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31.3.10

More disturbing evidence of strange goings-on at the vatican :)>

Papa's a mankini fan horror!

More disturbing evidence of strange goings-on in the vatican :)>

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The pope is a mankini fan-horror!

29.3.10

BLOG POST FROM ADVENTURE CYCLING


ADVENTURE CYCLING'S LATEST BLOG POST

Biking Without Borders
Mac, Field Editor
Monday, March 29, 2010
I know I’m not alone when saying one of my pet peeves is seeing people talking on their cell phones, or fiddling with their handhelds, while multi-tasking at something really important -- like, say, operating a motor vehicle. Nothing terrifies me more when I’m bicycling down the road than the thought of someone barreling up behind me at the wheel of a ton of steel who’s arguing with his girlfriend over the phone, or tweeting her friends about the amazing herd of deer she just saw.

That's why it made me happy last week to learn that Click and Clack, the hilarious Tappet Brothers -- aka the Car Talk boys, Tom and Ray Magliozzi -- have teamed up with researchers at the University of Utah to launch the Driver Distraction Center at the Car Talk website.

“Though Tom and Ray have been speaking out about distracted driving for years, National Safety Council research indicates that cell phone use and texting while driving cause at least 28 percent of all traffic accidents -- around 1.6 million accidents each year,” says this Newswise story. “This startling statistic moved the brothers to redouble their efforts and partner with the University of Utah Applied Cognition Laboratory to produce the online Driver Distraction Center.”

Similarly, I don’t think cyclists should talk on cell phones while they’re riding, either. So imagine the roller coaster ride it sent me on when, shortly after reading about Click and Clack, I ran across information about a product called the ActiveBLU Wireless Bluetooth Helmet Headset. According to this website, the gadget “provides high quality Bluetooth wireless audio transmissions from the user’s Bluetooth enabled cell phone to their helmet. It easily attaches to any helmet and allows the user to quickly and safely answer or place calls without having to slow down or stop riding. The unique engineering of the microphone and ear piece delivers remarkable sound even at riding speeds of up to 40 MPH while allowing both hands to remain on the bike for maximum safety.” The italics are mine.

Aaaaarrrrghhh.

I have to say I agree completely.  Yesterday a passenger in a VW Golf stuck his rather porcine face out of the window as they roared past and screamed at me.  These prats are everywhere!

22.3.10

The Magick of We.

THE MAGICK OF WE

The narcissistic frenzy of the cock,
whirling in the dust of his own strut.
There’s never been a cock that didn’t crow and I
am no exception but at least I’ve known
a moment, when I seemed to disappear,
swimming in the pools of her dark eyes:
Slate-smoked and soft as new baked bread.

To be called so fierce to heart’s account.
To breathe ‘I love’ and ‘I am loved’;
cradled in the amber of a dream.
Those words of Raymond Carver sing like steel:
‘To be so loved upon the earth: That
is what we seek.’  And maybe why
sometimes, the flailing grasp exceeds the reach.

21.3.10

GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY CHILD AND DELIVER US FROM JUSTICE

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Alleged followers of the gentle Nazarene turn out to be women-haters and paeodophiles shocker.

Ex-Hitler youth member Herr Ratzinger calms the nervously jostling throng of black robed followers at the recent child sex abusers convention in the Vatican, one of the few countries to have signed the Convention for the Protection of Paedophiles. (CPP).  (This may be because they constitute most of its population.)
"Worry not my children." He says..."We have the money to buy their silence.  We have the power to provoke their fear.  I will write a letter, and all will be well.  Even in Ireland where that fool Brady has disclosed the true nature of our evil and the thousands of children whose lives we have ruined, even there my letter will be like oil upon the stormy sea.  Stick with me my children, and once more they will be at our mercy and we shall be the wolves feasting upon the lambs as we have so feasted for two thousand years.  Hahahahahahaheeeeeeyyyeeeeeee."  (Dr Evil type laughter ensues.)
Thus the ever strange nature of colliding reality.  Have you never noticed the obsession of the priesthood with blood of all kinds?  Like 'this is my blood' etc...etc  'drink this in remembrance of me.'
Yes...'True Blood' resonances abound.  The constant references to blood, the fixation with torture, the strange black robes and knotted girdles?  That's right, vampires are running the vatican.  Lock up your children.  Ditch those crucifixes and pray.  What?  To whom?  Well these are the guys who turned it upside down and Lucifer means 'Light-bringer.'  Who ya gonna call?

14.3.10

New Major Publishing Event!

Well, not really.  It's just that my poetry collection-'The Book of Three Rings' will be published here first over the next few months.  And that's it really...No there's nothing more.  Just that I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading.

6.3.10

Ben Dougan hits India. From Ben's Blog

FRIDAY, MARCH 5, 2010


Birthday, and last day off before I start shooting for the Bollywood film again!

It's my birthday! 20th birthday and the start was special. Headed down to the Gateway of India this morning to watch the sunrise, what a way to celebrate! Hmmmm... What to do today? Was seriously hawked and gawked at today trying to find a hotel to stay in. If you are looking for a hostel/ hotel in Mumbai, Colaba is where most tourists 'hang out' and Salvation Army is a good place to stay. Anyway, 20 is going to be a good year... A lot will happen... Anyways I'm heading out of Mumbai next week I've decided. It's quite expensive (incredibly cheap compared to UK) but I am on such a tight budget. Also I want to get out of this amazing, incredible, breath-taking, but unbelievably crowded city. But I will return later on in my trip I think. I'm headed down to Trivandrum in Kerala by train and gonna go for sleeper class, I think ticket is around 500Rs which is 7.20 (approx) for a 20 hour train journey. How much would a 20 hour train journey cost in the UK? London from where I live Lancaster is around 50 pounds if you book on the train and it take 3 hours to get there, so say that rate for a 20 hour journey in the UK would be around 300-350 pounds! But you can't get a train for 20 hours in the UK - thank God...
Thanks for reading and I'll be blogging again in a week or so. Just started and trying to get my head around this blogspot.
Thanks again x

India Trip - Mumbai

Dear Readers,
This is my first blog for my travels whilst 'on the road', and basically I've set it up to help other people who intend to travel and want to gain a bit of knowledge where to go, for family and friends to keep up with me on my travels and for the person where adventure and ambition is in there heart. This is for you. Firstly, where to start... I feel that travelling, adventuring and helping less privileged people than myself has always been within me. I recall my mum and dad saying that as soon as I could walk, I was off and there was no stopping me. I'm 19, 20 tomorrow, and I'm in the first proper trip of my life, discovering India, Cambodia, Thailand, Maylaysia and Singapore. I started my travels really going to Cape Town in South Africa to volunteer in a children's orphanage called Masigcine, in a township named Mfuleni, in October 2009. I was in Cape Town for a month. The experiences I got from there were invaluable, and I will never forget the place, the kids and the people. From this I wanted to see more of the places that are totally different to that of the UK. I thought, India... And here I am. In a youth hostel composing my blog. It's an unbelievable incredible place. Crowded, dirty, crazy roads and poverty, lot's of it. But I love it. I've only been here 4 days so I can't really say I love it yet, but right now, at this moment, I love it. Carrying my bag into the hostel I was instantly approached by a Bollywood extra scout and found myself on the first day working on a Bollywood film set, in a CIA or MI5 type-room, pushing tollies and carrying evidence boxes around all day. By midday I was offered a job til this coming Tuesday, which I immediately took. It's paid work, 500Rs per day, but the hours are long 7.45am - 11 pm and even though you don't do much it is pretty tiring, but on the plus side the food in fucking good. The people who do extra work also are in the boat so everyone gets along well. An extra, who is from Mumbai said "In India, if you are working hard, they will make you work harder..." and that seems to be the working ethic here. Also, I want to become an Actor, actually now I suppose I am an Actor, so this experience is fantastic for me. I auditioned at all the top Drama Schools in the UK last year. I did well, but was fortunately unsuccessful. I say fortunately beacuse if I would've got in, I would not have had the expereinces to call upon and inject into roles from even the experiences and sights I have now. Anyways time is running out on computer so need to wrap up.
Thanks for reading and anything e-mail me. I'll be blogging again soon.
Ben x

31.1.10

First Audio Poem on Heart of Balance-Low Millerground

Listen!


LOW MILLERGROUND


 The shores of Windermere-LowMillerground.
I lived there nearly five years and loved
the way the sun painted Langdale’s peaks with fire.
The way the lake held it’s breath at night.
The way the night-boats crawled on her to fish
for arctic char, like lice with lanterns lit.
The way, on moonless nights the dark became
almost a weight, that pressed against your face.
The hooting of the owls-little and shriek.
The trees budding in the beam beneath
riots of ramsons and wood anemone.
The beck tumbling to the old stone bridge
like a story from a country myth.
All of this was grist, and ground it was!

22.1.10

The theoretical underpinnings of Freudian Analysis in a quatrain.

PEOPLE ARE LIKE ICEBERGS    

People are like icebergs,
bobbing on the sea.
Glistering minarets in sun,
and dungeons deep beneath.




Pssst-this pic's a fake made up of three icebergs apparently.  That simply adds weight to my case non?

21.1.10

And more on Politics

politics 2          


politics is that corrupting wind that blows
the ship of state to ruin
the self-same wind that blows the self-same
ship laden with grain
to far-flung starving shores
 a flummoxing wind
of hot air and sudden frenzied lightning strikes

18.1.10

Politics

Just as Tony Blair explains his crimes before the Iraq whitewash sorry enquiry, here's a little poem for politicians everywhere. Bless them all!

POLITICS                

There once was this dictator
famed for breaking legs
who said 'but you can't make an omelette
without breaking eggs.'

I cycled over his whole land
from sea to shining sea.
I never saw an omelette,
I think he lied to me.

6.1.10

The Necessity of Poetry


"A mind that is lively and inquiring, compassionate, curious, angry, full of music, full of feeling, is a mind full of possible poetry.  Poetry is a life-cherishing force.  And it requires a vision-a faith, to use an old-fashioned term.  Yes, indeed.  For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.  Yes, indeed."

The very wonderful Mary Oliver from her also wonderful 'A Poetry Handbook.'

A very joyful new year to all our readers wishing you success, fulfillment and much happiness.

From the heartof balance crew.

1.12.09

Millie Dougan on the wisdom and spirit of the Moon-Blood




That space…

I love being a woman, and strange as it may seem to some of my sisters,

I actually enjoy the ebb and flow of our sacred moon cycle as I like to call it.

Are you with me or do I have to put it more bluntly?

Well okay then, ‘Periods’ I don’t like that word; it doesn’t do it justice,

It doesn’t sing out, life, nature, sacred space, earth, water, moon-blood.

Period just gives you that slot in time, it doesn’t embrace and encapsulate that feeling of

Loss, sorrow, pain, anger, joy, light, and being at one with nature its self.

To me that’s what being a woman is all about, being at one and peace with your cycle,

Embracing that feeling you get every month that makes you feel alive.

Going deep into your self and honouring ‘That Space’.


                                                              )O(


   THAT SPACE 

                                                                                       

I’m in that space again. You know the one?
When the Moon rises, big and full
And men run from the sharpened tongue
When the air is so thick you could taste it.


I would rather,
Swim the swirling seas
Find that beacon on the distant shore,
Climb the highest mountain
With just the shirt upon my back.


I would rather,
Turn belly right side out.
Sing the blues and wash the
Blood, so sacred, from my skin.


Be held by the man I love,
And cry into the night.

Stand naked:
Howl at the Moon and her power!

I would rather Run with the wolves,
And find my self again!

26.11.09

'The Valley' Part Three by Tim Carrette

Here's the final part of Tim's wonderful poem.  Enjoy!


Love is a beast
of which we all want a piece
It cannot be stolen
It cannot be grasped

For it can slip away so very fast

A stranded ship without a mast
Upon whose waters we all set sail

Love boats are so very frail

Only the ocean stands the test
For it knows the rhythms beyond
worst and best

It knows that ebb and flow
still dance
both sides of this sacred romance

Love lost and found
is just a veil
upon which oceans we set sail

No wonder we live
No wonder we die
No wonder there is you
No wonder for I
No wonder
No wonder
no wonder.


    

The universe is far stronger
than idle wishes

She weaves
Serenity fabrics
soul to soul

She weaves
heart connections
that take us home

Why then do we persist with idle chatter?

Why then act as if
your tiny particle life view
even matters?



Why?



Because each tiny particle is but a stitch
that holds wholeness together
and through which love rides
forever

Forever cascading
through the immortal halls
of innocent wishes

  

If as they say
it is through pain we grow

Why then so little do we know?

Why are we not masters of bliss?

Who touch equanimity
when blessed with a young child’s kiss

Why?

Because then the ceaseless game of hide and seek
would be over
and the Divine masters
would roar with laughter
forever and ever
Namaste

21.11.09

'The Valley' Part Two by Tim Carrette


The second part of Tim's epic poem below.  Enjoy!


Is it you who dances so freely in the moonlight?
Is it your hands that caress my naked truth?
Is it our hearts that split amidst simple reason?
Is it our child we hold above the emotional precipice of calamity?

And who will catch us in our fall?
Who will hold us tight to earthen breast?
Whilst we cry the tears of the madness clowns
The ones who laugh at love
and who destroy the safety balms
whilst the hell fires roar
and we gaze upon
the needlessly slaughtered lamb
of our petrified innocence.
This is the stream
that carries the water of life
and these are the winds that blow soft love
through fearful hearts

And this is the earth
upon which I lay

As we stoked the fires
of creation play

As yours is the womb
of our unborn child
When tomorrow reveals its chaotic rhymes

And so where is the path that takes us home?
Where is the valley
where pure truth stands alone?

And how will we know it when we arrive?
And which journey is to become my sacred bride?

Upon whose breath shall I pour my wine?

When the unknown lives
beyond all time

20.11.09

Beautiful Poem by Tim Carrette

Tim will be posting here from time to time and I really look forward to his work.  Tim is a dear and longstanding friend and an authentic and original thinker.  'The Valley' is a lovely poem and will be published in four parts over the next few days.  Enjoy.

About Tim:


Vj.Tim Carrette:

 is a  Psychotherapist, Poet, Musician
 and Writer.
Also trained in Shamanism and Tantra.
He is a currently writing and researching in
Non Duality and Psychotherapy.
He lives in Nottingham , England
with his three children.




THE VALLEY  Part 1       By Tim Carrette

So let the winds blow through me
may such subtle instruments of Divinity
play my tune

I know no such place as the still calm waters of my soul
For all that I am is a breath of God
Heralded by mixed illusion

Seen clearly by the hills,
the sheep,
and the rich majesty of natures perfection

Perfect only in its absolution of all things

Deaths dance carries mission highways
soul descendants of lost times

Creative impulses
stolen from memories
of a destiny yet untold

Hallowed be the name of the Gods
Be they grass or stone
seen or held

Tis the light I follow
tis the dreams that guide
tis this blessed journey
and its milestones of truth realisation


That is why Iam here
to carefully turn each page
To sing softly into each open heart
To touch all beings
with the immensity of Love
To love all beings thoroughly Divine.

           


10.11.09

AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL! A prose poem.

AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL!




Hewn from granite, I was inlaid with copper and silver and gold. Lapis Lazuli my eyes, and burnished well, till shining in the morning sun, I glowed and hummed. A mystery wind blowing through a conch shell. A sound like gathering or redemption. A sound more like ‘blown’ than ‘moan.’ Something running through. Something bidding life. Like the bloods headlong rush or the river folding itself to a conclusion after much slow, flowing thought. I’ve seen the Eden do this with my own eyes! The blowing heightened once or twice, as when I held my sons, naked and smeared with their mother’s blood shivering in the immensity of their new life. For a moment it seemed eternity pulled up her skirts and said:



‘Man, in this second you are alive for once! Feel the power of NOW! See through/ over/ into. See the truth of the child. Feel the miracle in your fingernails. Feel it brush against your skin!’ And then you...You took me to the deepest well and I cast a bucket for a crock of gold, and you said:



‘Look! Look how deep the heart goes! It is limitless really!’



And in the moment of falling, of letting go, I was gathered up. And in the moment of trusting, I was loved so much. And in the moment of saying:



‘Yes! I’ll take this life. This one! Its birth, its struggle, its countless breaths. Its footsteps. Its becoming and befriending. Its shrinking from the light. Its tears and weight, of so much fear. Its heartbreak and its love.’



In that moment of NOW, a life is stretched from these small boundaried cairns. Stretched against the canopy of infinity. It is made to see it is not one thing but the many brought to one. A radiant point of NOW that sings:



‘THIS IS ALL! THIS IS IT! THIS IS EVERYTHING!



AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL!

5.11.09

'On the Road' Part Two by Lou Mansfield

…the whole truth, apple and peach, is rarely placed into your hand and is never, most days, nights.. . within reach. fate ties a blindfold, delicate, close, with it's cold and distant fingertips, for a summer, a winter, tight.. . every now and again you catch a falling thought from somebody you wish had driven past and tossed that apple, core, out of the window before you.. . Catch your breath because life knocks it out of your lungs so much, for so long, you never know, all that you feel, do.. . is, gone. replaced by a different kind of peach. below the fireplace something different kindles and you lose your eyes in the shape of the flames that unfurl and fold and billow, smoke and sail out of sight, out of being, out of reach.. . some days you're the fast moving car, windows rolled down, arms over the edge, lining the road with gems, rose petals and sparks of apples, cores.. . Other days you're the suitcase on the edge of the bed, waiting to be taken, left behind, or undone.. . the whole truth, apple, peach or pear rarely lands on your pillowcase, like some kind of fallen angel out a sky that knows, holds on, keeps it all out of reach.. . out of the blue, sky, for you to know, before the day is over. before the day is absent, before the day is gone.. .


when you spend all of your time outside of being, away from every carousel, car. you lie across the white line in the middle of the road. the line that separates, that spark.. . about direction, about motion, about travel, about the world.. . you lie across the fragments, across the fall.. and you're staring out to sea, up at the sky line, the fiery heavens above you, the shore.. . all blood-red crimson sometimes, sometimes summer's tears fall.. . And you stay there, waiting, eyes closed heart undone. You taste the shadows of the clouds as they pass by, as they swell, they fall. You make sense out of every comet trail that scores, the sky, your eyelids, your thoughts. All of your dreams are pieces of the picture, the whole, the new.. everything you dream about and remember and write about, down, comes true..

you'll never know how much you were meant to be, you'll never know how much of you to be, that you are, is true.. For you keep your skies beneath pillowcases, you keep every break in the clouds above you, in your home back pockets.. you keep every dream that you're written down secret.. you never know how much you've missed, because

you'll never know the whole, the truth. of it all. ..

Your life is a fable, in the fireplace, of fate. a myth.

do you stand on tip toes?

or do you.. . tap the tension of adventure, desire every unknown, lust for not knowing ever. or taste

having every exit

mapped..

but the steely horizon betrays the blue with the silhouette of something strange, something dark. Something that binds and ties your heart into deep, lead, heavy knots. by knot. amnesia creeps into your lungs and you can't remember how to breathe, you lose all sense of time. a knife cuts deep beneath your collarbones, cheeks, it could be kitchen, bread or slaughter. and air like ice pierces you back into the room, like Elvis. dead.

All that you can remember about the first foot you set upon the road, is that your only desire in life. the only thing that you can ever think about, cold, hot. shallow, deep or adrift along a road of bones to nowhere.. . is that heavy, lead feeling of fear and dread. that knocks your heart out cold, sometimes. and leaves you feeling like Priscilla, in the wake, in the aftermath, all around the eyes. .

All that you've ever wanted is Elvis. And all that lies, at the end of the road, like a fallen down crucifix, arms open. eyes like parcels waiting to be untied, undone, open.. . There is no place in the world, this one or the next, like home. And all that you have left to live for, whereabouts unknown.. . is desk.

31.10.09

HALLOWEEN POEM Happy Samhain!



HALLOWEEN 
The village store has, just this minute, closed.

It’s drawbridge has gone up-portcullis down.
An aproned granny smirks behind the door
And labours the cruel bolt into its case.
My eyes weak pleading falls on stony ground.

I curse her and her brood under my breadless breath,
And curse ‘life in the country,' milkless on halloween.
A youth observes this frieze of unmet needs
In the dark hunching of Milnthorpe Square.

Just then, Death walks past, blood on his shining scythe.
‘You’re the one that I’ve been looking for
these past two years and more!’ I shout
and push him in the back of my old van,
pleased he’s at my shoulder once again.

Then a little witch walks past with a broom,
a-hubble and a-bubble, lovely little witch.
Suddenly I feel so sad for me.
No kids or pumpkins or those vampire masks.



Just me, and all my dry and dusty books.
Writing down the bones.