Something Bigger

“Why would someone do that?”

The question was posed more than once as we stood there in the morning light, sourced somewhere between incredulity and admiration.

The Crazy Horse memorial is a short drive from the better known U.S. presidential heads carved out of Mt Rushmore in South Dakota. Much larger and more ambitious, the head of Crazy Horse is now freed from its granite mountain after 70 years of constant work. A monument to the culture and history of Native Americans, the project is privately funded, and unlikely to be completed in the lifetime of anyone viewing it today. Reportedly the children and grandchildren of the original sculptor continue to work there.

“Why would someone do that.”

A whole career spent blasting, quarrying and shaping a granite monolith, with no hope of living to see the finished product. The question seemed reasonable enough, and I began to wonder. Why would a person tie themselves to such an intergenerational project?

Does it make any more sense to spend a whole career selling real estate? Would years spent in a classroom, or behind a shop counter, in customer service, on building sites, in an office somewhere, driving a bus, running a small business, playing music or writing poetry be better spent?

Isn’t that what most of us end up doing? Expending our lives without awareness of where our contribution fits, or of our worth?

“How are you going to spend your life, daughter/son?”

“Spend it on a project larger than yourself? Something that has a deep meaning for your people and their history?”

“No, I’ll just bum around, and see what turns up”.

(Prairie Dog pondering his options)

How many of us live life as a spectator? How many live life as a consumer? How many as a victim? How many of us just scratch their heads and wonder what happened? How many of us see ourselves as part of a larger story? How many of us know that our lives have made a difference?

It occurs to me there’s nothing wrong with being a spectator, or a consumer, or selling real estate, or whatever, as long as we don’t become preoccupied, and permit our lives to slip away unnoticed. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to get to the end of my life, scratching my head wondering what happened.

Maybe those workers on the Crazy Horse project are on to something after all. There are answers for each one of us in the great narrative. It’s just that some of us never get around to asking the questions.

Finally, an image that kind of, sort of, contributes to my line of thought. Its beauty is a bonus.

(Somewhere in Wyoming. Taken from a bus window)


Truth Tellers and Boundary Crossers

(My photo Caucusus Mountains, Georgia, 2015)

What use are truth tellers?

In a culture that says life is without meaning?

Where the ‘I’ is more important than the ‘we’?

Where we distract ourselves, chasing possessions, fun and excitement while our lives ebb away?

Where the unborn have value only if they are convenient?

Where we tell the old and those with chronic pain they are a burden?

Where politicians are led by opinion polls and the media?

Where 51% of us reshape laws to confirm our truth at the expense of the rest?

Where church leaders destroy their credibility, choosing reputation over morality?

Where violence is an acceptable tool for those who think they own the truth?

Where its ok to deplatform those with unacceptable ideas?

Where we need safe places to protect us from such ideas?

(My photo taken in Armenia 2015)

First a little about truth.

People who speak the truth are generally nuisances. Their message is inconvenient, sometimes embarassing, always unwelcome. Our culture does not run on truth. The group we identify with determines our truth. What matters is whether we belong, or are an outsider. We are pushed to conform with the zeitgeist, by laws and through social pressure. Those who would control and manipulate us have learned this well. It is comfortable to fit in and be accepted; to have the right opinions. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of a social media pile on will no doubt agree.

Could it be that our opinions are shaped by fear? Fear of not fitting in? Of not belonging?

I don’t agree that truth is whatever we want it to be. If you and I part company on that point, so be it. I understand that different people have sincerely held opinions different from mine on a range of topics. We could each be partly correct or we could all be wrong. What we cannot be, if we make incompatible truth claims, is all simultaneously correct.

Also I don’t believe I alone own the truth. There; I’ve said it. But I don’t fall in either with the view that one person’s truth is as valid as anyone else’s. Apart from giving us a warm inner glow, that just leads us nowhere, except in ever decreasing circles.

If there is such a thing as truth, and I believe there is, then even if unpopular or unfashionable, it is worth discovering. How sad it would be if we lived our whole lives in a comfortable delusion, and then we died.

What’s the use of truth tellers? Maybe because we all need to have our ideas challenged now and then. Whether or not they are telling the truth, or are just deluded, if truth tellers make us wrinkle our brows or prick our consciences, in a world where we are shaped by and conform to ideas outside ourselves, that’s not such a bad thing.

Boundary Crossers?

(One boundary I did not feel comfortable crossing across a deep gorge in Armenia 2015)

Our culture, and the whole world has a lot of boundaries. I don’t mean geographical borders. Boundaries separate people in more ways than that.

Think about:




Members/non members

Religious believers/non believers









It seems to me that quite a few of these boundaries are calling out for people to reach across them. Maybe a qualification would be useful: Some boundaries are there for our protection, but others keep us from being fully human. National borders and refugee policies are there to keep us safe. I know some disagree and would have free, uninhibited movement of people across borders.

In general, I don’t think it does us good to put up walls to keep out those who are different. However, when a lack of border control places public order in jeopardy, we need to remember why all countries try to control their borders.

The boundaries that need to be crossed are those that exclude and alienate us from each other. I don’t think we will see the boundaries themselves disappear any time soon. What we are seeing is individuals, like you and I, choosing to cross some of them.

It can be risky for an insider to reach across to an outsider. It can be threatening to stop and really listen to someone with whom we disagree politically. It can seem like a waste of time to give an unlovable person the time of day.

Boundary crossing is certainly not for the faint hearted. Nor is it for those who are wrapped up in their own concerns. Our culture encourages us to erect boundaries rather than to reach across them. I believe our culture has it wrong. Crossing boundaries just may be the only way for us to become fully human.

Think about that.

Truth tellers and boundary crossers. There are not nearly enough of them. Could you be one?

(Below: Feeding the homeless at a Sikh temple in New Delhi 2016)

Two Poems

(Stream in Glen Coe, Scotland. My photograph)

Lost Opportunity

You tumbled into being

as you began to walk your life.

I walked sleeping, unaware,

as I became a father twice.

The boy/man, pretending.

His grief not understood,

tried to paper over

stuff his father never could.

How badly I was drifting,

when I left you, thinking

you wouldn’t miss me.

Surprising stupidity.

Persuaded you were resilient,

I minimised and rationalised

my selfishness,

until I looked, and you were far away.

I would hug the child

in the photo in front of me.

But you’re not three now,

and never again will be.

(A valley in Glen Coe Scotland. My photograph)

Dysfunction Named

A problem unspoken

remains unbroken.

What mustn’t be uttered

tiptoes and flutters

behind closed shutters

Rules are changed,

deflecting blame.

Conspire together

waiting for someone else to name

the obscenity behind the game.

Collectively mindless,

and with selective blindness,

Sacrificing truth for a quiet life;

all hoping someone else

will step up and name it.

Wondering why,

they limp to paralysis,

papering veneer

and hiding the substance

behind euphemism and lie.

The truth though hard

must be uncovered,

owned and faced.

Elephants leave little space

when they occupy a room.

A Cheeky Manifesto

(Looking up towards the Old Man of Stour, Isle of Skye, Scotland. One of my favourite places)

[Manifesto A public declaration of intentions or opinions. A list of principles.]

I’ve challenged myself to distil some principles for living authentically and faithfully in a secular culture. I am me, and I am comfortable in my skin. I am not an exceptionally holy or good Christian, as I’ve tried to make clear in what follows. I wrote this as an exercise in reflection, not to dismiss people who think differently. It’s more a checklist that helps me clarify what I can and should bend with, and what warrants my active resistance to the status quo.

It’s not complete of course; more a living document than a definitive one. I hope you find it interesting or food for thought.

So, to begin, in no particular order.

Some things matter. Some don’t. Things like wealth and possessions seem like they matter, but they don’t. On the other hand, people always matter. It’s wise to hesitate before putting principles and things ahead of people.

Winning arguments doesn’t matter, but giving in and compromising values in the face of bullying is cowardice, and does matter greatly.

It’s tempting to look for simple solutions and pat answers. It can also be foolish.

There are all sorts of simple remedies for complex problems. Some would be effective if people were willing to listen to them. Be kind. Work hard. Give generously. Have respect. Spend wisely. Avoid blaming. Drive carefully. But then I guess we don’t like listening to advice, do we?

Life is complex and messy. People are too, and sometimes they need some slack cut for them. Certain behaviours and choices don’t warrant my approval, but neither do I need to spend my life running around condemning them.

I will resist the temptation to apologise for who I am. Admitting to having Christian faith carries a social cost. It is regarded variously with degrees of embarassment, amusement or contempt. The surest way to silence a social gathering is to mention the God or Jesus words. I will be polite and sensitive, but I will say what I think and believe regardless of any social cost.

Religion and faith are two quite different things. One does not presuppose the other. Religion is about outward conformity with ceremonies, rules, dogma, and power structures. Churches generally do religion quite well. Faith on the other hand is an intensely personal thing, not governed easily by those rules, dogmas or power structures. In my experience, churches do not do faith as well as they do religion. As I grow older I am becoming less religious and more faithful.

Life is a gift. It is not to be taken lightly or thrown away. Killing someone is wrong, whether it is done in retribution, in a fit of temper, or for social convenience. Abortion and euthanasia come to mind here, as although both practices have powerful emotive justifications, killing is what they involve, and killing is what they are. I should and will speak out against the unjust taking of life.

Having said that, I can think of a few scenarios when I would be sorely tempted to take someone else’s life.

I’ll take miracles when they come, every time. Some would rather tell me at length and tediously why miracles are impossible and that only stupid people would believe they occur. I leave them to their opinions. May they bring them comfort.

A lot of people I know have dismissed Jesus Christ on the basis of caricatures met as a child, or as a result of abuses committed by churches in his name. They would do well to reconsider with adult eyes. His message of radical love transforms lives and undermines the power structures of secular society (and churches). Today the establishment ignores him, ridicules his followers and thinks it has won. They have never understood who they are dealing with.

Prayer is not just a wish list, like something I might once have left in a Christmas stocking. Closer to me than my breath or my heartbeat, it transcends time and space, and opens dimensions of experience those bound in the everyday could not imagine. When I pray I can be completely myself, open to my creator God. That’s on a good day. Sometimes I admit I stare at my hands and wait for inspiration that doesn’t come.

Truth is not determined by popular or majority opinion. Wrong does not become right, or right become wrong simply because 51% of citizens vote that way. My conscience and values are not manipulated by popular opinion. That doesn’t mean I don’t listen to and learn from others, or never change my attitudes. It means just what it says.

Evil is real. It is personal and it walks among us. Those who ignore or deny the existence of evil aren’t paying attention.

It’s not all about me. Our culture has been obsessed with self gratification for so long now, it seems natural and a self evident good.

It is not. We have allowed ourselves to be conned.

How often have I heard “I/we should be able to do whatever I/we like as long as we are not hurting anyone else” trotted out to justify a self indulgent choice? It is a nonsense; a deceptive argument. How can I know I’m not hurting anyone else? I am not a reliable judge of whether others are unaffected by my selfishness. The ‘not hurting anyone’ defence of self indulgent, decadent life choices deserves nothing but contempt. Having said that, I’m rather fond of wine and can become a tad defensive when my wife suggests I might be too fond of it.

It is not wise to worship myself. If I value my choices, my desires, my interests, above those of my fellow travellers (and don’t we all, here and there and now and then), I am effectively worshipping myself. Placing myself at the centre of things is delusional and ultimately destructive.

In the same way, trying to control other people, in whatever way I try to do it, is self defeating, as the very intention and act diminishes both myself and those I seek to dominate. Humility doesn’t come naturally, but anything less is inevitably an abuse of power. Removing myself from the throne of self regard is a step on the road to genuinely appreciating others and becoming fully human.

Turning the other cheek’ is a misunderstood and misused Christian principle. It does not mean Christians should make wimpy doormats of themselves. Turning the other cheek can be an act of defiance when my adversary seeks to make me cower. It is a metaphor for non violent resistance. Meekness is a world away from subservience. However, in confronting evil, I should be careful not to become that which I resist by fighting evil with evil. I should be careful, for example, that my blog posts do not reflect the ugliness that characterises much commentary on social media. Abuse, name calling and demonising those who see things differently is always counter productive. It never leads to a just solution, or brings people together. However, driving in traffic, sitting in meetings, or waiting in supermarket checkout lines, I can tend to forget this.

I should remember that confronting evil can exact a high personal price. Talk is cheap. Standing up in the face of evil can not only cost me my peace of mind, my friends and my reputation. It could cost me my freedom and my life. I am not a particularly brave person however, and am not prone to poking my head above the parapet, except in blog posts.

I could go on, but will content myself with an executive summary:

Western culture seeks to have me adapt my faith to fit with its norms. Ultimately, when push comes to shove, I reserve the right to refuse. I hope the necessary courage is there when I need it.

Thanks for reading.

Tough Love 2

(Grabbing some rest in Jaipur, India)

This post begins with a poem I’ve published previously but I’ve reworked it and here it is in a revised form. It sets the scene for the rest of the post.

Tough Love 2

Madness swells and seeps under doors.

The darkness in each of us seeks out its own.

We are blind mice

feeling for the exit

in a warehouse stalked by cats.


The anger of a thousand stolen childhoods,

shames inaction and smashes every excuse

for child sexual abuse.

Aromas of respectability become the stink

of yesterday’s household garbage.

Exposed and stripped of defence,

failed shepherds

spread their hands

and evade responsibility.


Transitioned into care,

yesterday’s people outlive their usefulness.

Independence reigned in to a choke hold.

Dignity denied them by others’ decisions;

all legal, sensible, faux compassion.

The children who consign them there,

confirm their own decline

in turn and in time.


A termination

on the strength of a prenatal scan.

Imperfect parents will try another time

for a perfect child.

This one flawed;

airbrushed out of a family’s history.

Binned as biological waste;

the child spared, at least,

the obscenity of parents like these.


Fragments of a hundred butchered innocents

lie on a hot black road;

litter left by soldiers of Allah.

An unfinished jigsaw of heads and limbs

sorted and ripped by beaks and talons.

Forget love and kindness.

Cruelty and violence are the price

of entry to paradise.

Who’d have thought?



love is not set aside for the greater good,

explained away by self interest,

dishonoured through selfishness,

or perverted by pustulant ideology.



people can be

who they were created to be.



“Somewhere love is not set aside . . .

This is an article of faith for me and my reason for writing this post. Somewhere there is a place where love is not set aside in favour of chasing other goals. A place where people can be safe and free to be who they were meant to be. I understand that place to be the kingdom of heaven; not a place in the sky with clouds and harps, but the kingdom of heaven right here, as Jesus described it.

I seek that place, and I’m committed to doing what I can to help the world be such a place. It’s not there yet. Not even close. The world continues to be a place where evil roams free, even as patches of light and hope shine through, giving hints of what might be possible.

(Friday afternoon drinks. A small patch of light and hope in the world.)

What sort of world do we live in?

The worlds of our parents and grandparents are gone, and to be honest, they were no more idyllic than ours is, just quite different. We would have to look hard now to find any of the things they would have seen as givens. Automatic respect for authority figures; heterosexual marriage and mother-father families being the norm; Sunday observance; social sanctions attached to divorce, and promiscuity, to list just a few.

In our world authority figures do not receive automatic respect. Their decisions and pronouncements are challenged routinely and defied openly. Marriage is no longer exclusively heterosexual, and marriage itself shares the stage with a variety of arrangements of varying formality. The term ‘partner’ is used in preference to ‘spouse’.

Social sanctions are now applied for totally different reasons than they used to be. Divorce remains an unpleasant, damaging experience, but no longer carries the social and legal sanctions it once had. Promiscuity is now celebrated and assumed to be the norm, although some interesting ethical acrobatics are needed to avoid being caught up on the wrong side of ideology (#metoo).

Not that such changes are all regretable. Easy divorce has had an upside for some people trapped in intolerable circumstances, but the proliferation of divorce has shaken families and weakened our culture. We like our Sundays the way they are. Not so much days of rest anymore, but still we enjoy them.

Promiscuity? We are saturated with messages, overt and subtle, that a promiscuous lifestyle is normal and desirable. Does experience tell us that promiscuity leads anywhere beneficial, or that widespread promiscuity is something any society can be proud of? Seriously

While some of us view these changes with some sadness, many more celebrate what we see as the overthrow of oppressive structures and traditions. Some of us are in both camps. We see the dishonesty, the hypocrisy and the injustice threaded through the institutions of earlier generations. We also see and give credit for the stability and the meaning they gave to people’s lives.

Turning our faces away from traditional values, we might have believed that by doing so we would be free to live more honest, moral lives.

Is that what’s happened?

Convincing ourselves more enlightened than our forebears, embracing our whims and preferences as the guiding moral compass for our lives, we have put ourselves at the centre of everything.

How’s that going for us? Sweetness and light is it?

Lest you think you smell sanctimony, I have more than enough to regret and be ashamed of. I listened to the whispered silky justifications, I was seduced by the promise that it was all about me. As long as I wasn’t hurting anyone, I should have been free to do what I liked. I had no right to judge anyone anyway. After all, aren’t right and wrong so passé? Surely such old fashioned ideas belonged in an earlier time? I remember one self assured woman correcting me for using the word ‘adultery’. “Do they still call it that?” she asked mockingly.

It occurs to me that’s what the western world has come to believe. By changing the language, the social mores and traditions, we consider we have moved to a higher moral plane. We have rewritten the moral code to suit our own preferences and we are free to do that which we are inclined to do. But does it change human nature, or does it make us the fools, blind to predictable consequences?

So, yes. There was much to condemn in the values and mores of the world of our parents.

There is much to be thankful for in new ways of looking at the world and in the lifting of oppressive, hypocritical laws and practices, but have we have got it right yet

Living life as an extended pursuit of indulgence, freedom to make our own choices, our own happiness and fulfillment, as if we were not dependent on others and they on us, has become the reason for being for many of us. Our pursuit of personal fulfillment can see us dismiss the trail of hurt and damage we leave behind, if we think of it at all, as collateral damage, regretable maybe, but an acceptable sacrifice for the greater good (our wants).

Be true to yourself.

Don’t judge.

Follow your heart.

If it feels good, do it.

No one has the right to tell you what to do.

Each of these memes contains some truth, but that does not mean they are the whole truth, or that they are the best way to organize our lives

For all the ways we are encouraged to think of ourselves as free and uninhibited, are we as free as we think? In our culture diversity is seen to be a self evident good; except of course, diversity of thought. Try expressing reservations about some of the memes above and note the reaction

So how do I go about countering a worldview that’s seduced the western world so thoroughly that many people now see it as self evident, beyond questioning? A big ask, I know.

It’s just when you stop, step outside, and look around, you realise that it’s a seductive facade. It’s a lie. An attractive and seductive one, but a lie nonetheless. One leading us away from the kingdom of heaven I mentioned earlier; the place where love is not set aside; the place where we can be fully human.

We are more than our cleverness, the nastiness we cultivate, the selfishness we flaunt, and the misery we ignore. These things do not define who we are.

There is an answer of course. There is a path to follow. So many of us have rejected what we imagined was the Christian message. We rejected a caricature. The established church has much to answer for in that.

The Christian gospel is far more shocking and subversive than any adolescent arrogance could have imagined.

Maybe it’s time to look again with adult eyes at Jesus and to weigh his message in the light of your experience. Like me, you may be blown away.

Spirit Gallery

I have about 10000 photos stored from the last few years. I sometimes browse through them for inspiration or to make sense of whatever is on my mind. Sometimes words fall short you see.

These seven below say things from within me that I suspect I would struggle to express in a truckload of words.

In different ways they speak of humanity, human failings, feelings of loss and of love. As I sit here and think about it, they also pretty much distill my values.

While some are self explanatory (I hope), the child’s tricycle was one taken from the ruins of Hiroshima and it leaves me indescribably sad; and the final three are of (most of) my grandchildren, every one of whom fills me with indescribable joy.

Certain Delusions





The decades have passed almost without my noticing. I’ve mellowed. Those powerful youthful certainties, towering passions and cruel emotions have ebbed away with the hormones that stirred them. I’m comfortable in my own skin now, more or less. I’ve learned to recognise the battles worth fighting, and ditches worth dying in.


While there are certainly still battles worth fighting, there are now fewer ditches I would choose to die in. Those that remain seem so clear to me, so fundamental, so bleeding obvious. If only people would listen! But they don’t.


They wont, any more than the younger me did when truths were simpler, possibilities were many, and freedom was a word that resonated through my soul.


I ask different questions now. I value different answers.


Which is the bigger delusion then? The brittle arrogance of youth or the patronising wisdom of age? Is it possible they are flip sides of the same thing? Who would have wanted to miss out on the power and the impetuousness of their youth? Who at the time would have swapped it for sensible, safe and cautious?


Some of us don’t survive our youth. A few of us never outgrow it. For the rest of us, caution and wisdom grow from the seeds of mistakes that went with the territory. I speak only for myself here, but I don’t want my youth back. I grieve for it, but like a butterfly in the wind, it’s gone. Wisdom is the compensation. Wisdom, and acceptance, starting with acceptance of myself and extending it to others.


I should clarify something. Acceptance is not the same thing as approval. Far from it. This is where wisdom begins for me. Accepting other people as they are does not mean that I need to approve of them or things they do. They do not need my approval, any more than I need theirs. It’s nice of course, but unnecessary, and counterproductive if we make it an overarching aim to be approved of by others. For me, approval is a personal thing, a testament to who I am down deep. I’ll award or withhold it as I see fit.


Now, where was I?


Lost in my delusions, that’s where. In my more expansive moments, I concede the arrogance of youth is no more a delusion than my thinking I have now tamed wisdom. We grasp at certainties, and having caught some, cling to them at all costs, even at the expense of discounting the humanity of those who see things differently.


In so many ways I see us divided into camps, dismissing those holding opposing views as stupid or perfidious (one commonly applied cliche is ‘hateful’ I believe). We deny the personhood of those in the opposing camp. Politics has descended to this. Look around you and say it’s not so. We have done this to ourselves, at least partly because we crave certainty and are uncomfortable with ambiguity.


I sit comfortably with ambiguity. I do not and never will have enough insight to be able to judge other people with authority (although I admit I haven’t always remembered that). I don’t approve of everything I see around me, but I don’t believe I hold all the answers either. Nevertheless I hold some beliefs deeply and without compromise.


This does not of itself make me a bigot. My certainties do not imprison me; they free me to accept and make allowances for those who are so certain of themselves they would deny me my humanity.


So, which ditches would I die in now? As I said earlier, not too many, but I’m wise enough to keep my powder dry and not list them here. If and when they come for me, I’ll be waiting in one of my choosing.

Baltic Gallery

Baltic Gallery

I’m sitting in Stockholm airport with a few hours to kill. What better way to spend them than putting together a few thoughts from the past ten days spent in the Baltic countries of Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia?

The top photo was taken in a ruined former soviet submarine base in Estonia. The second one was taken on the Curonian Spit, near Klaipeda, Lithuania.

Each one of these countries deserves more time than we were able to give them. Beautiful, engaging, stirring, struggling, memorable, quircky, intriguing, interesting, inexpensive and friendly; all three should be at the top of your list if you’re looking to experience cultures at once similar to and very different from those in the mainstream.

Growing in understanding the evolution of languages, witnessing national determination to overcome recent soviet occupation, and gaining an insight into cultural traditions of the West are added bonuses if you want them. The food is phenomenal too, but someone else will have to write about that.

Expect to be surprised when you visit the Baltic. For a start, it’s quite inexpensive if you are prepared to explore outside international hotels, major department stores, and tourist trap old town centres. Large beers for one euro and a tasty, filling salad from a supermarket for 2 euros might give you an idea. In any case we came away having spent much less than we planned for!

Anyway, enough of the travel advice. I’m more interested in sharing the impressions that will stay in my heart and call me to return to this less visited region.

These are personal impressions gained over visits of about four days to each country. A longer visit would of course yield a fuller picture.

In brief:

Lithuania is a diamond in the rough. It struggles with infrastructure such as roads signage and public transport, but excels in convincing the traveller that what they are experiencing is the genuine deal. People are friendly, and the food is phenomenal, but there is not as much money here as in the other two countries. Tons of natural beauty but few signs to point the way to sites. This can be frustrating and be prepared to ask, ask, and ask again to find places like the Hill of Crosses.

In order: Hill of Crosses, Curonian Spit (2 and 3), Old Vilnius.

Latvia is a beauty, shy of too much attention but full of forests, astoundingly beautiful wooden architecture and like Lithuania, good food. Latvians seem very proud of their country. I’m not sure why I say that but it is a strong impression. The infrastructure seems a little better here, and prices are correspondingly a little higher than in Lithuania. Signage was no better though!

Top: Jurmala beach resort, near Riga. Bottom: City park, Riga.

Estonia was my favourite, but maybe that is because it was the most recent place visited. The Estonian economy seems to me to be stronger than in its two southern neighbours and the prices are noticeably higher, although not as high as in other european countries. As a rough guide, prices were double those in Lithuania, but I realise that is just my estimation. The national parks in Estonia are to be savoured, as are those in the two other countries. It is very much worth taking the time to visit them, maybe on an organised tour.

All above photos are from Lahemaa National Park, east of Tallinn, Estonia.

As to politics, they each seem to be stable democracies, even if they are at different stages on the road to economic development. We spoke to one guide about the perception of threat from their Russian neighbour. Her response was that while the people were generally concerned about Russian influence, a re-occupation would be, in her words, a “mistake”.

English is widely spoken in all three countries, especially by younger people in tourist areas. We found the languages themselves to be quite challenge to master even a few phrases and we gave up, unfortunately. Sign language helped a lot. A longer visit might have seen us try harder.

Do yourself a favour. Visit these small yet impressive countries. Take your appetite and your camera.

Thoughts Unsought

(Inside the Thousand Buddha Cave, near Luang Prabang, Laos)


Where are thoughts we no longer think?

Forgotten fragments of an earlier us

who breathed

and knew differently.

Links to an earlier self;

tumbled in memory, frayed, misplaced,

saved by random connection

of an unexpected smell, or taste.

Is there a place where old thoughts go?

A graveyard somewhere out of mind?

Is there an archive for them,

uncatalogued, unsigned?

Do past thoughts persist?

Where do they stay

when they’re unremembered;

with passing days?

Off the radar and out of mind,

unsummoned, bypassed,

do they wither and die

like cut flowers on glass?

Those ghostly constructs

that earlier selves spun,

elude us and withdraw,

leaving the question:

Just who are we after all?

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