A Vision Of Hell

I’ve been dying for most of my life. I am as aware that my life comes with a use by date as anyone else. I do however seem to spend an inordinate amount of time wondering if I’m going to leave any lasting impression on the world after I’m gone.
I believe in an afterlife, perhaps because I’d hate to think that a lifetime’s memories and experiences just rot away with our bodies. My views on the nature of that afterlife are far too twisted to write of here but I’d like to touch on one thing; My idea of heaven and hell.
I have a theory that when our bodies finally pack it in, all of what we truly are, the soul if you like, becomes one with everything and we have no secrets from anyone else. In this lies the nature of Hell or Heaven. Every other person’s soul you meet beyond the wall of death will see every memory, every thought you have ever had. They will know who you really are. Every evil thought, every stolen selfish moment, forever exposed before everyone you meeting in the afterlife. This is my vision of heaven and hell. Forever is a long time to have no friends.
Keeping this in mind, I find it governs much of my interaction with the world.
Give it some thought.

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Guess who?

Allow me to introduce myself
I’m the callous on your heart
I’m every evil desire you have
I’m gonna tear your little soul apart.
I’m every evil thought you think
I’m the depths to which you are willing to sink.
I am
I am
Your sinful nature

And every time you tell a lie
I am right there by your side
And when someone tries to tell you the truth
I am that urge to run and hide
I am the fear in the back of your mind
I am that secret sin you hope no one will find
I am,
I am,
Your sinful nature

And if you think I’m not around
Or that my words you’ve never spoken
Then I am yours and you are mine
And your heart I will turn to stone
It will never be broken.

Allow me to present to you
My many qualifications
I’ve been leading people astray
Through all time and in all nations
I can lie in Cantonese,
French or German and English with ease
I am,
I am,
Your sinful nature
And though you can hear me all the time
I am very rarely seen
But even when you don’t know I’m around
You can always tell where I’ve been
Where there is arrogance envy and sleaze
Greed and anger and things like these
I am,
I am,
Your sinful nature.
And if you think I’m not around
Or that my words you’ve never spoken
Then I am yours and you are mine
And your heart I will turn to stone
It will never be broken.

Who am I?

So Where Do I Begin???

I guess this is the question that has been bugging me for a very long time.
When it comes to writing your autobiography, it always seems like a good idea until you finally sit down to nut out the events that have made you who you are. The temptation to fudge the details is ever present, but for my own story I think I need to go back to the beginning.

Like most everyone that I know, I was born. My own particular birth took place in Canterbury Hospital, Sydney. Mum tells me that it was a difficult birth, and that I nearly killed her. Strangely, it seems that I have been continuing the attempts on her life ever since.

I’m scared. I have been that way for most of my life. Almost every waking moment and quite a lot of my sleeping moments too. But there are times and circumstances when I have felt and feel truly secure, safe and worthwhile.
When I am mothered, medicated * or mad .
The positive is this. I am growing in strength, and I am becoming braver. It’s just taking a little time. I’m hoping I’ve got that much grace left in my life.

Are You Brainwashed?

Recently, I’ve been thinking bout the world and in particular the West’s attitudes to materialism. Every year we re bombarded by thousands and thousands of messages all aimed at making us want things. Electronic things, sugary things, all sorts of things of which a very small percentage is actually necessary tour happiness or survival.
Somewhere out there are multitudes of minds whose sole purpose is to make you and me buy stuff. Psychologists studying what pushes our buttons, advertising agencies full of creative people wasting their talents on capturing our money and all of them doing quite nicely thank you very much.
Those that can afford the luxuries, and let’s face it they are luxuries, fill their houses with the latest of everything. However they have told us that everyone can have these things, and in situations like that we see things like the looting of London as people that can’t afford the luxuries respond to years of being told they can have it all. I wonder if the west’s faith in consumerism is not at least partially to blame.
On the climate front we may see food shortages in the next few decades,
Kind of makes you wonder what would happen if it was something important like food, instead of TV’s that were being taken doesn’t it. Would we feel differently about the looters?

Just a thought

Sleeping on the ground = A song about poverty of all kinds.

Every day
Wherever your home
See the people barely skin and bone

Every night
All around
See the people sleeping on the ground

Oooh, you know
I wonder why
The rich get richer while the poor ones die
Oooh, you know
It makes me cry
To see people falling for the same old lie.

Selfishness
They say it’s right
It’s preached on television every night.

But happiness
How can it be found
While there are people sleeping on the ground

Oooh, you know
I wonder why
The rich get richer while the poor ones die
Oooh, you know
It makes me cry
To see people falling for the same old lie.

Hearts become
As hard as stone
If we refuse to do the good we’ve known

Hypocrits
We will be found
If we do nothing for those sleeping on the ground

Oooh, you know
I wonder why
The rich get richer while the poor ones die
Oooh, you know
It makes me cry
To see people falling for the same old lie.

Ask yourself
What have you done
To meet the needs of the needy ones

What goes round
Will come around
If we don’t help those sleeping on the ground

Oooh, you know
I wonder why
The rich get richer while the poor ones die
Oooh, you know
It makes me cry
To see people falling for the same old lie.

Oooh, you know,
I hate to see
A rich land blind to it’s spiritual poverty.
When those, who know
The truth are found
They’ll be helping those sleeping the ground