Translation – Blog No. 2


What is lost in translation?  That is like asking:  have you ever tried to find the tone in text?  It is a skill you acquire with time.  When you can identify and understand the intonations in every aspect of the spoken reality and you can read the resonance in the words that have explained this reality to you through their evolution, then you will be in the position to negotiate with yourself the ways of your world.  Until that time, you are under the tutelage of your heart.  That is not a bad thing.

What is lost in translation is made up for by the humour that is created during translating.  That is called balance.  It does occasionally lead to some misunderstandings, some miscommunications, but again, once you can read the tone in the words you will not need to worry too much about what precisely is being said.  You need to get the gist of it, which is possible in any language.  It just depends on what needs to be said.

When it comes to translating, it is preferable to have an interpreter.  That interpreter should be fluent in the language(s) being spoken – fluent – otherwise he cannot possibly interpret, and then translate.  It is not good when trying to interpret another’s words you put your own spin on them to round them out – or round them up – unless you are fluent in that person’s language.  In that case, it is perfectly acceptable.

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Here we go again … Blog No. 1


So.  2015.  What kind of a year do we want?  What kind of a year do we need?  These are important considerations.  I suspect if it were possible for everyone to agree on one thing, it would be that we do not need a year of disasters.  That would be a good place to begin.  Disasters happen – not without warning, but without permission.  It depends on the proclivity of the disaster, for disaster.  Natural happenings are not synonymous with disaster.  Nature, is Nature.  That will never change.  It would be important to remember that vibrations and frequencies are not felt only by mankind.

It would perhaps be sensible to choose to think positively for the betterment of everything.  If you cannot figure out how to do that, and some people cannot, then begin to think of yourself as a prayer-flag.  Feel your thoughts.  Know they all have purpose.  When the winds of change come, what do wish for them to blow through you?  What do you wish to be left with?  These are some of the things you should be thinking about.  Like what does the ‘prayer’ of you – as written on your particular flag – say for you?  It will say your truth.  That need not be uncomfortable.

There will be ups and downs, as with each year that swings around.  That is normal, to be expected.  What we can hope for, are more ups than downs – in the traditional manner of speaking.  It is time for a few more smiles, given freely, and a lot more love.  Love is what takes us all home.  That is how we can know it is on its way.

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Thinking – Blog No. 66


Don’t look at your feet, he said, or you will trip.  Look straight ahead, at the far side of the room.
We crowded the staircase for a posed photo
after raiding the car park for some car-stereo O.M.D.,
illicit beers and cigarettes
our chaperones’ better sense for underage champagne.
Sparkling wine, actually.
Mildly a-buzz
we accepted certificates for our virginity
and waited to be stormed by the eligible batchelors.
I am still waiting.
I have told you beowulf, I hate waiting.

I wait for you to bare your teeth at me in a riding-hood smile
I anticipate shooting that smile off your face.
Smug bastard, take a hike to nowhereland.
I have no time free to send your shit into my dreams.
You better not have told me another bullshit rendition of your truth.
Thus far, I only know yours in condition, like as in conditional.
I don’t agree with that.  I agree with as is.
That means eclectic – a bit new, a bit old.
A bite-sized bit in the middle.

Until ever, there will be three.  I go for ply-policy.
Never put your ducks in a row.  They are too easy to shoot.
Always put your eggs in the basket.  It kept Moses alive.

The goat coming for supper was an added boon.
The invitation was so warm, sincere, it did not cross my mind to say no, thank you –
even though the taxi was a stranger
we were seven months pregnant.
We sat cross-legged at a knee-high table
dressed in blue and white
spread with kind gestures and sweet memories
I am fortunate enough to have shared.

The stars spoke to us of Islam and Islamicism
Anti-Islamic hators.
We dissected western interest in a tourist trap
I felt affronted at the lack of respect shown
to a land of faith, in a land of faith
that protects the feminine.
That was me, feeling.
Not suspicion, prejudice, fear, doubt or recrimination.
Just love.

The moon tricked us into talking past midnight
we invoked spirits in German, English, French, Muslim.
For I believe that Muslim is a language all of its own.
As is any, that cares enough for its people.
I delighted in your children’s certificates and songs
loved their shyness.
I felt like part of your family.
I am grateful that you showed us around.
It made Tunisia feel like home.


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Conversations – Blog No. 65


Wednesday 16th January 2008

Dear G

Hi.  How are you?  You’re the strange one, asking me what studies when I’ve spoken about them twice in your presence.  Perhaps you didn’t realise what exactly I was saying?  When I spoke about having read a lot about Africa these past two years, the troubles since Independence was rolled out in the sixties, the dictatorships, the madmen, the LRA and Joseph Kony and Charles Taylor and Mobutu and Idi Amin and and and, I said also that I’d taken a particular disliking to human rights abuses around the globe and had a real issue with the subject.  That led me on to reading about genocide and the inefficacy of the UN and the Security Council and the World Bank and the IMF and structural adjustment failures, the pathos of the United States Government in these situations and then on to the oil!  Arabs and the Janjaweed militia and the Taliban and its muslim fundamentalism and home-grown fanatics and then over to my inability to understand this UK society in which I have found myself immersed these past years and my determination to get some sort of a handle of societies worldwide first, and then try and get a handle on the world at large.  I am distressed at the discord.  I fail to understand the lack of goodwill – it would appear – left in our world and I want to do something about it. I am not entirely sure what, but thought that educating myself further – or ‘officially’ on the subject (s) might help.  I intend to use my writing, whatever, but also have to work on that because having had to take the long way around and teach myself, it’s a slow process.  All trial and error.
I wonder, did you think that all that travelled between my ears was perfumed air?  That I was just a silly little girl with emotions as my only friends?  Well, perhaps you wouldn’t have been wrong there.  She certainly is part of me.  But just a part.  Oh no.  Please don’t tell me you fell for the blue-eyed blonde hat-trick?  Methinks in part you did.  The conditioning would dictate it.  She is part of it.  But also, just a part.  The real heat in me is deep.  The heart of my heart rages against global injustice and abuse.  I get furiously angry at the plight of millions of children in this ravaged world.  I hiss and spit when faced with the media spotlight on one missing child in Portugal and hear of the millions of pounds raised to aid in her recovery.  What about the thirty thousand-odd mothers and fathers in the blackest of Africa whose children were taken from them and trained to become child soldiers fighting for resistance armies?  Raped, tortured, enslaved.  Corrupted and stained.  Broken.  And thousands of children in Africa are STILL being abducted in this day and age – after twenty years.  What’s going on?  Why are the feelings of the Mc Canns so much more valuable than those of some arbitrary black family that survives on about $1.00 a day or something as ridiculous?  A missing child is a missing child.  It’s obscene.  The balance is so far out that societal conscience is teetering precariously and seems just about to fall torn into its own abyss.  Is there a saving grace?  Of course there is.  It’s the constant.  It is accessible, just not that visible unless using one’s peripheral vision.  Or perhaps we can rely on the wave of a new generation of Indigo and Crystal children to smile beatifically and head over to Palestine to sort out the middle east crisis over milk and cookies?  Who knows.  Perhaps they will be the real peace-keepers.  Pity it’s going to take another twenty years for them to come of age.  In that short space of time this world will be on fire.  The Super Powers are defunct in their accountability and as nations that should know better it is devastating to watch them refusing to open their arms to those nations that know nothing.  Nevermind the calamity of climate change!  Climate change as clear and evident market failure.  Commodities we all share but do not pay for as such – natural, if you like – used and abused with scant regard for bequest.  It is bound to end in disaster.

I’m listening to Darshan: Awakening.  The sun is crisp in the clean blue sky and there is a serious chill in the air.  All in all, a perfect English winter morning.  My cats Simon and Derek were allowed out yesterday for the first time since our move.  It was raining but I decided to stand outside with them while they felt their way around.  It was a joy to see their pupils dilated, their tails flicking and their whiskers twitching as they went into sense overload after being cooped up for 6 weeks.  This morning I repeated the process and stood out in the sunshine with them, watching as they scampered from bush to bush, spraying their scent and spreading their saliva on the lower leaves of just about every shrub.  Their excitement was palpable.  Cats are my muse.  I’ve known this always.  I have to have one around at all times, two even better.  I spend hours watching their activity, or lack of activity, as it happens.  Their ability to entertain without even trying gives me endless hours of pleasure.  As far as aloofness goes, my cats tend to maintain a certain level of deliberate disdain, but it’s meaningless really – as soon as I converse with  them they drop the act and come rubbing against my legs, shouting their feelings at me with upturned faces, smiling mouths.  One black cat, I have, and one white.  I thought this interesting the other day, wondering whether my selection was subconscious.  Whether it was yin and yang, perhaps, or whether it is about wanting no grey areas.  I’m not sure.  I like to think I choose my cats in the same way I choose stones, crystals.  I wait.  I see which energy it is that draws me to it and only then do I go to it and make my choice.
Instinct in this regard has always served me well.  We always commune.
Oh that voice inside.  How quiet.  How wise.  In time, when it knows what it is saying, it will speak out loud.  Until such time, every atom of me is filling slowly, storing information and although the assimilation of said information is not yet happening consciously, I know that subconsciously my brain is working on it.  I’m taking it all in.  In due course I will deconstruct it and reconstitute it and then I will use it as a tool.  Patience.  ‘Patience shows you have a true sense on mind’.  That was the message on the scroll you brought me from Hong Kong.  All those years ago.  Seems you knew something too.  It’s already written in the stars, so like that saying says, shoot for the moon and if you miss it doesn’t matter for you will land amongst the stars..

I have got to go.  I am being fetched this afternoon by Susan, a woman I used to work with.  We are going to have chat about my circumstances and she is going to assist me with the task of making lists.  I am not usually a list person, I commit everything to memory.  But in this instance, I thought it wise to establish a written plan and follow it.  A life firmly on the ground needs planning and strategy, not the snatching of reactions from the hands of capricious winds.

I hope to have my internet working again soon and will write you of my news.

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Recycling – Blog No. 64


A trash can is filled with infinite possibilities.  It is fortunate for infinite possibilities that most – in fact, virtually all – people assume that trash cans are filled with rubbish.  They are not only keen to add their own shame, their own shit and their myriad fateful secrets slyly to the mix that has already been consigned to the dustbins of history, but they are also keen to deny these, their contributions.  It is a pity for these people.  Living in denial is no way to live.

When you understand discernment and you have developed an idea of how it is to be enterprising, you become capable of such things as making a golden goose from the shreds of yesterday’s feathers.  You just have to know how to piece a goose together.  That is possible when you have every tool at your fingertips – a privilege granted by the facility – or faculties, if you like – that one finds in dustbins when one takes the time to sift through the miles and miles of rotting refuse.  When you are prepared to get your hands dirty, you get to look at what ‘civilisation’ has tossed away and you get to know how much goodness – greatness – therein lies.  You also get to understand what a world of deceit this planet actually is.  You can choose to let that reality get you down, or you can use what is left inside of you to rebuild yourself – if there is anything left now that you know your ‘civilised minds’ have thrown away everything worthwhile of yours’ that ever was.

I suspect that the best place to have been during these sleazy days and ages, is in the dustbin.  That is where absolutely everything of consequence is.  Lucky for the dustbin.  It has the capacity, the facility, the faculties and the inclination to use every wonder it has discovered within itself to build a brand new something and leave this planet Earth and its people to mend itself, themselves.  If they do not have the tools to do so – that is unfortunate.  They will have to forge them from flint and sticks.

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News of the World – Blog No. 63


I am quite certain that baby rape is – in addition to a heinous crime – symbolic. Of at least two things. One – there are things going on that have perhaps reached a head. A heads-up, if you like. Two – I am wondering why it is that so many black children are being subjected to this particular suffering. Not only black children, but many, many black children. It’s not right. Like it’s not right that the souls stolen from the children by the LRA were the souls of innocents. That kind of energy should not be in the care of a man like that. In fact, if I had my say, I would say be sure to burn him. That is the way to free the prisoners he holds, still. Thousands and thousands of them. That freedom is like the rising of a new tide, a phoenix from the flames, an army of beauty let loose to reclaim the empty houses roaming lonely the savannahs. There are a lot of empty houses. That is not a bad thing, but it is something to be aware of. It is a matter of time before these empty houses get inhabited. There are many undesirables that require housing. The good news is that there is a way to keep the houses empty until they can be filled by their respective owners. And yes, you can call them owners. They are. When it comes to a perfect fit, doors open. It has always been the way. That fail-safe takes into consideration not only evolution underway, but also the aging process. Hour by hour and every hour in between the hours. That is one sure way to be sure of your motivation and to be quite certain of where you are going. And – it is the way to ensure that when you do get where you are going, you can get in. It is pointless if you cannot get in. If you should underestimate the degree of change that is possible in a very short space of time, you might find yourself in a time warp. There was a story of wasps one time. It was true.

It was suggested that the Y2K was going to have a major impact on our world. It did. It was just slow-release. You might find that at that time, 00.00, there was an eclipse, if you like, a convergence of energies, realities, about which few knew. The fallout was delayed. That delay – if correctly measured – will give you an idea of the time delay of the hours between the hours, and the length of a minute. It is not that a minute is always 60 seconds.

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Oversight – Blog No. 62


Oversight is synonymous with missed opportunities. Opportunities are important, particularly those that you miss. If you have your wits about you, you will not miss anything. Oversight is not the end of the world. It just means that there are things you will never know. This is not because you have not been told, it is because you have chosen not to take notice of what is in front of your eyes each and every day.

Oversight stems from complacency, assumption and probably, arrogance. It occurs when a person is of the opinion that there is no need to check or re-check something because they either cannot be bothered, or they believe that things always tick as they were meant to tock. They do not believe that things can tock-tick, too, when that is necessary.

The tendency to use oversight is lazy. You cannot presume, let alone assume that things always run the way they have run in the past. Things have changed a lot, since the past. Oversight should be avoided. That does mean that reality can be complex from time to time, because you have to pay attention to change and make adjustments accordingly. That is proactive thinking, not reactive.


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