What is it about golden rooms that scream inadequacy?

A beautiful garden, a lovely blue-skied day to soak up the welcome winter sun rays. The Palazzo Parisio is a treat. The building is grand but the gardens are beautiful. I remember when visiting Versailles I was spectacularly unimpressed by the over-the-top furnishings. I mean one can have too much of gold, embossing, mirrors and intricate coving. 

It reaches joke-like proportions and you cease to be awed but feel a growing revulsion instead.  Wondering around the Palace of Versailles I did not envy royalty their silly gilded home.  Then, I entered the gardens around the palace and felt an unpleasant envy of the bloody rich.

Here in Naxhar on Malta, the  Palazzo Parisio has also pleasant rooms but a bit Louis the XVI, if you get my drift.  What is it about golden rooms that scream inadequacy? 

The Palazzo’s gardens outside are a wonderfulI place to have coffee and I sit on white garden chairs soaking up the smell of flowers and the sound of birds. 

There is only one other table occupied and I hear that peculiar braying voice of the wealthy, declaring they started their business years ago and have made so much money! They're sitting on the table next to me. How they have moved from Florianna to Naxhar to be closer to smart bars and better parking. Their gloating satisfaction sets my teeth on edge. What is it about ‘the rich’, ‘the would-be rich’ or ‘the has been rich’ that their exaltation in their material successes (real or imaginary) hits such a sour note with me? I must admit to it being nauseous to my system. A similar reaction to encountering a vomit smelling toilet onboard a rough cross-channel ferry. Don't get me wrong an aspirational attitude is admirable in so many ways, but a gloating self-satisfaction is never attractive. 

All of us vaguely know the humility that is truly appropriate when you examine yourself closely. You get a whiff of your own hypocrisy, your shells of pretence, the lies you tell yourself to cover over the cracks. In those moments of truth, we all shift in our seats in discomfort at the truth bubbling up from within. Instead of cackling over the misfortune of others like this lot. They are now discussing, their friend Lola’s disastrous boutique dress shop with inappropriate glee. They knew in advance it would end badly! Now, they speculate on another friend who has withdrawn from Facebook. “She was always a bit odd into nature and stuff! Must be something disastrous happening in her life?” 

I am asking myself, what no meaningless selfies of random spectacular venues, no gloating achievements/homes/cars etc what a loss! I sit here judging others so harshly when I am so rarely as vicious on myself. Perhaps this pernicious self-gratification habit sneaks into all our lives without us even noticing. Instead of examining our internal landscape we begin enjoying speculation on the ruins of others.  Just as I do now on my neighbours in this garden.

I will cease this attack on the rich around me and just enjoy the coffee, the sun's rays, the flowers and beckoning gardens instead. It's probably why being in nature is such therapy for the soul. You look at beauty and find nothing to criticise and just soak up its wholesomeness. Sigh with appreciation that it, like the sun beams on all with uniform abundance, impervious to all our inadequacies and shortcomings.

"Busy not thyself with this world, for with fire We test the gold, and with gold We test Our servants."

Bahá’u’lláh

I will rip his arm off and beat him to death with the bloodied stump

My mum has been visiting me in Malta and I have loved our long walks and chats. It is such a blessing having her here and at almost 85 she has indomitable energy. I have enjoyed her company immensely, except for her wiping the floor with me in the game, Rumicube. If you haven't played this game, do yourself a favour and your family,  buy one now. She particularly enjoys beating my husband, at this game, as he hates to lose and is always ridiculously upset when she has a victory. His rage brings a smile of sheer contentment to her face.

On one of our long walks, we were late getting back to the flat. It was getting dark and the road home was blocked with a crane and trucks so we took a narrow dark back alley instead. It was only when we were halfway up I became aware of the darkness, lack of lights and total isolation of the lane. Suddenly, out of the darkness, an African man appeared. He approached us in an oddly agitated manner.

I have to explain here that I did many years of karate at university in my youth and this created an illusion for my mother that I was invincible in hand-to-hand combat. When my cousin and I were teenagers we headed off with backpacks across Europe. She told me she never worried about us because of my karate! This was a total misconception. Years later on the Isle of Wight, in England, I joined a self-defence class which was full contact. This is taught me many things. 

That all those years of karate, where you just touch your sparring partner softly, are light years away from the reality of a hard punch or kick. It showed me that even a tiny man is usually much stronger than the largest woman. I bruise easily and so my weekly defence classes resulted in me looking like a particularly bad domestic abuse victim. Colleagues at work would not believe otherwise and one hissed venomously to me in the toilet to “leave the bastard!” Before washing her hands and exiting the room.

Ron, the instructor, was outrageously vicious. Demonstrating how most women, when strangled face-to-face with the perpetrator, would instinctively try and remove the hands clenched around their throats. Ron screamed in irritation. 

“He is cutting off your oxygen and you're scratching his hands uselessly! Begging him to let you go with your last breath.”

 He glared at the class and particularly at the woman members. 

“You still think you can win by appeasement! Well, you can't! By thinking like that you get too badly injured to do anything. Most men's instinct is to fight for their lives, women hope they can talk their way out!”

He then demonstrated that instead of flailing at the hands clenched around your neck, you should instantly jab two fingers as hard as possible into the assailant’s eyes. His two finger strike straight to the face of his opponent (stopping just centimetres from the eyeballs) had all of us women screwing up our faces in distress. At this, Ron launched into an excited rant, 

“You see, you’re all thinking, you couldn't do that to anyone. It's too vicious! But if your life depends on it, get vicious!  Get angry fast, it could save your life!”

“If you're in a dark lane and you hear footsteps from behind keep walking, keep close to the right wall. That way the attacker has to come to you from the left side. Now, you need to get angry fast. Imagine the bastard has murdered the person you love most in the world. Feel the adrenaline surges as your anger grows. Then, when he actually touches, you strike hard as if you want to kill them. Strike and run. Imagine you've only got one shot, so make it hard. They'll be expecting shock and fear from you, not rage and anger.

I practised imagining the assailant had just hurt my mum and when my sparring partner grabbed my left shoulder from behind I turned on him like a banshee (~wild Irish woman) cursing and punched him on the face with a roundhouse swing that felt like it came from all the hatred I could muster. Ron had been impressed, I had been shocked at myself and my sparring partner sported a huge mark on the left side of his face. I was also riddled with guilt. Obviously, my powers of imagination had been a little too excessive.

So here, 20 years later, I was in a dark lane with a potential assailant and my tiny sweet 84-year-old mother was at my side. Ron’s training flashed quickly into my mind. If he touches my mother I thought, I will rip his arm off and beat him to death with the bloodied stump. Adrenaline surged, I clenched my fist, prepared to bite his nose off. I was even prepared to do a bit of Ron’s eyeball poking!

Meanwhile, the African guy kept asking us to take a piece of pizza that he held in a box in front of him. My mother was calm but insisted that she already eaten didn't want anything but smiled her gratitude. I'm thinking my poor innocent mum has no idea of the danger she’s in. She's never been hit, never raised her hand to another human being. What sense can she make of all this? It's up to me to defend her, this is the moment Ron warned me about. To be ready, to be angry, the minute he touches her, he's a dead man!

Then tears started streaming down the guy’s face.  He says he's from the Sudan. His father died five years ago today.  He doesn't want to eat alone he wants to share his meal with us in memory of his father. We are standing in the dark lane and he's blocking our way offering a piece of pizza. I'm still thinking perhaps this is a ploy. Are there others waiting in the darkness to attack us. Friends of his? Blocking our way, he's probably keeping us here until they attack!

My mother moves in and hugs him in a wide embrace. I'm so expecting violence, I am completely thrown. She holds him close and suddenly I can see the genuine sadness and loss on his face. He wipes his tears with the back of his hand and my mother says he must come to our house and eat with us. She instructs me to give him my card so he knows where to go. I give him my card he shakes my hand politely and disappears into a nearby rusty metal doorway.

We walked the short journey home. My mother comments gently,

“What a nice lad that was! It is sad he's lost his father. It's difficult to be alone in this world far from loved ones.”

 I can say nothing I am exhausted by all the rage and adrenaline. Having too much imagination is a draining traumatic affliction.

Tolkien - life, myths, books, legends

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien (1892 to 1973) was a professor and English writer best known for his fantasy works The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and the Silmarillion. He taught at Oxford university.  

He was actually born in South Africa and when a very small child was bitten by a very large Baboon spider in his garden. (Perhaps giving him the idea of that seen with Frodo and the spider!)

Baboon spider

At the age of three, he was on a visit to the UK with his mother when his father died in South Africa of rheumatic fever. This loss left the family without an income and so they moved to Birmingham in the UK where they would be close to his mother's parents. He had an aunt Jane who owned a farm called Bag End. (Could this be the inspiration for Bilbo's home?)

Bag End

The more one reads of his childhood and life the more it becomes clear how much he used all his experiences, including the spider, in his literary works.

His mother, Maple Tolkien, home tutored her 2 children and found that the young Tolkien showed a propensity for languages, such as Latin, at a very early age.  Unfortunately, Mabel died of diabetes when Tolkien was only 12. It would be another two decades before insulin, a treatment for diabetes, would be discovered. In Edgbaston, Tolkien lived close to Perrot’s Folly and Edgbaston Waterworks.  

Perrot's Folly

Towers must have had a big impression as they two seemed to crop up in his tales in slightly different forms.

Tolkien was also very interested in the romantic medievalist paintings of Edward Burne-Jones. 

In his early teens, Tolkien invented, with his cousin, a complex language called Nevbash. The second constructed language he created was completely his own, Naffarin.  As well as making up new languages he took time to learn Esperanto. After university, he went with a party of 12 friends to Switzerland and hiked from Interlaken to Murren. 

He spoke of this grand adventure with much joy and the scenery would have been startlingly similar to that which would be experienced by Bilbo passing through the Misty mountains.  

Tolkien was in the British Army during World War I and served as a second lieutenant responsible for commanding enlisted men from the industrial heartland of Lancaster. As he later lamented,

"The most improper job of any man is bossing other men. Not one in 1 million is fit for it, and least of all those who seek the opportunity”.

He was at the battle of the Somme in July 1916 and came down with trench fever from the ever-present lice in the trenches. Token’s battalion was almost completely wiped out in the brutal battles while he recovered in a hospital in England.  (Lice caused 15% of all sicknesses in the British army at that time). Many of his closest school friends died on those bloody muddy fields. In fact, he said by 1918 all but one of his closest friends were dead.

Token translated Beowulf in the 1920s and gave an acclaimed lecture entitled ‘Beowulf: The monsters and the critics’.  Tolkien insisted that this poem was not just

‘a mine of historical data into which some fantastical monsters have inconveniently strayed but a work of art in which the monsters are foils for an entire cultural attitude to life, death and courage’.

The ancient story begins and ends with a funeral and is an epic old English poem of 3182 lines. It is probably the oldest surviving poem in old English and one of its most important. A manuscript found of Beowulf has been dated between 975 to 1025 A.D. and is found in the Nowell Codex in the British library.  The oral tradition that this manuscript recorded dated from much earlier, and it is believed to have been composed between 700 and 750 A.D.  The poem mixes fiction with 5th- and 6th-century history.  The tale of monsters and battles has an epic timeless quality and would have been recited in huge halls for centuries.  Beowulf mentions characters like Ohthere (530 Ad) and his son (575 AD) and their graves have subsequently been discovered in Upplands, Sweden.

The mount at Lejre on the left has been excavated showing epic finds but the other mound on the right has not yet been examined. Who knows what more finds lie beneath?

In Denmark excavations at Lejre have revealed that a hall was built there in the mid-six century, exactly the time period of Beowulf (Beowulf mentions kings of the Skjöldung dynasty) and where Scandinavian tradition said it was. It is now thought that much of Beowulf is from real historical characters from six century Scandinavia. John Niles, a former university professor and an expert on the Lejre site, said that researchers in the area have found now evidence of a series of great halls dating between 550 and 1000 A.D.

Beowulf is written in a language that sounds very much like Tolkien’s Elvish tongue.  Tolkien would enter his lecture room, at Pembroke College in Oxford reciting Beowulf loudly in its original tongue with dramatic power and effectiveness. W H Auden once wrote to tell him “what an unforgettable experience it was for me as an undergraduate, hearing you recite Beowulf. The voice was the voice of Gandalf.”

Pembroke Hall, Oxford

Tolkien spoke many languages including Latin, French, German, Middle English, old English, Finish, Gothic, Greek, Italian, Old Norse, Spanish, Welsh and mediaeval Welsh.  No wonder when it came to making up new cultures and languages and traditions he found himself peculiarly equipped for this fictional landscape.  

Years later during the Third Reich, a German publisher wrote demanding to know if Tolkien was of Aryan extraction, in other words, non-Jewish in order to permit publication of his book in Germany.   Tolkien wrote a cold response correcting their misunderstanding of what Aryan actually meant.  Who better to clarify their erroneous perspectives than this gifted and creative professor.

“Thank you for your letter. I regret that I am not clear as to what you intend by arisch. I am not of Aryan extraction: that is Indo-Iranian; as far as I am aware none of my ancestors spoke Hindustani, Persian, Gypsy, or any related dialects. But if I am to understand that you are enquiring whether I am of Jewish origin, I can only reply that I regret that I appear to have no ancestors of that gifted people.” 

For a long period, after writing some of his earlier books, he got tired of writing about Hobbits.  He felt had covered everything in The Silmarillion in enough detail, which had not met with public acclaim.  His publisher pushed for something more like the Hobbit again but Tolkien had lost interest in the topic.  Then decades later his son was sent to the front lines in the second world war and Tolkien began sending instalments to him, set in Middle Earth.  Tales of courage, heroism and danger, fear and suffering with long hard journeys that ended up in his famous book, The Lord of The Rings.  I like that Tolkien became more not less forgiving of others in his old age as this quote of his indicates.

“For myself, I find I become less cynical rather than more--remembering my own sins and follies; and realise that men's hearts are not often as bad as their acts, and very seldom as bad as their words.” 

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien

In creating new races, legends, languages and history he never forgot to embed messages in his stories that are epic, timeless and touch the spirit.

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

"Song of Aragorn" from The Lord of the Rings by Tolkien

The Lord of the Rings - hidden truths

It is known that Tolkien based his character King Theoden of Rohan, in The Lord of the Rings, on a real historical character Theodoric I who was King of the Visigoths (418 - 451 AD).  He ruled a kingdom shown in orange below.  In order to make alliances with neighbouring kingdoms Theodoric married his daughters to rulers/heirs of these hostile peoples.  One to Rechiarus, King of the Suevi (shown in green) and another to Genseric's (King of the Vandals, shown in yellow) son, Hunnoric. Neither marriage ended in the good relations that Theodoric hoped for.  Rechiarus was a belligerent neighbour who made war on every single country around him including the Roman Empire.  He was eventually defeated by Theodoric's son on the battlefield.  The other marriage of his daughter to Hunnoric ended even more horrifically. 

This marriage in 429 AD between Genseric's heir Hunnoric (King of Vandals) lasted fifteen years and produced children.  But in 444 AD Hunnoric wanted to make an alliance with the Roman Empire by marrying Eudocia, daughter of the Emperor Valentinian III.  So he had his wife, Theodoric's daughter, mutilated by cutting off her nose and ears and then sent her back to her father.  Understandably, Theodoric was livid and took up arms against the Vandals and prepared an attack.  Genseric and Hunnoric, realising they could not withstand this assault, cleverly prevailed on Attila the Hun to invade Gaul.  This meant Theodoric had to focus on defending his country from this much-feared invader instead of taking revenge. 

These warriors were very feared and had unusual practices.  The Huns believed in artificial cranial deformation and used wooden planks/fabric to produce flat elongated conical cranial shapes in their babies from 1-6 months old.  Their appearance must have been frightening.  In addition, they scarred male children on the day of birth by slashing both cheeks with swords.

"For they cut the cheeks of males with a sword, that before they receive the nourishment of milk they must learn to endure wounds."

The similarity of Tolkien's story and that of Theodoric becomes clearer in the details of the battle. Attila advanced towards the city of Orleans burning and plundering all the way.  Theodoric got together an alliance of the tribes and managed to defeat Attila in the battle of the Catalaunian Plains.  In a scene very similar to that in The Lord of the Rings, where King Theoden in the battle of Pelennor fields fought against the King of the Nazgul and rode ahead of his men.  Theodoric was thrown, like Theoden, from his horse and trampled underfoot and killed.  

His son, Thorismud, pursued the enemy hungry for revenge and penetrated right into Attila's camp.  Like Eomer's reckless rush, in The Lord of The Rings, Thorismud had to fight his way out to safety.  The next day the body of Theodoric was found "where the dead lay thickest" and the warriors carried his body away with traditional songs and ceremony.  It was one of the only defeats of Attila the Hun.

It is to be expected that Tolkien, a professor of English at Oxford, would use not just historical sources including oral traditions, to enrich his tales but also ancient literature/poems dating from these periods.  It helped that Tolkien was familiar with many languages including Latin, French, German, Middle English, Old English, Finnish, Gothic, Greek, Italian, Old Norse, Spanish, Welsh and medieval Welsh.  His work was able to be enriched by tales from many ancient cultures and traditions. Tolkien's love of ancient myths combined with his deep religious faith to produce his conviction that mythology was a divine echo of "the Truth".  Whether these tales of ancient deeds, sometimes horrific, often time heroic, some fiction, some factual either add to the truth or distort it, is still an open question but they certainly add depth.  I must confess to my favourite scene in The Lord of Rings which talks about death so beautifully.

“Home is behind, the world ahead,

and there are many paths to tread

through shadows to the edge of night,

until the stars are all alight.” 

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

As a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his folly

Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.

Proverbs 4:7 

Wisdom is defined as  “the ability to discern or judge what is true, right, or lasting” whereas understanding is “information gained through experience, reasoning, or acquaintance”.  So knowing what is right or wrong is important but the practical experience of implementing action and reflection on its consequences is also required.

Wisdom without understanding does not suffice.  Honour and progress only occurs when you hold wisdom and understanding within your heart.  So how can we learn wisdom?  Confucius claimed there were three ways to learn wisdom

“By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.”

Confucius

I like the way he tells us the easiest way, is to imitate someone who is wise.  That is easy to relate to.  You get to see an example in front of you and you copy it.  Or with experience you learn through trial and error, which can be very painful and take time. Or as proverbs more eloquently but crudely puts it,

"As a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his folly"

Proverbs 31

Reflection is described as the noblest perhaps because you work it out yourself using your own rational ability.

But real grace and honour will never be dependent on what you acquire but on what service you carry out as a result of this wisdom and understanding. Or in the words of Zoroaster,

“One good deed is worth a thousand prayers.”

Zoroaster

It also brings benefits not just to the recipient as he further explained,

“Doing good for others is not a duty.  It is a joy, for it increases your own health and happiness.”

Zoroaster

In fact he advises,

“Turn not yourself away from three things: good thoughts, good word and good deed.”

Zoroaster

However, attaining these goals is ever dependent on control of oneself and that is no simple matter.  As the Buddha pointed out,

“To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one’s family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one’s mind.  If a man can control his mind he can find the way to enlightenment and all wisdom and virtue will naturally come to him.”

Buddha

The statements from Zoroaster are from around 2000 BC , Proverbs is thought to be made up of some of the writings of Solomon ( 970–931 BC) and even the writings from the Buddha are from approximately 500 BC.  In other words, the path that leads to true understanding and wisdom has been clearly elucidated for several millennium so why are we still struggling?  Well, as luck would have it, Proverbs has an explanation.

“..fools despise wisdom and instruction”

Proverbs 1.7

In other words fools deliberately choose another path. Why would we make this choice to turn from wisdom and ignore guidance that could help? Again, a proverb even suggests an underlying cause for these bad choices.

“The complacency of fools is their undoing.”

Proverbs 1:32

So it seems a strange lethargy and carelessness leads to loss on many fronts.  Personal loss is just one aspect but there are larger considerations too.  The community does not flourish and develop as it should and the fruits of such wisdom is lost to humanity.

“But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.”

James 31.17

Without wisdom and understanding those longed for fruits slip through our fingers.  We have ever been urged to acquire knowledge. 

“My Lord, increase me in knowledge”

Quran 20:14

To desire knowledge means humility is required not the fool’s complacency. The fool’s pride allows him to assume he knows it all.  That’s why guidance is despised.  How do you fill a full cup?  Submissive humility requires we put aside the insistent self and make room for wisdom and understanding.  It demands recognition of our essential poverty.

“The essence of understanding is to testify to one’s poverty, and submit to the Will of the Lord”

Bahá'u'lláh

It should not surprise us that the enlightened have ever pointed out the importance of wisdom and understanding.  Urging us to choose the path towards truth and not falsehood over the millennia.  It has never been easy but it has always been emphasised by those who knew the needs of their time.  We should recognise the truth because it has ever been so. 

“This is the changeless Faith of God, eternal in the past, eternal in the future.”

Bahá'u'lláh

“The All-Knowing Physician hath His finger on the pulse of mankind. He perceiveth the disease, and prescribeth, in His unerring wisdom, the remedy. “

Bahá'u'lláh

Through thousands and thousands of years the guidance and remedy has consistently been given.  Do we choose complacency or search out truth because a world without wisdom and knowledge is an unworthy choice even for fools.

Your Loss is Remembered...in our hearts

My heart goes out to you on the loss of your son. Ever since I received the news the shock has left me devastated. He was such a special soul and one of the nicest young men it was my pleasure to know. His kindness and good humour was tangible. I must say of all my son’s friends he was my favourite. 

I'm sure I am telling you nothing you do not already know. The last few nights have left my heart aching that we have to go on without this sweet young man in our midst. Last night I could not sleep and could only think of him and remember his smile and ready laughter. Then, in the early hours of the morning, I registered that this tragic sense of loss must be nothing to that experienced by you and the family.

There are no words! 

May I just offer you my deepest sympathy for your loss and my sincere congratulations that you brought up such an exceptionally unique character. I am so grateful to have known him and know the bewildered sense of loss must be shared by many. Such sweet souls are rare and touch so many hearts.

love

Malta's Online Gaming/gambling industry - are we winners or losers?

These days there is a contagious disease spreading throughout the world and Malta is not immune. 

The growth of online gaming/gambling companies is explosive. You can be forgiven, not to have noticed their pernicious presence because they are usually to be found in office space not immediately apparent unless you start looking for them. For those of you who have ever thought of buying property, it must've struck you that suddenly you noticed for sale signs down side streets, at the top of apartment blocks, hidden down rural lanes or in newspapers in classified adds. Now that I've drawn your attention to the existence of these businesses, which encourage gaming/gambling, you might suddenly be shocked at the extent to which they have set up shop on this Island.

So what? You may ask! Surely they provide much-needed employment to a workforce that might otherwise have to leave the island to find a job. In addition, they pay valuable taxes to this country at a time when European countries are desperate to rebuild their economies.

So basically three questions need to be asked. How many exactly are we talking about? How many employees do they have and thirdly exactly what do they contribute to the economy? There is a fourth question. Exactly what damage they do society? How many people become addicted to their services and what is the fallout from these addictions.

In other words, do they actually end up costing us more money than they are worth? Many businesses fall into this category. For example, the tobacco industry causes the deaths of millions and yet argues strongly and effectively that it also substantially contributes, through taxes, to global healthcare finances. Since smoking kills more people than drinking and all other drugs combined, arguing that your industry is contributing to the health and well-being of citizens is a bit of a stretch. But the fast food industry along with food producers in the developed world have deliberately played a role in boosting obesity into epidemic proportions. The developed world is voraciously eating itself to death while the third world is suffering from starvation and malnutrition.

So obviously, addiction, whether that be food/alcohol/tobacco/sex or even gambling, is big business. Why focus on gambling when tobacco causes many more deaths? Well, our youth are the future and as such are a precious commodity indeed. The numbers of youth being targeted by gambling companies are breathtaking. The life consequences can be catastrophic. People used to complain that they worked all their life until 75 and when they retired got a watch and a poor pension in recompense. Today even the unemployed are entangled in the gambling business. For workers, the addiction can steal from them even the basic hard-won salary they earn and leave them debt-ridden and trapped. So what! I hear you ask. That is their folly, their choice! But is it?

These businesses target their prey at younger and younger ages. Just as the alcohol business design drinks for younger and younger clientele so too these gambling businesses are getting in earlier and earlier. If they can pounce at that fragile adolescence/post-adolescence stage when long-term consequences cease to be a discouragement to immediate choices, they're literally onto a sure thing. Baiting them with free money to start betting is a common practice. Additional money is given to those who introduce their friends and family to the sport. Loans are sometimes given to ensure that lack of funds does not become a handicap to this profitable addiction. Sometimes the interest rates on such loans provide an even larger part of the business profits.

Consulting the MGA Malta Gaming Authority website at http://www.mga.org.mt/gaming-sectors/remote-gaming/licensed-operators/ There are apparently 592 businesses who are licensed operators.  Given that it produces 8000 jobs and pays 52 million a year in taxes this gravy train is not going to stop anytime soon.  Since three of the earlier questions, posed, have been answered the fourth remains.  Perhaps gaming, unlike gambling, is not so bad?  What harm is playing games online, no one gets hurt surely?  It's just entertainment!  Unfortunately, addiction is not good for most people but especially for adolescents.  Online gaming addiction has been found to do something funny to their brains! 

A recent peer reviewed article on online gaming addiction http://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0053055 gives worrisome findings.  It seems to show that structural differences occur in the cortical thickness of the brain between adolescents with online gaming addiction and normal subjects; This thickness was detected via High-resolution magnetic resonance imaging scans and coincided with impaired cognitive control ability.  In layman’s words it appears that addiction to online gaming messes with the brain in adolescents in scary ways.

There are forces at work that influence society in fundamental ways for the better or the worse.  The question is if these influences bring both financial rewards but also substantial damage to members of our society what should we do?

The kernel of things

Was given a lovely quote by a friend recently.  It came at a time when illness and loss seemed to linger like Ireland’s persistent cloud cover.  I had never heard of the author a Norwegian writer, who was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature six times.  His name was Arne Garborg (1851-1924).  Here are some selections from his writings.  The first really struck home when visiting a confused relative in a nursing home.

“To love someone is to learn the song in their heart and to sing it to them when they have forgotten”

His second quote seemed to highlight fundamental truths that we all know but need to be reminded of from time to time.

“For money you can have everything it is said. No, that is not true. You can buy food, but not appetite; medicine, but not health; soft beds, but not sleep; knowledge but not intelligence; glitter, but not comfort; fun, but not pleasure; acquaintances, but not friendship; servants, but not faithfulness; grey hair, but not honour; quiet days, but not peace. The shell of all things you can get for money. But not the kernel. That cannot be had for money.”

He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature six times but the fact that he wrote in Norwegian and was so passionate about his local language might have played against his ever actually winning it.

I sometimes wish that nationalism did not shape our education system as much as it does.  Then, perhaps we would all be able to get to know more about the brilliant writers/poets/artists in all cultures that should be allowed to enrich our education system.  Our education would no longer be limited to geographical or national boundaries but would give our children a wider experience of this world’s true riches.


“If we are not happy and joyous at this season, for what other season shall we wait and for what other time shall we look?”


(‘Abdu’l-Bahá, Bahá’í World Faith, p. 351)

Patchwork quilt journeys and lessons learned

It seems surreal to be sitting back in Malta on my favourite bench, enjoying the sound of the sea and blue skies above, after an absence of almost 3 months. Travelling leaves little time for writing. Family time must be savoured wholly not crammed in between tasks. At least when I travel that's the mode that seems to operate best for me.

Now I sit and digest the experience of the past months. Savouring time with my mum in Northern Ireland where the pace of life is slow. There is a focus on gardening, eliminating weeds and tending borders. Her home is ordered and tidy with even cupboard contents and drawers all lined up with military precision. There is a never-ending battle with dirt and grime but she has fought these foes for seven decades and has honed her techniques. I looked on in amazement as she tackles the tasks of the day. At almost 85 she does not measure her energy levels and recalibrates the duties of the day. No, she looks at the goals needing to be accomplished and just goes and goes until they are completed. Even if afterwards she has to collapse in her armchair, it is with a deep sense of satisfaction – her tasks completed.

I look on in amazement. I am not like this. A book, a thought, a walk comes into my orbit and I down tools, instantly distracted. My tidiness is purely superficial. Examine the cupboard or a drawer in my home and you will find evidence of the chaos that permeates this universe.

Perhaps my writing is also my chaos. This trip has fuelled a thousand thoughts but none of them fully formed. I'll share some of them in the hope that they will give a patchwork quilt of these months.

A close friend has spent weeks in a mountain house in southern France. Situated in an idyllic hamlet overlooking spectacular views, it has proved the perfect antidote to years in the Paris city centre. Normally hard-working and ever up to speed with the virtual world he has had to cope with no Wi-Fi. The shocking change of place and pace from a hectic dirty city to the silence of the hillside and the buzz of insects and happy birds. He took to whittling, carving odd-shaped wooden light sabres and became engrossed in moss removal from old stone flagstones.  Both, he told me were the pastimes of paradise. Interspersed with meals and coffee on the table positioned outside to soak up the views.  Reading books was the main entertainment and with what excitement did he share their contents. Afterwards, I sighed in remembrance of days past when a slower pace of life allowed us time to digest what we read. Not this fetid immediacy of media assault online. 

The permanent indigestion of too much input dulls the senses. It's good to be reminded of other times, other places, other ways.

My other joy during this trip was to spend time with my grandsons in England. After two months of endless rain all summer in Northern Ireland it was shocking to discover that Folkestone still had proper summers. Even in September, the sun shone and school kids wore shorts to school. As my son his wife both work in London, my mission this trip was to accompany my four-year-old grandson in his first three weeks of big school.  I also had his two-year-old brother to care for. It was somehow weird pushing a toddler in the buggy and holding the hand of a small school child again after three decades. Given that I hated school myself it was with some trepidation I took on this epic task. Fortunately, Charlie made the job much easier being almost eager to run through the school gates. Other parents or guardians had weeping youngsters to disengage from while Charlie never even looked back. He explained patiently to his younger brother that he was going to school and would be back in three hours to see him, so he was not to worry. Then he’d turn on his heel and scurry into school.

I was left with ample opportunity to notice the tears unshed in parents’ eyes as they faced this cruel test - the first separation. Some mothers stayed on, ages after the school gates had closed in case a familiar head appeared above the window ledge in the classroom.

One father had adopted a prolonged waving goodbye ritual to his daughter.  She was a  tiny fragile figure who waddled slowly and reluctantly towards the classroom door. He climbed the school gate so that she could still see him waving even from a distance. She would occasionally stop, shoulders slumped in apparent despair and turn to look back sadly at her dad. This would engender a huge arm waving movement and shouts of  “have a grand day Leanne, I love you!! “ Not easy to do, halfway up a six-foot metal gate. His forced good humour and bonhomie would end with her entering the classroom. Then, he'd suddenly be silent all emotion leaving his face. He would drop down from his perch on the gate and walk hastily away. It's hard for dads, mostly it is mothers at the school gates and they tend to chat in bunches with other mothers. Comparing notes on how first days at school are doing. Remembering coats, water bottles and school bags. Hugging their children, they reluctantly let them go.

Fathers tended to festoon children rather like preparing them for battle. School bag over head and shoulder, coat over the other arm as if supplying armaments for the day ahead.  I noticed one morning, an older boy (P3?) waiting for the school gates to open. A crowd of older students stood waiting impatiently laughing together.   The P3 student was tall for his age and had his foot on his scooter. Strange that they have come back into fashion those odd-looking contraptions from my childhood. 

As he waited, he rocked to and fro on the scooter. A little bit overweight with thick glasses he seemed absent-minded. He didn't even notice a group of mothers behind him waiting with the youngest children hand-in-hand, his scooter almost hit one mother behind him and she scolded him whispering disapprovingly to the other mothers beside her. Suddenly, the scooter slipped up the gate. Perhaps the pushing crowd put him off balance and he fell awkwardly landing full weight on top of his own scooter. The crowd stood back while he jumped to his feet, face almost against the gate not moving. It had been a bad fall and the scooter was damaged but we all stood as a fellow statues watching his ramrod still back. Then a huge builder type man pushed through the crowd and picked up the broken scooter and asked the boy, “Are you alright mate?”  Immediately the boy burst into tears of pain and the man put his hand on his shoulder and lead him away to the open area away from the crowd. After the children had rushed through the now opened gate into school, I spotted the father kneeling examining the damage to the scooter and talking soothingly with the P3 pupil.  I then realised the boy was not even his son. His own son, a small reception class pupil, was standing patiently beside his dad. I could see the older P3 boy was calmer now and all three of them walked together to the now deserted school gate. 

I felt rather ashamed that in that sea of mummies and grandmothers, including me,  it was a father who saw the hurt in that small straight back facing the gates and took decisive compassionate action. It is probably in such small deeds like this real education takes place for all of us.

“Regard man as a mine rich in gems of inestimable value. Education can, alone, cause it to reveal its treasures, and enable mankind to benefit therefrom.”

— BAHÁ’U’LLÁH