Whilst watching a download of Jonathan Miller's brilliant Brief History of Disbelief on iMP (there's something to believe in ;-), I was struck by Freud's analysis of why we create gods and religion. God is a construct to fill the vacuum in our grown-up lives, left by adults from our childhood experience, who, towering above us, performed the role of all-knowing/wise/capricious/cruel/onmipresence. Freud observed that this is so literal that we even refer to God as "father". This segued into an edition of Radio Four's Thinking Allowed which discussed John Lennon, celebrities and role-models. Again, here were analogous, externalised constructs which we create to fill gaps; psychological needs for figures to aspire to, emulate: gods. Indeed, celebrity and its church; the mass media, has usurped less sexy spiritual theatres like the Church of England. But earlier that morning, I had attended my beautiful, local church, St Margaret's. There like the good father of a child who is a pupil at the affiliated primary school, I sang songs of devotion to the ancient externalised constructs of our culture, our patria. And we learnt about St Margaret, a twelfth century celebrity of faith. A figure to aspire to, emulate. But all these things are next to useless, just layers of complex metaphor for love. Love cannot be explained, abridged, abrogated or reduced. It is the beginning and the end. And it seems to dare not speak its name in the day to day traffic of society. I even feel mildly embarrased writing this. But it's late, I had to blog *something* after all this time and this was on my mind. Try reading this to Gary Bartz Celestial Blues (clip at track 10) the lyric of which has also been on my mind.