Re-corded messages

Good news everyone.

It’s over!

You can stop looking!!

The riddle of existence is solved!!!

We can now reveal that the Bible was written as a coded ‘instruction guide’ to the location of God.

Unfortunately what no one ever understood, was that it had been written in the Southern Hemisphere

… thus everyone had been reading it upside down.

By taking this information into consideration, God was discovered earlier today, hiding out in a cave, right here in New Zealand. Although it took some doing, he was finally tempted out by the lure of hot coffee & home-made muffins.

And the Good News for Modern Man?

Well he’s finally agreed to set the record straight.

So … reporting live from NZ, I can now reveal the awful truth – that our existence here on earth was the result of some long ago kids play that went doubly, horribly wrong.

It all began when God was playing silly buggers.

He sneezed while uttering the Word that his Mother had told him never to use

… & accidentally created a snotty version of himself.

And lo there was a blinding flash
And a great Big Bang,
And there stood Jehova,
Who said “move over,
I’m taking this show for my own.

Terrified of what his mother would say, God took to the hills.

Jehova quickly stepped into his shoes & rigged the Eden Casino Game so that the  winner …

would take all.

In a thousand word essay please describe what the boy-God might have decided about the world & his part in it, that would make him run for cover when the going got tough.

What do you mean you left your pencil at home!

Oh sorry your grandma just died, you say.


All right then, I’ll let you off … this time.

As strange as it may seem, this article is a kind of personal continuation of the last – just a little further down the track.

Earlier this week, in an effort to retain my sanity after unspeakably hideous internet connection problems, I found myself trying out an exercise in the childhood memory book that was mentioned in my last article.  Up till then I’d thought & remembered, but nothing had been woven into words.

The effect of simply putting pen to paper has been astonishing.

How could I not have seen the exquisite patterns in my own personal snapshots?

At present I have only a handful of early memories & while none of them would be called happy, neither are they hard to look at.  The beauty of recalling these snapshot-childhood-memories is that they are not about reliving trauma – that’s an idea the damned media have promoted – as always doing everything they can to scare you out of looking into the place that has the most healing to offer.

Your snapshot memories are the most elegant, exquisite & tailored gifts to you, showing you why you walk many of the paths you do & why you walk the same tracks again & again.

At certain points in your childhood events happened that were so filled with YOUR personal understanding of what life was like, that they were seared into your memory.

I remember being stunned one Christmas Morning, when I was about three or four, to find nothing under the Christmas Tree.

I recall going to the theatre when I was about six.  I remember nothing of the play, though I must have been transfixed, for my attention wandered away from my ice cream, when it returned, I was horrified to see that although the cone was there, the ice cream had vanished …

 … to this day I do not know if I ate it without realising or if it rolled onto the floor & disappeared. I can still taste the disappointment of losing that treat.

In two out of my handful of young memories, I find snapshots symbolising a denial/abrupt ending of pleasure & a sense emptiness/hollowness.  We’ve been so programmed with stories & movies of horribly real’ or imaginary trauma that ‘little’ incidents such as these become almost laughable.

Yet for me they are treasure.

I begin to see the outlines of familiar patterns & fears.  My little self left me a map of how she had translated life – she marked important events with a memory & left them for me to find & dig up when I was ready.

I think much of this work now is about making ourselves ready.

I remember when I was about five being really worried about death & dying & finally working up the courage to ask my mother if everyone died.  Her reply was as brief as it was brutal.

Putting my feelings into words about that memory led to a kind of waking dream of its soul-deep impact – this time instead of a crushing verbal reply, I re-experience the event as a physical assault – my mother comes up behind me & slams the side of my head with a frozen leg of ham – hey don’t ask me, that’s the image that came – that is the understanding that some part of myself  wished to make known.  The recollection of being slammed in the side of the head with a golf club by a girl named Rosemary, a few years later, may perhaps be read in a more telling light.

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember”    Hamlet: Act 4. Scene V

Is it possible to explain to you how grateful I am, for the dream-like frozen ham experience?

I now have a symbolic physical event that my self can work with – while it floated in my mind it was untouchable, but by feeling it, it becomes embodied & earthed.

That which we feel, can be healed.

I decided to write this because I thought you might benefit by re-visiting your own memories.

One of the GREATEST lies of the Western World is that only the biggest, loudest, boldest or saddest of people, events, experiences matter.

What a load of nonsense.

If there is any part of you that is crippled by emotional pain then that is a very big deal & it is not ok – the amount by which you are crippled is the amount by which the world & those you love are denied your unique gifts.

For anyone interested this is exercise – please be your own guru/ferryman ( & be brief)

  • Your memory?
  • Your feelings?
  • The most vivid thing about it?
  • How old? (needs to be less than 8 years)
  • What do you think it tells you about who you are?

Note: To be a real memory, it must have feelings or emotions attached.

If you can remember about five memories you should start to see pictures about how you painted the world you lived in. It’s quite likely that you painted some very strange scenes.

And it’s quite likely that you are still living in them …

But you don’t have to.

‘Unlocking the Secrets of your Childhood Memories’ by Kevin Leman is the book mentioned in this & my last article.

May 21, 2011. Uncategorized.


  1. paulo replied:

    “you first”

  2. aferrismoon replied:

    When livinh in Northern Ireland, aged 4 , I got those ear problem when they discharge some kinda fluid. Anyhow the eartubes etc. block up and I go deaf.

    Went for a tonsilectomy and woke up in the middle of the op. I rememeber saying ‘hello’ to the doctor, who said something like ‘what’re u doing awake’.

    The lights above were red and green , not white as one may suppose.

    The Doctor was named Dr. Black.

    One take on it was that the ‘Troubles’ had intensified, lots of bombs and firebombs, and perhaps my child-mind had decided to block it out.


  3. Michael Skaggs replied:

    Very interesting yet again! Hmmm more ponderings!

  4. alex robinson replied:

    Fascinating memory Mr Moon – sadly the ‘normal treatment’ would be to shudder at the thought of waking up in an operation, tell you you must be mistaken about the lights & move on to the next topic.

    The ‘deafening’ as a response to the bombs makes wonderful ‘common sense’.

    When you mentioned red & green lights, traffic lights sprang to mind, but when you mentioned Dr Black I went straight onto the internet;

    “Two different sets of three colours are referred to as the Pan-African colours: the green, gold, and red first used in the flag of Ethiopia and Eritrea … and the red, black, and green adopted by the American-based Universal Negro Improvement Association and African Communities League (UNIA) … to represent Pan-Africanism, African identity, or blacks as a race” – so I wondered if in some way you were showing yourself a part of your future – a place where it would be safe to hear?

    Another take on those colours as traffic lights = Green/GO or Red/STAY – combined with the name Dr Black made me think of Dr Death & I wondered if in those troubled times you made a conscious/awake choice back then to live.

    Thanks for sharing that memory, that was awesome.

    Gracias Michael
    Be well

  5. tom replied:

    Started to consider what impressions could be drawn from your blog. Found myself in a self analytical mode. Never have visited a professional, yet felt an overwhelming craziness from thoughts generated.

    What if I was never a child? A twisted little adult for a major childhood memory chain.

    Just kidding, think two male names combined, Norm and Al.

    Still kidding.

    Why are all the first memories considered of a traumatic nature? Am I thinking too much, not thinking the correct thoughts, or simply thinking in the wrong way?

    Now its getting serious.

    Think of a number between 1 and 9. Math, a concrete language, not open to emotions and feelings, not ruled by judgment, is this the perfect refuge. So the ascetic selects 5; no one asks “how 5 are you?”

    Now its getting silly.

    Still searching for the borders of reality. Thanks for your help.


    • alex robinson replied:

      Hi Tom – how’s the craziness coming along? :)
      What if the only thing that’s really insane is ‘reality’?

      Information killed the cat, curiosity brought it back.

      You are playing – there’s nothing more serious or sacred.
      If questions buzz with life I think that must be a good thing. If facts make you go numb, I think that is a dangerous thing.

      Play on!

  6. Isaac replied:

    I remember looking up at the sky as a small child and calling so earnestly for Jesus to come down and talk to me but I guess he was too busy for little ol me ha

    • alex robinson replied:

      I think he should have come Isaac – don’t know what he was thinking of!

      Why was it you called so earnestly?

      I remember once feeling a hand on my shoulder when I was alone & deciding it must have been him & so tried extra, extra hard to be good as a thank you – but how can you ever compete with someone who gets nailed to a cross for your sins? Anyway have you ever noticed how being good just isn’t any fun!

      Thanks for your story
      Very best to you

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