The fear of fear is the greatest of all fears

If we are honest, we all have a secret fear which perhaps we don't tell anyone else. It could be the fear of confined spaces, (claustrophobia), or open spaces (agoraphobia), or outer spaces (Star Trek, Star Wars and so on).

When I was very young I had many fears. For example I was afraid to look up to the sun in case I got blind and always walked with my head down in the street in case I accidentally looked up my mistake. This led to my hitting my head against lamp-posts, trees, traffic lights and road signs which in itself led to a fear of street furniture generally. I thought they had it in for me and were out to get me. For a while I thought that perhaps I was a vampire destined to go out only at night.

I was also afraid of glass glasses in case when I drink I might bite on the glass and therefore swallow bits of glass whilst I was drinking which would necessitate me going to hospital and removing the glass from my stomach. This led to me fearing hospitals, doctors, nurses and anything to do with the medical profession in general. This fear was punctuated when later in life, in my twenties, a psychiatrist nearly killed me. I was going down a narrow lane when he drove at me on the wrong side of the road. From that day I have avoided psychiatrists altogether.

Hypnotists too. I went to see a hypnotist to discuss my fear of hypnotists. He sat me down on a chair, stood behind me and went "BOOO !!!" 

As a child, I also feared getting sunstroke or burning from the sun when out on the beach in summer. My parents used to cover me with factor 1,000,000 sun cream but this led to the fear that I might be absorbing all this sun cream through my skin and doing myself more harm than being burnt to a frazzle by the sun. So I decided to wear thick clothing on the beach. I remember spending a holiday in Malta one summer wearing a heavy coat throughout. I lost a lot of weight that year.

Also, I feared going for a swim after having just eaten in case I'd get stomach cramp and drown because the coat was too heavy having absorbed all that water. I always waited for two weeks before going for a swim after eating by which time the holiday was over and we had to return home.

As a child, I went to a very old school which looked more like a big manor in the country rather than a school. It had long dark corridors and large classrooms with wooden desks arranged in rows. Down one of the long dark corridors there were paintings of portraits along both walls as you walked down the corridor to my classroom. The portraits were of old school headmasters dating back to the 1800s. They were all dressed in the clothing fashionable at the time and they looked down at me, from both sides of the walls, as I hurried to my classroom. From that day I was afraid of portraits. I always thought they'd be looking at me. Just like you see in some horror films where the portrait on the wall has someone behind it looking at you from the holes in the eyes.

This led to the fear of mirrors in case the reflection in the mirror was looking at me looking at it.

The neighbours had a black cat always sitting on the partition wall out in the garden between our houses. At night his eyes would shine sometimes in the dark. This made me afraid of black cats. From that day I would never walk under a black cat. Did you know if a black cat crosses your path at night it is because he is going somewhere? This fear of cats led to other fears and superstitions. For instance, if I ever broke a mirror I would quickly sweep it up in case someone trod on it in bare feet.

Reading books at school did nothing to allay my many fears, but served to add to them. For example, although I love chocolates I have always had a fear of visiting a chocolate factory in case the Oompa-Loompas attacked me.

I was also afraid of beans as a young lad. I had read the book Jack and the Beanstalk and I feared eating beans in case one of them was magic and it would grow in my stomach and a plant would come out of my bottom sending me up to the sky.

I was also afraid to visit my grandma in case she was the big bad wolf in disguise. I remember at school once my English teacher said "your grammar stinks!" I told my father when I got home and he was very upset, especially since my grandma always smelled of sweet lavender perfume. He did say, however, that my other grandma smells of pot-pourri.

So ... have you got any secret fears? What are they? I'd love to hear from you.

Desperate Prayer

Weird Happenings

Something weird happened to me today. Weird is the exact word for it. That, or possibly perplexing. Either way, I felt very disturbed at the time.

I went out in the garden, and there, in the corner by the pear tree was a panther. He was sitting there, on alert, ready to pounce on its prey.

I couldn't believe my eyes. So I tried believing my ears instead and listened. Nothing. Not a sound. It just sat there staring at me staring at him.

It could have been a black cat. Everything seems to be bigger than it really is since I wore these new glasses. The optician may have given me someone else's prescription by mistake. When I left his shop I could not find my red Mini car. Where I parked it there was a huge red Jeep instead. So I walked home.

Have you noticed how everyone seems to be putting a lot of weight on lately. I was like a dwarf amongst giants.

These glasses certainly make everything appear huge. I'll loan them to my wife some evening.

This is not the first time my optician made such silly mistakes. Especially since I only went there for a haircut. The last time I visited him he trimmed my beard and moustache too short.

He told me once that he is totally self-taught. He does not believe in all this wasting time at college and university to get a degree and fancy letters after your name. Anyone can be a hairdresser, he said. All you need is practice and he got all the practice he needs when he was a gardener cutting trees and hedges and mowing the lawn.

Whilst I don't mind having my eyes checked by him, I would certainly not have him shave me with one of those very sharp razor blades. Not again. Not after the last time.

I remember staying very still and very afraid as the sharp blade reached my throat. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw an ear on the floor amongst all the cut hairs.

I said, "Look here ... there's an ear down here on the floor. Whose ear is it here?"

He replied, "Touch it. If it is still warm it is yours!"

Another thing about him, like all hairdressers, they like to talk whilst cutting your hair and always ask if you've been on holiday or are going on holiday. What is it about hairdressers and holidays?

On another occasion, after testing my eyes and then cutting my hair he asked, "Have you been on holiday?"

"Oh yes ..." I replied, "I have been to Rome. I went to the Vatican and met the Pope. I had an audience with the Pope and met him in his Pope Room!"

Being a Catholic, my optician and hairdresser was most impressed. He wanted to learn more.

"Really?" he asked, "You met His Popiness the Pope? What did he say to you?"

I hesitated and then said, "He said, tell me who cut your hair so badly and I'll get your money back!"

My hairdresser stopped sharpening his razor for a moment and then asked, "And did you tell him?"
 
In his job one has to be very discreet and not repeat what one hears or learns about one's clients. It's like going to confession to a priest. What one hears one does not repeat.

I remember years ago, when I was young and single, whilst he was cutting my hair, I told him about an indiscretion with a young lady.

"Was it Margaret who works at the butcher's?" he asked.

I said, "No!"

"Oh ... it must have been Jennifer then. She works at the supermarket down the road."

Again, he got it wrong.

"If not Jennifer, then it must have been Dorothy. She too is one for the boys!" he declared with a smile.

"Definitely not." I said. 

After a few more wrong guesses, he still did not know who my girl-friend was. But I got some useful contacts I did not know about.

I wonder whose glasses he gave me by mistake.

Reality Check

What is reality? I asked myself the other day as I sat out in the garden. I had to ask myself, because there was no one else there.

What I mean, and what I also meant when I asked myself the question, and got no answer. Albeit, I might add, the dog barked for no apparent reason. He always does that when I sit quietly talking to myself. I don't know why.

Anyway, what I meant by the question, if you can still remember that far, is that, what is reality to us, might not be so, or have been so to other people in the past. Something can be real to us, but not to others.

Let me explain.

Take my great great great grand-parents for instance. If you can find them. If you told them that you could be sitting at home, writing on your computer, and someone else many miles away could be receiving your e-mail within seconds and respond to it whilst you're enjoying your cappuccino coffee. They would not understand our reality of the internet, e-mails, texts, tweets, and so on and they would most probably reply, "What's a cappuccino?" Because they didn't have that in their time. It may be reality to us, but not to them.

Take another example, for instance. The other day my wife was looking through a ladies' magazine and she came across a lovely brown winter coat. She looked at me and said, "I'd like that!" So I cut the picture out and gave it to her. It was not reality to her ... but the consequences of my action were a reality to me.

So you see, reality is how you perceive it to be. It's like looking at a mirage which is not there. Which, when you think about it, in reality is not there. Because that's what a mirage means: a hallucination, a vision, an illusion. If it was there for real then it would not be a mirage, would it? For instance, is a marriage a mirage? Or is it real? If it is real then why does my predictive text type marriage when I mean mirage? Come to think of it, many couples lead a mirage type of marriage. They pretend to love each other but in reality they only stay married for many other reasons: the children, their religious beliefs, the cost and heart-ache of divorce, or just because they are plain lazy to do anything else.

And here's another example of reality not being real. The other day I met a friend I had not seen for ages. When he was young he was a boy. Then when he grew up he had a beard and he became an accountant. The last time I saw him at college he had no beard. Then two years later I saw him again and he had grown a beard and became an accountant. I'm not sure if the two incidents were related or not. So which one of these three instances is real? My friend being a young boy? Growing up and having a beard? Or being an accountant? Which leads to the question: can someone be an accountant and not have a beard?

Anyway, the other day I met him again after a period of six years or so of not seeing him. He was clean-shaven again and no longer an accountant. He became an undertaker. He was so popular that people are dying to meet him. They always signed letters to him; "Eventually yours ..."

I said to him, "If you had a moustache you'd look exactly like my mother-in-law!"

He replied, "I do not have a moustache!"

I said, "But my mother-in-law has."

The moustache was a reality, but it was on the wrong person.

This friend of mine is very rich now. Obviously either accounting or undertaking has suited him well as a career. He has a house with a cinema in it. The problem is that when there's a bad film on he has to leave his own home.

And that's what reality is. It is what it is perceived to be.

I am sitting here writing this Blog day in day out. But how do I know that you out there reading it are real? Are you a reality? Ordinary or extra-ordinary people in your own homes in far flung places reading my daily writings? Or not?
 
What if you are a figment of my imagination? What if I am a figment of your imagination? What if we are all a figment of each others' imagination and none of us really exist?

Who is writing this Blog then? And how do you know that it has been written and it is not a figment of your and my imagination?

Just because René Descartes said, "Cogito ergo sum" does not mean that he is not a figment of his own imagination. He then translated it into "je pense, donc je suis" which as you know means, "I think, therefore I am!" But what does all that prove anyway? 

I started this whole Blog post with the thought, "What is reality?"

Does this prove that I am? Does it prove that I exist? Maybe I just thought or imagined that I thought what reality is? And maybe I don't really exist but the thought that I thought it does exist?

Hein? Have you thought about that? 

Share your views in the comments box below. That is if you truly exist.

Miracles

Father Ignatius approached the pulpit and said, “Hands up all those who have been to Lourdes!”

Quite a few hands went up.

“Keep your hands up,” he said, “now hands up those who went to Fatima, Knock or any other Holy Shrine!”

A few more hands went up.

“OK …” continued the priest, “hands down. Now hands up again anyone who has had a miracle happen to them at any of these places!”

No hands went up.

The priest waited a few seconds and then continued.

“Just as I thought! No one considers that a miracle has happened to them. Which of course begs the question; Do miracles happen these days?

“The truth is that miracles do happen these days; but people are not willing to believe in them.

“Perhaps they expect spectacular miracles to happen … Raising of the dead. Walking on water, changing water into wine … now that was a good one!

“Anything less than that and our Faith has not been stimulated enough to even consider it as a miracle, let alone believe it has happened.”

He stopped once again, as he usually did in his sermons, to allow the challenge to sink into the parishioners’ minds.

“I’d like us to consider for a while what is a miracle and who actually performs it when it happens.

“Spectacular miracles, as you would wish them to be, like healings from incurable illnesses and diseases do happen at Lourdes and elsewhere even today. There is plenty of documented evidence if you wish to research it.

“Many people have been healed suddenly with no explanation from medical or scientific sources. They remain unexplained and are accepted as miracles performed at the many Shrines visited by the sick person.

“Miracles happen elsewhere too … not just at these Shrines. Miracles can happen in churches, hospitals or even at your homes … if it is the will of God that they should happen.

“This then leads to the second question. Who performs these miracles?

“Is it Our Lady, the Mother of God at Lourdes or her other Shrines? Is it the particular Saint you happen to be praying to for help? Or is it God?

“And when we pray to individuals before they become Saints for a particular favor, or miracle even … like Padre Pio, Pere Charbel, and so on before they were made Saints by the Vatican … who performed the miracles do you think? Was it the particular person prayed to or was it God?

“Isn’t it after all the performance of miracles, or the answers to prayers, one of the tests which our Church considers as a requirement to Sainthood?”

He paused yet again.

“There are those who say that only God or Jesus can perform miracles; and to pray to Saints, or even people who have not even yet been considered as Saints, is wrong.

“Let me read you something from Acts of the Apostles … you can look it up yourselves at Acts 3.

“You’ll remember that as Peter and John went into the Temple to pray they met a man at The Beautiful Gate, as it was called, who had been lame all his life.

“The beggar expected money from the two apostles. Peter turned to him and said, ‘I don’t have silver or gold. But what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth get up and walk!’ And of course the man was healed.

“Later on in Acts 5 Verse 12 we read that many miracles were performed by the apostles. Sick people lay in the streets so that Peter’s shadow would fall upon them and heal them. And indeed many were healed.

“The important thing to note here is that Peter said ‘in the name of Jesus Christ get up and walk.’

“So yes … the apostles whilst they walked this earth, and now they are in Heaven, can and do perform miracles; they have not lost their ability to perform miracles, in the name of Jesus, just because they’re in Heaven.

“And so does Our Lady perform miracles in the name of her Son Jesus. As do Padre Pio, Pere Charbel and many other Saints. But they do so in the name of Jesus. It is very important to remember that.”

Father Ignatius stopped once again having pressed his point home.

“And now we move on to our last question,” he said, “for today at least!

“What role does our Faith has to play in the performance of miracles?

“Jesus said time and again to the sick, ‘Your Faith has healed you. Your Faith has saved you.’

“He did not say, ‘Wait … let me click my fingers and hey presto you’ll be healed … Because I’m great at miracles!’ ”

The congregation laughed. The priest continued.

“He made a point of saying that the people’s Faith played a great part in their healing and in their salvation.

“The sick did not stay at home and think ‘Oh well … if Jesus wants to heal me, He’ll do so in good time … I don’t need to go and see Him!’

“They went out to seek Him. They believed in this man who was different. A holy man, a teacher, a healer, the Son of God.

“They had heard about Him, and now He’s in their town or village they went out to find Him … in hope, in desperation perhaps, and even in Faith … as small as a mustard seed! But that little Faith, however tiny it was, is what saved and healed them.

“The blind man shouted at the top of his voice to attract Christ’s attention and to be healed.

“The old lady pushed her way through the crowds in order to get close enough to just touch His cloak and be healed.

“The Roman soldier believed in Jesus so much that he thought just one word from Him would bring healing.

“That’s what I mean by true Faith … it plays a great part in the performance of miracles.

“It need not be our Faith that saves us … the Faith of others, on our behalf can and does bring miracles and healing to us.

“The Roman soldier was asking for healing for his servant, not for himself. His Faith helped heal his servant.

“The men who broke the roof off a house and lowered the man in his sick bed down to Jesus showed Faith on behalf of their friend … and their Faith was rewarded.

“All the people who lay in the streets hoping that Peter’s shadow may fall upon them showed great Faith too.

“As indeed do all those who visit Lourdes, Fatima, Knock and all the Holy Shrines.

“Let me conclude by saying that miracles do indeed happen today. Both great and small. They are performed by Saints and those yet to be Saints through the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ

“Faith plays a great part in the performance of miracles.

“And before you ask … we do not have to go to the Holy Shrines for our prayers to be heard, or for our miracles to happen. All we need is to trust in God and be willing to accept His will in His time and in His way.

“We need a little Faith … not much, just a mustard seed’s worth!”

MORE FATHER IGNATIUS STORIES HERE

 

Saving the Planet - Sorted!

My last post discussed, amongst other things, the question of re-cycling. I would certainly welcome your comments on that subject over there, or indeed about any other topic raised on that post. How about that for re-cycling? I have even given you two links to that previous post. Sorry ... three.

Now the reason for re-cycling is, I am told, to save the planet. What we are saving it from I still do not know. Some say we are saving it from global warming - we are burning too many things which are bad for the planet and cause its temperature to rise, and this is bad because the icebergs will melt and the seas will rise and only the strongest swimmers will survive. Others don't agree with this theory and believe temperatures rise and fall in a cyclical fashion and as in the past we had the ice-age we are only going through a phase and we will survive through it.

Personally, I am not clever enough to understand one argument from another. It's like the argument about the extinction of dinosaurs. Some say they all died because they could not withstand the cold temperatures of the ice-age; others say they died because they were killed by a meteorite, or asteroid which hit the earth. Although why they were all standing in the same place at the time is a mystery to me.

Now about this global warming thing. Many have argued about what exactly causes global warming, but I feel they have missed an obvious reason for the problem which is there staring them in the face.

Candles.

Can you imagine how many candles are lit at any one time in the world? In churches, in restaurants, at romantic dinner tables, in the bathroom - I mean; whoever thought of candles in the bathroom? Very dangerous if you happen to singe your hair. On birthday cakes too? Come on - admit it. How many candles are on your birthday cake each year? You and all these other candles are contributing to global warming.

That and cows breaking wind apparently. Cows break wind more than other creatures because they have two stomachs. It seems that all the gases coming out of cows float up to the sky and make a hole in the sky through which the warmth of the earth escapes and the sun rays get in through the hole in the sky and makes us warm again.

I have mentioned cows because, I understand, they contribute most to the problem. But apparently all kinds of gaseous substances from animals and humans contribute to the problem. So my advice to save the planet is don't break wind near a lit candle.

Another reason for global warming, I am told, is deforestation. This means that we are cutting down too many trees and not planting new ones fast enough.

The other day I was sitting at the library reading about global warming, and a man beside me said, "“Do you realize that all the time you've been sitting here 500 square miles of rain forest have been destroyed?”

So I got up and sat elsewhere. I don't want to be blamed for destroying a forest.

Whilst we are on the subject, yet another reason for global warming is books. Yes books. Books are made of paper which comes from wood from trees which have been cut down to make paper.

Do you realise that there are millions of books being printed in the world each year and most of them go unread? Including mine. Which is a pity because you're missing out on a good read. Just click the link to find out more.

Now if we printed fewer books, or we published them in Kindle or other electronic formats, like mine are, then we would save on a lot of paper and trees being cut down.

Yet another reason for global warming, it seems, is our voracious appetite for electricity. We are using more and more electricity every year.

We all need electricity to make our electric toothbrush work. As you know, the old fashioned way of brushing our teeth with a traditional brush is no longer effective. We all need an electric toothbrush to make sure our teeth are bright and clean and they attract a handsome and/or attractive partner in life.

This is why the consumption of world electricity is constantly increasing.

So another way to save the planet is by finding new ways of making electricity rather than burning fossil fuels to make the turbines which make electricity work. One way of making electricity cheaply, I am told by experts, is to harness the wind power and build wind-turbines. These in effect are big fans which go round and round and make the turbines which create electricity work. It's all very complicated but more effective than burning coal or oil to turn the turbines.

The problem with this method is that some people object to wind turbines because they spoil the natural scenery whether they are built in the countryside on hills and in fields, or out at sea. Also, I understand, the sound of the wind turbines as they go round and round upsets the birds' hearing as they fly by; and they have to cover their ears with their wings thus interrupting their flight causing them to fall to their death.

The answer to this problem is rather simple if only people use their imagination. Engineers should install these big wind turbines in caves or under-water out of harm's way and so as not to spoil the natural scenery. Either that or have them built on wheels and bring them out at night when everyone is asleep.

My main concerns with wind turbines, however, is much more serious. I am worried that if every nation builds more and more of these wind turbines everywhere, sooner or later they will make so much wind that the whole earth will take off like a plane and start flying away to another galaxy. Where would we be then?

In another solar system where they do not speak our language with no one to read my books.

So I think a better solution is to use less electricity by switching all our lights off and using candles instead!

Who calls you baby?

I was thinking the other day about old traditions which are no longer with us and have been confined to history.

Just to name a few, I remember in Olden Tymes we used to have milk delivered on our doorstep. Early in the morning the battery-operated milk van used to come down the hill with its engine whirring and the sound of glass bottles clinking in their crates. The milkman often whistled out of tune as he delivered bottles full of milk at each doorstep and collected empty ones to be cleaned and re-filled at the factory. The milkman also delivered butter, yogurt, and cream if you needed it too.

We also had a bakery delivering bread to your home every day. Each day the loaves were wrapped in foil with the day written on it to certify its freshness: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on.

The greengrocer used to call every other day with a van full of fruits and vegetables. Oh ... and the coal man too! He called round every week with sacks of coal which we stored in the coal room in the back garden and used it to heat the house. Some people also used paraffin heaters at home and the paraffin man used to call for weekly deliveries. If I recall well, a fishmonger used to come round once a week, on Fridays, and at weekends, an ice cream van used to call with its musical chimes playing nursery rhymes to attract young customers.

And ... dare I say ... the priest used to call round every so often on his parishioners for a cup of tea and a friendly word or two.

All these traditions now seem to have disappeared and confined to history. All except for the postman who still calls round every now and then when he has a letter or packet to deliver. I wonder how long he will continue to do that.

Personally, I like to see the postman walking down the street and calling on me every now and then. I know his deliveries are not as fast as an e-mail or text message but at least they are crumpled when shoved in the letter box, and often wet when it's raining and quite often late beyond imagination.

I remember years ago friends of ours, living ten miles away, sent us an invitation to their daughter's christening. By the time the letter arrived we went to that daughter's wedding.

Quite often the mail was so slow that when it arrived it was half-eaten by snails. Admittedly, it came from France.

Once I received a letter which made me cry. It was written on an onion. That too came from France.

I remember many times the postman used to miss-deliver items to the wrong address. One time he delivered a package from Australia which was not addressed to me. I returned it to sender. It contained a boomerang!

Another time he rang the bell and asked, "Is this letter for you? The name's obliterated!"

I told him my name is Victor, not Obliterated!

I wonder why dogs have a habit of attacking and biting postmen. They don't seem to do it to other visitors. To discourage our dog I now buy him "Woof Woof" dog food. It's the only dog food that tastes of a postman's leg!

The other day the postman accidentally dropped his hat and our dog grabbed it and chewed it up. The postman complained to me and I smiled meekly. He said, "I don't like your attitude!"

I replied, "It's not my 'at 'e chewed. It's your 'at 'e chewed!" (An old one ... but still a goodie!)

Anyway, I should stop poking fun about the postman and pay tribute and gratitude to someone who, come rain or snow, come hot weather and drought, he always comes round our street, even though he does not always have something to deliver for me, and cheers me up as he goes along doing his daily work.

I just wish he would shut the garden gate after him when he comes round.

On reflection, I just remembered. Another person who calls on us weekly is the garbage collector. He, or they to be more precise because there are three of them, call once a week. One drives this huge lorry, and the other two collect the wheelie bins which we all have to leave on the edge of the pavement (sidewalk).

In our town we have three coloured wheelie bins. The green one is for you to put garden waste only - grass cuttings, tree branches, old leaves from trees and so on. But woe betide you if you put cabbage or cauliflower leaves, or potato peelings or other vegetable matter in this bin. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse will visit you immediately and chastise you by planting a plague of boils on your backside.

Such vegetable matter should go in the black wheelie bin where you also put other household rubbish like the contents of your vacuum cleaner, and the dog poo you have collected when you took your dog for a walk, or the cat poo when your neighbour's cat visits your garden.

But don't you dare put newspapers, magazines, empty cans of beans and other foods, cardboard boxes such a cereal packets, plastic bottles of milk, shampoo, washing-up soaps or any other such things in the black bins. The Four Horsemen will visit again with four more of their friends. All such materials must go in the orange bins which are used for re-cycling materials.

And don't put glass, bottles, jars, wood, computers, monitors, small electric appliances like toasters, radios, phones, batteries and so on and on in the black bins. All these items must be collected by you and you have to drive miles to the re-cycling centre and put them there yourself.

Actually, of all the people that used to call on us in the past, and still do today, the rubbish men are the most feared because of the power they yield. If your bin is over full, or contains the wrong materials in the wrong coloured bin they just don't empty it. And when your bin is emptied in their large truck they usually leave your empty bin at least twenty yards away from your house rather than in the spot by your garden gate where you originally left it. And if you don't take your empty bin in your house quickly enough you can be fined!

Excuse me ... I hear the bin men calling right now. I need to ask them which bin to put the elastoplast from my boils.