Skip navigation

Tag Archives: purpose

a child
born in time
just out of line
a misfit traveler
in a strange land of strangers

who waved the wand
and gave the command…
did someone?
who decided it would be…
or wouldn’t…
did they?
the son of a misplaced son
found in a foreign land
the product of some decision
perhaps made before
who can know why
if even at all?

all is blurred
barely visible
reasons evaporate
answers flee
only questions remain
of plans perhaps made
but in sand, …while the winds blew
with the feet of men…
tramping through
what was written can no longer be read
if it was
we can’t know now
or then

sleep walkers
walking in the deep
interrupted steps
dreams incomplete
partly woken
in a confused state
disjointed, unappointed
perhaps it’s too late?

for some
peace can be found
even on the barren fields of war


as beautiful as birds and other wildlife are in the wild, they seem to have no apparent need nor desire to stop and aesthetically enjoy the immense beauty of their natural environment.

instead they seem to unceasingly scuttle to and fro in what can only be described as the frantic pursuit of survival

humans, on the other hand have a heightened cognitive awareness… and we have time,… to reflect, ponder, plan and plunder…

yet we too seem to unceasingly scuttle to and fro in what can only be described as the frantic pursuit of survival

and this time we have on our hands is easily led… astray

… seemingly to devise much more sinister ways to order our frantic pursuit of survival …with which we are kept very, very busy


there are so many questions to ask
and even more answers to avoid
so many things to learn
and yet so many more to put aside and forget
puzzles are made for building and built for making

assembling puzzles can bring much joy
breaking them down again brings a devastation of the effort spent
but it also ushers in the hope of new adventures
adventures almost exactly similar but yet completely different

acquiring data takes so much time

undoing it takes even longer

observing can bring great understanding

but the accumulation thereof can so often prevent movement

culture grows, but it also ferments

the end of a matter can be a great relief

even so, there seems to be no end to beginning again


i wonder if i made that call

that put my birth date on the wall

some mystical meeting in the ancient past

where plans may have been made

from first to last


the question echoes in my mind

and ruffles chance of peace to find

about good and bad, flow and strife

of the things that fill my lot in life


today Sunday had no sun
we didn’t do much but the day was fun
the clouds clouded and the rain reigned
and shady puddles trickled down the drain

tomorrow is a day of sorrow
for those who have little life to live
but for some of us with stuff to do
there’s always plenty still to give

the fool

the story goes that one of the city’s top cardiac specialists died

at his funeral his coffin was placed in front of a huge replica of a heart made of red roses

when the minister finished the sermon and everyone had mourned appropriately and said their formal goodbyes, the large heart opened up, the coffin rolled inside, and the heart closed again

it was indeed a majestic tribute to the much loved cardiologist

suddenly, just as the coffin disappeared from public view one of the mourners burst into fits of stifled laughter, convulsing uncontrollably, barely able to keep from crying out raucously

… as if on behalf of all the mourners in attendance, and clearly irritated by the laughing man’s insensitivity, the mourner standing next to him asked,

“why are you laughing, what could possibly be so funny?”

“… and how could you be so insensitive?”

I was just thinking about my own funeral,” the now almost hysterical man replied…

“I’m a gynaecologist …….”



for with nothing we enter this world … and with nothing we shall leave

and after all… what is life and death but a portal?

there is no such thing as reward

external reward is more illusionary than illusion itself

inside the vacuum grows

filling the substance of empty space

with the dust of purpose

as it morphs into the next step


there is no time for reward

there is only the next step

a thought on birthdays

… and the days of thought it births


… we remember that point

in the circle of time and space that we first appeared
and it serves to take us back each year
… to remind us that we are here
not by our own doing
(as far as we can tell anyway)
but by some purpose that is beyond us for now
… but not beyond us for ever

… if we would only still the noise
as the cycles spin by
… and give space to the center
around which the cycle spins

and then…

we would then stop spinning
and rest with the spinner

I trust we will have an inspired cycle this next time around

i don’t want to not be like you
but if there is the pressure to conform
at least give me a worthy target to aim at 

(Jan 2010 – for Caydn, my son)