Friday, September 23, 2022

Aspen Trees, Steamboat Springs, Colorado


 Aspen Trees

 

Gently auburn hued autumn air

Gold smudges in paintbrush stroke

Dappled on steep mountain sides

Speckled with tall green pines

Groves of bright gilded aspens

Silent in the cool crisp of fall

Waiting for the first frost to come

Time slowing down to stop

Quivering silver black bark

Thousand Buttery yellow leaves

In moist, crumbling black soil;

Rich and dark, damp humus

Trunks trembling in the breeze

Thin shards of golden ore

Fluttering softly in the wind.


All Rights Reserved & Copyright David John Drew 'Lord Carville' 2022

Thursday, September 8, 2022

On the death of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II


On the death of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

 

Saddest peals of mourning

A nations’ greatest loss

Ten days slowly turning

Deaths fateful step we cross

 

Elizabeth our dear queen

Has passed from light to dark

Entering the eternal stream

Her gracious life we mark

 

Service of a devoted life

Praiseworthy to the last

Her reign banished all strife

All flags now at half-mast

 

We remember her glory

Trustworthy to the end

To her all songs laudatory

Each subject a dear friend

 

Royal standard never drops

To a new king we cheer

Noble time never stops

Look forward to a new year

 

 

Photo: Cecil Beaton, October 16, 1968

 

All Rights Reserved & Copyright – David John Drew ‘Lord Carville’ 2022

Monday, August 22, 2022

A Simple Religion


"This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness..." Dalai Lama

There is a point where the concepts of religion and God fall apart because they are limited definitions that cannot express the reality of the situation. The term 'God' becomes redundant when the thing being contemplated is far greater and more complex that can even be imagined. We then come to realize that the mind and body are the true temple where we come to meet the sacred spirit of existence. And even though the mind and body are corporeal and limited - we find a space within that is both infinite and eternal - where the Spirit can find a dwelling place, the Temple of the Soul. And in that Temple of the Soul we find great peace because it is far from written words, definitions and concepts, it is a purity of existence that cannot be talked about, it simply exists for itself. We simply bow in reverence and awe as we stand in the presence of the Supreme Spirit.

Photo: The Nereid Monument at the British Museum in London.

Friday, August 19, 2022

The Dissipation of Time


“Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.” ― Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance

Time never makes it easy on life - we always seem to lose more than we have gained. "If only we could turn the clock back..." is the common phrase - we would do things differently. We would pay attention in school and finish with good grades, then go to university and graduate and get a really well-paying job with all the benefits. We would become wealthy, maybe even famous. But no - the bubble is burst and we realize our predicament - we are losing time without making progress. We cannot stop it. Soon we will be measured for our final resting place. Will the time ever be on our side?


All Rights Reserved & Copyright David John Drew 2022

Thursday, August 18, 2022

The Transient Nature of Home

 

“How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.” 

― William C. Faulkner

 

I always had the mentality of an immigrant, so the subject of home was a mystery to me from when I was a youngster. Where was that warm place by an open fire, drinking hot mugs of tea and chatting about all the neighbors in the street. A familiar environment that expected that you only be yourself - but I have had little idea about my 'self' - and so a home escaped me for many years. I finally managed to forge a home in America, with the warmth of a family and friends, all the curious knick-knacks that have been collected through the years, annoying neighbors and several deceased pets. I was always right though - a home is difficult to describe because it is filled with many mundane as well as wonderful things. Everything always seems so transient - I ponder on where my final resting place will be!


Photo by Peter Loud, 1973:


https://www.peterloud.co.uk/photos/Newcastle/Wallsend/Tyne_Pride.html


Text: All Rights Reserved & Copyright David John Drew 2022

Saturday, December 25, 2021

Short Story: Grace Under Pressure

 

Grace Under Pressure, by David John Drew

 

The atmosphere within reverberated warmth on a night rapidly descending to freezing point. Through the cold window wisps of wind blew snowflakes hither and tither, then they settled on any available stable surface. The barely visible garden fence grew a fresh, new collar of icy ermine, hardy shrubs hid beneath blankets of virgin white. As far as the eye could see, the land was transformed by the whims of weather – delicately adorned with the breath of a frosty season.

 

Inside, the gabble of numerous voices, lubricated with choicest liquors, wines, or whiskey infused with ice-cubes… seemed overwhelming. Faces reflected in the glittering orbs decorating the Christmas tree in the corner, moving, mingling, and masticating on delicious treats. Abigail’s new ‘beau’ seemed startled at first, even overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of the characters. 

 

“Diane always comes into work drunk… believe me!” She said. “Terrible… simply atrocious…” replied Steve. “And about this time of year she manages to slip on a patch of ice in the car park, snap a leg bone, skinny legs you know… then claims compensation and spends six months in recovery… we are the ones picking up the slack…” Dot moaned, “Crazy you know!”And she circled a finger around while pointing to the side of her forehead… “Bonkers… Nuts...” Steve was sympathetic, “Some people know how to work the system…” Dot added, “Every year the same old thing… so we are all taking bets on what day she is going do it this year… I’m betting on December 21st for sure…” Steve laughed, “Dot, your sure to win… you always come out on top!” Dot gave Steve a wink, “Honey, nothing can pin me down – I’m a seasoned strategist!” She gave Steve a sideways knock with her hips, and he nearly lost a grip on his champagne flute, thinking, ‘Yes, and I know were this could all lead… that’s why they call her ‘octo-pussy’ … once a man gets caught in her tentacles he’ll never escape!’

 

James suffered the barely audible monologue of introduction, handshake, or in the case of Aunt Lizabeth, an importune smear of a kiss planted firmly on his cheek. James thought that kiss too much pressure – there was a lust in those lips beyond the normal, acceptable pleasantries exchanged… even in an informal seasonal family gathering like this. He puzzled over whether he had actually felt her hand giving him a firm pat on the buttocks at the same time. He didn’t have time to think.

 

A boy appeared from nowhere, began screaming and commenced a hazardous climb over the leather couch with a large silver fork on which was impaled something that resembled a jelly donut with green icing… “Stop that kid… get off the couch you little brat…” An anonymous voice screamed.

 

Abigail led him quickly, windingly through the throng, by the hand to her father. “Father… James… James… my father, Roger, daddy… well, this is Jimmy my boyfriend…” And she whispered, “Daddy’s a lawyer, be careful Jimmy, don’t perjure yourself!”She walked away giggling, James cemented to the floor without any visible means of escape. Father Roger’s moustache seemed to bristle at the confrontation, and eyes pierced his victim. He wondered where the red smudge on his cheek had come from? A short, solemn silence was punctuated with a terse enquiry, “And what is it you do… ‘Jim’ … or should I call you James?” Daddy’s face seemed to thrust itself too close for comfort into Jim’s, and he stuttered, “Well… just been promoted to district manager at Carpet Warehouse… tremendous opportunity… I love home furnishing… and… and…” He spluttered ungainly as if being interrogated. Despite the earnest reply Roger only nodded and ‘Mmnned’ while looking over Jim’s shoulder and giving a genial wave at another guest. “Faith!” Roger shouted provocatively. Jim slowly rolled his head, in the same way one does with brain freeze… not quite understanding the exclamation, his forehead wrinkled quizzically… straining… to understand beyond the noise of yuletide chant and jovial chatter the nature of the word. “Faith” He repeated, “What Church are you with James?” For a second James thought, ‘that he really loved Abigail, that this, her father standing like an icicle of a specter before him, stood in the way of true desire… and then there was the good prospect of this wealthy lawyer investing in a future business… ‘that idea he had of importing luxury Persian rugs needed an investor’ but as of yet it seemed like a long way down the road… but still, the icicle must be melted first so to speak… ‘ And another second lapsed while he, James, reminded himself of his tendency toward atheism… Time seemed to slow down as he purveyed the absurdity of the situation, weighing up the warmth of the drink and the festivities, the future of a well financed marital bliss with the woman of his dreams, and the cold, analytical decision to disregard the fairy tales of superstitious ancients… 

 

“Faith” seemed to echo through the empty caverns of his mind. Perhaps unconsciously he blurted out, “St. Grobius Presbyterian church in Colingwood… “ And the ice melted in a warm embrace, “Good to have you here son, it’ll be dinnertime soon… have another drink!” James’ knees grew weak at the thought, ‘but it’ll be forgotten – we’ll move on soon to other topics’ – so he began to mingle and add his voice to the rising chorus of party and family, which he hope he would soon be part of. James seemed to be miraculously pushed to a group of uncles, brothers and sons telling jokes, “Why was Santa’s little helper depressed? - I don’t know… Why? - Because he had low elf esteem!” Another round of laughter and giggles… all in good fun. James soon forgot his claim to religiosity. ‘There was more useful spirit in his tumbler than a dry old tome like the Bible’ he thought. He melted back into the crowd and awaited the call to dinner.

 

And James believed as they all sat down to dinner that his fake religiosity had been forgotten, that is until the father turned to him, and in a stern… a terribly stern grimace, asked James to say grace – and James froze… with nothing to say.


End.


All Rights Reserved & Copyright 2021 David John Drew

Saturday, November 27, 2021

The Stromata of Death and Life


 The ‘Stromata’ of Death and Life (1)

 

Who am I? (2)

In this

All rolled into One

In the present?

Every line of this face

Becomes a Scar

That leads to the dark

Labyrinth of my heart (3) (4)

A line that reels you in

To a thousand faces –

Where you are lost…

And found again… Yet -

Who am I, but Legion (5)

Beneath mere appearance

And…

Your mind’s eye is forced

To behold

The presence of oblivion

Of death, itself…

Within me,

The “Destroyer of Worlds” (6)

Yes, those

Facets of your illusions

As to who I am… and

What is.

Here we are… here and now, (7)

Beneath placidity, 

The thrice distant

Sound of savage, snarling

Cerberus (8)

The barking consumptive

Hound of Hell. (9)

Your healing hand

And trembling steps

Piercing through

A thousand veils (10)

Into an unknown light

In which

You cannot leave unbroken

Or untransformed; (11)

Who then, are you now?

 

 

Notes

 

1. The Stromata (Στρώματα) or Stromateis (Στρωματεῖς, "Patchwork") is the third in Clement of Alexandria's (150 – 215) trilogy of works on the Christian life. Clement titled this work Stromateis, "patchwork," because it deals with such a variety of matters. It goes further than prior writings by the author and aims at the perfection of the Christian life by initiation into complete knowledge. It attempts, on the foundation of Scripture and tradition, to give an account of the Christian faith as shall answer all the demands of the learned, and conduct a student into the innermost realities of his belief. For me, the Stromata is the ‘Way’ of piercing all the complexities of existence and penetrating to the essence of being.

 

2. Jack Kerouac: “One distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was—I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel… all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn’t know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost… Halfway… at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future…” On the Road, 1957

 

3. The labyrinth is not a maze. There are no tricks to it and no dead ends. It has a single circuitous path that winds its way into the center. The person walking it uses the same path to return from the center and the entrance then becomes the exit. The path is in full view, which allows a person to be quiet and focus internally. The labyrinth is a walking meditation, a path of prayer and an archetypal blueprint where psyche meets Spirit. It has only one path that leads from the outer edge in a circuitous way to the center. There are no tricks to it and no dead ends. Unlike a maze where you lose your way, the labyrinth is a spiritual tool that can help you find your way.

 

4. The Way of the (Spiritual) Heart - God taught St. Ignatius of Loyola about the heart though several mystical visions he received early in his spiritual formation. One such vision came upon him at a time when he was questioning whether he should say three or four prayers to our Trinitarian God—a prayer directed to each Person, Father, Son, and Spirit, and then a fourth prayer to the One God. He was praying outside on the steps of a monastery when he suddenly “heard” God the Trinity as the musical sound of three organ keys playing simultaneously. Another time he received a vision of God the creator as “something white out of which rays were coming.” Out of this whiteness God created light. “He did not know how to explain these things,” he writes of himself in the third person. But Ignatius responded with his heart: “This was accompanied with so much tears and so much sobbing that he could not restrain himself.” The spiritual journey is an attempt to answer the question, “What is life all about?” Here is Ignatius’s answer: a vision of God for our hearts, not our minds. It is a depiction of the Creator as a superabundant giver. He gives gifts that call forth a response on our part, a free choice to return ourselves to him in grateful thanks and love. It is a vision that only a heart can respond to…’ - David L. Fleming, SJ

 

5. A reference to the Gospel of Mark: ‘Then Jesus asked him, "What is your name?" "My name is Legion," he replied, "for we are many”. (Mark 5:9) Every human is a multi-dimensional being, composed of intricate complexities, perhaps many souls, multiple characteristics that make a ‘personality’ –which in many faiths is the subject of ‘healing.’ This is a clear case of identity – who are you, and who are we? This is the ultimate existential question posed by Jesus in Mark 8: 27 – 29 – “On the way he asked them, "Who do people say I am?" And, “"But what about you?"he asked. "Who do you say I am?"

 

6. Reference to Robert J. Oppenheimer who, on the successful test of the first atom bomb on July 16th, 1945 – quoted a line from the Bhagavad Gita in response; “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds”. The Bhagavad-Gita, a Hindu scripture, written in Sanskrit, that centers on a dialogue between a great warrior prince, Arjuna and his charioteer Lord Krishna, an incarnation of Vishnu. Krishna teaches him about a higher philosophy that will enable him to carry out his duties as a warrior irrespective of his personal concerns. This is known as the dharma, or holy duty. It is one of the four key lessons of the Bhagavad-Gita: desire or lust; wealth; the desire for righteousness or dharma; and the final state of total liberation, or moksha. Arjuna asks Krishna to reveal his universal form. Krishna obliges, and in verse twelve of the Gita he manifests as a sublime, terrifying being of many mouths and eyes. It is this moment that entered Oppenheimer’s mind in July 1945. “If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky, that would be like the splendor of the mighty one,” – Robert Oppenheimer’s inability to accept the idea of an immortal soul would always weigh heavy on his mind. – What is the nature of identity or personality in the face of ultimate oblivion or death? Is there a soul, and if so, does it survive death?

 

7. The question of an absolute present in ‘A Philosophy of History in Fragments’ (1993) by Agnes Heller. The crisis of European philosophy of history is defined by the irresolvable contradiction between the absolute present of Hegel’s self-knowing subject of History and the consciousness of the sheer contingency of the historical present. Heller rethinks the meaning of the present as absolute, not in itself but in relationship to the past and future of our present. Our absolute present is thereby revealed as inescapably paradoxical. Just as we live from the afterlife of a departed absolute spirit so the self-consciousness of our post-modernity resides in the self-consciousness with which we endow the past. How do we stand absolutely in the present – even when we see the past, our own personal history melting away… and being forced to look into an indefinite future?

 

8. Greek mythology, Cerberus (Κέρβερος), - the "hound of Hades", (of Hell). A monstrous multi-headed dog that guards the gates of the Underworld to prevent the dead from leaving. Cerberus was the offspring of the monsters Echidna and Typhon, and usually is described as having three heads, a serpent for a tail, and snakes protruding from parts of his body. The fear of death – something which consumes us totally, can we persist at all?

 

9. In Norse mythology, Hel is a being who presides over a realm of the same name, where she receives a portion of the dead. Hel is attested in the Poetic Edda, compiled in the 13th century from earlier traditional sources, and the Prose Edda, written in the 13th century by Snorri Sturluson. In addition, she is mentioned in poems recorded in Heimskringla and Egils saga that date from the 9th and 10th centuries, respectively… The Norse god Odin threw Hel into Niflheim (the ‘mist-world’ or a world of darkness), and bestowed upon her authority over nine worlds, in that she must "administer board and lodging to those sent to her, and that is those who die of sickness or old age." In this realm, Hel has "great Mansions" with extremely high walls and immense gates…

 

10. The Arabian Nights, or – ‘A thousand and One night’ - “A truth once seen by a single mind ends up by imposing itself on the totality of human consciousness.” – The changing of the mind through a deeper perception, it might be observed that throughout life we are in constant process of metamorphosis – form one state to another, constantly changing and being transformed.

 

11. Unchanged: Metamorphosis or transformation is a unifying theme amongst the episodes of the Metamorphoses of the Roman poet Ovid. Ovid raises its significance explicitly in the opening lines of the poem: In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas / corpora; ("I intend to speak of forms changed into new entities;"). Accompanying this theme is often violence, inflicted upon a victim whose transformation becomes part of the natural landscape. This theme amalgamates the much-explored opposition between the hunter and the hunted and the thematic tension between art and nature… The metamorphoses themselves are often located metatextually within the poem, through grammatical or narratorial transformations.


All Rights Reserved & Copyright David John Drew 2021