June 24th, 2008 §
Herald Blog – 24 JUNE 2008
SMOOCHES
I have a confession; after 8 years on British soil I have become complicit in the cult of “X”.
I refer not to “x marks the spot”, nor Madame Defarge styled knitted “X curses”, or even the “X-Factor” (both in Pop programs and chromosomal terms).
But rather that subversive “X” that finds itself at the end of every text and email.
Yes.
Smooches.
I recall 8 years ago upon arriving HERE I was quickly inundated with text messages from new friends with the offending “xx” on the end. These were individuals, whilst I found lovely, were hardly (well for the most part) individuals with whom I would like to lock lips. To my Puritanical (ha ha) American side the bold kisses were enforced intimacy that didn’t sit well.
In the Homeland, Philadelphia, kisses are reserved for birthday cards from relatives (older if you are young, younger if you are older) or very VERY dear friends. Your metaphoric saliva stays intact on personage.
After eight years however I find myself at the forefront of the smoocherama and distribute without thought. I am even a bit taken aback when messages MISS THE KISS.
Now the thing is the KISS is not really about kissing. For me it is an extension of those dear British regional terms of affection like ‘hen’, ‘duck’, and ‘love’. Used in conversational terms they become a wee blessing at the end of the message, like ‘Namaste’ in India.
I often get into debates with (mostly West Coast Scottish) folks over religion and spirituality. It is no blooming wonder. Secretarianism has drilled a hole in the soul of so many here. The reactive answer is to remove what is viewed as the initiating offense – Christianity. Now please understand, I am not Christian, so I am not waving the banner for anyone in particular. There are good Christians, there are bad Christians in the same way there are good doctors and bad doctors.
But I don’t wish to address THAT in particular. I’d like to consider that in the face of vehement secularism we send kisses without expectation, and for no apparent REASON. It is that qualitative aspect of life that makes it a little bit sweeter.
Recently I became introduced to an economic concept termed “The Happy People Index” (HPI), an alternative to the “Gross National Product” (GNP). According to this scale society’s success is measured by how happy its people are. One of the problems with the GNP is that things which bring much suffering (ie. Wars and exploitation) can make a positive GNP. The GNP ultimately has no ‘value’ for people, things, moments that improve and enhance the quality of our life, older folks, individuals with special needs, artists, spirituality, celebration…. unless it (they) can be boxed and sold.
So I am happy to belong to this wonderfully subversive “xx” cult. Let the kisses flow without expectation or reason. And next time why not include a wee cuddle as well?
XoxO!
June 17th, 2008 §
Herald Blog – 17 JUNE 2008 -
GENGHIS DANCING
So I just saw “Mongol” at the movie theatre – all about the life of Genghis Khan.
What a dude. Father poisoned when he was nine leaving him to roam the Mongolian steppes until age 16, constant assassination threats, being caught by rival tribes only to escape again and then after all this he goes on to rule half the known world.
But at the end of the day, just a man.
It seems the defining feature of success, and heroes (or heroines), is not in what you do, but that you persevere. It’s the fact that life WILL knock you down. The question is what choices do you make when you arise?
My grandmother’s family motto was “while I breathe I hope”.
Right now there is a lot of hoopla about the economy, the fuel crisis, and the various wars. Earlier this week there was a bible thumper on Sauchiehall St. preaching hell, damnation and whatever other apocalyptic vision he could scare up. Where does this get us, this churning of the vision of ‘hell on earth’? I mean, what are you supposed to do with that?
This week Scotland is host to Refugee Week. Various events are being staged – music, comedy, football, film and more. The role of the festival is to “celebrate what we have in common and embrace what sets us apart”. Scotland has a fantastic history of embracing the ‘other’. Perhaps it is related to our own imposed exile with the Highland Clearances, or related to ideas propagated during the Scottish Enlightenment, or perhaps we are just a nation of good folks. Regardless, the event serves as an extraordinary platform to create understanding between people of diverse backgrounds.
Some months ago I met a woman from Africa who was younger than me, and had been in captivity for over ten years (in Africa), over which time she had her newborn baby and toddler son taken from her. She had no idea of their whereabouts or if they were alive. At the time of our meeting she was far from a shriveled wreck as you would anticipate (and perhaps accept). Rather she was dedicating her time to volunteering in the local community.
On Saturday night I witnessed a dance performance “Songs of Home, Songs of Hope”, a collaboration between Maryhill Integration Network and Glasgow’s Gilmore Productions. Individuals from Chad to Iran to Azerbaijan to Eritrea and then some shared the stage with Native Scots. It was extraordinary to see and to imagine the stories that went beyond the artistic expression.
We all have opportunities in our life to be heroic. Sometimes it is within us, sometimes it is for a greater good. With that comes risk. And perhaps that is the greatest fear, losing. Genghis lost time and time again, but with each loss came a greater gain. And without risk in the world, life would become stagnant and controlled. There are no guarantees. Sometimes our risk is chosen, sometimes it is imposed.
And so I leave you with another quote I saw on a journal once,
“I fall down, I get up, and meanwhile I’m dancing”.
Here’s to the dance.
June 10th, 2008 §
Herald Blog
10 JUNE 2008
GARDENS
Sitting in a dappled haze of sun and green, the rise and fall of my belly was only punctuated by the bee-buzz and butterfly-flap. Six hours of garden work, the dust of trees graced bridge of nose, scratches from overgrown fuscia skimmed arms and I am blissfully peaceful in this natural haven. My body feels in perfect synchronicity.
One mile away there is another garden oasis, Queen’s Park. As the police comb the 148 acres for clues to a rape and murder of an ‘ordinary’ local woman, Moira Jones, ducks, squirrels and bunnies unaware continue in their forage.
In the West End, another ‘ordinary’ woman, Eleni Pachou was found murdered in the restaurant in which she worked.
Later in City Centre five women were indecently assaulted within the space of 90 minutes.
And on Sunday I was a Red Cross First Aide at a family event at Chatelherault Country Park, where I had been assaulted 8 years ago.
Needless to say the course of events and my subsequent arrival back at Chatelherault makes me think.
I’d like to say it was the only time I had been targeted in this way. Sadly, no. Fourteen and eleven years ago I was stalked, which came with threats to my life.
I’d like to say I am the only woman who has ever experienced this. Sadly, no.
It is interesting to note that when I refer to violence against women individuals chime ‘men get abused to’. Now please understand that I do not feel that is in any way a ‘better’ situation. However lumping violence against women with that against men is like comparing cancer and drowning.
The fact is women are targeted for the virtue of being women. And this is something we must face as a society and individuals.
I am referring to the demonizing of our bodies. Think of how abusive you are being to yourself every time, EVERY time you tell yourself you ‘need’ to be thinner, ‘need’ to have a different neck, nose, ass. You make yourself unworthy in the world. And this does contribute to a global neurosis wherein because our bodies are not good enough, because in many cases they carry such badness or stimulate impurity in men, they need to be covered and THAT builds a consciousness of abuse. For it is absolutely ok to battle, dishonour something that is bad.
Now in the meantime there are many chats about obesity, unhealthiness. Yes this is a problem- an equally bad measure of not honouring the body. This Protestant ethic of mind over all else and therefore the easy commodification of everything outwith is absurd.
I just saw a play about Hitler’s cleansing programs – his pursuit of the perfect race. I sometimes feel in our modern definition of ‘perfection’ that he must be jolly well happy in his grave as we, by choice, carry out all sorts of personal pursuits of physical perfection – our own little Stepfords.
We cannot bring back Moira or Eleni. And perhaps we cannot heal the perpetrators but we can proactively stop the development of new ones through our own honorable embrace of all we are in this natural physical world.
June 3rd, 2008 §
Herald Blog
3 JUNE 2008
THE REAL WORLD
Recently reading my numerous emails and this is tagged onto the end of one,
”Pretty soon you’ll back in the real world like the rest of us”.
What IS this “real” world? I can only assume the writer was referring to the SHARED world (meaning rules, customs etc…) we have all decided to proscribe to. Most certainly throughout time and history the benchmark for ‘real’ has shifted. Try explaining a clock radio to a serf in Feudal times. And what’s more am I not living with the rest of the people on the planet doing the best I can?
This statement therefore becomes more of personal plea by resident emailer of the desire to transcend whatever that REAL is they are living. And Mary mother of Buddha we all go through these personal and emotive struggles. I am going through my own at the minute.
I have the good fortune of renewing my resident visa this month. And for that I need to JUSTIFY my existence in this country taking a test, providing numerous papers and having an interview. For an individual as myself who prides herself on living “free” it is a painful exercise. I also am well aware that the associated discomfort is related to the demons (deemings?) that surface as a result of this exercise- my own mammoth insecurities.
I think to myself maybe I should be a dentist. Or a trash collector. Something USEFUL. Or if I am going to be SO BOLD as to do what I believe in maybe I should NOT have so much frickin fun, give up my worldly possessions and live in a cave?
Traveling on the train between Edinburgh and Glasgow yesterday someone had pitched a sign in the field on the side of the road which said,
‘If not now, then when?’
If we are to make this world a better place, and certainly that is OUR shared responsibility it must begin now. There is no past, and there might not be a future.
The thing IS nothing is wrong (or for that matter RIGHT) about this REAL world that we live in, in whatever shape that takes. Banker, Buddhist, Builder we are all making the best of our lives and to each the interpretation of what is IDEAL is probably different (ideal equaling something to strive for). That SAID the framework for understanding those ideals is limited to our social and historical constructs. If we always only ever subscribed to what is around us with no fresh ideas or insight, or risk for that matter, we would all still be living in caves.
Marcel Proust famously said “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in seeing with new eyes”.
So I can only assume for those of us who might find ourselves doubting our lives but “accepting our lot”, that it’s not so much what you do but how you do and what you open yourself to experience. We must not underestimate our potential and the power of our dreams to change the world.
Sometimes it is necessary to shake the tree to get a few new golden apples.
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