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This colored matrix illustrates where and how the world’s money is being used.
You can click (twice) on it to see an enlarged version and you can compare the various categories.

SOME years ago a certain writer, much esteemed for
his graceful style of saying silly things, informed us
that the poor remain poor because they show no efficient
desire to be anything else. Is that true? Are only the
idle poor? Come with me and I will show you where
men and women work from morning till night, from week
to week, from year to year, at the full stretch of their
powers, in dim and fetid dens, and yet are poor — aye,
destitute — have for their wages a crust of bread and rags.
I will show you where men work in dirt and heat, using
the strength of brutes, for a dozen hours a day, and sleep
at night in styes, until brain and muscle are exhausted,
and fresh slaves are yoked to the golden car of commerce,
and the broken drudges filter through the poor-house or
the prison to a felon’s or a pauper’s grave! I will show
you how men and women thus work and suffer and faint
and die, generation after generation; and I will show
you how the longer and the harder these wretches toil 
the worse their lot becomes; and I will show you the
graves, and find witnesses to the histories of brave and
noble and industrious poor men whose lives were lives
of toil and poverty, and whose deaths were tragedies. 
And all these things are due to sin — but it is to the
sin of the smug hypocrites who grow rich upon the rob-
bery and the ruin of their fellow-creatures.

From:  Merrie England:  A Plain Exposition of Socialism, What It Is
and What It Is Not by Richard Blanchard

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Joan of Arc

I know this now. Every man gives his life for what he believes. Every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing yet they give their lives to that little or nothing. One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. And then it is gone. But to sacrifice what you are and live without belief, that's more terrible than dying.--

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December 2009



On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

John O'Donohue, Echoes of Memory