Seasons Greetings: scintillating pinpricks of joy leaven 2012’s concluding chronicle, a damp Albion pervading, but I’m still here in my bubble! 

Almost five decades of memorable mid-winter festivities survived; reflections on events (at the bottom-you'll have to wait), memories of loved ones that have passed on, friendships honed or ended, new beginnings, opportunities rising-taken up or discarded; Grianstad an Gheimhridh is the rarely used Celtic celebration of the solstice, often dramatised by shafts of the dawn light striking the depths of caves, announcing the new year, growth not decay, spring after bleak midwinter, of course as a recovering addict I don’t wake up like a ‘Blackened Thront’ !

I have recently learned from my ‘sick pay’ managers that they do not expect me to return to ‘work’ for another year-so another year of living on £10 a day. One alternative, that of ‘jails, institutions or death’- relapsing - does not appeal; my gratitude to my adored sister, Annie, for her role in getting me into recovery cannot be exaggerated - the doctors said I would not have lived much longer, not that the ‘life’ I had was of any value - and her continued support is invaluable, especially considering other, more important, pressures on her. Renewal and rebirth works, not repetition other than at a cellular level, I truly believe my journey through recovery is an example of looking forward with hope, noting but not dwelling on past misdeeds. Amends have been made, where possible, to all affected by my drunkenness, and even though some have chosen to ignore my ameliorative advances or possibly misunderstood them, I again offer my sincere, unreserved apologies.

The upside of being ‘off sick’ for another year is being able to continue my work with youths and young adults with special needs. The joy of witnessing: an 'imprisoned in their mind' ASD mortal realising they can 'drive' a boat, the calmness of a higher level ASD soul watching the water and 'their mermaids', the incredulity of an EBD cocooned soul allowed to control a boat, the realisation of the excluded that they can do things without guards present; it's quite incredible. Often it is quiet comments that hit home hardest, one guy mentioned we were the first people he had ever spoken to that were not paid to be with him (he's in a very small 'secure' unit), how is he supposed to cope with becoming adult? He is, by the way, very bright, probably a savant.

The local college has accepted me onto a level 3 (≈ A level) Special Educational Needs course but funding issues will take ages to sort out - I am overqualified again! - so my head will continue to ache from banging against the brick wall of blinkered cronyism. 10 months of targeted voluntary work still hasn’t resulted in a job offer but some glimmers of hope are there, typically an addict in recovery takes 18 months or so to find employment, so whilst frustrated I will keep going in the planned direction, I'm a navigator.

Now back to the memories of past Grianstad an Gheimhridh: chucking a $ billionaire off a charter yacht on xmas day for upsetting my crew (I wasn't even reprimanded by the owner or agent!); New Years Eve at Basils Bar (Mustique-lobster) watching Princess X dancing on her table right next to us - wondering aloud with Lu where the security guards kept their guns (silently reprimanded by a 'stare'); Singapore & Hong Kong for my 17th; sleeping rough for my 19th; Church Farm, Boarstall, Esher and USA for huge family dinners; Storm Force conditions deep sea (no tree!); Missions to Seamen in Hamburg docks, extremely simple but the comradeship of the sea; numerous others of note; and this winter solstice, the seventh in a row with no partner at all, no kisses & cuddles, celibacy suits me, I prefer it - no nasty belittling. 

Grianstad an Gheimhridh this year will be with a friend's family for the day, a family that has had more than their fair share of tribulations but still offered hospitality to me, a stranger, co-incidently an archaic Arab tradition - now, apparently, discarded. No Christmas Eve midnight church choral service as, according to friends in a large, well attended C of E congregation, there aren't any here in Bristol - not traditional anyway. 

All 'best wishes' and 'seasons greetings' cards have been sent by Facebook and e-mail (with links to this blog, it's open share) as the only time I use snail mail is to contact those with cyberphobia.

May your gods be with you all.

Predominantly a carnivorous Jainist inlaid with Christian ethics and morals I sporadically muse upon archaic religions etc. with Wikipedia et al. such as the Mithraic Mysteries. Personally imperfectly polytheist, selectively theist, my progenitorial quiddity is this hopefully scintillating colloquy. Be aware I execrate fugacious and enduring elitist expenditure; from pyramids to temples to bishop’s palaces to...monuments to mammon, self glorification and the emperor's clothes. Popes, Rabbis, Imams etc. do not need a ‘Vatican’,‘Temple’ or ‘Masjid al-Quba’ on ‘the mount’ etc. just any oratory.

Analogically: Judaism, Islam and Christianity, the three great Abrahamic religions, are themselves derivations of Indo-European doxologies ritualised following the successful ‘Out of Africa’ migration; my c.8,000th great grandparents were probably Celts, possibly Corieltauvi as ancestral Kenningtons tended to a settled subculture, implicitly pre-Christian descendants of the successful ‘Out of Africa’ migrants.

The Corieltauvi were a tribe living, prior to the Romans, in what is now Lincolnshire, largely agricultural people who had few strongly defended sites or signs of centralised government appearing to have been a federation of smaller, self-governing tribal groups (I like that). Druids, their ‘priests’ (sorcerers some say), derived much of their beliefs from ancient Indo-European cultic practices such as the Mithraic Mysteries, implicitly pre-Christian (can you see where I’m going with this?).

Mithra is the archaic Persian divinity of covenant and oath, an all-seeing protector of Truth, and the guardian of cattle, the harvest and of The Waters. He is undeceivable, infallible, eternally watchful, and never-resting (his attention to acolytes wellbeing is not mentioned); his stock epithet is "of wide pastures" (no cities-excellent) so as guardian of the waters he ensures that those pastures (and veg.patches) receive enough of it (Mithra-the farmer’s steward).  

Together with Rashnu "Justice" and Sraosha "Obedience", Mithra is one of the three judges at the Chinvat bridge, the "bridge of separation" that all souls must cross, but unlike Sraosha, Mithra is not a psychopomp (pity, they’re associated with whip-poor-wills). The Mithraic Mysteries were originally celebrated in caves not temples. Few, if any, initiates came from leading aristocratic or senatorial families (e.g.nabobs) until the 'pagan’ (!) revival of the mid 4th century but even then there were considerable numbers of freedmen and slaves (nicely egalitarian), initiates kept their hands pure from everything that brings pain and harm (letting agnostics crucify infidels?) and is impure (bless, no bacon butties then). The Thebaid  an epic poem by Statius, pictures Mithras in a cave, wrestling with something that has horns (getting the barbie meat obviously but not pork).

Plutarch says that "the secret mysteries of Mithras" were practiced by the pirates of Cilicia who were active in the 1st century BC (contemporaries of the Corieltauvi). Plutarch also mentions that the pirates were especially active during the Mithridatic wars in which they supported the king (privateers not pirates maybe, good strategy). The association between Mithridates and the pirates is also mentioned by Appian similarly the English ‘pirates’ (renamed privateers when supporting Good Queen Bess with their booty, otherwise hung) strategically associated with royalty .

Mithra suited my recent progenitors so suits me, I’m adding him to my ever expanding divinities, which still prioritises theoretical physics-the Big Bang etc. May your gods be with you.

PS. Plutarch also mentions a group, within the Corieltauvis, of small, Asian looking, people well integrated-I marvel at such travellers and wonder what tales they must have told.

Winter: Biscay, Trafalgar, Fitzroy; South Westerly (Violent) Storm Force 11 (Exceptionally high waves (37–52 ft, 11.5–16 m). Very large patches of foam, driven before the wind, cover much of the sea surface. Very large amounts of airborne spray, severely reduced visibility)...
Increasing South Westerly (Brobdingnagian) Force 12; (left) 
“Midshipman Kennington on the bridge SAH”. Sixteen years old, homeward bound, full of beans-even in a gale I still had a ‘full english’ served on china plates by my Kowloon steward, in full uniform of course, the only concession to the ships antics was to dampen the white linen tablecloth!- and almost transfixed by the majesty of the phenomenal seas I staggered to my station by the telegraph to take up my duty of recording every order, comment and observation for use in the marine investigation that would surely follow if we got back to Liverpool.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday” heard over the VHF radio means someone is in very, very serious trouble close by, maybe only a few hours away, and the law of the sea (and most countries) is to go to their aid but could we actually get there?

We had already upset, literally and emotionally, the galley when we, the deck officers, forgot to tell them we were altering course to heave to. We had been running with the seas on the port quarter (giving us a long, slow comfortable roll-20o to port across to 30o to starboard plus an associated bow up/bow down pitch of course) when the Old Man wisely chose to heave to. He had given the bridge watch the order to alter course to port having, in a seamanlike manner, waited for a ‘calm’ moment i.e. guessed, BUT DIDN'T TELL ANYONE ELSE. The chefs and stewards had been setting up for the next meal, china plate of course-we were British Merchant Navy, like The Royal Navy but superior- when soporific rolls (it’s like being in a gently swinging hammock once you get used to it) changed to prodigious drubbing ones.

The first thing that happens in a fast turn to windward is the ship leans out of the turn, in this case out to starboard, then the wave crests (60’+) start pushing at right angles to the superstructure, to starboard, resulting in the roll to windward, to port, being almost zero but to leeward, to starboard...well...let’s say I can still visualise, 40 years later, the chef ninjaing his way onto the bridge, covered in broken china flakes, screaming dockside Mandarin curses, to go nose to nipple with The Old Man, it was much, much, better than any Grimsby Dock fishwives fight. The Old Man actually cowered, blenching, behind his precious throne (bridge chair).

Back to “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday” (another one), The Old Man deliberated, waiting hopefully for somebody, anybody, closer to rush to save some souls...two did. Same happened a few times then a couple of days later “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday”, this time we were close enough... we altered course to the north...the chef came back to the bridge...we ate off paper party plates for the rest of the trip.

Has the universe existed forever? Serendipity sways today - I had just finished this, an experiment in a simple visual conception of a core, long standing, mathematically based belief of mine,


Then this popped up in my inbox: ‘AS BIG questions go, it's hard to beat. Has the universe existed forever?.....(some) have argued that the opposite must be true - something must have happened to bring the cosmos into existence....earlier (this) year, cosmologists Alex Vilenkin and Audrey Mithani claimed to have settled the debate. They have uncovered reasons why the universe cannot have existed forever....Roger Penrose and Stephen Hawking were two young theorists at the University of Cambridge. Their work showed that if you reversed the expansion of the universe, it is impossible to avoid reaching a point known as a singularity, where physical parameters such as density and temperature skyrocket to infinity. Crucially, physics breaks down at a singularity making it impossible to predict what lies on the other side. According to Penrose and Hawking, the big bang must truly be the beginning...Our universe is inside one such bubble that appeared in a big bang 13.7 billion years ago...’ New Scientist 03/12/12


Just a thought as we approach the Christian celebration of the birth of the prophet of one of the three religions tracing their origins to Abraham-Islam, Judaism and Christianity .

We’ve got mice in the house, but why have they gone to the third floor 1st? Otherwise SNAFU, ~ is floating on air with her beau,~~ is just floating-don’t know why, ~~~has floated off into his own reality, * is now an utter kvetch, ** has always been in her own reality, ! is now a reporter, !! is just !!! and I’m not sure who ‘me’ is.

A Chandos post states ‘Lectures Thurs ongoing rota with Deborah Clarke and some other keynote speakers! 1-2 pm, starting this week, all welcome... this is part of the new Chandos paperwork party, tick box descriptions of what has always been the Chandos way using jabberwocky so social service managers can fill in their jobsworth folders: some bullet points are; Assertiveness, Anger Management, Diversity, Diet/nutrition, Role of complementary therapy, spirituality, decision making, Endings, Sex/love? Citizenship, what is addiction? Mutual aid,’ (sic). A denizens charter, an adepts aphoristic compendium, mere blatherskite-results, it works, why waste the therapists time doing paperwork unless it’s cheaper than helping addicts, just a sepulchral thought.

Composing these sporadic pamphlets over days, not hours, often synchronises apparently asynchronous events. I crafted the above a couple of days ago, yesterday I was reprimanded for not being ‘chilled’ enough to train at the Domino Effect Project, so I have disburdened myself of training for them any more. I must protect my serenity, to peregrinate without goosestepping, possibly involving myself with Chandos, my alma mater.
My team leader called at 10.12 this morning for a friendly update, my paymaster messaged me at 10.54 to arrange a chat - synchronicity?

Almost an hour talking with Beth, an eminently sensible occupational therapist, has left an interesting conundrum: if I return to any form of paid employment I lose my abode; if I don’t comply with reasonable demand from my claim manager I lose the £10 per day I have to live on; if I don’t keep myself occupied I lose my sanity and relapse.  “Insa.” One of Arabic’s beautifully expressive idioms, the word means essentially, “That’s life.” We have agreed to a very, very gentle approach to my return to work. It’s only a couple of months since I last had a ‘proper’ panic attack - pissing myself in public.

'I may not be rich, but I am valuable. I don't pretend to be someone I'm not, because I'm good at being me. I might not be proud of some of the things I've done in the past, but I am proud of who I am today. I may not be perfect, but I don't need to be. Take me as I am, or watch me as I walk away' anon. echoes of my feelings this pm. TTFN