SpoonfulOfDreams

It's no accident that theatrical tragedies have been so popular for millenia, that clowns wear a frown or success often rises from the ashes of defeat. Is the twisted life of a comic genius the source of his acerbic wit? Through a combination of fault and fate I've walked a rocky path this last year or so and though I've had to face up to harsh realities there have been times when I've wondered if I've been over analytical. The truth is: this has probably been the most incisive and creative time of my life though I would swap it in an instant. It's only through pain you can identify the hurt which I might have missed had I been more stoic. I asked myself if it was wise to seek enlightenment whenever thoughts troubled me and though I concede that bread is more useful than wisdom, on this occasion I thought it worth the detour. And so I thought maybe I heard the devil whisper and was there any benefit in listening. If you read into this the morality of truth or a

A Poem With willing flesh And heart replete A thousand miles these feet would walk In searing heat These heavy eyes Would gladly gaze Upon the sun's relentless incandescent rays But heroes faint For lack of hope When lesser mortals less prepared Would somehow cope The flesh finds strength From scraps and spills And breaks out of its boundaries When the spirit wills But flesh's anaerobic burst Will face the hearts inertia When it fears the worst The spirit hides Behind the skirts Of fixed primordial paradigms And ancient hurts The heart made strong With longings stirred grows weak with dreams betrayed And hopes deferred © Chris Price 2010

A Final Eulogy It's been nearly four months since my mum died and this weekend the family got together to scatter her ashes. I was thinking about what would be appropriate to say on this occasion that was not so applicable at her funeral. I gave the eulogy at her funeral and in deciding what to say I went through a few ideas including the concept of the circle of life. While living appears to be linear if you join the two ends you have a continuous line with no true beginning or end. However as this is conceptual rather than illustrative it doesn't really lend itself to a eulogy. Pondering on this about an hour before scattering the ashes the illustration of a library came into my mind (though I can't quite remember how it came about) and as I thought about it the idea of borrowing a book worked quite well and the following is, in essence, what I said. When an author writes a book it first takes shape as a manuscript which goes to a publisher and eventually is printed in se