Excerpt from ‘The Antitheist’s Bible’.

‘We live on,’ Rich asserted.

I looked across at him quizzically.

‘Not spiritually,’ Rich said, chuckling at the startled expression that had come over my face. ‘We live on in the people that knew us, our family and friends. We live on it their memories and the effect we have had on them. Like the ripples in a pond. Our thoughts, ideas and attitudes go on to affect people down the generations. We are altering the future. We live on. Our words and deeds will live after us. Our personalities will affect all the people around us. We change them and the things they do. We change the future.’

‘I really like the idea of that,’ I said enthusiastically.

I’m rewriting this early novel of mine. Shortly I will be republishing it! Hold on a little while longer. I know you all want to buy it now. But wait!

God Too

God Too

I’m the power in your sun

The atom and the wind

Giving light its speed

Its colour

And its spin

Arising out of nothing

To make your sunset glow

Organising your bodies

To your neurones flow

I give life its mystery

Creating all the laws

That keep it all in motion

Its perfection

And its flaws

You make me into Gods

Religions and Holy books

But I evade all your

Interpretations of my looks

You will not find me concerned

With how your life should run

Providing you with morals

For what is

Or is not done

I am not a human

Apart from the cosmic flow

I connect you to the mystic

That you cannot know

Your religions try to capture me

As I appear to you all

But I spiral through the words

Of the prayers that you call

Everything you think is real

You create it from the void

And you are doomed

To live the life

With which your dreams have toyed.

Opher 8.2.99

Goofin’ Pt. 5

My old man sat in his usual place on the settee with his newspapers on the seat beside him. My mum sat in her armchair. The telly twittered in the corner. It was some comedy programme; no more than a distraction from the boredom of reality. I sat and half watched as Morcambe and Wise went through their routine. It was quite funny. My dad looked a bit like Eric Morcambe with his pipe gripped between his teeth as he rifled through the papers with half an ear tuned into the programme. That was about all it took to keep abreast of the action. The bulk of his mind was digesting the stories making the news. He worked in newspapers and kept up to date in the evening by reading through a range of different papers.

At ten it was time for a milky drink and then off to bed.

They’d got their life sorted out into a routine. It worked for them. They weren’t really religious although my mum did subscribe to the Spiritualist church. She believed in the afterlife. Sometimes I got the impression that she was looking forward to the afterlife more than she was enjoying life itself. This was something that had to be got through in order to get to some happier, freer place over there where she would meet up with her Mum again. Dad never seemed to give it a thought. He’d had his fun when he was young and got on with the living. He didn’t seem to question it too much. In fact he didn’t seem to have any desire to do anything apart from getting on with his job. I suppose you could say he was happy in his rut. At least he wasn’t unhappy. But then he wasn’t exactly ecstatic either. You got the feeling that he felt that there was no great need to change. He had no desire to get out and enjoy himself. Every now and then he had a quiet night with a couple of pints at the pub but they never even went to the pictures and no friends dropped in. His life was work, the telly, the kids (us – I had two sisters) and the daily routine. It filled the day and the days rattled past.

I chuckled at the well-rehearsed routine. Eric made fun of Ernie’s ‘wig’ and slapped him round the face. It was very familiar and still funny. It worked.

I could slip back into this. They were pleased to see me. I felt easy here but at the same time I knew there had to be more!!!

What the fuck was this all about?

Belinda’s party was short but eventful. She was still living at home you see, with her mum. Her dad had run out a long time before and her mum always seemed strung out and harassed to me. In hindsight I think it might have been a good idea if Belinda had mentioned to her mum that she’d invited a whole load of freaks round for a party. It must have been quite a shock for her when she got home from her weekly visit to the Laundromat to discover the house overrun with longhaired freaks. Already there were couples up in the beds and the air was heavy with smoke and incense sticks. Music pounded and the house was thumping. It had attracted quite a crowd. It must have been quite a sight as she struggled home on her bike with the big bags of laundry to see all the lights shining and hear the music rockin’ from the end of the road.

I don’t think she could quite believe her eyes and ears.

She started shrieking, hitting people with cushions and hysterically chasing people out of the house.

At the time we were all quite amused. Well, except for Oz who had got Beena up in the bedroom and was getting round to some serious rumpy pumpy when Belinda’s wild-eyed mum had burst in on them.

Come to think of it I don’t think I ever saw Belinda again. Perhaps she had been grounded forever. Perhaps her mum had completely flipped and done her in! No, I think I might have heard about that!

Jack and I had just been passed a nice fat jay and ambled off to the park to sit on the swings and finish it off.

It was nice in the park, one of those balmy evenings.

“Has to be more to life than this,” I observed.

“Fun, sex and getting out your tree?” Jack queried, raising an eyebrow. “Who could ask for more?”

“I could, I guess,” I replied, getting a little more philosophical with every draw on the surprisingly strong jay. “I wanna get to the bottom of it. I want some mystical understanding, some insight. I wanna stare at the sun until I get a vision. I wanna go without sleep until I’m crazy enough to understand it all. I wanna whirl around like a dervish until the whole universe stands still so that I can dissect it. I wanna try some of that South American stuff they shoot up your nose with a big tube so that I can become a jaguar or condor, or something. I wanna meditate until I can fly. I wanna starve myself until I hallucinate. I wanna reach Nirvana and be one with universe.”

“Yeah, man. Nirvana or bust,” Jack said with a chuckle. “Just pass that joint over here.”

“Nirvana or bust.” I agreed.

We both laughed and stared up at the big old moon. It was so big and clear that you could see all the craters.

“Nirvana or fucking bust,” I murmured. I was burning up inside with the need to live. I wanted it all. There had to be more to life than this.

Jerusalem – The Church Of All Nations

A number of people have asked me why, as an antitheist, am I so obsessed with temples, cathedrals and mosques.

That’s simple. I love art, beauty and ancient monuments. The state and religion have had all the money and power. They have set out to prove their dominance, to impress and put us in awe of them.

The palaces, temples, cathedrals, castles, mosques, mansions and abbeys are the places where artists, architects and designers have excelled. The powerful always employ the best.

I can marvel at the beauty and majesty of human creation. It’s spiritual not religious.

As far as I’m concerned religion is about power and causes division and hatred. One of our worst inventions. Yet it has spawned some magnificance.

Poetry – Writing symphonies

Writing symphonies

I’m writing symphonies to the sun

And dancing to mother moon.

I’m writing odes to rocks and trees

And singing the whales a tune.

I’m laughing with the sun and sea

And gasping at the sky;

With dramatic gestures to chimpanzees

Asking the question why.

My life is spent on a thin crust,

Beneath a cosmic whirl,

Creating poems of endless joy

For every boy and girl.

Opher – 10.4.2020

Nature never ceases to amaze me and fill me with awe.

I love watching wild animals and staring up at skies. I love clouds, mountains, trees and snakes.

Seventy years ago I opened my eyes into a wonderland that we take for granted. It is mysterious and fabulous.

Every aspect is incredible.

I write odes of joy to the wonder that surrounds me.

Poetry – Spirituality Reigns

Spirituality Reigns

Trees and rocks and rainbows

Within the spiritual arc.

Seas and skies, cosmic glows,

Along with leaves, flowers and bark.

The insects, fish and birds

A tapestry of wonder.

Divine sun, moon and stars

To split the mind asunder.

The beauty of this life

In all its great mysteries.

The mind and consciousness,

Universe of histories.

Five senses to reveal

A majesty in seconds

So time enough to try

As infinity beckons.

Opher – 15.12.2019

We open our eyes into this universe for a brief period in infinity. We close them and we are gone. It ceases to exist.

In the midst of this amazing spiritual adventure, through the might of the cosmos and the spectacle of life, we are fortunate enough to have senses to experience it and a mind to appreciate it.

Infinity is a long time.

Our life is a blink, a brief flicker.

To make the most of those fleeting moments, to understand, to rejoice and to wonder – that is all we can do.

Every second is a mystical joy.

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.