Australia, South West Rocks – Surrounded by Nature.

Nature is so wonderful. We need to treasure it, look after it and nurture it!

Poetry – Jimi

Jimi

A sorcerer

Changing a guitar into a bomb,

A machine gun,

A helicopter gunship,

A roaring machine of death

Or a vehicle of love.

Harnessing feedback

Through a tremolo arm,

With an elbow,

The back of a hand,

Teeth and soul.

Creating sounds

That had never been heard;

A tsunami of emotion

And wonder.

A magician

Towering over

The vibe

Of our alternative

Vision.

Opher – 16.8.2019

I was fortunate enough to catch a look at the film of the Woodstock festival recently. It took me back to the ideals of my youth. We were so naive – but brave, so optimistic and full of hope, so earnest and determined.

This is the new world we built.

We fought for freedoms, nature, equality and an end to racism, sexism and elitism with big dollops of love and fun.

It’s a battle that is still going on.

I watched Jimi play, all those years ago, at Woodstock – not long before his death. He brought reality and Vietnam into the fight. War is the result of all that greed and inequality. He conjured up great emotion.

We had the alternative vision and Jimi was our magician.

He worked his magic in our ears and minds and helped open our eyes to what was wrong in society.

Poetry – There Are No Answers

There Are No Answers

There are no answers

To the heavens,

To life,

To thought.

There are no answers.

There are no answers

To death.

There are no reasons

To be found

For being,

Seeing

Or wondering.

There are no answers.

But there are mighty questions

To be wondered at.

Opher 1.8.2018

To sit among the wonders of infinity and wonder – that is remarkable. I find myself surrounded by questions with no answers in sight.

But it is good to wonder.

Poetry – Mystery to Misery

Mystery to Misery

Rocks, Stones, Moon and Sea

Mystery, Mystery.

Sun, Lake, Sky and Tree

Mystery, Mystery

Stand the Stone, Eyes that See

Mystery, Mystery.

Locked in Books and Decree

Hypocrisy, Misery.

Opher 13.6.2017

I woke up this morning with this poem in my head. I think it sums up my feelings about spirituality and religion. There is a vibration that runs through the universe. It is something to marvel at. It seems to vibrate through nature. I can become ecstatic at the sight of a rock formation or sunset. I feel the power of the sky and sea. It connects. It is when humans try to give that mystery a name, call it a god and worship it, try to load their psychological needs on to it and lock it in words, holy books and decrees that they reduce it, misrepresent it, and begin to use it for their own power. Spirituality good; religion bad.

The words in those holy books are written by people who seek dominion, ownership and authority over something that cannot be confined, defined or reduced.

We are all part of that mystery. It exists within us and without us – as George so succinctly put. People whose minds are limited by the texts are imprisoned by their own limitations.

Poetry – Miniscule in Reality

Miniscule in Reality

Glowing dawns and standing stones,

Mystic storms, vibrations in the wind

And majestic trees.

Skies that swirl with stars,

Chasms of glowing rock at sunset

And crashing seas.

There’s a wonder at work –

A celestial spectacle of awe.

There’s a mystery in the mind

That’s knocking at our door.

Standing before the horizon

Outlined against infinity

Feeling large against the sky

But miniscule in reality.

Opher – 1.8.2016

Miniscule in Reality

I am always in awe of nature; there’s a wonder at work. Infinity with its swirling galaxies, spinning atoms and amazing mysteries of consciousness is inspiring, is full of majesty, is uplifting.

There is a harmony in a sunset, rainbow and the glow it produces. There is a spirit in the rocks, trees and seas. To sit beside the crashing waves and feel the breeze in ones face connects us to the universe. To feel the sun upon the face and bask in its benevolent warmth is to feel the congruence.

There is a mystical force that is natural, beyond religion, and integral to that dynamo of nature through which we are all one.

Calm and peaceful, without barriers as the vibration of energy

flows through and on, forever.

Poetry – Worship

Worship

I’m going to worship the sun.

At least it is real.

I can feel it on my face.

I can see it in the sky.

The sun is not imaginary;

Not an invention.

It gives me light.

It gives me heat.

It gives me life.

I do not need to talk to it in a cave,

Or on any mountain top,

Or in any wilderness.

The sun appears before everyone.

It does not make demands on me,

Or gives me lists of things I must not do,

Or lists of things I must do,

Things I have to wear,

Things I must not eat.

The sun is kind it merely gives expecting nothing in return.

I do not have to pray to it to make it shine.

It just shines.

It does not know that I exist.

It does not care.

It does not threaten me with eternal torture,

Or promise me eternal pleasure.

It came from the same place as me.

It made the atoms of my body.

It will die like me.

I am happy with the sun.

It will do very nicely.

Opher – 17.4.2021

Just imagine for one minute that there is no god.

Doesn’t that make a mockery of all the fantastic effort and sacrifices people all over the world have made?

Yet we can’t see this god. He rarely answers our prayers – if ever.

Why is it that only a certain few people have ever claimed to have spoken to god and received instructions from him? And always alone in caves, up mountains or in wildernesses.

Why is god so shy?

Why does this god give different, and very precise, instructions to different people?

Will wearing a veil, eating pork or beef, wearing a turban or devoutly praying really make that difference to him?

I always laugh when some who is saved from disaster thanks god. They never ask why god allowed the disaster in the first place or why he didn’t save the equally worthy people who died in the disaster.

If we have to worship something I’ll settle for the sun. The sun’s good enough for me. It’ll do for now. I might eventually transfer my allegiance to the moon though. She’s more mysterious.

Poetry – We used to worship

We used to worship

We used to worship the sun and moon;

We thought they were gods,

But now we understand what they really are –

Only rock and gas –

And the mysticism has dissipated on the solar breeze.

We used to worship trees, rocks and streams

And pray to the spirits that resided within,

But now we understand the molecules

Possess no spiritual qualities

Other than the wonder that resides in our own minds.

We used to worship Zeus, Apollo and Baal;

Make sacrifices, follow rituals

And offer up our prayers.

Now they, and the tens of thousands like them,

Are banished to the past.

Their universal power no longer of consequence.

How many virgins;

How many sheep, goats and cattle,

Had their throats slit

In a futile attempt to curry favours

From an all too human god?

No lessons from the past

Seem to impact upon us now.

Our beliefs in Jesus, Mohamed and Moses,

In Shiva, Rama and Buddha,

Will last for ever.

They will surely not, like all the rest, eventually

Follow the sun.

Will they?

So I will sit in awe and thrill to a sunset,

Lie beneath the stars and absorb the majesty,

Smile with soft eyes at the spectrum of life

And relish the warmth of love and friendship.

It is the closest to worship I can achieve.

It’s enough for me.

Opher 22.6.2016

We used to worship

The lesson of the past is that things come and go. So many gods who were universally worshipped have toppled into oblivion. Gods and Goddesses thought so powerful that they constructed the universe and ruled all things, and either gave or withheld their assistance to humans, have been long forgotten. Where are Hrouda, Rura, Tiwaz, Vercana, Amon, Ash, Hu, Ket, Mut, Ptah, Aife, Blai, Clota, Cred, Ixtab, Mudu and a million others. People put their faith in them. People willingly died for them. Prayers, rituals, costumes and sacrifices were conceived to satisfy these deities. Their assistance was sought and praise was heaped upon them when it worked, and excuses found when it failed (we were not following the instructions were we?). So many forgotten tribes were the ‘chosen’ ones.

So many religions waxed and waned.

Yet the ones we presently subscribe to are the real ones; the only real ones. They will never wane.

For one who does not believe, such as me, the prayers, costumes, rituals and entreaties, of such superstition look interestingly absurd. While I adore the pageant, majesty and colourful creativity I share with Freud the view that I am witnessing a mass hysterical psychosis.

If there is a mystical force it is within all of us, all the fabric of the universe, and not embodied in some human created god. I do not believe there is such a human construct as paradise or hell. I cannot wait for the waning; for an awakening. We have life, an incredible universe and we live in the midst of great wonder and majesty. We are surrounded with astounding wonder. That is surely enough.

Poetry – Hardwired to Worship

Hardwired to Worship

Hardwired to worship

Subjugation is elation

Programmed to ritual

Bliss through abdication

We have the need to pray

It is a must to believe

The supernatural is quite natural

As the way to perceive

Believing gives us purpose

When faced with mystery

Genuflect without aversion

Through politics and history

God watches over you

Through plague pestilence and death

Give thanks for his bounty

As you draw your last breath

Hardwired to worship

Programmed to believe

Elation in prostration

Nature flatters to deceive

15.4.03

Our success as a species comes from our intelligence. We are programmed through our DNA to see patterns and seek solutions. It made us brilliant hunters, farmers and story tellers.

We could see the habits of our predators and prey, discern the changing of the seasons, make tools, design shelters, transport and use our imagination to create what did not exist.

We tell stories like no other creature we know. Even the whale’s songs cannot compete.

Our greatest talent is our ability to solve problems and seek out solutions. That works brilliantly in our natural habitat but comes up short when faced with things beyond our comprehension.

When faced with the sun, moon, death and purpose our imagination worked overtime but our problem solving proved limited. We invented deities and paradise.

At first it satisfied the curiosity. Now we are in thrall to our own creation and it stalks our days.