It’s about colour,
simply and wonderfully
ignoring distractions,
absorbing,
like water aware of rising and falling,
aware of the observer,
seeing with different eyes.
Monthly Archives: November 2015
On The Wings Of Peace
During the 1980’s, Mike (Michael) Bryant created the Peace card above with a return option for receivers to re-send. He hoped that the chain of Peace would spread around the world. Unfortunately, I didn’t get around to sending it on at that time, I wish I had, but I offered his peace chain on my blog in November 2015, I don’t know how far it eventually travelled and now, for the second time, I offer it once more, to reach the hearts of all people who believe that Peace is the answer, that peace can soften the hardest hearts, that love for our planet and all it’s peoples, animals, vegetation, will bring the light back, to heal and nuture the gift of life in all its forms. 
Image of world globe from original card by Mike Bryant
Wings of Peace is author’s own.
945. Darkness has befallen the beautiful city of lights. Let us pray…
I am heartbroken tonight at what has happened in Paris. I pray that the Lord would comfort the families of those who have been senselessly slaughtered or wounded, that He would heal the wounded and return them to health and wholeness, that He would protect all the responders who are trying to bring an end to the carnage and care for the victims, that He would give leaders, authorities, and enforcers the strength and fortitude to face what lies ahead in the days to come, and that He would put His hand of blessing and safekeeping over Paris, all its citizenry, and the entire country of France. May there be no more heinous crimes against humanity therein. In Jesus’ name! Amen!
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with…
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Irish Poem of the Week: The Mayo Tao by Derek Mahon
Strive for simplicity
The Mayo Tao
I have abandoned the dream kitchens for a low fire
and a prescriptive literature of the spirit;
a storm snores on the desolate sea.
The nearest shop is four miles away –
when I walk there through the shambles
of the morning for tea and firelighters
the mountain paces me in a snow-lit silence.
My days are spent in conversation
with deer and blackbirds;
at night fox and badger gather at my door.
I have stood for hours
watching a salmon doze in the tea-gold dark,
for months listening to the sob story
of a stone in the road, the best,
most monotonous sob story I have ever heard.
I am an expert on frost crystals
and the silence of crickets, a confidant
of the stinking shore, the stars in the mud –
there is an immanence in these things
which drives me, despite my scepticism,
almost…
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