A Good Day

Greetings, I hope you are enjoying the new year so far. It certainly promises to be an interesting ride. I took the above pics while sitting in the car during a ten minute drive around. Sadly, I can’t spend much more time than this away from home without experiencing extreme exhaustion. Having said that, I am grateful for all that I can do, and this was a good day.

Every remaining day, of one particular summer holiday when I was a boy, and Just back home from the family fortnight, I would meet with my friends, and we would play together in abandoned neighbouring farmland. Before long, we put our heads together, and decided to build a two level treehouse in the branches our favourite oak tree. It was ancient, and tall, with many long branches for us to utilise. We loved this tree like a member of our gang. We utilised available planks and rope, and whatever else we could find lying scattered where the farmhouse had stood. The treehouse took less than a week to complete. Here we drunk lemonade, and swapped comics. When hungry, we helped ourselves to apples, gooseberries, strawberries, and suchlike. They grew freely and in abundance amongst the wildflowers and tall bushes growing all around. All in all, it was turning out to be a very good summer holiday.

One day, when September was approaching, a gang of ruffians bore down on us. They came, orc-like, thrashing through the tall grass. They threatened to hurt us if we didn’t surrender our treehouse. My friends decided it would be wise to run away, and so they did. Not this fool. I refused to surrender, and defended the structure from barrage after barrage of flying stones taken from a crumbling boundary wall. Next thing, the thin planks making up one side of our den were demolished. I grabbed the corrugated iron roofing and made a shield around my exposed flank. The raining stones were deafening against my ear, and worse yet were the threats and taunts. Before long, the floor collapsed, and I fell, wearing short sleeves and trousers, into the moat of tall nettles that was lying directly below. 

We lost our hideaway that day. The gang took over the remains of our treehouse. Days passed, and that would have been it, except for the surprising fact that I had earned their respect, or so it seems. One of them approached me with an invitation to join them for an afternoon in the tree, and I accepted. The first thing I noticed was that the wild flowers that graced the field were all gone. The treehouse had received some very rudimentary repairs, and I sat, with some trepidation, in a corner, to observe the ways of these boys. They read naughty mags, and smoked cigarettes. I flatly refused both things. They spoke rudely, and plotted ill doings, including thefts, and truancy. When they grew hungry, there was no fruit growing for free to be found, and so they opted to scrump apples from a dwelling close to the road. From here they were chased off promptly, and with strongly worded threats to call the police ringing in their ears. I didn’t waste a single minute more of my time with these fellows, but I do thank them sincerely for the truly great lesson about life, and mother earth they gave me on that one cloudy afternoon. 

Now they remind me of our brothers and sisters who have stolen by force, the earth herself, leaving wastelands behind them. *Thorn bushes grow where the enemy has camped. Many decades have passed since our happy treehouse, and the way the earth once fed us freely. The landscape of childhood has changed out of recognition. It is built over, and no longer allowed to feed any hungry children at play. I miss mother earth. So much of the bounty that heaven provides freely according to our need, has had a price put on it by naughty children who throw stones. I am very happy though, to contemplate the fact that too much Yang will become Yin. Therefore the pendulum is, perforce, swinging back again towards universal righteousness, and nothing but nothing can stop it. The good are becoming better, while the better are becoming best. Can you not feel this, like a call coming from inside of yourself?

I hope you enjoyed that memory of mine from a time long gone. The moral is timeless. Until next time, peace and good cheer from me.

“Oh Thou, from whom the breath of life comes,

who fills all realms of sound, light and vibration.

May Your light be experienced in my utmost holiest.

Your Heavenly Domain approaches.

Let Your will come true – in the universe

just as on earth 

Give us wisdom for our daily need,

detach the fetters of faults that bind us,

like we let go the guilt of others

Let us not be lost in superficial things

but let us be freed from that what keeps us off from our true purpose.

From You comes the all-working will, the lively strength to act,

the song that beautifies all and renews itself from age to age.

Sealed in trust, faith and truth.”

Jesus.

The Lord’s Prayer, in its original Aramaic form.

Photography ©Francis Moloney.

 *Lau Tzu.

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Artificial Habitat

Greetings, and best ever Christmas wishes to you. These pics were taken recently at a nearby Public Aquarium.

I feel that from the point of view of these marvellous and beautiful creatures, their world is a sort of prison. We have built a prison for them, even as we build prisons for ourselves. Encouragingly enough though, these particular captives don’t seem to suffer from any shortage of stimulation in this well-kept artificial habitat of theirs. How lovely it is too, to see the faces of visiting children light up in wonder at their first ever glimpse of these living marvels.

I wish that all captive creatures* were treated so well; and I hope that one day soon, we will agree to honour them all, and nature, in deep and wiser ways. 

With that, may I wish you strength, and peace, to carry you into what promises to be a very stimulating New Year.

Be undivided in your affectionate kindness for all life. Keep your mind flexible.

*Including mermaids.

Photography ©Amanda Moloney.

Ruby Red and Russet

 

After the rain, we can tiptoe together on a crimson carpet, through leaves of ruby-red on russet. Our garden hosts seven Japanese Maples; whose leaves fill every corner when November comes.

I find the colours breathtaking, and I enjoy sharing them. From flaming Acer leaves, to a golden butterfly perched on a ginkgo branch, and a violet hydrangea, whose petals turn blue when cold. These were all taken over the last three weeks. Please enjoy.

Indescribably wonderful is the gift of sight, and now is a very fine moment in which to give thanks for that gift, and to send much love to those who are forced to live without it.

May the light of love for this good earth shine forth brightly from the eyes of one and all, from this moment forwards, and then on forevermore.

Peace from Amras.

“When you learn to look with love in your eyes at all around you 

and appreciate the beauty of your planet, 

you will know that you are free at last.”

Montague Keen.

 

Posted on the morning of my 65th.

Photography ©Francis Moloney.

Green, Red, and Gold

Greetings. Autumn’s finest, as viewed in various corners of our garden throughout October. With leaves so red beneath a sky so rarely this blue of late, what a blessing it is indeed to enjoy the garden on a sunny day. And although it’s becoming bitterly cold at times, well, there’s always Christmas to look forward to.

When the sun still shines in our hearts, on even the darkest of days, then we can always see the road ahead. The sun never shines in anger, or in judgement. It never shines for one, and not the other. It harms none but those who aren’t prepared.

The poet Charles Causely wrote “I am the great sun, but you do not see me”. May we never be so blind – because the sun is an example of the ways of heaven.

I will just insert a note here, to say that I am having technical difficulties when attempting to like some of my favourite blogs. I find great value in all of your works, and always wish to show my appreciation by liking. So please accept my apologies.

Having said that, I hope you enjoyed the pics – and now it’s Namaste, and peace from me.

 

  In my Soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.

Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.

Is there not a region of Love, where the Sovereignty is illuminated nothing,

Where ecstasy gets poured into itself and becomes lost,

Where the wing is fully alive but has no mind or body?

In my Soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
that dissolves, that dissolves in God.

Rabia of Basra (c.717-801)

 

 

Photography ©Francis Moloney.