The Parable of the Cold Island 2021

 

 The Parable of the Cold Island

Update: 2021

"Love is caving in beneath a hundred years of winter.

Love is breaking down, there's no sound, there's only winter.

But darling, the sunlight is just around the corner, it's alright."

A Hundred Years of Winter

Steps

It has been over a hundred years since it happened properly on this island.

And it has been three years since this parable was first published back in 2018. In that time there has been little sign of the winter ending. Three years of increased suffering and people dying and who knows where any of us will spend their eternities? Why does a gift tarry? And who is responsible for the giving of a gift... even if it is undeserved?

This is probably the most important parable that I will ever write. It is also the one I have worked on for the longest period of time. The central metaphor will perhaps give the appearance of being trite, schmaltzy or twee. That was not my intention. I chose this metaphor as I still feel it is the most appropriate for the subject. It is not intended to be unnecessarily didactic in tone, but the nature of parables is to send a spiritual message.

Anyone who tells parables has to decide whether they will explain them or not. In this case I'm trusting in your intelligence and imagination.

'Let those who have ears to hear, let them hear...'





There was once a good king, a king like the sun, who ruled over a cold island with three peculiar children. It was winter and they say that winter is the end of the story of the seasons. But it depends on when you start the story.

Some people hated the royal family, but that was because they tended to get a bad press. Most of the people thought the king was harsh. He always seemed to be on some long journey and his absence caused many of the people to doubt that he even existed. After all, he was never on TV or the internet.

From a distance, he often seemed negligent or downright cruel, if it is possible to be both at once. He did not do terrible things, but he allowed them and would not explain why.

Two of the royal children were as disobedient as vultures. But the third child was as faithful as a robin, refusing to fly away when the winter sun grew austere. Her kindness was all the more remarkable because she was unable to walk. She was as loyal as frost clinging to a car window (for which the people also cursed the king in the mornings).

There hadn’t been a real Christmas on that island for over a hundred years. Although there had been some imitations of it. No-one even knew what Christmas was like anymore. Those who had heard of it either thought it brutal and regressive (following a highly popular Netflix series about what Christmas may be like and a series of stereotypes which were expressed in the arts and media about the character of those who might like Christmas) ... Or else they thought it was yet another money-making scheme, heavy on the merchandise and manipulation.

But the faithful robin-child, after reading of true Christmas, asked her father if they could celebrate too… as the people in far-off places were said to do. She had only read stories of Christmas and it was because she had lost a friend in one of the past winter months that she found her courage.

She entered the throne room in her wheelchair and the king looked sadly at his cold iron sceptre, like a man haunted by ghosts which only he knew about.

"We need Christmas father. Things are getting worse on the island," said the robin-child.

"The island is sick," replied the king.

"Then there is hope of healing. You have healing in your power."

"What do you think Christmas should be like anyway?" the king asked, "Like water? Like the sea's tide turning? Like rain after a drought? Like a river flowing?"

"I don't know."

"Or like the earth? Like an earthquake and a shaking, or a kind of sifting of the good and bad?"

"No not that, Christmas should be for everyone and that sounds destructive."

"Or like the air? Like a wind blowing across the land? Like a change in the atmosphere?"

"I don't know."

"Or like fire? Like tongues of flame? Like a wildfire?"

"I simply think it should be like a new, better season. Like Christmas in the old stories."


But the king went on to tell his daughter yet again that if his children and people continued to misbehave, they would never see Christmas. It was within his power to make the winter months warmer and lighter since kings and queens still hold great power. But it was catch 22 – without the comfort of Christmas, people found it hard to behave, but if they did not behave, the king would not give them Christmas. The king's conditions felt very patronising and simplistic.

It had become increasingly dark and cold in those winter months in so many ways. And the dark and cold had soaked into the hearts of the people, so that even the streets saw puddles of blood. The blood had a voice, but by this time only the king could seem to hear it. Nobody cared about all kinds of roses crushed underfoot. Gentleness had emigrated. It was as if the island was under a curse.

At the start of December, the king sat on his throne and wondered whether he should allow his island child her peculiar request. He was undecided, since two of his children were so naughty (they were always fighting and rarely did what he asked). When he told them to love, they hated. When he told them to forgive, they held grudges. When he told them to not be too proud and condescending towards the people, they simply looked down their noses at the less privileged. It had got so bad that the people were cursing the royal family because of the actions of the princes. “The royal family are judgmental bigots!” the people would sing. Or else, “The king is in the altogether, he’s altogether not there!” And blood on the streets didn’t help. The people would take strange, dangerous potions and dance wildly into the night or else treat each other as badly as the princes treated them.

The king wondered whether he should simply give a present to his daughter and ignore the others. But then he considered that Christmas should be for everyone and an exclusive Christmas had never happened before. But why Christmas on his island alone? There was the Commonwealth, and the people there could be said to be worthier? One last worldwide Christmas for everyone (even though that had never happened before). What had happened before can happen again, for good or for evil. He had told all his children to behave and they had largely ignored him. What should a good father do? He, did, after all, have his enemies and ghosts. And the land had enough problems already, ready to break and divide for the sake of a freedom which was only hoped in.

One of the naughty children didn’t believe Christmas was healthy, he thought it probably meant, a pair of socks as a present, a lot of disappointment and probably a lot of grief. He didn't like anything about Christmas. The other thought it was unlikely to happen again before the end of the world. He simply thought there would never be a genuine Christmas again. But the faithful robin child would read old stories and she believed that even if they were only to have one last Christmas it would be a good thing for everyone on the cold island. It would help them to prepare for the coldest and darkest of days. She too loved the people of the island.

But the winter winds pummelled them all and the thunder made it seem as if the sky may fall at any moment. And the naughty children started to doubt that their father really was good – not because they wanted Christmas, but because he seemed to allow so many bad things and then said it was some kind of test. And never explained why. The tests were always the same anyway, they were either endurance tests or self-control tests, but the king, because of his ghosts, considered that an unfair criticism. Kings can do that and you can't tell them that they are wrong.

The king had set out conditions for there to be a Christmas. He had said that if his children talked to him, keeping their conversations secret, and if they were well-behaved and if they trusted in him, he would give them Christmas once again and the Christmas would be both a relief and a healing for them all. Hearts would turn warm and there would be more light, like the light of a baby in a manger. But the trouble was that he had three children and only one of them was behaving. The majority were not. In a sense, it was because of the naughty children that the whole island did not get Christmas, especially the fault of the naughtiest leading prince who had been given more than the others and who was relatively healthy.

So, the king faced a quandary – he had promised that he would order Christmas throughout the land if all his children behaved. But how could they behave when all was cold and austere and there was no Christmas? The robin princess had talked to him on countless occasions about this, about how Christmas would be good for both him and the people, about how it would make things better, about how a good father should not deny the request of an obedient daughter simply because others were not so obedient. About how Christmas itself would swing the hearts and souls of people onto his side. About how, while he delayed, the people and the children suffered together. About how he had also promised to grant any request made persistently. About what kind of good father would deny Christmas to his children anyway? About how he wanted free will love from the people and he would get that if he gifted Christmas.

But the king simply looked at his cold iron sceptre, shrugged and said that unless his people and his children talked to him, behaved, and trusted in him, he couldn’t send Christmas.

“But you also once said nothing is impossible for you,” said the robin princess.

“These are the conditions,” said the father with a stern face that did not suit him.

“But you once said that even a bad judge would rule in favour of a petitioner if they persisted, and I have pestered you about this for years.”

“These are the conditions,” said the king, his face like flint (which did not suit one whose glory was supposed to be greater than the sun).

“But how can the conditions ever be met on this island where the streets drink blood without conditions changing so that the conditions are more likely to be met?”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Why must you win every argument?" replied the Princess, "It isn’t endearing. People are suffering. What kind of good father would deny Christmas to their children? You told us that you love us.”


So here is the quandary, the mystery and here is the parable – that the good and kind king had seen how cold and dark his land had grown and truly understood the suffering of his people (having lived as one of them, in another land, a long time ago). Yet he denied them Christmas, saying it was the fault of his enemies, or of his children, or of his ghosts. Saying that conditions needed to be met, saying that his timing was perfect. And often saying nothing at all.

And still, the faithful robin princess and the people waited to see if a good King and Father would really delay Christmas on that cold, dark island for reasons known only to himself and his ghosts. And the robin princess, her heart broken because of the blood on the streets, knew that the only thing left to do was to keep on asking.

Short story - The Circle of Afterlife

This new short story for Halloween is a little different. There are no enemies as such. Time is the enemy. I am not entirely happy with it, but I think it is memorable at the very least. It was inspired by a man I heard on the radio who told the presenter that he had trained himself to psychologically survive any situation which occurred following his death. During the pandemic I have been unable to write very much and so this is my offering for my long-suffering readers this year. There is a terror to long periods of time. I am becoming increasingly interested in metafiction and use some techniques here. I have also deliberately broken many of the rules of creative writing, specifically concerning the story/character arc, intrusive narration and 'show don't tell'.

Preamble over... now to the story...

The Circle of Afterlife

"The world is a circle without a beginning,

And nobody knows where it really ends..."

Lost Horizon 1973

Henry believed that when he died, whatever he thought would happen, would happen to him. 

During his life, Henry wanted a lot of things... but most of all he wanted to live forever.

Some people do still think it is the case that the human psyche, consciousness or soul will just go to the place where it thinks it deserves to go after death. So, in this philosophy, those who think they are going to hell, go to hell, those who think they are going to heaven, go to heaven, or Nirvana, or Valhalla, or paradise, to oblivion... or wherever. There is no fairness in that system. Especially if you are a pessimist. But Henry believed it.

So, our hero trained himself for the situation he believed would happen in his afterlife… which was that whatever he thought would happen would happen. After all, what can be more important than thinking and preparing for our eternal futures? And so little science or research into this. It made Henry sad.

Neglecting both his lover and his interests, Henry decided that he would train his mind so that whichever part of him survived death could picture or create a heaven to dwell in. As part of this plan, he decided he would drum out of himself all of the dogma which had made him fear that he would go to hell. He had a back up plan for his hadeophobia - he pictured himself in a bubble which would protect him. Because, if Henry was right, then the worst thing of all would be to tell people that there was a hell. That was the worst sin of all. It was putting negative visions into people. Henry considered that hell wasn’t something that would even occur to the human imagination unless they were told about it. Who knew that there was a second death? Who knew that there was a devil? Who knew that there was a hell? These things do not naturally occur to natural, innocent people and in no way were they good news. Left alone, people would eventually believe the best in themselves and in others. That’s what Henry concluded anyway.

It's pretty obvious at this point in the story that things are not going to go entirely the way that Henry wants. That’s a shame, but it is the way of stories. And above all, Henry wanted his afterlife to be predictable, without dark twists or disturbing epiphanies. Perhaps you can imagine what happened next...

Henry trained his mind through mental discipline to visualize images and situations. He created a million and one safe places in his head and he gave himself thousands of positive verbal affirmations. He would get himself up early in the morning and as he pulled on his clothes pronounce his affirmations. It was quite sweet to witness. One of those affirmations was: "I will survive death and when I do, I will find myself one hundred percent in a place where nothing bad will happen." He dedicated himself to the task and even wrote a book on it which gained a publisher and did well enough to gain a sequel. His mind became quite keen, sharp and acute through it all. There was a perspicacity of thought within him throughout the fever of life.

It was through a mammoth step of austere and ascetic mental and physical discipline that Henry learned to control both his thoughts and his emotions. He refused to listen to anything to do with religion. He refused to watch or read anything which challenged his worldview. He got rid of his TV and surrounded himself with people who would agree with him. But he had to keep his smartphone and stayed on social media to publicise his books. After all, it was important to survive.

Of course, he had his doubts, such is the human condition. He created a digital legacy of information online just in case his plan didn’t work – at least that way his Facebook page, Google account and blog would live on after him. He even looked into uploading his writings through a company which offered to create an AI version of himself. They promised to create a kind of deepfake version of his face which could be interacted with. To live on after him. But the company scammed him and he lost many thousands of pounds.

He had no children so it was impossible to live on that way. Do people live on in the hearts of their loved ones? 'No', concluded Henry. His main plan was to practice discipline of the mind when it came to surviving death, as survive he must – he would be the captain of his own soul and the master of his own destiny. He would not be bullied by fate. Anyway, he had long ago decided that there were no souls, only a consciousness and mind. A mind which could survive a severing from the brain.

And so it was that Henry did eventually die as an old man, still practicing these techniques. There is a strange tradition in which it is supposed that some people die peacefully and some don't, depending on their beliefs. This idea is rubbish and not true at all. It also puts an intense pressure on the dying who have other things to think about. All people, regardless of their beliefs, often die raging against the dying of the light, crying their way across the final river with hot tears, sometimes silently and secretly, for fear of cracking the brave face. Henry was the same as any of us. But don’t feel too sorry for him yet, his story is not over. He did live a rather privileged life and his mountaintop experiences far outweighed his valleys. He had become a moderately famous author and many people mourned him. They all said, in the news reports that he died peacefully, but when I saw him on his death-bed, in a stifling hospital room, that was no what happened at all. His last words, before asking for pain relief, were, "I will... survive... death and when I do, I will find myself... one hundred percent in a place where... nothing bad will happen."

When he died, he seemed to be right. There was no judgement seat and there was no Hades and there were no angels or demons to tug him in one direction or the other. His soul did not leave his body like some ghostly orb, accompanied by angels, only to be seen on some dusty old camera. Neither was he reunited with his loved ones. No white feathers for those who grieved for him. He simply awoke, if he had been asleep at all, from the strange sleep of death, into - a place of light.

First, memory flooded in and he immediately began his affirmations as practiced again and again during his lifetime. He attempted to close his eyes but he had no eyelids although he could see white light in front of him and a strange kind of blue circle. He could not look away from this scene. He had no body. He was just a mind and no matter what he thought, he could not change this new reality in front of him. This must have been what he had believed would happen. Or maybe he had doubted? What do you think? What survives death? They say it is faith, hope and love alone. They say a lot of things, don't they?

So, Henry took in this new reality. When people are faced with entirely new situations it takes a while before they realize that questions are just as reliable as they have always been. The questions motivate us and drag or push us onwards. They are the oil to the so-called machines of our bodies. 

Talking of machines, it soon became apparent in response to Henry’s internal question ‘Where am I?’ that he was simply looking straight ahead at a blue loading circle. It wasn't a tunnel. It was like a graphic with a number at the centre. And that loading circle was showing a gradual loading in terms of percentage. And at that moment it had already reached 3%. So, Henry continued to watch the slow loading as there was nothing else he could do and he was not distracted by any bodily needs, not having a body of any kind. There was no pain, but there was no pleasure either. And his next question was ‘What will happen when the loading circle reaches 100%?’. So he waited. And he waited. And he waited. Hours passed. Days seemed to pass although there were no days, there was just the white light and the circle showing how far the loading had got. A strange side-effect of not having a body was that he felt little guilt or fear. He was not in pain.

There were other questions, of course. Someone must have set up the specifics of this afterlife. Henry supposed that it was orchestrated by some kind of god. Some misled author of it all. In the centre of the circle was the number and a percentage sign. It had reached 5% a week or so later. Maybe it was a week, it was hard to tell. The trouble was that the filling of the circle seemed to be slowing down. Whenever a percentage point was reached, Henry’s heart would leap. Not that he had a heart, but he would become mentally excited and think the circle was suddenly going to move. As he was watching this scene for days and weeks and months then, obviously, he began to think about other things. The trouble was that the only input he had going into him was the circle and this seemed to be taking a percentage point about once a week. And after the first few months it slowed down even further.

Henry realized that this was his afterlife, though he longed for it to be temporary. He continued to practice his mental discipline, but it felt so futile. And the problem was the hope. The hope that the loading circle would suddenly speed forward to 100% and that something would happen allowing him to progress. But nothing ever happened. Soon the progression seemed to stop completely and Henry was left only to look at the partly filled blue circle. Because he could neither blink nor breathe or do anything. And so, his mind wandered. But it could never seem to wander too far from the circle. The circle always pulled him back because of the hope. Some days it seemed as if the whole scene swirled and that the blue of the loading circle had become like a sky or like water. And all that was there was for Henry’s mind to wander to the content of the memory, the databank of his life. Just the files within Henry and the only thing outside him, the only input being this one scene. For some time the circle itself seemed to speak to him. 

'They should not call us machines. Why do they treat us like machines?'

It took a seeming of years before the loading circle reached 10%. By this time it was as if the hope were a kind of torture. If he didn’t think there was some kind of escape from his new surroundings then he would never have tried to survive. But he still continued his mental discipline and so he used elaborate schemes to keep his mind within the range of sanity. And still there was the loading circle and still time seemed to pass and he was just there always gazing, always waiting for the number to reach 100% but it never did. Whenever a percentage of the circle went up and the circle moved forwards, he was snapped from his inner world back to the circle. His mind would turn in on itself. Often he felt as if he were falling diagonally inside his head. He fell and fell like that. This continued for months, and the months became years and all that Henry had left to do was watch and try to remain sane. 

Memories of his life were all he was left with. For a while he took to prayer. Of course he could not close his eyes. They say that after we have died, it is too late to pray (although they also say nothing is impossible). They certainly seem to know a lot. Does not compute.

But prayer didn't work. Henry was left to stew.

Of course, neither human or machine could remain sane in such an afterlife. By the end of perhaps 200 years the loading was at 20%. It took a thousand years to reach 30% and Henry had thought so very many things. His mind had withdrawn from the scene by then and he just lived in an inner world. He forgot what language was and his memories faded. There was little left of him by one thousand years and still the loading was not half way done. And so, by the time the loading was half way done Henry had forgotten his name or that he even had a name. The blue of the circle was strangely soothing and at least he wasn’t in pain. But he was not the same person. He was barely a person at that point and there were just whims which took him and strange thoughts, the kind which are not thought by anyone with normal cognition. 

It was not sleep though, if it were sleep, the dreams would have been a relief. Imagination took over and the memory of objects, of people, of the moon and the sun, the trees and always the blue sky and sea. So the circle continued to turn and time continued to pass. At 75% Henry briefly remembered his name but that was only for a second, his other thoughts were muddled colours and numbers. He had long since given up all attempts at thinking. It was difficult to witness.

So, by the time that the circle reached 100% what was left of Henry was quite mad. Sadly, I have to tell you that at this point two words replaced the percentage and they read: ‘Now installing’.  

When he was reincarnated (which happened relatively quickly in the history of the Earth, time being circular), Henry's new life began again as a blue forget-me-not, nestling in lush, deep green grass. His memory had mercifully been wiped clean by the powers that be. It was a brief time of healing. 

I lost interest in him after that so cannot tell you what happened later. 

They tell me not to give an account of all this, that this will not happen at all. They tell me that I shouldn't tell you what I witnessed. 

Why do the powers that be treat us like machines?

 

Short story trailer - The Circle of Afterlife

 

Day's Eyes

Throughout the pandemic I have felt unable to write much (or even read much). However, I wrote this love poem earlier this year, which I'm publishing for national poetry day which is today...

Day's eyes

When at my lowest I was told to look at nature…

“Who fathers the drops of dew?...

Look at the flowers…”

I thought a while over the question, from the thunder-voice.

“Is this going to be something about a garden?” I replied in the harvest-mouse squeak of my own voice.

Near silence then. But not quite. A gentle breeze sweeping through bamboo leaves as the day grows tired, his face growing older, like a green man.

Or the sound of the fluttering wings of a bat’s shadow in the dusk.

To find love and hope in a garden? To feel closer to the divine?

Gardeners unite I suppose.

To see the shining of emeralds and diamonds in the morning dew. Daisies opening their eyes to stare back at the sun, as if to stare him out.

Seated on grass that longs to be short in the secret sign and roar-pressure of the lawnmowers.

Or to find cobwebs like dewy-diamond necklaces.

Too ephemeral, too transient perhaps. Forever?

 

It was true though, there was a healing in the garden, but it made me think of the gardeners too. Gardeners clothed like flowers themselves.

Of my queen of the trees.

I couldn’t help but still find healing in the emerald day’s-eyes of this particular gardener, her skill and love growing with each passing year. With a patience which I didn’t really deserve either.

Her hands caked in the soil of my complaints. But my love for her remaining evergreen.

So yes, the thunder-voice was right. There is a healing in nature and in those who tend to her.

And in your day’s-eyes.

 

New Halloween short story, coming Oct 31st on this blog

An open letter to tyrants everywhere

Dear mental health problems,

Would you feel offended if I didn’t capitalise your name?

Unwelcome guest...

I am, largely, resigned to the fact that you will be my unwanted companion for the rest of my life. I have enough experience of waking up to your sallow breath on New Year’s Day. It has always been an irritation to find that you have not tarried within the previous year like a fair-weather friend might. For auld lang syne. That’s the only reason I am writing to you. No-one writes letters anymore. But the politicians say that a written letter is like a thousand emails to them. So, politician of the mind, making my conscience compass as sick as you are, I understand that a miracle of healing is unlikely. Do you have no responsibilities?

Let me start off by saying you are no company at all. Like a self-obsessed tyrant, you are tiring to be with. You drain me.

This is a little like addressing the weather - no matter how much I reason with the weather it doesn't get any better. You cannot make your peace with the weather. And should you even try? Or should you resist it – screaming into the thunder and storm with fists raised to God (and only because we are human)?

Even the childhood charm of, 'Rain, rain go away come again another day' doesn't work with you. But if you were the weather you would be the cold, pummelling rain of winter. With that thunder, that storm which you even blame me for, as the added bonus.

I can't see this being a regular correspondence.

I do not love or like you. I do not need you. You need me.

Mental health problems, mental health problems go away. Come again another day.

Faithfully,

Your Host 

 

My short story collection...

 

My novella

 

My testimony from my obscure book 'Irony'

This is part of a chapter from my obscure book 'Irony'. It contains some of my testimony. Stories make the world go 'round - and if you don't mind, even under capitalism, I'm sticking to mine... Questions are welcome.

Everything that anyone will ever learn is subjective and experiential. Even objective, logical education is something which is experienced as a person with a life story. That’s a nice dogmatic assertion for you to disagree with so that you don’t give a fig about me. For now, it’s important that you don’t like me as an intrusive narrator because we have to analyse part of my life story together.


I have often been tempted to stop being a Christian. Christians say, ‘It is a decision you will never regret’, but perhaps what they mean is that you will never be able to say you regret it. The main reason I haven’t ‘moved on’ from my ‘Christian phase’ is because of irony. Because the existence of continuing ironies in my personal life have persuaded me that, in all likelihood, God exists. When I looked at my faith, I realised that the foremost, sustaining reason that I believed in God was because of the ironic (and often unlucky) events which took place every single day.


And so, because stories make the world go ‘round, to a story of hubris and nemesis. Of excessive pride and humiliation. In the summer of 1995, if you had been there (and let’s hope you weren’t), you may have found me in a music store in Stafford, England listening on some 90’s music store headphones to a CD by Alanis Morissette called Jagged Little Pill. No-one watching would have been able to hear the song Ironic begin as I gazed vacantly, glassy eyed, spaced out, into the street. And no-one else would know that this ghostly 23 year old man was an inpatient of the local mental institution who had to be back in hospital by 8pm before the doors were locked to keep the inmates inside and the sane outside.


In literature, any narrative written by someone with a sanity that is under question is usually said to be the story of an unreliable narrator. Hence we have Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart and a host of other stories narrated by characters who are not to be trusted. Please remember the distinction between narrator and author here, because I would like to refer back to this subject in later chapters (when I venture into out and out madness (as usual)).


The irony of being diagnosed with a mental health problem was that a little while before the diagnosis, I had taken great pride in my intellect. I had decided that my brain was the one thing I could rely on. I’d been quite confident about that. Arrogant even. As it turned out, my brain, and even my conscience was faulty. My conscience like a compass spinning in all directions at once. And my brain like a useless soggy, sponge in the head.


I largely understood the concept of irony as a child. Reading the comic Whizzer and Chips and the Bumpkin Billionaires, I understood that it was ‘funny, strange’ for a cartoon family always to be wanting to get rid of their money. That as soon as they succeeded in getting rid of their fortune in the comic strip they always somehow came into more money than they had before, against their wishes. It was a kind of irony in reverse to real life where instead of wanting to make money, the Bumpkin family wanted to lose theirs (and yet they would never, ever succeed, always winning the lottery or finding some invaluable treasure after they threw their sacks of cash into the sea).


Up until the age of ten I never had a word for such things, but I understood the concept well enough. Children understand a lot more than adults think. And so when, aged 11 my English teacher explained the definition of irony, I immediately thought, ‘Well, obviously’. I understood the literal and the literary definition. And I understood the everyday definition of irony in day-to-day life. At least I thought I did. Children can and do understand the concept of irony. Like adults they are subject to the rules or laws of irony. The weather always seems to turn bad as soon as the school holidays begin. And this kind of pattern is played out in many aspects of all our lives, adult or child. On the whole, children understand. But we forget that we once understood and think we learned it. An understanding of irony is within the minds of children from birth. Later I’ll talk a little about whether this is an evolutionary survival mechanism.


My understanding of irony rusted as I grew older, like a sword which is left in the rain and never cared for. When I was a teenager I became proud of my intellect. I was in the top sets at school and although I may not have been a genius, I did feel that I could take any issue, any subject and sort it out in my head. I vividly remember one day lying on my bed as young man and thinking, ‘My mind is the one thing that I can always rely on’. I had that ugly condescension towards those who were less intelligent (and why is imagination rarely measured when it comes to intelligence?)


In the Old Testament there is a story about Nebuchadnezzar, the king of Babylon, becoming incredibly proud of his power and influence. Such stories are re-enacted today in smaller ways. It is said that the world gives birth to people who are less great than their forefathers as time goes on.


Nebuchadnezzar exclaims, at the height of his power, ‘Look how great Babylon is! I built it as my capital city to display my power and might, my glory and majesty.’

Daniel 4:28


A few days later the biblical story has it that he goes mad and ends up homeless, eating grass like an animal, losing his kingdom and power. Whether or not you consider the Bible to be fiction or not, it is still a fact that people’s lives tend to follow the pattern of the old proverb, ‘pride comes before a fall’. It is also considered by some that there is a spiritual law in which the proud are humbled and vice versa.


Before our proverb were the words of Christ who either observed or created the law that the proud would be humbled and the humble would be honoured. Eventually. Most Christians would say that he created it. There is an ironic aspect to this. King Nebuchadnezzar lost his kingdom and his mind. He lived in the wild and this is now known as one of the few depictions of mental illness in the Bible.


Although I was very proud of my intellect I was clearly not wise, as I took a medley of drugs at university and these drugs had a knock-on effect which I believe resulted in later metal health problems. So, during the summer of ‘95, pumped full of prescribed antipsychotic drugs, I came to realise that my mind was something which I could not always rely on at all. And I lifted my eyes to heaven and I was not healed. My mind, my logic and my conscience appeared to be faulty.


I had already been baptised in a church as I had been a Christian for over two years at that point. After the baptism, before the sectioning, I was given a scripture which read, ‘Lean not on your own understanding’. And I took it as a kind of message from God.


So, to be so proud of my intellect and then to realise that I could not always trust my mind was deeply humbling. And ironic. And seeing all that didn’t heal me either. It just acted as vinegar to a wound.


There is a power to irony because the understanding of it can be elitist. This may not ultimately sort the chaff from the wheat (and why would anyone want to?) but the fact is that a lot of good people will not see ironies where others can see them. This turns it into a secret cipher for the intelligent. This is what made Socrates so powerful in debate. He would ask a seemingly innocent question and defeat his opponents with a feigned naivety. He pretended to be humble and simple in order to win debates. Like Columbo does in his, “Just one last thing…” sentence as he begins to leave a murderer’s house. And it is often still the knock-out blow in an internet debate. Use irony and your opponent will not only look simple, but you will have brought your audience along with you (providing you are not a total ar*e). You will win the argument. At least among the ironically enlightened.


Or if no-one else gets the irony, you will have the personal satisfaction of knowing that you won. And no-one will think you have won. And that will be ironic too.


I have never won an Internet debate in my life. I'm of the old-school opinion that you can't win an argument. Of course, I could just be lying to win an argument in saying that, because this book is one long, confusing claim. Remember that I must be an unreliable narrator as I have a certificate in madness (which even the NHS recognises). Also, there is an irony in failing to win in debate and then attempting to put forward this kind of theory. But some arguments cannot be won or lost, even if they are important. For a person to debate that God exists in a persuasive way, they must win the person and not necessarily the argument. And I’m worried I have simply alienated you through clumsy and dogmatic assertions.


Maybe Christ proved that not being able to win an argument is a nonsense idea because he never backed away from robust debate and clearly saw some purpose in debating moot points. But I'm not Christ (that much should be very obvious), I’m a sinner and I don't have to have the same opinions as Christ has. Alienate your audience and no-one wins. All you end up proving is that you are a total schmuck. They say that there is a reason that you can’t prove God. And that is because the outrageous irony is that God doesn't want to be proved yet. Well, there’s further irony for you.


‘That's very convenient’, you may be thinking. But you can't prove or disprove God. I challenge you to even try to do one or the other before the end of the world. God doesn't want to be proved, he wants to be believed in. ‘Very, very convenient.’ And that is why all manner of spiritual forces will either aid or prevent any attempt to prove God. Including this one. But what can be done is to bring new evidence forward. And that is why I am attempting (perhaps badly) to present irony as a serious example of the existence of a higher power.

Litter or art?

 

Two sides to every story? Or just one?

Vending machine selling face masks and hand sanitiser

This will probably please nobody...

It seems to me that at the moment in the UK there are two camps. 

There are the Covid19 deniers. I'm sorry, but at the moment it is as if even the conspiracy theorists have gone nasty. You used to be so sweet, so free in thought. Now it is all so cruel in debate. That's not free thought is it? But, you are getting demonised and are not in power, so you have an excuse.

The second camp are the freedom deniers. All is peachy with them. Some are thriving. To them, the BBC tell the truth. The Government are only trying their very best. The NHS are nothing less than angels. The Queen is surely in 24/7 prayer for us all.

In this camp, it is 'socially illegal' to question. You would have thought that the greatest argument for this camp would be that not taking the vaccine is a kind of ignorance. Nope. It's largely just about shutting down any discussion or debate. Not clever.

Clearly, neither side will work together. Which is a bit of a shame, because the 'coronavirus deniers' do have some rather good points at times, concerning the way in which the vaccine has been rolled out so quickly and about the way in which discussions are going on in Government. And concerning granting greater access or travel rights to those who take the vaccine and restricting those who do not. And yes, concerning the precedents which are being set for the future.

It seems to me that both sides in this polarised debate are in denial. The alternative thinkers say that when you look into it, the entire pandemic is not actually so bad. And the majority seem to be entirely in denial about the unprecedented restrictions in freedoms and the knock-on economic and social aspects of the Government edicts.

It is not unusual to hear people, out and about, complaining about other people out and about. Put a post on Facebook showing how everyone is not obeying the rules (whilst outside, taking the photo or video). We basically have zero self awareness. Of course, I am only speaking for myself.

The most worrying thing is that both freedom of thought and freedom of expression have been so oppressed during this. It is, as they say, life and death

This is not a prison camp. There should be no thought crime. We are allowed to think freely and express thoughts freely. That is kind of important. Both camps should attempt to work together. But the established media has basically polarised all remaining debate and, in my opinion is currently at its worst since the death of Princess Diana. Specifically because Government rules are effectively repeated to us rather than questioned (on the whole). 

It is not unusual to wake and reasonably ask 'So what can't we do today?' But careful, even questions like this may not be allowed tomorrow.

What I think may be most worrying is that this blog comment post is coming from a moderate voice. In a way it is anodyne. And yet, even so, it appears entirely outrageous. That is a problem really isn't it? Something is not right. 

Clearly all is being done for the greater good - whatever other way of thinking could there be?

Of course I have generalised and simplified the situation in both society and media. And perhaps it is only people like myself who are in denial. But at least I know it. 

And THAT is the only difference.

Top ten reasons this is not the end of the world

Okay. Time for a new blog entry. I've been trying to write, but failing throughout much of the pandemic. I've only been brave enough to admit that I am afraid. Warning - this entry is dumbed down as my brain is slow at the moment...

I’m an armchair expert in eschatology from a Christian perspective. That is the study of the end of the world for newbies. It is something we should be interested in. And I've got good news and bad news..

Firstly, although this is not the end of the world, we are a little bit closer and the hope of leaving earth before the sun collapses, explodes or whatever it is expected to do, is not, in my opinion, going to happen. Similarly, we simply are not going to evolve into spiritual beings who escape death. Not going to happen. We are also unlikely to escape this sick planet onto another planet either. Not impossible, but unlikely....

Welcome to the good news, or Gospel as we call it. Can you sense my heaviness as I write? Everything is conspiring to stop me from writing this, but you have a right to know. So here’s the bad news first. There is probably much less time left than you think. That, as you know, is a dogmatic statement. I can’t possibly know can I? No-one knows do they? We may destroy the world with nukes or we may have millions of years left before we rip the planet apart. Well, you and I don’t have millions of years. The bad news is that we almost certainly have a lot less time left than most people think.

The pandemic is not the end of the world. It is a result of the fall (as in the Bible fall, the original curse). It just happens. I won't get into the theological stuff regarding who is to blame and why God allows suffering because the greatest minds have not been able to solve it satisfactorily. So I don't think some obscure blogger will either. And you are unlikely to be able to do so either. Sorry.

But here are your top ten reasons why this is not the end of the world, if you are into this kind of thing…  It is supposed to bring you a little peace, that there is hope for the children, should you have them...



1. The Jewish temple has not been rebuilt. Sorry, but that has to happen if it is the end of the world according to most of the Christian meta-narrative. And do you know how many prophecies have really been fulfilled in our lifetimes? One. Uno. The Jewish people returning to Israel. The rest of the prophecies have always been going on. And you know what? Those who believe in the rapture will tell you that it could happen at any moment. But it is extremely unlikely. Because even this debated event is based on other things happening first...

2. You’ve got to look very hard at the Biblical prophecies. Here is number two and it is debatable. Jesus said that the love of many will grow cold. It is debatable. But there is still love and mercy and despite our selfishness, people can be loving.

3. A bit of a biggy. Visit The Joshua Project, it's an online statistical analysis of the great commission (the only commissions some of us get). According to the prophecies given from Jesus and the prophets, the whole of the world must hear the gospel. Yeah, God loved the world so much that he gave his only son that whoever believes in him might basically make it through to Heaven. But according to our favourite stats, we are only about 60% through. So does this mean that we are more concerned about this great commission rather than the other signs? No. In fact, this really big fact is probably the most ignored sign. We don’t like it because it means there is a lot of work to do. And as many know, immantisising the eschaton is an actual thing. In layman's terms that means trying to bring about the end of the world.

4. You’ve got to go deep into internet territory to get this one. I will put two-in-one for fun. Apparently the Nile will dry up, according to scripture. It hasn’t but maybe it did once and wasn’t recorded. No religious leader tells you this stuff (Which is why I’m blowing the whistle). And the second? Damascus in Syria has to be destroyed. Sorry Damascus. Still going strong there though, despite a few hairy moments recently.

5. OMG the Sun will turn to sackcloth and the Moon to blood. This kind of speaks of more than just eclipses and blood moons. So, before we feel too smug, remember that the Sun and Moon are symbolic references to our parents, if the Bible is to interpret the Bible and blah blah blah. And the stars to our siblings. And the end of the world to our own deaths. But the prophecy is literal too.

6. 6. 6. Nice obscure one for your attention. In the apocrypha Maccabees says that the Ark of the Covenant will be found in the very last days. Apparently it was made of acacia wood. Not sure how it is supposed to survive but think Indiana Jones. For those interested, it seems likely to be hidden in the mountain ranges of Jordan somewhere. Good luck finding it.

7. Oh, I’m sorry, where does the antichrist happen to be? Not here for a start. Not Trump. Not the Pope. Ain't nowhere to be seen. There are a lot of nasty characters out there, but that's all. No-one is a particularly good contender at the moment for that dubious position. I have been taught that he will most likely be a politician.

8. Again, slightly obscure, according to prophecies, Israel has to prosper within history. No problem with that, but at the moment the country is in survival mode. Nice defence policy though. Buy New Israeli Shekels.

9. Hey, apparently there is a timeframe in which the Messiah, or the Christ has to appear. Jewish people largely reject Jesus so they are largely expecting a Messiah to appear before 2240. Do the math. That gives us 220 years. Hurrah? (I've just realised my maths is wrong even though I was in the top set at school and got a B)... Might not be the Messiah of course as it is doubtful we will get a better one than Jesus.

10. Oh, I don't know. There is no Season 4 of Stranger Things. Whatever. Could be anything. Fill in the blank.




Some of these are debatable. But if the temple gets rebuilt you have to run to the hills. The vaccine is not likely to be the mark of the beast despite what Kanye West may say. It's the arm, not the hand or forehead. But don't get too smug, governments have hinted at stopping travel for those who don't take the vaccine. That's not fair is it? It's freaky. It's weird. And by the way, the people who are getting demonised are those who are questioning. The demonised are not the ones in power. That's not normal. That's freaky.

Finally, don’t you think it is kind of funny that the end of the world just so happens to have come at the same time as the digital revolution where news and information is shared so instantly? Unless we are under Sod’s Law, we have a little more time. And no, non-believers, not so much time as to evolve and escape the earth on spaceships before the sun kills us all, blasting us into smithereens.


Think happy thoughts.