So long, and thanks for all the steak

I am in a state of bliss, sitting peacefully on a couch a very safe distance from a cliff-edge. I'm taking a break from trying to pull people away from the edge, so that they don't fall into the abyss.

One day, months ago, when I was particularly tired of trying to keep people away from the edge, I was so exhausted that I lay down, right there by the cliff edge. And against my better judgement and with a tingling sense of fear, I peered over the edge. And there looking up at me I saw what appeared to be a damsel-in-distress slipping into the abyss. Her arm stretched out to me. I took her hand and held her suspended over the abyss, her fate suddenly entwined with mine.

Now what I didn't realise is that from her point of view the story looks very different. It's no good simply imagining myself in her situation - someone about to fall down a cliff and in need of saviour - she's a different person, in fact she's from another world - she's an angel.

If she were from my world she would use thought, which might run something like this: "that guy is stuck on the edge, let me help him off and show him how to fly". I can only imagine this of course, and even if I were to ask her, the answer need not make any sense - we speak the same language, but the words have different meanings.

So I had hold of this damsel dangling over the edge of this cliff and my arm starts to get tired, not to mention I'm quite keen on getting on with some other stuff too. But I'm stuck: I'm too weak to pull her up, I feel too much pain to let her go, and I'm too scared to go with her. So I devise this cunning plan; I grab a rope I happen to have in my pocket for such occasions, tie one end round her wrist, the other round a nearby tree and tell her I'll be back in a minute.

I head off to take a rest on this sofa and look for some energy and inspiration to deal with this cliff-hanger. Meanwhile in her world, now badly translated into thought, she thinks "that's strange, I was trying to help this chap off the edge and instead he ties me up and disappears"

It's been more than a minute now, and I'm still enjoying the sofa. The damsel is safely secured, and no doubt if she wants to go anywhere a knight in shining armour will come by and pick her up. But there's no guarantee, and meanwhile I'm responsible for the rope, so she has also become my prisoner. I've captured the angel.

In a world I know only too well, I cut the rope and let her fly, but the memory of seeing her fall away stays and haunts me.

In a world I only imagine, I help her up, she unties the rope, and together we dance along the edge of the cliff. Or she waves goodbye saying "So long, and thanks for all the steak".

Michael Jackson

A tray of papers sit near me, still there untouched from last night when i had finally intended to attack them, as a pre-requisite for completing a VAT tax return due by tomorrow.

But the papers still sit there. Facebook started as a suitable distraction, and then a Michael Jackson video post was a trigger for a long meandering trip far away from the cold concerns of administration. Bashir's bashing interview, and yet Michael Jackson shines through the cynicism in his pure innocent love. People who love, really love, suffer. But they also experience real joy. I find it apt that I watch this in the early hours of Good Friday, a day commemorating an ultimate sacrifice.

My words are stuck. I am on the fence. Part of me wants to say, what the fuck how can someone like Bashir call himself a committed Christian and talk the shit he talks in his interview with Michael Jackson, gaining someone's trust and then betraying them. Pretending to be all grown-up with his rules of what is "normal". Prick.

If there is one thing I learnt watching those interviews, it's that we are all children and denying this truth is the cause of suffering. "Grow up" means accept your child, do not pretend he is not there and smother him. Wrong-doing comes from repression of the child, and the child will protest!

Michael Jackson was himself, and people loved him for it.

Now i've lost my point. The clouds haven't really gone, but let's not try to blow them away. Give thanks. Even to that bashing Bashir for providing a lampshade to the light, even though the lampshade is ugly, the light still shines. And thanks to Jane for posting a video on Facebook. And to my mother and father. And to Jesus Christ, for his love and sacrifice.

Something's missing.. is it the capital H?