The Point of Vanishing & Other Dreams

Blog


In my blog, I explore the themes that weave through my stories and dreams:

the need to belong, and the fear of loss; the longing for family and home and love; loneliness and the extraordinary power of the human spirit; depression - and hope; the clarifying presence of the natural world, and ways of being awake and alive in the only moment we really have: this one.

I hope you'll follow me beyond the storytelling, and join me on this very human journey....




MoonsilverTales

"Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." ~Oscar Wilde

‘I dream my paintings and then I paint my dreams’. ~Vincent Van Gogh

The following little creations are taken from recent dreams, rough hewn and unpolished, mined directly from the unconscious. They are the raw material for future Wishing Tree tales, and they are very, very short .

Saturday 20 September 2014

Beyond Lip Service: beyond judgement


My own spiritual path has taken me to many places and I'm not quite sure where I am now.  This probably makes me sound really flaky. But I'm finally wising up to the fact that whatever I think and believe now is very likely to change again one day, so how much weight should I really give my thoughts and opinions?  Manmade doctrine wearies me, and seems to exist in all the great religions, muddying the beautiful clear waters of their essence.

Saturday 13 September 2014

The Stone Giant: A Moonsilver Tale

  
My name is Markus.

I am the son of one of four princes who rule a strange kingdom, a kingdom of floating tiers that rise up, up into the ballooning clouds. Each tier is smaller than the one below, and the very top one can be crossed in twenty strides. Some people call it The Wedding Cake; they think this is derogatory, but I don't see why.

Tuesday 9 September 2014

The Chance to Love Everything, by Mary Oliver: Poem

All summer I made friends
with the creatures nearby -
they flowed through the fields
and under the tent walls,
or padded through the door,
grinning through their many teeth,
looking for seeds,
suet, sugar; muttering and humming,
opening the breadbox, happiest when
there was milk and music.  But once
in the night I heard a sound
outside the door, the canvas
bulged slightly - something
was pressing inward at eye level.

Friday 5 September 2014

Self-regard, self-worth, self-respect

I love this metaphor from Irvin Yalom's book, 'Love's Executioner':

'Her [thermostat] was malfunctioning: it was located too close to the surface of her body. It did not keep her self-esteem stable but instead fluctuated wildly according to external events. Something good happened, and she felt great; one criticism from someone, and she was down for days. It was like trying to keep your house heated with a furnace thermostat placed too close to the window.'