Strange how some days seem to fill drop by drop as it were with words that you can blog. Surely it is not just a question of human moods, but may have something to do with the Word made Flesh. The Word of God goes out and does work, and when you feel the metaphysical fecundity of that work in your daily life, you blog, and thereby create more words. In John's Gospel "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us for a while" is literally, "pitched his tent" or "became tabernacled", and here in Sinai, living among the Bedouin, one can understand how fleeting these camps are. I had dinner with someone who said he was the Christ once. He said he had done his twenty years and the post was now vacant. Any takers? And listening to the Khamseen blowing day and night, the words of Jesus to Nicodemus come to mind "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit." Reminds me of William Barclay's remark that Jesus' ministry must have seemed like "a great wind sweeping through Palestine". But, of course, "wind" and "blustery days" are governed by Aquarius and if Jesus' ministry was like a great wind, was there any comedy in it? The Bible is notorious for not mentioning him laughing or smiling. Jesus wept. And he was a wild cat, for sure, who hated the Romans. Pursewarden says in Clea that half the Beatitudes are ironic. If Jesus ever spoke with irony, you'd probably miss it, irony being the ignis fatuus of literature. On the subject of wind, the astrology is inspired by Blavatsky--and no one could bluster like her. Reluctant to quote the King James Version of the Bible now because, as Blavatsky points out in The Secret Doctrine, of the seventy-odd scholars appointed to do the translation, only three understood Hebrew, and two of those died before they reached the Psalms.

Mankind at its silliest. I started the dancing off last night in Dahab and got the guys dancing of the dance floor. Little did I know what a Pandora's Box I was opening. A guy who we said danced like a retard the night before took a shine to my Dutch dance partner Ange and put his arm around me and her to do this kind of Can Can cum Zorba the Greek type dance. Obviously, he put his arm around me to give himself a pretext to put his arm around her. I appreciate hospitality, but this was fucking rude, and crap. Then a girl who was giving me the eye went off with an Egyptian guy who gave a display of Egyptian male chauvinism by raising his fist at her. Naturally I felt terrible that my lack of courage had prevented my intervening. Maybe she liked him. Maybe she was afraid of him. Maybe both. Maybe neither. I explained this to my Australian (!) drinking companions, Andrew and Baz. Australia is the country of which people joke, "G'day Sheila, fancy a fuck?" "Ooo, I do now, you smooth talker!." Ange asked me if I was gay, and I said it was a fair question, "Boys are the new girls, after all". Then went back to the coffee house and got beside myself with boredom because the proprietor chose to watch some film dubbed into French because it had lots of characters wearing swimsuits but no actual nudity. The nudity that all the guys wanted to watch was on the other channel. I didn't understand the French. Woke this morning uttering curses.