“The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit.”
“Greed, in all of its forms — greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge — has marked the upward surge of mankind.”
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Q.E.D. quod erat demonstrandum
{and not quantumelectrodynamics}
From an early age I suspected that there was something odd, something slightly different about me. I had some fleeting notions, whilst reading lessons and prayers in church as a child.
I became a chameleon and did my best to fit.
Around 2004-6 I started having visions of me dressed as a Buddhist monk. These overlapped with my day to day reality. I could be walking down Upper Tulse Hill to the bus stop outside Brixton Prison on my way to work and have the sensation of wearing robes and being with other monks. In my room at night marking Physical Chemistry homework, I would have these visions strongly along with a very real sensation of having om mane padme hum tattooed into my forearms in Sanskrit. I Googled it. My working hypothesis was that this was memory from a previous life breaking through. I also had little trouble in assimilating Buddhist thought. At the time I was practising what I later saw as my deep compassion, as senior tutor caring for the undergraduate community, my waifs and strays. I probably committed more energy to this role than others. I could give lectures on Chemical Reaction Kinetics whilst managing these visions of me robed and shaved.
What could I do? I was a “scientist” at a science and technology university.
Imagine a situation where the great God of REF dominated the hopes and the prayers of faculty, where climbing the University league tables was tantamount. A place where PR and politics were important. Everybody wanted to be seen as a sane rational scientist and not some nut-job new-ager. It was a place where proof, preferably six-sigma, was both gospel and creed.
Imagine convening a meeting with your head of department, your head of section and line a manger.
“Gentlemen I have asked to speak to you today because I have good reason to believe that I am having memory restoration from my previous life as a Buddhist monk. I am having visions of myself thus dressed. I thought you should know because the implications are widespread.”
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“Alan, we know that you have been under a lot of pressure lately. Perhaps you had better see a counsellor or your GP. Please don’t say anything about this to your/the students. You are supposed to be looking after their mental health and well-being.”
My gut feel was lead balloons…also as it turned out virtually nobody would believe me.
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What kind of reception do you think I might have had?
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How to win friends and influence people…
Save the NHS – we know best…{Tories}.. we can use all the money we saved from the EU…doh
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Please get real…the problems are at home and will not be solved by “jets to Ukraine…”
Wake up and smell the coffee posh-boy — get real…
These from Wikipedia:
Surrogacy is an arrangement, often supported by a legal agreement, whereby a woman agrees to delivery/labour for another person or people, who will become the child’s parent(s) after birth. People may seek a surrogacy arrangement when a couple do not wish to carry a pregnancy themselves, when pregnancy is medically impossible, when pregnancy risks are dangerous for the intended mother, or when a single man or a male couple wish to have a child.
In surrogacy arrangements, monetary compensation may or may not be involved. Receiving money for the arrangement is known as commercial surrogacy. The legality and cost of surrogacy varies widely between jurisdictions, sometimes resulting in problematic international or interstate surrogacy arrangements. Couples seeking a surrogacy arrangement in a country where it is banned sometimes travel to a jurisdiction that permits it. In some countries, surrogacy is legal only if money does not exchange hands.
Where commercial surrogacy is legal, couples may use the help of third-party agencies to assist in the process of surrogacy by finding a surrogate and arranging a surrogacy contract with her. These agencies often screen surrogates’ psychological and other medical tests to ensure the best chance of healthy gestation and delivery. They also usually facilitate all legal matters concerning the intended parents and the surrogate.
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The Handmaid’s Tale is a futuristic dystopian novel by Canadian author Margaret Atwood and published in 1985. It is set in a near-future New England in a patriarchal, totalitarian theonomic state known as the Republic of Gilead, which has overthrown the United States government. Offred is the central character and narrator and one of the “handmaids”, women who are forcibly assigned to produce children for the “commanders”, who are the ruling class in Gilead.
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After a staged attack that killed the President of the United States and most of Congress, a radical political group called the “Sons of Jacob” uses theonomic ideology to launch a revolution. The United States Constitution is suspended, newspapers are censored, and what was formerly the United States of America is changed into a military dictatorship known as the Republic of Gilead. The new regime moves quickly to consolidate its power, overtaking all other religious groups, including Christian denominations.
The regime reorganizes society using a peculiar interpretation of some Old Testament ideas, and a new militarized, hierarchical model of social and religious fanaticism among its newly created social classes. One of the most significant changes is the limitation of people’s rights. Women become the lowest-ranking class and are not allowed to own money or property, or to read and write. Most significantly, women are deprived of control over their own reproductive functions.
The story is told in first-person narration by a woman named Offred. In this era of environmental pollution and radiation, she is one of the few remaining fertile women. Therefore, she is forcibly assigned to produce children for the “Commanders,” the ruling class of men, and is known as a “Handmaid” based on the biblical story of Rachel and her handmaid Bilhah. She undergoes training to become a handmaid along with other women of her standing at the Rachel and Leah Centre.
Apart from Handmaids, women are classed socially and follow a strict dress code, ranked highest to lowest: the Commanders’ Wives in teal blue, the Handmaids in burgundy with large white bonnets to be easily seen, the Aunts (who train and indoctrinate the Handmaids) in brown, the Marthas (cooks and maids, possibly sterile women past child-bearing years) in green, Econowives (the wives of lower-ranking men who handle everything in the domestic sphere) in blue, red and green stripes, very young girls in pink (often married or “given” to a Commander at 14 to produce offspring), young boys in blue, and widows in black.
Offred details her life starting with her third assignment as a Handmaid to a Commander. Interspersed with her narratives of her present-day experiences are flashbacks of her life before and during the beginning of the revolution, including her failed attempt to escape to Canada with her husband and child, her indoctrination into life as a Handmaid by the Aunts, and the escape of her friend Moira from the indoctrination facility. At her new home, she is treated poorly by the Commander’s wife, Serena Joy, a former Christian media personality who supported women’s domesticity and subordinate role well before Gilead was established.
To Offred’s surprise, the Commander requests to see her outside of the “Ceremony” which is a reproductive ritual obligatory for handmaids (conducted in the presence of the wives) and intended to result in conception. The commander’s request to see Offred in the library is an illegal activity in Gilead, but they meet nevertheless. They mostly play Scrabble and Offred is allowed to ask favours of him, either in terms of information or material items. The Commander asks Offred to kiss him “as if she meant it” and tells her about his strained relationship with his wife. Finally, he gives her lingerie and takes her to a covert, government-run brothel called Jezebel’s. Offred unexpectedly encounters Moira there, with Moira’s will broken, and learns from Moira that those who are found breaking the law are sent to the Colonies to clean up toxic waste or are allowed to work at Jezebel’s as punishment.
In the days between her visits to the Commander, Offred also learns from her shopping partner, a woman called Ofglen, of the Mayday resistance, an underground network working to overthrow the Republic of Gilead. Not knowing of Offred’s criminal acts with her husband, Serena begins to suspect that the Commander is infertile, and arranges for Offred to begin a covert sexual relationship with Nick, the Commander’s personal servant. Serena offers Offred information about her daughter in exchange. She later brings her a photograph of Offred’s daughter which leaves Offred feeling dejected because she senses she has been erased from her daughter’s life.
Nick had earlier tried to talk to Offred and had shown interest in her. After their initial sexual encounter, Offred and Nick begin to meet on their own initiative as well, with Offred discovering that she enjoys these intimate moments despite memories of her husband, and shares potentially dangerous information about her past with him. Offred tells Nick that she thinks she is pregnant.
It was five thirty in the morning when the alarm went off and Sam reached wearily over the ashtray to turn it off. Christ he felt like crap this morning. Coughing he reached for his Marlboros and lit one. The acrid smoke hit the back of his throat and he coughed some more. Slowly he made his way through the first of the day, pausing to spit into a tissue. He didn’t remember going to bed last night and hoped he hadn’t done anything too stupid. In the front room he saw the empty crisp packets and cans of Stella. So that was where all his dole money had gone. It had been years since he left the paratroop regiment, the shrapnel in his knee still spoke to him of the weather. Here in his tiny little flat there was not much glory anymore.
When the kettle boiled, he made man coffee. It was as strong as an ox and as dark as the night. He sat on his step outside to smell the sea air and smoke some more. A pint or so later he was ready to face the world. There was a job going at Sainsbury’s for security and today he had an interview. Showered, shaved, suited and booted he now set off, wondering what sort of weak chinned school leaver was waiting to condescend him. Monitors are only dangerous to sanity he thought, no IEDs in Cardiff, well not yet at least. He wondered if he could cope with the inevitable bleep as the barcodes scanned the sheep through the tills, how long could he stay before he lost it? Strange, how it had all come to this. If only he had kept quiet. Para Gates had gone beyond and when he came back he was changed.
Here in this plain part of the universe, he was an unemployed ex-soldier scrimping to make ends meet. When he had the money he slept with Stella and with Becks, otherwise it was Special Brew. These kept his world intact and helped him cope with the Double in him, his other self. As he pulled into the car park, it was already busy, all buggies, died hair and fake tan. Round the back he found the entrance and reported in.
“You are a little early Mr Gates, please take a seat. Please can we see your passport so that we can satisfy the UK Border agency requirements…..”
He handed his passport over and wondered about garrotting that boy, thinking to himself as the lad turned; “Pull up your trousers and get a haircut!!”
He looked at the date on his watch, today is a full moon and that meant much to him. He would go later to Nash Point to soak in the sea and the sound of the Atlantic, and the Irish Sea. At this time of year and at midweek it will be empty.
As he sat there listening to that clock click its fingers of eternity, the smell of the place filled his nostrils. Not one ounce of hope here, no excitement only day after day. The carpet was a little tatty and frayed at the edges. The youth had disappeared behind some screen and he could hear the strident early morning gossip from the office beyond. He didn’t care who had been on the X Factor or who had been un-friend-ed on Facebook™. Soon he knew he had been forgotten and he started to drift.
First he felt that hint of incense on the air and then clear clean mountain air. Next, sinking into himself he began;
“gate, gate, para gate, para samgate… gate, gate, para gate, para samgate, Bodhi svaha”
A little off the main causeway to the stars in the land of Buddhi he saw the Temple steps cut into the mountain side. They were waiting for him. Now dressed in his robes and with his vajra and bell he began the procession up the hillside. They gathered in their hundreds. In file they climbed the stairway and poured into the Temple courtyard. Chanting purification he led them on. In the courtyard he paused until they all were there. Together they looked south to the snow capped Himalaya resplendent in the dazzling morning sun. When they were ready the doors to the outer chamber opened and they filed in. Some sat on mats where they belonged, few stood still. And then he moved to the white febrile door carved intricate and ivory. He opened the door and there on the dais sat Kumara and the three Buddhas.
He brought his palms together and inclined his head in a bow. He touched his thumbs to his ajna, his mouth and his heart, Bodhi, mind and Spirit. He moved into that august place, others following him. Some took their places in the seats on the right and the left. He went forward to stand before. There in his white, white robes, he showered in the pillar of light.
“Sit now where you belong, oh blessed one…”
The service continued all around him and when the time was right he began again, as was his custom.
“gate, gate, para gate, para samgate… gate, gate, para gate, para samgate, Bodhi svaha”
Soon the white room, his in that ineffable place, set aside from the main Temple complex, began to take shape. It was in a quiet part just to the side of the main rose garden. Soon he was in his foyer next to the marble wash basin. He washed his hands and walked past his little armoury into his room. It was just as he had remembered it, his piano, the flowers and his sleeping quarters. The windows at the end letting the light warm the tiled floor. He must dress now. His tunic white fitted snug over his mail and the blood red cross brilliant on his chest. From the cabinet he took his sword and scabbard, belting them on; he picked up his spear and held it left. Now he was ready.
He made his way into the complex. In the corridors he met Cederic his aide and batman. They embraced and hugged. Cederic’s face still bore the marks of many a campaign and so many times had they stood back to back. Cederic too wore the rosy cross and sword. Today they would meet again, the council of nine.
At that table seven were already sat with Noh at the head, our very own Gandalf the White. No one knows His name but His magnificence speaks enough, whiter than white with eyes that sparkle like nebulae. Now all seated the meeting begins.
When they were done and roles assigned it began. Down the chiselled stone corridors he and Cederic went to the antechamber door, carved of darkest wood with the crossed sword and spear emboldened out of it. The door opens and ahead is the simple altar clothed in white and crossed in red. Before it he and Cederic halted again clasping palms together, thence to touch Bodhi, mind and Spirit. Genuflecting each drew out his sword and lay them on the floor before the altar, there to prostrate. Replacing swords in scabbards they move forward into the first hall. Together they draw and raise swords skywards. The blue flame of the One Power is virulent in the partial darkness shimmering along the length of the blades and dancing like serpents.
“Fey-da-yin! Fey-da-yin! Fey-da-yin!”
He calls into the darkness and slowly robed and hooded in grey, figures emerge out of the darkness, called to fulfil an aeonial oath.
“Fey-da-yin! Fey-da-yin! Fey-da-yin!”
The figures now congregate and as he stabs the air a host of swords join theirs to create a spark fantastic which illuminates the cavern. They come from all the bands, scattered across the universe. They come to the call of Fey-da-yin.
Collected now behind him they file into the next chamber, huge and vaulted with stall seats all around its circle circumference. Each of the grey joins his fellows and soon this room too is filled. Their numbers now are much, much larger and the place is filled with murmur and greetings. Cederic is now seated.
He lays down the spear, touches hands together as before and prostrates. He stands holding the spear in his left hand and he cries out again:
“Fey-da-yin! Fey-da-yin! Fey-da-yin!”
The spear head now diamond bright with utter radiance illuminates the many. All around blades are drawn and raised and voices join;
“Fey-da-yin! Fey-da-yin! Fey-da-yin!”
Now we are ready.
In procession they march into the vast, vast Temple proper. At the front are the seven sitting behind the altar. He and Cederic take stage in front of the altar and before the crowd. On that marble slab lies only a single yellow rose still fresh with the morning dew.
Noh stands and approaches the altar, he turns and hands the spear to Noh’s open palms. He bows and turns on his heels to join Cederic. Together they stand side by side. As one they draw and raise The Swords of Power they show them to the crowd and call out into the cavernous expanse;
“Atl’aman, Atl’aman, Atl’aman!!”
They parade The Swords a while and then re-sheath them. Cederic takes his seat on the side of the stage. He turns to the altar and bowing receives the Spear from Noh. He turns and raises The Spear of Destiny aloft, a point of brilliance, blue-white diamonds sparkle from it and he again calls;
“Atl’aman, Atl’aman, Atl’aman!!”
walking around the stage as he does so.
When the time is right Cederic joins him and alone the two of them file out that place the way they had come. The hush envelopes them and only their steps can be heard resounding. Now they are in the corridor and alone together.
“Mr Gates, Mr Sam Gates?” he hears a voice calling. He opens his eyes.
“Mr Gates?”
“Yes, that is me..”
“I am sorry but Mr Jones, the manager, has told me that the interviews today are cancelled. We are not taking on any more staff. It’s the recession you see. Here is your passport and thank you for coming…”
He steps outside that chamber and into the fresh morning air. He lights a Marlboro and inhales. Oh well, at least he can go to Nash Point this afternoon and after that, buy some Special Brew to help him sleep and numb him for the evening’s telly.
Traou an Dour 
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