Den Frie Indfaldsvinkel

In the darkness of the night, only occasionally relieved by glimpses of nirvana as seen through other people’s windows, wallowing in a morass of self-despair made only more painful by the knowledge that all I am is of my own making. When everything around me, even the kitchen ceiling, has collapsed and crumbled without warning. And I am left, standing in the eye of a well looking up and wondering why and wherefore.
At a time like this, which exists maybe only for me, but is nonetheless real, if I could communicate, and in the telling and the bearing of my soul anything is gained, even though the words which I use are pretentious and make you cringe with embarrassment, let me remind you of the pilgrim who asked for an audience with the Dalai Lama.
He was told he must first spend five years (in) contemplation. After the five years, he was ushered into the Dalai Lama’s presence, who said, “Well, my son, what do you wish to know?”
So the pilgrim said, “I wish to know the meaning of life, father.”
And so the Dalai Lama smiled and said, “Well my son, life is like a beanstalk, isn’t it?”
Held close by that which some despise
Which some call fate, and others lies
And somewhat small for one so tall
A doubting Thomas? Who would be?
It’s written plain for all to see
For one who I am with no more
It’s hard at times, it’s awful wrong
They say that Jesus healed the sick and helped the poor
And those unsure believed his eyes – a strange disguise
Still write it down, it might be read
Nothing’s better left unsaid
Only sometimes, still no doubt
It’s hard to say, it all works out
“‘Twas Tea-Time at the Circus”
‘Twas tea-time at the circus
King Jimmy, he was there
Through hoops he skipped, highwires he tripped
And all the while the glare
Of the aching, baking spotlight
Beat down upon his cloak
And though the crowd clapped furiously
They could not see the joke
‘Twas tea-time at the circus
Though some might not agree
As jugglers danced and horses pranced
And clowns clowned endlessly
From trunk to tail, the elephants
Quite silent, never spoke
And though the crowd clapped desperately
They could not see the joke
“The Autumn of My Madness”
In the autumn of my madness
When my hair is turning grey
For the milk has finally curdled
And I’ve nothing left to say
When all my thoughts are spoken
(Save my last departing verse)
Bring all my friends unto me
And I’ll strangle them with words
In the autumn of my madness
Which in coming won’t be long
For the nights are now much darker
And the daylight’s not so strong
And the things which I believed in
Are no longer quite enough
For the knowing is much harder
And the going’s getting rough
“Look to Your Soul”
I know if I’d been wiser
This would never have occurred
But I wallowed in my blindness
So it’s plain that I deserve
For the sin of self-indulgence
When the truth was read quite clear
I must spend my life amongst the dead
Who spend their lives in fear
Of a death that they’re not sure of
Of a life they can’t control
It’s all so simple really,
If you just look to your soul
Some say that I’m a wise man
Some think that I’m a fool
It doesn’t matter either way
I’ll be a wise man soon
For the lesson lies in learning
And by teaching, I’ll be taught
For there’s nothing hidden anywhere
It’s all there to be sought
And so if you know anything
Look closely at the time
For others who remain untrue
And won’t commit that crime, yeah…
It’s all so simple, really,
If you’ll just look to your soul
“Grande Finale”
THE END!

Procol Harum
Shine On Brightly, (1968)
In Held Twas In I
“Glimpses of Nirvana”