Responding to Diana’s prompt ‘ Write from the point of view of a creature that doesn’t exist in the “real” world. ‘
With a shout out to Dwight of Rothpoetry. I got hooked on his line “the intersection of infinity’
his poem on this can be seen here

Once upon a time, at the intersection of infinity, I chanced upon a tiny planet circling a tiny star. I was surprised to discover strange forms of elemental creatures had evolved on this planet. These elemental forms scrambled around the planet devouring each other in an effort to sustain its existence. I marveled at the myriad of design of the various forms and how they adapted to land, air and water. I had no idea that the creation of space, time and matter outside of the spiritual realm would produce such anomalies.

I observed these strange shapes for a time. I concentrated on the bipedal creatures which seemed to have more cunning than the other varieties. I wondered….what if….and extracting dark energy from the universe I breathed it into the two legged creatures. The creatures paused mid stride in their hunting and I sensed a new awareness fill their being. They looked up at the sun with a puzzled frown and then at each other and their mouths opened trying to articulate speech patterns. I allowed myself a self satisfied smirk as I retreated back to the spiritual plane.

Lost in contemplation with the creator it was a while before I again entered the material universe and observed the tiny planet. I saw large collections of the bipedal creatures living side by side in shelters, protecting themselves from the elements. They were able to communicate with each other and seemed to be thriving in numbers. I wondered if they could evolve from their carbon, oxygen based elements to pure spirit and considered a way to accomplish this. I inscribed some suggestions on two tablets of stone and placed them where they could be found by a man ascending a mountain’s path. Satisfied with this little sleight of hand I once again found the spiritual plane.

Returning to the Earth a third time I observed terrible wars, anger and hostility. These creatures seemed intent on destroying themselves. They had learned nothing from my writing on the stone tablets. It was then I decided to take human form and express a way forward to change base material desires into spirit. I managed to recruit a few followers, teach them some basics, but jealousy and injustice won out, my human form was extinguished and I was back in the spiritual plane.

I’m now spending my time communing with the creator for next steps in the evolution of this unique species. They weren’t part of the creators plan. With so much darkness the creator was experimenting in trying to brighten things up and humans became an unexpected by-product. The creator is willing to accept responsibility for his design and has tasked me with trying to sort out this mess. I’m working on it.

Undulating Patterns

Reena’s prompt #112. “Undulating Patterns.” For full prompt please go to:

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”

Robert Frost

Life is a series of undulating patterns rippling through time and space. A Bayeux tapestry of battles fought and lost, a few conquering heroes, but mainly foot soldiers in a never ending war.

In the past a tsunami wave of conquerors stormed over the globe, creating order by killing and exerting tyrannical dominance. Eventually the people rose in rebellion, the new order collapsed, sending its populace crashing into a sea of darkness awaiting winds of change to propel the next big wave. So it was with the British Empire, the Mongol Empire, the Russian Empire, the Spanish Empire, the Qing Dynasty and the Umayyad Caliphate, to name but a very few.

Are new patterns starting to emerge undulating in the predictability of its waves? Instead of projectiles penetrating our bodies causing havoc to our physical structure we now have words penetrating our psyche fracturing our delicate egos.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me,” a child’s response of yesteryear to verbal bullying in the school playground.

Prior to the advent of social media and its related communication devices children could be seen swarming over the streets and parks, interacting with each other physically and verbally through games and role playing. Today the streets are deserted after school as children look to social media devices for interaction with the outside world. In the absence of any physical experience words start taking on greater weight. Words are substituted for physical aggression. This is compounded by educators in their creation of safe spaces and banning physical play at school.

Undulating patterns. The wave like rise and fall of doing things in a particular way, over and over.

Are new conquerors starting to take shape exerting their tyrannical dominance over the globe? Twitter,Instagram, YouTube,Tik Tok-Alphabet, Microsoft, Facebook, Tencent. Will technology companies become our new overlords?

Software companies, with their revenue source of advertising companies, are now dictating the norms of everyday speech on their platforms. This is swiftly becoming politicized to a left versus right issue. What are acceptable and unacceptable modes of communication. Is free speech under attack? What are the boundaries? Will various social media platforms morph into left leaning and right leaning platforms?

If this trend continues there will be no cross pollination of ideas. Each individual will be stuck in their own echo chamber unable to experience different ways of thinking. The technocrats will rule the globe exerting their tyrannical dominance over speech and language……and thought patterns. The human race will become more divided in its ideas.

How long will this technological empire stand with the undulating pattern of its narrow mindedness?

Remembrance Day 2019

In my library there is a book I take out once a year on Remembrance Day entitled Anthem For Damned Youth-Poets of the Great War-edited by Lyn Macdonald

I saw you fooling often in the tents

With fair disheveled hair and laughing lips,

And frolic elf lights in your careless eyes,

As who had never known the taste of tears

Or the worlds sorrow. Then on march one night,

Halted beneath the stars I heard the sound

Of talk and laughter, and glanced back to see

If you were there. But you stood far apart

And silent, bowed upon your rifle butt

And gazed into the night as one who sees.

I marked the drooping lips and fathomless eyes

And knew you brooded on immortal things.

Glimpse- W.N.Hodgson


Reena’s prompt challenge #111 regarding brainwaves. With credit to Aeon Magazine and the album Chapel by Grace Leslie. For full prompt go to :

Veronica was the love of my life. We married within two months of our first date. A week later she was dead.

I sat in the hospital chair holding her lifeless hand. The doctor, his comforting hand on my shoulder, offering words of consolation.

” Such a tragedy for one so young. All the scans indicate that she was in perfect heath except for those few seconds when her body denied oxygen to the brain. A very unusual case of cerebral hypoxia”

I was wrapped in a nightmare. This can’t be happening, my vibrant, beautiful sweet Veronica replaced by a lifeless corpse. I was sure that any moment now she would rise from the bed with bubbling laughter and say “fooled ya”. Staring at her lifeless form I realized I couldn’t let go. I needed her too much. I queried the doctor.

” Do you know of any cryogenics institutions that can advise me on the best method of preserving my wife’s body.”

The doctor answered ” Most of them have gone bankrupt, but there are still a few around. As a matter of fact I have just received some literature from a startup lab that professes to not only help with cryopreservation but to revive the loved one when a cure is found. I believe they are dabbling in electromagnetic shocks to the brain.”

I was intrigued. I asked the doctor if my wife could stay at the hospital till I had visited the cryopreservation lab and discussed next steps with them. He agreed.

The lab was very welcoming and empathetic to my plight. They suggested that I have Veronica moved immediately and they would offer a diagnosis and a cost estimate. I agreed.

Veronica was subjected to a number of tests which concluded that her body was in perfect condition. If I signed the waiver form they could start the process of trying to revive her immediately. It was emphasized that the technology was experimental and she would be the first human subject to the electromagnetic shocks at this particular frequency. Their scientists had experimented successfully on mice but at different brain frequencies.

Eight hours later a beaming Doctor Lazarus escorted Veronica to the waiting room where she rushed into my arms, we clung to each other as if life itself depended upon it. While settling the bill the doctor gave me his personal cell number in the event of any unforeseen relapses by Veronica. So home we went.

That night as Veronica and I were enjoying a cup of hot cocoa she suddenly collapsed. I rushed to her side searching in vain for a pulse. I pushed the cell no. for Dr. Lazarus and he answered immediately. He suggested I drive her to the lab where he would meet me and give a diagnosis. After three hours at the lab I was informed that the electromagnetic shocks activated the brain waves for only 16 hours a day and then the brain shut off unless reactivated. The good news however is that they had a portable version of the electromagnetic machine which I could rent by the month.

“It will be just like having a good nights sleep” explained Dr. Lazarus ” We also sell cryopreservation chambers that will preserve Veronica’s body from deterioration while her brain is inactive. Just add some propylene glycol to her food to prevent ice formation on her body. I would suggest a routine of arising at 7:00 a.m. and cryogenic chamber at 11:00 p.m. “

The cryogenic chamber accompanied us in a delivery van as we drove home and was set up in a corner of the bedroom. I placed Veronica lovingly in the chamber and collapsed on to the bed. I awoke at 6:00 a.m. the next morning and transferred Veronica from the cryo chamber to the bed. I inserted the electrodes and sent the electromagnetic current to stimulate her brain wave to the required frequency. She woke with a yawn and said “hello darling you’re up early.”

So this was now our life. I was amazed at how readily Veronica adapted to this experience. For me it was the perfect scenario. Anytime Veronica was mad at me I just let her cool off in the cryo chamber for a couple of days.

Out of the Darkness

Responding to Reena’s prompt # 100 based on above:

It is in the darkest hour that reason dawns, that hour of self doubt and confusion before enlightenment. Intuitively we stumble towards the truth, but become conflicted with the world’s unreasoning hysterical chatter. So we wrestle with our insecurities and try to separate the wheat from the chaff.

The unexamined life is not worth living.


I have been wrestling with the merits of the youth movement that seems to be taking the developed world by storm in the last few months. Left leaning political parties are advocating for the voting age to be lowered to sixteen. Students are protesting in the U.S. on gun control due to the horrific shooting at U.S. schools. Students are striking from educational studies to protest lack of climate change action. Five students are suing the Canadian government for the lack of a sufficient climate change agenda….. and then we have Greta Thunberg, the sixteen year old Swedish messiah for climate change.

Do 16 year olds have the mental and emotional maturity to vote. In some countries, voting under the age of 18 isn’t controversial. Argentina, Austria, Brazil, Cuba, Ecuador, Nicaragua and Scotland all allow voting at 16. In the U.S. three cities in Maryland, Hyattville, Greenbelt and Takoma Park as well as Berkeley,California allow 16 and 17 year-olds to vote in local elections.

I have read numerous articles and listened to various politicians expound on this topic. A year ago I would have stated that 16 year olds are too immature to vote. Today my mind is in that black hole of self doubt. Does the internet, access to information and general advances in technology enable students to think more deeply and understand issues more intelligently than ten years ago? Are students smarter today? If we treat 16 year olds as mature adults do they respond in kind? The jury is out.

Are students manipulated by an adult agenda and dancing to scheming adult puppet masters? The five students suing the Canadian government are being funded by the Suzuki Foundation, a well known climate action organization. Greta Thunberg states that she is travelling the world on her own initiative with the support of her parents but questions are still being asked regarding funding for these costs. In both cases it seems the easy target is government rather than individual responsibility. It is a big public relations win for climate change organizations to have photogenic, articulate students to push their agenda. Organizations can come under heavy criticism, students not so much. Main Street Media love a face to front an issue, it plays so much better with the public.

This is my preferred approach to politics. To not hold on to past prejudices but to try and reason on a case by case basis. To research the internet for all answers both pros and cons……and there is a lot of confusing and biased information out there. In the end to weigh all the information and make the most informed decision I can. I am forever trying to escape my comfort zone and find new insights on issues.

In the year 1212, two youths, Nicholas of Germany and Stephen of Cloyes answered the popes call for a crusade to the Holy Lands. Through their oratory and out reach they persuaded 30,000 children to march to the Holy Lands. Their are varying versions of what actually transpired en route but the outcome was that two thirds of the children perished, a large number were sold into slavery and the remainder became disillusioned.

Emotion should not be the great decider when we undertake a political journey. Alas in many cases it is.

Death Pays a Visit

Quotable Poe week # 3. I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him – The Tell Tale Heart-Edgar Allen Poe
Prompt from the site of Heretics,Lovers and Madmen-

I was settled in for the night, fire blazing in the hearth, relaxing comfortably into the armchair with a glass of port, mince pies and Dickens. I must have dozed off for I awoke with a start as the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the midnight hour. The fire had burned down and a stillness lay on the house. I felt acute indigestion in my chest regretting those mince pies so late at night. Was that a knock at the door? Surely not at this hour. I waited. There it was again, a hesitant knock. I opened the door to see death staring me in the face.

Death beckoned. ” The ferry man awaits.”

I stared in confusion. ” You must be mistaken. Are you sure you have the right address”

Death nodded the affirmative.

” Your knock seemed a little hesitant, as if you were unsure. Are you absolutely certain it is tonight. Perhaps you are a few years early.”

Death kept staring me in the face. ” Perhaps I am a few minutes early, but I’m patient I can wait.”

“But I don’t want to die”, I gasped ” Can we not reach an accommodation.”

” You wish to negotiate” Death asked ” You may not like the price”

“Anything you ask ” I pleaded.

“One for one” Death intoned ” One year for one life”

“I don’t understand your meaning.” I was getting confused.

” You will take one life in order to live one year” Death explained ” Each year you take a life you will be spared death. That will be the contract between us.”

I shuddered in horror at this dreadful pact. I was not a violent man……but…… I did like my creature comforts.

” Agreed. ” I said and with those words Death disappeared.

I flopped into the armchair considering this pact I had made with Death. How would I go about this? Who would I choose? To assuage my conscience I persuaded myself that I needed some rules, not to kill violently but with compassion and to enact some form of kindness to the victim before death.

The first victim I chose was Mr. Moriarty my feeble next door neighbor and I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. 


Reena’s prompt #109 based on this image.
With an additional shout out to mbrazfieldm at words less spoken for her inspired post at
We are all connected.

Hands are servants of the mind. The mind commands and the hands obey, because the mind by itself can do nothing in the world. It sits in its ivory tower and schemes but cannot create or destroy without its trusted servants.

He held the world in his hands, spinning the globe, eyeing the curve of a country before placing the globe back on his desk. A whole world out there and he was stuck here teaching Latin to ignorant brats who had no interest in the subject. He sighed, glanced at his watch and exited his study to stroll down to the first form classroom.

“Higgins why is this page full of ink blots. It’s just not acceptable. You will take better care of your exercise book or suffer the consequences”.

He walked to the open cupboard behind his desk and carefully selected the thinnest of the four bamboo canes for maximum results. His hands lovingly caressing the smoothness of the bamboo he walked towards his target.

” Six of the best I think. Kindly stand and left hand up Higgins.”

Higgins stood and slowly held out his quivering left hand. The Latin master placed the cane under Higgins left hand, allowing the cane to caress before swishing down to release his pent up frustration on the world. This routine was continued until the required number was reached, Left hand, right hand. “Sit down Higgins.”

Higgins scrunched his eyes and tried to dam the tears. He somewhat succeeded as they trickled down his face instead of becoming a torrent. His hands stung and he started rubbing them together under the desk and clenching and unclenching his fist to ease the pain. Thankfully the bell rang five minutes later and he was able to adjourn to a quiet corner of the yard to nurse his wounds.

He sat under a tree and closed his eyes, the dam finally bursting to release a torrent of tears. He remembered a happier time when his father was alive. The right reverend Alistair Higgins pastor of St.Peter the Apostle church. His earliest memories were of his fathers nightly blessings, the placing of hands on his head and the soothing calmness that would follow.His father was a healer, a great believer in the laying on of hands to heal the sick. He would visit all his sick parishioners, sit with them, console them and place his hands on them to transfer Gods healing love. In bible study classes his father would tell him to close his eyes and picture the healing hands of Jesus. To visualize Jesus healing him with those sacred hands. But now his father was dead and he was here, sent to boarding school by his step father to make a man of him. He slipped into reverie and tried to picture Jesus’s healing hands, but felt only resentment and hatred for the perceived injustice and the hurt done to him.

“Higgins. Stand up and conjugate the verb abstineo.”

Higgins stood, his mind blank, unable to think under the intimidating stare of his master.

” I expect all homework to be completed Higgins, without exception. Hold out your left hand. Swish. Right hand. Swish. You may sit down.”

There was a day the Latin master failed to appear for class. Rumor circulated that he was very sick. Four months passed before he again made an appearance. Higgins stared at his nemesis, failing at first to recognize him. Who was this thin, frail, shuddering creature before him. Class was finished and Higgins was exiting the room when the Latin master staggered in front of him. Without thinking Higgins reached out a helping hand and steadied the weary master. Without thanks or acknowledgement the master staggered out of the room. Four months later he was dead.

Higgins waiting in line to file past the coffin of the Latin master recalled all the vicious canings he had received at his hands. He rubbed his hands unconsciously trying to erase the previous hurts. Hovering over the coffin, staring at the image of the teacher he once hated, he placed a forgiving hand on the waxen body and turned the other cheek.