You tell yourself a lime green thought

But firstly, the centre is colourless. Uncolour. A pinprick and a well. You swim in it and push on it until either something must give or you must get rid of all your mirrors so you're not reminded how ugly you feel. This uncolour clouds everything so you feel like it is pointless to get your hair cut, or to look in the eyes of another.

The next layer out is lime green and as you shower in your shame and cleansing you tell yourself a lime green thought of truth. Your words to yourself have so much power that they jolt you. You wonder about that.

You have never been so aware before of the life and death wells at the same time. The stakes feel higher somehow. There is a creative idea, a thing, that is asking you to follow it down. Do you have the courage to follow it down? You remind yourself that you don't much mind if it goes out to a gentle red thread that miscarries itself out into the air. You don't think it's the end result so much as it is the following through and seeing something come out of you that is the thing here. It scares you, this potential to birth something.

You tell yourself a lime green thought about the uncolour. It is a paradox to think that once you step onto the lime green turf that you would do anything but run away from looking back, but it is from here that you can see its truth. Not so much what it is saying to you about yourself but why it is saying it. This is the diving board, and you jump and it is yellow for a second or two.

You tell yourself lime green thoughts that face away from the uncolour and it feels the way it would if you were in a large room of white tiles with the reflections from water bouncing off the walls, creating further colour, further light.

The dope plant has begun budding. It is a symbol to you of the path you could take, the easier path of death. You would have many lime green thoughts here, it is true. But you know you cannot do this right now, not in this time, maybe not ever, but certainly once or twice before never occurs and you give the buds away to some fortunate friend. If you stayed in this place for very long, it would tie one of your toes to the bedpost. What you need is to be on your hands and knees, grunting, sweating, birthing, saying, "I can't do this."

You think that you will follow the lime green thoughts for no other reason than that they bubble whiteness into you and you are bored flatlining with grey matte finishes.

The value of life

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

~ Some dude

Tyler has a take on embryonic stem cell research which is personal and compelling and is called Andy.

The sanctity of life. How much do we value it? These are the kinds of questions we should be asking ourselves, and each other. If we just take the commodification monster's word for it, he'll commodify us right from underneath our noses and right down to our very bones.

Jane's friend worked in a nursing home for several months, had done a course which required 60 hours' work for her to gain her certificate. Problem was, she just couldn't do it. Working in a place that stunk of urine, with depressed people waiting to die. She felt awful that she couldn't do it. Talked about how starved for affection the people were, that if you reached out and touched someone's hand - not 'cause you were dressing them, just because - it would be enough for some of them to tear up. Living old in this culture must be a hideous thing.

Jane's friend has since worked as a personal carer for a man who required, as part of his help, assistance in the bathroom. She had been positive that she would never be able to cope wiping the bum of a grown man - and yet after a while, it didn't worry her.

Maybe age and death wouldn't worry us as much if we didn't hide them away constantly, where they grow like Gremlins. Some people have never seen a dead body in their lives, apart from the millions of ones on TV, which just exacerbates the unreality of it all. Seeing a dead body makes you realise that you are far more than your body. The essence of the person - though a cliche - has gone.

Imagine growing old in a world where you knew that you were going to be valued for the wisdom you have acquired. That would sweeten the bitter pill just a bit, wouldn't it? In Japan, Jane mentioned, there is a level of social language used specifically for elderly people. Indigeous cultures value their aged and respect them. Us - we shove ours away in nursing homes. 'Cause we're ashamed, 'cause we don't know what to do with stuff that's not shiny.