Applauding Melvin Bragg

Heroes of the Modern Age

So much credit is given these days to the thoughts and ideas of scientists as heroes of our modern age, especially prominent celebrity scientists like Richard Dawkins and to a lesser degree Brian Cox. In the mind of the collective consciousness, it is horrifying philosophically speaking, when a great scientific idea is heralded as the ‘answer’ to all things and the proposer of a new scientific theory is given god-like status.
Any new pinnacle suddenly reached in human understanding becomes, it seems by default, the platform for disbelieving all that went before. We live daily in the shock of the future, where as Toffler argued, we cannot ever keep up with the pace of the juggernaut. We have no time to reflect, so we simply jettison the past (often the riches of the past) to lighten the load so that we may keep up.
I applaud Melvin Bragg who at the Hay Literary Festival recently, when speaking of the importance of the English King James Bible, said as an aside, much to this effect that ‘he could not understand how someone like Dawkins, who obviously has great intelligence, can be so profoundly wrong about matters spiritual’. His audience was not quite prepared for such a brave statement; their silence indicated their confusion, in the face of the relentless blind acceptance of new scientific ideas often so arrogantly stated by society’s ‘heroes’.
Religion, spirituality, science, technology, justice, moral teaching and ethics, philosophy, laws and democracy in our society, all stem from the mind of man. No one subject has pre-eminence over another and no one subject can do without the rest it seems to me, and an holistic approach to answering the big questions can and should be given credence. No one should ever deny the right of any thinker to argue freely for his belief, but new ideas should be presented with respect for the views of others, an approach often disregarded by one track dogmatic scientists.

Autumn Poem

Trees turning now

Dry leaves falling

Listen, hear autumn calling

Then winter is also here

Holly green and berry red

Means this summer’s dead

Winter red in tooth and claw

Blood upon the virgin snow

The arrow flies from the bow

It’s time for us to depart

Cold sleet and bone ice chill

Seizes us and tries to kill

It’s time for us.

　

True Supernatural Story

Thetford Priory

For some years in my younger days I had what some might say was the perfect job. I was employed as a surveyor of ancient monuments by the British Government. This meant I was able to visit many old churches, castles, neolithic sites and ruined abbeys and cathedrals in the daily course of my work. I spent many happy hours sketching and recording architectural details at these wonderful sites and of course much of the time it was during the beautiful English summers.

Many of the buildings had long histories stretching back several hundred years and of course there was at times a very palpable sense of the past. Old buildings are said to carry within their walls residual echoes of its past inhabitants. To be honest I never gave much thought to ghosts and supernatural happenings until one summer’s day in Thetford in Suffolk.

I was carrying out a survey of the ruins that was once a spectacular Norman Cluniac Priory founded in 1103. The superstructure of the once impressive buildings had long been destroyed by the iconoclastic men of Henry VIII going about their awful business during the dissolution of the monasteries and this priory was abandoned in 1536. There must have been great sadness and much violence done at Thetford when the priory was torn down. 

I had resumed my work after lunch and was mapping out the position of stub stone columns all that now remained of the great supporting structure that held up the large timber roof beams. The site was closed to the public on that day and the resident caretaker had gone into town for some supplies so I was quite alone. I suddenly became aware of a person to the left of my vision and quickly looking up saw a gowned figure pass behind the mass of a column and disappear from view. I put my sketch pad and pencil down on the grass and walked to the other side of the column to apprehend whoever it was, for on this day when the monument was closed, they had no right to be in the grounds. Before turning the corner of the ruined masonry I called out “Hello! You shouldn’t be here today!”

I was just about to add as I got to the far side “because the monument is shut to the public...” when I was surprised to see that no one was there. I was perplexed to say the least because I had definitely spied the figure just moments before. Calling out again in aloud voice “Hello...Hello!” I ran to several of the other piles of masonry where I thought they might be hiding but I found no one. It was at that point I felt a distinct chill course through my body and the hairs on neck stood on end. As I write these words the same feeling is coursing through me. It was only today when researching some information about the Priory in Wikipedia that I read that the place was haunted and was the subject of the TV documentary ‘Ghosthunters’. I do believe I had on that day experienced a ghost, perhaps a hooded monk still walking the sacred grounds of his once thriving Priory.  

Bankruptcy

Afraid of bankruptcy?! 'Going broke holds no fear for me. Why? because I am nearer to death than bankruptcy!'

Who said this?

Lynching

There is an old story from 15^th Century Galway which goes like this. There once was a young man who was passionately in love with a fiery red head in the town of Galway in Ireland.  One evening whilst strolling through the town the young man happened upon his love in the arms of a Spanish sailor.  Enraged he drew his sword and ran the Spaniard through.  He was tried and found guilty of murder and sentenced to hang but such was his standing in the town of Galway none would step forward to carry out the execution.  The tragedy of the young man’s death becomes a family matter.  His father, the Mayor of Galway, in order to uphold the law took it upon himself to hang his own son from the upper window of his own residence.  If you are ever in Galway, thinking that this tale is false, then ask a Galwegian to show you the window,  from where the young man met his end, for it has been preserved. It is said that because the Mayor and his son name was Lynch that this is the origin of the word lynching.

An afterthought – I mused that this story bore similarity to the death of Christ upon the cross which was commanded by the Father in heaven, except that Jesus was guilty of no crime.

Poem for today (Silence)

In the silence there is a voice

In the darkness there is a light

The voice cannot be heard

The light cannot be seen

Shut your ears and close your eyes

Open your heart and mind

And you will understand

The wisdom of The Voice

And you will bathe in the purity of The Light

'Be Still and know that I Am God'

Dublin - Coming Home!

It feels like coming home.  To be standing on O’Connell Street in Dublin and knowing that many great Irish authors and writers walked along these pavements is a sense of personal awe and joy for me.  Then onto Easons Bookshop where on the groundfloor there were lifesize portraits of many famous Irish literary men such as John Millington Synge author of  ‘The Playboy of the Western World’, 'Dierdre of the Sorrows' and many other great works, Oscar Fingal O’Flaherty Wills Wilde, Sean O’Casey, William Butler Yeats, George Bernard Shaw. The master himself  James Joyce, author of ‘The Dubliners’, ‘Finnegans Wake’, ‘Ulysses’ – the list of great writers seems endless.  I could spend another lifetime here just paying homage to all of them but most of all to my late friend Patrick Declan O’Riordan who introduced Irish literature to me many years ago and made them come alive with his wonderful recitations.