Peter Volkofsky | Author & Life Coach

Peter Volkofsky is an author, spoken word poet and life coach. In 2017, Peter published his thriller Mia's Magic Wand. In 2015 he published Beautiful Quest as an Ark House imprint. Peter has been married to his wife Penelope for thirty-three years and together they have reared seven children.

Catalytic (cat•a•lyt•ic)

(adj.) a process that precipitates an event

The Vision

Individuals and teams reaching their goals.


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Pure, Sweet Moments


In a family there are some things that are pure, sweet moments: like a nice cuppa, making a fuss over a birthday, going out for brekky or dinner, or even playing a board game and there's always a competitor for that moment. The delicate bit is knowing when to postpone it and which competitors must be yielded to. Four days ago for example, my daughter and I had planned an early morning swim but I got carried away that night getting an introductory lecture session 'just right' because I knew I would not be seeing the class again for a month and they could not afford to be launched into this subject (leadership) on as bad a foundation as their predecessors in 2008—sorry old class if you're reading this. So, it was a long night and we put it off. But then there was another late night session, which meant more postponements. Then yesterday morning we finally got our swim and it was wonderful and there will surely be many more!




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Never give a straight answer to a crooked question.


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From Vocation to Victim

We do a young person great harm when we fail to prepare them for the onslaught of vocational idolatry described in the previous post. A vocation - no matter how wonderfully unearthed on a reality tv show - becomes a vice when we offer no gratitude or glory to the voice of all vocation. And thereby hangs a tale of how a great archangel who was enjoying the experience of using his vocational gift to bring grace and joy to others, then had a great realisation; to the effect that he was being 'used' and not allowed to reach his full potential. It was his vocation after all, and despite what his parents might say, he was a victim of exploitation.

You could say that he 'grew up' overnight and got a feisty attitude, which lead him on an astonishing journey of self discovery, an unearthing experience really. And it all started when he was unearthed one day on a mysterious radio show. The manager of the show offered to be his mentor and enabled him to see that if his creative talents were not to be squandered on the ambitions of 'Another', he needed to be rid of his naive scruples and to cast aside his present Manager who was using him for His own glory.

'You could be the greatest!' he told him. 'Even equal to The King himself.' So, in order to make the break, he decided to ruthlessly express himself by constantly telling everyone that this was 'all about me', a mantra he would repeat loudly every morning when he looked in the mirror.  Finally, having realised that the so-called 'voice' behind vocation was only a figure of speech and not a real person, he got over his naivety, matured and took himself much more seriously and responsibly. He was determined now that he would be the first ever original musician.

Tragically (and I use this word advisedly), after this falling out with his owners he had a different kind of fall and became the first ever 'devil', a word that means 'one who throws, slanders or accuses; harrases or worries.' It seems that, having made a dog's breakfast of things, he had to justify himself and to 'cry victim.' We all know the type: far too concerned about their own problems, and conversations become incessant autobiographical monologues. GK Chesterton described the problem this way: 'The devil fell through force of gravity.'

Many years later he was discovered up to his old tricks again, harrassing and worrying a young woman in a garden and urging her to 'look out for number one'. Unfortunatley she was never the same again and ever afterwards had a tendency to also worry that she might be missing out on something, and to harrass those who were content and even to slander those who loved her.

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Worshipping a Foreign God

A Christian becoming suddenly popular—aka a 'darling of the media'—in their vocation, who is also hoping to publicly acknowledge their gratitude to God, needs to prepare themselves for a sophisticated juggernaut of secular 'spin', which has a virtual armament of jokes, knowing yawns and looks that can neutralise any word of praise that is publicly offered to a foreign god in this land supposedly birthed by secular, democratic capitalism. Outrage about this is water off a duck's back since everyone here is convinced that aeons ago in the primeval prologue of post-modernism a great battle happened in which the Mother God Christiania was torn asunder and gave birth to a shining new baby called Enlightenment who mated with Democracy and gave birth to a brood of new gods. These gods are best represented on our screens by a kind of triad of symbols: The Goatee, the Clown and the Red and White Giggle. Just in case you're wondering about this take on our origins there was a fresh update in TIME Magazine Feb 13, 2012 by Rana Foroohar who, writing about the gathering of world leaders at Davos, said: 'It came into sharp relief at Davos, that the core ideas of the enlightenment—free market capitalism and democracy—going hand in hand to create the best society, is evolving.' Evolving into what?

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Bourne Supremacy

Been listening to John Powell's sound track for the Bourne Supremacy today. Having watched the film a couple of years ago, it drifts me easily right into the scenes and allows me to enjoy the story more by feeling than by seeing, which—and this is no criticism of the visuals—frees me from the particular details of the actual movie and in so doing takes me through what I think of as the door of forgetfulness where this is not just a film, it's another universe where I am lost; unable to remember who I am. Then there's something—a menacing face searching the crowd; searching for me. And there's a movement. Suddenly I'm running hard, racing through streets in a little jeep with my girl, still not knowing who or where I am. A shot is fired. My girl is hit and we're careening off a bridge into a river. The enemy still chasing, chasing and chasing and me underwater trying to pull my woman from a drowning wreck of a vehicle.

This is so like what happens sometimes when you go alone to an ocean or a desert late at night and let yourself listen and be taken in through that door of forgetfulness. Here though you are not coming just to be entertained. You are coming to both work and play and perhaps be given a dire warning or maybe even make a confession or two (not that you look forward to that bit). The work is usually that of intercession and the play is up to the great Overseer. It is of course not always exciting, but it is always beautiful and dangerous with a sense of invitation. So you go and you need to go with your hand in the hand of the Messiah, your spirit filled with the Paraclete and your entire self inside the everlasting arms of the Great and Loving Father.