As we trace our lifelines upon this earth, often do we look up, seeking Light of Guidance. And they come – in many a form, every one, little and big, speaking in a rhythm unique to each traveler’s heart.

A little nudge, a gentle word, a picture that makes us pause and think agony-in-garden_1408599_inl[1]

A friend’s love, a father’s hug, letter in the post;


Pink hush of sunrise, tangerine goodbye of sunset,


Gray rain rivulets, call of the wild sea, still pond among shadows;


A warm kitchen and cake fattening in the oven,


A home where welcome is for all and always.


Birdsong clear and awakening, zinnias’ secret blooms,


Ribbons of wind in the trees, giddy perfume of flowers wild,



Purr of the grass dance, sweet feline repose,


Angels in gentle wait, the quiet rest of souls;


All these,

Each and more,

Whispers and stillness,

Lamp to our feet,

Light to our souls.

Eden Rose

Eden Rose

In memory of Love, 24 November 2004 ~ 18 July 2007 

Every Killer Had A Childhood

images[7]The rains hush the busyness of a little town preparing for the new school term. But there’s no masking the hurried steps and focused intent of parents rushing to get Last Minute School Things. The world around is forgotten in favour of books, stationery, and bags. parents shopping


Here and there, lilting voices of children bubble up in the soft rain. Children at play, lost in gay abandon. No care for race, color or creed. Muslim Christian Buddhist Hindu are tags that have no bearing on them and their fun in the rain.


Paris and its bloodstains are very far away from this town.

When they grow up, I wonder if they will recall their time in the rain – not just the play or the fun, but that once before, they played with friends of various races and religions. I wonder if they will recall the splash of water and playful shoving of friends who looked different and who prayed differently. I wonder, if years from now, they will remember a time when race and religion meant nothing because under the falling rain, they were brothers and sisters united in their love of playing in the rain.

I wonder, if it came to a choice between love and guns, what would their choice be, these children in the throes of wild joy under the weeping skies? Would they choose to love their friends who might have hurt them, or would they reach for guns to make a point?

They who used bullets to end the 12 lives so far, they were once children too. Once upon a time, thirty odd years ago, they too skipped and shimmied in the rain with friends from different walks of lives. The differences between them, they didn’t matter then.

But that desolate day in January 2015, in Paris, masked men forgot their childhood play in the rain when they made guns their choice.imagesCAX6ZK2B

Guns In France

There’s a sorrow in France today. A mourning for a loss of life, love, peace, freedom and trust. Some of the world mourns with France; some do not and never will. The country must feel betrayed on this cold morning. Betrayal over trust, a home and citizenship extended but a payback of gunfire, blood and sorrow received.

France opened her borders and her heart to those who fled the darkness of war, uncertainty and death in their original countries. She made space, she made welcome those who fled the guns that brought pain to them. She gave them hope and peace that they could live in homes with open doors and not fear guns anymore.

These who came from countries beyond, paid back the French with bullets and sorrow. Their years in their adopted country taught them nothing about respect and tolerance or even about peace. They forgot that it was they who fled bullets and sorrow. They forgot what they ran away from. They took for granted all they had in their new life, their 2nd chance to live in hope again. They chose to bring the guns into France, to end lives of those perceived to be mocking them. They chose the very weapons they ran away from, to put across their point: Do Not Satirize My Religion.

Have they won, these who brought guns into the Paris magazine offices?

They will if we too choose guns to remind them of their deed.

Guns was their answer, their solution.

It must not be ours.