Lost and Found

I bumped into a dragon

A few weeks back;

Not in itself surprising, perhaps,

But you don’t generally meet them

Walking round the lake at Meneac.

I was, in truth, totally to blame

For I was looking at the ground,

Thinking of this and that,

And not very much

When the next thing I knew

I was flat on my back

Looking up with astonishment

At what appeared, from my angle,

To be a very large Brussel sprout.

The dogs were barking,

And dancing,

As they do,

Whilst the Brussel sprout,

More helpfully,

Produced a long arm,

At the end of which was

A proffered helping-hand,

With curved, scimitar-blade swords

Where fingernails should be.

Tentatively I took it and rose to my feet,

Seeing then, as I did so,

The error in my perception.

I bowed, as one should to a dragon and,

Since they are the most formal of creatures.

She bowed her long neck in response,

Apologising  for bumping into me.

I readily accepted the apology

Whilst owning up to my own carelessness

And then I sat on a nearby bench,

Whilst we talked,

Telepathically, of course,

As I’m sure you understand,

The shape of their mouths being such,

As to make speech a great difficulty,

Though as you know,

They can put out

A jolly good roar!

Apparently my new acquaintance

Was somewhat misplaced,

Really quite literally.

She had set off from the moon

During a lunar eclipse,

As was normal,

But had lost her course

Due to having to avoid orbiting space junk.

Her original intent had been

To visit her Aunt Matilda in New York,

An aunt for whom she had a great affection.

She very much wanted to see her

Before she died,

Which would be soon.

As you probably know,

When a dragon decides to die,

And spread its wings in the next domain,

They ponder over many years

All that has occurred in their long lifetime,

Resolving all dilemmas,

Purging all uncertainties,

And then they transfer

All that they have learned

To one who is young and dear to them,

In this case, she being a spinster,

Her eldest niece, my new companion,

In an effort to pass on

Her hard-earned wisdom,

And also enter the new realm,

Cleansed of any doubts, and ready

To fully live the new life

And take the next step

In further developing the understanding

Of what the whole kit and caboodle

Of consciousness is about.

This was all very interesting,

Though probably like you,

I knew most of the

General stuff already,

But I had things to do,

People to see,

And so forth,

And the dogs, quite reasonably,

Were getting a little restless.

I could not, however, just wander off

And leave poor Henrietta –

For thus she was named –

To muddle on through,

For I now understood

That she was a youngling,

And in need of assistance.

Now, as I relate to you

What next occurred

I know you will perhaps

Think me foolish,

For dragons have received

A very bad press

As being unpredictable

And capable of real nastiness.

You must understand,

Much is exaggeration

Misunderstanding or fake news.

For instance, that whole thing

Of them liking to be attacked by knights in armour

Because although they were difficult to peel,

Just as we find prawns,

The taste of the roasted meat was better,

Since the armour held in the juices

Which tenderised the meat;

That was only true with rogue elements

Of dragonkind.  The vast majority,

As most of you are well aware,

Are either vegetarians or vegans.

Anyway, that aside –

In an age of information at our finger tips,

Not knowing the ways of dragons

Is merely the sign of an idle intellect –

There was something rather sweet,

Innocent and vulnerable about Henrietta,

So I could not leave her in the lurch.

Thus it was we set off

Back to Kerlanguet.

Our little convoy of me and the dogs

In the old Rangy,

Hazard warning lights and headlights on,

Followed by Henrietta who chose to

Ambulate behind us in a series of long,

Low hops and subsequent short glides,

Causing a little consternation

In some other road users,

Though the more cosmopolitan accepted that our

Sedate procession was reasonable enough.

After but a few minutes we arrived,

Home at Kerlanguet,

And she leapt skyward,

Her great wings coming down with a crack,

Propelling her well above the gate,

And then landed four-square in the quad.

Within but a few moments

She was surrounded by

Nine of our ten cats, of course,

For as I’m sure you recall,

There’s nothing cats adore

More than a dragon.

You will wonder, no doubt,

Why one of the ten was absent;

This is readily explained.

My most beautiful Squeaker is,

As is recognised by all who have

The extraordinary privilege of meeting her,

A true and clear princess

And as such took her time

To meet Henrietta on her own terms.

That said, Henrietta took the worshipful praise

Of the new nine adoring fans

In her stride, as they rubbed, purring,

Against her scaly sides.

She knew cats of old,

Her great Uncle Tobias having run a cattery,

Deep in the Martian tunnels,

And she knew, too,

That the princess would come to her

In her own good time.

Dragons have plenty of that.

While Jade and Matty introduced Opie,

It being a fairly rare opportunity to do so,

And discussed what sort of vegan meal

They could put together for her –

A curry, of course.  Everyone knows that! –

Ali and I considered her plight.

How could we get her to New York?

Suddenly it came to us!

Henrietta, to everybody’s joy,

Remained with us for several days and nights,

Sleeping in the large hangar,

Eating us somewhat out of house and home,

Her passion for Jade’s curries being

Apparently insatiable.

During that time we fine-tuned the plan.

Step one, I would drive to Rennes airport at

The somewhat unearthly hour of 6.00 a.m.

With Henrietta flying above me.

Step two, at 7.45 she would follow

The Air France flight to Paris,

Landing in Charles de Gaulle

At approximately 8.45.

There she was to ensure that

She did not make herself visible

To human sight,

As they were security mad

In such places;

Probably dragophobes,

As sadly so many are,

And much worse,

Gun-toting and trigger-happy,

And though the bullets

Would merely bounce of her,

She was aware that they could

Ricochet, causing damage to

The more squishy human folk.

She was also to take care that

She kept out of the way

Of all traffic, ground or sky.

I pressed upon her that

She needed to stay alert.

Perhaps I overdid it as

She laughed at me and

Asked what a lert was?

Odd sense of humour, dragons!

Step three, at 2.10 p.m.

A now rare Air France A380

Would set off to New York where,

Most conveniently, her aunt lived

In a cave directly under JFK airport.

Being somewhat deaf

The noise did not trouble her

And as she said,

She had been there

Long before the airport,

She liked her cave,

So why should she move now?

Henrietta winked and told us,

One quickly tuned out the noise,

Generally by surreptitiously,

To avoid any possible offence,

Stuffing ones ears

Full of cotton wool!

Anyway she could follow that flight

With ease, it merely flying at a cruising speed

Of Mach 0.85 with the flight being of

But 8 hours and 40 minutes duration,

Arriving in  JFK 4.50 p.m. local time,

So she would be just in time

For a late afternoon high tea,

Which pleased her greatly,

As the homemade relish her aunt

Spread thick on cucumber sandwiches

Was absolutely delightful.

I sat outside with my laptop

Henrietta peering over my shoulder,

Breathing curry breath,

And we looked at pictures of

Air France A380s so she would be sure

To follow the correct aircraft.

Since the cruising height was nearly 11,000 metres,

Alison insisted on sewing several blankets together

So Henrietta had a scarf.

Ali did not wish for her to catch a cold,

Since the air temperature would be -56.5 C.

Henrietta tried to reassure her,

Telling of visits to her Grandfather’s place

Under the North Pole

And temperatures in the upper caverns

On the dark side of the moon

Where they kept harvested crops

To keep them cool and fresh,

But Ali was obdurate;

The scarf was to be made,

And the scarf was to be worn!

As an aside, a little something I learned;

I have been told more than once

That dragon dung is great for the roses.

What I didn’t know was that

It smells like whatever they last ate,

So in Henrietta’s case, curry.

Something else I did not know

Was to dogs the smell,

Like fox poo,

Is irresistible,

And though she was

Both discrete and tidy

In her private doings,

All the dogs smelled –

Let’s be honest –

Truly delicious!

All that said, the time came

For Henrietta’s departure.

On that eve she did us two great honours.

Firstly she offered to take Opie 

A-dragonback, on a flight.

You will realise, I’m sure,

What an extraordinary offer this was.

Jade, with some understandable trepidation,

Asked if she could also go,

To ensure that Opie was secure,

Which meant Matt felt obliged

To ask to accompany them,

To keep them both safe from falling,

Whilst secretly hoping that three passengers

Would be one too many.

This, however, was not so.

Having agreed they would go au famille,

They commenced to climb her scales,

Which she somehow shifted,

The way dragons can,

To form a living stairway,

And then again shifted

Some scales on her back

To make high and secure saddles.

When all were secure,

Again there was a great crack

As Henrietta’s wings came down

And she leapt into the sky,

With Opie squealing with delight,

Jade just squealing,

And Matt grimly silent

Concentrating on keeping

His sphincter muscles closed

Whilst Ali and I waved,

And quietly counted our blessings

That this extraordinary honour

Had not been offered to us also!

The trip did not last long,

For which Opie was somewhat sad,

Whilst his parents almost

Fell to the ground

To kiss it like a Pope,

So delighted were they

To return to terra firma,

Though recognising

The great honour which

Had been shown them!

Next Henrietta put on

An out of this world light show,

Shooting flames way above the barns’ roofs,

And curling them;

Burping balls of fire and

Drawing flaming pictures in the sky.

The animals were not impressed

But we humans were enthralled

And little Opie in a

State akin to ecstasy!

Matt and Jade were sorry she’d be going,

Though both were knackered, in truth,

As dragons can consume pretty much

Their own body weight in curry,

If it is a good one,

And Jade’s always are.

Opie, too, would miss her,

As would Ali and I,

But the cats were

Absolutely beside themselves

In their profound misery

Until she promised to revisit

And see them and us again

On her way back home to Selene,

Her bustling commune on the moon.

So it was that early one cold Autumn morn

I set off for Rennes,

Pursued by a dragon

Wearing a most colourful scarf.

As you are probably aware,

A dragon’s night sight is outstanding

And Henrietta had no trouble

Following the Jagular.

When we arrived at the edge of the airport

I stopped and got out

To make my farewells.

Henrietta was effusive in her thanks,

And nearly crushed me

In a great dragon-hug.

She again promised to return

And then we both bowed low

Showing mutual respect in

What was now a friendship.

Seconds later she blinked out of sight

As she leapt into the airport

And I pottered inside

And had a quiet coffee

Before making my journey home.

A few days later we received

A postcard showing the column

Upon which the Statue of Liberty stood,

Before High Marshall Trump

Had it removed and replaced

By a large sign which

Informed any reader that

They were not welcome,

Especially if they were

Poor, or huddled masses,

Yearning to breathe free.

On the reverse of the card,

In very neat handwriting,

Henrietta informed us of her safe arrival,

And thanked us yet again for our assistance.

She rhapsodised about how glad she was

That she had worn such a fine scarf.

(Ali was most pleased with that!)

She noted, too, that her Aunt’s place

Had become generally very quiet,

Since there were nowadays so very few

Airlines flying to the Trump Domain.

Her aunt found it difficult getting used

To the long periods of silence.

Funny old world, eh!

I was taking my daily limp with the dogs round one of the beautiful lakes we have locally, ruminating in a random sort of way about things and people in the past.  Maybe it’s something old men are prone to; I’m not sure.  Plato said "An unexamined life is not worth living" and I think it’s good to do a bit of ‘examining’ now an again, as long as it doesn’t lead to one becoming self-obsessed or too introspective.  Anyway, mostly it’s enjoyable but there are, of course, some regrets, typically associated with people, not things, and I had a thought, a sort of metaphor for life, that it is like a jigsaw.  Now, when I got back it seemed to me that other people would be bound to have had the same thought so I put, ‘life is like a jigsaw’ into good old Google and right enough, there were plenty.  I was unsurprised and initially a little disappointed (an ego thing!) but as I trawled through them I found that they were different, mostly giving advice as to how to reorganise one’s life.  Mine is not so useful, merely a reflection, one which sits comfortably in my own worldview.  What I thought was that when one is born one is given a jigsaw puzzle.  There is no picture, it’s 3D and during one’s life one has to grasp the pieces, gently or firmly, as appropriate, live them and try to understand them, though if one doesn’t they will come to one anyway.  (More of that in a moment.)  As one goes through life one collects more pieces and slowly one starts to see some sort of picture forming, a developing picture of the world and a partial picture of one’s place in it.  Depending on how one lives one’s life, the more or less interesting that picture will be, and the more one thinks, understands and looks for pieces that one considers will fit into one’s picture, the more one learns of oneself and the world.  It is only at the end of one’s life that one can look at the jigsaw and see the whole picture, the complete world and universe and one’s place in it.  If one has gone out and lived life to the full (carpe (ing) the shit out of every diem!) one’s jigsaw will be a wonder to behold, bright and full of colour, though inevitably there will be areas of shade and dark here and there; if one has not, it will not.  Just a thought.

The Search

When one has the luxury of plenteous time in retirement – or, rather, one hopes one has the luxury of plenteous time – one’s mind can turn to the little ‘fripperies’ of life and consider them in more detail.  One such ‘frippery’ surely, for all thinking and feeling human beings, I trust you’ll agree, must be toilet paper, or to be more precise, the perfect toilet paper, the one which is as soft as a lambs fleece, as absorbent as 25 ply blotting paper and as tough as the cellophane one thinks will rip easily but after 5 minutes one concedes and attacks with scissors, having tried variously and vainly a finger nail with a ragged edge, a butter knife, a biro point and the door key.  

Now, I’m 67, and so far on life’s generally jolly journey I have yet to find it and, by God, it’s not through lack of trying!  That said, I wouldn’t like you to think that this is an obsession for me, no, no, not for a moment, but from time to time I am still, in precious and most private moments, brought short by the fact that my search may be over.  I have just returned from such a precious and private moment, as I write.  

Having completed the task at hand I reached for the fresh roll, a brand new product, in my experience, and therefore redolent with potential and my continued, possibly naïve, hope.  As I pulled the paper tentatively toward me it felt like gossamer, soft, silken, like the combined webs of a thousand industrious spiders.  My heart, as I sat enthroned and enthralled, skipped a beat!  Tenderly, as one would stroke a most timorous mouse, I drew it toward me.  It was a tactile delight approaching ecstasy and I thought, oh joy, the time had come!  

The sensation of its beautiful softness and gossamer thin sheets became familiar, however, indeed one could say common-place, as the realisation and reality came to me that it was of such a fine and exquisite sensitivity because some remarkable entrepreneur had managed to manufacture a product less than a nanometre in thickness.  

I sat, silent and still for a moment considering this truly wonderful breakthrough for humanity, whilst resting my now weary arms from pulling so much of this marvelous and magical material to put to use in a manner far too crude for one to be comfortable with, since, when paper is as thin, almost, as the very air itself, much must be employed for the task for which I required it.  

After my unexpected twenty minute peregrination I was still at a loss as to worthy employment for the miraculous material, and so much was my mind taken by this thought I nearly fell over two dogs and three cats who had gathered outside the door, concerned, I think, for my welfare during this most uncommonly long absence.  

I confess to you now, though I remain awestruck by the properties of this most unexpected and remarkable product, I can think of no proper use for it; what wonders it could be used for in the quantum world or the world of the microbe are beyond my limited knowledge or imagination but, sadly, of one thing I’m sure, it isn’t toilet paper!  The search continues.   

Top of Form

Bottom of Form

A Work In Progress

One night I dreamt that I was a

Hollow Man and dwelt I in a harsh,

Alien and most uncaring land.

Hungry, weary, battered and worn,

Haunted by my world of unrelenting

Misery, cruelty and fear,

I lay me down upon my bed

To take a little ease and

T’was but moments before,

Though hard was the board

Upon which I nightly slumbered,

Into a deep sleep I fell,

(An escape at times;

In others the nightmare continued.)

And had me a dream within a dream.

I dreamt I was walking in a great forest;

The trees dwarfing even cedar giants,

The ground clear of all entanglement,

No bushes, weeds or saplings here,

Just grass and moss, lawn-like and soft,

So it was walked I on with no thought to my footfall.

Neither bird-song nor insects hum was there

To be heard, nor high dog-fox bark,

Just an Owl, a silent presence, ghost white,

Beckoning somehow that I might follow.

This did I with alacrity, for there was naught else,

And soon it was that I stood before

Such a mighty oak as it is hard to imagine.

Set within the massive trunk was a door,

And a strong, chasm deep voice

Reached gentle-like, but most firm,

Into my mind and spake thus:

“Enter thou unto me for I am

The Tree of Knowledge.”

And this I did and for three long years.

I studied all my mind could grasp,

All the tree would offer,

Of philosophy and the words of poets,

Religion, art, ethics, morality and science.

Psychology too was mine, fascinated as am I

By the minds of my fellow creatures.

Sociology was there, music, mechanics,

The study of animals, of friendship

And warfare, both, and sport in lieu.

On progressed my learning,

The broad reach of the stars,

And other things astronomical. 

Physics, history and the arts filled my mind,

Biology, theology, archaeology fascinated –

There learned I all I could understand and

At times a little more!

Then it was that I left,

That place of wonders for my intellect,

And once more the phantasm,

The silent and ethereal Owl,

Beckoned that again I should follow,

And, puzzled I, possessing all my knowledge,

Did so, through the hushed forest,

Wanting to know the why and how of it.

At the last, stood I before

A vast waterfall of tears, a willow,

And a voice, melancholy beyond measure,

Spake direct unto my heart,

Calling me to enter in,

She being the Tree of Sorrows.

This did I, with much of foreboding,

And for five anguished years studied I there,

Learning of the searing pain of betrayal,

The burning of hatred seeking revenge,

Of internal torment, loneliness,

Being utterly unloved, hopelessness,

Emptiness, and the immeasurable anguish,

Tearing and ripping at the heartstrings,

Of the death of thy beloved, or worse,

At the senseless death of child.

There too was I taught about the casual taking of lives,

Of complicity in the plight of suffering masses,

Of voracity and cupidity which had no thought of other,

Of grief, of lost opportunity, dreams shattered,

Chances not taken and everlastingly regretted,

The slow drip, drip, care-less erosion of hope,

Dying with awareness of one’s life wasted,

The terrors of war, inequity, torture –

An almost endless catalogue of horrors

That is the cruel and unjust lot of the losers,

Oh so many, they, in the lottery of life.

And the day came when my heart knew

All that there was to know of anguish,

Torment, revulsion and wretchedness,

And truth be told,

I could stand no more

And maintain some form of sanity.

Slow though left I, uncertain now of the world,

Despite my gift of knowledge,

From the mighty Oak.

Entered I once more the silent forest,

Dressed now as it was in darkness,

Kissed by strips of moonlight

Dancing in the glades,

And there once more

The familiar, wraithlike bird

Flew, soundless, to lead me to

What mystery I knew not,

But unquestioning followed I,

Weary beyond comprehension,

My heart almost rent in twain

By the copious, oft endless

And senseless sufferings of

Unnoticed, and over and again uncared for,

Battered, humiliated and abused humanity,

Living and struggling in tormented lives,

Dying in sad, unremarked, obscurity,

Their skills and potential forever lost,

An unseen tragedy for all unaware humanity.

I know not for how long followed I thus,

So smart of mind, so heavy of heart,

But in a timeless time later came I

To a glorious jasmine tree,

Fragrant white blossom, soft upon my eyes,

Their trumpet forms blowing forth

Its sweet, rich fragrance,

A balm for my aching heart,

And my step more of a pace showed

As forward walked I and called she to me,

Called to my bruised, sorrowful heart,

And learned I that she was the Tree of Love.

There entered I in with no thought of other,

And thus remained full eight charmed,

Yes, and truth to say, enchanted years,

Learning and feeling all that love can bring.

Touched, was I, by tenderness, selfless devotion,

And the loving sacrifices made by some;

The screaming longings of love,

And longings satisfied.

The ecstasy two loving bodies can enjoin,

And a desirable belonging, melding,

Being one in two and

Two in one, with lives entwined;

The sharing of beauty,

The sharing of dreams,

And companionship love, grown over time.

There, too, learned I of a Mystery Love,

That Love from which we came,

And that eternal Love to which we return.

Learned I too of love of learning,

Love of life, be it large or small,

Long or fleeting,

If well lived,

Respecting the gift

Of new days, plump with possibilities.

As said in the ancient tongue,

‘Carpe diem!’

And after those years my heart was full

To overflowing, sated by love at the last,

And wandered I forth

Into the soft lit silence of the Forest,

And once more the Owl was there,

To lead me yet again;

And thought I with foreboding

It would be to the Tree Of Hate,

But no, not so, for that was borne

In every terrible facet in the Tree of Sorrow.

It was thus with surprise arrived I at

That which is called, also in the olden speech

Araucaria araucana, an immense Monkey Puzzle,

With a door now faint, now firm of image,

And a voice both kind and cruel,

Joyous and pitiful,

Loud and soft,

Making welcome;

And entered I accordingly

Into the Tree Of Chaos.

There it was sojourned I

For full ten bizarre, demanding years,

And learned I to backwards think

From hurricane to butterfly,

And of the quantum world

Which behaves not as once expected;

Of particle entanglement and

Superpositioning, making what

Once certain was assuredly not so,

And the speed of light

The limit no longer.

I learned about the cosmic joke

Relating to the best laid plans of man,

And unintended consequences,

Of love that turns to hate,

And hate that to love turns,

Of much overrated sincerity

To savagery leading;

Too, the kindest of intent,

The most compassionate of action

Leading to vast tragedy unseen.

Learned I how knowledge

Sorrow, pain and love,

Can seem naught but chimera

In the world of chaos.

But so from chaos

The Universe was formed,

And chaos cannot be

Without sentient perception,

And their participation;

For a tree within the forest,

If truth be told, maketh not a sound

If it should swift-like fall,

Unless there be ears to hear it.

I learned that chaos is the natural state,

That only by backwards thinking

May it be fully understood,

As strive we to surround ourselves

With islands of certainty;

And oft it is, seeming we to win,

But these tiny motes of tranquillity

Too small for measurement are,

In that which we call time,

And think an absolute when it is not,

When from a different vantage point,

Time dilation occurs,

In a relativistic universe,

Or from all eternity it is seen.

And thus the belittling lesson

Of insignificance and uncertainty acquired I,

And dispirited and more alone

Than ere had I been afore,

With conflicting logic,

No absolute truths,

Paradox and no certain

Place to stand my intellect,

And all my learning of things,

And of love, hate and sorrow,

Staggered I forth reeling into

The silent wood once more.

My spirit, unsettled by feelings of

Profound insecurity in a chaotic and oft

Incomprehensible, ever-changing world,

Searched for the certainty of the Owl,

And instant it was that my disposition lifted

As it called soft unto me,

Breaking at the last the silence,

And followed I, more spritely,

The bird now wearing a cloak

Of feathers, shimmering

As does a rainbow in the dawn light.

Long, it seemed, I walked thus,

But saw I naught of life

Other than the mighty trees

And my scintillating guide.

Surprised then was I to behold

A tree much different from the rest.

Large it was, certes,

Larger by far than those

Which stood as its companions,

But it was alone,

The only one I beheld

Within that endless, silent forest,

An indomitable, enduring sequoia.

The door within its vast trunk

With colour coruscated,

Matching thus my feathered guide,

And instant, it was, that I knew

This was to be my last and longest sojourn,

Though in my confused innocence

And knowledge of that which knowable was,

I knew not that from there I would depart

To mine own world of love and hate,

Of sorrow, pain and oft impotent knowledge,

With an armour, a sword and shield,

With which to make it mine;

And entered I then within

The Tree of Hopes and Dreams.

It was here I tarried more years

Than my aged brain can recall,

And filled they were with

Wild and wonderful imaginings,

The glories of what might be,

Could be, and sometimes was.

Here I met the most beauteous,

The most seductive,

The most alluring Pandora,

And it was she who me told the story of

A butterfly not born for chaos

And wild, destructive winds,

But for Hope,

A light after the dark and savage storm,

An unexpected and lingering kiss,

A tender touch following rage,

A caressing smile in the rain.

It was within this place of enchantments

Met I also, most miraculous Morpheus,

He who to sleepers blows charms

And marvellous magics;

Dreams of high castles set

Like eyries among the rugged crags,

They, snow-capped and lustrous,

And low, lush valleys with sparkling ribbons

Flowing languidly, silver shards of fishes

Darting in the clear waters;

Too, made he visions of lovers reunited,

The warring finding peace,

Fearful folk discovering courage

And the wicked, redemption.

All things were possible.

I know not how left I there or,

Truth to tell, why. 

Of all I had learned,

Aye, learned and felt,

In my head, my heart and bowels,

This place charmed me the most,

For saw I at the last that in a world

Of knowledge most extraordinary,

Pain most savage, most poignant,

Most ghastly, most purifying,

And love, lost and found,

Sorrow most deep, most high,

Chaos most unutterably complex,

Deterministic by backward thinking,

And redolent with potentialities,

That all these contributed to

Hopes and Dreams.

And through Hopes and Dreams it is

That humankind will overcome all

Obstacles; live they through terror,

Horror, pain and sorrow,

And use they the power

Of knowledge, oft hard-won,

The sharp, clawing lessons

Of hatred, backward thinking

And certain uncertainty,

Failure and fear,

Their bellies filling with fire,

And love to bend chaos

To their will, and through triumph

And disaster both, reaching out,

Reaching out to each other,

Reaching out with Hope,

Reaching out, chaos to control,

Their Dreams to pursue,

And the future to make their own.

And when awoke I to the harsh

World of my dream outside a dream,

I rose from that hard board

In one flowing movement,

Assured as was I of a fate

To be of mine own making.

Glanced I at my belongings,

Those things which had so mattered,

Pathetic now, and meaningless;

All there was of no consequence;

And walked I from my abode,

Set my eyes upon the far peak

Of the curved mountain,

That which called we

The Lady, and that which

My life long wished I to climb

And stare down on the hidden

Lands and peoples beyond.

And took I then, unhesitant,

My first step into my future.

What ere the consequences,

This was my life, my route,

My eternal soul,

My chaotic potentialities,

My Hopes and my Dreams

For better, for worse, mine!

And behind me heard I such a clamour,

Wild shouts, dire warnings and

Shots were fired.  The pain was

Sudden and anguished. I felt

As though to fall but it was not so

And swift it was I straightened up

And stepped forth on my route again.

The sun brighter shone, the grey

Sky, now blue and many birds

Flew and sang, with insects too

Contributing to the carolling of the choir.

And an White Owl flew to me,

And upon my shoulder sat.

And knew I the Owl,

As she knew me,

Having sat thus, always,

Cosy upon my shoulder,

But by me unseen,

My better angel,

Banishing at the last,

The Hollow Man.

She hooted soft,

Gentle nibbled my ear,

And the road rose to meet me,

The gentle wind at my back,

The sun warm on my face,

As went we to seek mine own true destiny,

My eternal soul yearning yet to know more,

To grow in giving, kindness, love and grace;

A work in progress.