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

Blessed is the Spot - Scenes from Malta

Blessed is the spot, and the house, and the place, and the city, and the heart, and the mountain, and the refuge, and the cave, and the valley, and the land, and the sea, and the island, and the meadow where mention of God hath been made, and His praise glorified.

—Bahá’u’lláh music from Songs of the Ancient Beauty sung by Bahá'í Chorale

Collars and Cuffs, Confucius and Change

The world is ever more connected. In my family, there is a collection of the ladies journal from 1850 that originally belonged to my great grandmother. In these journals, there is regular advice on how to crochet collars and sleeves or make extraordinary hats and also some news. Much of the news is actually about the intricacies of court. Tales of royal events and all the nobility who also attended. Where they went and on occasion what they wore. Then, there is also actual news about events, murders, trials, court proceedings and accidents. In one memorable issue, there were details of a dreadful industrial accident in which many workers were killed and it was announced a charity had been proposed to help the widows and children of those who lost their lives. The following issue had a vigorous riposte to this suggestion. The writer said that the accident had not happened in his county and he saw no reason to be in involved in looking after strangers on the other side of the country. (Still in the UK!) Reading this I was suddenly struck by how far humanity has travelled in one century. 

Now when disasters happen anywhere in the world our hearts contract, we feel despair at other's pain and suffering. We can no longer comfortably draw the line around our own community and care for only them. Why? Because the heart that is open to love knows no boundaries. The child dying here or abroad feels like a harpoon to the open heart. Being able to only care about our own children and loved ones feels like a curtailed mean spirited love indeed. What do we convey to our children with our indifference to the suffering of others outside the family circle?

Another reflection of a perverted mindset is when I care only for my religious group and feel an odd vicious pleasure when those of a different persuasion suffer. Some hug their righteousness to their breasts and spit their hatred and loathing of the ‘others’. They interpret the suffering of others as God's justice. What an odd coldhearted and perverse mindset surely unworthy of the light of day.

In today's interconnected world we are shown the social conditions and suffering of people from all over the world. Our consciences are heavy indeed with the pain and loss of life that constantly plague the human race. We cannot blame it on God's justice. Inequality, discrimination and exploitation have torn society apart. Humanity is in turmoil and confusion and we all know we need real progress, not regression.

We are one human race and our well-being is linked with everyone on this planet. If our economic advancement is at the cost of sacrificing another nation, it will not end well. The selfish attitude that pursues economic gain without regard to the natural environment will not end well. The growing gap between the rich and the poor does not befit the nobility of either and will not end well.

The focus on self-interest, winning at all costs, whoever is damaged in the process, combined with a strange lethargy of conscience will not end well. 

Honesty, integrity, trustworthiness and generosity these qualities of spirit ensure things end well. The upliftment of society begins with each of us and in today's world, our consciences must be awakened at all costs. Only when we feel with a vibrant loving heart will we begin to take action for the good of society.  When we think globally and have long term worthy plans for humanity and act locally in our communities with short-term actions that are constantly reflected upon and adjusted, then progress can be built not just dreamed of.

"If you can practice these five things with all the people … courtesy, generosity, honesty, persistence, and kindness. If you are courteous, you will not be disrespected; if you are generous, you will gain everything. If you are honest, people will rely on you. If you are persistent you will get results.”

writing of Confucius

(551 BC – 479 BC)

Speak less and doing more

There is an assumption that wives should cook. Most commonly held by men who don't cook. This erroneous mindset needs to be challenged. There are many advantages of making a different choice.

Men are frequently better cooks than their wives!

Having a husband or wife who can't cook weakens the family structure. What happens when one is ill or sent abroad? Having two parties perfectly capable of producing nutritious meals is a foundation of a stronger family unit, surely?

Children hardly ever listen to what you say, as a parent, but they watch everything you do with a forensic intensity that should frighten us. If you wish to incapacitate a son, have a father who cannot cook. Mothers, if you prefer to train your daughter for a life of kitchen duties, become the sole provider of meals for the family. 

Magazines and TV shows are full of stuff about the need for more communication morning, noon and night. Actually, silence is fine. Do less talking not more. Do more listening and watching. Be aware of what's going on. Body language can tell you much more than speech.

I've been looking after a six-month baby two mornings a week for a friend. He does not talk but there are moments when he looked around my flat for his mother. His eyes open wide in distress, he becomes very still. You can sense he is not comfortable, suddenly fearful, missing the one person who means most to him. It doesn't happen very often but when it does I must spot it early and distract him. He soon recovers, he's a good-natured chap willing to humour me with smiles if I make an effort. Most of the time he is happy to lie on cushions kicking alone. 

Most of us are like that. Much of the day we are happy in our own skin, exploring our surroundings, taking everything in. The feel of a breeze from the sea, the sound of birds, the delightful daydream that flutters by. But when we feel distressed or show signs of discomfort, with external or internal furniture,  that's the time you expect loved ones to notice and speak out. We can feel as desperate as the frog in this cartoon.

In such situations people don't need instructions or your perspective of how they got into this pickle. Just show concern enough to listen and trust on most occasions the person is perfectly capable of finding their own solutions. That frog may be in a difficult situation but he has not given up! Really believe that! Be there for them. Listen and only ask questions to understand more. Be silent for a while and let what you've been told be digested. Red Indian culture used to instruct their young to always leave a long silence when an elder spoke to them. It was thought an appropriate sign of respect. Perhaps, it's something we should all begin to do for each other. 

But we love to rush in with our story, our take on the situation. As if the person is witless and needs our input. Mostly they don't and you show you didn't really listen, you were just waiting for your cue to speak. “Seek not to instruct, seek to understand”. If you have a long tirade of advice, save it for yourself. You probably need it more and it will usually serve you better. 

When you speak less, what you do say will have more impact. Less is definitely more! Approach people mindfully. As if they are in a state of meditation and not to be disturbed. Then weigh your words carefully. Don't seek to wound. Don't believe the saying “sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never harm me”. It's quite the contrary, words can cause damage that lasts longer than physical injuries. If we knew the power of speech we’d use it less not more.

Seeing the world as one community

Despite being brought up in a small village, Dungiven in the heart of the Sperrin mountains (in Northern Ireland), I was aware of a wide range of religions from my father. He was headmaster of the tiny secondary school and was an avid reader and educator. Thanks to him, a whole generation of children in that area knew the world map with an intensity that was unique. Not only were all children expected to know where Bolivia, Kenya, Finland etc but also the major seas and of course all the continents. In the early years of secondary school he got children to write the names of countries on a huge blank world map at the front of the classroom. Within a few more years the best students could draw their own world map and label countries and most capitals. He developed games to reinforce their knowledge and in that secluded isolated village, high in the Sperrins, it is delightful to think of so many youngsters having their minds opened to the world beyond their tiny village. In today's world of compulsory syllabuses, learning goals, lesson plans and regular testing no teacher has the freedom to make the choices my father did. I fear the educational system is poorer as a result. I like to think that there are a whole bunch of middle-aged ex-students of my father in Northern Ireland watching their TVs in amazement as Americans are stopped and asked about world geography and demonstrate a bewildering ignorance of such things.  These ex-student’s of my dad could grab a blank piece of paper and stun the interviewer with their insights on this planet of ours and the nations that live on it.

The second priority of my dad's education system was learning about all the major world religions. In Dungiven, where there were only two groups of Christians, Protestants and Catholics, viewing each other with considerable hostility, my father taught the pupils about Hinduism, Judaism, Buddism, the Muslim Faith etc. So the basic knowledge conveyed was an insight into both the world’s nations and the faiths that sustain them. I like to think in his own way he was giving all a broader vision literally, of the world they lived in and the forces that shape the people in it. He was not popular because of this wider vision. Ignorant fanaticism was infinitely more popular. As one furious farmer shouted, 

“Look you're trying to stay on the fence between Protestants and Catholics and there is no room on that fence!”

I like to think that, in fact, my father was not focused on just being impartial between two opposing camps in the community but had a vision of the whole world and the diversity of the creeds and nations to be explored.

Almost 37 years ago I was at university and encountered the Baha’i Faith. I met the Baha’i community during their yearly fast. I remember peering into a dimly lit university refractory to see a group of students sitting eating and laughing together. When I asked what was going on, someone said the university had kept the cafeteria open longer especially for the Baha’i youth as they were fasting and could only eat after sunset. It seemed bizarrely opposite to the hedonistic lifestyle most students usually adopted when free from parental control for the first time. It made me curious but, I asked no questions, just made a mental note to check them out sometime.

My next encounter with a Baha'i happened in a lab deep in the bowels of the physics department at university. A visitor was announced and Richard St Barbe Baker OBE was introduced.  This was the famous ‘Man of the Trees’, an organisation he founded that is found all over the world and is still in existence today, known as the International Tree Foundation.  He was ahead of his time (9 October 1889 – 9 June 1982) in that, even then, he knew the importance of trees to the planet, to our atmosphere and to the soil and ecosystem.  I was impressed that Baha’is  like him took such ethical stances concerning the environment.

My curiosity got the better of me and I began to talk to the Baha’i youth and attend their well attended international evenings which were known for serving food from all over the world. Everything I heard predisposed me towards this Faith. Radiant faces, the diversity of their backgrounds, their openhearted response to questions and discussion. This was no bigoted narrow set of beliefs but rather a calling to see the earth as one planet and mankind its citizens.  Its founder’s name was Bahá'u'lláh  and when I began to read his writings they had a huge impact on me.

“Possess a pure, kind and radiant heart that thine may be a sovereignty ancient, imperishable and everlasting.”

“Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch. Deal ye one with another with the utmost love and harmony, with friendliness and fellowship. He Who is the Daystar of Truth beareth Me witness! So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the whole earth.”

The words seemed to reach in and open my heart to a new way of living, full of hope and endeavours.  I consulted my dad about this new religion, founded in 1844, and he bought me a book about Bahá'u'lláh called the King of Glory,  and had me inscribe on its front page the lines

“The truth will make you free.”

John 8:32

In this book Bahá’u'lláh's life of suffering, exile and imprisonment unfolded. Born in Iran, almost two hundred years ago, he became a prisoner of the Ottoman Empire and was sent to the prison city of Akka.  This is why the Baha’i World centre is found in Israel. His life story also demonstrated the power of goodness to prevail over fanaticism and hatred. The more I read  the more responsibility I felt for each member of this planet whatever their nation or religion.

If you are weary of deceit, falsehoods, disunity and division investigate a different path. Let the light of God’s words illuminate the way. There are no clergy in the Baha’i Faith, the equality of men and women is emphasised with refreshing intensity. In fact, Bahá’u'lláh stated if you cannot afford to educate all your children choose to educate the girl over the boy. Such is the importance of the role of mothers and educators of the next generation.

I like to think we were all meant to have a broader vision above our local realities. A view that lifts our heads from the small-minded pettiness of what we see around us. Our loyalties  to the entire human race must dominate every other allegiance. We all live on one planet and we must care for it and each other. Every action, every prayer should be for the betterment of the whole human race anything less does not beseem us.

“Let your vision be world embracing”.

Baha'i World Community

Maximinus Thrax- Giant in stature and gigantically flawed

The emperor of Rome, in the third century, Severus was returning from an eastern expedition, to celebrate with extensive military games, the birthday of his younger son Geta. The whole country gathered in crowds to watch their emperor and enjoy the spectacle. A young barbarian of enormous stature asked earnestly, in his crude dialect, to be allowed to contend in the wrestling match. As it would have offended the Roman soldiers for this crude barbarian to be successful,  in such a public match, only the toughest and stoutest followers of the camp were sent forward to wrestle with the cheeky barbarian. 

The barbarian wrestled successfully with 16 of the Roman soldiers, one after the other, laying each on the ground. His rewards were some small gifts and also he was permitted to enlist in the emperor’s troops.  The next day, the triumphant barbarian was seen dancing and exulting riotously amid the crowd of new recruits. By such unusual behaviour, he managed to attract the emperor’s notice. Immediately, he ran up to the emperor’s horse and proceeded to run alongside him as the Emperor rode at some pace.

At the end of this horse run, Emperor Severus, thinking the barbarian to be exhausted, cleverly suggested another wrestling match. The barbarian proceeded to overthrow seven of the strongest soldiers in the army. The barbarian, whose name was Maximin, won another prize of a gold collar and was promoted to serve in the house guards whose job it was to protect the sovereign.  The barbarian was descended from his father a Goth  (East Germanic people) and his mother of the nation of the Alini  (Iranian nomadic people). He was subsequently seen to show on every occasion a valour comparable to his enormous strength and a tremendous almost animal-like fierceness. He rose to the rank of centurion and was esteemed by Severus and his son. The fourth Legion, to which Maximin was appointed Tribune, soon became the best disciplined of the whole army. The soldiers applauded their impressive commander and would call him Ajax or Hercules and he was quickly promoted to even higher military command.

Maximinus was, according to all accounts, the biggest man ever to hold the office of Roman emperor.  The History Augusta claims he was 8 foot 6 ins tall and was renown for pulling laden carts single handed. His coins depict a man with a massive head and thick brow and huge, thick nose. Added to this were cold, narrowed eyes and the close-cropped hair of a professional soldier.

Such quick promotion inflamed the barbarian’s growing ambition. Although without much wisdom, he had a selfish cunning nature and years later realised that the new Emperor no longer had the affection of the army and he engineered their growing discontent for his own advantage. Eventually, he put to death the young leader and proclaimed himself emperor. He had a savage appearance and was completely ignorant of arts and had a great fear of the contempt of others. He could remember times waiting at the doors of proud nobles and not even been allowed admittance by their slaves. Those who remembered his previous obscurity were often put to death, even those who had been his benefactors. His baseness and ingratitude knew no limit.   Even without witnesses or without a trial, senators could be put to death and in one case along with 4000 others. On even the smallest accusation a Roman noble could be slaughtered, endure torture and be beaten to death with clubs. Anxious to amass wealth he stripped the temples of their most valuable ornaments of gold and silver and had statues melted down and made into money.

How his wife Caecilia Paulina died is a mystery; contemporary gossip claimed that Maximinus had cut her to pieces in a fit of rage.  It has been suggested that he probably suffered from a form of acromegaly. Of “frightening appearance and colossal size,” he displayed a prominent forehead, large nose, and lantern jaw, typical symptoms of pituitary gland overproduction of growth hormones. Maximinus seems to share some of those characteristics typical of this complaint.

Acromegaly is typically due to the pituitary gland producing too much growth hormone. In more than 95% of cases the excess production is due to a benign tumour.  There are a few famous modern cases of sufferers from this disease like Andre the Giant.  

In fact, as if to back up this premise recently the first complete ancient skeleton of a person with gigantism has been discovered near Rome (as reported in National Geographic), study in Nov 10, 2012 found dating from the same time period as Maximinus.

"At 6 feet, 8 inches tall, the man would have been a giant in third-century A.D. Rome, where men averaged about 5 and a half feet tall. Finding such skeletons is unique, because gigantism itself is extremely rare, today affecting about three people in a million worldwide. The condition begins in childhood, when a malfunctioning pituitary gland causes abnormal growth.

To find out if the skeleton had gigantism, the team examined the bones and found evidence of skull damage consistent with a pituitary tumour, which disrupts the pituitary gland, causing it to overproduce human growth hormone. His early demise—likely between 16 and 20—might also point to gigantism, which is associated with cardiovascular disease and respiratory problems."  

In fact, the life expectancy of a patient, even today, with untreated acromegaly is 50 years. This is because the condition causes cardiomyopathy and ventricular arrhythmia. Just in case you think Maximinus’s height is impossible there are a few more recent examples worth checking out.  The photos are pretty incredible.

Coyne was born in 1897 in Iowa, USA. His 1918 World War I draft card listed his height as 8 feet. His Guinness book of records entry states that he was refused entry to the war due to his height. At the time of his death it was possible that he had reached the height of 8 foot 4 inches.

Edouard Beaupré, born in 1881, was a circus sideshow freak, a strong man, and a star in Barnum and Baileys. He was the eldest of 20 children and was born in Canada. While he was of normal height during his first few years of life, by the age of nine he was 6 feet tall. His death certificate showed him as being 8’3″ and still growing. As a strongman, his feature stunt was crouching down and lifting a horse to his shoulders. He reportedly lifted horses as heavy as 900 pounds.

Leonid Stadnyk (8 feet 5 inches) was born in 1971 in the Ukraine. He is a registered veterinary surgeon and lives with his mother. He is currently the world’s tallest human according to the Guinness Book of Records.

Johan was born in America the year that his mother moved there from Norway. Interestingly his mother was also a giant, at 7’2″. According to his death certificate from Mendocino State Hospital, at the time of death he was 9’2″ – if this is true then he is the tallest recorded human – beating Robert Wadlow below, by 3 inches. He is buried in Montana.

Robert Wadlow was (8′ 11.1″) and was often referred to as the Alton giant because he came from Alton, Illinois. At the time of his death he weighed 440 pounds and showed no signs of stopping growing. He was born in 1918, the oldest of five children. He died at the age of 22 from an infection caused by a blister on his ankle, which he got while making a professional appearance at the National Forest Festival.

Interestingly, so many of the above giants are referred to as gentle characters.  It seems Maximinus shared their height but not their placid natures. What a terrifying spectacle he must have made in the third century!