I am staring into a dark place, and its unresisting pull scares me. I know it of old, and I wonder why I have to come back again.
I left it behind, glad to do so, way way back. Yet now, when the days are getting longer, lighter, warmer, inside I shrink, shiver, cower. Why do we have to revisit the dark places?
The most interesting thing, for me, is the fact that I am fully aware of the gap, the step I teeter on but mustn't take, the abyss I dip into one day, look at from the shore the next. I guess that's the part I have already learned, and for it I'm grateful. I am now trying to relearn how to raise my gaze, to reacquaint myself with the stars, with the creatures that wait for me up high. So I call out, awaiting for an echo of inspiration, a breath of help, a hand to hold on to while I steady my legs, while I walk away.
Dark places are not bad: we all have them, because we all need them, so we all can learn from them. It doesn't matter how 'strong' you are, you will have to face some; the more of them you face, ironically, the better off you'll be in the end. And the more flexibly you do so, the quicker they'll let you out - with a gentle pat, maybe a few scars, all dusted down back on the saddle.
At this point, I am mostly asking questions: how much reflection on it is good, bad, harmful? How much can I dwell on it before tumbling down? Who to ask for help, that I won't pull along? What is it, after all, the gem of self-awareness hidden in the dark? I know it's there, I know it's the one tangible thing in the void - I even know there is no real void, but is it really worth the fear, the pain, the tears?
I am staring into a dark place, unshaken in my belief that Life is, always, perfect, wishing beliefs were candles.
Monday 26 March 2012
Thursday 15 March 2012
With, but without you
We all live together on this planet, we huddle close is cities, we cram into popular pubs, and yet... Are we together, or are we alone? And I'm not talking about aliens.
I have had for quite some time a feeling of contradiction: I live in one of the biggest cities in the world, I commute daily with a few other millions of people - a few thousands at the same time as me, I cross an incredible number of individuals wherever I turn, and yet...I find that people are starved for human contact, for human recognition, for human kindness. Seriously, the more people you find together, the less acknowledgement you'll observe. And I talk from lengthy observation.
Take, for example, a rural community we visited at around New Year's. We stayed in a secluded cottage, in a remote farm at the bottom of a valley. There was no internet connection, no mobile phone signal and, being the darkest time of winter, the short days meant we'd be back 'home' in the afternoon, not to get out again for a good 17 hours. However, and even taking into consideration our exploring and driving times, we still managed to talk with people, who'd be more than willing to stay and chat. In particular, I remember the couple who run the post-office/convenience store, who seemed happy chatting and sharing a few laughs for an hour after their closing time, although we had already paid for our purchases, just because we were there.
Now, compare this couple (business owners, after all) with the hoards of suited and be-briefcased I encounter on the tube (the subway/underground). These people rarely crack a smile, let alone speak to a stranger, and would rather get RSI on their thumbs from scrolling on their super-phones in their drive to make loads of dough for someone else's business, then get the crumbs. It is so bad at times, that even the charity fundraisers look close to tears after a few hours of being pointedly ignored. The commuters arriving / leaving this station at the heart of the banking district would rather isolate themselves, to the point of being rude if one tries to catch their eye. It's very painful to watch; still, it's more painful to be trapped among their numbers: feeling that you may be allowed to be another individual in their midst, although the midst is a battery of single entities and never a community of empathy. If you then commit greater sins, like trying to smile, thank someone for a helping hand, or offer them the newspaper you've finished with and noticed they were reading over your shoulder... Horror! They'll quickly sake their heads in refusal, and turn away, leaving you to feel like some violent burglar caught red handed.
Yes, the more people enclosed in a succession of small spaces, the greater the abyss between the humans.
So, what's the solution? I wish I could say, it's turning the city back into a community, but I'm not that naive anymore - there are too many blank stares in my days. So, I'll say it's re-turning to the village, the clan, the family and friends.Even among tall buildings, keep in mind the unity and the feeling, and spread the village back. And never forget, a village will always welcome new members in its midst.
Wanna go for a barn-raising tonight? Together, all of us...
I have had for quite some time a feeling of contradiction: I live in one of the biggest cities in the world, I commute daily with a few other millions of people - a few thousands at the same time as me, I cross an incredible number of individuals wherever I turn, and yet...I find that people are starved for human contact, for human recognition, for human kindness. Seriously, the more people you find together, the less acknowledgement you'll observe. And I talk from lengthy observation.
Take, for example, a rural community we visited at around New Year's. We stayed in a secluded cottage, in a remote farm at the bottom of a valley. There was no internet connection, no mobile phone signal and, being the darkest time of winter, the short days meant we'd be back 'home' in the afternoon, not to get out again for a good 17 hours. However, and even taking into consideration our exploring and driving times, we still managed to talk with people, who'd be more than willing to stay and chat. In particular, I remember the couple who run the post-office/convenience store, who seemed happy chatting and sharing a few laughs for an hour after their closing time, although we had already paid for our purchases, just because we were there.
Now, compare this couple (business owners, after all) with the hoards of suited and be-briefcased I encounter on the tube (the subway/underground). These people rarely crack a smile, let alone speak to a stranger, and would rather get RSI on their thumbs from scrolling on their super-phones in their drive to make loads of dough for someone else's business, then get the crumbs. It is so bad at times, that even the charity fundraisers look close to tears after a few hours of being pointedly ignored. The commuters arriving / leaving this station at the heart of the banking district would rather isolate themselves, to the point of being rude if one tries to catch their eye. It's very painful to watch; still, it's more painful to be trapped among their numbers: feeling that you may be allowed to be another individual in their midst, although the midst is a battery of single entities and never a community of empathy. If you then commit greater sins, like trying to smile, thank someone for a helping hand, or offer them the newspaper you've finished with and noticed they were reading over your shoulder... Horror! They'll quickly sake their heads in refusal, and turn away, leaving you to feel like some violent burglar caught red handed.
Yes, the more people enclosed in a succession of small spaces, the greater the abyss between the humans.
So, what's the solution? I wish I could say, it's turning the city back into a community, but I'm not that naive anymore - there are too many blank stares in my days. So, I'll say it's re-turning to the village, the clan, the family and friends.Even among tall buildings, keep in mind the unity and the feeling, and spread the village back. And never forget, a village will always welcome new members in its midst.
Wanna go for a barn-raising tonight? Together, all of us...
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