A St. Johns Image

“Thus stood John, day by day, baptising and preaching in the desert. The heat of the sun and the bitterness of the cold; the draught of the sand and the hardness of the rocks; the idleness of the water and the emptiness of the sky – they surrounded him.  He knew: Nature has died, the earth is dead, mankind is deserted. Of himself though, he knew: “I am the voice of one crying in the solitude, prepare ye the way of the Lord”.

Thus he stood there; mighty to behold, with strong shoulders, long and falling hair, testifying hands, heavy steps. His voice was like storm, his eyes shone like sun and moon, his face carried the light of the day and the darkness of the night. His Jaws were as of rocks and his knees like mountains. In his hair, that grew like reed and grass, sprouted flowers and blossoms. Birds nested in the hollows of his shoulders and his skin was wrinkled like the bark of the cedars, which stood on the Lebanon.

When he walked over the earth, then the deep grounds thundered; when he spoke his words, the lightnings flash past him. His garment was like the clouds and when he preached then rain streamed and hail poured down from it. Dewdrops hung on the tips of each of his fingers and streams of life ran, wherever he laid his hands. The red of dawn was around him when he smiled and the glow of dusk when he was filled with sorrow. If he stepped into the water to baptise, fish would swim towards him. The lions laid themselves around him in the evening, when he slept, and the eagles circled about his sleep.

The world was dead. In him, though, Nature awoke to life. It shone and sounded in him, had its day and its night in him. In him Nature had become Man. He was the wind and the cloud, the tree and the grass, light and darkness, light and darkness, colour and sound, future and past. The world was dead, but he was living: he lived in waiting, in sacrificing, in believing, until the One came, to Whom he could say: “Behold, This is the Lamb of God, Which taketh away the sins of the world”

(Karl Konig, An Image of John)

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general madness

Is being a Fachidiot a Good Thing?

Fachidioten is a German word which basically means fact idiots and is a diminutive form of address for a nerd. I use it because I like it (and it fits!)

Aspies, by their very nature can be fachidioten, fact idiots in that they can have very specialized knowledge about certain things, and can regurgitate information, but the social laws around knowing how to use information can often be absent.

Fact idiocy allowed me to retain vast storehouses of knowledge on various very specialized subjects, and has given me some of my place in the world by a sense of ‘knowing’. I found myself fascinated by the symbol sets human beings use to describe their meaning, their sense of place and purpose in the world, and in many ways this led to my fascination with Western Esotericism. Western esotericism is a field of experiential knowledge through practices that touch upon the mythical. It can also be a great playground of endless ideas and mental masturbation. In some realms it is deeply analytical and self reflective, while in others it is so much about the ‘feeling’ that it is a breeding ground for superstition. I have always loved the space for reflection, and information, and schematics about the universe and how it may work. I have also tempered any drive towards superstition with the reflection “Isn’t it wonderful the meaning maps that human beings weave as a narrative to live by”. But with that dissecting coldness is a deliberate distance – Isn’t it fascinating, but it neglects a more important question – is it useful? How will this enhance my life?

I definitely encounter people whose lives have been enriched by thoughts and ideas put into practice, but they are also the people who have the kind of heart first belief that calls me to caution because it is superstitious or over zealous – basically it is not of the head (and I am very much of the head). I need my coldness and distance. Having specialised knowledge like this has offered me a home of sorts in a community where knowledge and information is often co-modified or at least respected – that person has a degree of respect through their knowledge and experience. However it is often those with a more simple approach to life and to people who are happier, more human and who have compassion for some of what I carry within my intellectual ivory tower. Ironicly it is often those not like me who get me because they have a well developed capacity for empathy.

As a fachidiot I am often respected for what I know, but when I stop and self reflect I wish I was a simpler person (ie less complicated, not to imply less clever), with simpler things in my head, and as a result a happier person because that coldness of thought has also led me to be disconnected from people, disconnected from the social sense of the situation and a duck out of water. Though I belong to a community of mutual interest, and it has given me a kind of social context, beyond the information the number of genuinely meaningful social encounters I can have is limited to a very small group of people indeed, and as I reflect, I can see my social shortcomings in otherwise social contexts. Of course I am social, and can get through a few of the pleasantries, but beyond the veneer I struggle to create a space for social flow. I have come to terms with the fact that I am not personable (or at least not in a traditional sense) and don’t pretend to be. I can of course try, but the more I try the less personable I am because it lacks genuineness and has bucket loads of that social awkwardness that fills the void of that gen ne se quoi of social function. Some people get me, some people really don’t, and some people think its personal.

Over the past 18 years of my life I have also been visited by the black dog of depression, again and again and in the last few years it has felt heavier. While for a long time I have considered this to just be ‘constitutional’, there is something beneath that – my sense of disconnection from other people. While fachtidioten trade in ideas, these intellectual ivory towers can be profoundly lonely. Fachidioten lack context of where to put their knowledge, and so while respected in highly specialised fields, outside of these fields their strengths are definite weaknesses. One of the long term consequences of the black dog is the shiny obsessive interest in things becomes more dull, and my capacity to retain information is less and less. My memory is definitely failing me in the last few years, and I have MASSIVE trouble systematically retaining new information. I recently experienced my shortcomings in this area and that both upset me and panicked me a bit, because I have used these qualities as social crutches and as a comodified currency for a long time, so long that I’ve fundamentally identified with what I know, and the social position this lends me.

All of these ideas come to the fore for a number of reasons. The loss of capacity to remember is a sharp reminder of how much I have comodified and built relationships on knowledge, on the words, or the stuff that fill the interaction and not on the more subtle and intangible thing that lives in the space between. I have also been faced with this in the form of my aspie understudy who similarly codifies the world into knowledge. He is 13, the child of friends, and is constituted in a very similar way to me. At the moment he is TOTALLY obsessed with the topic of sex (what 13 year old isn’t?), but it is the technicalities, the data, the terminology that fascinates him. The aspect of relationship is not the point of interest. Luckily I can pawn him off on his mother (I am SO not answering that!) or tell him there’s lots of time to find out about the world, and he doesn’t need to know EVERYTHING all at once. This fascination is a typical mirror to my own literalism and constitution and it makes me reflect. As a grown up I try to convey to him the importance of friendship, empathy, interaction because these are the things I have struggled with, that I know he struggles with, and that I try to better exemplify. Sometimes being right isn’t the important thing – the facts are not as important as the context. What makes up human beings, friendships, relationships and all that messy humanness is a subtle, intangible thing that I only slightly grasp in my better moments.

I have also spoken with his mother about what faces him, her fears, my experiences and realities in having a similar constitution – otherness, bullying,  my own struggle with empathy (and the long road to getting somewhere close to it), the sadness that  can come from ivory towers, and the genuine wish to connect (without quite knowing how). I reflected on the fact that these specialised pockets of knowledge can also give you a tribe of mutual interest and garner respect, though its never quite the same.

As I get older I want to be better at being me, humanly. I am a fachidiot but I want to be more than that. My fascination with esotericism is a search to understand what it means to be human, to grasp at what for me is ethereal (while for others it may be accessible), to touch upon the ideas of kindness, empathy, humanity in its fullest sense, so that it might come to live in me, that it might topple me from my ivory tower and place me comfortably amongst and between people. I am who I am, but, perhaps like everyone, I want to be more. I can’t change my fact idiocy (believe me i’ve tried) but there is more to being human than just data, there is context, and that is the work ahead for me.

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Benediction (poem – explicit)

If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink – John 7:37

I bend in benediction before the Host of God,
His face scrunched
Head rolled back to the heavens
Himself calling to the unseen God of cracked ceilings
By names he’s not even sure he believes in
But he calls on them all
A Wordless prayer
A mantra, a moan, a grunt, a groan
The songs of a God older than time,
Older than words, Older than rhyme,
Older than convention and the confession of sin,
Older than the promise of a life ever living.

Bent in bhatki to the palace of God
The Glory of God is present to nimble fingers
Exploring slow and the prayer called linger
The hand of God slows it
Says “stay a little longer”
There, Right There!
That wordless prayer in the voice of God
Prays to me,
God sees God in man,
In fire
In flesh,
In Worship wrought forth
With fingers,
and hands
And mouth,
and flesh to flesh
I receive the sacrament
The God eater made God
The blood of the saints spilled,
The communion complete:
There is no God where I am.
The religion of nature is ancient and ever present,
Viscerally voiced in the prayers of the faithful.


For the Summer Solstice and all the ‘rising of the sap’ that goes with the season. If you enjoy smut (and in fairness, this kind of is smut, but who doesn’t like a little dirt?) LIKE, SHARE and FOLLOW

Ecology & Community

Social Therapy

A few weeks ago a friend asked me what Social Therapy is. She knew, from daily life what it was but was looking for a definition, a soundbite that encapsulates what is a very idealistic and ‘personal’ profession. It is the name given to the work with adults in Camphill communities and in other curative settings. It is often inclusive of people with intellectual disabilities, but not exclusively so. This was my rather idealistic definition:
Social therapy is the guiding of adults to engage with and carry their personal karma, which is to say enabling adults to carry their personal destiny as unique and self-responsible spiritual/human beings while also recognising we all need support and friendship. It it further the creation of a social and interactive environment where that humanity, and those streams of destiny can live, in relationship, between people.
No small task, or idea. But a good one. What is your definition of this work?

Let Them Eat Chaos (spoken word)

A wee while ago I posted up a recording of Kate Tempest performing Tunnel Vision. This comes from a much longer work called Let Them Eat Chaos, an epic poetic work set to music in several movements or ‘pieces’. She recorded the piece in full for the BBC. It is epic, contemporary, topical, intense and well worth our attention. Check it out!

“Let Them Eat Chaos, Kate Tempest’s new long poem written for live performance and heard on the album release of the same name, is both a powerful sermon and a moving play for voices. Seven neighbours inhabit the same London street, but are all unknown to each other. The clock freezes in the small hours, and, one by one, we see directly into their lives: lives that are damaged, disenfranchised, lonely, broken, addicted, and all, apparently, without hope. Then a great storm breaks over London, and brings them out into the night to face each other – and their last chance to connect. Tempest argues that our alienation from one another has bred a terrible indifference to our own fate, but she counters this with a plea to challenge the forces of greed which have conspired to divide us, and mend the broken home of our own planet while we still have time. Let Them Eat Chaos is a cri de coeur and a call to action, and, both on the page and in Tempest’s electric performance, one of the most powerful poetic statements of the year.”


Words and Worlds (poem)

“How do you know what he wants?”
When they meet you they assume
That you cannot speak
Because you lack words.
But in your eyes there are words
And worlds and depths of knowing,
There is tone and feeling and intention
In a look, or eyes avoidance
You look away because that speaking
And knowing
And silent soul seeing
Feels too much, too raw, too real.
Behind those eyes sits understanding,
The listening space offered patiently
But always answering with those eyes.
In those eyes are words, and worlds
But we are so fast and frivolous,
Always talking but never saying anything
That we forget to listen.

How do I know what he wants?
I sit in the space beyond words
Meaning lives in the space between
I listen with my soul.

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