‘Lost In A Lost World’ — Read the lyrics

This is the opening track on The Moody Blues 1972 album, Seventh Sojourn.

The song title, ‘Lost in a Lost World’ speaks for itself. If anything, the lyrics are more appropriate now than they were 49 years ago — they are quite profound and prophetic, a very sad testimony to where we are now, what we have become.

But there is always hope. Even if it feels that we have been deserted, goodness can and will return. That process begins by understanding the truth…through prayer…and through love.

Copyright Francis 2021

Alone

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Alone —
this solitude pounds deafeningly
between my ears.
After the forgotten slap
inducing that first
sharp intake of air,
to my first memory
of a Dresden widow beaming down
into the four walls of my pram,
just what kind of oblivion did I inhabit;
how does it differ from the misery
gripping me now?

In this realm it is the sentence
of every soul to be alone,
even as flesh touches flesh,
reaching the heights of ecstasy
of mortal love.
Soon it is over
and the wails return,
cursing the passion which ensnared
this fractal of spirit
in a world of its own.

Copyright Francis 2020

The Beast

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I conspire with the beast.
Two or three times a day
I must feed my best friend,
this cuddly saturnine feline
such processed packets of slaughter,
which I dispense without
thought into his bowl.
He is the innocent;
it is I who flagrantly
intervenes in nature, my acquiescence
muffling screams — and my conscience.
And what am I
but a lapsed frugivore,
a hypocrite with hippie affectations
who dares to profess that he cares?

*The beast is not the cat but the ‘system’.

Copyright Francis 2020

Death or birth—choose — Jane Dougherty Writes (Reblog)

The message of the Oracle today was unexpected. I would say she has en election on her mind. Bald as death in the eggspilling dark honey into the light mist-paleare those bitter words (not truth)driven by ambition and greed. You would deny the music of the moonthe singing of the starsclaim the sky rains stonesand […]

Death or birth—choose — Jane Dougherty Writes

Astrology & Health: Scorpio

In western astrology, Scorpio is the 8th sign of the zodiac, or ‘star sign’. It is classified as fixed water, though just how fixed water can be is anyone’s guess, unless one imagines a powerful channel, torrent, or waterfall. It is often described as the sign of ‘sex, death and regeneration’.

Traditionally the sign is ruled by Mars in its ‘darker’, more concentrated aspect. Since the discovery of Pluto in 1930, many astrologers believe that the outermost known planet, so termed, has superseded the rulership of the sign; I used to accept this too, but I have returned to a more traditionally based astrology lately.

All Hallows’ Day, Winters’ Beginning

Of course, this is also the time of year for Halloween and, more traditionally, Samhain, the ancient pagan festival celebrating the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter. November 1 is All Saints’, or All Hallows’ Day in Christianity. The sun has begun moving southward with Libra; now it begins to plunge into the depths towards darkness, at least from the perspective of those of us living north of the equator, where the daylight hours recede rapidly.

There is a polarity with this, Samhain in Scorpio exactly opposing the spring festival Beltane on May 1, in the sign of Taurus.

Sex Organs — And the Throat

In fact polarity is a key feature of astrology and bears heavily upon health. Taurus is the opposing sign of Scorpio, the former ruling the neck and throat. Scorpio traditionally rules the sexual organs, and it is interesting to note that when a male reaches puberty, the voice too assumes its more manly, deeper sound; think of all the choir boys whose careers end at this point!

As Taurus rules self security, Scorpio rules security in relation to others — hence the deeper, more secretive aspects of this much maligned sign, which ultimately needs to engage with ‘the other’ for its own security. This is why the sign is associated with sex and secrecy. It is often also said that Scorpio creates the greatest saints — but also the worst sinners. Maybe this is why the sign’s glyph is the scorpion, with the famous sting in the tail.

The Number 8 — and Weak Points

Numerologists out there would already be nodding their heads at Scorpio being the 8th sign, 8 being the sign of infinity, relating to the sign’s deep, penetrative and fundamental life and death associations, which are ultimately a mystery.

So as Scorpio rules the generative organs, they are often considered a ‘weak point’ in the strongly Scorpio type. Equally, there can be issues with the throat too, through Taurus. Fixed signs like Scorpio are often also more susceptible to arthritis and rheumatism.

However, being ruled by powerful Mars, the strongly Scorpio type is usually very robust and resistant to diseases.

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

*Health, weight loss and fitness are interlinked.

‘The Kissing Game’ Chapter 9, Short Story Serialisation, by Milly Reynolds

silhouettes of couple kissing against sunset
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Elena had taken herself off to the spare room, the very room where Michael had said she had sleep walked in to the previous night. One thirty and she still wasn’t asleep, she was simply too apprehensive, too much going on in her head. Once more she lay back and opened another book she’d borrowed from Mary. She came across a reference to the fact that most children were baptised within two or three days of birth, at least until more recent times. This was because of the much higher rates of child mortality. It made her think. With that thought in her mind, she lay the book down and closed her eyes. 

The room was dark, quite small. Long curtains were closed, just a peep of light came through a gap. Outside there were distant voices, so she opened the curtain a touch to see. It was the canal or river she had seen before, though there was less activity this time, as if it might be evening. As she turned away, she noticed a mirror with an ornate frame on the right wall. Keeping the curtains open, she looked at it. Elena had the clearest blue eyes, a smooth, ivory complexion. She brought a hand to her face, touching the soft flesh.

“I am… quite beautiful,” she whispered.

She recognised the room, the bed in the corner where someone was lying. Walking up to the bed, she recognised him, though he made no move, as if he was asleep. She peered more closely; then he opened his eyes, slightly.

“Elena,” he croaked, weakly, “you have destroyed me.”

She stepped back as he reached out, trying to touch her. “What’s the matter with you? Is it something I’ve done?”

“Elena, you have destroyed me.”

She felt a sudden unease. “What have I done?”

He tried to smile, though it seemed to be difficult. There was pain written all over his face, emotional as well as physical discomfort.

“Just… tell me who you are.”

His hand fell limply by his side, a weak gaze remaining fixed on her where she stood. 

“Don’t go!”

Kneeling down she put a hand in front of his face. There was no breath. She checked the pulse on his wrist: nothing. His candle had burned out. Elena closed his eyes, reached forward and kissed his cheek. Then she sat on the chair next to the bed. Tears began to well up in her eyes, though she wasn’t sure why. Did she know this man? And if so, how?

“I want to come out of this dream now,” she said out loud, wiping her eyes. Yet she remained in the room, apparently present in some time which may have been four hundred years ago. She began to feel queasy, quite strange in fact. So she stood, but had to sit down again, feeling quite faint. She bent down on all fours and was sick into the empty chamber pot by the bed. There was no cloth or tissue to use, so she wiped her mouth on the bed sheet. Suddenly without the strength to get up, she lay on the floor, closing her eyes.

Elena felt the gentle stroking of her hair. Opening her eyes, Michael’s concerned face was examining her own.

“It was quite a shock to find you lying here.”

“Where am I?”

“The toilet, I see you’ve been sick. Something you ate last night, was it?”

“No,” she said, faintly, “I don’t think so. What time is it?”

“Six o’clock. Have you been like this before, recently?”

Elena thought for a few seconds. “A little yes. I thought it was the lack of sleep.”

Their eyes met, instinctively, though neither dare ask that most pertinent question. Michael helped her to her feet and led her back to bed.

“Get some sleep, I’ll take the day off, it won’t matter.”

“I’m not sure I want any sleep.”

“Hm, because of him? This strange kisser fellow?”

“Maybe,” she said, laying down her head, “though I get the feeling that I won’t be seeing much more of him in my dreams.” 

“I like the sound of that. I’ll get you some water.”

copyright Milly Reynolds 2020

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