Blistering Barnacles

Am aware that I tend to fluctuate

But after all that is me

Riddled with self doubt

But blown into action in a second

Not clam and centred

But bored then blazing

No happy medium here

Just blistering barnacles by nature

Here’s a sympathetic quote on the theme

“I have never known anyone worth a damn who wasn't irascible.”

Ezra Pound

Or a nicer way to look at it

“It was not that she was out of temper, but that the world was not equal to the demands of her fine organism.”

George Eliot

But I suspect this is closer to the truth of it!

“When you're in the right, you can afford to keep your temper. When in the wrong, you can't afford to lose it.”

Unknown

Homesickness - Already!!

I know, I know I was waxing lyrical about Malta in my last blog.  So after only four days here why do I feel suddenly so low.  I mean people come here on two week breaks and are probably happier during this fortnight than the rest of their year.  So why after four days am I feeling the pull of all things familiar?  It’s not the place to be honest, having been brought up in Northern Ireland I can honestly say its faults are branded into my memory banks.  But it is the people.  You remember all the people that mean so much to you and a longing to see them, laugh together, hug them sweeps over you.  It swamps all the present beauty around me and in this beautiful spot I see that I am strangely bereft.  My Dad used to say Irish homesickness is a terminal disease.  I suddenly know what he means.  You feel the tug of all those who love you and the passing of each 24 hours without them seems unendurable.  The clock is ticking, on which we have an allotted span and it is intolerable to waste a moment.  So to all of you back home hug close those you hold dear.  Have those conversations, walks and hugs.  Take delight in being so close, don’t waste a second in arguments.

 And here from a bench in the shade overlooking the Med know how much I miss you and suddenly long for your presence.

Malta and its underground tunnels

Well, am in Malta and adjusting to the change in climate, change in job and change in home.  Still a bit shell shocked at how quickly one’s life can change.  Walked along the sea front and was blown away by how beautiful this island is.  A sense of history everywhere.  Huge walled city from the time of the Crusades and each street looks like it is out of an Indiana Jones film.  You expect secret passages and underground tombs, intricate stone carvings are everywhere.  Having lived on Rhodes for almost a decade it is weird to be on Malta as when the Crusaders left Rhodes it was to Malta they came.  It feels like I am following their path, albeit centuries later.  Spotted a group of older local people in the middle of a bay with huge hats on their heads while treading water.  There were almost half a dozen of them all happily chatting away while the huge walls of the city loomed overhead.  Decided to go for a swim there too, as from my experience such characters generally know the best places to swim.  It was delightful and the water so refreshing from the heat.  Gosh, you really feel alive and awake.  One of the ancient stories about this island claimed that one could walk underground from one end of Malta to the other, through ancient tunnels and catacombs.  So it is weird to find this fascinating bit about Malta in National Geographic 2009.

Lost Crusaders' Tunnels Found Near Palace on Malta

Discovered in February 2009 in the capital of the Mediterranean island nation of Malta, this tunnel is thought to be part of a centuries-old underground water system built by the Knights of Malta.

Established in the 11th century, the military order was a key fighting force in the Crusades and The Knights of Malta ruled the island from 1530 to 1798. For centuries it's been said that the crusading Knights of Malta constructed an underground city on the Mediterranean island of Malta, sparking rumours of secret carriageways and military labyrinths.

Now a tunnel network has been uncovered beneath the historic heart of the Maltese capital of Valletta fueling excitement about the truth of such rumours.

The newfound tunnels are said to date back to the 16th and early 17th centuries, when the knights—one of the major Christian military orders of the 11th- to 13th-century Crusades—fortified Valletta against Muslim attack.

The tunnels were uncovered on February 24 during an archaeological survey of the city's Palace Square in advance of an underground-garage project.

Experts think the newly revealed tunnels—though tall enough to allow human passage—formed part of an extensive water system used to pipe vital supplies to the city.

The tunnels were found beneath Palace Square, opposite the Grandmaster's Palace. Once home to the leader of the Knights of Malta, the palace today houses Malta's legislature and the office of the Maltese president.

First, workers found what's believed to have been an underground reservoir just under the paving stones of Palace Square. Near the bottom of the reservoir, some 40 feet (12 meters) down, they discovered a large opening in a reservoir wall—the entrance to a tunnel, which runs half the length of the square and connects to channels, some of which lead toward the palace.  Water security was a major priority during the city's construction, the goal being to maintain the supply even during future sieges.

Water was therefore transported to the city from valleys to the west via an aqueduct, the remains of which still stand. The Palace Square location of the newfound tunnels supports the idea that the network was intended for water. The tunnel apparently fed a grand fountain in Palace Square via the underground reservoir. The fountain was later moved when the British ruled the island, from 1814 to 1964.

This fountain marked the very important achievement of getting water to the city.

By comparison, major cities like London and Vienna "were still wallowing in their own muck."

Liked that line about London and Vienna wallowing in their own muck!  Just goes to show that making a modern car park can uncover more than you bargained for.  Glad to see the authorities changed their mind about the car park, given the excitement about their unexpected finds underground.

Gems

I complain repeatedly about teaching, about how I am in no way designed to teach kids.  Now that I am no longer teaching at college I wanted to remember all those wonderful young people that I had the privilege to meet along the way.  In particular, I wanted to thank the parents of such youngsters.  Believe me we all owe them a debt of gratitude, because of their actions the world is a brighter place.  So this poem is dedicated to all of you parents and the gems you have helped brighten the world with.  I wish they weren't so rare!

Gems

Some kids are like that

Sure eyed, full of love and life

Eyes register

Hearts absorb all

Minds weigh things carefully

Discard the dross and pack the good

I want to meet their parents

Thank them for this miracle

A sound head on a good heart

Well done, well done indeed

No one may ever tell you

But I see a job well done

Yearly, hourly every second reinforced

Never sure of the right path

But finding the best inside

Cultivating a soul worth meeting

Protecting a seed in difficult days

What a delight to discover that knowing eye

Who loves Attiticus and justice

Feels on all wavelength and yet

Laughs and helps with ease

They make life sweet for the rest of us

With their good humour and balance

Always ready to laugh, to live, to light the way

In class, I despair of hurtfulness

Twisted anger, bullying, mindless sameness

Fashion fatigue, surface preoccupation

Following sheep like, juice and drug escape

Then there they are, a delight to mind and heart

This sweet spring of goodness and hope

Among the weeds, unexpected, glowing

They light my day

Much thanks for these gems

You have mined well and fashioned facets to catch the light

Mrs Fazi

Mrs Fazi

She lived in Tehran and was from a wealthy family.  She was ever elegantly dressed, well read and meticulous in her housekeeping.  She lived in an affluent area of the town in her large spacious house.    One day a couple came to her door and told her to pack one suitcase and leave immediately as they had been given her house and its contents, since she was a Baha’i.  She was literally thrown out of her own home within a matter of hours with her single suitcase in hand.  She had lost everything she owned in a matter of hours.  Everything that was familiar, loved and cherished was now owned by strangers. 

But, she had her children and they were more important than possessions, she consoled herself.  We take for granted all that we have until it is taken or lost, she told her friends. Then, her son, a medical doctor, was arrested and put into Evin prison.  Arresting Baha’is was becoming a common occurrence, whether it was to extract large fines from the family or as a method of intimidating the Baha’i community.  She visited the prison daily on foot taking food and clean clothes to her son.  The guards, as a joke, told her one-day that she needn’t come anymore as her son had been executed the night before.  Mrs Fazi went missing and was found two days later wandering the streets in a confused state.  Her son was eventually released but her mental state never recovered. 

She came to live in Ballymena and was lovingly nursed by her daughter here in Northern Ireland and is buried in the graveyard here.  I visited her grave recently and thought about her life and her suffering.   I also remembered her kindness to all who came across her path and her devotion to her family.  The callous cruelty that cuts through decent lives and wreaks havoc and pain quite takes one’s breath away and shouldn’t be forgotten.

“O OPPRESSORS ON EARTH!
Withdraw your hands from tyranny, for I have pledged Myself not to forgive any man's injustice.”

The Hidden Words of Bahá'u'lláh

Jimmy and Eleni

We had some wonderful friends on Rhodes, Greece.  Jimmy and Eleni were just like angels.  We met Eleni, when we went to Greek classes at a nearby centre.  My depressing attempts to learn Greek were disheartening.  Despite my best attempts to memorise words for homework, my brain was incapable of keeping this information for any degree of time.  As a result, after months of classes my Greek was worse than awful and even the newcomers from Albania or Russia were outstripping me within weeks of starting.  But the best part of that class was Eleni.  She was Greek and a lovely radiant 60 year old.  She attended the classes to help with our pronunciation and her kindness was a salve.  Gradually, we got to meet her husband Jimmy another wonderful soul.  They lived in Koskinou and had a lovely house in a huge garden of fruit trees.  Sitting having coffee in their garden with the apricots hanging over us was heavenly.  Eleni did a good turn everyday in her father’s name.  Such a sweet thing to do in memory of someone you love.  We would arrive home to our flat to find a huge bag of fresh delicious fruit hanging on our door handle.  Or the day my youngest son learnt his first Greek word (it happened to be the Greek word for watch) and she bought him a small watch to encourage him to learn more!  Jimmy and Eleni are wonderful people inside and out.  Such a privilege to know them and I hug myself in glee to know they are on Rhodes cultivating a fertile garden out back and radiating love and kindness to all they encounter.

Nightmare quality of some experiences

A piece from an old e mail, found on my hard drive.

Hope all goes well with you guys.  I am recovering from yesterday and it all seems quite dream like.  Things in Greece have a disorganized feel to them that adds to the nightmare quality of some experiences.  

I had heard Harry had gone into hospital but I had celebrated his 69^th birthday in his home only a few days earlier and he had looked fine with a good appetite and a was a good colour and back on his feet able to get down the stairs.  He still had the urine drainage bag attached and I could tell he hated it but otherwise he seemed his normal cheerful self.  The bag had been empty in the morning and that had caused them to go to hospital the day before last.  The hospital did not seem to do much – how chaotic and appalling their disorder appears when some one is in real need.   

He was ordering in a Greek sweet that morning and then by the afternoon he was dead.  In typical fashion they don’t have cold storage here on the island and so burial is within 24 hours!  So yesterday afternoon we had the service in the German graveyard and several of his friends and family were there.  It was Daniel’s first funeral and not an easy one.   

The coffin was open and they had shoved two huge pieces of cotton wool up his nose.  The bearers were four really rough characters in tee shirts and underpants hanging out with ropes and surly countenances.  They work for the graveyard.  They lowered the coffin in opened as the Greeks have an unusual practice of throwing earth into the open coffin (just a few handfuls)!  Then the lid is put on.  It all seemed so horrific and rough and when the lid is on they immediately start shovelling earth in while everyone looks on.   

At one point, as the four shady characters raced off with the coffin to the graveside my friend Shirley urged me to run with her after them, saying we could not let him be alone with strangers.  I could see the four were very perplexed that no one was throwing themselves into the hole and fainting – a norm for Greek funerals.  But the ceremony, was dignified with the Lord’s prayer, Harry’s favourite prayer in German, beautiful music and lots of flowers.  At one point the someone started singing a song and everyone joined in and the atmosphere melted.  I could not wish a speedier end for Harry and despite the horrors of the funeral both Daniel and I were happy that he was in a better place.  As we drove home Daniel and I kept holding hands and reassuring each other.  Life seemed very tenuous all of a sudden.  Harry’s smiling face will be missed and his good nature.  It was the first time I felt my son’s strength, his stoic nature and his robustness.  How quickly they grow up and become bigger than us in every way.

      An American Indian elder described his own inner struggles this way:

      "Inside of me there two dogs. One of the dogs is mean and evil. The other dog is good. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time." When asked which dog wins, he reflected for a moment and replied, "The one I feed the most."