Still I Rise

Held a creative writing group in Ballysally, Coleraine today at Focus on Family and really enjoyed it,  Nice to see a room full and to have everyone willing to put pen to paper, share and create together.  Strange to be back in the same place after a couple of years away but it will be only until mid August when I head back to Malta.  Enjoying the cool weather and the crack.  Today we watched a video favourite writer of mine - full of laughter and fire.  She died this year but what a lady in every sense of the word.  Enjoy her telling of Still I Rise.

Dad - A Real Teacher

Was talking on Skype to my uncle in New Zealand and the topic of my dad came up.  It has been over nine years since he died but he is alive in memories and conversations with loved ones.  My uncle reminded me of a holiday in Cranfield when he was just a boy and my father took him with others to examine a bag of cigarettes washed up on the shore.  My father told them all that there was a chance that people were on the look out with guns for this smuggled hoard so their race to the beach was filled with danger.  My uncle remembers the excitement and thrill of the escapade and how Dad turned the whole affair into a huge adventure for them all.  

My brother remembers how one night when he went round to my Dad’s school in Dungiven and in the darkness opened the front door and went down a long corridor.  Empty school corridors at night are spooky, you almost hear the voices of non-existent pupils echoing from classrooms over the squeak of your shoes on the shiny tiles.  Suddenly, at the end of the corridor in the darkest part someone opened fire with a gun and my brother ran for his life while the flashes of gunfire lit up the corridor.  It was of course my dad who had let fire with a sports starting pistol to see what my brother would do.  

It was never boring with my dad around.  He could make every event into an adventure and fun.  Even a walk in the fields turned into a geological field trip, or a visit to a castle, a lesson on history.  Always informing and educating he could not stop probing your intellect pushing you to find out and want more.

In Dungiven in the 1970s there was a divide between Catholics and Protestants and yet he was a voice of reason even then.  It was not popular and I was struck by how ahead of his time, in so many ways, he was.  In the tiny secondary school in the Sperrins he taught children about Geography so well that all could identify every country on a world map.  The only test was who was the fastest as they raced to the board and labelled the world map drawn there. He loved world maps and bought the biggest and best he could.  I get flashbacks every time I talk on skype with my son and see over his shoulder a huge world map on his wall.  This desire for maps must be genetic!  He also taught the children high in the Sperrins isolated from even NI about all the world religions Buddhist, Hindu, Islam, Baha'i, Christianity, Judaism etc Even now forty years later our religious education has not caught up with his wide ranging insights on world religions.

My son found a newspaper article (from over thirty years ago) in which my Dad speaks of his educational philosophy and it resonates still, even fifty years after he practised it in Canada, Australia and Northern Ireland.  It gives me a fragrance of this lovely man who chose the path less travelled.  Here are two excerpts in his own words.

“A relatively small number of teachers of the right calibre could create a school society in which pupils could progress to greater awareness of the world about them, their cultural heritage and a knowledge of their real selves.  Unfortunately, the false values of contemporary society have been allowed to dictate priorities in education.”

“For me the ideal person is the man from Nazareth who lived in a society very much like our own and Who in the midst of all that hatred could say: ‘Love your enemies and do good to those that hate you.’  One thing for sure is He did not learn that from the teacher in the synagogue school.”

Do the impossible

Pari was one of those friends that embrace you with their care and tenderness.  She was full of a radiant laughter and good humour.  It encompassed all who came into her circle and she allowed it to embrace everyone she came across.  As if to say, you are worthy of my love, whoever you are!  I met her at a strange time in her life when she went back to being a student after years of working as a District nurse in a rural community.  She sweated blood over those first assignments at university but, after discovering her brain had not atrophied in the proceeding decades, she took to the course and university with delight. 

She told me of a client, Suzy in England who she visited in her role as district nurse.  This woman was in the terminal stages of cancer and required increasing doses of palliative medicine to keep the pain at bay.  It was Pari's job to make sure her passing was as pain free as possible.  Pari said she remembered thinking that endings are always hard but no one should face them alone.  It requires courage to live and to die, especially while everyone around you is living and you are facing death. Suzy had it in spades and was resigned to her life ending.  Medical treatments had been applied and endured to no avail.  So instead she was planning her departure and with two young children and a husband there was a lot to think about.  Towards the end she was moved into a special unit in the local hospital.  It was thought easier to give regular pain medication and for the family a valuable break from heart breaking 24 hour care.

Pari also visited her in hospital.  The health service has now forgotten such continuity of care is vital.  Having the same district nurse who has watched your journey from health to illness and held your hand during chemotherapy, hope, radiotherapy, hairlessness and final acceptance that no more can be done is a comfort.  Not some new stranger who knows only this sad end game of your life.  Pari watched the disease’s progression with growing realization that the end was very close.  An intense weariness and sleepiness in Suzy became ever present.  There was no more fight in her left, just a desire for the whole thing to be over.  Then, disaster happened.  As Pari said, you cannot imagine anything this bad getting worse but it did.

Her husband decided he could not take anymore of death and illness and loss.  He arranged for the two children to be put into social care and left.  When the news was broken to Suzy of her husband leaving and her children being placed into social care, it was whispered gradually to avoid traumatising her.  Once, the message had been given Pari watched as her sick friend stirred as if from a deathly stillness.  Her face became mobile, her arm movements more deliberate.  The transformation continued throughout the day and it ended with her discharging herself, against all advice, while arranging her children to be taken out of care and back to the family home.  As Pari visited, Suzy literally dragged herself from the sofa to the sink making huge vegetable/fruit drinks in a blender.  She managed the children and when they slept she would weep on the large sofa and rage against her illness.  Pari had never seen such true grit.  There was a steely determination to persevere, to beat this thing.  Incredibly, Suzy did.  She lived a further eight years, long enough to start her own successful restaurant in the local village and bring all her children into young independent teenagers.  For Pari it was a constant reminder that we know so little of the unbelievable reserves people have within them.  Of how the mind, once set on a path, can indeed do the impossible.

"I am ever so humble, I am!"

“Thou shalt find the wayfarer to be lowly before all men and humble before all things”

“the wayfarer must not claim the seat of honour in any gathering or walk before others in the desire to vaunt and exalt himself”[1]

Humility, these days, is associated with subservience.  Its archetype was that toady, horrid character we remember from Dicken’s classic novel (David Copperfield), “I am ever so humble, I am”  I was  struck by Charles Dicken’s own reading concerning this character.  He manages to put so much odious quality in his voice while speaking as Uriah Heep one feels instant dislike for the distinctive creepy Uriah.  

Until I saw this video I had no idea what an excellent narrator this author was. Despite all his protestations Uriah was far from humble but for some reason he epitomises what people have grown to assume is humility.  We have been trained in literature and history to admire the brave, the audacious, the straight talking hero and humility has been tarnished with a creeping form of cowardism.  

Of course true humility is far from such false simpering or fear of superiors.  In its truest from humility is that conviction of the nobility of humanity.  A station so exalted that there can be no other approach but humble recognition.  Too often each of us fall far short of what we could and should be.  Nonetheless, our capacity is great.  What we choose to do with that gift can be appalling. Training ourselves to approach others convinced of their high station does many things,

1. we become aware of our own shortcomings instead of those we meet.
2. we begin to look for signs of nobility in all we meet

These two attitudes have consequences that are transformative for the individual and our communities.  It enhances progress as we are forced to reflect on our own station and then implement change.  Also, because we approach others looking for the good, it is that we focus on.  Even if they have nine bad qualities and only one good, with true humility it is that single virtue we choose to observe and learn from.

"Humility is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less."[2] 

How we perceive ourselves and the world is critical.  If we sense the inevitable corrosion and corruption around us it is disheartening and strangely incapacitating.  Whereas, feeling that we are part of a positive plan for this world encourages us to play our role.  If Gandhi had focussed on the prejudice and hatred between Muslim and Hindu communities he could not have engineered peaceful protest and become a potent symbol for change.  It was not that he was uniformed or ignorant of the disunity it was merely his entire focus was on implementing spiritual principles.  He was convinced their practical application would be of lasting benefit to everyone.  This ability to spot the spiritual principle underpinning an issue is transformative on both the individual and our society.

---

[1] (Bahá’í Writings)

[2] C S Lewis

Life without Facebook

Life without Facebook, well this is almost the first week over and the feeling is actually not one of lose but of huge relief.  The sheer freedom not to have that constant checking of postings is like giving up an onerous job.  

Have made little progress otherwise.  Watched films instead of watching Facebook/internet, so not a great break through and then yesterday I began reading a book.  It is an old favourite, “To Kill a Mockingbird” and am struck by the delight of being able to put the book down and have a break and come back to it.  Novels don’t have that gripping attention that the film/internet demands.  It is like an old friend that you can meet, not see for a few days and then carry on as if nothing has been disturbed.  I am walking more, talking to family instead of being plugged in.  It is early days yet but so far being without Facebook has been a really positive experience.  

I am delighted that close friends are sending more personal emails to me, making the real effort to keep in touch.  Facebook allows that sense of being connected to those we know but it is a fairly insincere contact.  You get all the information without actually talking or phoning.  No real effort is required other than a constant updating on what everyone is doing.  That effort is not balanced by what is received.  Monitoring the postings of friends is not participating in their lives it is more voyeuristic than I like.  It is early days but so far life without Facebook feels like a step forward for me.  Strange to read that others have also made that choice and come to similar conclusions.  Here is one such account that struck a chord with me.

“I quit Facebook because I wanted to live deliberately.

Seventeen months ago, I deleted my Facebook account — not just deactivated it, but fully deleted it — and the relief was tremendous.

No longer did I have to check for updates, deal with friend requests (is this someone whose updates I want in my life? do I want them to see mine?), post whatever was happening in my life, be grossed out by inappropriate sharing, listen to those who wanted to promote their latest business or interests, care about what Farmville game someone else was playing, look at what other people are having for lunch or what parties they’re going to, see “funny” photos, worry about whether people “liked” my update or photo … and so on and so on.

This is not to belittle what others do, but to reflect on the noise that builds up when we participate neck-deep in a social network.”

From http://zenhabits.net/fb/

Time to Leave Facebook?

I got a lecture from my son today.  It is at times like this one realises that this younger generation are so much more experienced with online etiquette and practices.  It had arisen from me reading an exchange on the innocuous topic of protecting the environment from over construction - a constant threat in over crowded Malta.  Despite the abundance of old dilapidated buildings and flats developers are eager to use virgin, unspoiled ground.  Such property is much easier and less costly to construct than the costly redevelopment of old premises.  But at what cost to the environment and the precious remaining green areas available.  One comment on the original posting caught my eye.  The posting took a tangential approach to the problem.  He said that the issue was the number of refugees reaching the shores in boats from Africa and stated that in his opinion, "Their boats should be bombed before they reached Malta and that those left in the water shot."  Coming fast on the heels of the many drownings happening in the Mediterranean as refugees flee the north coast of Africa in makeshift boats exposed to the elements.  As photos of the bodies carefully wrapped in body bags filled newspaper pages, this posting really infuriated me and before I actually thought about it properly, I responded to his comment by addressing him personally with the ill advised posting,

"What kind of nut are you?"

Fresh in my mind were the findings of the UN report on the Rwanda massacre when one million people were slaughtered in a matter of months. In fact it is now reckoned that 70% of the Tutsi population was murdered by their Hutu neighbours.  In the report the responsibility of local radio/media was highlighted.  Not only did a local radio station call upon loyal Hutus to kill their neighbour Tutsis but indeed as well as calling on patriotic duty they proceeded to name local Tutsi to be killed and kept up a murderous avalanche spreading unchecked across the country.  It is a salutary lesson in how the media can be not just a contributor to violence but indeed an instigator.

The Golden Dawn Party in Greece has waged a vicious street war against immigrants/refugees with considerable support from many who should know better.  This neo-nazi, fascist party has demonstrated its xenophobic agenda and perhaps its true nature is ably demonstrated by the behaviour of its spokesman, Kasidiaris on live TV when he throws water on one woman and assaults another violently live on TV.  Kasidiaris bears a tattoo on his arm of a Nazi-style swastika.  Not that you would expect much more from a party whose leader Nikos Michaloliakos has publicly denied the holocaust, questioning the number of Jews murdered and claiming there were no gas chambers in concentration camps,

"There were no ovens, this is a lie ... there were no gas chambers either," he said during a TV interview.  I find it shocking that despite this public display of violence against women (2012) he was not arrested and a subsequent Facebook set up in support of his violence to the two women received 6000 likes in 24hrs!  He was later arrested for murder, extortion, and involvement in the disappearance of up to 100 migrants in September of last year (2013).  Depressingly, On 2 October 2013, Ilias Kasidiaris was released on a 50,000 euro bail.  Am I the only one holding my head in despair at all this?

Surely this rise in the language of hatred and violence against human beings of any nationality or religion has to be challenged on all fronts.  Whether on our newspapers, our radio, TV or even online media.  It cannot be accepted or ignored surely?

Europe has seen within its own borders how such language can lead to a killing frenzy. The perpetrator of violence must be prosecuted by the full force of the law.  Those that call for violence on others, whatever their ideology/reasons must not be given airtime to propagate their hatred in others.  I really loved how this Turkish interviewer put an instant end to the religious bigotry he encountered.  It is a positive experience to see someone in the media handle the situation with integrity and principles intact.

I wish I could say I handled my online situation as well as this.  It was the thought that someone could seriously advocate the bombing of people fleeing poverty/war that rankled but my response was to insult, hardly raising the tone of the communication.  The result was predicable.

Within minutes of my posting there was a vitriolic response from the nutter with more of his vile perspectives shared.    It was at this point my son wearily lectured me on the pitfalls of engaging with the despicable on the comments section of postings.  It just gives them the oxygen of publicity as more responses boost their profile and agenda.  Suitably chastised I have been reflecting on the lessons learned.  This week for the first time I have seriously contemplated closing down Facebook and withdrawing from this stealer of my time and creativity.  It has long struck me that valuable time with loved ones has begun to seriously suffer from my over engagement with this media.  It is so addictive to check up on friends and touch base with birthdays, triumphs, losses, births etc.  When I think of how much time it steals from me on a daily basis the answer is a simple one, it must go!  I'd appreciate input from those of you out there, your thoughts, coping strategies etc before a final decision is made.

Ugly, bottom heavy and hairless

I focussed on ugliness in ships today.  Sometimes you are struck by ugliness right between the eyes.  It feels like a hard slap across the face.  Malta has so many beautiful places and backdrops ugliness stands out even more horrifically.  There is nothing like light and beauty to make the darkness and shadows evident.  I am not an expert sailor I hasten to add.  My purchase when I got my first paycheck, as an assistant engineer in Plessey, Cowes was to buy a sailing dinghy.  It was a small topper and it fairly flew across the water despite my appalling sailing skills.  

I always turned it over when trying to change tack with the wind behind me.  I got used to the unpredictable nature of my sailing skills but once a friend was heavily traumatised by my frequent capsizing. They abandoned ship and swam to the nearest shore and never came sailing again.  I enjoyed the excitement and was prepared to put up with the disasters.  I learned to appreciate beautiful yachts in Cowes, there were so many around you got fussy about small details.  The lines should be smooth, pleasing to the eye, she should be balanced not top heavy or bottom heavy.  There needs to be a symmetry.  Hard to put into words but you know it when you see it.  So this morning I walked along the sea front in Malta and recorded all the ugly boats I could find against this most beautiful coastline.  I was shocked how many there were.  The first was this fat assed top heavy cow of a boat.

Note the fat bottom and the grotesque top.  It has a huge caravan stuck on an ugly fat shapeless bottom.  Someone made this.  That person had no sense of beauty or balance.  The main thought was obviously, buy a cheap boat and then have a room you can stand in on top, never mind the looks.  At times, things can be even worse.  You can start out with a stunning yacht which has been butchered beyond belief.  Here it is and it is a crime against beauty.

Some brute has added a huge white chimney to it!  They have stuck a monstrous deformed nose on a masterpiece.  A case of plastic surgery gone wrong.  Was it a genuine mistake or done with cruel intent?  Then, there are the plain.  No beauty, or ugliness just nothing much to look at.

But plainness is mile above the abused beauty of the next one I came across.

It is a stark reminder of how all of us would look if subjected to appalling treatment over a long period.  Not seaworthy and all ugly and deformed.  You cannot help trying to work out how beautiful this boat once was.  While walking around and feeling sorry for these abused forgotten ones I spotted a neglected beauty still radiant despite the neglect.  Couldn't get a good photo as she was behind a wire fence and had been here decades rotting away.  But the lines and the shape was superb. You could imagine her cutting through the water, stern kissing the water.  If her wood was repaired, sanded and polished it would be breath taking to see the result.

The sun was behind me and I had no room to get a good picture and could only take her in parts.

The more I looked the more I wanted to be the one who restored her.  Such a shame to see this beauty imprisoned here.

A lovely deep keel and nice lines.

The grass is so high it almost reaches the decks.

I am frustrated I cannot take a clear shot of this old beauty.  These shots do not do her justice, you would need to see her face to face. Reluctantly, I leave unable to do her justice but wanting to come back with a sander and start restoration work.  Walking back towards home I see a yacht in great shape that comes and goes bringing tourists around the island.  But, she is is always under motor instead of ever having her sails up.  Knowing how beautiful she would be under sail, it feels sad never to see her move with the wind as she should.

I would love to see her sails aloft and silent as she glides past.  I found this old shot of her, online.

Now, that's more like it. Note how the sails are like hair they become a sailing ship's crowning beauty, bringing extra balance and pleasure to the eye.  Here is another lovely one, sails all out catching the wind and the sun.  Beauty is certainly a therapy for the mind and soul.