HOW WEIRD IS THIS? CAN ANYONE EXPLAIN?

I suppose my family is not that much different to any other when it comes to living and eating in the kitchen. In fact we almost live in that place and it is the hub for everything that happens therein. I could even go so far to admit that if war was suddenly declared, we would probably all gather in the kitchen and stay there for the duration, knowing that we were practically self-sufficient.

Our weekly shopping list comprises of the usual groceries that get jotted down on a piece of paper and the 'shopper of the week' is despatched to do their duty. For last minute items which hadn't got written down on the grocery list, there is a fail-safe system in place. We have a blackboard pinned on the wall which acts as a message-taker and for entering those forgotten items which could save our lives in the event of a full-scale war. 

Each day, or every two days, the board is wiped clean with a wet sponge and then thoroughly cleaned down with a dry cloth to help eliminate previous messages and items that had been posted. The other day was quite different. It was the same routine—cleaning down and then drying. But then something very unusual happened. As the board began to dry and that matt appearance became visible on the blackboard, an image began to appear. It crept in slowly as if there was someone moving in behind a mirror to observe us. The blackboard virtually hangs over us as we eat at the table.

I have included a photograph of this and I can promise everyone that this has not been tampered with in any way. Of course, you will just have to take my word for this, but let me tell you that I have much better things to do than create some kind of false phenomenon that could tie up my valuable time. It is genuine and I thought it was worth the effort to share this with you all.

Obviously, no one can fully explain this and I'm not looking for answers which can only come from one's own reality. However, I'd be very interested to hear your thoughts about this and maybe come up with some kind of credible reason why this could have happened. Just take a closer look at this image and see how graphically detailed it is. There is hair with a furrowed brow below, looking down onto black empty eye sockets. Then take a look at that aquiline nose and the characteristics centred on it.

I'm not usually phased by things like this, but when I see so much detail and the 'staring look' that is in the whole expression, then I have to ask myself was there a reason for this image appearing on a harmless blackboard, set in a kitchen which is part of a warm and loving home.

I had a dream about a year ago whereby I was in a ploughed field. Instead of turnips or potatoes waiting to be picked, I encountered human skulls with features and eye sockets resembling the image on the blackboard. As soon as I looked into one of the sockets in one of the skulls, a yellow eye suddenly opened and focussed heavily against my gaze. I remember quite distinctly feeling a sudden chill run through my whole body and then all the skulls turned towards me, displaying those yellow eyes.

After the initial shock, which I felt had been deliberate for me to experience this feeling, I gathered myself together and in that same instant I awoke from the dream. However, the images were still with me and I could actually feel them trying to gain entry into my consciousness, in my opinion, hoping to achieve the desired effect. I knew that I had to face these 'demons' and I did so with great vigour. I actually challenged them to a fight. Everything seemed to have frozen for a few seconds and then I repeated the challenge.

I don't think that was expected and I could sense a great fusion of energy surging inside of me. I actually felt very superior to these creatures and when I realised that they had no answer to my challenge I told them where to go in no uncertain terms which can't be repeated here. I could feel them fleeing and I knew that they would not return.

That was one amazing experience for me, one that I'll never forget. I wonder whether those demons had sent a scout to see if things had changed or not. Well now they have found themselves on candid camera with a lot more kindly souls possibly being aware of what can happen in this strange and wonderful world.

The hot, even surface of the dry river sand had been broken by the wind as small undulations appeared, like the tiny ripples that swim across an autumn lake. It was only the tracks of a scorpion that interfered with the perfect tapestry of shifting sand as it swiftly scampered towards the nearest burrow to hide from an unforgiving sun. To its observer, it represented the last fleeting moment of a traumatic life, the latter years spent in confusion and turmoil. For Karif the cause was just and he did not recognize his captors nor regard his executioners as legitimate.

On his knees for hours, with his body weakening by the second, he could feel excruciating pain as the skin on his bare back began to blister and split wide open where the sun's heat had ferociously bore down on him. He followed the scorpion's sandy trail wishing that he could follow, but he was going nowhere. The shackles securely fastened around his legs and arms served as a timely reminder that he no longer controlled his destiny. Yet his thoughts were only of his beloved Alhena. Death could never separate them.

He began to mentally put his life in order; nothing was out of place, nor did he wish to change a simple aspect which had represented his reason for living. The Regime had finally caught up with him and taken him and his associates out of the equation. Choices were no longer an option and it was time to account for his actions. He could not accept defeat—never. Even though he was forced to kneel with his hands tethered behind him, he had still been given the chance to redeem himself. He would rather die than acquiesce.

His keeper would often tease him, 'kissing' the back of his neck with the sword's sharp blade, each touch becoming heavier until a small wound began to appear. It didn't take long for Karif to realise that there was a routine to this psychological torture and that this would become his opportunity to try and break free. He studied the pattern of activity for a few minutes; his tormentor would always retreat to the cool shelter of his tent and recover his drinking flask, wait a few minutes and then return to repeat the same barbaric procedure.

Struggling against his bonds, testing for weaknesses, he eventually found an easiness around his wrists as the strands of thin leather would stretch against the pressure of his wriggling hands. And so he began to struggle and try and free himself. There could be no room for error. He saw his jailor move away once again to drink, and before he could return and amuse himself, Karif realized that he must act quickly.

He tugged desperately at his bonds; he would never give in. Then, without warning and for no reason, the moment seemed to freeze and he saw his returning would-be executioner and everything around him suspended in time as though the shutter in the lens of life had remained open. All animation suddenly appeared motionless, like stars that hang from the roof of a moonless sky. He simultaneously felt the familiar cold steel teasing the back of his neck and knew that it was time to make his move or die.

After feeling the sharp sting of the sword again, which lasted only a second, Karif realized that this was his only chance. Frantically, he finally managed to free himself and then he pushed with his legs as hard as they would go, darting upwards and towards the nearby narrow river. He knew that every step would bring him closer to his beloved Alhena, but he had not yet reached the water before he sensed the scrambling of many bodies behind him. Shots began firing so he increased his pace and raced to the wooden jetty; bullets were flying past and ricocheting too near for comfort. With the ultimate push, he threw himself off the end of the small wooden platform.

As he hit the water he heard the mumble of his pursuers above, still firing towards where he had jumped. As he submerged, he pushed hard with his upturned hands to reach a point of safety deep in the water so that he could safely swim to the other side of the river. Whizzing bullets were reduced to white torpedoes as their momentum slowed in the watery density, narrowly missing him as he managed to dodge each lethal shot. His lungs were bursting and his heart had almost stopped beating, when he at last surfaced towards the opposite riverbank. Gulping huge amounts of air, he glanced back whilst scrambling up the muddy slope, knowing the initiative had been gained. Could he escape them? Hope overcame his fears as gunshots forced him onwards, and he ran as fast as his legs would carry him towards the shelter of the sugar plantations.

There was little cover in which to hide, so Karif had to keep on running. Each glance back indicated he was beginning to gain on them and make the break. Eventually he could hardly hear them as the sound of their voices and gunshots seemed to vanish in the distance. At last he could relax. It felt like a dream to realize that he had broken free, but there was no time to revel in victory. He could hear Alhena beckoning so it was important that he must keep going. The village was near and this would be his security and his sanctity.

His thoughts had never left Alhena. She was his driving force as he felt himself still gasping for more air. Exiting the plantation, he saw the road to the village. Doubting his unbelievable luck, he darted for the tree-lined track which would lead him to his beloved. His vision started to become blurred as his lungs fought for oxygen, but eventually he saw the silhouette of a woman. She was moving quickly towards him shouting "Karif my love, Karif! Run my darling, run."

Tears of joy fell as he acknowledged her cries and waved frantically to acknowledge her. His desperation to embrace her once more in his arms was intense, knowing it was only seconds that now separated them. It seemed like an age before they finally faced one another; their arms outstretched both in defiance of the fate that surely had condemned them. He felt compelled to glance back and make sure that his efforts had not been in vain. The road was clear and he was so very happy.

They stopped abruptly with only a few metres separating them. He had arrived and couldn't believe his luck. He tentatively reached out his hand to Alhena as he saw her smiling, tear-ridden face when, suddenly, he experienced that same sharp, hot pain in the back of his neck and Alhena began to pull away from him, involuntarily. She desperately shouted his name but, eventually, her cries faded as did his vision of her until she had vanished completely. His heart was breaking when his soul at last conceded defeat as he gazed once more at the sandy trail left by the scorpion, which was beginning to turn blood red and was rising quickly towards him.

Alhena would have to wait.

It has been pointed out that I have no right to enter blogs when I'm not commenting on the work of others. At the moment I spend every hour of a waking day involved with the promotion of my co-written novel "The Meadow." So while it is true that I am not commenting on other blogs, it must be noted that I have not entered this work in the hope or expectation of receiving feed back. One of the reasons for this entry was to let people know, who have been in touch with me previously, that I still have a live page on MySpace. However, it was also to share this short story that I had written almost ten years ago, and help folk to experience some of their emotions whereby they are not directly involved with the happenings or shortcomings of one human misfortune.

There is tragedy and irony in equal measure in this tale, but most of all it allows the reader to empathize and to almost feel what it must be like when the polarities in life are thrust upon us in such a way that hope becomes the last bastion of holding on to a sane mind. My apologies go out to those who have expected my comments or who may have become distressed by reading this short story.

THERE'S ONE MORE THAN ONE WAY TO SKIN A CAT

The Shack has held the number one spot on The New York Times best seller list for the past two months and the book is now into its 14^th print run. This has been achieved with zero involvement from the publishing world. This is an amazing feat and what a shock to the established publishers who have been around for such a long time.

Are publishers still prepared to see another missed opportunity as "The Meadow" seeks a similar, alternative way to promote a very powerful story? It would appear that the submissions protocol for new, undiscovered creative writers no longer works and this includes appointed agents.

"The Meadow" is using the Internet as a very powerful marketing tool to blog its way into people's awareness. Each week there will be at least two blogs added to an individual page, with periphery that details characters, locations, symbols and even the background surrounding the two authors (yes, there are two of them). No stone is left unturned in an attempt to bring you the storyline and synopsis in a completely different way.

This author, along with his co-writer, already has contact with William P. Young (Paul) and has been made extremely aware of the shortfalls that consume the publishing world. It is a shame that so many submitted pieces of creative fiction do not get an airing and remain on the hard drive of an undeserving author.

Follow the exploits of "The Meadow" and you will discover information that will enlighten you as to the storyline without giving too much away.

Thanks for reading this and should you feel the urge to follow us, then please click on to the following links:

The Meadow home page

The Meadow at Twitter

BUCKING THE TREND

What constitutes a newly-launched book of fiction that has literally bucked the trend? Let's begin with a blank book.

Does it have to be well written? Definitely yes! There are no excuses when it comes to the quality of the pen.

Does it have to follow a good storyline? In most cases – always; particularly where fiction is involved.      

Must it always follow a certain type of theme? In my opinion the answer is 'no'. The theme can be almost anything as long as it is backed by quality writing and a good storyline.

Allow me to introduce four very successfully published books which have well and truly bucked the trend in the recent past. In no particular order we have the first edition of The Celestine Prophecy, The Davinci Code, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Sorcerer's if you live in the US), and The Secret.

Each of these widely distributed books has one thing in common, including Harry Potter. The poor boy can not even escape this one. Quite plainly 'controversy' follows these books and their authors. There is something in every one of them which goes against the grain involving one or more of the orthodox institutions in the world.

Just in case the Harry Potter faithful can't fathom where controversy falls in a series of fantasy novels surrounding an innocent-looking boy who resembles the Milky Bar Kid, it's witchcraft and wizardry. Hard to believe? Well there are institutions out there that will condemn almost any subject which does not support their philosophy and dogma.

When you take a closer look at these four books, it doesn't take a degree in rocket science to realise that religion is at the heart of all of them. However, this article is not meant to take religion 'per se' to task. There are other institutions that carry their banners and wield their big sticks and none is bigger than the Establishment itself.

It would appear that if a good novel is created embracing quality writing, with a good storyline and having all the ingredients that would provoke controversy, there is an excellent chance that it will get an airing if only by default. What a way to launch a book.

There is usually just one institution involved at a time, in protesting against the content of a book of controversial fiction. Sometimes there is more than one, but that is usually the limit. However what if a novel comes along that stokes the fires of numerous institutions? What will happen then?

There is a book recently completed which defies almost every conceivable orthodox organization on this planet when it comes to imposition of the masses. I'd like to itemize these and illustrate how they will definitely buck the trend:

** The idea of past lives, or reincarnation is totally obnoxious to some religions and bodies that would lose complete control if closer public scrutiny was allowed to be given to it.

** Sex and violence, some of it abhorrent but necessary to the storyline, would make those who support political correctness without investigation, breathe fire and call out everlasting damnation.

** Realistic language appropriate and proportionate to our time would give the do-gooders a field day on this one, but not half as satisfying as that which the book would get back as a consequence.

** Well researched backgrounds on the likes of the now defunct KGB and the CIA would probably send out retired agents in their droves hunting down the perpetrators of such malignant gossip and lies.

** Again, researched material on the history that lies behind the Dalai Lama and the real spiritual ruler – The Penchant Lama. The British Government knows more about this than anyone. It was only recently when the CIA picked up the threads. Need I say more?

** MI6, the foreign arm of the British Secret Service and its exploits to protect its own interests abroad which help to maintain the status quo that exists within the Establishment.

The book that I'm referring to is "The Meadow". However, the most controversial issue of all is that it is about life – life as we know it today with all its trappings (and drawbacks). Throughout the history of human life there has always been a foundation, something that would not allow our species to wither and die.

Love, in all its many formats and splendour is expressed in "The Meadow", a love story between two people that is so strong, so powerful, that even life itself could not destroy what they shared.

 Every controversial issue that has been mentioned earlier surrounds these two souls as they battle towards the day when they can bond – for ever. In the meantime they take solace between physical lives in The Meadow, a celestial watering hole.

Spiritualism and Spiritism, just another arm of religion, albeit not orthodox, may also wish to take a swipe at what exists between these two special people who were given the task of bringing light into the world over thousands of years.

"The Meadow" is completely out of the box and demonstrates how two ordinary people strive to demonstrate how a life can be truly eternal– and should be lived, if it wasn't for the apathy of people in allowing the Establishment to control their lives.

Assuming that your mindset is one that is open to all possibilities, how would you feel if you could look into a crystal ball and see beyond the life that you are now living? Share with me and join in a travel extravaganza which takes us beyond the physical world. To begin with, let me emphasize that this is not an invitation to talk about a belief system that is held steadfast within your religious ideals. No, this is meant to help stimulate your mind and take you beyond your present mode of thought.

        If present-day discoveries through free-thinking science are anything to go on, then we are in for a treat. Quantum mechanics and particle physics are showing us something that we could never have dreamed only ten or fifteen years ago. Earlier, I asked about your mindset. Do you have any idea how detached, physically, you are from your mind and can you possibly imagine how your whole body functions as your brain receives its programming from another dimension?

        It's true! There are other dimensions. Actually they are sitting exactly where we are now – right under our noses. Apparently, everything happens simultaneously and in one spot. The physical world is only an illusion to give the impression, through polarities, that there is time and distance between two points. We are as near to each other as we can possibly be and for those who are members of A Tribe Called Joy, how appropriate this article is to support the philosophy that it gives to its members.

        This could very well mean that our minds operate out of the time and space continuum, in a dimension which allows us to move around more after we have finished with our physical bodies. Did you notice here how I didn't point out the obvious? It's all down to vibration and frequencies. Who ever questions, when the TV is turned on, about how the pictures and sound reaches us? We should, and the answers we will get are that they are frequencies that do not operate in a physical world.

        The same principle applies to your thoughts. It has been scientifically proved that a thought is a tangible, living thing that has its own electrical charge and is transmitted via other dimensions that surround us. Twilight Zone stuff huh? Well don't ask me, I'm only the messenger bringing proof of what is already documented.

        On this basis, there is every possibility that we really do live on beyond the physical world and it was this impression that was the inspiration behind my writing "The Meadow" alongside Elfreda, who is another member of The Tribe. It's a marvellous, wonderful world out there and we should familiarise ourselves with it in a way that makes us totally interactive.

        If we do live on, then there is every possibility that we also come back again to live another life. Okay, so I'm now well into that non-earthly zone, but I have every confidence that there is more to life than we could ever imagine.

        Perhaps we have unfinished business in this life and the only way to reconcile and fix it is to come back after learning all there is to know in getting it right next time. I have a theory, a personal one albeit and it is this: I believe that I will come back again because I have such an attachment to earthly things. I get a buzz out of so many things that I do which are totally physical. This indicates to me that matters are not yet out of my system and I have to remove all this extra baggage before I can move on.

        Regardless, I got a buzz out of writing this piece. Maybe it's because of all the invisible energy which is surrounding me and willing me to share this with you all. I hope you feel the same way.

THE ESTABLISHMENT

A Tribe Called Joy is a small group brought together on MySpace founded with the sole intention of helping to bring people together. The idea is to share knowledge and help to open our hearts and minds towards each other and allow the spiritual aspects of who we are to develop to such a point that we become a force to be reckoned with; albeit a force with the aim to inform and not impose.

        There is only one goal – to help make the world a better place. There are a few great men and women out there who can make that difference alone, but in most circumstances people power is the only way forward. So how do we begin to create making that difference? Well, firstly we must understand what society is all about before we can attempt to change anything.

        There is a controlling factor on the globe which has power beyond imagination and all our lives have been manipulated by it. It is so cleverly devised that the majority of us haven't even noticed it. Apathy is the number one enemy to the masses and the number one weapon to the Establishment. So the first lesson is not to learn how to go about tackling this. It is to gain the awareness of what is happening in the world because of the activity of a handful of misguided people. So let me lend a helping hand and create a mindset whereby we finally agree and think as one. Afterwards, can you say, hand on heart, that you want to be a part of something that can effectively help to make changes?

THE WAR MACHINE CREATED BY THE ESTABLISHMENT

..  ..[endif]-->.. -->[if !vml]-->.. -->[endif]-->I could not go on forever discussing varying subjects in the novel that I have co-written called "The Meadow". It covers the activities of the Establishment in varying detail and illustrates how each and every one of us is affected by it. However, I would also choose to use the platform created by MySpace because this will automatically bring in and involve others from the outset.  

What the Establishment represents has been around for more than five thousand years. As long as man has had his five physical senses to experience and enjoy his environment, there have always been those who have ensured that the desire for the material aspects of our universe have been delivered to them in abundance. Put simply, there are some of us who are just plain greedy and they will stop at nothing to achieve their goals; the most extreme violence not being beyond their means to covet that which has never belonged to them.

It's difficult to know where to start, when I understand how man has manipulated man by his own inhumanity to his fellow man. The modern-day establishment was probably formed during the days of Emperor Constantine around 320 AD when he realised that if he ordered his scribes to wipe the historical and religious slate clean and manufacture stories and myths and proffer them as real events, then the masses could easily be controlled.

Real estate became the valuable commodity of the day, so the Emperor and his scribes came to a compromise, whereby his armies would support the theologians and the populace would be bullied into submission to accept the new religion which was being forced upon them. Land, compulsorily acquired, would run with rivers of blood by those who would stand up to this new regime, and those who survived would be taxed to the hilt as they were forced to work the soil and raise cattle on surrounding land which was originally theirs. This was the gold mine of those times. Nothing has really changed since.

Today it is the large banks who dictate everything that happens in the Western world including most of Asia and the Middle East. They form and support commercial organisations who trade on the misery of the world population. They live entirely on the interest that is gained as they lend out huge amounts of money which can only be repaid by profitable transactions. This means that when product and service demand has been exhausted, something else must be created to keep the momentum running.

All wars are started in the name of greed. It only takes a handful of unscrupulous human beings to create the right environment and a huge machine is set in motion whereby weapons of war are sold on the world markets. Add to this list the drugs and food industry and you will soon realise that everything is controlled to manipulate you and I. We live in a world of fear – fear created by the Establishment – to help bring us under the umbrella of society.

Have you ever wondered why there are so many forms of entertainment around us? The proliferation of computer software, pop music and TV programmes are encouraged with the aim of keeping our minds occupied. What they don't want to see happen is for the populace to begin thinking for themselves. Heaven forbid!

Who would have dreamed in those wild days of yesteryear when the only means of 'rapid' communication was by horse back, that a machine would be invented which would change the course of human life as we know it? During the American Civil War it was essential that communication first reached the generals of each opposing army. Wells Fargo was the pioneer in those days, employing 'stage runners'; men who would ride horses to the point of exhaustion before exchanging for a fresh animal at a designated staging post.

Electricity changed all that when the telegraph was invented – a simple metal touch plate which would cause an electrical jolt each time the positive and negative points were joined. Once Morse code was introduced, we had the first 'instant' communication device which could cover hundreds of miles, once the cables had been laid. Along with the railway network, an infrastructure was soon put in place and it was this system which pioneered the Internet.

Today we, the general public, have a machine at our disposal which is so powerful that the Establishment have to realise that their day is finally coming to a close. Even now, they are drawing up their plans to commandeer the network which provides this amazing tool. But it's too late because as soon as one network is seized, another will spring up in its place. The Internet is here to stay and for once, after more than five thousand years, we can regain our power and find our righteous place on this planet as free citizens.

You are going to be amazed at the knowledge which will be freely available to you. Because of your conditioning (thanks to the Establishment) it will be hard at first to grasp the reality which surrounds you. But that is only a matter of time and it certainly won't take another five thousand years before the penny finally drops.

Here is your opportunity to not only have your say by commenting, but to do something about it as well. If you support this, then please join the group here on MySpace called A Tribe called Joy and help bring this this article to the attention of all your friends.

If you find that the above link has been disabled, copy and past the code below into your browser and send:

People who keep their literary fiction noses to the ground will realise that "The Shack" has acquired the Number One best seller status in the United States. Once this happens, it's only a matter of time before it becomes the world's best selling work of fiction based on fact. As a resident of the UK, I haven't had the opportunity to read it, so I'm not yet in a position to make any comment regarding the storyline. Roll on August 7^th when it will be released here.

         However, the background behind how this book was written and finally published deserves more than a mention. As co-author to "The Meadow" I know how important it is to have the entire infrastructure in place to allow the finished product to reach the bookshelves. Assuming that the storyline is worthy of great merit, from hereon it is an uphill battle. And boy do I mean uphill.

          The author of "The Shack", William Paul Young, originally had written this story for his six children. Because of his own traumatic background, he felt compelled to have his say and perhaps leave a very personal legacy for his family. Once completed, he must have realised that there had to be some kind of an outlet for his story, just so that it could at least reach the hearts and minds of those he loved most.

          In the process of looking for ways and means to get his book into a more general mode of acceptance, he sought the help of a personal friend who, I believe, was a pastor and an author. Once his friend had received Mr Young's manuscript he screamed at him, just like my writing partner, Elfreda, did with me, to get this story published. It happened that Mr Young's pastor friend had just the right person to help him who was connected in some way with the media.

          Apparently it was suggested that Mr Young should originally arrange to have only a few copies printed off, just to test the immediate market. For a cost of around three hundred dollars, he had managed to have enough books at his disposal to give to friends and relatives.

          At this point we are about to witness the trend being well and truly bucked. To date, and by word of mouth only, William P. Young has managed to put out 1.7 million copies on to the open book market. This is an amazing feat and definitely one in the eye for all the publishers out there.

          Mr Young suffered at the hands of the agents and publishers just the same way as Elfreda and I, not forgetting J K Rowling who experienced many hundreds of rejections. In fact we are personally marketing "The Meadow" because of the total disinterest of the publishing fraternity. Like us, he received stock, pre-printed replies, telling him that there was "no market for this kind of stuff". How many times have I heard that one as we awaited the magic acceptance letter to pop through the mailbox?

          I commend William P. Young for what he has achieved and I am so in awe of his short-term, but massive achievements. He actually beat the publishers. I know that he now wants to be in a position where he can offer any help to others and share his experience. So, for the benefit of those could-be and wannabe writers who subscribe to MySpace, I would ask Mr Young if he would leave his comments and advice to this article, despite his busy schedule.

          As a 'friend' on MySpace, I know that you probably have the opportunity to read this at some time, Mr Young, regardless of how busy you are. You are an example to all who aspire to the written word and I'm sure that I speak for all other MySpace friends when I say that we will be honoured to hear from you. Maybe you can share some of your background and a little bit about the storyline, especially for all my associates who don't live in the US. I sincerely hope that you will respond.

          I only pray that this is a final lesson to the publishers. No longer are they prepared to invest in the unpublished creative writer. Unless you are rich and famous, an existing successful author, a high profile politician or sportsperson, then you have no chance of sharing your written word with the rest of the world, regardless of how good, or what you submit to them. It is more likely to be fact rather than fiction that most of the best literary fictional work is still lying dormant on the hard drive of a hard working and creative author.

          Some of my 'friends' here at MySpace, have hundreds, even thousands of 'friends'; so sharing Mr Young's experience will go far. Maybe we can start a new marketing trend on this and similar social networking sites and illustrate to the public and the publishers that the Internet is definitely the way forward. In my book there are two recent stories worthy of public scrutiny. "The Shack" has already proved itself beyond all doubt. "The Meadow" now waits in the wings and I anticipate with great fervour when its own wings spread and lift off to share alongside the success of "The Shack." Perhaps they were meant to compliment each other? They both have profound messages to give to the world. I'll let the people decide who finally read it. With enough support, maybe this will reach the odd progressive publisher or agent.

          Apparently, there are pigs flying high in the air.

~ Mike O'Hare ~

Neil Armstrong had just set foot on the Moon when I was boarding the plane for my flight to Tenerife. I had been up all night watching this event (hadn't we all) and to say that I was feeling a little fragile is an understatement. My friend Ian and I were taking advantage of a special rate holiday, courtesy of the Rank Organisation.

Ian was under manager of our local Rank-owned cinema and had literally "worked his ticket" to get two passes to travel to a remote part of the island where they owned a hotel. It was situated in the south east and was to be the setting for a very memorable experience.

How things have changed – particularly in Tenerife. Back in the '60s, the southern part was virtually undeveloped apart from the odd tomato and banana plantation. Other than a scattering of small villages that supported them, there was little else – except for one hotel.

A HOTEL ON ITS OWN

This was the Hotel Medano, situated on the edge of el Medano village. Today this place has been swallowed by the sprawling development of the southern airport (Sofia) and no longer has the identity that made it famous for its tomatoes. Although it still remains a village, it is part of the town and general area of Granadilla de Abona.

Most of the hotel staff were local, because to get to this place from the populated northern side meant having to engage the mountain route, which took at least one and a half to two hours to climb by vehicle, two hours to cross and the same time to descend. No wonder this island was engaged in a major planning agenda to create a motorway that would bypass these mountains and an airport that would service southern Tenerife.

Other than being pleasantly served by the local staff, it was hard to make any acquaintance outside of their duties. Apart from the hotel guests, there was no one else, so I felt the need to make new friends. It took me about two days before I discovered the icebreaker.

I need only have mentioned my affiliation to 11 men (plus a few in reserve) who appeared to rule the world – Manchester United. A crown and a few red carpets would not have been out of place, once these guys learned of my nationality and the fact that I supported Man U.

A REAL SPANISH VILLAGE DEPICTING HOW THE LOCALS LIVED. THIS PHOTO WAS TAKEN FROM THE HOTEL BALCONY. HEAVENS KNOWS HOW THE PLACE LOOKS LIKE TODAY. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS WAS TAKEN ALMOST 40 YEARS AGO

Had this small village been a major visitors' spot, I'm convinced that I could have made a fortune by opening a tourist centre with the information that these locals supplied. Not only was I given names and places to visit, but was also offered to be guided. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, we quickly booked a ride to the north so that we could hire a car. And so the adventure began.

ARRY -- A HELPFUL LOCAL

"We'll go and see uncle Carlos," said Arry our guide and friend. Don't ask me what Arry was short for as he couldn't be more Spanish, and I never asked. Arry could not speak a word of English and we couldn't speak Spanish. We were inseparable for two weeks and in that time had no problem in communicating. It's amazing how something in common like a football team can help break down barriers. The rest was up to nature and its laws through the vibrations of life.

Uncle Carlos ran a local garage that looked as though it was recovering from an incendiary drop. If he charged by his time, his life would be comfortable, as it would take as long to find the tools as it would to fix the vehicle. I couldn't pronounce the name of his business, but I'm sure the word "Man~ana" was incorporated.

Luckily, Uncle Carlos had a couple of cars for hire and, as we were friends of his favourite nephew, we got the cheap rate. Unfortunately, I think we got the cheap car as well. It was a yellow VW Beetle and it looked like – well, a yellow VW Beetle. This is where the similarity ended, but we wouldn't find that out until later.

To be fair the vehicle never let us down for the first week or so as we discovered the island and its population. In fact it was mechanically sound. The fact that the door dropped off while jacking it up to repair a puncture in the middle of a busy road, and the engine cover at the rear would never close again, had nothing to do with its reliability to get us from A to B and for that we were grateful.

At the beginning of our second week on this glorious island, we decided that we would take in the lower mountain regions that were negotiable by tracks that Arry was familiar with. We had covered the popular northern side taking in a few memorable days staying with Arry's hospitable relations.

These base regions are where the family-owned plantations are situated. Passed down from generation to generation, the businesses have been refined to an efficient run outlet for the finest products – bananas and tomatoes in particular. It's a shame that some of these plantations were being disturbed, or even worse – destroyed by the ongoing process to improve the infrastructure of the island.

To our advantage, and as a consequence of this upheaval, we were able to venture on foot to areas that were hitherto impassable. One such place we visited was what I recall as being called Maro's or Mayo's yard. This was a beautiful area that had been scarred by the planting of a concrete mound used for surveying and measuring of the local area. The southern end of the island became infested with them. It was also very memorable because of my earlier meditations where "The Meadow" began to take root in my mind. This turned out to be the novel that I have just completed with my co-author Elfreda.

THE FRIGHT OF MY LIFE

The day, as usual, was hot. Luckily, humidity levels are very low here. I decided to take my flask (hot tea would you believe) and sandwiches to the sheltered part of this mound and enjoy the view. It overlooked a ravine that took in a tomato plantation owned by the Garcia's at one end and a banana plantation at the other.

THE TOP OF THE HILL WHERE I WAS ABOUT TO GET THE FRIGHT OF MY LIFE -- SECONDS AWAY AFTER THIS PHOTO WAS TAKEN

After I had finished eating, winding back the flask top, I moved to my right as if to get up. My open shirt caught on what I believed was a thorny bush, but then I realised that this was a concrete mound and there were no plants. As I pulled my shirt tail towards me to release it, I was greeted with four yellow, hairy legs just hanging there. Then there were eight, separated by a body that was as big as a house.

This thing was so big that I could see a face and I swear that it was smiling at me. Mutley's grin and infectious laugh came to mind. It's hard to describe what happened after this, because everything seemed to happen in slow motion. All I can remember is that I was gifted with super human strength that enabled me to rip the shirt from my back in one move. Try doing this under normal circumstances. I promise you will not be able to – I tried.

IT'S NO JOKE HAVING ONE OF THESE HANGING FROM YOUR SHIRT TAIL

By now I was experiencing panic and horror and was suffering a cold sweat in temperatures exceeding 85%. A few weeks before visiting Tenerife I had been to see "Dr No" where a tarantula was moon walking over 007's chest. What else could I think?

It was probably only seconds, but after I had composed my thoughts, I remembered that I still had my camera around my neck. The funny thing is that I never once screamed out – or so I was told. My next problem was to remove the camera. Just lift the strap and pull forward I thought. I was so disoriented that I couldn't do it.

By the time I managed to remove it, the offending creature had vanished. I'm not sure whether I was relieved or not, but I did make the effort to try and find it, but could only see a large silk web. How could anything so large simply vanish? Back at the hotel, I was determined to give my story without a word of exaggeration.

MOUNTAINS MADE OUT OF MOLE HILLS

Question: What is a Spanish tripod? Answer: Three Spanish waiters propping each other up through fits of laughter. Had I not gelled with these guys at the beginning of my stay, I'm sure they would have been laughing at me rather than with me.

What I was trying to describe, as a tarantula, was nothing less than a banana spider. The fact that these creatures are as large didn't matter. "It's only a banana spider," said one of them as if it was a gnat or something. They tried to save some of my embarrassment by explaining it was probably the female that I encountered which is much larger than the male.

Some of the locals keep these creatures as pets and claim their "bite" is milder than a bee sting. No way was I going to hang around in the hope that I might find out which family this arachnid belonged. The story hovered for days, but it had such positive repercussions. I was a mini celebrity. I became "Spider Man" before Spider Man.

THESE LOCAL BOYS CERTAINLY KNEW HOW TO MAKE ME FEEL AT HOME. I AM THE SECOND ONE FROM THE LEFT. ALONG WITH THE OTHERS, WE MADE A GREAT TEAM FOR THE DAY AND WON 3-2.

Once the story got around about "Spider Man" who happened to be English and supported Manchester United, it wasn't long before I got invited to join the local soccer team to play one of the teams from the north, that consisted mostly of German tourists. Thank goodness my friend Ian was also invited. He was a good regular player at home and helped the team to a 3-2 victory. What more could we ask for?

This pleased the "lord of the village" no end. This was the title I gave Mr Garcia who was the local tomato exporter. Thanks to my encounter with the spider, the events that followed made for a very memorable occasion. I became great friends with the Garcia family and kept in touch for many years. Wonderful experiences such as these are priceless and are responsible for making us what we are as human beings. I may have only had a poor, very cheap camera in those days, but my memories of this are clear and intact and I only hope that by sharing this now with you has made at least one person smile.

    This isn't a blog as such. It's a short story; an experience. It happened to me and I remembered it as I awoke one morning. It is written in the first person singular, so it might take a short while to adjust to the writing style. I thought it was worth sharing.

It's a fine day; my goodness, it is indeed a very fine day. I've never seen the fields so green and the sun, well it's shining so brightly in that cloudless sky. It's about time that we are blessed with some good weather. Our part of the world sometimes seems to have been deserted by the farming gods when it comes to distributing the elements on a more equal basis. That's strange, there's something unusual going on here. I've done this trip hundreds of times heading home, crossing the fields and meadows, so why should things feel so differently this time? The birds are singing as usual, but wait! No, they're not just singing, they're positively in full chorus. What a beautiful sound they make and why haven't I noticed this before? What's that over there? It seems to be a mist covering the gorge, but it's only hovering at that one place. I'll check that out later; I don't want to feel shrouded in mist on such a beautiful calm day as this. Hey, that's it! It is calm. There's not a breath of wind. Oh, if only the others could be sharing this with me. I can't put my finger on any of this just yet. It's not like me to leave matters unaccounted, so I must try to figure this out.
        My only conclusion is that I feel good. In fact I feel very good indeed. I can feel so much sensitivity in my fingers as they skim across the corn ears and there's a bounce in my step that I've never had since I was a kid. This feels very new, but who's complaining? Hello, there's Matty, our neighbour, ploughing in the next field. He must be catching up on lost time, considering the atrocious weather we've been experiencing of late. Good grief, he must be unwell. He's wrapped up for winter as he drives that tractor. He hasn't noticed me waving to him. The poor guy should be tucked up in bed, judging by the state he's in. Oh well, it's no good me dwelling on all this. I'll just have to put it all down to Karen's great cooking. Considering the problems I have to face when I get home, I should be grateful for such a caring wife. The farm can't run itself and my working day is quite taxing and extremely stressful. I sometimes wonder if dad knew exactly what he was doing when he left the business for me to handle. Poor dad; I really miss him now he's gone. Having said all that, it's the administration that's the greatest burden. Come back dad, all is forgiven! Heaven knows I need his help right now.
        Our debts have risen over the years due to huge loans we took out on new machinery, bringing us into the 21st century. It was such a relief to get the first of three tax bills settled thanks to a good harvest last year. Long may it continue; I don't need any more bad news. I only hope this marvellous weather holds out. Our targets are now focussed on maintaining the levels of livestock that we have at the moment. Although we were lucky not to suffer that devastating outbreak a few years ago, we still suffer at the hands of the retail chains that indirectly screw us into the ground. The Establishment has a lot to answer for. Why can't society have been moulded differently so that we can all get an equal share of the bountiful joys that should be available to all? It isn't fair that the greedy few can gain so much control over the majority so that they can line their pockets. Maybe I should have been a politician. Nah! Why should I wish to be a puppet to the Establishment?
        My goodness, surely I'm never home already? I've been thinking too much about the business methinks. How on earth could I have crossed the meadow, three fields, a stream and negotiated six fences without being aware of the whole trip? I must be hungrier than I thought. That's strange, the gate's open. I should be first home today, so who's here? "Hello, hello, anyone home?"
        "Is that you Michael? You're late aren't you?"
        "Mum, is that you? Er …. yes, I am rather late now that you mention it. You know what it's like these days, mum, I just can't get around to everything so quickly now that dad's gone."
        I think I need to sit down and figure out what's happening here and why was I so sharp with mum? It's certainly not the usual thing I would say about dad, especially seeing that I've just walked through the door. Matters should be a lot easier now. After all, it's been three and a half years. Mum and dad were so close that I was sure she would not be able to stand up to life without him. How wrong I was and thank goodness for that. As soon as she came to live with us, and despite her illness, she seemed to take on a new fighting spirit. For all the differences we had before, particularly between her and Karen regarding the kids and their welfare, she not only calmed troubled waters but she took on the mantle of being the greatest grandma in the world. How lucky I am now to have two angels around me. Why is mum looking at me with such a puzzled expression?
        "Don't worry Michael. You're doing really fine and dad's so very proud of you."
         How on earth can I answer her when I feel that lump build up in my throat? I must try and swallow before she gets upset.
        "Go and freshen up son, and then we'll all have a good chat. It seems so long since we sat down together don't you think?"
        I don't understand 'we'll all'. Karen, Christopher and Emily are not yet back from London. Thank goodness it's the school holidays. We're in the final stages of negotiations for the sale of some land that we need to part with. If successful, we'll just about break even. Karen has a diplomacy about her that leaves me looking more like a member of the Spanish Inquisition, so this is her department and she's taken the kids for support as she visits the lawyers. Good luck Karen. If anyone can clinch this deal, you can. 
        "Here, drink this Michael. It'll warm you up."
        Where on earth has this tea come from? It tastes absolutely out of this world. Everything is happening so quickly, as though time no longer exists.
        "Thanks mum. I really needed this. By the way, Karen and the kids are due back shortly, so please leave some of that wonderful cooking; it smells absolutely gorgeous." I must try and get some sleep. Maybe afterwards things will become clearer.
        "George is going to find it hard from now on, Michael, so I want you to give him all the support you can. Dad and I have always watched over you both. Now we have you to help."
        Why is she so concerned about George all of a sudden? He has always been able to cope, so what's new? He's three years my junior and has been helping on the farm for two years since leaving university early to help out. I feel guilty about this, but as he says, it was his decision and besides, being a linguist at the U.N. was probably an illusion compared with the reality of being a very competent farmer. I'd be lost without my little brother.
        "Why are you so worried about it mum?" Hmmm, this food she's just put down tastes delicious. In fact it's more than that; it's like tasting things for the first time, like that magic moment when we were very young.
        "Dad can probably explain things better than I son, so why don't you wait until you see him."
        What on earth is mum talking about? It'll be a long time before that happens, I assume. Hopefully, I can relax a little now that I've finished that fantastic meal. I must get my head into gear so that I can understand what mum is trying to say to me. Ah, that sounds like George coming in the back way. He usually showers and changes before leaving for home and his family. "George! Come through and enjoy some of mum's marvellous cooking".
        Whatever is wrong with him? He looks as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and why would he put down his boots and just leave the room without saying a word? I can't think for the life of me what I have said to upset him.
        "What do you think is bothering George, mum?" She's looking at me with those protecting eyes again.
         "Your brother loves you very much, Michael. You know that don't you?"
        That's one hell of a statement that mum has just made. Does she think that I no longer love my own brother? I don't want to get embroiled into a heated conversation right now, so I think I'll just nod to appease her. I'm feeling so relaxed that all I want to do is savour this moment. What perplexes me is the fact that some things are not OK and yet I feel so good and detached. I don't want to pursue the matter further until I'm ready. Ah, that seems to have done the trick. Now that she's gone into the front room, this will give me the chance to sit and try figure out the strange atmosphere that seems to exist around the place. It's hard work trying to concentrate, so I think I'll just let my thoughts drift for a while and stay here by the window. It looks like a mist is beginning to form over the meadow, just like the one over the gorge. How strange! I only hope that the good weather holds. Karen and the children are due back anytime and I'm beginning to feel a little restless. I hope they're OK. Perhaps mum has been trying to tell me something in her own sweet way. Is this the reason for all the unrest around me? Is she looking for that right opportunity to tell me something? I'm so relaxed that I can feel myself drifting. Oh well, no use in fighting it …
        That's strange; the clock on the mantle piece has stopped. I wonder how long I've been asleep. I must pull myself together, so I'll just sit here while I compose myself. Those mists are still hovering in the same places. In fact they haven't moved. Now that's very strange as mists usually drift with the wind, but seeing as it's so calm today, maybe that is why. Perhaps I've only slept a few minutes. They don't seem to be shifting at all, nor is there movement within the trees. It's absolutely calm; perhaps too calm. How many times do I have to ask myself what's happening? Hello, it looks as though there's some activity emerging around the mists. I must try to get a closer look. Not now though, someone is coming back into the room.
        "Hello son"!
        No, this can't be. "Dad, is that you? Is this really you?" I must be dreaming. Yes, that's it, I'm dreaming. So that's what this is all about. Now it all makes sense, thank goodness. OK, so I'm dreaming, but I still feel good and this seems so very real. So why fight it? Why not enjoy the experience? What a great tale I'm going to have for Karen.

     "Hello dad, it's great to see you. How are you?" He looks so fit and young looking. I'm so pleased for him, even though this is a dream. It looks as though he's coming to sit beside me. Why does he keep staring at those mists outside?
        "Your mum's asked me to explain a few things to you son."
        This is how dad used to talk to me as a child. This is so good. The dream is fulfilling every positive moment I wanted so much to experience in my life and I'm in no hurry to see it ended. "That's OK, dad. Go ahead." I hope I haven't startled him in any way. I can see that he is concerned, but I still feel so great that it's a shame to break this feeling and, after all, this is my dream.
        "Karen's on her way, son."
        He's looking at those mists again. I can see vehicles coming towards the farm. Perhaps this is Karen at last or is it still my dream? I'm so confused. It looks like two taxis, as I don't recognise the cars. George is still here and he's going towards the first car. "So George hasn't left yet, dad?" That's fairly obvious. Why did I ask that?
        "No son, he'll be here for a while."
        The second car has now pulled up. It's Karen and the kids in the first car. Thank heaven they're safe. Even dreams have to have a happy ending, if this is indeed still my dream. Things seem so solemn. You would think that George hadn't seen his sister-in-law for years instead of days, the way they're embracing. Now it looks like Elizabeth's turn, seeing as she's leaving that second car so quickly. She's still carrying little Edward, so I hope she's careful. George is so proud of his only son. When he was born 18 months ago, it was touch and go as to whether he would survive. Elizabeth got into difficulties and he was born almost two months premature. Now I have such a wonderful little nephew to enjoy. I can feel the emotion out there; it's running so high. If this is still my dream, I'm going to try and change its course.
        "Dad, this is a sort of reunion, isn't it? So why all the glum faces? Is someone not telling me something?" He's starting to worry me. He's staring at the frame above the fireplace. How I love that picture; mum and dad in their best outfits at George's and Elizabeth's wedding. It has pride of place, as it's usually the last thing I see before dozing around the fire after a good meal in the early evening. Mum was determined that nothing would spoil that day, even though she'd recently discovered she had breast cancer. She suffered bravely for three years before yielding to this atrocious disease. Oh my God, what is happening? Somebody please explain to me what is happening! I was just talking to mum before I dozed off and entered into this dream, so how can this be? Dad knows something. He doesn't put his hand on my shoulder unless he has something profound to say. I remember feeling so glad that mum lived long enough to enjoy the early months with her new grandson. A year on and Edward is starting to take on his father's features. I can understand things that are happening in this dream, but I can't figure out how I could have spoken with mum before this. Dad's got that fatherly look in his eyes; I know he's going to say something.
        "Do you remember those days when you were a lad Michael, and we could never find you? We always had to go out looking until we got wise to your secret place."
        He's on about my most favourite spot in the whole world – Dead Man's Hollow. This was the name given by us kids to the small gorge that separated the farm from the stream that ran alongside the meadow. We would play for hours on end here. We even built our tree house in the old oak that hung so majestically over the gorge and would double as a Tarzan swing. Later on, it became a short cut for the tractor I could so skilfully use. At least ten whole minutes or even more, could be saved when travelling from the fields when I was so eager to get home. Why should ten minutes make such a difference? Almost everything on the farm had a nickname. The tractor was called 'Nellie', after my mother's sister who was an old boiler. I hope by now she has forgiven us, especially how 'Nellie' became such a fond member of the family. We should have scrapped her years ago, but how can you punish such good service she had given? She was my pride and joy and I would prefer to use her rather than the more modern tractors that were left to the farm staff. I became so skilful as a driver that only I could negotiate that large oak root that prevented the others from crossing the gorge.
        Wait a minute! I'm beginning to remember. It rained heavily last night and there was a pond left in the belly of the gorge. I knew I'd get a soaking today if I wasn't careful when crossing. Perhaps I shouldn't have gone into the field at all. It was a mud bath. Regardless, I knew the work had to be done and I was so positive that Karen was going to be successful with the land sale, so much so that I had prepared a surprise meal for her return today. I was determined to get home in quick time.
        That look in Dad's eyes speaks volumes. He always had a knack of bringing things to our attention without uttering a word. I feel so good within myself that it's hard to accept the logic that surrounds me and yet I must face it.
        "We should have cut out that dead root years ago."
         Dad sounds like he's almost apologising for its existence.
         "If only the tractor had been more modern and had a winch hook fitted."
         His words 'if only' are beginning to haunt me. What's going on here and how many times must I repeat this question to myself? Here comes mum.
        "Is everything OK"? Mum knows that I have a mind full of questions. I hope her presence will help lighten the load a little now.
        "Yes mum, everything's OK now." I must savour this moment, now that we're together again.
         "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you both." I never dreamed that I would be able to see mum and dad together again. The way we're embracing tells me that I have a lot to do. My thoughts are back to those childhood days. I wonder which one of us named that gorge Dead Man's Hollow. Mum and dad don't have to tell me that Karen, George, Elizabeth and the children will one day need my support, the same way as they have given me theirs. I only have to wait. It is indeed a very fine day.

Have you ever considered that past lives are nothing more than lives lived parallel to us? Take your mind out of the time-space continuum and you will discover that there is no past and there is no future. There is only the moment or the presence.

If you give thought to this fact then you will discover that there can be no experiences of past lives; in other words, lives that have been lived on this Earth, in this dimension, many years ago.

What we are experiencing more likely than not, are lives (how many I cannot tell) being lived by us as different personalities but sharing the same soul. I believe that theory physics and quantum physics are already proving that time as we know it, does not exist other than being part of the illusion which gives substance to a material world.

In my opinion, it makes more sense to realise that we are part of a collective consciousness and our learning/experiencing mindset comes about via multiple lives which are lived simultaneously but in different dimensions or parallel universes. For example, it could be possible that we live many lives on Earth with an identical natural infrastructure which sustains us and yet in a completely separate dimension or vibration.

Therefore what people interpret as memories through dreams and regression are simply real experiences happening in the here and now, but in different dimensions. What we interpret as time zones is simply a period background which can be either pre or post industrial revolution and thus providing the illusion to live out a life.

The state of awareness that we experience here can possibly be much greater as we live a life somewhere else. The feedback we get is through the neural and esoteric channels which surround us all. It's a wonderful thought and one which I consider should be given greater consideration.

Regardless of all this, I am still of the romantic notion that we have lived before on this Earth. We are only human and this is the way I like to feel when I start to ponder on this subject. As a consequence to this, I along with a co-writer, have written a 600-page novel about lives and loves that have lived again and again.

Our novel, which has yet to be published, can be found on our new web/blog site and we hope that you get the time to come and visit us and, perhaps, express a wish to learn more of this work which took two and a half years to write. Please go to TheMeadowBlog.com.