Archive for Prophecy

Life Story

Posted in Autobiography, education, politics, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 25, 2016 by kathydasilva

I was remembering parts of the content of a dream, recently, enough to say, that I felt compelled to re-evaluate, the meaning. To search a bit deeper, as to why, certain images appeared, and in doing so, understand the will of my maker, the eternal God, whose birthday is celebrated today. The light coming into the world, as some would say. To explain, and by way of more detailed explanation,   a small but signifcant thing that had occured in my early twenties, when trying after graduating to get a job, and somehow, start the process of progression, away from the dole queue. I had already the creative art ambition, already, practiced some of that ability at the college where I studied, but, my interest in writing, had begat the need to learn, touch typing in order to ‘punch’ out a  book or two at some point. And the most significant thing was a purchase of an electrical typewriter. I had asked my mother and then my father who had  by this  time, begun to live a wholly separate life from my mother, could they help with the purchase. I had begged the money from them, and bought the WH Smith typing course book. This had been recommended to me by my sister Alison. Between all three, I am now touch typing this. I learned to touch type on the electric machine, but, when times were tough and money less forthcoming, I did sell the typewriter to a pawn shop in the Tooting Bec area of London. The pawn shop, was a kind of swap shop, too. But, on this occasion, I took the cash. I was grateful. I did not know how my father, who had probably retired by this point, as I was born, late in my mother’s marriage, when she was about thiry-eight, might have reached down into his heart, and let me have the cash. After all, an electronic type writer might have been at least ninty-nine pounds, at the time. I had relinquished ownership of this wonderfully functioning machine with also a digital editing window, without much thought at the time, but, need for food and other things, had been higher on the list, and I mean the need to eat, and keep, on living. I took a while before employment came my way, but, I had felt sure typing would help me to this end. Computing and wordprocessing were just around the corner, in terms of development and mechanizing of the whole publishing industry. I did the typing course and have not regretted for one moment, as inbetween, different employment, temping and VDU input, were the only possibility of anything, slightly secretarial. I watch people doing the two forefinger effort, and wonder why they do not do the same thing. And now we  have

Padlock with drilled part

Padlock (with drilled part)

hackers.                                                                                                                                                             And now we have thieves of intellectual property. And now, yes, perhaps slowing down invention, might make honest persons of us all? I found my locked cabinet, opened without ‘breakage’ of the lock? I saw the small padlock on my laptop case, had had a hole driven into it, and wonder who would do that? What a sad human. And sad for me, as I still retain, what rights I try and protect over my intellectual property.  This is how horrid our world has become.

My dad, had done a thing which was essential for  my survival. My mother had helped organize that, and my sister, had helped because she cared that I would be able to get a job. And to me that is family. And how sad, now, because all three are with Our heavenly Father. The dream, I will now tell you the dream. I was walking down a wide London street, a clock tower in a parallel road, similar to Big Ben, but, in any case, it was the feeling of a Sunday walk with an elderly parent on my arm. My mother wearing a dog tooth check winter coat. Her right arm, hooked through my left arm, and the unspeakable thing happened. The weather was as normal, the sky quite clear for a winter’s day. But, still, the unspeakable happened. There was an explosion. The buildings in the parallel road, were bursting, or exploding, one after the other in a kind of wave, and my only thoughts were to run with my mother, to shelter, to get out of the open road, to try to protect us both. Where we ended up, was the doorway, that looked not dissimilar to the pawn shop, though a charity shop in Romford does look similar equally. But, listen, the windows were empty, and the shop had no lights on, probably because it was a Sunday. I sheltered there, but, in the air, and remember this is only a dream, was the voice of Johnny Depp, saying ‘Let go of your mother’. I am not sure why, but, Johnny Depp, spent some time in London whilst filming a few things. I am not sure, why, but, as I looked, all that remained of my mother, was the bit of her right arm, that was hooked through my left. The blast must have been nuclear. The tragic image, was as bad, as I could imagine. Why had I survived, well God had said, I had signed for peace. I signed a petition, at Greenbelt festivals year 2002, against our country invading Iraq. It is the oddest thing, but, now too, God is trying hard to speak to us all. I vote left wing in the elections for I personally believe in helping the poor in the most logical sense of dividing wealth evenly, as evenly as is possible without taking the wind out of the sails of industry.  The prophecy, is continued, in my own life. This year, I have been severely injured, in a car accident. An unmarked police vehicle in Ilford, ran me down on a crossing, it was going the wrong way down a one way lane. I have suffered a fractured right ankle and also the wheel ran over my toes, my falanges, or bones in my feet are still not right.  The  honest people must take heed and do what is right, and take up your cross. But, it is still on my mind that closed down shop. The place I sold my electronic type writer, and the whole, thing that parents do which is bolster and help, at personal sacrifice to their own needs.

I started my own personal search for expression, at a very young age. But, most significantly, was my discovery at an age of independence of the author John Steinbeck, and then from about art school onward, there was a veritable fountain of suggestions. History is very helpfully noted down and documented when writing novels. Indeed in a hundred years time, I am sure writing will still be as relevant and as important, as the time of Thomas Hardy and Charles Dickens. We need a voice to take to task, illumined screens and computer/gadget madness. Thank God there is a poetry revival in tow country wide.

NB To budding authors….

Will Self types his first drafts to his novels on an old fashioned non-electric typewriter.

 

The Full Stop Story

Posted in Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 15, 2014 by kathydasilva

desert_15_bg_061403

The Full Stop Story

I begin my story with a full stop. Most people will associate this with a grammatical symbol that finishes a sentence. For my purpose of telling the story, I am using its size and comparison with the vast space of a page. You might say a page in the history of a life. A full stop is generally round in shape, when printed and filled with ink, so that a mark is defined clearly on the whiteness of its expanse, at the end of a string of words that might loosely describe an event.

The full stop mark on a horizon line, marks a defining moment of realization. When reached it ceases to be this end statement, for it was, and has been the goal of two very brave children. They are a boy and a girl, in terms of character, and still in their infancy, as the story begins. I describe them as two children abandoned in a desert. You may wish to ask which rogue in this world would choose to abandon two children in the middle of a desert. Keep asking this question as you read and you may begin to understand, that you too are part of their journey. Their journey has already begun, and survival of course is the goal. Now a desert is not a hospitable place to many creatures and certainly most people would only spend a very small portion of any life examining the concept or landscape of this word and place. called desert, geographers and nomads excepted.

The desert I speak of is a fairly dry, sandy, flat space, where the sun dominates the day and the aridity renders the soil, or what would be soil, into a dry consistency generally. A fine soft and at the same time gritty, beige granular substance. We use sand in an hour-glass to measure time. My first experience of this was seeing coloured sand in an egg timer, as a child. The sand drops through a small glass vessel with an even tinier aperture at the bottom into another similar vessel, until three minutes of time is marked. And of course you can turn an egg timer over and start again should you wish for your egg to be well cooked. Sand can vary in texture and colour, and frequently fascinates people when put under glass, in a decorative ornament, the type they sell at beach resorts. I believe also that Elizabethans discovered that sand when burned at a high enough temperature formed the beginnings of the discovery of glass. Would you say humans are naturally inventive? How useful is this substance glass. Glass through which we can see, but that cuts out the harsher weather of winter, the wind and rain in particular, but that still lets in light, by which we can see to get around in an indoors situation. Glass when shattered, is a more spiteful experience of sharp shards, that can cut and splinter, but that’s another story. Glass through which we see, and perceive things. A microscope uses glass and enables us to see smaller less visible to the eye objects and substances. It has the ability to magnify and enables us to see what is secret. Our imagination is further encouraged by these discoveries and knowledge of the finer elements of the universe around. The opposite of this experience though similar in nature, is being able to see miles into the distance, through a telescope. So vast to the human scale is even say the distance of ten miles, that to perceive what lies in the distance in advance of getting there is seen as an advantage. To scientists of space, of course magnification has meant even more discovery, and perception of what surrounds our world, in the form of galaxies.

Back to our children, who have clung together in a brave move of defiance against all the odds. They start their journey in just the clothes they stand in. Like most creatures, hunger and the need for shelter, the need for company, and a home, defines the plan for their day. I shall call them Thomas and Mary. Are they the ‘Jack and Jill’ of the modern world? ‘Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill …’ If you remember this very famous children’s story, they climb a hill, and while they play, and, or ‘fetch a pale of water’, an accident occurs. Jack falls down and is wounded, but not defeated. ‘Up Jack got and away did trot as fast as he could caper, went to bed to mend his head with vinegar and brown paper.’ I examined the details of this tale. Even to an average person this seems the poor man’s solution to a sore head. Rest and you will grow strong. Vinegar must have been a kind of antiseptic, something to clean the wound with. Brown paper, poor Jack. The famous two clearly struggled and were not from a wealthy family, but indeed were resourceful.

I cannot say there is a likeness exactly. Thomas and Mary enjoy an enduring relationship, and they are not burdened by life. On the day they start their journey, they see this as play. They see in the distance something which breaks the flatness of the land around them. Something that could be more exciting, and which gives them the spirit of adventure. Their sorry circumstance forgotten in an instance, as the goal becomes the climbing of what appears to be a pile of rocks. From the distance they saw it as a refuge. On closer inspection it becomes their playground. There was no incentive to go anywhere else, and as all children do they play and explore, and through some clever but deliberate climbing, they start to rebuild their own confidence. Indeed a ‘miracle’ occurs. The mild to real fear of abandonment is replaced by play, and each other’s company. The climb and activity of reaching a higher place, gives them more sight and, what appears to be a desert place with very little growing that is green, verdant, and or living, turns into a paradisiacal landscape, as they climb, creatures begin to appear, colourful birds, and four legged mammals, and all manner of flora and fauna surround them. The sun’s intensity, becomes like the joy of summer. There is rain, and sunshine, and a better world. All things become new. It is at the end, like the hope of spring after a harsh winter. A little hope in what may have been a dismal situation. A rainbow, an invisible ark. Oh to see just a glimpse of paradise, would be the most beautiful, rejuvenating experience for every soul. I often wonder why so much is hidden. I believe a little courage to go forward in life is needed sometimes, and it is true that when parents die, we may feel a little orphaned, and, awareness of our own existence and power, seems to be more evident. There is such a thing as a clear day. Somehow you can look on the world with the new eyes in the same sense of your youth, when all prospects seem ahead.