Archive for April, 2010

Comfortably Numb

April 30, 2010

Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?
Come on, now,
I hear you’re feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain
Get you on your feet again.
I’ll need some information first.
Just the basic facts.
Can you show me where it hurts?

There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying.
When I was a child I had a fever
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I’ve got that feeling once again
I can’t explain you would not understand
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.

Just a little pinprick.
There’ll be no more aaaaaaaaah!
But you may feel a little sick.
Can you stand up?
I do believe it’s working, good.
That’ll keep you going through the show
Come on it’s time to go.


Turn, Turn, Turn

April 30, 2010

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time of war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time of peace, I swear it’s not too late!

A Dedication

April 25, 2010

Yes, we wish you were here.

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.


April 25, 2010

.. you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.”

Mother, do you think they’ll drop the bomb?
Mother, do you think they’ll like this song?
Mother, do you think they’ll try to break my balls?
Mother, should I build the wall?
Mother, should I run for President?
Mother, should I trust the government?
Mother, will they put me in the firing line?
Is it just a waste of time?

Hush now baby, baby, don’t you cry
Momma’s gonna make all of your nightmares come true
Momma’s gonna put all of her fears into you
Momma’s gonna keep you right here under her wing
She won’t let you fly, but she might let you sing
Momma’s will keep Baby cozy and warm
Oooo Babe
Oooo Babe
Ooo Babe, of course Momma’s gonna help build the wall

Mother, do you think she’s good enough
For me?
Mother, do you think she’s dangerous
To me?
Mother will she tear your little boy apart?
Mother, will she break my heart?

Hush now baby, baby, don’t you cry
Momma’s gonna check out all your girlfriends for you
Momma won’t let anyone dirty get through
Momma’s gonna wait up until you get in
Momma will always find out where you’ve been
Momma’s gonna keep Baby healthy and clean
Oooo Babe
Oooo Babe
Ooo Babe, you’ll always be Baby to me

Mother, did it need to be so high?

Memories of Mount Waverley..

April 25, 2010

Some feelings sink so deep into the heart that only loneliness can help you find them again. Some truths are so painful only shame can help you live with them. Some things are so sad, that only your soul can do the crying for them.

David G Roberts.

(Remember though – if fate doesn’t make you laugh, then you just don’t get the joke!)

A letter from Abraham Lincoln to the head master his son’s school…

April 25, 2010

The beauty of expression. The gravity of the essence.
Another one of mom’s greatest introductions to my life.

Abraham Lincoln, the 16th president of the united states of America (1861 – 1865) is one of the world’s great statesmen for all time. Here is a letter written by Abraham Lincoln to the head master of his school in which his son was studying, a letter so typical of the man who bore malice towards none and had charity for all.

“He will have to learn, I know, that all men are not just, all men are not true. But teach him also that for every scoundrel there is a hero: that for every selfish politician, there is a dedicated leader.
Teach him that for every enemy there is a friend. It will take time, I know a long time, but teach, if you can, that a dollar earned is of more value then five of found.

Teach him, to learn to lose, and also to enjoy winning. Steer him away from envy, if you can, teach in the secret of quiet laughter.

Teach him, if you can the wonder of books, but also given quiet time wonder the eternal mystery of birds in the sky, bees in the sun, and flowers on the green hillside.

In a school teach him, it is far more honorable to fail than to cheat. Teach him to have faith in his own idea, even if anyone else tell him they are wrong.

Teach him to be gentle with gentle people and tough with tough. Teach him to listen to all men, but teach him also to filter all he hears on a screen of truth, and take only the good one that comes through. Teach him, if you can, how to laugh when he is sad. Teach him there is no shame in tears.

Teach them to sell his brawn and brain to the highest bidder but never to put a prize tag on his heart and soul.

Teach him gently, but do not cuddle him, because only the test of fire makes the fine steel. Teach him always to have sublime faith in himself because then he will always have some sublime faith in mankind.

This is a big order, but see what can you do.
He is such a fine little fellow, my son!”


April 25, 2010

by William Ernest Henley (1849–1903)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Streets of Philadelphia

April 24, 2010

I was bruised and battered and I couldn’t tell What I felt I was unrecognizable to myself I saw my reflection in a window I didn’t know My own face Oh brother are you gonna leave me wastin´away On the streets of Philadelphia I walked the avenue till my legs felt like stone I heard the voices of friends vanished and gone At night I could hear the blood in my veins Black and whispering as the rain On the streets of Philadelphia

Ain’t no angel gonna greet me Its just you and I my friend My clothes don’t fit me no more I walked a thousand miles Just to slip the skin
The night has fallen, I’m lyin awake I can feel myself fading away
So receive me brother with your faithless kiss Or will we leave each other alone like this

On the streets of Philadelphia

The Lost Years.

April 18, 2010

Don’t miss your step on a cloudless night, my father once told me. But I did, and we all do sometimes. Some more often, and some few. Its said how we trip over our own feet sometimes.

Here’s a few wisdom words from Ajahn Brahm to help you on your way. Simple, yet invaluable..

When we come to the cross roads and we are unsure what direction to take, we should pull over to the side, have a break and wait for a bus. Soon, usually when we least expect, a bus arrives. On the front of a public bus is a sign in big bold letters indicating where the bus is going. If that destination suits you, then you take it. If not wait, There’s always another bus behind.

(Note from yours truly: Just remember to read that sign board with wisdom. Looks and words both can be very deceiving.)

If you had a truck load of dung in front of our house and we know that we did not order it, then there are 2 ways of dealing with it. We could carry it around with us. Some in our pockets, some in our heads and some down our pants. When we do that, we tend to loose a lot of friends, family and even loose ourselves. But then there is the alternative. When we are dumped with  truck-load of dung, we have a sigh, and then get down to work. We borrow a barrow, the folk and spade. Tiring and difficult work, but it is better than complaining ourselves into depression. Day after day we dig in the dung. Day after day, the pile  gets smaller. Sometimes it takes days, and sometimes years, but the morning does come when the dung in front of our house is  all gone. Furthermore, a miracle has happened in another part of our house. The flowers in our garden are bursting out in richness of colour all over the place. Their fragrance wafts down the street so that the neighbours, and even the passers by, smile in delight. Digging in the dung is a metaphor for welcoming the tragedies as fertilizer for life.
technically, the glass is always full

A middle aged prisoner in my meditation class in jail asked to see me after the session. ‘Brahm’, he said, ‘I wanted to tell you that I did not commit the crime for which was locked up in this jail. I was innocent. I know many crims might say the same and be lying, but I am telling you the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you. I began to think how unfair this was, and wonder how I could mend this terrible injustice. But he interrupted my thoughts.
With a mischievous grin, he said, ‘But Brahm, there were so many other crimes where I wasn’t caught that I guess it is fair.  I doubled up laughing. The old rouge had understood had understood the law of karma.

The law of karmas should not be mistaken for fatalism. There are some who have had miserable ingredients to work with in this life. They were born into poverty, possibly abused as children, not clever at school, may be disabled and unable to play sport. But the few qualities they did have they put together so well that they baked a mighty impressive cake. I admire them greatly. Then there are others, who had the best of ingredients, yet, they wasted their young lives with drugs and alcohol. Half of karma is the ingredients we have to work with. The other half, the most crucial part, is what we make of them in life. If you are going to sweep, just give it everything you’ve got.

The French philosopher-mathematician Blaise Pascal once said, ‘all troubles of man comes from his not knowing how to sit still’ (and when to sit still).

A friend’s daughter was around four or five years old. One morning, she asked her mum for a saucer of milk. her busy mother was pleased that her daughter wanted to drink milk, so didn’t think that much about why she wanted it in a saucer, rather than in a glass.

The same happened, at the same time, for the next few days. The mother never actually saw her daughter drink  the saucer of milk, so she began to wonder what the child was up to. She decided to secretly follow the little girl.  In those days, nearly all the houses were raised off the ground on stumps. The little girl went outside the house, knelt down next to the side of the building, put down the saucer of milk, and softly called out into the dark of spaces underneath the house. In a few moments, out came a huge  black tiger snake. It began drinking the milk, with the little girl smiling only a few inches away. In terror she watched until the snake finished the milk and went back under the house. That evening, she told her husband on his return from work. He told his wife to give their daughter a saucer of milk again tomorrow. He would fix things. Same time the next time, as soon as the big tiger snake appeared from out of the darkness, there was the cracking explosion of a gun close by. The force of the bullet threw the the tiger snake against one of the house stumps, splitting apart its head in front of the girl. Her father stood up from behind one of the bushes, and put away his gun.
From that point on, the little girl refused to eat. In the old man’s words, ‘she started fretting’. Nothing the parents could do to make her eat. She had to go the district hospital. They couldn’t help her either. The little girl died. The father might as well just have shot his little girl, when he blasted to death her friend, in front of her eyes.

There is an alternative to grief. My own father died when I was only sixteen. He was, for me, a great man. He was the one who helped me find the meaning of love with his words, ‘whatever you do in your life, Son, the door of my heart will always be opened for you’. Even though my love for him was huge, I never cried at his funeral service. Nor have I cried for him since. I have never felt like crying over his premature death. And it took me many years to understand my emotions surrounding his death. It was as if a great concert has finally come to an end. I was, as it were, shouting loudly, ‘More, more!’ when it came to the close to the finale. When I walked out of the crematorium at Mortlake, at the end of the service, into the cold London drizzle – and I remember the drizzle clearly – knowing that in my heart that I would probably not get to be with him again, that he had left my life forever, I did not feel sad. Nor did I cry. What I felt in my heart was, ‘what a magnificent father! What powerful inspiration was his life. How lucky I was to have been there at the time. How fortunate I was to have been his son. As I held my mother’s hand on the long walk into the future, I felt the very same exhilaration as I had often felt at the end of one of the great concerts in my life. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Thank you, dad.
Grief is seeing only what has been taken away from you. The celebration of a life, is recognizing all that we were blessed with and feeling so very grateful.

One of the most priceless of teachings that helps with depression, is also one of the simplest. Depression is a prison that many of us pass through. But that too shall pass! It also avoids one of the greatest causes of depression, which is taking the happy times too much for granted.

-Bodhinyana Forrest Monastery
Perth, Western Australia.

And finally, here’s the golden rule from me. Trust no one, as much as you trust yourself. But if you are lucky, I mean real lucky, and are blessed with wise and intelligent parents – just trust them more than you trust yourself!

Bertrand Russell said.., “The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.”

an Empire State of Mind it is..

April 16, 2010

Oooh oooh, New York (2x)

Grew up in a town, That is famous as a place of movie scenes Noise is always loud There are sirenes all around And the streets are mean If I could make it here I could make it anywhere That’s what they say Seeing my face in lights Or my name in marquees found down Broadway Even if it ain’t all it seems I got a pocketful of dreams Baby, I’m from


New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of There’s nothing you can’t do Now you’re in New York These streets will make you feel brand new Big lights will inspire you Hear it for New York, New York, New York

On the avenue, there ain’t never a curfew Ladies work so hard Such a melting pot on the corner selling rock Preachers pray to God Hail a gypsy cab Takes me down from Harlem to the Brooklyn Bridge Someone sleeps tonight with a hunger For more than from an empty fridge I’m going to make it by any means I got a pocketful of dreams Baby, I’m from


New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of There’s nothing you can’t do Now you’re in New York These streets will make you feel brand new Big lights will inspire you Hear it for New York, New York, New York

One hand in the air for the big city Street lights, big dreams, all looking pretty No place in the world that can compared Put your lighters in the air Everybody say yeah, yeah yeah