22nd Sept. RIP…Rhona Rorick.

Today marks a very special day.  Today is the birthday of a beloved aunt (to me) and sister to my mother. We remember Rhona Rorick with love and respect.  She was a rare person and she died too soon.  My mother Elizabeth misses her desperately.  Aunt Rhona, for whom I was named, had an innate wisdom that could never be easily defined.  She just knew things and just when one thought one knew about her thoughts and directions….one realised one didn’t. An enigma at best.
We hope she is at peace and from wherever her spirit resides she is aware of our love for her. May she always know we have strived to build the bridges of communication stronger than before.  My mother, Elizabeth,is the last surviving member of the family her parents had.  Now as my mother approaches her 88th birthday she remembers and speaks of many things.  It is these memories that should live on in the younger generation….but diversity is a hindrance.
Today is also World Alzheimer’s day…..may all those locked in this anguished condition be treated with kindness and hope…hope that there will be a cure soon. 


It was an enforced Coventry that I imposed upon myself.  There were very strong and valid reasons but oh! how I missed writing the words and weaving the reality. This was not as a result of my own doing….I arrived at ‘Coventry’ through the concepts and precepts of others and so it was wiser – a truly Buddhist gesture – to slip into the quiet and sojourn there for a while.  Did I heal?  Yes….there was a healing process fought against at first because I could not accept ….but once the struggle that my soul felt compelled to exercise, once the flailing arms and angry inner words passed….there was a stillness.  It was like accepting the death of something I once loved with all I ever had. It was a knowing that nothing will be the same as it was….nothing will be as open and honest ….it was gone.  Replaced by…?…? I accept that certain things will never be the same and I have learnt. To what depth my learning? I wish that I could bare my soul and show the scars….they have healed and I have become, I believe, stronger.  I mourn many things….I mourn that my father QM left me with so many hurtful memories. I mourn that I cannot recall ever once calling him ‘father’. I mourn that I could never have told him how badly wounded I was as a child, an adolescent and adult because of his fierce words and temper. I mourn that I could not tell him that material wealth was not a balm for emotional pain.  I still see evidence of his presence at my home and I have worked ceaselessly over the last three years to set his spirit and mine free from the bonds that bound us.  For days and weeks it goes well with not a thing or memory….and then something during the day will trigger an emotion and I have the anxious dreams.  I pray…in my own concepts of prayer….that he is at peace….that his own angry and damaged spirit is healed by the Great Physician of Life who fashions our souls.  I want that for him. In death I want us to be at peace.
This week sees another exam session.  I look back on the months of preparation for these first ever ‘Performance Awards’ and I know I could not have tried harder with the students.  As a teacher I struggled with absenteeism, winter illnesses and conflicting issues within the students psyche.  I could not make the deadline of sewing 16 new Spanish skirts…I fell short with 4.  I had to upgrade the ballet skirts since the students all grew….this I managed. All is as ready as I could do on my own.  My students are participating in the local RACA eisteddfod which happens each year and while I prepare those who wish to participate in Drama I nevertheless once again learn and assess as I listen to opinions of results and concepts of adjudications…..why do I feel fear?
This is a coming week of enforced silence, control and endurance. There is nothing more that I can do….but there is always more that needs to be accepted and endured.  ‘Like a lamb to the slaughter…with no voice’.
The Truth to tell? ….since Truth is reputed to set one free?….I am terribly tired of so many realities I can’t change within my profession.  It’s hurting bad. 
I have discovered a writer of children’s stories called Edit Maud Nesbitt….I cannot believe the brilliance of this woman’s writing.  I have shared her stories with the Drama students by giving them the CD of some of them.  When one needs escape or quiet repose there are always the words that rush like a waterfall over one and washes away all fears.

17th June. For Cara,Monique, Nadia, Chante and Nelmarie.

I write this is short blog early Saturday morning of the 18th June.  It was for us a very difficult and emotionally stressful week.   As a teacher it upset me greatly and this new sense of discord permeated my days. Who is ever right in these kinds of situations???  But my DRAMA students of yesterday gave me a precious and therefore healing hour and a half.  They are not insensitive to the underlying disappointment of realities within my demeanour.  Each one who attended the class gave moments of true inspiration.
Cara…..how beautifully you recited the Afrikaans poem ‘Kersfees Brief’.  You touched my heart. This came from the core of your being and I felt the terminally ill child ask for more time to set things right for those she loves before she reaches her own finality.   Only one other student has had the ability to move an audience in such a way….Chené with her poem ‘Ballade van ‘n straatkind’.  Your reading of ”n rokkie beter as die een’…just the  right amount of innuendo and verbal nuances.  Your rendition of ‘Tandpyn’….near brillant transition of teachers and students voices. I swear for a few moments I also had pain!!!! Cara..you have found your niche and hopefully your future.

Monique…..your rendition of the poem ‘Mama’….I was moved.  Your understanding and questioning of the key issue in the poem was touching without being emotional.  You achieved the same with ‘Kersfees Brief’. While Cara’s rendition of the poem was heartbreaking yours had courage …sincerity….that the child accepted her Fate.  You are reading a very difficult English prose…and you are achieving it with aplomb. Your reading of ‘Jakkals’…..full of light repartee and humour. I see your Jakkals’ (wolf)  dressed in a natty blue check outfit while Nadia’s  wolf is robust and probably without clothes at all!!!

Nadia…oh! No one will ever be able to say ‘Loose Tooth’ as you do….and your handling of the poem ‘Mr nobody’ which is difficult at best and in form and style a bit archaic…but you have it nailed down to perfection.  ‘Jakkals’ what smooth transition of the voice with the characters in the piece….I could clearly see the scene. ‘Greedy King’… That king is fortunate that he did not meet you at the end of the story! This story is from African folklore and you handle it with true African spirit…fortitude and no nonsense.!!!Just as you handle the poem ‘Tandpyn’… a Teachers voice if ever there was one!!

Nelmarie….you are not one of my Dance students…and if the Truth be told you must have found it very difficult to adjust to the way we do things in the school.  You must have also found it challenging to adapt to me as a teacher and there were days in which I despaired of the whole process BUT you have suddenly understood….and you have improved more than 100%. You are saying ‘Bazonka’ without a mistake and as though your really do believe in the word. You are beginning to understand what DRAMA can bring to your life.

Chante..although you are not doing RACA you nevertheless brought something special to the class yesterday. Who will ever be able to say ‘The aliens have landed’ and alliterate the words ‘distressing’ and ‘exudes the stench of foods’ quite like you do. You have mastered the closing line with nonchalant chic like no one else.  Yes Chante…we have walked through many episodes you and I but there can be no doubt that DRAMA (in the words of a famous song) lifts you up where you belong.

Thankyou girls…you restored a balance I was so desperately needing yesterday. Later in the dressing room it brought me to a sense of grateful reflection how you speak and greet your seniors who are mentoring you. I watched their gentle handling of you all and I was enormously proud….most especially of what Cara and her senior Michaela share.  How blessed a day is in which there is peace and harmony.
Namasté my students. As long as we have the music, the words, the movement…we have a moments paradise.

A new phenomenon

Dance has during this past week enjoyed some considerable exposure. In our local paper,which one reads with a sense of peril , we are informed of the arrival of ‘Cuban’ ballet. Prior to this revelation of revolutionary movement there was the arrival of ‘HipHop’ to rival all other HipHop schools.  Culture comes at last to Rand********.  The excitement is at fever pitch. This is surely what everyone has been waiting for. A former CEO of a prestigious Dance Company(why isn’t he anymore?) is at the helm of this project.  When one reads the  ‘blurb’ concerning this proposed project which is going to benefit so many many students…in the townships, in the schools,in the rural areas it almost echoes word for word the vision Miss Dulcie Howes had all those many many years ago when we (and many others before us)as 1st year students were sent into areas such Guguletu to bring ‘ballet’ to the little people of the community.   This was late sixties early seventies. Somewhere somehow in times good or bad there have been projects such as these running under auspicious and inspired teachers who ultimately became disillusioned and stressed  teachers.  When I arrived in Rand*******  I too had this wonderful vision for the marginalised of our country’s peoples.   I taught mainly in all the surrounding townships often risking life and limb as a white person to go in where others feared to tread. I had many good experiences and I had many more really scary ones.   I learned how to understand the ‘coloured’ persons way of thinking. Theirs was a world that defied literary explanation.  One had to live their reality and I did in every sense of the word. I struggled to make a living and was supported by my mother for the best part of ten years while working ceaselessly to bring ‘light’, ‘movement’, ‘drama’ to these special people.  I did not succeed.  I might have touched some lives….but I did not succeed.
I am now asked ‘what is Cuban Ballet’ and low and behold I find myself back where it all started when I struggled so so hard to establish a school teaching Cecchetti when everyone here was doing RAD.  Unless one moves in dance circles one will never understand the rivalry, the bitterness and the vitriolic comment that can exude from teachers and dancers when judging a method of dance training they either know nothing about or are threatened by.  And I was judged….mercilessly.  I had to fight to uphold the teaching methods of Maestro Enrico Cecchetti in this corner of the world.  In the meanwhile I was studying all methods of Ballet training, including RAD.  The best teachers in the country were my source of knowledge.  It is only now as I approach the final curtain that I realise how absolutely sick and ridiculous it was to try and imagine I could as a single teacher make a difference.   But in 1969 when I independently started I had a blind belief that I could and would instill the love for dance in every young persons life I touched.    I was very naive.  When I look back on how hard I tried with every parent and child I want to run into a wall of sorts at the embarrassment and yes, the humiliation of it.  I forgot a very important key factor and it was this.  In a community such as the one in which I made may home I failed to understand the importance of social interaction.  I failed to grasp how important group opinion is of one…..if a social ‘clique’ approved you got a group of little girls in no time…..offend one and you offend all. Alienation of a student is never intentional…every teacher will and is honour bound  to try and make a success of the student/teacher relationship.  So if one mama finds what you said in class unsatisfactory….five other mamas felt the same. It would be OK if it stopped there but now grandparents and aunts and uncles got involved for the discussion of children’s achievements and marks and successes is always paramount at  family gatherings.  The same community that hailed me as the greatest thing since Sliced bread was the very same community that condemned my character, teaching and family years later.  In the end it took four clever mothers two months to dwindle my school to almost nothing through their illiterate comment about dancing and my personal life in They are still in Rand******* today……doyennes in their secure niches. They have no guilt or shame for what their gossip ultimately achieved. I fought back with ever fibre of my being but I could never regain the unconditional popularity I previously experienced. I came back on broken wings. In my memory these unfortunate episodes are burned onto my soul.    For months and years I will never recall the episode and then   wham !! in a dream it resurfaces or the sun will shine just so on a wintery afternoon and a student will say something that echoes the memory.  It hurts….even after all the years it really hurts and depresses.

So…now it is Cuban Ballet…..what defines a good method of teaching?   Is it the structured syllabi of preset movement by which to train the young aspirant dancer.  Is is that it is grounded in Russian principle for arms and head? Or that it is the controlled English way or wait …….what about the French school of movement influenced by the Italian maestros of  the past.? And let us not forget the American Ballet.   South Africans will do almost anything to attach to their training achievements international accreditation.  I believe this insatiable desire for ‘international’ stems from the days of our past history of  Imperialism.   It never really died.  It is still alive and well and manifests itself in many facets of our society.
In my view teaching the art of Dance movement does not depend upon the structured syllabi that a teacher has to adhere to. Success is what is given to a student by a competent and caring teacher. Love for movement and expression through that structured syllabi is paramount and method is secondary.  Learning RAD does not make one a better dancer than the girl learning Cechetti or Vaganova or Espinosa. Quality of teaching from the individual teacher is what renders the method valuable. The rules enforced by a structured syllabus can kill the creative spirit.  Pointless rules,embroideries of movement and theories over simple movements anchors the creative spirit to the earth…the teacher and pupil slowly die together. It is the most painful thing to endure.

I am almost glad that I am near the end of my career as a teacher of Dance. Each day of my life I have thanked my Creator for the gift of Dance movement, the value of words in Drama and above all my first passion…the colours in Art…..I am very grateful to the depth of my being BUT I would NOT choose to walk this way again.  It is has been a hard and isolated life.  I have had to take criticism and condemnation as a teacher and woman with as much fortitude as I could bear.  When praise came I was,almost too afraid to trust the source.   People change and pupils come and go…..they leave a mark on ones life…most of the time there is a sadness attached to it for I as a teacher can ‘see’ their future. I try to instill all the good things in all three genres that I teach……but out there it gets undone and I cannot save the student from her future or herself.
This weekend was very hard for us….my mother and I both have  Bronchitis.  I had a very high fever on Friday evening….and in the delirium the pupils of the past rushed in and out of thought like marathon runners….it was all very confusing.   But they were only shadows of the past and the house remained quiet and still. Isolated as always.

Facebook and it’s real implications

Take away the inner thrill one gets from establishing ones own personal Facebook page …….the agonised pondering over the cover photo and all the rest…the endless hours of filling in the likes and dislikes and the inviting of friends…take this away for a moment and one is left with?…..? Take away the endless ‘status’ quotations and the posters that connect one to a Higher Source in an open and public way as never quite before….what is one left with?….?

I have spent the last four months reading documents and case histories of people, positive and negative, of the result this type of social media participation can cause.  I kept thinking upon reading about crashed relationships between husbands and wives, parents and their children, the obsession with having the android phone always at hand to view the latest ahievement of another…friend or foe…to be able to comment  upon a latest update….I kept thinking….this is totally out of control.  How can this happen? How can Facebook postings be of such significance that it actually affects ones personal life? Yeah! right!! as my young students would say.  BUT I have in this last week experienced the real power behind Facebook and like many issues in life it can seen for the good (seldom) and the negative(almost always). 

If one scrolls through all the endless happy family photos and the achievements and the awards and the commemorations of people who passed on, of the budding romances and the scholastic achievements,and happy holidays and…and … a clear pattern emerges.  Facebook is  for many a platform for camouflaged realities and damage control in lives clearly going awry or desperate to succeed.  This statement may seem unfair to the extreme. It isnt when you know the truth of the Facebook page holders life And I do know the Truth for I have in most cases been involved for a short or longer time in their weekly routine. 

In the beginning I never could understand this desperate need to expose ones personal life..ones likes and dislikes…ones anger and ones peace….ones religious beliefs and ones hopes and dreams….I never could understand and I suppose if the truth be told I never will.  I suppose using Facebook is the same as using this WordPress site to express my own view point.  Are we so desperate to share our lives with others?

An Afrikaans Poem

Mama ek so is jammer vir alles
vir die wat ek nie kan doen
dat ek nie bo 80% vir my vakke kry nie
en dat ek nooiet in die top tien is nie
Jammer dat ek te stadig in vinnige
netbal reageer en dat ek nie krulhare het nie
soos Margeuax, die dogtor van jou vriendin
wie se ‘profile’ op Facebook lees…
blink  kind van ons liefde en ‘n geskenk van bo
slim in alles…presteerder…(vir haar is daar net
lof en roem en balkies)..‘n dierbare kind.
….mense sal alles glo!
Ek is net jou dogtor al kry jy soms skaam
vir my sommer-so-miskien bruin hare
en my eenvoudige doopnaam
ek kan nie so mooi dans nie
en sing is ‘n ander leeftyd se droom
maar ek sien al jou begeerte en hartseer
want al my ‘kannies’ laat jou nie toe om
ons lewens op Facebook te bekroon.

Jy is my Mama
en ek is lief vir jou
want jy het my hier gebring in die donkerste nag uur
van ‘n koue winters nag
maar Mama…kyk hoe lyk ons nou?

I am numbed and it is true to say   flabbergasted by  the ‘marketing’  of peoples lives.  How unbelievably fortunate they are that their readers let the fantasy that is theirs go.

A Flash of Light.

This is a poignant paragraph from the brilliant book: written by David Lagercrantz. In ‘The girl in the Spiders Web’.

He was looking unusually dashing in a jacket and tie and freshly ironed blue shirt. He had combed his hair over his bald patch. There was a dreamy and absent look on his face as if murder investigations were the last thing on his mind. “What did the doctor say”? she asked: “the doctor said what matters is not that we believe in God …God is not small minded.  What matters is for us to understand that Life is serious and rich.  We should appreciate it and also try to make the world a better place. Whoever finds a balance between the two is close to God……”. “So you were actually with your Rabbi?”.

This paragraph was a shaft of light in what can only be described as a very depressing time for me.  Depression has been with me since I was a child so I no longer panic about it neither do I seek solace and comfort from people in general.    I have accepted it as part of my persona and don’t apologise for it or regret it. I work through the dark hours and hope to emerge better for it.  Sometimes I win the battle oftentimes there are reopened wounds and scars that need to heal…again. But its really OK and the reality of depression doesn’t matter anymore.  I have searched and struggled to find the Truth… The truth of God, religion and people…..and its been a terrible journey. I have come to a point where the journey cannot be continued….it has to be abandoned and I need to turn away from the knowledge I have gained so far.  Knowledge is not always an enlightening reality….it can catapult a person into a nightmare of sorts.  I remain a wondering and wandering soul.  I have not met an equal who can inspire or guide or console the fiery storms. I have not met an Archangel Michael or even an ascended master.
So….I wait and watch and listen and abandon for a while the search for the meaning to it all. I remain eternally grateful for my best friend and confidant, my mother Elizabeth.  She understands this anger and volatility I feel every day…more so in April…and even more so in this week as remembrance of the passing of QM.
To my beloved NooNoo….you are more than any human being could ever be….you accept me as I am…all the hugs…all the chasing…and all the words I thread together you listen to until your eyes droop with sleep….my precious .
I know many people and I stand back and assess many things…..its all still a big black hole.




April is upon us once again. There are two months in the year we have always found it hard to get through.  April and August. All through our lives as a troubled family April heralded conflict, upheaval,discontent and more often than not, life changing events.
My mother had all her heart attacks during the first two weeks of April.  Different years but always in April…also the great Bypass. April always brought with it untold and unprepared for expense (financial) and emotional. Breakups always happened in April. The car battery would die in April…regularly! The toilets would start leaking in April and everyone would be totally depressed at the first sign of leaves falling off trees. In April one has skeleton classes because there are the Easter holidays, camps of all kind from Christian to Girl Guide camps. In April we experience balmy weather which should enhance a hopeful spirit. Not so….more people than usual are depressed in April. Finally the hysterical summer months end and it is as though there is some kind of universal mourning. QM died in April and I had all my professional conflicts in April…..just after the 1st Term when demonstrations are done and decisions about ones expertise in the profession is made.  April is the deadline for the submission of annual subscription fees to various Dance associations who really don’t care for you as a person or professional. Yes….April is pretty challenging and each year we tell ourselves this year we are not thinking of April but rather calling the four weeks Moiya month. We pray more than usual in April as well!!! We need Divine intervention to overcome this reality.

Still….I, we, remain grateful for the changing of the season. I am not partial to summer…it is excessive and extreme. Extreme heat, excessive rain, extremely long days, excessive culinary indulgences…and too many drinks with Japanese umbrellas hanging on the rim.  Where I live ‘cocktails’ are the newest trend! 

We felt, since the middle of March, that this  April would not be easy. On reflection 2016 is proving to be not too easy and smooth going. But…we continue to try and cope with each day and crisis at a time.  I know and understand the value of my books and the years of research in all those neat little files. I fill up this unknown space within myself with the perusal of all the collected information. Did I collect all of  ‘this’ ? I ask myself. I seem to have been searching my entire life.


Mother Angelica

EWTN is not a radio station I completely condone but for a few years it has helped me get through the nights. On Easter Sunday the foundress of this awesome form of christian communication, which started in a garage, died after a long struggle with ongoing pain and illness. She was stalwart to the last and suffered greatly on Good Friday because of physical pain. It is noted that this was due to (a) broken bone(s) in her body due to being bed ridden for so long.  She was surrounded by her spiritual daughters and priests in her final hours. Hers was a life of physical and psychological suffering. Even though one may not have agreed on the issues she was so outspoken about one had to admire her sense of commitment and conviction.   She was much loved by thousands, criticised by perhaps even more but she was a doer and she worked ceaselessly driven by a passion to evangelise the world.  She recognised her country’s ability to irrationalise christian doctrine and culture.


Through her television talk shows when she was still able to speak before an audience she inspired and consoled lost and lonely people.  She comforted and with her spicy sense of humour encouraged a laugh and at worst at least a smile for the broken hearted.
I know that she has been redeemed as promised to those who hold their faith so strongly yet so delicately in their hands.  She has been rewarded for her efforts with humanity in all its forms. She inspired people to do better. She was an example to those who came from impoverished backgrounds…herself a victim of poverty and with no great education to flaunt.




There can be no doubt that betrayal in any facet of Life is an awesome thing to come to terms with.  For many it is the ultimate humiliation and for others it is a blow of such emotional depth that even after years the healing has never been completed and it becomes one of those issues that never enjoys closure. Its reality is complex and the reasons that govern the actual deed argumentative at best. It can never be condoned….no matter what the scenario….it can never be condoned.
As God conscious people we find ourselves at this time of the year where Betrayal and Sacrifice play a major role in the religious and historical events that depict the life of Jeshua of Nazareth. As Christ conscious people we confront once again the precepts of our Faith and the doctrines that govern it. Every person involved in the final hours of the Messiah will live forever in the history books.  For some the fame is of merit and for others a role played in shame and dishonor….others again were just too ignorant of the part he or she played to even understand what was happening and so the seriousness of it was lost to them.
I have my own theories concerning Judas Iscariot and others who did not understand the Essence of the Christ. For years I walked alongside these characters and studied with intent the role they played from mostly a historical point of view. I say historical because the doctrine of the Church can cloud one’s perceptions. It was and remains the greatest balm to my troubled soul. Josephus and his brilliant manuscript ‘The Antiquities of the Jews’ was a brilliant source of reference as was the commentary of Mathew Henry.  The research for each character filled volumes of pages.
Next week is the Easter Triduum wherein Christ conscious people once again affirm their faith in the Son of God. I stand at the edges of the community in which I live and watch and listen for the functions and services that will happen to bring parishioners into a closer experience of these events.  For just a little while people will be subdued enough to be tolerant of each other. The solemnity of the days will ensure quiet surrender of each other to the others faults….but once the pace of life picks up and the days acquire their frantic and rhythmic flow there will be no evidence of this ‘tolerance’. How very tenuous the ‘Christians’ are.


Despite what the ancient writings say
I loved Him with all my heart
even though I betrayed Him to Caiaphas
to let the inquisition start.
Thirty pieces of silver
was all it took to condemn us both
Only, he was elevated in the world of men
while I stumbled in sin’s undergrowth.

What was it about his person
that drew me to his side?
What was it about his speaking
my own philosophies to deride?
What was it about his actions
that I never could understand?
What was it about his ‘kingship’
that ruled with Love to heal our broken land?

I’m suppose I never once doubted
that He was the Messiah, the Chosen One
even though it was his ministry
that caused me to falter,
wondering if for our Zealots cause 
a place of leadership he had won.
Was He the man we had been waiting for
to free us from our yoke?
Was He the saviour,the light, the power
that would seize Rome at its throat?
How long did we have to wait like this
in servitude and chains?
How long did we have to listen
to prophets speaking of a future king
and his glorious reign?

How closely I lived with Him
in the years before his last days
How well I learned to understand every gesture
and the meaning of his many ways.
People in the world would think
He had no tears, or joy or pain,
but in the evening as night fell, darkening a purple sky,
a little distance from us he would sit,
his body broken with exhaustion
and I would ask myself “Jeshua…why?”

Do you know when I loved Him most, 
this Jeshua Son of Man?
It was in the Temple
when he cleared the merchants
with one sweep of His hand
How powerful was his anger
as though for all of Israel
how condemning were his words
like an overflowing well.

What hope we had, Barrabas and I,
that at last He knew his future plans
and every Zealots heart leapt
as we pledged allegiance with joined hands.

But Jeshua did not hear
our battlecry more desperate than before
and that is why our hopes and dreams
lie with thirty pieces of silver 
spilt and scattered on the Temple floor.

And now He stands, condemned and broken
His face bruised with blood
and the Truth of His life wells up within me
like a mighty over-riding flood
What good does it do now?….
I tried to save the Son of Man
but Caiaphas would not listen
I was just a pawn in the whole Sanhedrin’s plan.

No amount of writing
can know and express my remorse
No learned man can speak for me
the bitterness from my deepest source
No place on this earth is big enough
wherein I could hide my guilt and shame.
And now I know that this misguided action
driven and fanned by the political flame
would immortalise me in the annals of history
as the betrayer
Judas Iscariot by name.

The sky above me darkens
and the wind begins to moan
I run through the streets of Jerusalem
not knowing where is my father’s home.
Is there not a person to grasp and hold
and stay my desperate speed?
Barrabas,my friend, where are you?
it’s your assurances I need.

But the streets are deserted and I am a desolate man
Death is the only course left for the 
instigator of this…
the most despicable of plans.

Will the Master forgive me
when He sees the Light?
Will my God judge me
and set my soul to right?
Will you, who read the ancient writings
shake your head
and muttering, have many words to say?
But I tell you beloved reader
that it is your daily life
the Son of Man you betray.

From book The Chosen Ones by Rhona Renz. The final two verses of this poem was also in  the International poets
Competition as a finalist. The photo above is of Ian Mc Shane as Judas in the film Jesus of Nazareth.