When I'll Be Dead

When I’ll be dead, 

your tears may flow, 

But I would not know!

Care for me now.

When I’ll be dead,

You’ll send flowers, 

but I would not see!

Send them now.

When I’ll be dead,

May be you’ll say words of praise, 

But I would not hear

Praise me now.

When I’ll be dead,

You'll love me pure,

But I would not feel, 

Love me now.

When I’ll be dead,

You’ll forgive all my faults, 

but I would not know!

So Forgive me now…

Gargoyles

Legend believes a huge dragon once lived in a cave near the left banks of the river Seine and that it preyed upon ships and swallowed them up along with the people of Rouen, in France.  

In the hope of appeasing "La Gargouille," as the dragon was called, the people of Rouen would sacrifice a convict to it every year until a Priest named Saint Romanis freed the town folk by slaying it in the 7th century. The townspeople built a huge fire to destroy the creature's body, but its head and neck failed to burn because they were accustomed to heat, so they were separated from its body and mounted on the side of a nearby Church wall, thus giving birth to the first gargoyle waterspout, or so the story goes.  St. Romanis, in exchange for his services rendered, asked that a Church be built in his honour, and that all the local people be baptized.

Is it... A gargoyle or just grotesque?

While all gargoyles might be considered grotesque, all grotesques are not considered gargoyles. If it serves to drain water from a building, it's a gargoyle.   If it does not, it is either a stone carving, or a grotesque, or more commonly, a chimera (an imaginary fire-breathing monster typically represented as a combination of a lion’s head, a goats body, and a serpents tail).

Myth versus Legend versus Superstition

Since the bloody reign of La Gargouille came to its inevitable end, gargoyles have decidedly became less intimidating, but superstition still holds the key to keeping evil spirits at bay and serves as a mild form of protection nowadays. In fact, gargoyles have proven themselves to be useful on more than a few occasions, useful as flying monsters in art paintings, as a nemesis for knights in shining armour, and just as interestingly, as tall tales and fables aimed at children’s minds as an entertaining scary-story. 

Gargoyles were believed to come alive at night, in the same manner akin to the flying "equally batty" vampire, and, in order to protect the lives of their human servants entrusted with their care, they would need to return to their perches or coffins before daybreak, or face total-destruction by Gods Light.

Gargoyles discovered on church buildings were often believed to be evil creatures frozen in time and encased in stone; when one had laboured long enough in the service of God, it earned its release and was then allowed to enter the church and later, heaven.

Some people actually believed gargoyles to be sin that was made real, then captured and encased in stone. Other gargoyles, such as lions and dogs, were believed to be spiritual forces of good, forever vigilant and watchful over their human custodians.

Furthermore … Did You Know?

Work on the la Cathédrale de Notre Dame de Paris (the cathedral of Our Lady of Paris) began in 1163 when the first corner-stone was laid, and its construction was finally completed around 1345 - 182 years later. 

In 1548 rioting damaged many of its features.  In 1786 a statue of St. Christopher dating back to 1413 was destroyed.  During the French revolution in 1793 many of the cathedrals treasures were either plundered or destroyed.  Statues of the biblical kings of Judah, thought to be the Kings of France, were beheaded.  Some of those heads were found during excavation work in 1977 and are housed at the Musée du Cluny.

The Second World War also caused considerable damage to the cathedral when many of its stained glass windows were damaged by stray bullets.

In the end, it was the Gargoyles that saved Notre Dame Cathedral, and I bet you didn’t know that?

The Meaning Of Life?

Few things in our existence can be more perplexing than trying to understand, or comprehend the meaning of life: and in opening it for perusal, I would like to ask the following: Have you ever wrestled with the meaning of life in your mind?

If so, did you ever come to a conclusion, or possible answer, or did you like so many others have done so before find it impossible to gain entry through the last few doors, and so left the topic, pending, so to speak.  If you thought about it, what did the thoughts and images in your mind conjure up?

Was it something religious, spiritual, a familiar locale of helping others, a time when you were sad and wished you could change it, or do something about it now?  It's all too familiar, isn't it?

When pondering on this subject many things came to mind, and one by one they were discarded, for they simply did not seem to enlighten the subject.  During the process, I came to the conclusion that the meaning of life meant many things, and that all were unique in their own way, and identifiable with oneself.  Therefore, a solution, and it may be a solution, it may even be the correct conclusion, is that the meaning of life, is nothing more than a series of perfect moments.   Perfect moments that when you think back in time make you smile, make you happy, and make you sad.  Moment’s that you will always remember and never forget.  Great times, bad times, times when you just stood there, molded in one place, struck with awe.  Moments that should be lived and relived as often as possible, in order to learn from.   These to me are the true meanings of life, and they are many.

 What are your thoughts on this subject, can you add more, have you found other interpretations? Are those interpretations yours alone, or can they be shared by others?

It may be interesting to follow another's thoughts on this subject...

This Morning

This morning, for some strange reason, my thoughts returned to the past…

That part of a time long ago when life was “oh so simple” and, when everything was at peace with the world, except for yours truly!

Thoughts of school and of the teachers, whom were part of my life, were running amok, so to speak.

Chuckling at the many thoughts that were bubbling up to the surface reminded me of a time long gone by – a time when I was frowned upon, for many strange reasons.

Thinking back, I tend to believe those teachers had psychological problems and disorders – they were definitely disturbed in some way, and the problem, as I recall it, was always directed at me – perhaps it’s because 'they' were unrecognised at the time as as manic-depressives – it’s certainly worth a little thought on the subject: just a little thought, mind you…

Just because they were getting paid to do a job that was considered difficult “some of the time,” didn’t give them the right to label me as, “disruptive, a nuisance, shows no interest, is tone-deaf, or causes mayhem in the classroom when not supervised!” 

In all honesty, I think they went too far in ‘over-exaggerating’ their claims, their dilemma, if that is the most apt description!

Personally, nowadays, I can see where the problem lies.  Yes, it was their fault, and, it will always be their fault.  They, as providers of education, should have seen my true genius emerging, not the tyrannical rascal they so loved to watch with beady-eyes. 

Whose fault was it that I was born with a mind akin to Einstein? 

Just because I knew more of the subject matter than they did, did not give them the right to cause disruption in my ordered existence, or to label me with names of such disrepute.  Their attitude scarred me for a very long time – thankfully though, I am well over it and them, by now.

When you think back to your years of schooling and instruction, didn't you find yourself in the same boat?

Weren’t you labelled as some kind of misanthrope, too?

Surely, I couldn’t have been the world’s only disruptive person – there must have been others?

If, by sods law, only fifty percent of us were Einstein’s during those time periods, then surely that presents a lot of very strange teachers out there?

What do you think, or were you little Ms or Mr. Prim Proper?

The Rats Are Coming: The Werewolves Are Here!

Funnily enough years 2011-12 are fast becoming recognised as years of Civil disobedience and, quite naturally, it isn’t our problem. Our problem, looking at it the only way we can, down a very sharp single-edged knife edge, is civil obedience.

Quite naturally, “our problem” is that we’re so obedient, all over the world, that we do it all the time without a second thought.  We do it in the face of poverty, starvation, stupidity, war, and mass cruelty to every living breathing creature on our planet.  And, because there really is no end to our short-sightedness isn’t it time we all awoke from our long slumber and had a good sniff at the stench surrounding us?

We, the obedient ones of society, we the sane, even allow ourselves to be hoodwinked and, we accept it daily, year in year out, without question or pause for thought – from those we put into power to protect us, and most of all, “to serve us.”

Every time we vote for a politician or their party we repeat the process.  We instinctively know that we’re going to get kicked in the teeth or the balls, so why do we do it, and more importantly, why haven’t we done something about it, before now?

We watch televised arguments in progress; we see what a particular party is going to do about something that is irking it.  Oddly enough, no matter how many people will get hurt from the process, isn’t it strange how no one from the other so called “do-gooder” parties stands up to be counted, and says, “Enough is enough, stop this madness, now.  “We” are here to help our countries people, not hinder or hurt them at every turn in the road – and at every other chance we get!”

There is talk of changing the voting system, and yes, it does need changing, it’s so out-dated it belongs in a museum with the other relics of the past, as well as many other “up-and-coming” Grotesque Ogres’ of the future.

Perhaps in the not too distant future the people of a country will have a voice via a voting process.  It isn’t enough to just simply mark a name with an “X” and vote someone into office, we the people need to take the reins and stay in charge – of everything and all party spokespersons.  Every major decision that affects the people should be voted on by the people, not by the politicians who think they have our rights at heart.

This would be a fair and just method of maintaining the status-quo, don’t you think?

Friends Of The Fallen Teddies

It’s amazing what can be discovered during an afternoon’s gentle stroll and, it doesn’t matter which direction you head off into or where you end up, you’ll always find something – if you take the time to look for it.

 It was during one of these afternoon walks that an uncanny discovery was made.  I discovered one of the best-ever places for finding art, and believe it or not, it was in the cemetery!

Over and over again, no matter in which direction I strolled, I witnessed timeless artistic classics.  Headstones that were well over one hundred years of age still bore their handmade art and designs clearly, and they stood proudly with pride of workmanship from a time long gone by!

 It wasn’t just the text that stood out in its gothic lettering; it was the art within the art.  Celtic crosses in vast styles and fashions, angels of every size, cherubs both small and stout, vases, both large and small – everything within eye-shot had stood the test of time, and clearly, each and everyone one of them was still looking very fashionable, despite their tiring agedness!

But it isn’t just the old stuff that catches the eyes; it’s the newer designs too.  More and more headstones are becoming very creative as families and loved ones leave their mark of respect that says  that extra ‘something special’ has come from their minds and from their hearts, for both young and old family members, alike.

The images below are just a sample of some of the art that has been discovered.  Designs engraved in granite that say it all, or will do, for at least a century or more.  Images of pets, horses, jockeys, trucks, lucky horseshoes, and wrestling champions – nothing escapes the imagination of what people obviously want.

Of course, not everything can fall into categories such as the above; nor can they be considered artsy even though they mean just as much, if not more, in terms of endearment.  These other areas are just as meaningful as the art shown, only differently put.  They are what I call: “The Friends of the Fallen Teddies.”

Every visit to those areas brings a heavy heart.  It’s not the age, it’s not the photos of those little angels, it’s not the meaningful messages left behind.  It’s the fallen teddies, the little doggies, the bunny rabbits, and the toys all children love to play with…

Doctor's

It’s terrible; it’s unbelievable; it’s unforgivable…

Ever since my heart attack in 2010 I’ve repeatedly been asked: “Have you stopped smoking, and, are you maintaining a healthy diet?”

It’s obvious that the level of medical complacency I meet head-on defies belief on an almost weekly basis; as if this weren’t the case, there would be something to suggest that even the simplest of rudimentary doctors would have read my notes in discovering the answer they need to know, before asking the question, but nope, not one has had the common-sense to do so.  They just reel off the same two questions, robotically, every time – you must know of this, or have come across it for yourself a family member, or a friend?

I suppose given the option, they’d all blame it on being overworked through extraordinary long hours?

Even stranger is the fact that although they (the doctors and consultants) all complain about the hours they put in, not once do you hear of a complaint where their salaries are concerned, or the fact that they are earning scandalous amounts, year in and year out…  That’s called: “having your cake and eating it, with Royal icing, cherries and candles on top, too!”

Outside of the smoking cessation bit, it’s the same with my diet.  “Are you eating 5 fruits and or Vegetables daily?”  My answer is now always the same.  I say, “Yes.  I’ve actually created a new diet where everything I need is found in the colours of healthy eating.  Even fresh fish and chicken breasts are catered for and have been attributed to white and pink, which is inclusive of all the other colours present and needed.

When they ask: “What is it you’re doing that maintains this eating plan?”

I then explain to them: “I have Red for peppers, Green for veggies, yellow for bananas, Orange for carrots, white for fish, and pink for chicken breast, etc.  And then I show them how all of this is put together.  The looks on their faces, now, defy belief!

Yep, take the water out of them and they show no sense of humour!

Old Politics

Not so long ago, in a country not too far away, perhaps in your part of the world, “Someone” said: ‘give them three strikes and they’re out!’

Who said that, asked? “Present Memory” with difficulty

A person once involved in the main British government, replied “Past Memory”

But, wasn't that someone else’s idea? Enquired “Present Memory” still showings signs of not fully comprehending.

 Yes, answered “Past Memory” It was once used to help reform justice in the United States of America. I believe it was some years ago, although I'm not sure.

So, how come it’s being used in our part of the world, here in England, for possible Social Security Reform against the poor? Asked “Intelligence.”

Because no one has any creativity, these days, sniggered “Plagiarism.”

Whatever happened to “Creativity” and “Originality”? Enquired, “Present Memory.”

They were engaged in a constant duel, until one began cancelling the other out until only one of them remained. It was a fight to the bitter end, answered “Death.”

Which one of them survived? Asked: “Life.”

Neither answered “Death.”

Why, Enquired: “Concern.”

Because the remaining one called “Creativity” had to fight to keep his position open, and he lost. He was too tired to go on. He was being overthrown by cheating at every corner of his existence, “Death” Answered.

Whom did he have to fight that could overcome ‘his’ talent, and make him feel wasted, asked “Intelligence.”

“Plagiarism” sniggered: “Me.”

You see, said “Everyone,” these days it is easier to copy than it is to create. It is easier to destroy than it is to build. As for the hierarchy of society, it is easier to ignore than to aid. It is easier to pass things by and to follow blindly where Angels would fear to tread. It is easier to stab a poor man in the back than it is to defeat a rich man!

That is why, my friends, said “Conscience” nobody gives an iota!

They all sat themselves down in their respective pews of power, on both sides of the house, then said and did nothing – for “Everyone” was too tired at hearing that same old story again!

Mystic's Christmas Poem

Mystic

Later that night when all was quiet in our house; 

when not one was stirring, not even a mouse.   

When both were snoring upstairs in their pits,

 I crept down the stairs and shredded their festive gifts to bits.

Later that morning when they did awake

 I was fast asleep in dad’s armchair, innocent I state. 

The Christmas tree had fallen, crashed all on its own;

 its glitter and balls were everywhere,

 adorning our Christmassy home.

When dad did see, he gave off a sigh,

 I speedily meowed, “Don’t look at me,

 twas that buzzing fly!”

After breakfast when all was put right, 

I nestled on the old man’s lap, purring, 

“Same time, tonight?”

My Old Man

‘My old man’ is the best in the whole wide world, and, although I am still very young to realize things, I honestly can’t remember a day when he wasn’t there for me.  You see I lost my mom when I was younger, and to this day I have only ever known one parent. I guess you could say I’ve lived a sheltered life, with only a few friends scattered here and there in our neighbourhood.  My best friend “Tom” died some years ago and since then, I’ve been ‘more or less’ a loner.  It might even be said, “Nowadays I prefer my dads company to anyone else.”  I trust him implicitly with my life as no one else will do it for me!

Oh there have been times when I’ve came home all dirty and scruffy looking, but that’s because I’d been playing on wet soil and forgot to watch where I put my paws, resulting in an accident with the ground, as I like to call it.  My dad would see me coming and enter the house, and then he’d whisk me off to the wash basin, where my reward was a wet, soggy, soapy sponge.  I absolutely hated that, but the best part was being rubbed down with a nice warm soft dry towel, which to me, was sheer ecstasy.  Ooh, how that towel made me happy!

Over the past thirteen, almost fourteen years, my dad has taken real good care of me, better than most responsible parents could have, and I’ve wanted for nothing, yet I don't feel spoiled! If my dinner wasn’t to my liking, I’d tell him.  He would then replace it with something else, resulting in two choices for yours truly, which, in my opinion, was “the business.”  After all, if my dad can have a dinner and a sweet, why shouldn’t I have a similar choice, it’s only right and proper, if you see my point!

Of course there have been times when I’ve returned home hurt and crying.  Again, my old man was there, waiting, waiting to see what I had done, or where I’d injured myself.  Sometimes the injury was so minor that all I needed was a pick me up in the shape of a quick wound clean, and, lots of TLC, or tender loving care.  Take it from me; TLC from my old man is the best.  He would take me into the living room by the fire and place me on his lap.  Then with one hand near my injury, his other hand would hold me in place to prevent me from falling.  On these occasions the heat from my dad’s hands was amazing.  I’ve never felt so much heat.  It warms you up from the inside out then sends you into a sound, peaceful sleep.  A little while later, I’d wake up and feel a hundred percent better, with little or no pain at all.  How my dad did this I do not know, but I am grateful that he could.

Naturally, there have been times when I haven’t been quite so lucky!  On those occasions my old man would put in me in the car and drive yours truly straight to the doctor’s for medical attention, but, all I can say about that is, even with a few major mishaps, I’ve come through smelling like roses!  And, it’s all down to him and his caring attitude towards me.  I couldn’t wish for a better person in my life!

Well, in concluding my little story, I feel it’s only fair to mention, finally, that I have an age disorder.  In other words, I age fast!  In your terms I am thirteen years old, in mine I am about eighty years of age, actually older than my old man!  

So, if you haven’t guessed it by now, my name is Mystic, and I am, my old man’s, cat!

Now, I'm open to further offerings from feminine felines, preferably ginger ones, but if none are interested, that's OK.  A bowl of kitty-bits will do, perhaps even tuna fish in brine, if not; thanks for reading: now, kiss my furry butt!

Matthew Hopkins

Matthew Hopkins was a man believed to have been involved with the murder of over 300 women. Hopkins was believed to be the son of a minister, who was also failed solicitor because he had no real qualifications. He was drawn into his new vocation after overhearing women discuss certain facts.

With any form of torture at the time made illegal, while civil war raged in England, he you used "sleep deprivation" as the sole source of his evidence to conflict prisoners on charges of witchcraft, and most of his victim’s accusers were children...

His prisoners were often kept in Chilly windowless cells and they were made to sit on hard wooden stools, for 24 hours or more, which were noted as being very uncomfortable, and if the prisoner dozed off from lack of sleep, they would be forced marched around to cell until they had woken up again.

He used starvation, solitary confinement, and binding of the legs to obtain confessions - 'they' not knowing what time of day it was would often be greeted by Hopkins with a "good morning" or "good afternoon" at random times.

With the help of two "hand-picked" accomplices, John Stearne and Mary Phillips, they would investigate any birthmarks, scars, moles, or boils, etc, and use these as a source of fact to ensure prosecution.

These were considered "dead spots" and were assumed never to bleed or cause pain when pricked with retractable knives. In fact, it caused the opposite and women would cry out in agony, and confess to crimes they did not commit. Sometimes women were tied up and left thumb to right toe, and right thumb to left toe and then thrown into water.

The idea was, if the woman floated, she had been saved by her master, and so was found guilty of refusing the baptismal waters, and therefore she will be marched off to be hung by the neck until dead. If she sank she was innocent and died without a stain on her character. In an attempt to aid the woman's buoyancy, she would be fitted with loose clothing which would cause air pockets to form around her body when she was literally thrown into water. The natural urge to gasp for air also caused victims to be more buoyant.

"Witches deny their baptisms when they covenant with the devil, water being the sole element thereof, and therefore saith he, when they be heaved into the water, the water refuseth to receive them unto her bosome."

Matthew Hopkins, "The Witchfinder General" of East Anglia between 1645 in 1647, carried out his investigations mainly at Inns in Manningtree and Mistly. Trials were held at Chelmsford sizes and they were a mockery. East Anglia became known as "witch country" because of local hysteria. Local court rooms were often chaotic and noisy, making it impossible to hear the charges brought forth, let alone any evidence.

His first victim was Elizabeth Clarke. The evidence she gave lead to 5 more women being convicted, one of which lead to even more women, creating a total find of 32 women - most of which were widows making them easy prey as they had no man to stand by them. Hopkins gave evidence at Colchester Castle, and the trial took place at Chelmsford. In all, 28 women were convicted. Four died incarcerated and the rest were hanged.

At a time when the local wage was two pence halfpenny, (2.5 pence) Hopkins was earning 20 shillings per witch, and he didn't only prosecute women. One of his victims was an 80 year old vicar named John Lowes. Lowes had held its position in the village of Brandeston for 50 years. He was tried and convicted after Hopkins carried out his usual methods of investigation and hanged. No magistrate or Judge at the time would argue against him for fear of having him cast his eye on them, for there was no legal counter-argument against charges of witchcraft. Matthew Hopkins was later accused of being in league with the devil which was why he was believed to be able to "spot" witches. In response, he published "the discovery of witches" it was published in London, 1647.

Hopkins carried on his trade for 18 months putting to death more women than all of the other Witchfinder Generals put together, and more witches were hanged in Essex than any other English county. In Scotland witches were burned at the stake.

Opinions are divided over the fate of Hopkins. Some believe he himself was found guilty of dealings with the devil and was hanged, like his victims. Others believe he returned to Manningtree in Essex and died of tuberculosis in 1647.