NIGHT

[Byron]

I sat and stared at my television screen......

I watched helplessly as terrified office workers threw themselves off the Twin Towers, to avoid being burnt to death. They had chosen a lesser form of terrifying end to their life ?
They knew at that moment the extent of their mortality. They knew they were going to die!
The Devil was in their minds and torturing them. God forbid any of us have to make such a decision.

In this piece of prose he is the devil.
He is God.
I and my are me.

Which of us wakes in the small hours to a full realisation that “I am going to die” ?
The Russians have a term for that time. They call it 'the hour of the wolf'.
When I have such terrifying moments I doubt the strength of my Faith.

This piece is from the heart.
I have felt the fear of those 'jumpers.'
I have felt the eternal abyss which awaits us all.

Is my Faith based on a desire to ensure I go onwards into an afterlife? Whatever form it takes.
This is the point at which my self-doubt spears me into shame and self-loathing.

There are many religions in this world. They all look forward to an afterlife.
Which is the true religion? Is a question as old as mens first discussion about afterlife.

In this prose I'm trying to have a discussion with my God, the devil, and my subconscious. I'm attempting to look deeply into a mirror, and I don't like what I see. I'm human.

So, here's my piece and make of it what you will.
If it seems a trifle heavy, it's because Life and Death are a lot heavier.

( Death's little brother, is an olde description of sleep )


NIGHT


Death's “little brother's” come calling
he has the patience to wait at his ease
All the Time in the World at his bidding
Offers colourful dreams which could please

I snuggle into His comfort
Into the palm of His hand
Sleep draws me softly unconscious
Through its gate to elysian lands

But this chalice is poisoned and takes me
Where my night's mares arise from their sleep
Cruelly they pound and devour me
And screaming I rise from my sleep

My pillow is head-soaked from sweating
My eyes stare at nothing at all
I feel and I hear a voice calling
My fist it is clenched in a ball

Big Brother's paying a visit
To remind me once more as I cry
he, looks down at my torture, my horrors
“I will die, I will die, I will die”

Souls in transition and terror
Falling from mountains on high
Suicidal victims of self-loss
Who throw themselves out, to die

They have Time on their hands still to know it
How they feel as they hurtle below
On their last flight, my empathy joins them
My dream keeps me safe, this I know

Yet again I have looked at my future
Every hope, every wish, once fulfilled
Fall as dust in the span of this moment
At His gates I know I'll be billed

I'm not worthy to share what He gives me
My nightmares confirm I'm too low
In compassion and love and in caring
For all those I have met and I know

I want to go to Him smiling
Not fearing corporeal pain
But I fear when He comes to get me
My heart will expose all my shame.

[mat james]

I want to go to Him smiling

That would be something, Byron.
...I'll hold that thought....

Thanks,
Mat.

[Casey Butler]

If there is a God (I'm agnostic myself), for some reason he's chosen not to show himself to any of the religions that worship him (deducing here also that if there is a God, every religion must be worshipping that same God under different traditions, names, and rites).

So all practicing Jews, Muslims, Christians, Hindus, etc... are asked to believe by faith alone, and, surely frustratingly to each individual, none can prove the existence of God to another, nor to the Atheist (I speculate).

So scientifically(?), from an objective viewpoint, it could be said there is no proof of God, but that the whole world today is populated by Agnostics of varying degrees (belief/non-belief wise), maybe represented visually by all the shades of grey, from nearly black on the left to nearly white on the right.

The tower jumpers - and stayers, I wonder which suffered less torment during those minutes, the Agnostics more certain of God or the ones less certain. Certainly all had the luxury of blaming God, as do we survivors, rather than blaming themselves for any perceived wrongs done to anyone else.

I sympathize with your inner conflict. I wouldn't challenge your beliefs in a God that torments... though it seems to me that those who wrote such a God on our consciences to begin with might best be able to heal all of us regarding the portrayal of a God of vengeance?

I mean, upon meeting him, that God written by the Jewish prophets, which nearly all agnostics have evaluated at one time or another and who founded whatever beliefs they hold still, would smile at you first, and remove any anxiety you might have regarding your part in history. At least, that's what the books say.

Isn't it the hired shepherds who are responsible for the sheep, as that man from Nazareth said? They know the conditions of their hire best, whatever religion they might come from.

Anyway, inner conflict seems to be something we share in common.

Casey

[Byron]

Mat James, I saw a poster outside a church many years ago. It read, 'I searched for God till He found me.' It stopped me in my tracks. Which was a bit difficult at the time because I was sitting on a bus going passed. It was only some time later that I discovered it was the church where my parents got married.
Keep smiling.

Casey Butler, I fully understand your reply, I hope. We know that internet forums are 'bedevilled' by personal viewpoints on personal religiosity. You have been objective in your response and for that I thank you. It is difficult to present a subjective piece of prose without straying into the objective, wider sphere, of such a personal and global sense of existentialism.

I've tried to do a Wordsworth presentation. By that I mean, he wrote of his inner experience as he looked back on 'a host of golden daffodils.' None of us were there. However, we too have seen similar scenes and recalled them later. Albeit that it was Wordsworth's sister, Dorothy, who actually saw the hill covered in the flowers and wrote it down in her journal.

I say this because we have received the experience and imagery of the flowers and of religious texts from secondary sources. None of us were there. We have to take it on faith that what is written was true at the time of writing.

The Turin Shroud could be a primary source. Photographs could be a primary source. Paintings of famous people could be a quasi-primary source. Science may prove the authenticity of the Shroud. Photoshop certainly plays with modern pixels. Artists were paid, usually by the sitter, to produce a positive and reasonable facsimile of the person we now look at. Each can be held up as a version of the Truth. It is difficult to be un-cynical as one gains more experience of life.

The clash between the cold light of day and the deep dark of the wolf hour, brings opposing aspects of personal hopes, fears, and faith, into sharp focus, as dreams and nightmares become a reality, on that plateau between sleep and wakefulness. As I said, the prose is personal. The conclusion is I am human. I am not immortal. Sometimes I am not worthy to be human. I AM, here and now. Why ? is the question.

[lizzytysh]

. . . on that plateau between sleep and wakefulness.

The most painful time for those thoughts to flood in... you're so vulnerable as you depart one world and re-enter the other, where you spend most of your time.

[Byron]

And the flood is beyond one's control. One is at the mercy of one's own mind.

[Casey Butler]

I fully understand your reply, I hope.

That's reassuring, even though I didn't reply fully and your reply didn't address my reply. I've never read wordsworth, but other than "shepherds" I wasn't using metaphor - that I know of.

Nice to see your conflicts being resolved so smoothly.

Now Blue Grenadiers are hard to fully describe during commercial breaks. For me anyway.

I AM, here and now. Why ? is the question.

Perhaps because as Cate said to me once, "Leonard Cohen is God" and you want to be near him?

I dunno, but I've speculated a bit on why I'M here. I must be the reincarnation of Adolf Hitler, because nobody else I could ever think of deserved this kind of punishment from a non-existant vengeful God that sits on a throne.

Maybe Cate will find that recipe. Maybe she won't. But we're stuck here.

This is my talented daughter Shannon, from the other side, as it were, one of my Saints, and on fire in this video!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESReMsjA7ZE

Send her my Love, Leonard, please?

Casey

[mat james]

Hi all,
This link below is an interesting read for people with a Christian background who glance Eastward and onward; and interestingly, the article is written by an African, Catholic Priest who has an Indian Guru.

( http://media.radiosai.org/Journals/Vol_ ... rstory.htm )

Charles Ogada's argument is this:
"Resurrection therefore, is the consummation of reincarnation. The very purpose of birth is to overcome the cycle of rebirth."

He certainly makes some sense out of what many people generally feel is, non-sense.
Anyway, I think it fits your mood, Byron and the mood of this thread, beautifully.
A good friend of mine, an Australian Bosnian Hindu put me onto the article. I read it and found some satisfying clarity.

Casey, I think you will love it, whether you agree with its views or not.
Loved your daughter's rendition of Amazing Grace....she has a rich and powerful voice....
(and I love the name "Shannon".)



Keep up the good game, Byron; write on.

MatbbgJ

[Byron]

Shannon Butler's voice is bursting with life.

[lizzytysh]

And the flood is beyond one's control. One is at the mercy of one's own mind.

You're right. I've been there and I'm always so grateful when I finally am able to break out of it and begin my day. It's a relief that when I do, I don't even look back at or dwell on those all-consuming waking moments or the feelings of dread.

[lizzytysh]

I really like the naturalness of Shannon's appearance, singing, and delivery, Casey. Very simple and lovely.

[Boss]

I AM, here and now. Why ? is the question.

Sheldon Kopp would answer, Why not

[Cate]

These are indeed heavy fears Byron. It's curious where our minds travel while sleeping and you've done an excellent job of capturing that feeling of anxiety and fear. I like the use of ' Deaths little brother' btw - I've not heard that before.

think an interesting thing about faith is the not knowing because of course if you knew for sure it wouldn't be called faith would it ... it'd just be knowing (it's late). Faith evolves a certain amount of doubt, but trusting anyways.
It's like that game of fall back and let your friend catch you ... if you play it enough you know they will, but the first time ... well the first time, there's a certain amount of doubt that hits as you lean back, but you do it anyways.

[Cate]

Casey your daughter has a lovely voice - I remember you had a recording of your Mother singing before and she also had a beautiful voice so Shannon comes by it honestly.

Perhaps because as Cate said to me once, "Leonard Cohen is God" and you want to be near him?

I dunno, but I've speculated a bit on why I'M here. I must be the reincarnation of Adolf Hitler, because nobody else I could ever think of deserved this kind of punishment from a non-existant vengeful God that sits on a throne.

Maybe Cate will find that recipe. Maybe she won't. But we're stuck here.

I'm not quite sure why you have attributed the above quote to me - that was a bit random but I did track it down though by using the search function - the quote was actually from you while talking to John Lake.

viewtopic.php?f=5&t=10285&p=107329&hili ... d+#p107321

[Byron]

mat james, I have read your link. The thought which kept emerging in my mind as I read through it was that we are all made of stardust. The bodies we live in are compiled of millions of atoms made from the elements that make the Universe. Carbon, Hydrogen, Nitrogen etc. The explosion of a dying star spreads these elements across the universe. Millions of stars have died. To partly answer your link, our bodies are reincarnated from stardust. It will not be exactly the same stardust each time. They will not be our bodies, just bodies. It is our minds which puzzle us. Each body carrying a mind. Brains made from soft tissue within which is the 'person' in existence.

Elizabeth, we each have difficulty remembering dreams. Sometimes, even the one we were in, just before we woke up. I think that the mind runs on 'a need to know basis' as far as we are concerned, when it comes to our awareness of what influences us. The 'subconscious' is deep, ethereal and no easy book to read. The mind keeps some thoughts deep down there. I mean, where do ideas come from ? Someone gets an idea in their head and has no way of explaining where that idea came into their thoughts. Or, even more puzzling, where do any of our ideas come from ? As you know, a couple of years ago, I was quite prolific in producing poems, prose and short stories, many of which I put into this Forum. Some of the words and sentences appeared ready formed in my mind, and only needed to be typed out. I had no idea where they came from. I was diagnosed with BAD, put on medication, which smothered my mood swings, and the words and sentences dried up. I had experienced what it was like to receive small parcels of 'emotional/emotive writing' but the medication now prevents me from receiving such presents.

Cate, 'falling back on your friends,' is a display of trust in the exercise of trying it, but also a good way of describing how much we can rely on other people in our lives. Having faith and knowing are certainly opposite sides of the Roman coinage and wafer of His body that Jesus meant when "Rendering unto Caesar what is Caesar's".
The knowing as you refer to it is similar to us all watching a good magician, or remembering, for example, how people viewed the Earth in the Middle Ages. Once the facts are known, the mystery vanishes. However, faith is like love. Impossible to explain. One can describe how one feels. One cannot give a factual, empirical description of what it is. Perhaps faith and love live in the subconscious. We are only aware of them when ones mind allows them to emerge into conscious thought ? (Not a rhetorical question)