Vivid the dream

We are a dream
Dreamt up by a brain
So vivid is the dream
The brain’s forgotten it’s dreaming!


Bitter-sweet Ache

Old friends, how could I forget them?
Once we were so close
He was cool
She was great in the shower
So what if all we ever did was drink and screw?
I miss those days
I miss the chances I never took
The friendships I let slide
Loves lost in the tumult of careless years
Now I can barely recall their names
Only the sad feeling of the road untrodden
Paths left for the weeds
And the bitter-sweet ache of emotions long buried
Now coming up for air
We were young and stupid and full of life
That life burns in me still


Where can life take us,
Our mind has not already been?
It shall be a place like out of memory,
But strangely different,
Alien, yet like coming home.
It shall be the sum of all our wanderings,
But not taste of failure,
A place we never left,
Grown strange to eyes newly opened.
What name could fit this island,
Floating, lost amidst a dream?
I call it heaven.

Evil, no-evil

Night swallows day,
Sight fails in the inky shroud of black,
Knowledge withers and logic stumbles,
Imagination is tunneled down negative spirals;
A cave full of shadows,
Nothing is real but everything is a threat,
Leaking out on a world turned grey,
The core is poisoned,
The well springs empty,
Coughing, spluttering the seeker is lost,
A deep marsh of melancholy
For boots over-brimming with bitterness,
Hands seek to clutch and fists to lash
At the cruelty of life,
Suffocation – no air to breathe,
No possibilities in a world shrunk to a point.
Then comes the lightning strike-
Instant illumination!
If all is lost then only growth remains,
A new horizon spreading wings by the second,
Through parting clouds the moon shines bright,
A mirror to the soul long lost but un-tattered,
Sails filling up with sudden hope,
Lungs that breathe again like billows to the wind,
Hands no longer grasping round their own throat,
The noose falls away,
Evil recedes,
Thought and emotion tip back the scales of balance,
Imagination is freed and fingers stroke through long grass,
The mountain air clears the fog of war,
Above the stars, oh so many stars,
The spiral path loops ever upwards,
Day is born.

Western thought divides night from day, beautiful from ugly and good from evil. Evil is assigned to the dark; to that which we reject in society and ourselves. We lock away in jail those we judge to be evil, and lock away in our unconscious those parts of ourselves we are ashamed of. But any process of growth must shine the light of awareness into every dark nook and cranny, every shadowed corner full of the pale shapes of our shame and inadequacy. Many people spend their life trying to cover this up, to strengthen the mask, but always their nemesis is there to undo with wrong all they do with right.

In the East of the past evil was more rationally looked at as faulty thinking. This compassionate view saw the criminal as someone whose path through life has not taught him the lessons he needed to be good. His role models were men who tried to survive in any way they could, and so such a man he also became. The desperate, the weak, the afraid will always lash out. In this way we are no different from the dog that has been mistreated and mistrained by its owner. Chained to a lonely corner without discipline, without exercise, without love, it barks and snaps at any and all who pass by.

This does not mean we should open the prisons, that we should allow the street thug to attack us with impunity. To apply what we have learned about evil on others would be like the man who cast the stone before first freeing himself of sin. We must look within to explore the dark depths of our own minds, to bring light to the evil, the faulty thinking in ourselves. This is the only path that leads to stability, to strength, to a way of life that takes from its follower any need to lash out to prove himself to others. To fix the world, we must fix ourselves.

No A for Astronaut

The boy who never learned
The folly of his childhood dream,
Is the boy who never grew.
If only that sacred youth could have kept his eyes shut tight,
His mind bound up on dreams that shone,
Without need for sun or sky,
But the boy who in his mind
Wielded an epee and travelled to Paris,
To be a musketeer,
Was one day told the musketeers were all dead,
Dust and bones
In the grave of history.
And the boy who put down his sword,
In the inventiveness of the desperate
Looked outwards to the furthest shore of space,
And longed to be an astronaut,
To place his feet on land so high
He’d never be the same again,
And yet the careers computer
Had no A for Astronaut.
There is nothing sacred in human life,
Nature abhors dreams that do not change with circumstance,
Only the pen can wield a power that does not dim,
Breaking through the barriers of birth,
Going were no man or boy can imagine,
Tapping the well within that never dries,
But spurts higher with every gulp,
An artery cut under the skin of life,
It hints at depths we will never know,
Drink up my life force as I perish, It says
There is no such thing as rationing life,
Drink deep, dream deep
And as your heart is sundered once again,
Drink deeper still your grief,
And pen another world with your tears,
Until it too ends,
Even then the pen will never stop.


A world so strange and yet so familiar: old friends and distant voyages. And the greatest voyage of all is the journey home. From childhood to wakefulness along a narrow promontory from France to ole England, between and betwixt the radioactivity of history sending our mobile phones and computer games haywire. If this magic touches us will we be contaminated with the truth? The truth that we are not who we think we are? The only way to find out is to carry on dreaming…

Image Credit: salvador dalí

(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014 Registered & Protected