In the darkness, we must learn to find the light

It is a lovely day for late November. Still a warm sun and blue skies. Malta is a good place to chill these days. You do have to wear a mask when outdoors so I’m finding walks less enjoyable. There is a strange suffocating feeling that despite three weeks of practice has yet to shift. But if you sit at an outdoor café with a drink you can take your mask off and breathe in the sun and the sea. This particular café is right on the shore overlooking the sea. Quiet and well away from the busy road. The staff are what they call in Northern Ireland dour but okay. There is zero customer service apart from the wiping of tables between visitors to attempt to make the zone Covid-free. For that I am grateful! But my request for a decaf cappuccino at the counter, no waiter service here, is met with a shoulder shrug that is faintly dismissive. My uncle once described his accommodation on the island as baa – sick (basic) and somehow the pronunciation in a thick Northern Irish accent makes it sound even more rudimentary than just the word on its own. Sometimes changing the order of words can be even more effective than an accent in accentuating the power of a well-used phrase. When I was at school my friend Caroline never used the label ‘litterbug’ to describe those who dropped any litter in her presence. Instead, she would scream at the offender “bugger litter!” This was much more effective and generated a bigger response from the target of her venom.  

Mind you I’ve been conscious of how venomous so many exchanges seem to be these days when insulting language has become routine.  Watching online content even from news outlets has become unexpectedly abrasive. It seems the world has embraced extremes and whether it is politics, religious or social etiquette there’s been a coarsening that irritates. 

Even the mainstream news has invective targeting world leaders, insults traded between opposing political sides, details of sordid sins of the powerful or the perverted or those who manage to be both with equal relish. Major events worthy of a headline are relegated even if that happens to be genocide or famine. 

It is as if the media, in general, has become a grotesque Punch and Judy puppet show with sticks being brandished and insults shouted in piercing tones “Oh, no he didn’t! Oh, yes he did!” All the while in the background human suffering around the globe goes unnoticed. Centre stage are these characters that neither inspire nor uplift but leave you feeling vaguely unable to look away and strangely satisfied that you have not sunk to their low-level. When, the show stops, and the puppets are all packed away we are forced to contemplate our own endeavours and feelings. Exactly what value have we accomplished in this day? What are the relationships we have with those around us? Have we, like the puppets, become all show and tell? Fixated on the superficial and befuddled as to priorities? 

Some say there is nothing like a pandemic to focus the mind on the real priorities in life. But history tells us that just is not the case. Most major pandemics and plagues were accompanied by tidal waves of ignorant prejudice that meant minorities were targeted as scapegoats. This sickness of “othering” allows anger and despair an easy way to vent. Like the husband angry with his wife who goes outside to kick his dog in frustration. Such inappropriate responses can feel like a maelstrom that carries societies into dangerous waters.

Fortunately, there have always been heroes who held their footing in dangerous tides. They sensed the undisciplined dictates of a frenzied mass and choose a different path. 

Some paid for it with their lives like the woman mathematician Hypatia born in the 4th Century AD who was a philosopher, astronomer, and mathematician, living in Alexandria, Egypt, a part of the Eastern Roman Empire.  She was a great teacher and a wise counsellor much loved by pagans and Christians alike in the city.  Hypatia taught students from all over the Mediterranean at the Alexandrian school which was famous at the time for its philosophy and she lectured on the writings of Plato and Aristotle.  Two of the greatest philosophers of the age. Aristotle was Plato’s student and colleague for 20 years at the Academy in Athens.  The words of these wise stoics echo down through the centuries and still inspire respect today.  What a privilege and illumination it must have been to be educated by someone as brilliant and erudite as Hypatia on their writings.

“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.”

Aristotle

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” 

Plato

She excelled in mathematics and was also an extraordinarily talented astronomer. Early writers recorded that Hypatia was "exceedingly beautiful and fair of form".  Unfortunately, in those dark days, there were many who were afraid of the light that Hypatia brought. A mob of religious fanatics attacked Hypatia's carriage as she was travelling home and dragged her into a church where they stripped her naked and murdered her using roof tiles, cutting out her eyeballs before dismembering her.  What an incredible loss to society at a time when her abundant skills both intellectual and compassionate were so needed. Fortunately, it is Hypatia who is remembered and appreciated by history, not the mindless zealots that took her life.

People like Hypatia remind us that behind the Punch and Judy show, with which we are all mesmerised, lie many such examples of nobility that resonate within us. They tell of human fortitude and steadfastness in difficulties. I find myself hugging the memory of such people close. They feel a safer lifeline to hold to in dark days. Most of all, because they awaken in us, our desire to accomplish something today and to reach out to those around us with more compassion and awareness. We are all here for a reason not for show. So, before we like the puppets, are put away in a box at the end of the show let’s do and say something worth remembering. In the darkness, we must learn to find the light.

“step out of the darkness into the light and onto this far-extended Path of Truth.

The Báb

 b   

Michael Abateo - the end game

Michael Abateo had been mopping the floor when suddenly he felt the tightness in his chest. A shortness of breath startled him and it felt as if there was a huge creature sitting on his chest. Even his neck ached from its weight.

“Bastard!” He managed to complain. He collapsed onto his knees and then clumsily rolled over onto his back on the still-wet floor. He knew his clothes must be soaked but all he could register was this intense pressure. If only, he thought, he could catch a breath.

“Bastard”, he repeated.

“You’re a right bastard.” He was unconsciously rubbing his chest as if that would ease the huge weight felt there. Then, another wave of excruciating pain radiated as the elephant on his chest seem to shift slightly. Now there was also pain down his arm as well.

“Oh, you bastard!”

For some reason, along with the pain and growing fear, Michael felt such anger. He hated being on the floor held like a pinned animal unable to stand or even sit. He wriggled to release its grasp on him but his movements seem to merely lower him still further into a sandpit that felt warm and dark. The lights all went off.

A few hours later Michael began to come around and sighed in relief that the weight had been removed from his chest. He looked at his feet and saw the end of a hospital bed with a chart hanging on it. There was a confusing ringing going on and he could not determine whether it was external or internal. He was also attached to machines of some sort by lots of tubbing and his head only turned slightly with a mighty effort of will. A young nurse leant over him and said, “Hello Michael, how are you feeling?”

She was in her 20s and her tone was professional but not warm. Michael tried to respond but his mouth refused to obey him. His tongue felt like I didn’t belong to him at all. This was ridiculous. Michael moved his head from side to side in distress. The nurse put a hand on his shoulder and explained,

“You’ve had a heart attack you are now in hospital, Michael. Just you relax, the doctor will be around to talk to you soon.” She fiddled with some of the tubing and looked at the reading above him on the machine and then left. Michael turned his head and examined the room he found himself in. It was a cubicle in the accident emergency unit of the hospital. He recognised the colour scheme from when he had accompanied an elderly aunt of his who had been having an asthma attack. He never thought that he would find himself in the same cubicle having had a heart attack and struck dumb into the bargain! It was perverse really. He remembered his aunt Vicky had been suffering from dementia in the last years of her life and Michael had felt vaguely ashamed of her obvious confusion and distress at being in a strange place. Now, Michael felt he could empathise with his aunt at last. He only mourned that all those decades ago he had been so young, so full of self that he lacked the ability to put himself in her shoes. The moment he had this thought, Vicky flashed into his mind, smiling at him, wearing an apron and offering him a pastizzi from a blue plate in her kitchen. He must’ve been 12 and the smell of her kitchen in Valetta filled his senses. The picture suddenly became a video, as she absentmindedly tucked a curl behind her ear and lumbered back to her precious stove. He could even see the burn mark high on her elbow when she caught it on a hot baking shelf. Michael smiled in amazement at how much love he felt for this sweet aunt.  She turned to him and smiled again before rubbing her cheek absentmindedly. He remembered his father saying that his sister Vicki didn’t suck her thumb as a child but would often rub her cheek instead. Michael found himself amazed that all these vivid images were flooding his mind. Memories he felt sure he’d forgotten for decades. The door of the cubicle opened and the doctor entered. Michael was still entranced by his aunt Vicky who beamed at him from the other side of the room. The doctor repeated something and the second that Michael turned towards him, Vicky seemed to disappear. The doctor repeated loudly and insistently,

“Michael, can you hear me?  Michael, can you hear my voice?”

Such stupid questions! Michael answered with a nod but still, he turned his head, hunting for his aunt Vicky.  He felt very confused indeed. The doctor was talking in a ridiculously loud voice as if to an imbecile. Why, because he didn’t speak, did people think he couldn’t hear?

 “Michael, you’ve had a heart attack and we are giving you some medication. Do you feel any pain?” he asked.

Michael shook his head from side to side but the movement felt exhausting. The doctor put a cold stethoscope on Michael’s chest and wrote something down. At no point had the doctor or nurse introduced themselves. Michael thought it a bit strange. Perhaps, because he couldn’t talk, they didn’t feel the need? The doctor said something that Michael didn’t catch. There was a clip of the door shutting and then silence. Michael stared at the roof it was still pale green. He wondered how long he’d been in this bed. He’d lost track of both time and speech.  He slept.

The door opened and his local young priest was by his bed. The priest spoke,

“I know you can’t talk Michael but I’m here to give you the last rites “.

Michael felt this was very ominous indeed. Things were obviously not looking good for him. But he felt vaguely annoyed that this young priest had broken the news instead of a doctor. The priest began the ceremony and asked if Michael had anything to confess. Michael nodded out of sheer revenge. The priest looked perturbed,

“So, there is something do you want to confess!”

Michael nodded again. The young priest was thrown. Should he continue with the rites? Should he enquire as to the sin? His face showed his confusion. That nod meant he, as a priest, should try to proceed with the three sections of the confession. First the penitent should show contrition (sorrow for sins committed) then would follow disclosure of the sins (confession of sins) and finally, they would gain satisfaction (undergo penance to make amends).   The priest began cautiously to intone,

“May God who has enlightened every heart help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy. Michael, is your sin a mortal sin or a venial sin?”

Then, the door opened and a nurse stood at the entrance but seeing the priest paused at the door.  Obviously, suddenly embarrassed the priest decided to ignore his sin-filled but dumb patient and finished with a great rush of words and gestures then ran to the door.

Michael suddenly wanted to laugh for some reason. He was glad to see Vicky back at the end of his bed. She rolled her eyes at Michael,

“So many sins Michael and so little time!” But she laughed happily,

Michael looked ashamed, he shouldn’t have behaved as he had. Shouldn’t have teased the young priest. There was suddenly so much he regretted in his life.  Vicky seemed to read his mind for she smiled as she spoke,

“I read once that if priests hadn’t added vain imaginings to religion then the philosophers wouldn’t call religion vain imaginings.”

Michael found this incredibly deep and insightful. He couldn’t imagine his aunt having such thoughts. He looked at her amazed.  She continued to speak,

“The good news is that God knows all that we’ve done or left undone.  Our deeds are carved on tablets of chrysolite, it is said.  Anyway, I reckon bringing ourselves to account each day is an effective form of confession.”

Michael nodded and realised that for the first time in his life he was looking back on his life and gaining a perspective that had been missing.  In some ways he felt so sorry that it was only here, at the end of things, clarity of sorts was dawning. Aunt Vicky reassured him,

“Reflection can bring contrition, Michael. An action to make good what we have failed is making amends. It always amazes me how much people worry about bad things they’ve done but they forget to consider the good things they have done and those good deeds they left undone.”

Michael felt ashamed of how he had acted towards his aunt especially in her days of dementia.  They had both been so close when he was younger.

Aunt Vicky looked at him thoughtfully,

“I never had children.  No matter how much I longed for them it made no difference.  But you came along and changed my world.  You will never know how much your love meant to me.  It healed so much in my life.  We had so much laughter in our home because of you.  I don’t forget that. “

Michael smiled back at his aunt relieved she had only good memories of him.

Then she asked,

“Do you want to know how you should feel about death?”

Michael was startled at the question but captivated by her warmth and words. He nodded.

She said,

“We should think of death the way we think of the destination of a long journey. It’s something to look forward to, not dread.”

Michael suddenly thought of all those who he would miss, his children, his brother and sisters, his friends. She seemed to sense it and explained,

“Death doesn’t take anything away from us Michael. Those we love are ever with us.”

She beamed at him,

“Death is like breaking the cage. It frees the bird within.”

She leaned in so close Michael could smell fresh bread from her apron. There’s a lot of people who love you, waiting for you.  Your Maria is looking forward to seeing you soon. 

Michael sighed and his heart ached for all those who he had lost but especially his wife Maria.

His Aunt Vicky, walked away from the bed and suddenly there was light everywhere.  On the wall in front of him, he saw his life unfold kaleidoscope-like.  Then, the light grew so bright it made everything else disappear, even Michael.

 

 PS if you have missed the other previous instalments of Michael Abateo here are the links

https://colette-windflowers.blogspot.com/2012/09/maria-and-michael-abateo-forty-winks.html

https://colette-windflowers.blogspot.com/2018/06/michael-deals-with-dirt-and-life.html

https://colette-windflowers.blogspot.com/2018/10/michael-abateo-drugs-buses-and-buckets.html

https://colette-windflowers.blogspot.com/2018/12/an-unexpected-cure-for-all-ills.html

Looking within, facing the past, finding you

Many people are in an angry, isolated and misunderstood state. Simple things that could have been resolved in a chat across a garden fence in five minutes have instead festered and grown. Even within family homes self-absorbed modes of being have stifled intergenerational exchanges. Instead of unity each retreats. Misunderstandings abound.  Disappointment is felt by many players and children lose out big time. Instead of daily conversations across a shared meal, something even our ancestors enjoyed over an open fire, we hardly touch base. The love that can be there goes unexpressed, unspoken, taken for granted and exhausts existing bank balances of shared experiences and love. No wonder disappointment reigns.  

If we’re honest our own disappointment lies closer to home. We are not what we thought we could or would be. This present shadowy creature is not a reflection of our inner reality. We sense that at a fundamental level. But veils have come between us and our own hearts. No wonder those around seem inscrutable and bewildering. We are not even sure how we ended up here. There is a vague memory of another desired path. It has been so long since we glimpsed it we’ve accepted the present landscape as our reality.

Never has time been more precious or more abused. Take a moment to look around at the faces. Sit in a cafe, train station or street centre and watch the faces. Be heartbroken at the misery written plain in too many. See others. Look at their expressions and feel your own heart contract in sympathy. Know too, that this face, that you see, is their public one. It is the shell that they adopt when exposed to the general population. Then, just imagine if you could see them at home in their own little box able to relax and really let the defences down.  Some don't even have this luxury. Their private homes are even worse plays that call on acting skills to see them through the long hours. They must perform charades, exhausted by the effort that entails. Souls lacerated, they self harm to excise the pain. Whether that harm is with a razor, drug, drink, overeating, under eating, gambling etc it matters not. These symptoms of dreadful wrongs haunt the spaces of our society.

At a time when happiness is sought by so many why has misery become ever more abundant?  These are questions that need asked. We have to remove the barriers within us. Allow the quiet honest reflection that enables you to question your own spirit and really listen to what it says. It may surprise you. Just allow silence into your life. 

Turn off all the news, entertainment, gossip, never ending tasks and, as you would with a dear dear friend who you've not seen for decades, ask the real questions that matter. Allow time for the answers to bubble up from deep within. A lot of hurt, disappointment will surface too but be patient. Deep within, you have something worth waiting for. Don't be distracted by the flak. Hold fast, it is worth it. When there is love, there is always enough time. Suddenly, there will be a flash of you. Crystal clear glimpses of the old you that is still in there. At first it may appear like shards of a broken mirror, the pieces of an old image. Reclaim yourself, you are worth the effort.

You are worthy of love and respect. You cannot feel it for others if you don't claim it for yourself. Allow the the real you step forward and recognise the voice that has been silent too long. You will get distracted and disappointed by the inactivity and lack of results. Hurt by bad memories you’ve tucked deep away. Swamped by feelings of fragility that emerges. Being sensitised is a hurtful thing! See past that, to the fluid nature within. You are all these feelings and experiences but you are even more.

Trust the voice within you, even if it just says “shut up”! Be patient, this is a dear friend who deserves your love. They have walked with you on epic journeys of heartbreak. Be still and respect the insights they offer. Know too that you will get better at mining these gems that lie inside. You are worth the effort so start digging for those jewels.

It is said our lives flash before us as we die.  Perhaps it is because in order to see, actually see the light you need to clear out the debris of life.  Why wait until the end, when this moment could be the  beginning of everything.

PS  If you don’t whether to trust the response that comes from within.  Know that there is a touchstone to measure the authenticity of real insights from vain imaginings. 

“And the honour and distinction of the individual consist in this, that he …should become a source of social good. Is any larger bounty conceivable than this, that an individual, looking within himself, should find … he has become the cause of peace and well-being, of happiness and advantage to his fellow men?”  

Supernovas and Us

A supernova exploded this week!

supernova

http://www.physicscentral.com/explore/poster-stardust.cfm

A supernova, a single star, explodes quickly

With the brilliance of a whole galaxy

For only a few days/weeks it illuminates

The black space around

Blasting out elements and gas

In the grandest of all firework displays

It can radiate as much energy in a flash

As our Sun would give in its entire life span

Only at the supernova’s temperatures of incubation

heavy elements such as carbon, oxygen or silicon are born

Since our bodies have within us these heavy elements

Each of us contain the remnants of these supernovas

Not a tiny fragment of stardust hidden

In some incidental crevice of fat or muscle

No, 93% of our body is stardust

Perhaps within us is burned the memory

Of that bright beginning

That’s why we spend our lives

Searching for the light within and without

O SON OF BEING!

Thou art My lamp and My light is in thee. Get thou from it thy radiance and seek none other than Me. For I have created thee rich and have bountifully shed My favour upon thee.

            (Baha'u'llah, The Arabic Hidden Words)

My father was upset about the library being burned

My father was upset about the library being burned.  He tried to be stoic but I could tell he loathed the destruction of knowledge it represented.  I was at primary school and fancied myself as an amateur detective.  My main suspect was William McCartney, a boy in my class.  The evidence was circumstantial but clear.  I had discovered him defacing a library book at school.  He had drawn two huge breasts on the cover of a book on Cookery.  Instead of a prim, apron clad April Summers displaying cakes in each hand, William had constructed huge breasts incorporating the cherries on top of the cakes as nipples.  I was convinced such vandalism spoke of his disrespect for the written word.  

In our household books were everything and everywhere.  We devoured them like bread and water and whether it was by Henry Miller, the collected plays of Shaw, or Steinbeck we consumed them and then hunted for new fodder.  No folding down corners or scuffing the cover and no underlining of texts or notes in the margins.  Books had to be respected like people.  Even the crappy ones.  So Ms Summers added breasts offended my sensibilities.  William’s violent tendencies were shown clearly when he brought to school a black bin liner full of dead birds he had shot with his own air rifle.  When the American Constitution stipulates the right to carry arms, they must never have had classmates like mine.  I could honestly say I wouldn’t have trusted any of them with a firearm.  So there you have it.  William was violent (bag of birds – exhibit one) and he took pleasure from the defacement of literature (cookery book – exhibit two).  That made him in my mind a strong candidate for the burning of the library.  For a whole year I seethed with resentment towards William and blamed him for the book, the birds, the library and for bringing sadness to my father’s heart.

It came as something of a shock to discover later that my father was referring to the burning of the Great Library in Alexandria which happened around two thousand years ago.  A crime William, however vile, could not have committed.  Through the following years my father continued to mourn the loss of this great library and filled in the details of this catastrophe. 

When Alexander the Great died in 323 BC his kingdom was divided up into three pieces: Antigonids ruled Greece, Seleucids ruled Asia Minor, Syria and Mesoptamia while Ptolemis ruled Egypt.  Wanting to gain supremacy and legitimacy Ptolemy stole Alexander’s body and took it first to Memphis and then to Alexandria.  This was a blatant attempt to create a political and dynastic link with Alexander the Great.  Creating a museum “Temple of the Muses” was also a part of this goal.  After all, Aristotle who had taught Alexander, had a wonderful library and so Ptolemy and his line created the greatest library of the ancient world.  It was their intention to collect all the books in the world and works from India, Persia, Babylonia, Georgia, Armenia and far a field were gathered.  The works of poets, philosophers, historians etc were carefully obtained and kept in the library.  

There was a copy of Epidemics belonging to the physician Mnemon of Side, ancient scrolls and books from all over found their way to the library at Alexandria.  Even when a ship entered the port it was searched and if books or scrolls were found these were seized and copied.  The copies were returned but the originals were stored in the library.  The greatest fruits of human endeavour flowed to Alexandria and were collected and collated.   The arts and sciences were represented and so many were not only original but unique and priceless.  The fame of the Great Library of Alexandria spread far and wide.  It was an incredible search for knowledge all carefully gathered from the four corner of the earth. 

So what happened?  Well, as one has probably suspected by now, some idiot burned the library down.  After centuries of careful collection and cataloguing the works of great minds it took small minds a few days to dispose of the Great Library.  The disaster was of epic proportions.  We don’t know, even now, the scale of the loss.  But there are hints.  Callimachus, a poet and scholar, had created a catalogue/biography of the contents of the library called Pinakes.  We only have a tiny portion of this Pinakes (table of contents) left but there is enough to make you howl in despair at what went up in flames.  

Now, I understood why my father took the burning of the Great Library in Alexandria so personally.  So should we all!  But on further reflection I didn’t feel so bad about blaming William McCartney for the crime.  It turns out blaming those we dislike for despicable crimes they have not done is a theme common in history. For example,  Caliph Umar was blamed for the burning of the library and there is even a nice little tale told to explain why. , "If these writing of the Greeks agree with the book of God, they are useless and need not be preserved; if they disagree, they are pernicious and ought to be destroyed". It was, the story continues, thereupon, decided that the books were contrary to the Quran and the whole library was burned down without even opening the books.  Totally rubbish of course, the Great Library was lost much earlier probably in 47/48 AD perhaps by Julius Caesar who was burning ships around that time in the harbour.  Mohammad and the Quran did not appear for another five centuries and so Caliph Umar is in the clear.  There was another library in Alexandria called the Serapeum (daughter library) but this was burned down in 391 AD under the decree of Archbishop Theophilus.  Edward Gibbon (writer of the  The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire) described Archbishop Theophilus as "...the perpetual enemy of peace and virtue, a bold, bad man, whose hands were alternately polluted with gold and with blood." Not a great way to be remembered in the history books.  

But some people really do say and do such stupid things that they need to be remembered for posterity.  Like Pope Gregory’s famous line "Ignorance is the mother of piety." Following this principle to the letter, Gregory burned the precious Palestine Library founded by Emperor Augustus, destroyed the greater part of the writings of Livy and forbade the study of the classics. The Crusaders destroyed the splendid library of Tripoli and reduced to ashes many of the glorious centres of Saracenic art and culture. Ferdinand and Isabella put to flames all the Muslim and Jewish works they could find in Spain. 

Library burning has not gone out of fashion.  The library of Leuven, Belgium was burned in 1914 and then after being rebuilt was burned to the ground once more in May in 1940 by the Nazis.  In case you think this fetish for library burning has run out of steam one need only look at the American invasion of Iraq in 2003 when the National Library of Baghdad was burned and priceless ancient antiquities and manuscripts were lost. 

Knowledge is like a light that illuminates humanity and ignorance is the opposite, darkness.  The burning of libraries serves to show the bigoted, the fanatic and the stupid at work.  Such a shame to destroy what is really the birthright of the human race.  We should all sorrow over the loss of the Great Library at Alexandria.  It reminds us that ignorance is too dangerous to be permitted and the search for knowledge and truth is the only way ahead.