Nudging Consciousness
whilst giving & receiving through a life.
emergency and emergence braided both at once.
ReMember The Night
How can you go meekly into the night
When your world no longer gently goes around?
How can you go meekly into the night
When lives of who you cherish depend on you being wise?
Do you forget that in the beginning time started?
And yet this time has an end as so do you.
For if you have, forget not that all times have their moments besides one Holy one
And at these ends what was judged became honest and what was before was judged.
So question what frightens you most today
and drive what you most fear to a place called Love
Be inspired, rekindled, and reflamed as you banner your re-nation.
Remember Joan of Arc as she was burned on a wood pyre
What was sinister and left to those that judged then
Is now honest and right
Remember Nelson Mandela
What was twenty seven years in prison as a black gangster to those that judged then
Is now transforming to honest and right.
Remember your country, your nation and what is being judged today
As you unpack the suitcases of yesterdays memories.
Remember too your mothers and fathers and gaze deep into the innocence of your child
When you too were honest and often right!
How can you go meekly into the night?
Instead you can kindle your passion like a Joan, Gandhi, Mandela within your fellowships.
Today stand on a human edge of your well of grief,
grieve and then cry out loud
No longer abide as a timid puppy, fear not as you unchain your wrath of Cerberus
Bark now “I’m mad as hell and I’m going to stand for this no more”
And then shed this worthless bridle of anger, compassion this fear to drive your love.
I plead again as Christ bleeds again
His Holy tears for God’s eternal love timeless for one and all.
We love this earth on which we stand.
Do not go meekly into our good night.
When I realized in 2023 that farmer ingredients was 13c in food products we were selling in 6,000 N American stores with customers complaining of the retailers increasing beyond $5.50 - I said “Why Bother?” - & when a Southern African region government had me on calls in 2024 as a Patron of Food4Africa, needing millions of meals a day and had millions of migrants without shelter - I said “How do I bother?”
of the road of a life where the true way was wholly lost,
as Dante named it — lost in the dark riddle
of compromise. Is heaven or hell the cost?
consuming what was healthy and free;
and why bother when the earth we failed to tend
sends three hundred eighty million migrants to the wire:
extraction's final bill, the dividend
of taking without giving has now come due.
The farmer knows this. Twelve cents in his hand.
Five fifty on our shelf he'll never reach,
and forty-one percent of all we grow
finds no one's mouth. The wasted harvest
of a world gone numb.
by hands that do not know a region's soil and rain —
arrives at five thousand, wrapped in guilt
of border fees and middlemen's cold gain.
cannot know the Ganges carries poisoned bloom
through every polluted thread — fashion's darkest cost
worn intimate to skin. So many we have lost.
of twenty-seven years and would not make
of vengeance any mathematics.
Mandela chose the harder road for forgiveness sake.
named the wound and opened the shame —
she walked it. From heaven as freed slaves to hell again,
of despots and child soldiers — Chose to bear
her wound as map, not monument.
Both their choice — truth and reconciliation.
every bank refused — the unbankable banked.
Fifty million lives re-composed.
They named us: younger brother. We who mine
our mother and call the mining free —
and now we are the sixth. Not witness. Cause.
his rebellion, in a Dorset dark prep school
had watched Lord Dickie hold the frame because
McQueen took wire and turned it into arc of The Great Escape —
and ran away. Through gorse, through night,
through bramble, barbed wire, ditch and Dorset hills,
propelled by what that camera made of flight:
burning still. And burning still.
Not prison camp but ocean. Not the wire
of Stalag Luft but coral. And it bends —
that sixty-year-old thread — from Dickie's fire
to David's depth. The boy who ran because
one brother filmed the courage to break free
now stands in the room that funded, without pause,
the other brother's witness to the sea.
finds its home tonight in your alpine air.
The question hasn't aged. We are not alone.
You funded what he lived. We were always there.
yet are we here to help avert a sixth?
WHY BOTHER? because my thread
had me work with all I speak about,
an authentic truth of why they bothered.
And why I bother still.
The body fell apart —
and yet the heart held frequency. It knows
what extraction never can: that life
cannot consume its source and long survive.
Frequency. Remembering the tone
beneath the body's separate hells —
the note that says: you are not alone,
you are the farm and farmer both,
the seed and soil, the rain and root,
and we have a choice to return to source.
Three billion lives. Fed.
One living thread from seed to sovereign yield.
across the continents, the coffee shops,
the ceremonies, boardrooms, here — and somehow
they recognise each other. And it stops!
the long extraction driven by a desire for power. Stops!
Not twelve cents lost to air.
But value held at source. The farmer alive
inside the price. Transparent. Real. Revealed.
We are the chrysalis of what must be.
Not at the ending. At the frequency.
Not at the rescue. At the root.
It is the middle of the road.
We are standing in it now.
We choose.
Because the heart was never once attacked.
It knew. Its beat keeps the frequency we hold here.
And everything we judged was torn and cracked
is now herStory and history, authentically true —
emergency and emergence, braided as one,
one living thread from darkness into light.
We are the morphing of the imaginals.
This is how humanity is to heal and be free.
