The Moth Fly’s Into The Brightest Flame
On Monday I received a small envelope, it contained an interesting message. Some would call it hate mail; I will describe it as an excellent subject for an essay. The images of the contents were made public on Facebook, and the comments of support made by many people are gratefully received. All who know me, understand this type of small minded nonsense would have no effect on my Being or life. There was a time early in life when this was not the case, and the lessons learned in the past have secured my future. As I travelled into the city this morning, my mind was drawn to other times in my life when people believed they could affect my constitution.
We all like to think we are unique, or our path was harder than others. This is not true, all of us have a unique story, however, for every sad memory, someone has one which is far worse. I had to look after myself from my early teens. Without the years of private education, I believe my life would have been short and addictive. Both parents were drunks and inclined toward violent arguments. As parents there was not a card width to choose between them, neither contributed to my learning of life skills. I look back and there is nothing which is of importance or good memory upon which I can reflect, there are no happy stories, no kindnesses, nothing. And there is no bitterness or self-pity, I live life, not memories or the past.
During my late teens and early twenties I worked for my father. He was a thief who corrupted anyone who entered into his business arena. His favourite saying was ‘There is no one, who can not be bribed’, and I know this to be true. He died many years ago and cannot defend himself, so we will leave this where it should be, closed. If there were to be anyone who challenged the facts within this paragraph, I would expand into depths of horrors which would not reflect well on a man many still believe to have been a kind and generous human. I mention this as an insight into the influences of the early years.
Forty years ago I was an idiot attempting to play big men’s games, which I very often lost. In that old world, the rules are hard and held fast. Debts are not collected with court orders, reputations are of paramount importance, deals are made and not broken. Whatever happens outside of these protocols is accepted as par for the course. There is no need to expand upon the inevitable journey my life would take, there is a need for the reader to be clear. A child who is betrayed by parents and becomes an adult who works in a world of deception will become steel-willed, with emotions which are still weighed as lead.
Many years later I became a writer, the one legacy of a Cirencester prep and an Oxfordshire public school, formal education saved my day. The only man who impressed me during my educational years was English master Pete Mayes, mind you he also ran the school diving club, a life long pleasure. Pete Mayes was the adult who recognised my creative potential. And the seeds he planted in my mind somewhere between my 13th and 16th birthday were to germinate thirty years later. I began to write in earnest fifteen years ago, although for some time before I’d written a journal or two. It is the writing and ideas born of my words which abrade many people, my attitude agitates a few more; I have become subject to abuse and threats on numerous occasions.
It is writing which changed my view of life and helped me to develop an ability to think using critical appraisal. Acute reasoning only works well when the thought process is provided with facts. Learning how to think well takes around eight years before it contributes to ones life. The precise evaluations of each facet of one’s environment lead’s to complete turnarounds in attitudes, beliefs and character. I separated from spiritual and occult beliefs; actual evidence is the province of the liberal and critical thinker. Any ideas which are based on supposition have no place in my life.
Why do I write about these connections? It is my desire for anyone, who wishes to demean or threaten me to understand. The heart is still iron cold and can only be weighed as lead. My mind is hardened by reality. My constitution is based on fact and integrity; I stand alone for I am who I desire to be. I am faithful and genuine to my many friends, and I have no interest or thought to those who dislike or even hate me.
Those who think they can affect my Being or life with a few words and numbers or a cover of book, threats of the devil or some spiritual rule or occult spell are the fool. The malice I saw in my childhood extinguished any ability for me to be concerned with the idiocy of fools. My childhood memories were not of laughter or happiness; they were of violent argument, malice and long term hatred. The determined, fierce foes I knew in my twenties were a real danger. They did not hide behind masks or illusion; I knew real fear in those times. The fool who thinks a piece of paper or the innuendo of a sexual act would concern me is the moth who fly’s close to the brightest flame. The absolute fact is I do not care; I enjoy the power I have over any man or woman who hates me.
For when a man or woman hates another they are controlled by the subject they hate. My intention is engraved upon a granite hard soul; no words can effect the Testament which bears witness to my resolve. Test it as hard, and as fast as desired for each moment, you fester your hatred I control you as a fisherman plays his catch. I do not turn the other cheek, have compassion or forgiveness within my Being. I close doors on yesterday and those who are cruel, mean, harbour malice or hate. These are non-humans who can make no contribution to my life, who would care to be associated with those words?
A closed and a small minded individual will, of course, believe this essay is a sign of weakness and a plea for help. The intelligent will read the factual accuracy and understand the essence of this essay. For all who read it, I will remind you of an absolute fact.
The human who hates another is controlled by the seed of their hatred.
A moth flying into the brightest flame.