, he grins and surfs another wave.

The other day he had a car accident - his car couldn’t be driven but he was O.K., apart from a few bruises. He could have sat and stared at the car, moaning about other drivers, the cost of repair and a hundred other things but, no, he rang a friend and while he waited, he got out his sketch pad and had fun designing new sofas. It sounds quite a practical attitude and reminds me of something I heard yesterday on the radio:

There are only two things to worry about:
Whether you are well or sick.
If you are well you have nothing to worry about.
If you are sick you only have two things to worry about:
Whether you will get better or not.
If you get better you have nothing to worry about.
If you are going to die you only have two things to worry about:
Whether you are going to heaven or to hell.
If you are going to heaven you have nothing to worry about.
And if you are going to hell you are going to be so busy shaking hands with old friends you won’t have any time to worry.

This ordinary bloke will probably never be a film-star or great politician or sporting hero, but his quiet love and acceptance of life inspires me more than any of the grandest achievers or speakers - perhaps it’s because his attitude is (like me) very simple or perhaps it is because he is simply doing it, not just talking about it.

The trouble is, being an ordinary bloke, I find it hard to actually live it, though I try, and I worry about that! Maybe I shouldn't ...

December – No-Moan Month Movement

2009-11-17T18:16:00.010Z

Over the last week my wife and I have experienced a miracle and we’d like you to experience that too ... and we’d like some more as well!

For three hours a day Anna and I look after a mansion and the extensive grounds for a (mainly) absentee owner who I’ll call Marilyn. This work provides us with a free house and a small allowance. The rest of each day we are freelance writers and editors.

Marilyn came back last week, for a few days, and the first day I worked with her, I couldn’t and hadn’t done anything right – and nor had anyone else. Light bulbs that had blown overnight were my fault as I should have checked them regularly. Leaves that had recently fallen should not have been there – I should have cleaned them up, despite my not being there for the previous 4 days ... and on and on she went. And, yes, she is a highly strung person who enjoys drama but this was the worst anyone had seen her, including her other cleaner who had worked for her for over 40 years. I continued to smile, be pleasant and do all the petty things she asked – as did the other staff – as it’s her property and she’s paying the “wages”. However, I felt uncomfortable being treated like that and I felt sorry for her in her stressful state.

I talked with Anna about Marilyn’s behaviour, and my frustration, and that helped.

That evening we read about T Harv Eker, who became a millionaire and who wrote the book, Secrets of the Millionaire Mind. Eker’s golden rule for life was, never complain. What you focus on, he says, always expands. Therefore, if you complain about problems, they always expand. Complaints, he says, are crap magnets and he challenges people not to complain in a seven-day period, including mental complaints. He has been amazed at how many lives this small exercise has transformed peoples’ attitudes.

As avid students of A Course in Miracles (ACIM) and having seen The Secret, we knew all this – we just needed a reminder. The next morning, after we had done our daily ACIM reading and were about to do our meditation, Anna suggested that we pray for Marilyn ... that we pray for peace for her. This we did.

Two hours later we reported for work and we met a totally different person ... same body, same name, same clothes, same voice but a totally different person. She greeted us cheerfully at the door and started by asking us about our recent trip to Portugal – she usually has no interest in other peoples’ doings so this was a huge surprise. In her own way she apologised for telling me off the day before and for the whole three hours, she was sweetness and light – a total transformation! At midday she was leaving for to Switzerland and such occasions are usually fraught with panic, disorder and more panic. Despite her transport turning up late, something that would normally have tipped her over the edge, she was uncharacteristically calm and all went perfectly smoothly.

This was miraculous. This was a miracle!

Then, yesterday, I had to go to London and that required two different train journeys and trips on four underground trains. Millions of people moan about London’s transport system but I had a lovely time. However, I discerned why so many people could be unhappy and moaning. Anna and I do not get newspapers and do not watch or listen to the news. It was, then, a small shock to be thrown back into an environment where newspapers were all around me –on seats, the floors and in peoples’ hands being read. Life was horrific – everyone, if the headlines were to be believed, was robbing, killing, raping, suing, slandering, divorcing or moaning at someone else. The world was, indeed, in chaos and I was lucky to have made it this far!

But my world is beautiful and very peaceful and, yes, we have daily challenges but we both choose that beauty and peace are always with us – and our miracles occur regularly.

Rather than being crap magnets, Anna and I have chosen to be peace magnets – we’ve decided to be moan-free for a month, thanks to T Harv Eker’s suggestion. Yes, we may have negative/moaning thoughts but, with diligence, we’ll choose to let them go and replace them, each time, with thoughts of peace and gratitude.

Then, raking up leaves this morning, my mind pondered on how wonderful the world could be if we all chose to be moan-free for a month – the month of December.

You see, December is the perfect month to be moan-free as it is often the month of highest stress. Though it’s supposed to be the month of goodwill and all that lovely giving/receiving stuff, so many people dread it for so many reasons.

So, let us take our focus off the awful bits of December, the stressful bits from our past and choose that this December we simply don’t moan. Things may still be stressful, may still be uncomfortable, may still be disappointing ... may still be all sorts of things. We’re in the real world and life happens so let’s be realistic about that. However, with whatever happens, we simply choose not to moan about any of it – we recognise it, see it, pray for it, find solutions for it, smile at it, giggle about it, pay for it, deal with it ... but we don’t moan about it.

You see, the more people there are who become peace magnets – and disengage from being crap magnets – the more peaceful will this become for everyone.

So, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is threefold:
1. Choose not to moan for the month of December 2009, either mentally or verbally,
2. Add your comments at the bottom of this blog – your experiences of miracles, large and small, will help inspire others, and
3. Invite others to make December no-moan month and let’s get as much peace and happiness circulating round this globe as possible.
Then watch the miracles happen!

In the spirit of gratitude and non-moaning for December – our tithing, if you like – we’re offering everyone our personal development course for FREE. Click here to get to the course at Personal Development Academy - Change Your Mind, Change Your World course ... if you really do want changes in your life, this will help!

And how can you give to make this a truly Goodwill December?

What Happens When 2012 Doesn't Happen?

2009-10-12T14:39:00.004+01:00

2012 could well be a huge disappointment for a huge number of people. It’s supposed to be the year that the planets line up, the earth turns on its axis and the age of enlightenment starts. After that year, the nasty power-brokers and money-lenders will get their come uppance, goodness and light will bathe the world and we’ll all be living the oneness and harmony that we’ve always dreamed of ... or so the stories go.

... and so the stories have always gone ... the Christians have been waiting for Christ to come a second time, the Jews are waiting for him to come the first time, people predicted the end of the commercial world on 1st January 2000 and people have been predicting “the end is nigh” and Armageddon since time began. However, no matter what we’re all looking for, nothing’s going to change – tomorrow is just another day, what’s happening now is what’s going to happen next and 2012 could just be another year ... the now is nigh.

You probably don’t know this as it’s The Secret, but I’m Methuselah’s brother and I’ve been around long enough to have seen it all, over and over and over again. And I really do have to say that it’s so very boring and so very predictable.

Now, it’s possible that the predictions are right. Four rocks in the sky could line up and save your relationships and propel you into a new era of love-based abundance. Yes, the earth could wake up on 25th July 2012 and decide, just for kicks, to spin the other way, thereby eliminating greed forever. Yes, Battlestar Gallatica from Pleiades could plomp down on a crop circle at Salisbury, issue forth the New Christ who will command an end to financial disasters, warts, debt collectors, noisy neighbours, spam emails and international corruption.

All this and more could happen. If someone can imagine it, it can happen. In fact, it’s probably already happened and nobody told me – my internet’s been down for over a week.

It could all happen but I’m not betting on it. It could happen and it could change absolutely nothing. You see, the Buddhists tell us that the way we come into each incarnation is the same way we left the previous one. If we went out angry, we’ll return as an angry baby. If we went out depressed we’ll be reborn as a depressed baby. If we died in poverty, we’ll be reborn into poverty. If we died happy and loving, we’ll be reborn happy and loving. The deal is, the Buddhists say, to get our stuff together ... now. Death will not fix our anger. Going into spirit will not eliminate our bankruptcy. Starting a whole new life will not wipe out our love and kindness. Whatever we create within, by our willingness to make those inner changes, will stay with us.

If death and rebirth make no difference to our world, how do we think some rocks in the sky are going to change anything?

As Michael Jackson sings in his Man In The Mirror song:

I’m starting with the man in the mirror

I’m asking him to change his ways

And no message could have been any clearer

If you wanna make the world a better place

Take a look at yourself and make a change

In fact, I well remember when I was a younger old man, some 2,500 years ago, after several bad harvests, a plague of tax gatherers and a credit crunch – when people were so desperate for light in their dark tunnels – that someone stumbled upon a stone with strange carvings over it. It brought out all manner of experts and crackpots who all had their varying interpretations about this weird assembly of images. We now know, since the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, that it was a shopping list for Tescos in Abyssinia.

Anyway, as the people were so desperate for hope, at the time, the most commonly latched-onto version was that the carving was a prophesy of a Messiah, a Saviour, who would turn up and save the world and all it’s ills and there would be no more famine, wars or unhappiness ever again. There were, of course, a multitude of guesses about how and when he would appear and about what specific problems he would solve and how he’d do it. Well, those people waited and waited and waited and he didn’t come – nothing happened. Disappointment and blame all round.

As you now know, a messiah did turn up 500 years later but wars, poverty and unhappiness are still with us. The lives of a tiny number of people changed as they listened to his teachings and started to live by them – poverty, wars and unhappiness left them. But, for the majority who wanted something different while doing the same old thing (is that the definition of madness?), nothing changed. I tend to think that nothing will change in our lives unless we put the work in, show a little willingness and make the changes ourselves, but what would an old man like me know?

Over my 4,997 years on this planet I’ve seen many opportunities for change. We’ve had Buddha, Krishna, Jesus, Woody Allen, Paris Hilton, Maldek (the planet that blew up) and planetary alignments for Africa – and yet the earth is still plagued with disappointment, bitterness and separation from God. I’m just an old man and really don’t know much at all but it seems to me that messiahs, magnetic transmutations and magic mushrooms are not the change we’re looking for – they’re simply opportunities for change. What we do with them is up to us. They are simply God’s signposts to a better way and we’re given free will to choose change or to continue with our choice of misery.

I might even go so far as to say that if you want change, do it now. Yes, NOW. Be present to the present. You don’t have to wait for rocks to line up, for a burning bush or for Michael Jackson’s return – you can make the change today. Being so old, I’ve forgotten what you need to do but I think the idea is that you show a little willingness for positive change and God does the rest. “The now is nigh” as we used to say in kindergarten, 4,000 years ago – our future is exactly what we’re doing right now or, more accurately, what we’re thinking right now. By aligning ourselves with God, with our truth, we won’t have to wait for rocks to align. By changing our magnetic direction from fear to love, from separation to oneness, we won’t have to wait for planet Earth to flip around. By changing our present, the future will take care of itself.

Oh, my memory isn’t as good as it used to be and I’ve just remembered that my 5,000th birthday is on 25th July 2012 so don’t forget to come to my party – no presents, just your presence ... in the present.

A Love of violence - an opportunity for Love?

2009-08-24T15:42:00.002+01:00

I came to England and discovered a real love for violence and was surprised, astounded. I had never experienced anything like it before. This lust for killing our fellow man, I discovered, flows through all levels of society here.

The most useful thing an heir to the British throne could think of doing, after leaving the confines of education, was to rush off to a foreign country to try and kill as many strangers as he could. If the newspapers are are be believed, he came back a very sad boy for he didn’t get to kill anyone. The nation grieved for him – how dreadful not to have the experience of killing some stupid kafirs. The poor boy, fancy having been denied such sport! It’s just not fair, just not cricket.

When the men go off to do their killing, the priests bless them, giving them God’s permission to wreck havoc on lives, families and communities. Then, when they return from their carnage, the priests bless them again, saying, in effect, that God approves mightily of their murdering. Their god must be bloodthirsty indeed!

Then, I discover, there is widespread sympathy for these murderers because some got hurt while killing others! What did they expect? They went, quite voluntarily, off on their killing sprees, as a burglar goes on a robbing spree, knowing there are risks. These risks go with the job.

If they were plumbers, accountants or truck drivers and got hurt or sued while doing their work, would we feel sorry for them? Many would think they deserved the pain they suffered. But if they’re not plumbers, accountants or truck drivers, but people trained to kill others, we are supposed to feel sorry for them. These killers are special and we should feel especially aggrieved for them and, for that, we should petition parliament to give them special compensation, special awards and a special place in our hearts.

Forgive me, oh Bloodthirsty God, but I just don’t get it!

Now, I know that Britain has been under threat for thousands of years. Its people have attacked and been attacked since time immemorial. The vibes of killing emanate from every pore of every Briton and from every acre of this land. The residue of every battle, victory, defeat, lance-pierced chest, bullet-smashed skull, painful cry, sorrowful widow, lost limb, fatherless child and from every other effect of this attack of human upon human. It’s all here in this little land and it shows itself in the blood-lust of everyone, from the crown and the church on down.

Now, that’s the moral insanity, which is equalled by the economic insanity.

Over the last year, most western countries have dropped their petrol prices by nearly a half. So why not Britain? Simply that the nation is so massively in debt, because of three things, mainly:

1. The foot and mouth (Mad Cow disease) fiasco, an attack on the animals (feeding them toxic food) which cost the islands dearly,
2. The purchase of British banks in dire financial straits as a consequence of abuse (greed) of their customers, and
3. The Iraqi war which Britain entered because of a sinister obligation to America, one that may never be disclosed to you and I.

So, here in Britain, they abuse animals, themselves and strangers. And who suffers? Why, the attackers, who will be suffering for decades to come. That is the nature of attack – the attackers suffer financially, physically, emotionally and spiritually. Every time.

Because the British attacked Iraq, they had their cities bombed. And now their rail and bus stations have no rubbish bins as bombs were hidden in them. Sorry guys, the rubbish bins aren’t the problem. People are. People who attack other people are the problem – royalty, clergy, politicians, newspapers, everyone is the problem while minds are so distorted as to allow the possibility that killing, murder and attack are OK.

We all know, deep in our hearts, that no attack is justified, is ever justified, and that the real sufferer is always the attacker. Attack is a boomerang and it always returns with more speed and savagery than it was thrown.

Now, I can hear you cry, “But Britain has been attacked and under threat for millennia and so that’s the national psyche – an attack mentality that glorifies killing, rewards mass murder and uses euphemisms like war and soldier for savagery and murderer. How do we assuage that hysterical fear, passed down from frightened generation to frightened generation? How do we reverse centuries of conditioning?”

“The first thing,” I would say, “is to accept what is. Like the alcoholic who must accept that he’s an alcoholic before his cure can start, so the murderer must admit to his murdering can never reform while he justifies his savagery. Just admit it. Just stand aside from euphemisms and excuses and stand in the space of reality.”

The second step is to recognise the real consequences – murder of others is killing this country.

Then decide not to do it. Like the alcoholic who decides not to enter a pub or to accept a drink, so the murderer must decide not to go near the tools of destruction – the hardware, the excuses and the minimising.

Mass murder, like alcoholism, is an obsession, an addiction, and can be treated similarly.

There are but two types of actions – calls for love and acts of love.

Attack is a call for love – the world is not as I expect it to be (it doesn’t love me) and so I’ll force it to be so and then I’ll feel love. I’ll also remember to forget that as I attack, so will I attack myself ... and so I‘ll continue my need to keep attacking, forever and ever. This is a choice I make.

My other choice, my act of love, is simply to stand in the open space of truth, know who I truly am as a child of God and ask love to guide my thoughts and actions. This does, of course, ask me to give up control, to give in to the goodness that I am and become defenceless.

This act of love is the course of strength for it is only the weak who feel vulnerable and, therefore, the need to attack. And so it is that we must not expect our “leaders” to move from fear to love for most of them (though, not all) have elbowed their way to the “top” to avoid feeling vulnerable.

This move from love to fear – calls for love to acts of love – starts with you and I, individuals, one by one, standing in the strength of defencelessness and innocence, asking love how it would act and be in every given moment.

I’ll leave the last word to A Course in Miracles:

Into this empty space, from which the goal of sin has been removed, is Heaven free to be remembered. Here its peace can come and perfect healing take the place of death. The body can become a sign of life, a promise of redemption and a breath of immortality to those grown sick of breathing in the fetid scent of death. Let it have healing as its purpose. Then it will send forth the message it received and, by its health and loveliness, proclaim the truth and value it represents. Let it receive the power to represent an endless life, forever unattacked. And to my brother its message be, “Behold me, brother, at your hand I live.”

Negative Inspires, Positive Stifles ...

2009-08-05T09:30:00.001+01:00

I dream of many things ...

One of them is of a time when we are more stirred by positive than negative things. From this dream came our PDA website, for I know that the positive needs to be aired, to be acknowledged and to be celebrated. The time is now. It is a time for us to leave our fascination for the gruesome, the violent, the hurtful and the disempowering, aside. It is time to focus on the other side of those coins - the beautiful, the courageous, the helpful, the loving and the inspiring.

You know that you cannot focus on both and the direction of your choice tells you where your future is.

You focus on devastation and that is where you are headed. You focus on creativity and that will be your destiny. Some say that the stars govern our lives but I say, "No they don't. They may govern our opportunities, but it is up to you what you do with those opportunities." Your opportunity to create your future is now. That opportunity is always now and what you are doing and thinking in this moment will be manifested in your future. What you are experiencing in this moment is what you created by your previous thoughts and actions. You have absolute power to change anything you wish. Dare to dream! Dare to express! Dare to create!!

Don't give over your power to the stars, the numbers, the predictions, the prophesies, the detractors and those who would tell you what is to befall. I do not demean those who would practise their arts for your benefit - astrologers, numerologists, psychic and economic predictors and other future-artists - for they are there to open your mind to grand opportunities and to the myriad of possibilities you may not have imagined. What you do with those opportunities and possibilities is entirely up to you.

These people are, as you know, before you by your intent and focus. If you dwell on negative thoughts, you will hear from doom-sayers; if you dwell on positive thoughts, you will hear of an inspiring future. What is to befall you is you; is your thoughts and actions now. So what future are you creating right now?

Soon, people will be more stirred by the positive than the negative, but that time is not yet here, and I wonder why. When I told people that I was going to publish a magazine that only had positive news, many told me that it wouldn't succeed as people only want bad news. That told me a lot about those people. However, it seems they aren't much different from most other people. Negative stirs us to action; positive does what? ... not much in terms of action. Nelson Mandela and Mother Theresa may stir our hearts but not our legs and arms. Warm fuzzies make us feel good but they do not make us do good. I dream of a time when this will be different.

Tina, my ex-wife, told me that in her moments of great sadness and pain, she would write for hours. Now that she is happier she does no writing. Does happiness do this to everyone? Does it stop our activity or does our activity simply take a different form? I would like to see that it still ensures that we take an active part in creating a better universe and that we don't stop spreading our happiness to others - many really do need it.

When I ask people for their dreams, so few will express them. Only a few have the courage to do that. I use the word courage as I was wondering why so few want to share their dreams, when the answer came through Barry McPherson, a wise and gentle man whose counselling skills are a gift to violent men, to troubled teenagers, to older people and all in travail, and whose perceptions on life are deep and quick. In talking to teenagers, he often suggests to them to write down their thoughts, their dreams and, often, they cannot. It is as if, intuitively, they know the power of the expressed word - the spoken and written word. As there is a Father, Son and Holy Ghost, so there is a triad of creation, which is Thought, Expression and Action - these guarantee manifestation in your life. That you are fearful of putting your dreams on paper speaks of your knowing this - you are fearful of your dreams eventuating and so you balk. It is much more comfortable to contemplate than to act.

You may not believe you do deserve all the goodness of the universe. You will find it hard to free yourself from that belief for it is endemic in every facet of our society. All will tell you that everything is rationed and the more you have, the less there is for others. However, your deeper knowing is that there is absolute abundance and the only restriction to that is your storing it up. The study of economics tells us that the amount of affluence in a society is entirely governed by the speed with which it circulates. Now that the banks and the government are panicking about their shortage of cash, they are doing everything possible to get it off you and over to them. This holding onto money is creating shortages for all - including the banks and the government! Give your smile and it returns tenfold. Share your gifts and they return tenfold. Share your dream and it manifests like magic.

The only limit to the abundance available to you is the limit of your imagination to embrace it. Be expansive and you allow greater expansion of me. One thing hard to comprehend is that no-one dreams alone. If your dream starts to manifest, so do the dreams of us all. We cannot go unnoticed and that being so, be noticed with flair, with courage, with spirit and with a difference!

The Voices That Remember

2009-07-22T17:09:00.000+01:00

Ever since he can remember, the voices were with him. He was old enough not to be in a cot and young enough to be sucking his thumb. During those frigid winter nights, with the rain pelting down and the wind rattling the window, he’d snuggle further into his bed and further into the voices. Well, voices was the best way he could describe the sensation, like the voice of every man and woman on earth, beautifully blended as one and many at the same time. Somehow, they didn’t actually say anything – more than an audible sound, they sang their silent hymn of grace, support and acceptance. He’d smile and know he was loved, he was wanted and he was important.

He might hear his parents arguing through the wall and the pain of fear chilled him as those raised voices sliced his heart with their icicle blades. Then, through that icy fear, the voices would come and their invisible hands would warm his heart, his toes and his nose. He’d tentatively smile and then the tears would come – tears of relief, tears of knowing that all was well and that everything, no matter how horrible the moment, would pass into the loving arms of the voices.

When he’d forget to give the dogs enough water, couldn’t find a tool for his father or went wandering when he should have been working, his father’s consequent thrashing brought him back to that naked chill of fear. Whether it was a nearby dog collar, fence batten, stock whip, stick or weathered hand, the pain was the same. As he held back the tears that would extend the hitting, his small body would wince at each blow and, in time, he learned to take himself into the voices. With practice, during these weekly rituals, he was able to give himself over to the voices and the physical pain would recede to nothingness. Though his body would carry the welts and bruises, hidden by his clothes, the voices, somehow, took the pain and enabled him to walk without limp or stagger. Greater than the physical pain was the emotional one and that would linger as if forever. In the dead of night as the trees whispered to each other and the voices wrapped him in their love, the injustice, anger and indignity under his father’s hand would arise and have his small body trembling like the leaves of the nearby trees. The only comfort, the only way out, he found, was to take the humiliation and shame to the voices. Harder than the physical pain to still, the emotional one could stick with him for hours, even days, but would eventually subside enough for the shaking to go and rest to come.

Too shamed by the violence to tell anyone, the voices were the only ones who heard and seemed to care and, all too soon, he found himself having to exist and function in this foreign, formidable world of things, while he preferred to be in that other world of thought – that world of pure peace and endless smiles.

Other children needed other children to play with but not him. Friends would come to his house wanting to go for a bike ride or a swim in the creek and, most times, he’d find some reason why he couldn’t. Occasionally he’d give in and play with others, which wasn’t unpleasant (sometimes it was fun!) but in the quietness of the voices, as he walked alone in the forest, he knew no greater balm for his soul. That utter peace and contentment could not be found with other people and toys.

Then his mother told him about God and, immediately, the voices became one voice – the voice of God. This idea worked for a while but he could never reconcile that multitudinous choir of beauty coming from one old, bearded man on a cloud. It just didn’t fit. When he asked questions about this he discovered his mother could hit him too … and shame him with condemning words – one did not question the higher authority of the minister or the bible.

The voices were always there, behind the tumult of the world, but they began to fade as, in his teens, life became more confusing and stressful with no one to listen to his questions and no one to wrap their warm arms around him. Having to earn money to help his family’s finances, from fourteen years old, added burden he wasn’t ready for. As the voices receded, he started to feel, for the first time, a great loneliness that weighed on his sapling body. Though fit from years in the saddle, years in physical work, this loneliness weighed upon him as no physical weight could. To escape the ache of that loneliness, he reached out more to others, to friends, but nothing there nourished or sustained him. Being unaccustomed to friendships, they didn’t come naturally and he always felt apart, separate (even a little afraid) from other people.

After he married, he busied himself in house renovations and carpentry in his spare time in an effort, he now suspects, to avoid the awkwardness of friendships. He tried joining clubs like Jaycees and Rotary but felt like a foreigner in a strange land, unable to speak the language and unable to comprehend the closeness of others’ friendships.

After eighteen years of marriage came divorce and, with it, an opportunity to connect with a different breed of people – people who heard voices, who saw dead people and who accepted the not-real world as equally real … and more happy, compassionate and understanding. In his solitary moments his tears flowed freely as he realised he wasn’t alone, he wasn’t strange, he wasn’t evil … there were others like him!

In those moments, I (yes, this is my story) realised why people felt great loss as loved ones died, people went away or friendships broke up. Every loss, every sadness, every grief is directed at another person gone from our life, a town we miss, a favourite toy now broken. Every loss is directed at something in this harsh, unforgiving, tangible world and yet, beneath that grief is the deeper grief for our voices, as I might feel it. Others might have a sense of separation from God, a split in their soul, a disconnection from Presence, a forgetting of the Divine … there’s a hundred and one ways of feeling and expressing that deep and ancient sense of disconnection from our creator, that unseenness which is greater than us.

Having had, I feel, a lesser connection with humans, I have puzzled over the apparent grief others feel for the loss of people, places and things. As I’ve sat with cancer patients and their dear ones, I have felt the massive grief in them – a grief I’ve never felt in myself for things of this world. And yet, greater than any grief I’ve encountered is the grieving I’ve done for those ever-present, ever-loving voices, while I deserted them for around thirty years.

I discern that the loss of our connection with spirit, with God, with the divine, in the face of every dying lover, every angry friend, every departed relative. Every grief, every loss, shows a small aspect of that greater grief, that ancient loss we all hide from and pretend that we forget, fearful that its immensity will overcome us.

However, I am here to tell you that remembering that larger grief brings no grief at all. Recalling that still, peaceful presence, that loving smile of the divine, brings nothing but the simple stillness of remembering who you really are – a divine spark of compassionate joy. Let me tell you that the greatness and joy you really are, has been so missed by loving presence … so much missed and so gratefully enfolded in that warm embrace of joy, as you return.

Forgetting is pain, remembering is, well, words cannot describe … just try it.

Convenient Memories

2009-07-21T10:50:00.000+01:00

We all have discretionary memories, remembering what we want to and conveniently forgetting the rest. The "good old days" always seem to become "gooder" the further away they are, such is the power of our individual discretionary memories.

Our collective memory is endlessly creative. Our written history tells us that Columbus, from Spain, was the first European to land on the shores of America, in 1492. I'm not sure of the benefit of us holding onto this untruth, but we do.

Leif Eriksson (son of Ivan the Red and sometimes called Ivan the Innocent), a Viking from Denmark, arrived at the shores of America in 1001, in a vessel hired from the Norwegian merchant, Bjarni Herjolfsson, with a crew of 25. Leif named the northern part Helluland (Flat Rock Land), the next, Markland (Forest Land) and the third and southernmost, Vinland, (Wine Land). Leif sailed back to Greenland the next spring and his fellow Norsemen took up the challenge. Thorvald reached Vinland but died in a fight with Indians, whom the Norsemen called Skraelings. However, Thorvald's followers spent two years ashore before retracing their journey. About 1006 Thorfinn Karlsefini took people and cattle, meaning to colonise Vinland. Thorfinn's wife bore a son - the first recorded European child to start life in the New World.

Then the Welshman, Prince Madoc, set forth with about 30 men, in 1170, in his 'magic unsinkable ship', Gwennan Gorn, which had a lodestone as a compass and horn nails to avoid false compass readings. Willem the Minstrel tells of Madoc discovering a 'treacherous garden in the sea' - the great weedy tract now called the Sargasso Sea. A Welsh clergyman, travelling overland from Carolina to Virginia in 1666, related that he was captured by Welsh-speaking Indians. Later came various reports of Indians claiming Welsh ancestry. Then explorers discovered white-skinned, fair-haired Indians deep inside America. These were the Mandans of the Missouri area and they made Welsh-type coracles and their words for coracle, paddle and many other objects resembled the Welsh equivalents. In 1837 smallpox effectively destroyed the tribe and its traditions were lost.

In 1962 the Russian geographer Samuel Varshavsky suggested that the adventurous Carmelite friar, Nicholas of Lynne, arrived in America soon after 1360. In the late 1970s, study of the old Bristol customs records revealed that ships from this west British port may have been secretly fishing off Newfoundland and even trading with the local Indians as early as 1479 - 13 years before Columbus 'discovered' the Bahamas.

Perhaps there was someone there before Leif Eriksson - perhaps we should ask the people who do not write books (the indigenous people) and we should not be surprised if their verbal stories include other races amongst them, before the Spaniards … and even before the Danes.

What would most surprise us is the historians and teachers immediately changing their texts and lessons - our "authorities", people who know things, are the last to align their discretionary memories to revised truth.

Like the Americans, we New Zealanders have a very convenient collective discretionary memory. Our written and taught history tells us that the first European person to set foot on New Zealand's shore was Abel Tasman, from Holland, in 1642. I'm not sure of the benefit of us holding onto this untruth, but we do.
Juan Fernandez, from Spain, arrived at the shores of New Zealand in 1576. Despite the evidence, our scholars persist in embarrassing themselves by refusing to accept this "new" truth, over 400 years later.

According to Josio Toribio Medina's book, El Pilitio Juan Fernandez (The Navigator Juan Fernandez) Fernandez left Concepcion, Chile and arrived at Easter Island in September 1576.

He left there and, according to the 1911 account of Mohu Terei of the Ngati Porou (the Maori tribe which lives on New Zealand's easterly-most point), it was just before full moon that the Maori were out fishing on their usual fishing grounds near East Cape when they sighted the 'Spanish' ship. The Ngati Porou account spoke of their sighting of the Spanish vessel during the nights of Tangaroa (23rd to 26th nights of the moon) on the night called Whatatitiri Papaa. This day was 1st December 1576 and accords with 63 days since leaving Easter Island.

Another English author, Burney, in his chapter entitled Accounts concerning the discovery of the Southern Continent, gives the date of 1576 and says, 'At the time attributed to Fernandez, it was a discovery of utmost importance, but the information known about it is brief and obscure …'

A Historical Dictionary of 1830 contained an article by Vicuna MacKenna which says, 'Stimulated by the success of his discoveries, Fernandez departed from the coast of Chile in 1576, and discovered at approximately 40 degrees west and southwest a coastline with all the appearances of a continent …'

Fernandez then sailed down the east coast and, according to Captain Cook's diary of his third voyage to NZ in 1777, Tairooa (his 'native' guide) told him, "the ship put into the NE coast of Terrawitte, which is now known as Wellington Harbour." While in the harbour, in seven fathoms of water, he left his 24-year-old son in charge of the ship for several hours while he and his three most senior men rowed to the shore in search for food and water. The crew, bitter at not being allowed to leave the ship and at the favouritism afforded Frenandez's son, killed him and threw him overboard. His helmet, sword and other personal belongings have since been found in the Wellington harbour.

Along with the iron helmet, the Wellington museum recorded that '1 telescope case, 1 idol, 1 carved paddle, 1 carved club, 1 short sword and 2 Feejee clubs were found'. These are currently stored in the Wellington museum.

Captain Cook related that Tairooa told him, "long ago the captain of a ship came into Queen Charlotte Sound. During the stay in the sounds, the captain took a Maori woman (the chief's daughter) to be his wife and she gave birth to their son." The Spanish sailors stayed with the Waitaha people at Waikawa village for 111/2 months, before leaving in late November or early December to arrive at Concepcion in Chile, after a record time of 30-40 days, on 7th January 1578. Fernandez was known as "The Wizard of the Pacific".

Captain Cook was quite taken aback when he saw so much complete human desolation inflicted upon the Maoris of the Marlborough Sounds (of which Queen Charlotte Sound is one), brought about by venereal disease - a disease presumably "imported" from Europe.

Soon after Fernandez left New Zealand, the Waitaha people sent potted birds and dried fish as presents to the Ngatimamoe people across the strait, in the Wellington area. The Ngatimamoe then crossed the strait to investigate the source of this wonderful food and they eventually attacked and killed all the Waitaha people, except for a few they kept as slaves - thus the stories of the white people found their way to the Maori people. Thus, also, the stories of the peaceful Waitaha people were able to be obliterated from oral history. Very few of the Waitaha people survive today and most of them live on the remote Chatham Islands. Their prior claim as Tanga Whenua (original people of the land) has been ignored as history is only ever written by the victors.

And so, in America, the Spaniards are acknowledged for a feat they didn't accomplish and, in New Zealand, they are not acknowledged for one they did - it all seems very fair if you don't actually care about the truth.

The Nearly-Law of Getting Out Of My Own Way

2009-06-11T10:36:00.000+01:00

As I begin to write these words, I know it could be the end of my writing career. The words you are about to read could have me abused, pilloried, shunned and ostracised. The second-worst fate* of any person is to be separated, isolated, from his fellow humans and I know I'm bringing that fate closer with every word I write. (*The worst fate is, of course, to be right. Oh perfidy, to be caught being right - something I've avoided for so long!)

I previously resisted writing these words but I cannot resist further. The words in my heart must be laid on paper and I must, finally, come clean and let fate fall as it does.

What must I say? I've hinted at it in earlier articles (e.g. The Secret Of The Secret) and it's just not done to kill, hurt or even look sideways at our sacred cows. But I'm now about to prod one of these untouchable beasts.

One of the "facts" of our lives, especially since the release of The Secret is the Law of Attraction and it is this sacred cow that we must not challenge. Yet I must. OK, I'll say it …

THE SECRET MAY NOT BE RIGHT ... the Law of Attraction may not be a law!

Whew! There, I've said it! What, no screams of abuse, no looks of horror, no threats of psychic attacks or eternal damnation? Golly, I can carry on.

You see, none of us know the answer to the meaning of life, how God thinks or how the universe works. We can all guess at it but no one knows whether the sage or the fool is closer in their respective guesses. Many pretend to know. We're all stumbling along in blind ignorance to somewhere we don't know, on a road we build as we go. Our belief about how the "system" works comes, therefore, from how we build our road and what difficulties and joys we encounter to where we think we're going.

Some peoples' journey has been that they struggled aimlessly and then they created some aims and life opened so the idea of the Law of Attraction was born in them … not in the universe, but in them. Then others saw the successes of these aimful people, so the idea became more accepted … but never universally one as not everyone believes it - others' journeys are different.

My journey with Anna, my wife, has not always followed the Law of attraction. When The Secret came out, several years ago, we were into it like rats in a seed bag. We wrote daily affirmations, we stuck a $100,000 note to our bedroom ceiling, we made a vision board, we monitored our conversations and did everything The Secret taught us.

And, yes, our lives changed. The magazine we owned failed financially, leaving us with huge debts and few assets. We kept on with The Secret and, after a year, our debts were largely paid and we'd achieved our aim of going to England for a long-term experience. We got to England, full of hope and everything turned to mud.

English banking systems and technology is 20-30 years behind that of New Zealand and we had to adjust to everything being slower, tearfully frustrating and soullessly unfriendly. I managed to get a job but got the sack soon afterwards. Then my father died and so we returned to New Zealand and another, resultant, bout of indebtedness. On returning to England I got another job, a credit crunch and another job loss. We tried network marketing and applied all we learned from The Secret to all we learned from the many internet gurus. We paid out lots and made nothing, while others in the same program made millions! It just did not work for us - it was not in alignment with our life mission. When I suggested we give it up, we both felt the relief - going out of alignment is hard, unpleasant work. We were wanting something that wasn't in alignment with our life path.

After applying for over 200 jobs we stopped applying and got on with creating two websites and personal development courses for them - costing us only time and we had plenty of that - which we so loved doing. It was such a buzz. Between us, Anna and I have been running personal development courses for over 15 years - that's our passion - and we'll soon be adding relationship courses to that.

The point of the story (yes, there is a point!) is that, for us, The Secret didn't work - we didn't ask to lose our magazine, to lose two jobs, to lose my father, to have huge hurdles to exist in England or to have frightening indebtedness. We didn't ask for any of it. In fact, we asked for the opposite … obviously!

However, what we do have is a deep sense of peace and joy every day, whatever we're doing. An hour ago I was mucking out three stables - a very stinky and sweaty job - and I was enjoying it. I'm enjoying writing this article. We're loving the ability to travel around England in a motor home, seeing the diversity of this olde land.

So, though the Law of Attraction isn't working for us - as it's not working for many, many people we know - something is. This something I've called the Nearly-Law of Getting Out Of My Own Way. Laws are only laws if they're universal - they work for everyone, all of the time - so when it's working for everyone, we could call it the Law of Alignment. You see, my theory (and please never tell me I'm right in this) is that we all have a certain path to walk, certain functions to fulfil, certain experiences to have. We don't get a guidebook for this and we've just got to figure it out as we go along. The fact is we never know what it is we are meant to do or how to do it … but someone does.

Being avid fans of A Course in Miracles, we've finally got it that we never know our best interests - God does. We've finally got it that we're never upset for the reasons we think. We've finally got it that we know nothing but God does - when we step aside and let him in, our peace returns and we find ourselves on a path of passion.

When we stopped and asked God what we should do, nothing much happened, except that I lost my job! We were strangely serene over that tragedy. At the time it was the worst English winter for 30 years so what better way to spend it than working at home (no commuting) together in a warm house, having fun creating websites and courses … and they just happened, so easily. Oh, they're www.bbcorp.info and www.personaldevelopmentacademy.org

We were then provided with a huge motor home and so two homeless, incomeless people are now enjoying the freedom of travel around Britain!

Then, when we gave the job-search over to God, he came up with a website editor job. It means that we can live anywhere we like in England, I get regular paid trips to Barcelona (the head office), I'm doing what I love and income has returned.

I suspect that people featured in The Secret got out of their own way, followed their soul-passion and they soared. If they had asked for anything else, it may not have happened.

So, if life isn't working, stop, give up, give in and listen. Listen to the fear of not working, not earning, not achieving or whatever your fears are … then let them go. Then listen to the second, quieter voice, the Voice for God, the Universe or whoever you listen to deeply, and watch the dross drop away to leave a magic space for your soul-directed activity. This is your time to play.

If I'm right (ooh, that sounds scary!) tell me about it - your experience could inspire others. And, if I'm wrong, halleluiah to that!

Speaking Without Words

2009-04-05T07:59:00.000+01:00

Words. Funny things really, words. They get in the way but we can’t do without them.

Our Neanderthal ancestors, cats, dogs, elephants, dolphins, snakes, spiders and so on, all communicate without words. So words are unique to humans and only humans in recent history.

Without words this blog would be a blank page. Without them, there would be no publishing – magazines, books and newspapers. There would be no computers. Without words there would be very little entertainment – just silent movies; no songs, no opera, no television, no comedy. Without them there’d be no public relations or advertising, no law system or politics, as we know them today, for communication on a large scale would not be possible.

Life would be simpler and probably more peaceful – there’d be no need for lawmakers and law enforcers. Education and religion would be very different. Our truths would have to come from within for we could not look to the “wise” words of others. We would need to be more attentive of our own inner promptings, of others and our surroundings. We’d need to be more careful of our body language.

Words are so important nowadays that they’re seen, by many, to be the answer to all our emotional problems. The idea that we must disclose all our inner “stuff” to the world to heal ourselves, is so ingrained, that anyone who suggests otherwise is seen as a traitor, as a heretic. No one is allowed to suggest that keeping things to yourself could be good for you but, nevertheless, I’m going to suggest it anyway.

One idea in counselling is that you tell someone everything - all your joys, pain, dreams, worries and every other thing - and once all those inner things are turned into words, poof! You’re healed! So easy, just tell and heal. That method does work, sometimes, for many people, but it is not the only way. There is no one way to become enlightened, to become healed or to become a better person. Your way is not my way and vice versa. The problem is that the people for whom words are more important are the ones who get heard and so the only truths that are broadcast are those from the word people. The non-word people don’t get heard and don’t get acknowledged, as if they don’t exist. All they hear about is the way of others and they feel pressured to conform to the truth of those who are built differently from them. And the word people wonder why everyone doesn’t do things their way (talking, talking, talking …) for they’ve never stopped to listen - with different ears – to the truths of the non-word people. Because they only hear with their ears, they’re not aware that others are speaking in the silent way, the way without words. To them there is no other truth for they’ve never known that there’s another way to communicate.

For word people, expression is the way they operate and words are their best way of healing and self-improvement. For the non-word people, this is the worst way to sort things out. Let me explain it this way:

When something happens to us, an emotion arises. Someone may tell us something nice and there’s a happening in our body – maybe heat in our cheeks, buzzing in our heart or tingling in our toes. Someone may be angry with us and we may experience tightness in our stomach, clenching in our hands or sweating on our forehead. The energy of an outside event starts the motion of energy in our body, which is why we call it emotion – energy in motion. Some may leave it at that and simply experience the emotion.

Others may reflect on that emotion and, in that reflection, the emotions are turned into feelings. “I have heat in my cheeks and so that’s what embarrassment feels like” or “I have tightness in my stomach and so that’s what fear feels like”. To reflect and convert bodily sensations into feelings, we must put words to those sensations. Something is always lost in the translation. Even in the safety of our own minds, there are never the perfect words to explain to ourselves what the emotion was really like.

Then if we tell someone else what the emotion was, the translating loses more of the original reality. For a start, the words are never a complete picture for ourselves and it can feel awkward to pass on this incomplete picture - we know all our emotions can never be conveyed fully and misinterpretation is likely. The next problem is that the listener has hir* own language which comes from hir different experiences, upbringing, dreams and biases. Same words mean different things to different people. We know full well that our words will not be fully understood and we then have two remedies:

1. Remain silent and leave our listener with a distorted view of what has gone on, or
2. Explain more fully, knowing that the more words we use, the more distance we have from our original emotion.

If our listener is a word person, they will want more words, totally unaware that adding words is subtracting meaning. They wonder at our silence and tell us we must express ourselves more while we know that more words simply create a larger gulf in understanding.

What to do? We cannot teach our word people how to hear in the language of silence for we must teach them in that language also - they will never hear. We cannot use more words for that creates greater misunderstanding. We can do nothing to bridge the gap. Absolutely nothing. We may become frustrated, angry, withdrawn or whatever but there is still nothing we can do. We cannot become word people for that is not our way. We can only try to adjust, as immigrants in a new land where all is done differently. We must try to learn the new language but it never has the fullness and nuances of the language of our birth and no one in this foreign land knows our birth language.

Speaking our feelings is one way of healing our tortured psyches but it is not the only way.

Words are helpful for some and really unhelpful for others. Please listen to our silences and respect our differences. Who knows what you may hear in the silence. Just try it for a moment … right now … shhhh.

* hir = him or her

The Talk Talk in your Head Head

2009-01-07T11:15:00.000Z

People ask how they can have peace of mind and the answer is that they cannot. The only thing that is peaceful is the state of no-mind, the mind that is without thoughts.

Ponder on this for a moment:

You are observing a crowd of people – what is that crowd? Is it a thing or a process? If half of the people leave, will there still be a crowd? If another half of that leave will it still be a crowd? If all leave, except one person, is it still a crowd? So what constitutes a crowd – 2, 3, 10, 20 people? And when all the people leave, where will the crowd go?

Obviously, the crowd went nowhere because it does not exist. It is not a thing, it is a process, made up of the gathering of a number of people.

So it is with our mind – it is like the crowd and only exists by virtue of the thoughts that flow through it. If we have no thoughts, where has our mind gone? The answer is that our mind has gone nowhere for it never existed in the first place – it was never a thing. Our mind is nothing but a collection of thoughts and when they go, it ceases to exist. Aha, peace at last!

Another way of explaining this is, as A Course in Miracles says,the ego always speaks first and always speaks loudest. When it finally stops its clatter and clamour, when we still ourselves enough to listen, that second, quiet voice may be heard. Few people hear it and fewer heed to its wisdom.
This quiet, gentle voice of knowing may be called the Voice for God, the Whisper of Angels, the Rhythm of the Universe1, the Breath of Buddha, the Tongue of Allah and many other things. Every culture knows about this quiet wisdom and the few who heed it know of its power. That is one reason we asked you to try to eliminate the negative racket that blasts at us every day, from the media and outer sources. When you stop that outer clamour and can get past the ego's constant talk talk, you will start to discern that deeper wisdom that whispers to your soul about what's real in this life and what's real about you. We want to help you access that ever-present knowledge for it is the only true guide to heed.

Until you hear the Voice for God (as we'll call it here) this ego talk talk will natter on in every moment of your life. It whispers its demeaning and judgemental messages into your brain, down into your body and out into your life. When you’re not aware of it, it runs your life, telling you silently that you’re less than perfect and so is everyone else. Once you’re aware of it, you can loosen its hold over you.

In so many ways that negative talk talk wheedles its way into your brain, down into your body and out into your like, spoiling chances and ruining dreams. This ego talk talk conspires to ruin each and every day, if we let it: we pull a muscle the day before the marathon we’ve trained for all year; we have a bad asthma attack just minutes before the final exam of our three-year degree; we lose our keys just before leaving for holiday; we tuck our dress into our pantyhose just before the interview for our dream job; we break out in pimples just before our first big date; we burn the roast the first time we invite our boss for dinner and in every way on every day it finds imaginative ways to spoil our chances at life.

The talk talk in our heads is constantly telling you that someone else is going to stuff it up for you or that you aren’t good enough or don’t deserve to have your aspirations come true.

Think of the last time you went into a room you hadn’t been in before – what conversation goes on in your head?

Don’t like this carpet.
What a silly painting.
They must be wealthy here.
What a dirty place.
Love that window seat.
What a nice view.
What a stupid idea in putting tartan and paisley together.
Must cost a packet to heat this old place.

The talk talk is constantly burbling in judgmental tone about every little thing, comparing it with what you’ve got, with what you like and dislike and with what you’ve seen before. And, from the good/bad judgements of what you see, your talk talk creates a story about how good/bad, wealthy/poor, nice/nasty, beautiful/ugly, intelligent/stupid, local/foreign, kind/selfish etc. the owner of the room must be. And this whole talk talk conversation and summing up of someone you’ve never met only takes a fraction of a second.

Now that your talk talk has decided what the person’s like, they appear. Even if the talk talk’s initial judgement is totally wrong, it blunders on, unperturbed by failure, and now goes to work on the person before it:

What a big nose.
What nice legs.
What kind eyes.
How can anyone wear that tie with that shirt?
Hmm, shorter than I thought.
Hmm, Shorter than me … good!
Looks foreign … must be Swedish.
Probably born into money.
And so the talk talk continues on its relentless and judgemental way.

While the constant noise of your talk talk continues to judge the outside world, it constantly judges the outside world in terms of you – the essence of its constant harping is to judge the outside world and, from that, decide how good/bad, wealthy/poor, nice/nasty, beautiful/ugly, intelligent/stupid, local/foreign, kind/selfish etc. you are. Sadly, 99% of the judgement of your talk talk is that you’re not good enough in some way:

I’m too fat.
I’m too skinny.
I’m too unfit.
I’m too ugly.
I’m too stupid.
I have nothing useful to say.
I don’t deserve this.
I always stuff things up.
I don’t fit in.
I’m too poor.
I’m too old.

With that conversation constantly yapping in your head, is it any wonder that you choose to pass up opportunities you’d love to pursue – people you’d love to meet, jobs you’d love to apply for, holidays you’d love to have, hobbies you’d love to do, businesses you’d love to start, assets you’d love to own and other things you’d love to do? And, not only do you have conversations going on in your head (even in your sleep, sometimes!), your body has similar “conversations” by reacting in ways that stop you doing what you’d love to do.

Mary told me how she had twice enrolled at university, in her native Scotland, to complete a fine arts degree. Each time, as she was about to start the study, she found herself pregnant. She recently realised that the timing of her pregnancies meant that she never quite started her dream career. Once she had a degree, she now realises, others would then have expected her to do something with it and, with all that expectation, there was the possibility of public failure. So, in unconscious choosing, she had created “pregnant pauses” to her dreams. Then, in 2001, she had had enough. Marriage was unfulfilling, motherhood was boring, she was overweight and nobody wanted her artwork. In one year she transformed herself and her first step was to say, “I’ve had enough! I want my life back! NOW!” She took charge of her life, set the ego talk talk aside and began listening to the real voice inside. She lost the five stone, regained the passionate and fulfilling relationship with her husband, found four beautiful and fun-filled friends in her children and art dealers started knocking on her door, asking her to name her price.

So how do we release ourselves from those techniques or conversations – that talk talk that we seem to be stuck with? No, you do not need to go into deep analysis, prolonged counseling and years of painful therapy. The technique is painless, free, can be done in the comfort of your home or anywhere else and only needs the intervention of you – no one else. Simply know that you have a favourite talk talk conversation with yourself and, in that knowing, it will make itself known to you. When you are aware of it, simply acknowledge it for it’s help in getting you out of “trouble” in the past, thank it and allow it to move on. And move on it will if you are passionate and sincere about following your passions.

Creating Huge Problems for a Huge Life

2008-12-23T09:46:00.001Z

I used to spend my time trying to fix or minimise my problems, but, in a blinding flash of inspiration, I realised that creating bigger problems actually enhanced my life.

There seems to be a general view that if we can identify our problems and fix them, then everything will be perfect. Businesses employ consultants, governments employ economists and people employ counsellors and healers. Those who refuse to fix their problems employ public relations firms and plastic surgeons to cover them up. Whoever they use or however they go about it, people seem to be of the mind-set that the world is broken and needs to be fixed - if problems are solved, dealt with and/or eradicated, then they'll be in heaven and then (and only then) will they be able to realise their full potential and answer their true calling in life.
How many people do you hear saying things like:

"If only I could sort this money problem out, I would…"

"If only I didn't have problems with my mother/partner/ children I'd be able to really …"

"If only I could get over this medical problem I'd do …"

"My business would be really successful if only they'd stop taxing us so much."

"My life would be so much better if I could stop smoking."

Most people seem to think that fixing all problems would have major benefits to everyone - it is only the problems that are holding the world's population back from all the good things that they could be doing. However, I'd suggest that if we all had bigger problems, we'd all be better off.

The evidence I see around me is that no one has no problems - the Dalai Lama, Osama bin Laden, George W. Bush, Rod Stewart, Nelson Mandela, you, me and every other human who is (and has ever been) on this planet has always had problems. In fact, having problems is a natural part of being human and when you stop having problems you stop being human - you die, they drop you in a hole and they throw dirt in your face! A bit strong? Maybe, but I just want you to get this - having problems is proof that you're alive and being without them is proof that you're dead so you'd better start worrying if you're in the supermarket (or some other earthly place) and you realise that you don't have any problems! Therefore, the logic of most people is that they're trying to eradicate their problems and, therefore, trying to eradicate themselves - I'm not sure that this is a very good idea.

So, what can we do about our problems? Let's look at the hard evidence and, from that, we'll find an answer.

When my son delivered newspapers, the delivery van would sometimes be late, making all the paper boys and girls late. If he was ever more than ten minutes late, we would get calls from people worried or angry that they wouldn't get their newspaper on time. On a scale of 0 - 1,000 of the world's problems, I'd rate "late newspaper" at about 0.007. And the people with the "late newspaper" problem - how big are their lives?

Then consider the problem that Mother Theresa had in feeding and healing the millions of starving and sick people in Calcutta - I'd rate that well over 900 on the problem scale. And how "big" was her life? Well over 900 I'd say.

And Martin Luther King Jnr's problem of reforming race relations in United States - a huge problem and a huge life.

And Nelson Mandela's problem of creating equality and empowerment in an embattled country of 44,000,000 people - a huge problem and a huge life.

And did Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King Jnr. or Nelson Mandela ever worry about their newspaper being late, their neighbour cutting the hedge too low, a nasty comment their fathers made thirty years ago, an extra few wrinkles or what labels they had on their jeans? Probably not. By creating larger problems, they not only created larger lives but the smaller problems just fell away, quite effortlessly.

And does your life actually get any better when you get a new paper boy, heal the rift with your neighbour, resolve things with your father, get a new plastic surgeon or buy better clothes? As soon as one problem is solved, another turns up and, again, you're being held back from your true and grand destiny by the ever-mounting mass of problems that seem to appear when you least expect them ... and you're so earnest about your spiritual and emotional growth but you're just not getting anywhere. And, all the while there are people out there who don't meditate, who eat unhealthy food, who don't exercise, who don't go to church, who don't give to the poor and these strange people are living massive, fulfilling lives and they're doing great things for the people and creatures on this planet. I'd suggest that the difference between people is the size of their problem and that the size of their problem is directly proportional to the size of their lives and the size of the contribution they are making.

This idea was new, for me, and when I realised this, I created a massive problem for myself:

To create a world where everyone is fully expressing themselves as they truly are.

Then I realised that people cannot fully express themselves when they're sick, imprisoned or disempowered in any way - there are a lot of people like this and I realised the enormity of the problem and so I celebrated as I'd created a problem (and a life) so much larger than I could have imagined. Having created my new problem, I also created the possibility of a new creation, a new world. This "new world" is not a changed world - a better or different world from before - but a totally different one, as if we're inventing something that has never been before.

Also, having created this huge problem, I created the space to be invited to participate in this new world and I was then asked to speak at an international HIV/AIDS conference in South Africa and to work with disempowered South Africans, in February and March 2002. I was then asked to help set up a massive performing arts event in Tauranga in October 2002 and my life has suddenly got bigger with the creation of a bigger problem. Then I ended up doing corporate training in London and in developing countries for senior government officials there - I could not have imagined that eight years ago when I made my bold declaration!

Also, any relationship problems I had have largely gone - I got married to an amazine person in April 2008 and I could not have imagined her, eight years ago! I will not pretend that I am superhuman and I will not pretend that all niggly problems have gone, but most of them seem to have wandered off to someone else. Somehow, the little things still get done and the little things are just as important (maybe they're more important now) and the nuisance things I didn't like doing or experiencing are still there. However, with bigger problems in my life, the little problems just seem to fade of their own accord, as if shrinking back in awe at the huge problem I now have.

So, now it's your turn - let me know, by email, about the biggest problems you can create and we'll compile a list of them to inspire others to greater problems, greater lives and greater fulfilment. Just how HUGE is it possible to be?

The Casanova Conundrum

2008-12-16T11:58:00.000Z

There has been an alarming increase in the number of things I know nothing about … thankfully! Or, as Bill Cosby once quipped: "When I was 15, I thought my father was really dumb. However, by the time I got to 25, I was astounded at how much he had learned!"

In our immaturity we're desperate to find form and meaning in everything we encounter. Astutely, we watch what the rest of the world is doing and judge it as good/bad, right/wrong, happy/sad … and we then explain why it is that way. Then, the next day, a different scenario occurs and we're instantly busy with explanations of the opposite.

I find myself doing this all the time: I'll walk into a supermarket that's unusually devoid of people and immediately begin a discussion with Anna, my wife, about why this is so - it's a fine day and many are at the beach, the rugby's on, the sales are over … then I realize I'm up to my old ego tricks again, trying to make up explanations about things I have no idea of. Then I'll notice a lot of cars on the road and so I plunge into an explanation of why this is so - school holidays, sales are on … then I realise I'm at it again! I'm like a doctor prescribing chemotherapy drugs - I have no idea if any of my ideas are right but if I act authoritatively enough and try enough ideas (drugs) something's gotta' be right, eventually!

We do the same with people:

The originator of Theosophy, the Russian mystic Madame Blavatsky (1831-1891), acknowledged Count Cagliostro as the true originator of her program of hermetic Egyptian theosophy. Cagliostro was a chameleon, an ephemeral, elusive and unmistakable landmark on the eighteenth century European landscape. He started life as Guiseppe Balsamo, a Sicilian thug. Through a series of controversies and transformations, he became a great healer, healing hundreds of thousands of the poor for no payment with his own therapies. His part in the scandalous "Diamond Necklace Affair" (the greatest European court case, ever) helped precipitate France into its revolution. He was variously thrown into the French Bastille and into Italy's terrible San Leo prison for heretics, hounded by Catherine the Great of Russia and Marie Antoinette of France, while being feted and worshipped by hundreds of thousands of faithful followers of his Egyptian Masonic teachings. Count Cagliostro was not a man who was easy to describe or pigeon-hole.

A contemporary of Balsamo was the famous Count Casanova. In the last sad pages of Count Casavona's Solique d'un Penseur (1786), he shows himself to be confused with the world - he knows something terrible has happened to the world he'd known but he couldn't describe it exactly. He ruminated on the mystery of Cagliostro's success: "This is a man whose partisans think him wise because when he speaks he seems ignorant. This is a man who is persuasive because he is the master of no language. This is a man whom people understand because he never explains himself … This is a man who people believe noble because he is gross in his discourse and manners. This is a man who they believe sincere because he has all the appearances of being a liar."

We all know the younger Casanova who charmed his way into the wallets of gullible noblemen and into the boudoirs of a thousand willing ladies. He lived in "The Age of Reason" which could equally have been called "The Age of Swindlers", for there were hundreds (perhaps thousands) like Casanova, who chose not to work but to survive by their charm, wit and lies. In this age, the cream stayed at the top and such charmers only mingled with the wealthy intelligencia. However, things began to change - people like Cagliostro could rise from the gutter and mingle with the crème de la crème. People like Marat could rise from the slums of Paris and command the French Revolution that saw most of Casanova's French acquaintances beheaded and/or stripped of their wealth and titles.

For this hugely successful lover of life, whose name still lives on 250 years later, the world took on a very different meaning and he just could not fathom it. His wily ways no longer worked and he was forced to actually toil for a living - firstly as an informer for the Inquisition, earning paltry commissions for titbits of gossip about blasphemers and, finally, on a miserable wage as a librarian for an Italian noble, surviving partly on food parcels from compassionate friends.

Like Bill Cosby, there was a time in Casanova's life when he had it all sorted, when he knew everything. Then, as he and the world changed, he began to realise that he wasn't quite so wise and that others might, indeed, have something worthwhile to impart.

If our egos are stuck on "being right", we'll steadfastly maintain that the world is still flat and that black is white, long after they've been proved otherwise. Fervently holding to our old values, worn-out realities and bygone attitudes, we can become sad, angry and/or bewildered, complaining that the world and its people are not good, "like they used to be".

However, by aiming to be light instead of right, we can transcend that state of disillusionment and stand quietly in a state of unknowing - happily knowing that we don't know. It's seems, then, that we must pass through four stages:
1. Birth - innocence, unknowing
2. Teens - knowing all
3. Middle years - confusion
4. Maturity - innocence, unknowing

Obviously, some peoples' teen years last well beyond 60-years-old and some people reach maturity at 12 years of age - it's our choice.

And so we have those who would tell us what heaven's like, how to attain enlightenment and what we're actually here for. That is, of course, their natural need to explain things for themselves, like me in the supermarket.

Then, every once in a while, we come across someone with deep serenity and steadfast joy. They have nothing to say to us, no advice, no explanation. Yet, strangely, we want to be with them. Though we ardently desire their advice, their guidance, their explanation, our soul is thrilled by the nothingness they express. They have an abiding sense of rhythm in a world that's constantly changing its tune and that's a rhythm of simply being at peace with what is - unjudging, accepting and smiling benignly on all that passes for life as we see it. They have seen heaven and don't need to tell of it. Our world moves, imperceptibly, into a new dimension and we are never the same again. People ask what's changed and we have no words or need to tell of it. We've gone beyond knowing. We are, at last, bathed in peace. We are, at last, at home.

That, I suspect, is what Casanova was looking for in every lover he ever had - he didn't find it. That, I suspect, is what we all want. I know I will never find it when I know why there are less people at the supermarket today. I might, however, begin to sense it when I stop looking for answers and just know that I don't know … and probably never will.

The Secret of The Secret

2008-11-10T16:19:00.000Z

You’re a world-class sprinter, training for the Olympics, and you sprain your ankle. When do you do that – while you’re sitting on your couch, watching television or while you’re out on the track training? Silly question, really. Of course you’ll more likely sprain your ankle while you’re training, while you’re trying to achieve your goal.

In the same way, when does your car break down – while it’s sitting in the garage or while you’re out driving it? Again, silly question – it usually breaks down while you’re going somewhere in it.

So, why the silly questions? Simply that many people give up before their goal – before achieving a breakthrough – as they have a breakdown. So many people think that when something goes wrong, it’s a sign that they’re doing the wrong thing, and so they stop, just before their breakthrough.

If the Olympic sprinter has a “breakdown”, a sprained ankle, what will they usually do? Yes, get up, hobble to the changing room and off to their physiotherapist to get the ankle working better. They’ll do exercises for it, have more therapy and eventually, when it’s mended, return to the track for more training.

If your car breaks down, do you throw it away and stop driving for the rest of your life? Of course not! You get a mechanic – an expert – to repair it. Then you continue driving till you get to your destination.

So, when a breakdown occurs in our lives, why do so many of us throw our dreams away and stop living fully? Instead of getting an expert to help us out, we give up and do something else, while our dream continues to nag us. And bitterness and a sense of failure set in.

The news of the day, people, is that a breakdown is not proof that you’re doing something wrong.

A breakdown is proof that you’re on your way to a breakthrough – you’re almost there!

A breakdown means that you’re off your couch, out of your garage, and going for it.

You see, for those of you who have seen “The Secret” will be wondering why life has taken on a sinister, sad or frustrating turn, since you have been setting bold, new goals and taking action towards them. You think, from the DVD or the book, that all you have to do is to create goals, imagine your future and do something about it … and it all just happens, POOF, just like that. The secret of The Secret – the bit they didn’t tell you about - is that there’s a middle-step on your way to those goals and “A Course In Miracles” tell us what it is:

In the search for anything – love, freedom, peace, abundance, etc – the first thing that happens is that the blocks to them will come up.

If you’re searching for love, you’ll first be shown all the blocks you have for love … and some quite unlovely things will happen. Relationships will usually become very uncomfortable and, when they do, it’s your opportunity to recognise and release your blocks to love. If you cannot truly love yourself then others cannot. If you can’t believe that you’re deserving of amazing love, then you won’t be. There are so many ways that we stop love coming to us, by our beliefs, attitudes and actions. And, if love still eludes you, there is probably something you’re thinking that is blocking it.

If you set out to make a lot of money, you may, firstly, lose a lot. This is your opportunity to realise the blocks you have to having affluence and your attitudes to those who are wealthy. You cannot be wealthy while you hate wealthy people. You cannot become wealthy while you feel there is something wrong with having a lot of money and a huge income. Recognise your blocks to wealth, release them and you’re on your way. And, if wealth still eludes you, there are further blocks to wealth to deal with.

So, when you have a breakdown, you now know that you’re close to your intended breakthrough, to your dream coming true. What do you do with a breakdown? Four things:

1. Realise that you’ve had a breakdown – it’s something you’ve had and NOT something you are.

2. Review the breakdown, objectively, and it will reveal what breakthrough it is connected with.

3. Thank the breakthrough for the insight it offers you and do something about it. Like the athlete and your car, you may need an “expert” to help you through the breakdown. This expert may be a friend, a professional or anyone who can see your situation more objectively and honestly than you can. This is where ruthlessly honest friends are particularly valuable!

4. Return to your vision, restate your goal and revitalise yourself – e.g. get out of frustration and return to knowing that you’re on your way to a breakthrough.

5. Do something, anything! Nothing activates help from the universe more than your own action – if you sit and ponder, so will the universe. Obviously, doing something towards your goal is the best thing to do! Activate yourself and you reactivate your goal’s achievement.

So, now that you know the secret behind the secret, what have you done to move through your latest breakdown? Yes, I mean now, right now. If not now, then when?

Philip Bradbury – with Anna, his wife – is a business and personal coach and they can be reached through their website: http://www.personaldevelopmentacademy.org

I Don't Understand

2008-10-08T09:29:00.000+01:00

Somerset Maugham once said, ‘They told me that when I got older, I’d lose my mind. What they didn’t tell me was that I wouldn’t miss it much.’ As I grow wiser, I find that I understand the world less and less.

I don’t understand ballet dancers who go around on tip toes all the time - why don’t they just get taller dancers?

In fact, I don’t really understand humans at all. Monkeys open bananas at the easy end, while we, ignoring the banana-opening experts, open them at the harder end - the stem end. We are, in fact, closely related to monkeys but our egos can’t accept this fact. What we do is study monkeys and then deliberately do the opposite to prove that we are, indeed, different. We observe that they scratch their right armpit with their right hand and left with left ... we then scratch our right armpit with our left hand. And the opposite happens with our ears - they scratch their right ears with their left hands and right with left ... we then scratch our right ears with our right hands to prove we’re different from them.

To prove just how advanced and different we are, we invent a clever language:
Our feet smell and our noses run!
We chop trees down and we chop them up!

I don’t understand fishermen: if fish spent thousands on sophisticated humaning equipment and then, for fun, dragged humans from their homes, offices and schools, kicking and screaming with barbed hooks in their mouths into the sea, to have a photo with a grinning fish and then to have the hooks ripped out and then be dumped back on the shore, would the people think it was fun or ‘sport’?

I don’t understand people who insist that purple’s the most spiritual colour. If it were so, then we’d all know that God valued violets above daisies and roses. If it were so, Tibetan Buddhists and Sai Baba would not dress in orange, Islamics wouldn’t wear blue and Jesus wouldn’t have worn white.

And, talking of God, I do not understand those who tell us that God is not spiritual. If we use another word (e.g. The Universe, Spirit, the I AM, Presence, Great Spirit) for the same thing, that which we mean by ‘God’ suddenly becomes ‘spiritual’.

I don’t understand men: If they have a regular hobby or activity (e.g. fishing, tennis, drinking alcohol) they’ll ask their mates to join them. But if a man simply wants to connect up with another man without an obvious activity/reason for doing so, he won’t, whereas a woman will gladly and regularly ring her friends for a chat or a coffee ... just because. Men don’t meet up ‘just because’ and I wonder how many are lonely because of that.

I don’t understand women: our arms are designed to work at the front of our bodies but they put their zips at the back of their dresses. This is OK for women who are born with double-jointed elbows and rear vision mirrors but very difficult for us men on our dressing-up nights.

I don’t understand banks which tell us, ‘You can trust us,’ while chaining their pens to the furniture.

I don’t understand babies whose constant activity gets them nowhere - kicking, waving and constant but unproductive motion. Then they grow into adults and nothing changes - forever in motion changing cars, houses, partners, clothes, acquiring new things, learning new things and, all the while, the gaping holes in their souls remain unfilled, despite the constant motion.

I don’t understand politicians: they constantly talk peace and do war and, in the contradiction, wars continue. Instead of peace talks, why don’t they simply have peace dos?

I don’t understand firemen: instead of painting their trucks and signs in a peaceful, non-aggressive colour (e.g. pink or pale green), they paint them in a colour that incites aggression and invites the lighting of that which they spend their time putting out.

I don’t understand religious groups who tell their congregations not to read the words and books of other groups, for fear of the devil and his/her consequences. Theirs is a God who helped Moses to part the sea but cannot protect someone from little words on paper.

I don’t understand phone and power companies: they spend millions of dollars on advertising the services that we’re going to use anyway (advertising or not!), rather than putting those millions into lower rates for their customers.

I don’t understand pants: we have a pair of socks because there’s two. We have one shirt because there’s one. We have a pair of trousers because there’s ... one!
I don’t understand holes: a thick, heavy rug is not as warm as a thinner, open-weaved one - the extra holes insulate us better. Golf balls go further with dimples (half-holes) than smooth balls. Without holes in our socks we couldn’t wear them. Without holes in our houses we couldn’t live in them. Without holes in our heads we couldn’t eat. Without holes in our pipes we wouldn’t get water. It’s actually holes that make this world work, not the things around them ... so why do we bother with the things around them as bigger holes would mean a faster, warmer, cosier and better fed world?

I don’t understand insanity: as I ponder the above (and other) absurdities and insanities, I realise that little in this world is actually sane. As I realise that, I discover that I have two choices - I can either become concerned and stressed by the insanity or I can simply realise that none of it matters and that none of it is real. And, in the realisation of the unreality of the insanity, do I discover real peace and joy.

I don’t understand me: as I grow older I realise that there’s an alarming number of things I know nothing about and, like Somerset Maugham, I find that this no longer alarms me. In fact, it all rather amuses me and I can, at last, understand why people with Alzheimer’s have such peaceful and joyful looks on their faces, constantly, while politicians, fishermen, women, men and everybody else is so stressed. The world didn’t change but mine did because I looked at it differently. I don’t understand why other people don’t choose to look at the insanity with more mirth and less attachment - the only thing that needed to change was my mind and that didn’t cost a cent!

Relationships, Respect & AIDS

2008-09-13T09:57:00.001+01:00

Having spent February and March of 2002 in South Africa, running my Free To Be Me! workshops, speaking at an international conference on AIDS and in co-facilitating AIDS workshops, I realised the link between AIDS and the relationship we have with ourselves and with one another. In that amazingly beautiful and diverse country, the differences we create between each other were thrown up into my face and I couldn’t but ponder how so many with so much give so little and those with so little can still keep giving so much.

Robert Mugabe, in Zimbabwe, was currently building his fourth house at a cost of around $NZ4 million, while millions of his countrymen starved for the lack of a loaf of bread. The same was happening in South Africa where the government spends in excess of $NZ7 billion on arms, per year, to defend itself from an imaginary and non-existent invader, while it has stock-piles of antiretroviral drugs (brought in by non-profit organisations and confiscated by the government) which could be saving the lives of hundreds of thousands of South Africans. These insanely wealthy individuals head a government that is refusing to provide Mother To Child Transmission (MTCT) pills to pregnant mothers to stop the transmission of AIDS from HIV mothers to their babies. There are no side-effects to these drugs, they do no harm to non-HIV mothers and they are a one-dose pill that costs seven rand – about $NZ1.35. While Health Department personnel were flying first-class to other countries for a talkfest (a conference), in expensive hotels, that provided no positive action, I visited a rural clinic that serves 18,000 people and it only had two packets of Panadol – no bandages, no disinfectant, no nothing – in an area where over 60% of the people are HIV positive!

Hell, it seems to me, is not a place we go to when we die but the people we meet here on earth. So is heaven.

In Kwano-zame, a township in the Big Karoo (Xhosa for desert), about four hours drive inland from Port Elizabeth, a group of eighteen-year-olds performed at two of our AIDS workshops and they were not only brilliant actors and musicians, but they stirred my heart. Their passion is in spreading the message of AIDS awareness in prisons, schools and anywhere else they can. With no training, they have created an amazing educational and unforgettable artwork that cannot help but move one to tears and laughter as they bring the AIDS message in the most powerful way I could have imagined. After the first show I took some of them home and was aghast at their living situation. Four teenagers live with their father and their only income is his meagre pension which can only stretch to feed him. For the boys to survive and pay for food, school clothes, school fees, instruments and costumes, they have to rely on the generosity of impoverished friends and their ingenuity in running a small deodorant manufacturing business. The house was several sheets of galvanised iron, standing on end to form a square and covered in tar building paper. There was no door (just a hole in the iron), the floor was dirt and there was no food in the “house”. There is no unemployment benefit or any other government assistance in South Africa (apart from the meagre pension) and if you cannot feed yourself, you die. That they had so little and still gave so much was an inspiration to me and an affirmation to the possibility of the human spirit.

We later visited two AIDS sufferers. One was a middle-aged woman with a husband and two teenage children and it was a guess as to whether the AIDS or starvation would kill her first. There was no food in the house and her husband had no work. Such is the shame of AIDS, she had not told her family of the reason for her illness and her reasoning was, “I don’t want to hurt them.” We pointed out that if she didn’t tell anyone, there would then be no back-up care for her children and that her silence would hurt them so much more. We left her to think about disclosing her AIDS status and about finding friends or family who could take care of her children when she died, which she did three days later – we’re not sure where her children are now.

Of the 60+% of South Africans who have HIV or AIDS, over 60% of them are married, heterosexual women and you may wonder at the connection of that group of people with the predominantly homosexual men and drug users who have HIV/AIDS in white western society. Let me give you a hint:

The black (and some white) women in South Africa (generally) are completely subservient to and reliant on their men for all decisions and, in that patriarchal society, women effectively have no rights. In fact, they often have less rights than the family dogs. If a man wants sex he simply demands it, there and then, and the woman can never say “No”. To have sex with many women is the mark of a “real man” and so most married men pursue a life of being married to one woman and having sex with many women. What this does to a woman’s esteem and feeling of powerlessness is beyond my comprehension and I can only wonder at the lack of respect and the abuse we perpetuate on one another. While it takes “two to tango”, it takes an incredibly brave and strong woman in such a society to say “No”. The consequences would be unthinkable.

Obviously, there are physiological reasons for the spread of AIDS in such a society – if a woman is constantly forced to have painful sex, she is never lubricated and, because of that, the possibility of vaginal rips and tears that allow the infection in is increased many-fold. My simple knowing is that there are also emotional and spiritual reasons that promote to the spread of this invisible invader and it seems to be a feeling of powerlessness and a lack of respect.

In white, western society those who head the AIDS statistics are homosexual men and drug users – those who many see as the dregs of society. The public perception of these people is also shared by many of the sufferers themselves, believing that they are the least respected and most powerless people in their community. The huge amount of courage needed to declare one’s homosexual preference attests to the powerlessness and lack of respect that is rampant in our society.

One of the speakers at the Port Elizabeth HIV/AIDS conference was Mnumbeko Mpongo, a 27 year-old black woman, from Cape Town, who had contracted HIV by being gang-raped three years previously. She had no ill feelings towards her attackers and, in fact, was thankful to them for she realised their gift was to take her life on a far more meaningful path, to finding the means to heal herself completely of HIV with natural remedies and life-style changes and to becoming a health worker for the Cape Town council. In her passionate and moving speech she said that she didn’t need our sympathy or our acceptance for she had come to respect and accept herself, no matter what the outside world threw at her. She also called AIDS the AfrAIDS, for it had become the new disease for the untouchables, the thing that most people were most afraid of.

Are you beginning to see the link between respect and AIDS?

My strange mind has this picture of a God pointing out to us, with AIDS-stained fingers, those who most need our compassion and respect. That AIDS has become the new leprosy, those with it have become the new untouchables and it behoves us to consider that disease is not a punishment for wrongs done but a place to start looking at how we respect our own and other’s bodies, emotions and spirituality. The relationship we have with ourselves and with others has an amazing bearing on our physical, emotional and spiritual health and that we have such a rampant disease tells me that we could do much to enliven our planet with simple remedies.

While drugs can arrest the progress of HIV and AIDS, the final answer may, in fact, lie in something far less tangible and less expensive – the simple and powerful caring for one another and by respectful human contact and relationship. The cost is a smile or a gentle touch – I wonder at the benefits …

The Lovian Language

2008-09-13T09:52:00.000+01:00

We think we’re all so different from one another (Bantu, Boer, Egyptian, European, Maori, Malenesian), with different histories, cultures, traditions and beliefs. Even when we find a connection with someone we thought was different, we still cling to the need to feel different, perhaps imagining that different = special.

The New Zealand Maoris seem to be a long way from North Africa but they’re not. The word wahine, in Maori, means woman. Change the W to Q and you have the Arab word for woman – qahine.

Only two groups of people in the world have a chin tattoo for the women – the NZ Maori and the Atlas Mountain Arabs. They both use the same word for it – moko.

The words of the Maori haka start with “kau mate, kau mate”, and are the terrified words of a young warrior, hiding in a shallow ditch from his enemies, whispering to himself, “I’m not going to die, I’m not going to die”. Though they have a very different meaning in the Atlas Mountains, they are exactly the same words used by the Atlas Mountain Arabs in a song of praise to the rising sun and the new day.

Our modern spin doctors in politics and business are nothing new – we’ve always changed the meaning of words. The word wicca was originally a Celtic word meaning wise woman/healer. To persuade the Celts away from their Pagan (meaning rural or country) beliefs, the Catholics spun the word into an evil meaning – wicked – and wiccas (witches) were killed … nine million of them. Nowadays, the same word (wicked) is used by our teenagers to mean something that’s great or amazing.

Our words and stories live on and only the meanings change.

The Australian Aborigines seem to be a long way from the ancient Celts but they’re not. I spent time with the Arunda (caterpillar) people who live east of Alice Springs, Australia – their name comes from the McDonnell Ranges which look like a giant caterpillar. Describing cave paintings, Jimmy started telling me about the “Seven Sisters” - the Pleiades – which represent the women who nurture the young men until, at around twelve years of age, they enter the world of men and go through their initiations. As he was telling me the story, I suddenly said, “But that’s exactly the same as the Celtic story of the Seven Sisters!”

“Well, yes, of course it is,” he said. He went on to tell me other Celtic stories that were similar to the Aborigine ones. He knew of his ancient lineage and of the connection of all races, their stories and their rituals. To him, we all believed in the same things and it was only our different environments which created different ways of honouring that. The Aborigines have their corroborees outside round a fire as it is too hot inside, while the Vikings have theirs inside as it is too cold outside. The North American Indians have the White Buffalo ceremonies but the Xhosa don’t – there are no buffalos in Africa!

To Jimmy, we all believe in a power greater than us and none of us actually knows the nature of that power. Knowing that we don’t know, we give this power characteristics that we’re familiar with, to make it accessible or comfortable for us to communicate with. Though Jesus was a Jew in the Middle East (and had swarthy skin and black hair) us “westerners” have continued to paint him as if he came from Scandinavia, with a slight suntan! The New Zealand Maori have stories of Jesus and they picture him with a brown skin and (sometimes) with tattoos. Like Jesus, God assumes different shapes, colours and natures, depending on where the description comes from.

In 2001 I worked with Llunguisi (among others) in facilitating AIDS workshops in Port Elizabeth and the Big Karoo in South Africa. At the time, he was helping people resolve their conflicts peacefully. However, he wasn’t always such a peaceful man. Years previously, he had been a good friend of Steve Biko and had been the head of the student riots, blowing up everything from schools to buses to people. During that violent time in his life, he was shot, point blank, in the chest and left in a dusty Johannesburg street for dead. Fortunately, the bullet missed his heart by millimetres. He eventually regained consciousness and, because no doctor would attend a dying black man, he managed to crawl for days till he found a “friendly” black doctor, who nursed him back to health. Many years later, Llunguisi found himself in a Cape Town elevator with the white policeman who had shot him, recognising him immediately. There was no one else in the lift and Llunguisi smiled inwardly, knowing that the policeman somehow recognised him but didn’t quite know why … dead men don’t ride in lifts! Eventually, Llunguisi told the policeman who he was and the large, beer-potted man went very white, fearful that Llunguisi would kill him on the spot.

“It’s OK,” said Llunguisi, “you’re safe. When you shot me, you were doing the best with what you knew … and so was I. I have long ago lost all anger and bitterness against you and anyone else we fought. Now it’s a time of peace for me. Would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me?”

The policeman didn’t know what to say for a moment and so Llunguisi grabbed him in an affectionate hug and the policeman burst into tears. The lift stopped and opened to two ex-enemies with their arms around each others’ shoulders, tears down their cheeks, walked off to have a cup of tea together.

It doesn’t matter what words we use, for they’ll always be changed over time … that is, in any language except the language of Love. For those who speak in Lovian, no interpreters are ever needed, no misunderstandings are ever had and, in fact, no words are ever needed.

Wars only happen when both sides expect a different result. All conflict is the same. While we each think we’ll win, we’ll keep fighting each other. What we all know but forget, is that no conflict or war ever made a situation better – wars beget more wars and arguments beget more arguments.

However, in the land where they speak Lovian, there are no wars and no arguments because there are no differences. There is always a desire to unite, not separate. In Lovian, the language of Love, there are no labels to separate – only the desire to find similarities. There is no need to feel special by differences - in Lovian, all are special anyway. When we take away our labels and look under each others’ skin, we’ll recognise, as Jimmy and Llunguisi do, that peace is the only way, that we are all connected … we’ll realise that we’re not separated by history, culture, language or rituals, but united by them all. Our one and only desire is to reunite with that greater power and as we look for and find similarities in each other, we’ll remember our shared history and our shared beingness.

Esperanto, the language that was supposed to unite us all with similar words, didn’t work. What has always worked, however, is the most ancient of languages – Lovian – which dispenses with symbols on paper and uses feelings in the heart. The mind likes to create differences, to dissect, to break down. The heart chooses to see similarities, to know wholistically and to build up.

The greatest distance between any of us is the distance between our head and our heart.

An Urgent God

2008-09-11T19:47:00.000+01:00

During most of my working life – which is long enough to be memorable and short enough that I remember it – I have worked in private enterprise; either for others or for myself. If, say, a client needed an urgent set of accounts done, to raise finance or to sell her business, I would do it immediately … straight away. If I needed to work through the night, to meet a deadline, I would do that. That’s one kind of urgent.
I recently sold my accounting business and had several months to spare before Anna and I left for England/Europe for our big OE. So I took a contract with a local council and learned of another kind of urgent. Working for a local body, the word urgency is accompanied by the same teeth gnashing, fetid bloodletting and panic-stricken fervour as in the private sector. Us accountants divided up the work and leapt to our stations, to produce annual budgets for the upcoming council meeting. Then, in a vacant moment of realising that the outer world existed, I looked up and discovered the time was 5.01 pm and the building was nearly empty.
“But we haven’t finished the reports for tomorrow’s meeting,” I stammered helplessly to the last retreating figure, who muttered something about it being “home time”.
“But …” I whimpered.
“But nothing, mate, it’s knock-off time. It’ll wait till tomorrow.”
“But the meeting starts at 9.00 am tomorrow …” I cried into the wind as his car careened out of the car park.
The next day the councillors duly arrived at the meeting, expecting to have voluminous piles of financial data on which to base their critical decisions. Instead, they were given ingenious and quickly constructed reasons about why they didn’t actually need any facts that day and so they laboured hard and long without any data.
Of course, most politicians have low self esteem: if you want to change the world, you must see it as imperfect; if you see the world as imperfect, you must see yourself as imperfect. With such a low perception of yourself, you are reliant on the opinions and advice of others to sustain you – you’re more susceptible to guile and smooth-tongued cleverness … which is why you express yourself that way, unfettered by silly facts.
So, the esteemed and responsible councillors of our city left the day-long meeting, for their respective clubs, well pleased with themselves for having been well paid for executing momentous decisions on behalf of us lesser citizens, on the long-term future of our livelihoods, with no facts to support any of it.
In private enterprise we seem to need facts to support our actions and so urgency has a different meaning than in the public service.
Similarly for the phrase just now:
As a Kiwi (a New Zealander and not a furry green fruit that’s actually a Chinese gooseberry) I might say I’ll do something just now and I’ll do it immediately, straight away … with private enterprise urgency. However, if I’m in South Africa, I could say, “Christ is coming just now”, meaning I don’t know if he’s coming but it could be soonish … a public service urgency. In South Africa, if I meant a private enterprise urgency, I would say, “Christ is coming now now”, which is patently untrue as the Christ has always been with us and so cannot return.
And so to God. God is a tiny words that’s difficult, if not impossible, to mispronounce or misspell. Despite the unlikely chance that we’re talking about different words, there are very different Gods.
Last year I joined a business networking group that met every second Friday, for breakfast. I eventually had the obligatory coffee with the group leader (Alex, a South African) and he was almost salivating as he looked deeply into my eyes and told me that it was a huge relief to have more Christians in the group. Apparently, my mentioning God in business discussions, at odd times, had “proved” to him that I believed exactly what he did. He then went on to tell me that there were too many “new agers” out there and they were a menace, a weed in our pristine and pure Christian garden, a weed that had to be eradicated. I realised, at that point, that his God and mine were very different!
His God is a scary dude. His God had him being a miserable sinner – not sure what of but this sinning started at birth, a process that was not Alex’s fault. Because he was such a terrible sinner he has to constantly beg this God for forgiveness or else his God smacks him about and smites him till it hurts. Most of his God’s punishments are unspecified but fearsome. One of these punishments is to be sent to hell and, despite Alex being a real estate agent, he can’t describe the territory or the accommodation … and nor could anyone else he knew. All he knew was that it was terrible and that he needs to keep asking for forgiveness for unspecified sins that never actually go away.
The God I know is more loving, with a sense of humour. To call ourselves sinners, in his book, is utter arrogance – who are we to usurp his judgement and to judge his creations as less than perfect? He is like a loving parent, watching a child stumble and learn to walk. He’s there to help when we ask for it and he watches with compassion when we fall. This indolent God simply loves us as we are, as his true children and knows it takes a little maturity for us to discover that.
Alex’s God seems to make distinctions about people – some are bad, some are good and some are best. His God definitely didn’t like homosexuals or new agers and, though Alex didn’t really know why, he did know that they were a blight on the family values his God promoted – these sorts need to be eradicated and the baring of teeth, heightened pulse and heavy breathing accompanied these statements of his.
My God’s a lot more cruisy and just isn’t into labels. In fact, he never notices them – race, colour, creed, gender, age, occupation and every other way we create differences among us; he just doesn’t see. Whether it’s homosexual, heterosexual, mother and son, business colleagues or whoever, connecting with each other in any way, my God sees only the love that grows between them and that flows to his other children.
His God seems to want us to put ourselves down and make us less than we are – this he calls humility. To be proud of who we are seems to be a blasphemy against his God. There is only one light in his God’s world and that light died 2,000 years ago.
My God asks that we accept our role as lights of the world. As A Course in Miracles says, “Humility consists of accepting your role in salvation and in taking no other. It is not humility to insist that you cannot be the light of the world if that is the function God assigned to you. It is only arrogance that you would assert this function cannot be for you, and arrogance is always the way of the ego,”
His God seems to work on the public service type of urgency, a sort of just now system. Jesus, who is apparently coming back soon, will absolve us all from our sinfulness – we can’t do it ourselves. The frustrating thing is that no one actually knows when Jesus is going to turn up and cleanse us – it could be today, next week, next century, and Alex might not be here then, which leaves him in unearthly dread even after he’s died – he can’t even “rest in peace”. His God loves keeping us in suspense.
My God is definitely into the private enterprise kind of urgency – he’s a now now kind of guy. He sees us already enlightened and we cannot be “saved” by anyone but our own sweet selves. He sees us as prisoners, skulking in our cells, unaware that we always hold the keys to our freedom. All we have to do is reach around and unlock the door. All we need to do is change our minds, change our perception and realise that there are no sins – just errors. OK, so we made a mistake. Learn and move on into peace and joy. We made the error, we fix it. Poof! It’s that simple.
A Course In Miracles tells me that forgiveness is my function as a light of the world and an awkward silence then follows. If I’m seeing Alex and the councillors less than perfect, so I must see myself as that – every encounter with a brother is an encounter with myself. If my function is forgiveness, I must forgive (undo the error) and choose to see us all as lights of the world – good men with, as yet, an imperfect understanding of the facts of ourselves and our God. I’ve imprisoned myself again! Where’s that key – I need it now now.