'Tis the season

We often talk about the different seasons, identifying their characteristics, separating them from the rest of times in the year. We even make up seasons, like the holiday season around Xmas and New Year’s, which stand well defined from any other.

But, why do we need to do so?

The year is a cycle, a turn of the planet around a star. Both the planet and the star are in constant change, constant movement, so they don’t really care all that much about a couple of bells or a number on a calendar. So, too, is the satellite that rules flows and tides, but which never shows its back. The metamorphoses evident in Nature (alterations in temperature, in foliage, in the number and species of animals around, to name but a few) happen gradually. Indeed, it seems that all that green appears all of a sudden, but the seeds, roots and shoots have been hard at work for months before we get a glimpse of them; the newborns have sometimes taken years to fully gestate; and even as one half of the planet shivers, the other one sweats.

So, once again, why do we need to mark the separation, rather than observe the connection?

As our social groups have grown, so too has our insecurity about the other. We can know exactly where we stand within our family, our group of friends and sometimes our work environment. Yet, as these former clans expand, our knowledge of the individuals within them diminishes. Our need to respond, belong, be and receive love stirs and shakes, for we shackle it, afraid of bestowing it upon unidentified enemies. Still, it will out, whether we want it to or not.

Enter the ‘celebration’, the ‘season’, the ‘giving spirit’, the ‘good will to all’, ‘Xmas’, or whatever you would call it. A period when to watching ‘feel good’ films, giving presents, smiling at strangers and being merry for its own sake are not only allowed, they are compulsory for a very short while. This is nothing new, easily recognised in the ancient Dionysian rites, the Bacchanals, Purim, Carnival… (sorry, my knowledge is too limited to give more examples). Each such festivity gives carte blanche for otherwise ‘socially unwanted’ behaviours to be acknowledged and explored. As those beautiful verses (first in Ecclesiastes, then in a song) claim, ‘to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose’. Pity, having mistaken those words to mean that seasons, times, purposes, etc. cannot intermingle, belong with each other, coexist even.

I’d say it is time, yes, to do away with the need for seasons. If Scrooge could vow to celebrate Xmas all year long, living ‘in the Past, the Present, and the Future’, why can’t we? Why can’t we just be a bit more daring, a bit less scared, so as to pursue happiness, generosity, community and merriment despite the change in date?

Maybe I won’t call it Xmas, and maybe you will, but we both know ‘tis the season. We all know that today, right now, ‘tis the season for loving.

Because the season is every day.

The senses of Life

I was sitting here, getting frustrated at an interface that won't allow me to do what I want to do, and I looked at my poor, spotted, week-old bananas. They were fading fast. Oh, dear! I looked back at my screen, back at the bananas, back, back...

So I did the only logical thing! I sent off an email message to the people in charge of the interface, switched off the computer, then turned to the worktop: out came the eggs, the flour, the sugar, the butter..., and the bananas. I rolled up my sleeves, tied on my apron, and set to making banana bread. What else?

I like making things with my hands. I don't use electric mixers (though I love them), so I can really feel the weight of the dough at my wrist, the rasp of the spoon handle in my palm. There is an intimacy to it, knowing exactly what is going into the bowl; what is coming out of the baking tin; what is on the plate of those I love, whom I will serve the food. There is an intimacy to the taste as well, unique each time: maybe a little raw, maybe a little overdone, maybe a surprise flavour from an ingredient substitution.

I also like sewing and doing cross stitch. There is a seeming magic in the way tread creates isolated bits of colour which, in turn, become images. Or how I might take an old item of clothing a make something new out of it (usually cushion covers!) that will have meaning every time they are used - the memories are not lost, torn and ragged, but rather they are reborn into new identities. I can look at them, or others may, and feel the smile creep up. I can feel the textures and reminisce, seeing again in my mind's eye. It is a circle of Life. My friend shared a video of a wise woman reminding me of the essential value of handling when we create. How right she was!

Right now, as I wait for the goodies in the oven, I can smell its aroma, wafting out in the air pushed out by the fan I can hear. When I get it out, I will feel its warmth and hear the metal of the rack as it cools down. So, I decided to do the only logical thing: I am writing this entry for you, sharing the moment. I can see the words forming; feel the keys sink under my tips; hear the typing.

Sitting at the computer, dealing only with my issues, getting upset, I had limited myself. Creating I use all my senses, which expand beyond me, and share their experience with others.

You have to really use your senses to Live.

The right to feel good

I realise that, in the later entries, I have been dealing mostly with things that worry me. I've also realised these 'darker' entries are a by-product of an intent not to be too peppy all the time, not in public, least of all in writing.

I suppose, to some extent, I still suffer from 'literary (artistic) prejudice'. That's when someone is immediately considered a 'better' author just because s/he deals with very serious matters (drugs, crime, depression, and similar). This person is then deemed to have a 'deeper understanding of society' by the mere fact that s/he chooses to dwell on the less auspicious sides or events. As a consequence, there are cases like that of Jane Austen, who was slighted for presenting the seemingly frivolous and partial existence of genteel society. Or the way some films are sneered at for being just 'feel good romps', automatically making them unable to carry a worthy message on life. 

This 'artistic prejudice' is a close relation to our denial of all things joyous. We are taught to respect the imposition of pain, horror and aggression as a means to 'educate us,' rather than to respect enjoyment, delight and kindness. Just like children who misbehave, the nasty stuff gets more attention. Naturally, we also want attention, recognition and praise. We curtail our exploration of nice things, calling them our 'guilty pleasures'; we become embarrassed of our dislike of certain pieces; we even profess to admire certain people, accepting their dooming dicta because they are acclaimed as 'learned'.

'Oh, of course it's great when we are all happy, but who gets a PhD in it? Just look at the high numbers of psychological afflictions our society suffers from,' some will say. Right, well, in fact, there are already a few people who specialise in the study of wellbeing and happiness. These people are considered sideliners to traditional psychology yet their numbers are on the rise. There is no shame in loving life: in loving joy, sunny days, babies or puppies. There is no shame in recognising there are problems but rather than focus on them, focus on implementing solutions.

Thus, I decree:
It is our inalienable right as Natural beings to be happy and avoid pain (so long we do not cause the loss of this right to any other Natural being).
It is our right to be honest about our likes and dislikes, whether they coincide with popular opinion or not.

It is our right to present our joys to the world so they can multiply.

It is our right to have our pink-tinged world respected, and not scorned.

And it is our right to create a predominantly happy reality.

It is our duty to make the Universe feel good.

It is our right to feel good.

Selfishness

There really are few things that truly upset me, but even those all have a common denominator: selfishness. I honestly, wholeheartedly feel repulsed by anything related to selfishness.

I realise there is a certain amount of self-awareness and self-love that every being requires for self-preservation. What really gets me is the overwhelming near-sighted attitude prevalent in our world. It's everywhere, and it's killing us all.

Talk about responsibility: 'I gain' is parent to 'we lose'.

It is this relationship that explains the oft-mentioned, but not less shocking, fact that about 1% of people 'own' more assets than the lower 80% of the population together. The amazing thing is that, in our selfish-led existence, we aim to perpetuate this divide, so long the 'I gain' manages (or has the illusion of possibility) to enter that 1%. Now, don't get me wrong, I think the kind of life enjoyed by that small group is great! I just can't find it in me to justify it at present, when it requires us to perpetuate the divide. It requires that the individual be selfish with regards to other people.

Selfishness separates us from our fellows.

Similarly, I find selfishness at the heart of cheap mass deals, while it also peeks out from under the folds of vanity consumption. If you doubt me, think about any bauble made from plastic that you have, and consider it's whole production until it reached you - the 'made in', the workers conditions there, the effect the mass produced thing has on the understanding of value in general. Then, think about the components in that year-old mobile phone you want to exchange for the newer version, and think about the components of the latter - do you know how much mining, refining, water and air pollution has gone into them?

The first kind of selfishness, a spin-off of the previous problem, tears us from our fellow human kind based on (mainly) nationality. It creates borders, conflict and inter-national resentment.
The second selfishness, swallowing more and more products, alienates us from the sources, from the provider, the plentiful Mother Nature.

But selfishness is not only a matter of grand socio-econo-political awareness. Selfishness kills us softly, insidiously, daily. It is the root of all disputes within a family, with your friends, with your lover. What did you last get angry at? Who did what, and why did that upset you? I have heard of people getting angry at friends getting invited to parties they have not been asked to; or others complaining to mourners for not having been informed beforehand; or a couple fighting over the dirty dishes (the one who did not clean ignored the needs of the other; or vice versa); or people hitting others for a scratch on a car... It is not that unusual, really.

I suppose it is the thoughtlessness of selfishness that hurts so. I guess, that is my own selfish position. But if you took time to think about your wishes, would you still make the same choices? Would you choose the separation and anger?

Selfishness, the real root of all evil. May you never know its scourge.

Stay true

There is this, to my mind at least, beautiful expression in English: 'stay true'. It means to be faithful to one's belief, to one's group of people, to oneself. Although still connected to the concept of truthfulness, it is more an issue of self-honesty than of not telling lies to others.

The opposite of 'staying true' is not 'fibbing', 'lying' or 'deceiving'. Rather, it is 'losing yourself.'

Horribly revealing is the fact that, in most cases, people have a hard time staying true to themselves. It is not often a situation that arises out of conscious deviousness (which, contrarily, would actually be staying true to the individual's dishonest character), it is more a matter of forgetfulness.

We forget who we truly are.

How does such a thing happen? How can we forget who we are, forget ourselves? I guess it is an offshoot of the mixture between curiosity and desire: once we discover something we want, we become so embroiled in its observation, we get distracted. There are, quite simply, too many other important things out there. Moreover, focusing on oneself is supposedly a negative trait, a mere step away from personality flaws like egotism and selfishness. I can think of many, certainly pressing, matters I should put forward in my list of priorities right this very minute. Matters so pressing and transcendent, in fact, that they would undoubtedly relegate my heart's desires to suitably dark recesses.

Lonely, cold, forgone, our heart's desires will eventually fall asleep, get covered in dust, dressed in gauzy cobwebs, till the urgency of their yearning abates, till the heart itself shrinks. Then, everything will jar into a standstill. In the silence, so alien, so void, suddenly a soft rustling will draw the attention of the self. There, barely awake, huddled, we will once again find the truth of our soul, blinking uncertainly in the light of myriad new possibilities...

I can think of many things I should do; worries to deal with; plans to put into action. So, of course, I have turned my back on all of them for a few minutes. I have given myself time to breathe a bit, to write this instead. First things first.

Writing, you see, is my Truth.

The feeling body

In recent days I have been going through quite a few emotions, whose effect on my body I have been observing with interest. It is nothing new, being aware of how our feelings create our physical make-up; it is the obviousness of it that has taken my breath away, as it were (pun thoroughly intended).

Honestly, things like Joy bringing on tears, butterflies in our stomachs at the first kiss, or sweaty palms from nerves, are not novelties. But these are all seemingly transitory states, often disregarded for their very fleetingness. Few of us realise that there is a plethora of other feelings that affect us, from both the 'good' and the 'bad' realm. That is damning unawareness. However, the truly harmful ignorance lies in the fact that we disregard their cumulative power, downplaying it where we should respect it.

If I were to recap my most extreme/clearly observable reactions from the fortnight, the bottom would go to illness from the anxiety involved in a family visit (actually having to get to bed to sleep for the full day, cancelling other activities); shakiness, a queasy stomach and difficulty sleeping from watching an extremely violent film; crying myself hoarse after someone's uncaring words. The top, however, would go to bubbling laughter at an inside joke; restful nights in a protective embrace; the ability to go further my sports activity after a chat with a friend. From all these, the obvious result is to choose to experience as many of the 'good' and as few of the 'bad' moments as possible.

Now, our body cells have something called 'plasticity', or the ability to be altered and remember the alteration as well as to return to its initial self apparently unchanged. If you were to think of plasticine, you might be able to envision how your thumbprint can be transferred to, and preserved on, its surface. Plasticine has plasticity too, but it will also begin to show the influence of the imprints even after it is 'restored' - it will eventually become harder, dirtier, grainier... So, too, do we. After each reaction to a feeling, our body will retain some of that experience, becoming altered by it even though seemingly 'back to normal'. Yet, in time, the accumulation will be noticeable, so we will complain, unable to pinpoint the reason: why do we have dodgy backs, if we have been so careful to go to the gym and sit straight? Whatever it is, it may well be a result of experiences long forgotten, whose residue now pollute our beings.

Ominous, scary, yet full of hope, this thought. Just as we can imagine ourselves suffering from old scars, we ought to realise there are other things, similarly old, that also affect us, though on the positive. Do you remember the warmth of that scarf your Grandma knitted in your favourite shade of green? What about the smell of the puppies the neighbours let you pet? And your parent's glowing pride at your first recital (when your silly red socks kept falling, so Johnny and Mary kept giggling, so you forgot good part of your lines, too)? Your first love? The day someone wolf whistled when you went by? The first job you were given? That day your mate needed a shoulder, and you saw how your mere company was a balm? There are so many wonderful 'polluters' that it is a wonder we find so many things to complain about!

Daily, we suffer and strengthen the pain. Yet, day by day, our body, beautiful gift that it is, regales us with our senses alert, with amazingly complex organic functions we think nothing about. Each of such instants is a miracle, a miracle that will keep on giving if we recognise it, if we nurture it, if we feed it more 'good pollutants' to imprint it with Joy, with Love, with Life. The instant we take a breather and rethink, our body will become more powerful, friendlier, grateful. Begin by remembering one, then all the blissful instants will rush back, clamouring for attention, strengthening us. The more, the merrier.

Hold my hand, open your eyes. Smile, so you can run.

Choose reality

I have recently had the chance to revisit a little tip on living life fully, meaningfully, Joyfully: choose reality.

I know it might seem a bit of an odd concept, but it is a powerful one. Too often, we spend time, we waste precious energy in worrying about the future, in rehashing the past. The truth is, neither past nor future are reality; only the present has any value as a real concept of time. So, focus!! Focus on reality, focus on the now. Carpe Diem is not only about reciting poetry, of squeezing the juice of youth till the last drop (still, please do, squeeze also all the flavour of childhood, of adulthood, of golden-year-hood). Carpe Diem means 'seize the day', seize to-day!! Seize the moment, the minute, the second. Breathe it in, twirl it around in your mouth until it dissolves, until you swallow it, until it is gone.

Take an example (direct from my recent experience): you are in a car, on your way to a day at the beach, and you hit slow traffic. For some reason I cannot fathom, some people will predict a traffic jam ahead; subsequently, the delight in the holiday will begin to dim, to waver; the sun will hide behind an invisible thundercloud;... In no time, you might be certain that not only will you spend the day in the uncomfortable confines of the car, but when it is over you will also have had a flat or even a burst radiator! Why? Why do people foresee fake misery to revel in?

There are others, of course, who will unaccountably, invariably compare the situation to another superiorly successful one they had experienced in the past. From that perspective of 'any time now gone was worth more', disappointment becomes the only possible consequence from that point onwards. Is it anything beyond a self-delusional destructive loop born of fear? Is there an option?

Yup, right here: the present!! Why choose any imitation of a manipulated memory, any imitation of a defeating prophecy, when one has the kindly bounty of reality in and around oneself? Well, then, grab onto the present, grab onto reality! Hold on for dear life, hold it like a lover, hold it like a child, like a parent, like a friend. Welcome it, laugh with it. Reality is the marvelous moment you are in right now, with rain splattering the windowpanes or sunlight befreckling your nose. Look at the people around you, who keep you company; or observe the empty spaces, which grant you introspection. Engage all your senses, engage your will, engage your time.

The present is reality. Reality is the beautiful truth of life. I refuse to live a lie.

You've made a joke!

Years ago, I was visiting with my sister. I was living far from her, since I was attending university at the time. We were chatting, and I have no recollection what I said but she sort of froze, looked at me and said, 'You've made a joke!' I looked at her pleasantly shocked face and replied, 'I often do.'

Sometimes, we don't fully understand other people, even those closest to us. It had taken over twenty years for my jokes to translate beyond myself, for my sister to "get it". I write this because I want to remind us all that lack of communication is never one-sided. When there is a loss of meaning, it is more than a result of bad hearing, a limited vocabulary or an uncertain context. Words are often considered an unreliable medium, due to their plasticity. Why then do we become so frustrated when the idea does not get across?

We forget the world is more outside our heads than within them. That our words, once they leave us, do no more reflect what we think, but what the listener thinks. Black and white are not universal, so how can images, theories, jokes? My sisters nonplussed face, her honest comment, was a wonderful gift to me. Unwittingly, she showed me the skill I need daily as a teacher - of English for speakers of other languages, even! More than that, she showed me that only the concerted effort to enter the world of the other's understanding makes productive communication possible.

Still  the problem here, where I am "speaking to myself" as it were, rings many bells. It is here that honesty and the ability to let go come into play. Honesty, because it is the only characteristic that will undoubtedly transcend absence. And the ability to let go of your message, to let it metamorphose into the message the other one needs to receive. If you do not comply with these two requirements, both you and your listener/reader/observer will lose the communication.Then, you must move beyond yourself and be the receiver of the message keeping both  aspects active for a successful exchange.

Communication is a gift, and a responsibility. When we talk without thinking; when we lash out; when we insult because we are only focused on our own feelings, we are cheating ourselves of both gift and responsibility. We create a spiraling misunderstanding which can harm more than help. Clarity come through thought-out communication, not emotional spewing of bile. So does productive group thinking and conflict resolution. Much nicer, eh?

Be generous with your jokes.

Of seals and horses

Last month I saw a seal. A real one, a wild one, not in a zoo, not doing tricks for fish and the enjoyment of tourists. I was crossing a bridge, and I looked down into the water of the docks. I like seeing the birds swimming around among all the buildings, despite the moored barges and the darkness of the quiet water that seeps in from the river. There are seagulls, ducks, a sort of black birds with greenish-yellowish legs and even swans. So when I first saw the black shape floating, I thought it was a dark bird preening (as there was no head). But nope, a second later I realised there were these shiny orbs looking straight at me, nostrils opening and closing and that what was bobbing slightly in the dark water was the slicked-back head of a seal!

I was shocked, excited, and worried all at once. Shocked because there I was, in a dock in urban London looking at a wild seal in the water. Excited, because there I was, looking at this beautiful surprise and it was looking back at me. And worried, because it was obviously tired (I was not afraid it might be hungry, as there are plenty of fish there - there are even fishermen around an adjacent area of the dock), lost, as well as probably quite stressed by the whole situation. Yet what amazed me most of all was that, although we spent a couple of minutes looking at each other, no one else noticed! If they perceived me gazing down, they at most sent an absentminded glance which did not allow them to really SEE the seal.

The miracle I was witnessing was missed by them, yet I cannot feel sorry for them. They did not see because they did not care enough to think about the world around them; particularly, I believe, because it appeared to be a "mere" bird. Animals are, way too often, mere background, even expendable commodities. Unless an animal is one's own pet, people tend to ignore the suffering of others, to use and abuse them. How can we dissociate so completely? Even more to the point, how can we dissociate while we are so aware of it?

The Tony Awards this year celebrated the British play "War Horse", a tale about a young man trying to find his horse, "requisitioned" by the army during World War I. This is a story about a very real possible scenario at the time in a country well known for its love of horses, a country which set up statues to the memory of the animals that fell "while in service". Commendable remembrance, I agree, although I cannot help thinking it is (like all war memorials) a case of 'too little, too late'. The people who took and take those animals - horses, mules, dogs, oxen...- into the battlefield do it considering only human comfort, human need for transportation, bomb sensing, load pulling. There was no consideration for the animals' bewilderment at being in a situation they neither understand nor can reap benefit from; taken from their packs, their herds, their families, the familiar territories, they were taken for granted because they were property.

I often feel that we, as a species, have great responsibility: awareness of how we affect the world (now even the near outer planetary space) must pervade our choices, our actions. There is a growing awareness of environmental issues: clean energies, recycling, organic food. I am worried, though, that these might be like pets at wartime, and they should go out the window when the going gets a bit tougher for our man-made reality. Unless people look and see behind the issues, they will remain welcome to receive our scraps but little else.

I saw the seal's eyes. I will refuse to see the seal as a statue to sacrifice.

Alone or together?

We are social creatures: we belong to a family, a clan, a tribe, a town, a city, a nation, a race, a species. It is this belonging that provides us with identity, through similarity and difference. We become protective for and affectionate to those like us, while detached from and aggressive towards those unlike us. It seems a given, but I wonder.

I was at a park the other day. I was early evening, sunny, with a gentle breeze blowing. The park is on the riverbank. Every so often, a tourist boat would go by, crowded, expectant. Whenever one such boat went by, a group of children (no more than 5 or 6 years old) would rush to the railings to call out, to wave, hoping for a response in kind. When the people on the ships returned the wave and the call, the kids were frantic in their joy, running along the path, waving and laughing. Sadly, this only happened in a couple of occasions. Mostly, the children's efforts were ignored, or not "indulged in". Why?

I remember doing something similar while at school. I had a school bus ride every day, and on route we used to go by an army barracks - cavalry, it actually housed some stables, if I remember correctly. At the gate would stand one young soldier or other, serious, guarding the place from some invisible enemy dreamt up by a paranoid officer. Needless to say, we invariably waved at them, cheerful, trying to make them smile (I confess to having started the whole thing, but it soon caught on!), and invariably we were disappointed. until one day a young man, probably no more than 18 years old, smiled and waved back!! It was magical! We had just started waving back even more enthusiastically when an officer came and started telling the guard off in front of us. It was horrible, we felt so guilty we never waived at the poor guys at the garret again.

Older and more aware of military rules, I now know the reasons for the telling off. Still, I cannot fully understand it. Why did the soldier, and us children, have to do without the social need for recognition? Indeed, if most children are unabashedly welcoming and outgoing, most adults have difficulty expressing random joy at seeing other human beings. Why must we suppress such primeval right? This segregation from the other is cheating us of the validation that comes from another's awareness of ourselves. Who but the other will remember us?

In this modern society, we become more alone in more crowded dwellings. We all move to the bigger cities where we pay for "comfort" with anonymity. So more people join online communities where they can hide their true selves. We become paranoid about our identity being stolen, our ideas copied, our benefits enjoyed by others "less worthy", our lofty public image ruined by a smile.

We have become hermits but live without holiness. Thus, without the justification for the habit, we fall pray to fear, to loneliness. Recognising the other is a Joy, a Gift, a Privilege.

Welcome to my world. I smile at you, I know your name, you are my other.

Then came the rain

After a long time without the chance to write here, I am back.  Like the rain... I hope both are equally welcome.

Indeed, too much of a good thing can become problematic. These last few months we have been having "gorgeous weather", i.e. sunshine, high temperatures, gentle breezes. So the crops died, the chicks hatched ahead of time, and everyone supposedly loved it. Supposedly, because interestingly enough it is today, when the wind and the rain have made a very felt appearance, that I have seen the most smiles from strangers, huddled by the doors to buildings for a smoke, hurrying under their flimsy umbrellas, hailing cabs while avoiding the splashes of passing traffic.

People, even in the city, react to the changes in Nature, to her Needs, to her Pulse. We hide in glass bubbles and do our best to control the environment (mostly by destroying it, but that'll be in another entry) - yet our cells soak up the moisture and rejoice. The air is fresh, so is our spirit. When making a decision, it is best to tune in, to hear within us the rhythm of our Needs answering those of the World around.

I wrote the following bit yesterday,  in Greenwich Park. It seems that nothing, not mood, not observation, not even concern, stands alone:

"The crossroads is neither a cross nor a road. It is a patch of grass on top of a hill, sunny, calm. There is no anxiety, no fear, no puzzle. The glittering glass of the city is far, while the white surface of an old stone spire can nearly be touched. But what I feel is plants, what I hear is their rustling, their colour bright against bland urban gray.

I have to choose which way to go, when I would simply just sit down, still, observant. I have to get back to the twinkles of the myriad clocks, yet my eyes turn to the age-old village instead. My soul, however, has sprouted roots and shoots, that will tear if I move. Like tendrils of ivy, my toes curl into the ground, burrowing to hold onto the rock.

The crossroads is neither flesh nor stone. It is time and thought and love and soul. It is knowing what is home."

If you have a tough decision to make, wait for the rain.

What is time?

They say "time is money", "time is a variable", "time is just an element to measure other things, like speed"... So, what IS time? Let's see...

I have to go by the area of Canary Wharf daily (for those who don't know, it is the London UK equivalent to Wall Street), and every time I do so, I feel more and more confused. I feel like Momo watching the Gray Men in Michael Ende's fable. If you happen to be by during "working" time, the streets are semi-deserted, while the underground shopping centre glitters with marbley floors, bank offices and shops. Then, at lunch time, a rush of hurried minions floods the area, all in dark suits, all on their mobiles, not a smile in sight, but many watches checked. They are hungry and impatient - they only have 15 or 30 minutes to get lunch, and "time is money"! So they queue at the counters of the fast-food places (half the mall) or tap their toes while waiting to purchase a ready-made meal (usually some sandwich or similar) at the upper-range department store's supermarket.

I cannot honestly understand it.Why would anyone willfully pay for stress, indigestion, and low nutritional values? When my student tried to explain (he is doing a Masters in Economics, so he should know) and told me that it was because the option was between that or skipping lunch, I asked about the possibility of taking food from home, so you just would heat it up in the office, and eat quietly - no need to wait and moan. The idea didn't seem to compute. He repeated that the option was between fast-food and skipping lunch; then, because "consumers are smart", they would choose the former, and not waste time at a regular (slower) restaurant or cooking at home, because "time is money, and then you have more time".

Then it was that I asked: "time for what?"
Blank. Blink, blink. Blank.

Those people I see do not have their time for their enjoyment, but to "produce" more, to meet more expectations. Running after time, because it is so valuable (and we want that which is valuable, more so when it is scarce) is the privilege of the wealthy. Honestly, they tie themselves to the time/money hamster wheel, and refuse to let go. They know it's an illusion, a mirage, a scientific trick to make sense of other things. But they hang on. I feel sorry.

My time is not money, it is freedom. I chose to have time and do away with some extra money. After all, our time in life is limited and, like the old adage says, "a shroud has no pockets" - you cannot take time, or money, to the afterlife. Money will not buy you more time, and time cannot of itself generate more material things.

What is your time?

Ponds, blooms, shoots: miracles that bring smiles

One day it rains, one day it shines. So we learn to look for the beauty in these changes.

For example, on the way from the gym there is a gorgeous tree that has been offering its furry, green encased yellow blossoms since the days of snow. Its "owners" (I refuse to believe anyone can actually own anything living) chopped off some of its branches, added a box to encourage small wildlife to nest amongst its boughs. Every day I go by, it is a bit greener, a tad furrier. I kiss one of the almond-like promises of life, it seems to sigh and giggle.

Then, a few days ago, I noticed that many other trees and bushes are beginning to coat their clipped ends with little spots of green feathers, of pink skin, of reddish scales. They all seem to sigh and giggle, too, as I go by without a scarf, or fighting a reluctant umbrella, always beckoning me to stop for a quick caress. They know they make my smile wider, that I carry that smile on to be spread across the city. If you want to squeal and feel the cheer up and down your spine, stop and spot. They are everywhere, playing show and seek - they are not shy, just overlooked.

And yesterday, the magical pond appeared. OK, so it's not "magical" in the wandey sense; but it's appearance and disappearance is to be wondered at. Try to imagine this: there is a park/garden/recreation ground on the other side of the road - a very busy, wide, exit-of-the-city road. In this park, there is a large expanse of grass where the lines for the football field have been traced so often they remain brown and bare. Yet, this half-abandoned place (in winter at least) has a surrounding asphalted walk that has dipped at one corner... so that when it rains heavily, water accumulates and pools up. Nothing special about it, right? But the magical thing is, there are ducks!! I mean, usually there are seagulls camping all over the field, and some pigeons too; but from nowhere, there are ducks floating in the pond, preening themselves on at its edges, while the seagulls and pigeons have vanished. Where do they come from? Where are the others gone? Maybe they have metamorphosed from one fowl to another! Magic!

It may seem ridiculous to you, but it makes me chuckle, looking around me with fresh eyes to uncover the clues. So far, I have only noticed a patch of crocuses standing proud on the opposite end, untouched by dog, bird, or human alike. We are all waiting for their corollas to greet the sun, and then we'll all know for sure: Spring will have arrived.

What miracles have you seen recently that made you smile?

Seasons: Winter

Winter was a time feared, a time of darkness, a time of little sunlight and much cold. What fools we were!! What fools we are, when we still complain about it, knowing it is not right!

We are nearer the end than the beginning of winter, quickly forgetting that back when it started, the days ended a full hour earlier. We also forget that the "dead of winter" was, in fact, last year, since the season started in December, and that it was already following the cold and snow that brought us to a halt.

What do we have now? We have cool days, and rain and longer hours of sunlight. We have the promise of Life, spring, summer, ahead of us. We thought that autumn was ominous, that winter would be dark and dank, yet here we are: the monster that we had feared passed before we even heard it come! Instead of a gnarling beast with cavernous jaws we find a meowing kitten at our doorstep, shivering, craving Love.

Winter as a death-bringer is an illusion: most people can tell you when it is autumn, when spring, but few can place the beginning and end of winter accurately. Most confuse it, lengthening it, making it larger than life so that, in fact, it overlaps. Just like the shadow of Death is feared, when it should be simply allowed to go by. Just like pain and sorrow have a prelude of decay and a reemergence in the following generations. Just so, winter asks us to stay inside, to look after ourselves, to bundle up with our families and loved ones for protection, for warmth, for hope.

Winter came, has stayed, will be gone. Let it not leave us barren, but ready for growth.

Transitions

I wrote this bit while flying back after saying good-bye to my mother. She died the following morning. This goes for her. And for all who go through the pain of loss.

Anja Blaauw Westland: 2nd Sept 1945 - 7th Feb 2011

Mother, Teacher, Giver: Woman.

Thank You!

Transitions

We all have to go through transitions. Life changes, and we have to adapt to the new situation, the new people around us. We may complain more or less, but we comply with the requirements, in the end. We get used to locations and company alike. It is, it turns out, not that difficult to add experiences, names and faces to our habits. The really tough call is when we are required to give up that, but mostly whom, we consider 'ours.' Then, it hurts! A friend says that "losing someone you love is not a wound, it's a mutilation:" we are attached, just like the arm is attached to the shoulder.

I have long been 'independent,' a grown-up nomad, yet here I am, bleeding soul and dried-out eyes. The general feeling of unreality is periodically shattered by a sorrow that burrows beneath the skin and makes me shake, lost. Still, I know it is hardly going to get me 'ready' for the phone call that will inevitably come. When that does happen, my umbilical cord will be well and truly cut. They say we lose 21 grammes when we die: how much do we lose when the ones we love die?


I may have been 'on my own' for a long time, unafraid to move to another country, to find new wonderful friends. I took a certain pride in it. Only now do I realise that it was because, somewhere in the back of my head, I knew I could return were anything bad to happen. Now I realise I may, in future, come back to the city where I grew up; I may stay (even live!) in the same flat we lived in since I was 17... but I won't be going 'home' anymore. Because there is now a Sleeping Beauty with the dragon and the thorns all twisted and tearing at her from the inside, and there is no gallant prince but blessed, restful morphine.

My beautiful Mam is in Transition, pulling us along, blissfully unaware. It is peculiar, what we can learn to be grateful for. It is time to be strong enough to take up her motto, to see and honour her in it: Always look on the bright side of Life. Because Life is Love, and Love is Joy, and Joy is Life. And I want to remember her as the Joyful being who gave me Life, and whom I so dearly Love.

Twinkle, twinkle, in her eye,

How I loved it when she smiled.

Full of Joy, Love, and Light,

Shining Beacon, guidance bright.

Twinkle, twinkle, in her eye,

How I loved it when she smiled.

A letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

I thought it would be a good idea to send you a little 'Thank You' note, as it is considered good manners when receiving some present or other. But, when I actually sat down to it, I realised that 'a little note' would not do. So, here I am writing a long letter which, I suspect, will only manage to cover the most superficial/obvious Gifts you have bestowed. Actually, let me begin with those:

Thank You, Universe, for my family, partner and friends. They are a surprising group, a collection of amazing individuals whom I love and who, wonderfully, love me back! I learn from them, sometimes despite them and myself both, how to become a (hopefully) better person. I have rarely had to make a great effort to acquire any of these Gift-people, for which my Mam often chides me (she claims I don't appreciate them, but I do, I really do!), while they are a priceless source of Joy. I would like to list them, along with the qualities that make them so worthy; however, considering time, space, and the fact that we both know them,, this generalised entry shall suffice for today.

Thank You, also, for my miraculous body and health. I know I complain more than I probably should, but you should ignore all of that - it is only so much empty noise. I am, in fact, flabbergasted every day, observing the awesomeness of biology: one day I have a cut, two days later new skin has taken care of it! And people are pregnant every so often, when it is actually an extremely complicated combination to achieve! And all the different bits are made from the same original cells, all from the same minuscule DNA chain!!! And each chain is unique, and different, but they all work!!! OK, I'd better stop now before I faint from excitement... Anyhow, I am grateful.

Another Thank You is for my work. It is thrilling, to know that what I do can help others. It seems sometimes unthinkable that such things can be bemoaned, that most people 'do their job' but not from passion. For that passion I can feel I am daily grateful (in fact, it was this that I wanted to write to you about, to begin with). It brings me a feeling of worth, as well as economic well being. Of course, I know I sometimes seem to have forgotten, as it is so abundant!! I am trying my best to cope, to learn to ration it so I am always happily aware of its Gift-like nature, as well as better at it. Then I get scared, because you take part of it away to help me breathe and I start thinking of gloom, doom and ruin. Thank you for ignoring my fears in that respect.

I could not make a (skimpy) list of my reasons to Thank You without mentioning Nature. I was about to say 'pets' yet I guess they are the link to the larger issue of our connection with your physical self. Pets are wonderful, they allow us to understand the basis of loving and generosity; they allow us to love them and to give unselfconsciously; more to the point, they show us our true selves, so we can see our roots and the need for belong in. Trees are always amazing: they receive sun, air an soil  like us yet, unlike us, they go and produce food! and then they give it to anyone, just like that!! And the same goes for shade, wood, protection, warmth... Awesome. So, humble gratitude coming from me, for such Teachers.

Lastly, because I know you must be tired, ever so generous and vigilant, ever so busy, I wanted to say Thank You for those who 'try my patience' (yes, it includes my alarm clock!) or make me wonder. They are the mirror of what I don't want to be, helping me create myself and my portion of surroundings, make informed choices, fueling my aspirations. They might hate the idea of being here, but I hope their paths fill with light and so does mine at crossing them

Well, and that is that, I suppose. Wait! Nope, one last one!!
Thank You for those who read this pages, and Thank You for those whose pages I read/have read/will read. No reason for my character without them, uh? Perfect correlation!

May you have a restful existence and joyful time.

Sincerely,
MCR

Lonely writing

The long silence over, I am back at my keyboard. I am back to try and keep up a "dialogue" with whoever is reading this out there. I must confess, though, that I have been thinking long and hard about the loneliness of writing. And I have reached no conclusive answer. I do have an inkling, however.

I have always loved both reading and writing. I have loved the intimacy, the quiet it brings, the doors it opens - French windows allowing access to a fantastic landscape of improbable possibilities. It is a haven, a bolthole, a hideaway from the world around, from the pressures of daily life, from triggers of frustration. What, then, has made it different and changed my comfy sofa by a warming fire into a jagged rock on the side of a mountain? I believe it is related to my decision to engage in writing on a "serious" basis. This blog, which I started with the intention of updating twice a week, at least, means my optional escape is now a demanding stage.

I suppose I feel lonely because what earlier on meant holding on to my childish avoidance, is at this point a head-on acceptance of adult responsibility. I have a responsibility to myself, to my writing, to those of you who have decided to read. So,writing is not an "away from trouble" place anymore, but a "facing troubles" state. My lovely friend told me she had felt the writer loneliness when she was writing her thesis. I suppose these are growing pains, a bit delayed.

Funnily, as soon as I thought about this (a little while back), it stopped being such a lonely place. Scary, exposed, silent - all those adjectives, for sure, can be applied. It might not matter, then, why writing has to be done alone, why it might be lonely at times, why it might encroach on the times of personal silence.

Such is my promise, and so I am bound.

Geez, it sounds nearly Shakespearean...