Friday, January 15, 2021


HANK'S TALE Half my family died in a bomb blast lst week. So I took this job here - only to discover that my boss, the editor of the Paper had died - in what seems a very strange manner. The newspaper has closed it's doors, I'm not sure why... The stories I'm hearing are too bizarre, so I'm renting a window and desk space upstairs at Artie's bar, which I'm told never closes. My window looks out over the Main Lane, which is rarely busy. The inhabitants of this place hit the bar at any hour. I hear shouts, racous laughter from the bar below...and the occasional shotgun blast - the only sounds in this village above the great McKenzie River. All else is silence. And the cawing of ravens and crows... Then more silence.

Thursday, January 14, 2021


Take your jam off the table And that foreign marmalade Take it all, if you are able And lay it in a lonesome grave Lay it with the pictures You always used to save The pictures of your boyfriend And the faces that he made I LEFT my door wide open Out into the ran I thought I could close it long ago But I've never been the same Your eyes are young and lovely Yor rivers are shining blue Lately I've heard the stories They've been telling on you None of them are true (these stories) None of them are true They're not sories of you Take your eyes off the sunset That screams into the night Take your mind off those cigarettes You smoke with all your might What the priest in the churches didn't tell you Or the headlines in the smoke Amid rumours of gossip and war From minds that have lost their hope There's a place that's for you On that further shore You can end your lonesome journey to the truth Right by your kitchen door Take your jam off the table Keep it set for two I'll put a light in your window I'll wait there for you. (C)1990 by William Milne

Saturday, January 9, 2021


There is one time beyond all time      that contains this history;
There is one mind beyond reason
      or rhyme
      that tastes this mystery:

"I am he who is beyond all names,
      who sees beyond time or place;
"I am He who is of the same
The Same attained to me, and I          realized it:
My own Identity, beyond names.
I am He who was before my
       forefathers came to be."


HOWEVER MUCH you pay us - a dollar or a dime With mountains above us or with a stream We're the ony species who can stand And laugh and cry at the same time.

Thursday, December 31, 2020


Because I mentioned I passed thru the ENLIGHTENMENT experience... people ask me questions... There are angels and powers all around us.. and if you do your sitting,you'll meet mind masters from around the globe. All you have to do is prepare a space within you - a space where Grace may enter - and learn to listen in depth. Wonders with come once your heart-mind opens.

Wednesday, December 30, 2020

Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. (Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up") There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day. The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare, Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday;— Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy. Ye bless├Ęd creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all. Oh evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning, This sweet May-morning, And the Children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:— I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! —But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone; The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learn{e}d art A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul's immensity; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,— Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That Nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:— Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young Lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Monday, November 30, 2020

In this world though everything must change, "YOU KNOW THAT ONLY LOVE MAY STAY THE SAME." I wrote this on a ship going around the world. I did two concerts on the ship, this paid for half my fare. I fell in love with the ship's nurse. She was leaving the ship in the bay of Naples - to go back to Denmark. This song's about our last night together. She was asleep in the bed of my cabin ( cabin U2). I watched her dreaming as I sat at my desk, her face coloured in the light of a coloured lantern hanging from above. I could feel the movement of the ship as she slept. "And they say pain will defeat us But I I just can't see it I'm too happy to believe it... IN this world though everything must change, YOU KNOW THAT ONLY LOVE MAY STAY THE SAME." (C)1980-2017 by W.G. Milne and John Rock Corporation. All rights reserved. Hope you like this song as much as I do!