Sunday, 15 January 2017

The Inner Views of ...

VICTOR S E MOUBARAK

Saturday, 14 January 2017

Praying

 
Father Ignatius sat in the empty church right up front by Our Lady’s statue. He watched for a while the votive candles burning at her feet and then started his Rosary.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, these words came whirling fast into his head, totally uncontrollable and spontaneous, yet as clear as if they were spoken to him there and then.

“How shall I pray, Lord?” said the words in Father Ignatius’ head.

“Shall I beg over and over again for You to hear me? Is that what You want of me?

“Shall I plead for ever like the widow to the judge until she was heard?

“How do You want me to see You? As an over-powerful ruler demanding His own way?

“How do You want me to love You? As one loves a monster, with immense fear lest I arouse your anger and wrath?

“Shall I fear You for ever and cower at the thought of your fury?”

Father Ignatius stopped praying and made the sign of the Cross. He took a deep breath … and yet the words continued in his mind … somehow gentler now … somehow softer …

“Love me as a child … with no fear and no dread.

“Trust me as a child trusts his parents when they give him food and drink.

“A child never questions whether the food is good to eat … he takes it in trust and asks for more.

“He never doubts when led by his parents … he follows eagerly holding hands along the way.

“Love me as a child … and I’ll treat you with love and compassion.

“Ask me as a child … and I’ll give you what’s good for you in good time.

“Trust me as a child … and I’ll show you the way …

“No matter how difficult your journey ahead, I’ll always be there … guiding you into eternity … with Me.”

The words suddenly stopped as quickly as they’d started. Yet their message remained with the priest for a long time.

Wednesday, 11 January 2017

Welcome to hell



Monday, 9 January 2017

Murder by TV

What a waste of time. I have just wasted a whole hour of my life watching a Murder Mystery program on TV and at the end I am none the wiser.

I want to protest to someone but the chances are that if I write a stiff letter, (on cardboard), to the TV company, the producer, the main actors, or even the writer; none will take me seriously.

Instead, I am writing to you for some sympathy, at least.

No sooner the program started that a man was found murdered in suspicious circumstances. Has there ever been a murder in not suspicious circumstances? I ask myself.

The victim was shot in the chest and buried in the back garden of the local vicarage.

At first the police suspected suicide. Then they looked into the hole where the man was found and decided someone had put him there.

Who was it? Who tried to bury the victim and did such a bad job of it?

Was it the local vicar who has a penchant for licorice sweets?

The church housekeeper who keeps a hamster in her bedroom?

The local spinster librarian, (you always need a spinster in a murder mystery), who always looks from behind the curtains as to who is going where and with whom and at what time. 

Or was it the pub landlord who often waters down his beer to make it go further and thus cheat his customers who have no other place to go for a drink because it is the only pub for a million miles around; unless that is they prefer coffee and English tea with scones and cream and strawberry jam, in which case they would go to the Ye Merry Garden Tea Emporium run by Matilda Rowbottom and her lodger/boyfriend/lover/lothario/seducer/Romeo/Casanova/Don Juan waiter and chef named Ivor Risotto who hails from Scandinavia yet is from Welsh descent?

The police have so many potential suspects that they do not know where to start. They start making enquiries and questioning all and sundry when, (surprise), the vicar is found dead in an industrial washing machine and is thus eliminated from their enquiries; which is a pity since he was the main suspect. At least it was a clean death at 40 degree washing temperature and a spin dry cycle of 800 revolutions per minute.

So the police turn their attention to the church housekeeper whose job includes cleaning the church vestments. But this proves to be a wild goose chase because the lady in question was at the library at the time borrowing a book entitled "How to murder people using a hamster as bait."

By the time the police go to the library to confirm the housekeeper's alibi they found the librarian dead in the Zoology Section half-eaten by a crocodile which escaped, or was released, from the local zoo.

In any case, the church housekeeper is herself found dead in a barn full of hamsters pretending to be Guinea pigs.

The pub landlord is killed when a barrel of beer fell on his toe resulting in him bleeding to death.

Matilda Rowbottom sells the Ye Meery Garden Tea Emporium to a French woman called Madame Leggert.

And Ivor Risotto falls in love with Madame Leggert's daughter only to discover that she wants to live in Spain instead.

There is no one else to suspect for this series of murders or mysterious deaths except the many cockroaches who inhabit the Tea Emporium. But unfortunately, they all provide alibis for each other thus causing total confusion to the police and all TV viewers who have wasted their time watching the show.

If you have a better explanation as to what just happened in this last hour, please let me know in the comments box below.

Saturday, 7 January 2017

Granite Heart



GRANITE HEART



What’s our heart made of?



Tender flesh soft and gentle,

Feels the pain that’s all around,

Cries at hurts, wrongs and injustice,

Bleeds with every tortured soul.



Or slowly hardened by life’s cruelty,

Fatigued by constant repeated ills,

To the point it beats no longer

And turns to granite cold and still.

 Copyright © 2009 Victor S E Moubarak

Thursday, 5 January 2017

Floating memories in my mind

Every so often in life we all find ourselves sitting back and remembering times gone by and perhaps weighing up past events against what is likely to happen in the future.

Certain occasions seem to trigger such reveries from the many dark corners of our minds. It could be at the time around the New Year when we look back wistfully at the year just ended and wonder what the next twelve months will bring. Or it could be at the time of one's birthday, or other anniversary like a wedding anniversary, or 25 or so years in marriage, that these memories come floating by to the front of  your head and keeps you pondering.

Sometimes it is a piece of music that triggers such old memories, or a smell of perfume or something, or visiting a place. Anything and anytime can wake up the spirit of times gone by. Without warning or prior notice.

Imagine for instance you're lying there in your bath, relaxing amongst the soap bubbles and warm water, perhaps reading one of my books, when suddenly a thought strikes you from nowhere ...

Which is in fact precisely what happened to me the other day ... ... ...
There I was, enjoying a warm bath and a good read, when somehow my thoughts turned to death. I don't know why such thoughts crossed my mind but I wondered what happens after death.

I know what we are taught about eternal life and the here-after; but somehow I wondered what if there actually was re-incarnation? Can you imagine? Returning back as a tin of evaporated milk?

It was made from contented cows, you know!
How did the cows know to stop when the tin of milk was full? Did they stop in mid flow, I wondered.

Then, thinking back about death, I asked myself whether cows, and other animals, go to Heaven when they die.

I almost hoped that they don't. Because I do not want to come face-to-face with the Sunday roast telling me off for having eaten it.

Can you imagine meeting that wasp, or yellowjacket, you killed last summer when you're in Heaven? It might well sting you in the backside in revenge; because they don't wear anything under those long robes they give you in Heaven, you know!
I imagined Saint Peter warning me about the yellowjackets and me holding my legs tightly together to protect my manhood.

Somehow, the thought made me smile and then laugh out loud.

What is laughter? I asked myself, but did not reply.

I thought about it for a while. It is a build up of energy that starts somewhere deep within one's diagram, (just above the belly button), and rushes up your asparagus, and comes out as a loud noise out of your mouth.

From anywhere else and you're in trouble! Especially if you have an attack of wind.

Anyway, this train of thoughts somehow took a turning back to death and family members now long gone.

I remembered my dear old dad. He always used to say to me "take every thing with a pinch of salt!" Mind you, he made a terrible cup of tea.

He told me once that when I was born in hospital I was very ugly indeed. Apparently the nurse slapped me on the backside and hit my dad in the mouth.

But as I grew up, like the ugly duckling, I became really good looking. I recall when I worked in London I was stopped in the street by a very beautiful woman who said: "Hello handsome. Can you direct me to the optician please?"

In my revery, sitting there in the bath, I recalled my dear old uncle. He was very well educated and a professor at the local University where he taught graffiti and hooliganism.

He used to tell his students: "Sticks and stones may break my bones. But words will never hurt me!" Then one day a printing press fell on him.

He was quite a character my uncle. Once he put a cake and custard in his wife's nylon tights and then declared: "Never trifle with a woman's affection!" I don't think she had a sense of humour, my aunt!

She was quite a figure to look at and wonder. A real hour-glass figure, she had. She said she had been on a peanut and melon diet. The peanuts did'nt do much good but the melons ...

My other uncle was a glazier. You know, a person whose trade is fitting glass into windows and doors. Once, working at this multi-storey block of offices, he spent all day changing the glass in over 100 windows. Then he realised he had a crack in his spectacles.

By this time the water in the bath was getting a little cold and it was time I got out and practiced my body-building poses infront of the full length mirror. It reminded me of the time when I went to see the doctor. He asked me: "Do you have trouble passing water?"

I replied: "I get a little dizzy when travelling over a bridge!"

He was a great Shakespearean actor, my doctor. Toured the USA and other countries for years. His favourite role was in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Have you seen his Bottom? Or perhaps caught a glimpse of his Malvolio on the Twelfth Night?

Anyway, enough of me and my bathing memories.

At least they are better than those of yet another uncle of mine. His doctor told him to keep away from all dampness because of his rheumatism. So he sat in an empty bath and vacuum cleaned himself!

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

Reminiscences of Christmases past

There I was sitting in the back garden the other day watching the sun setting down, when my mind drifted back to my childhood all those years ago, and the many presents I had wished for at Christmas and how I had to make do with their well-meaning substitutes.

I remembered that one year I had my heart set on a train set. You know the one I mean? A beautiful steam locomotive all shining in black, pulling an open container full of coal, and this pulling a carriage with people clearly visible through the windows. The set included a number of rails which when linked together would make a large circle; and you could also buy various accessories like a railway station, ticket office, more rails, carriages and so on.

I'd imagined buying all the additional accessories with my pocket money and building a rail network that would be the envy of any transport system you could think of.

I wrote several letters to Father Christmas explaining precisely which train set I was after and pointing out that I had been a good boy all year round; just in case he didn't know.

On Christmas day I did not get that train set at all. Instead, my auntie had knitted me a pullover and a little train locomotive. I mean ... is she mad or what? A knitted train locomotive? I ask you ... how can you get a train locomotive made of wool and stuffed with pieces of cotton to go round and round? She didn't even knit me a set of rails!

I always wondered about the sanity of that woman. She must have been light-brained and a few tomatoes short of a salad, as they say. She was always knitting something. Tea cosies to keep the teapot warm, hats or bonnets to keep our heads warm, scarves to keep our neck warm, gloves and mittens, socks and booties to keep our hands and feet warm.

On another Christmas she knitted us all pencils and pens pullovers. Let me explain. She knitted long thin tubes the length of a pencil with different color wool. A bit like the sleeve of your jumper or jersey but much smaller. The idea is that you push your pencil or pen through the tubes to keep them warm.

Is she mental or what? Do pencils feel the cold perchance?

And when we did as she suggested, every time we tried to write the pens would slide into the tube as we pressed on the paper.

Eventually the silly woollen sleeves were thrown away in a drawer. Can you suggest another use for woollen tubes six inches long?

Another year I asked my Father for a computer for my Birthday. He gave me a packet of crayons instead. He said he couldn't buy me a computer because it hadn't been invented yet!

To be fair, he was right. Computers hadn't been invented until years later. But a packet of crayons is hardly a substitute is it? He could have bought me a laptop or a tablet!

I asked my Mom for a helmet or hard hat for when I go out on my bicycle. I didn't have a bicycle at the time, but I was always forward thinking ... you know, just in case one day I got a bike. Instead she bought me a set of non-stick frying pans.

When I got married, we decided that we did not want any gifts or presents at all. We wrote in the invitation letters that we'd like everyone to come along and enjoy a nice toast to Love and Happy Life ever after. On the day in question everyone turned up with a toaster as a gift. We had at least 150 of the kitchen appliances.

I suppose the most useful present I was ever given was from my uncle when he gifted me a roll of double-sided sticky tape. I asked him why and he explained I could use the tape to pull back my sticking out ears. I had terrible sticking out ears as a child. I looked like a car with its doors open.

Eventually my parents sold our dog and the lawnmower to pay for my ears to be operated on. I had the operation on one ear. Unfortunately the doctor died shortly afterwards.

So now I have an ear looking normal and the other still sticking out. At the slightest breeze I spin round like a hotel revolving door.

As I was sitting there in the garden reminiscing I suddenly had to get up and go indoors. The wind unexpectedly picked up and I started rotating fast like a spinning top.

Have you ever had a well-meaning gift which did not quite fit with what you had in mind?

MORE REMINISCENCES (MEMORIES) OF MINE HERE
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