Ask the Priestess

We all have a 'Sunday Best' item. For some, it's that oh-so-special dress that makes us look (and feel) like a million dollars; for others, a particular scent; a common one is 'the good dishes' with the gold leaf border and delicate flower motif; or, in my case, a fountain pen.Whatever it is, we all have an item we keep for special occasions, for those particular days that deserve a detail of superiority, for those tasks where a simple plastic ballpen just won't do.    Funny, that. See, I have long had this 'Sunday Best' fountain pen. Now, I love fountain pens - they glide over the page; they are uniquely personal (don't share yours or the nib'll be ruined); and they reek of permanence, of times when things were built to last merely by changing the odd piece here and there. Whatever you write with a fountain pen, should be worth keeping for ever. My 'Sunday Best' pen was kept sorely for my diary writing. But today, when I tr...

The other day I was talking with one of my students (from all of whom I learn more than I can say) about the situation in South Korea regarding the conflict with the North. Among some of the things we mentioned was the contrast with Europe, which was torn asunder by the devastation of WWII only 8 years earlier, yet has still managed to reunify (in Germany) and put aside differences of opinion to create some sort of union (let's not delve into the economy now, though). It was then that the sentence came to me: Europe is old. It is old enough to remember to forget. When we are children, everything that happens is momentous and seems to deserve remembering. It is the older people, the ones who have learned the value of moments and feelings, that insist we have to 'let it go'. It's not that we are supposed to ignore problems, but rather that we are to be aware of what really matters to us. When we do so, we can make the conscious choice to simply turn our backs on those e...

We live in a beautiful, bountiful Cosmos, We see its surprising creations daily, miraculously, all around us: the glory of dawns and sunsets; the fantastic changes in the seasons; the astonishingly logical economy of the ecosystems - where everything has a role and nothing goes to waste; the awesomeness of life-generation, two half-cells combining to create a unique, complex, independent, sentient multicellular organism (be it krill or whale, plant or animal, snail or human); the mystery of planets, starts, galaxies far and similar and unlike our own;... It should be so easy to be aware of all that munificence at every life-giving breath, at every passing cloud spotted, at every thought. Why don't we? Because we have been taught to shy away from it all, which has in turn become too much to handle, and thus appears hostile, oppressive, scary. Instead of relishing the World around us, glorifying human kindness and creativity, respectful of the Gift they truly are, we aim to contr...

People often complain that 'life isn't fair', that 'shit happens', that 'they don't deserve it'... So when I insist that Life is, Always, Perfect, they think I am some deluded (or drugged) optimist, who has no real grasp on reality - or, worse still, who chooses to close her eyes to that same harsh reality. I used to think this lack of meeting ground stemmed from a different concept of the Universe, where I consider all (Natural or fortuitous) events as part of a wondrous Cosmic Balance Economy; while the others seemed to consider the Universe a hostile place, intent in making it hard for us. Then, this evening, sudden realisation!! It is not a matter of different universal perception, but rather of our own part in that Universe that makes such a divergence. In other words, people tend to spend time reacting to the world around them; I, on the other hand, would rather act and observe what my actions create. Now, when I say 'act and observe'...

When we try to express 'great' without using words, we tend to use our hands, to create an expansive arm movement, as if to encompass an outburst of whatever. We also tend to finish in a certain double-shake, as if implying gravity, a solid weight, were part and parcel of greatness. But Greatness is so much more, how can we limit it to size, to stature, to weight, to dimension? Take, for example, the phrase 'a great person'. Does a great person need to be tall, heavy, and generally imposing? Nah, not really. If that were the case, people such as Mahatma Gandhi would not deserve the adjective. Same goes for people like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Jesus Christ, or Socrates, to mention but a few. Another example: what do you have to do to have 'a great time'? Little, really. Mostly it's a matter of spending time with people you love, doing things you enjoy despite the economic or social impact they may have, and generally enjoying life for and as it is. Yo...

We all know what 'to feel at home' means. What is less clear is what 'home' really is. For some, home is where the heart is; for others, wherever they lay their hats; of maybe it's sweet Alabama; for Jack, it's probably the house he built; and so on. What, and/or where, is your home? And mine? I've just spent a few days back in the city where I grew up, back in the flats where, all in all, I've lived most of my life - or for the longest stretches, at least. It was thus bittersweet to realise that, at no point in that visit, did I feel 'home'. I certainly felt loved, welcome, comfortable, all the while happy not to suffer the pangs of homesickness. I knew where things were, and the people and animals showed their love (if in my family/friends circle) or kindness (if not in it). Still, I felt 'alien', a mere tourist to those spaces. Why? For one thing, it's become obvious that, for me, home is not a matter of people. As I...

I do not believe in capitalism. In fact, although I understand the logic behind using money, we have made such a horror off it, than I would rather see it disappear so we could try and manage without it. Tough, but fair - real need for real need, and all within our means. Now, one of the things that put me on the trail of the horror of money is the concept of meanness, and of showing love. And, as any horror, it could be a story... Once upon a time, people realised they had different gifts and values. Of course, there was the lordship and the church, but they were not people. People were the ones who worked, who produced, who knew the value of things: one bushel of barley = x hours of backbreaking work in the fields; one dress = y hours of blinding weaving and sewing; and so on. Most of all, they knew the value of family, of children, of neighbour. These people were not necessarily nice,  mind you. Sometimes they fought, they hurt each other, they could be violent and criminal...