Springingtiger's Blog

Death and the New Year.


Two days into Twenty Seventeen and we’ve already had the terrorist shooting in Istanbul and another mass shooting at a new year’s party. We are being told that a terrorist attack on British soil is inevitable. Am I worried? Surprisingly not in the slightest.

When I say I am not worried I mean I’m not worried about a terrorist attack. Statistically we are all in a lot more danger from dying as a result of an air crash or road accident than at the hands of a terrorist. I am far more concerned that our politicians are going to use the supposed threat of a terrorist attack to further curtail our liberties and to spy upon our every day activities. I am concerned that our politicians’ eagerness to reject the European Convention on Human Rights will undermine the Good Friday Agreement and expose us to the possibility of renewed paramilitary violence in the North of Ireland and to bombings on the mainland. I am worried that withdrawing from the ECHR will provide the Westminster government with an opportunity to destroy the limited devolution settlement Scotland now enjoys and anxious that it will lead to a further diminution of employment rights. The threat of Islamic terrorism against targets in the UK is very low on the list of things that concern me. I see the rise of the Right and of post Brexit xenophobia as far more dangerous to the UK than Islamic extremism.

I have to admit that I can see no logical reason for fearing death. Death is inevitable and no amount of fear will prevent it, only an idiot fears it. On the other hand it is equally stupid to unnecessarily seek death, except possibly in the face of debilitating illness. The upset of bereavement makes a degree of sense, it is natural to be upset when we lose someone we love. However death is inevitable and we will inevitably lose people we love, everyone we know will eventually give up this physical body and move on to something else. There is little point in speculating what comes next because we can’t know until we get there, assuming there is anywhere to get to. If all that awaits us is oblivion then there is certainly no logical cause for fear.

Last year was marked by the deaths of many much loved celebrities as well as many less widely known benefactors of humanity in various fields, some of whom may have contributed more to the world in practical than even David Bowie. There is a meme on social media at the moment showing Bruce Forsyth saying “I made it, you bastards!” referring to the perception that Twenty Sixteen had been massacring entertainers; and, of course, there is the ever popular meme, “Breaking News: Keith Richard found alive!” The fact is that every year actors, musicians, academics, writers, politicians, and many other people well known in various fields will die and this year will be no exception. While our beloved celebrities are dying there will be many ordinary people dying from illness, war, the effects of the UK Government’s austerity measures, unjust sanctioning of the sick and disabled, road accidents, natural disasters and many other causes and most of us won’t even notice. No one life is worth more than any other, nor any less. Every life should be celebrated and every death marked with respect.

Many of us will die this year. Perhaps some of us by violence, hopefully not. The inevitability of our deaths is not cause for anxiety, nor upset. That we must die is an excellent reason for enjoying our lives to the utmost while we have them. We are all as capable of joy as we are of sadness, so why not choose to have fun? Our joy is not caused by our circumstances, but by how we relate to them. I don’t have any plans to die this year, but I’m not going to worry about the possibility which will be there every year until it isn’t (or I am not). My plan for this year is to live every second to the fullest, anything else is a waste of a precious gift. As for everyone else’s lives, I intend to celebrate them whether they are alive or not. Now I shall retire for the night and probably celebrate Leonard Cohen or Elvis perhaps. So many lives then and now and each (even the worst) carries a gift that deserves to be celebrated.


J. de W. Kenyon

JW Kenyon went off to war.
Next year he would have been Head of the School.
I don’t understand, he was not a fool,
Why he had to die. What was it all for?
A rugby player and cricketer too,
A scholar, a great man he might have been,
But he died in the war, only eighteen.
He must have done what he felt he must do.

No more he’ll play the ball, oval or round;
No more sixes hit on the chapel ground.
He died in the Liverpool Regiment
In France, like so many young men who went
To fight for their country and their blood shed.
Giggleswick School still remembers her dead.

Ordinary Deaths

Some years are good with joy in every breath
And some are not so happy, even sad.
This appears to be a year that may prove bad.
Twenty Sixteen may be the year of death;
At every News someone we love is gone,
Every day a new obituary
Upon the newspapers’ tear stained pages.
In my experience there is nary
A year of such tragedy in ages
And I notice every celebrity,
But how many do I not see?
Who shines a spotlight on the refugee,
For them where are our tears and our pity?
For slaughtered Palestinians, who weeps?
The names of civilians bombed, who keeps?
Who keeps the ordinary dead in mind?
Only we, the ones they have left behind.

‘Dead’ (an extract from ‘Brianna: a life between lives’)
March 16, 2016, 00:26
Filed under: Justice, NLP, personal development, Saivism, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: , , ,


I’m not dead?” Thought Brianna as she opened her eyes. But where was she? The first thing she was aware of was the light and the sense of peace. It seemed as if she saw, but if she saw, she knew not what she saw.

Hello!” Said a friendly voice. Suddenly she could see a man looking down where she lay. He looked as kind as his voice, with an amused smile and twinkling eyes as if he were enjoying a joke to which he was about to deliver the punchline.

Hello,” replied Brianna. “I thought I was dead!”

You are.” Said the man, “At least on your world, you are.”

Where am I?” Asked Brianna.

On your world people call this place the Akashic Record” Replied the man and, as he spoke, around him, came into Brianna’s focus shelves and shelves of books in bookcases stretching as far as she could see. Between the shelves she could now see people moving. Every now and then one would select a book from the shelves and begin to study it.

I wish I had learned to read.” Sighed Brianna, sadly, “But there always seemed something more important to do!”

Here, try this.” Said the man, handing her a large leather-bound volume.

I can’t…”she began then exclaimed in surprise, “That’s my name on the front, I can read it!”

Open it.”

Brianna opened the book and fell silent as she turned the pages. Sometimes she turned several at once, oft times she paused and several times her eyes filled with tears. She looked up at her companion with awe on her face and asked.

Are you God?” She asked, her eyes wide. The man laughed and laughed and whenever he paused and caught her eye he laughed again. Brianna began to get annoyed, “What’s so funny?” She demanded.

I’m sorry,” laughed the man, “I just work here. I am to look after you until your case is settled. If you like you may call me ‘Caraid’. Just think of me as a friend you didn’t know you had until now.”

Caraid looked at Brianna and asked, “What do you want to know?”

Why am I here?” She asked.

What do you mean ‘here’?”

Why am I in this place?”

What do you remember?”

The last thing I remember was Eoin striking me with An Bás. After that everything went black. I should not be here, I should not be anywhere!”

And why not?” Asked Caraid, “As a wise man once said, ‘Everybody’s got to be somewhere!’”

When one meets death on the blade of An Bás there is no Heaven nor Hell, no Lands of The Dead, no rebirth only oblivion, nothingness.”

Caraid smiled and explained, “Had An Bás killed you that might be the case. However after Eoin struck you what would certainly would have been a fatal blow, the Earl of Desmond cut your head from your shoulders. Normally the dead have properly allocated places, but your status is in dispute.”

Caraid noted the confused look on Brianna’s face and continued. “An Bás is claiming that, as her wound was mortal, you belong to her. Your supporters on the Council, on the other hand, are arguing that as the blow that actually ended your life was Gearoid Eorla’s, An Bás’s claim should be denied. The problem is that until your case is settled you have to be kept apart from the ordinary sequence of events and so you are here.

If it makes you feel better, you have some powerful friends on the Council. Manannan and Arawn are both arguing for you as well as several of whom you won’t have heard.

So who is this Council,” asked Brianna, “I’ve never heard of it?”

Actually you have.” Responded Caraid with a chuckle. “Cathbad told you about them in your schooling, you just weren’t listening.”

Brianna followed up with, “What exactly do you do then, are you on the Council?”

Good question? You could say I’m your guide while you’re here. Indeed I’m always your guide when you’re here.”

But I’ve never been here before!” Protested Brianna, looking confused again.

Oh, you’ve been here often. Hitherto you’ve never realised it.”

So I’ve been here, but couldn’t see it?”

You still can’t see it!” Chuckled Caraid, “Come I have much to show you.”

Where does my book go?” Asked Brianna looking for a gap on the shelves.

Just let it go. It’ll find you when you need it.”

Caraid led Brianna around the corner of a bookcase to an outdoor café by the canal. I say ‘the’ canal because to her it seemed appropriate as if it was always there and this was an everyday occurrence. She looked behind her, but there was no bookcase only the café with its green, white and red striped awning.

Caraid held up a hand and called for coffee and grappa. Brianna looked down for a moment at the table and found, to her surprise, in front of her a small cup of espresso and a glass of amber liquid.

It looks like whisky.” She remarked matter of factly.

Ponte Vecchio” replied Caraid, “a change from your usual mead I think”

For a moment Brianna silently enjoyed the grappa and the coffee while her mind formulated a question.

We were in a library, we never left it yet we are now outside a café. How did that happen?”

Caraid smiled. “The Akasha contains the experience of all the universes and all within them. You only see a library because people tend to think of a place of records as a collection of books. Were you a parliamentary archivist you would probably see scrolls rather than books.”

I know scrolls,” said Brianna, “I’m not sure what a parliamentary archivist is though.”

It doesn’t matter, and you do know. What matters is the awareness that you see through the identity you are wearing. When Steve Jobs accesses the records he calls up a computer terminal.” Responded Caraid, without further explanation. He watched Brianna expectantly.

A parliamentary archivist keeps records of the business of government,” said Brianna slowly “And Steve Jobs was an inventor. He’s dead.” She added.

No, he’s just not Steve Jobs on Earth. And he always will be.”

Ponte Vecchio is a bridge in Florence.” Blurted out Brianna. “How did I know that?”

You remembered.” Replied Caraid.

But I’ve never been to Italy!” Objected Brianna.

No, but someone has.” Said Caraid, “All experience is here in the Akashic Field. That the memory came so easily suggests someone close to Brianna has.”

I can see the memories of Eoin?” Asked Brianna.

Of course you can. And as Brianna is dead and will not meet him again on Earth, there is no harm in you doing so.”

So if I were still alive I couldn’t look at his memories?”

Caraid took a sip of grappa, smiled and put his glass down.“Those who are alive on Earth are encouraged to observe certain guidelines when they read the Akashic Records. There are those who would abuse the Akashic which is why there are people like me to police them. Basically we like people to respect others and not abuse their privacy, not to intrude upon their privacy, not to gossip. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”

He looked at her and, satisfied she was paying attention, continued. “There is always a temptation to use the Akashic Records to gain an advantage over others, to even manipulate events. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes it is entirely appropriate to use the Akashic to manipulate the universe, sometimes even for personal gain, as long as it serves the higher purpose and doesn’t interfere with what must be.”

What must be?” Queried Brianna.

Each world, each universe, has an unfolding purpose. Some people, particularly those who are very powerful abrogate to themselves the right to manipulate events which interfere or interrupt the proper progress of events. An Bás is one of them. Brianna’s death was unfortunate as it means we have to make adjustments to the progress of history. If An Bás has her way we will lose your energy and we have other plans for it.” Caraid paused for a moment, he looked annoyed. “I’m sorry I really shouldn’t have told you that, the future is none of your business.”

You can see the future?” Gasped Brianna wide- eyed.

All futures.” Rep[lied Caraid with a smile, happy to have her asking the questions he wanted her to.

Is it possible to read the past of the Akashic Records?” Asked Brianna.

The Akasha has no past.”

No past?”

No. No past, no future. The Akasha is only and always now.” Stated Caraid, his eyes inviting her to question him further.

Brianna’s eyes looked up and down, left and right, then down again. She raised her gaze back to Caraid and asked. “Outside the Akashic there is past and future, yes?”

Yes.” nodded Caraid with an expression that suggested the answer was inadequate.

Outside the Akashic there is past, present and future, right?” Brianna sought assurance.

Right.” Caraid agreed.

How does that work? Is time different here?” Asked Brianna.

Caraid laughed. “You are remembering how time moves differently between the Lands of Youth and the World of Men.”

Humans.” Corrected Brianna.

Indeed!” Laughed Caraid, “And they have left their mark on you, as you’ll appreciate when you read your record. Anyway time. There is no time in the Akashic, no passage of time. However the Akasha contains all time, all pasts, all presents and all futures. Not only that, it contains all possible pasts, presents and futures. It contains them all and they are all present, now. The Akasha is all present or all presence.”

Caraid continued, “You, like most creatures in the material worlds, perceive time as linear. When we watch you we see you moving in time as if on a plane. You may pass people travelling in different directions, your past may be their future, your future their past. Where you meet them is the present and it will, whichever direction you travel, become your past.”

Caraid paused to allow Brianna to reflect on their conversation.

What about chronology?” She said eventually.

Far more flexible than people realise. A chronological event is only fixed when it is a point of meeting and only for those who meet there or relate to those who meet.” Replied Caraid. He saw the expression on Brianna’s face and added, “It sounds more complicated than it is. Imagine you are looking down at a map. Now imagine that each of the towns and hills on the map is an event rather than a place. Now imagine that two people walk through that map passing through different points. Sometimes they may meet at a place called ‘lunchtime’, some days they meet at a place called ‘someone’s birthday party’ and eventually finish their journey at a place called ‘Christmas’.” He watched her considering his analogy, then continued. “In between the places where they meet they may pass through very different sequences of events. The only fixed points are where they meet and they are not as fixed as people may think. An event attended by two people may occur for them on different days, different dates.”

That’s impossible!” Exclaimed Brianna.

On the contrary, it happens all the time. Do you know the song ‘I Remember it Well’?”

Brianna shook her head so Caraid sang in two distinct voices.

We met at nine.

We met at eight.

I was on time.

No, you were late

Ah, yes I remember it well…”

By the time Caraid had finished singing Brianna was howling with laughter, but stopped when she saw a young woman sitting beside Caraid.

This is Cara.” Said Caraid, “Or rather, was Cara”. Because the girl had disappeared as mysteriously as she had appeared.

The point is,” continued Caraid, “We each create our own memories so for two people one event may appear very differently. Indeed sometimes we may remember things that haven’t even happened yet.”

Sounds like Eoin remembering doing the washing up!” Muttered Brianna.

I suspect that might be different.” Laughed Caraid, “But you get my point?”

We remember things differently?” Queried Brianna tentatively.

No we create different events with our memories. We don’t remember what happened, we create what happened, from the data in the Akashic!” He looked at the expression on Brianna’s face and said, “I think we should take a break now, you’ve got a lot to think about.”

I Was Young.
January 18, 2016, 00:06
Filed under: Health | Tags: , , , , , ,


I was young and indestructible.
I walked alone on winter fells.
I ran unchecked down screes,
Mountainside moving,
Rocks bouncing by my ears.
Explored unknown caves,
My head protected by a wool hat.
No helmet nor helmet lamp,
Just a handheld torch.
I swam alone in rock pools
In the waters of the Wharfe.
I built dens from branches
And dammed the beck.
I tobogganed incautiously; oh
How much I loved the snow!
When did cold caution catch me?
Paralyzing vertigo in St. Paul’s.
Phoning home at journeys end
To tell them I was safe.
Holding the rail
To climb the stairs.
Worrying about my diet
And washing my hands again.
Questioning each ache and pain.
When did I become mortal
And time limited?
How did I learn that there
Would be an end?
When did it become sooner
Instead of later or never?
Time rushes by me, but
I have no where to go.
Yet somethings are unchanging,
But now ‘though I still love it,
Incautiously I no longer go
Unthinking out into the snow.

A Winter’s Tale (NaPoWriMo Day 5)
April 6, 2015, 00:02
Filed under: disability, Poetry, Writing | Tags: , , , ,

Perhaps it is a British thing that although this Easter Sunday is beautifully sunny, the weather still preys upon my psyche. Today’s poem is about one of those commonplace tragedies that occur in any winter.

A Winter’s Tale on YouTube

A Winter’s Tale
The rain that reigned supreme over the winter
Won from us no thanks, nor the snow that fell
Upon the fell and brought the frost that killed
The young shoots and the, tree bound, owl’s hoots chilled.
Occasional blue skies could not disguise
That down in the dell all was not well.
We could not tell for whom the church bell tolled
Some poor soul taken by the damp and the cold.
We were later told that the man was old
And unwell after he fell upon the ice.
Before it began to rain again, for fuel
Forth he fared, but winter can be cruel.
He had a slip, slid and smashed his hip.
Unable to rise, he lay beneath the skies,
His wails drowned by rain and hail as well.
As far as they could tell, where he did slip
He lay for days, cold as the ground into
Which they laid him neath the roots that winter.

That’ll Be The Day…
May 18, 2014, 10:11
Filed under: autism, disability, NLP, success | Tags: , , ,


People appear to be fond of the saying,  “Live each day add if it were your last”, The Daily Greatness Journal frequently asks questions like, “What would I do today if it were my last?” It is not a bad question, it focuses the mind. Some people mistake the point of the question and think they should be doing something spectacular, some immediately pull out their bucket list, others start thinking about how they want to be remembered, their ‘legacy’.

It occurs to me that if you need to be remembered, you had better start building your legacy sooner rather than later. Neelam likes to listen to ‘Last Words’ on BBC Radio Four. When I listen it is obvious to me that, in terms of being remembered, it is usually those who devoted years to a passion who are best remembered; when remembered for one thing or event it is usually a product of a passion long pursued.

Many people find the prospect of impending death empowering. We all know stories of AIDs and cancer patients who have found new purpose on realising how limited was their time, or who have discovered a new richness in their experiences made more precious by the knowledge of how few there will be.

Before you rush out to spend your ‘Last Day’ bringing about world peace or whatever big thing you fear you have left undone, ask yourself, who says you should have done something with your life to leave a ‘legacy’ in the memory of men? Ask yourself what, if the opinion of others were irrelevant and it is, you would really love to do? Me, I want to spend my last day with my wife, as I want to spend everyday; that is what I call a happy ending.