A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING
Now – as always – it’s time for non-violence. You might think that all religions preached non-violence. Christ, for example, advocated it.
Yet his approach was a radical one, hence his rejection by his people as an irrelevant voice in their struggle to throw off the Roman yoke.
Listen to Yahweh: “Thou shalt smite them and utterly destroy them.” Deuteronomy 7.2
“slay man and woman, infant and suckling” 1 Samuel 15.3
Listen to the Prophet: “Smite their necks, then, when you have made wide slaughter among them” Surah Muhammad 47.4
“If they turn their backs, take them, and slay them wherever you find them” Surah al-Nisa 4.89
This desert god is a warrior god who defends his people against all comers. And the war goes on.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
ON THE THRESHOLD OF THE DHARMA
I really want to be a Buddhist. I think I'll be able to slip into the Dharma naturally - it's going to be fun. It feels like coming home. The only thing is I don't know how on earth I'll be able to give up alcohol after all this time we've been together, but I'm going to set a date for this.
The fundamental ideas of Buddhism are the closest approximation to "the truth" that mankind is going to get; the first paradox here is that there is no static truth - at all. Scientific "laws" may be a candidate (I'm not qualified to say) but anyone who tries to give definitive judgements on human nature or how to live will be challenged (or even howled down) immediately by an army of exceptions.
Buddhism is a way to come to terms with - and get through - this Dionysian reality, rather than having to fortify oneself or even struggle against it. The whole Dharma (teaching, lifestyle) begins and ends with a recognition of constant change.
Seeing this for what it is, it becomes clear that we cannot be happy by trying to shore up our defences against change. This is the essence of non-attachment to things, money, people, ideas, none of which are constant.
I used to think that non-attachment was rather distancing, and that Buddhism was a cold-hearted, passionless approach to life. On the contrary. The fruit of mindfulness and non-attachment is a deep reservoir of compassion. This chimes with me, certainly as something to aspire to.
The best thing is to find that, although the ideas come with strange Pali labels attached, many of them are things I've suspected for half my life.
I really want to be a Buddhist. I think I'll be able to slip into the Dharma naturally - it's going to be fun. It feels like coming home. The only thing is I don't know how on earth I'll be able to give up alcohol after all this time we've been together, but I'm going to set a date for this.
The fundamental ideas of Buddhism are the closest approximation to "the truth" that mankind is going to get; the first paradox here is that there is no static truth - at all. Scientific "laws" may be a candidate (I'm not qualified to say) but anyone who tries to give definitive judgements on human nature or how to live will be challenged (or even howled down) immediately by an army of exceptions.
Buddhism is a way to come to terms with - and get through - this Dionysian reality, rather than having to fortify oneself or even struggle against it. The whole Dharma (teaching, lifestyle) begins and ends with a recognition of constant change.
Seeing this for what it is, it becomes clear that we cannot be happy by trying to shore up our defences against change. This is the essence of non-attachment to things, money, people, ideas, none of which are constant.
I used to think that non-attachment was rather distancing, and that Buddhism was a cold-hearted, passionless approach to life. On the contrary. The fruit of mindfulness and non-attachment is a deep reservoir of compassion. This chimes with me, certainly as something to aspire to.
The best thing is to find that, although the ideas come with strange Pali labels attached, many of them are things I've suspected for half my life.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
THE SUNSHINE PLAYROOM: IN PRAISE OF PSYCHEDELIA
Sunshine came softly through Donovan’s window; John Lennon lay in the back of a newspaper taxi with his head in the clouds and was gone; Syd Barrett tried to explain his cat; Ray Davies watched the world from his window.
I’ve never forgotten how these tracks made me sit up and listen when I first heard them. This kind of “fairytale psychedelia” is, for me, the unmatched pinnacle of all pop music, even though I was not alive when most of it came out. It’s incredible to think that these songs were all done within a few short years, between 1965 and 1971. (The Battle of Evermore on Led Zeppelin IV and Echoes on Pink Floyd’s Meddle surely belong in the same category, though you can sense the magic fading just a little.)
What makes psychedelia, and British psychedelia in particular, so good and so worth returning to with a good pair of headphones?
First off, it’s just amusing how a lot of – often, not always - working-class lads were inspired by the Beatles or LSD or whatever to cast off all the macho strutting they’d carefully learned in their teens and revisit their childhoods. On this inner journey, they created a distinctive kind of music-hall pop music devoid of the kind of self-conscious “attitude” that makes a lot of other music so derivative and dull. It’s as if they were playing to audiences from other planets; well, perhaps they were.
Britpop tried, and failed, to recreate this in the 90s, precisely because it was so full of ironic references to the 60s template. (Actually, I’m sure there’s some dance/ambient music in the 90s that has the same kind of experimental, joyous flavour. Screamadelica is one obvious example.)
The songs are full of surreal imagery - Lennon’s is effortlessly evocative; others just as strikingly inept: (“An elephant’s eye was staring at me from a bubblegum tree”… a different prescription, perhaps?) Into these landscapes come characters from all kinds of half-remembered storybook versions of England: Sgt Pepper, the Hurdy Gurdy Man, the Gnome, Mr Small The Watch Repairer, Mr Fantasy, etc.
“Across the stream with wooden shoes / Bells to tell the king the news / A thousand misty riders Climb / Higher once upon a time
Wondering and dreaming… the words had different meanings.”
It makes you wonder what it was in the LSD-fuelled experiences of British musicians that propelled them back to the nursery. Perhaps it was merely the influence from Dylan’s Mr Tambourine Man and the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine, or was it a sentimental grasping for security in the middle of an unpredictable psychedelic trip? Or disillusionment and a sense of powerlessness on the verge of an adulthood where all these exuberantly breaking dreams would surely be extinguished?
The records are so inventive in the way they play with sound. Like kids in a toyshop, the musicians and engineers pushed their meagre equipment to the absolute limits in search of newer and stranger sounds, proving that, in this case, less is more. The sonic palette on many of the late 60s albums is unrivalled to this day in terms of its glowing colour; use of the stereo spectrum and sound effects (which Pink Floyd developed further in the 70s); and the sheer capacity to surprise. On Flaming (Piper at the Gates of Dawn, Pink Floyd, 1967) a toy keyboard, acoustic guitar, bells and a few percussion instruments are used to create a startlingly magical effect, even though the arrangements are simple and the playing is almost clumsy. On the same album, listen to how the vocals come in from the left-field (literally) and are deepened by echoes and sudden bursts of harmony. The producer who created these soundscapes for Syd Barrett's songs was Norman Smith, who'd previously been the Beatles' engineer and is the unsung hero of British psychedelia. Both this album and Sgt Pepper were recorded using, as far as I know, a 4-track desk. 128-track is routine these days.
The sheer joy that the musicians had making this music is unmissable, and irresistable. It’s so clear that they were in control, giving free expression to their imaginations, and in league with the studio engineers, rather than being dictated to by them under pressure from the demands of record companies and markets.
That’s why the music is still being reissued and remastered, selling more copies today than when it was made. It’s not all good, of course, and beware: there are absolutely no undiscovered gems left at the bottom of the barrel.
Start with:
Matilda Mother and Flaming (Piper at the Gates of Dawn) – Pink Floyd, 1967
The rest of that album
Sgt Pepper & Magical Mystery Tour
The only compilation of psychedelic obscurities I can honestly recommend is Acid Drops, Space Dust & Flying Saucers – MOJO magazine
Sunshine came softly through Donovan’s window; John Lennon lay in the back of a newspaper taxi with his head in the clouds and was gone; Syd Barrett tried to explain his cat; Ray Davies watched the world from his window.
I’ve never forgotten how these tracks made me sit up and listen when I first heard them. This kind of “fairytale psychedelia” is, for me, the unmatched pinnacle of all pop music, even though I was not alive when most of it came out. It’s incredible to think that these songs were all done within a few short years, between 1965 and 1971. (The Battle of Evermore on Led Zeppelin IV and Echoes on Pink Floyd’s Meddle surely belong in the same category, though you can sense the magic fading just a little.)
What makes psychedelia, and British psychedelia in particular, so good and so worth returning to with a good pair of headphones?
First off, it’s just amusing how a lot of – often, not always - working-class lads were inspired by the Beatles or LSD or whatever to cast off all the macho strutting they’d carefully learned in their teens and revisit their childhoods. On this inner journey, they created a distinctive kind of music-hall pop music devoid of the kind of self-conscious “attitude” that makes a lot of other music so derivative and dull. It’s as if they were playing to audiences from other planets; well, perhaps they were.
Britpop tried, and failed, to recreate this in the 90s, precisely because it was so full of ironic references to the 60s template. (Actually, I’m sure there’s some dance/ambient music in the 90s that has the same kind of experimental, joyous flavour. Screamadelica is one obvious example.)
The songs are full of surreal imagery - Lennon’s is effortlessly evocative; others just as strikingly inept: (“An elephant’s eye was staring at me from a bubblegum tree”… a different prescription, perhaps?) Into these landscapes come characters from all kinds of half-remembered storybook versions of England: Sgt Pepper, the Hurdy Gurdy Man, the Gnome, Mr Small The Watch Repairer, Mr Fantasy, etc.
“Across the stream with wooden shoes / Bells to tell the king the news / A thousand misty riders Climb / Higher once upon a time
Wondering and dreaming… the words had different meanings.”
It makes you wonder what it was in the LSD-fuelled experiences of British musicians that propelled them back to the nursery. Perhaps it was merely the influence from Dylan’s Mr Tambourine Man and the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine, or was it a sentimental grasping for security in the middle of an unpredictable psychedelic trip? Or disillusionment and a sense of powerlessness on the verge of an adulthood where all these exuberantly breaking dreams would surely be extinguished?
The records are so inventive in the way they play with sound. Like kids in a toyshop, the musicians and engineers pushed their meagre equipment to the absolute limits in search of newer and stranger sounds, proving that, in this case, less is more. The sonic palette on many of the late 60s albums is unrivalled to this day in terms of its glowing colour; use of the stereo spectrum and sound effects (which Pink Floyd developed further in the 70s); and the sheer capacity to surprise. On Flaming (Piper at the Gates of Dawn, Pink Floyd, 1967) a toy keyboard, acoustic guitar, bells and a few percussion instruments are used to create a startlingly magical effect, even though the arrangements are simple and the playing is almost clumsy. On the same album, listen to how the vocals come in from the left-field (literally) and are deepened by echoes and sudden bursts of harmony. The producer who created these soundscapes for Syd Barrett's songs was Norman Smith, who'd previously been the Beatles' engineer and is the unsung hero of British psychedelia. Both this album and Sgt Pepper were recorded using, as far as I know, a 4-track desk. 128-track is routine these days.
The sheer joy that the musicians had making this music is unmissable, and irresistable. It’s so clear that they were in control, giving free expression to their imaginations, and in league with the studio engineers, rather than being dictated to by them under pressure from the demands of record companies and markets.
That’s why the music is still being reissued and remastered, selling more copies today than when it was made. It’s not all good, of course, and beware: there are absolutely no undiscovered gems left at the bottom of the barrel.
Start with:
Matilda Mother and Flaming (Piper at the Gates of Dawn) – Pink Floyd, 1967
The rest of that album
Sgt Pepper & Magical Mystery Tour
The only compilation of psychedelic obscurities I can honestly recommend is Acid Drops, Space Dust & Flying Saucers – MOJO magazine
UNSIGNED, IMPERFECT, IRREPARABLE - YEAH!
Went to the studio yesterday to record No Comfort (song below, written at the time of the original Gulf War - when I could write good songs) and a couple of others. It's because I need an "unplugged" demo to try and play a gig before I leave this version of Babylon for another one.
Now, with unsigned musicians, especially this one, studio versions are never as good as live ones. I played and sang competently, but somehow the songs just didn't sound as good as a few weeks ago in the garden. This is because, instead of being relaxed, warmed up, and in the middle of an environment of dog-barks, sunshine and apple trees, you find yourself in a stuffy windowless cellar, head encased in large headphones, confronted by a state of the art mic that's going to reveal every breath or hastily sung note, and paying an hourly rate for the privilege that's a lot more than you'd charge for your own services. And then someone tells you "taping", and that's the starting gun.
And you're off! Don't mess up whatever you do don't mess up especially if you're near the end here comes that difficult note just made it here comes the bit I have to sing sensitively no no try to think of the meaning of the words not your singing style damn damn was that flat or not and i think i strangled that last word no no that was no good. "Can we do that again. John?" This repeats until finally you get a version you can live with. But somehow it lacks something you can't put your finger on...
For a signed musician, it's a different story. Except for the really exceptional talents, musicians who can really PLAY, the studio versions outshine live performances, technically at least. (If you don't believe me, check out almost any live album.) That's because, if someone else is footing the bill, you have time to edit out every breath, sing ten different versions than cut and paste so that every word is the best you've ever sung it, retune flat notes using a computer, and end up with something that's... well, literally faultless if a bit soul-less.
When some people complain that pop isn't as good as it used to be, it may ironically be the perfection that grates on them. If you're in that category, what could be better than hearing a warts-and-all unsigned musician, live? With dog-barks and apple trees.
Went to the studio yesterday to record No Comfort (song below, written at the time of the original Gulf War - when I could write good songs) and a couple of others. It's because I need an "unplugged" demo to try and play a gig before I leave this version of Babylon for another one.
Now, with unsigned musicians, especially this one, studio versions are never as good as live ones. I played and sang competently, but somehow the songs just didn't sound as good as a few weeks ago in the garden. This is because, instead of being relaxed, warmed up, and in the middle of an environment of dog-barks, sunshine and apple trees, you find yourself in a stuffy windowless cellar, head encased in large headphones, confronted by a state of the art mic that's going to reveal every breath or hastily sung note, and paying an hourly rate for the privilege that's a lot more than you'd charge for your own services. And then someone tells you "taping", and that's the starting gun.
And you're off! Don't mess up whatever you do don't mess up especially if you're near the end here comes that difficult note just made it here comes the bit I have to sing sensitively no no try to think of the meaning of the words not your singing style damn damn was that flat or not and i think i strangled that last word no no that was no good. "Can we do that again. John?" This repeats until finally you get a version you can live with. But somehow it lacks something you can't put your finger on...
For a signed musician, it's a different story. Except for the really exceptional talents, musicians who can really PLAY, the studio versions outshine live performances, technically at least. (If you don't believe me, check out almost any live album.) That's because, if someone else is footing the bill, you have time to edit out every breath, sing ten different versions than cut and paste so that every word is the best you've ever sung it, retune flat notes using a computer, and end up with something that's... well, literally faultless if a bit soul-less.
When some people complain that pop isn't as good as it used to be, it may ironically be the perfection that grates on them. If you're in that category, what could be better than hearing a warts-and-all unsigned musician, live? With dog-barks and apple trees.
Friday, May 21, 2004
NO COMFORT AT NIGHT - song lyrics
Tell me the times when we died in our minds for a slogan
Tell me the times when the spirit’s eclipsed by a cause
This is why there is no comfort at night
This is the reason why we fire
Tracer trails through the barbed wire
This is the reason for all of the wars…
Tell me the times when we lacked the conviction to move
Towards an adventure, afraid of what we had to lose
This is why there is no comfort at night
This is the reason why we fire
Tracer trails through the barbed wire
This is the reason for all of the wars
By the landlocked pools
Sailing little boats
Keeping the old captain afloat
Tell me the times we forgot to tie up loose ends
Let them fray and unravel a tale of inseparable friends
This is why there is no comfort at night
This is the reason why we fire
Tracer trails through the barbed wire
This is the reason for all of the wars
By the landlocked pools
Sailing little boats
Keeping the old captain afloat
By the landlocked pools
Sailing little boats
Keeping the old captain afloat
Tell me the times when we died in our minds for a slogan
Tell me the times when the spirit’s eclipsed by a cause
This is why there is no comfort at night
This is the reason why we fire
Tracer trails through the barbed wire
This is the reason for all of the wars…
Tell me the times when we lacked the conviction to move
Towards an adventure, afraid of what we had to lose
This is why there is no comfort at night
This is the reason why we fire
Tracer trails through the barbed wire
This is the reason for all of the wars
By the landlocked pools
Sailing little boats
Keeping the old captain afloat
Tell me the times we forgot to tie up loose ends
Let them fray and unravel a tale of inseparable friends
This is why there is no comfort at night
This is the reason why we fire
Tracer trails through the barbed wire
This is the reason for all of the wars
By the landlocked pools
Sailing little boats
Keeping the old captain afloat
By the landlocked pools
Sailing little boats
Keeping the old captain afloat
HOW DO YOU TAKE YOUR HAPPINESS: WEAK OR STRONG?
Bertrand Russell in his History of Western philosophy interprets Epicureanism as a philosophy which was based on the avoidance of fear.
Because religion and death were seen as such great sources of fear, Epicurus denied Providence and immortality, and this became a “gospel of liberation”. Seen in this light, it’s in tune with modern humanism. Russell’s critique, however, portrays the philosophy as rather lacking in spirit, “a valetudinarian’s philosophy, designed to suit a world in which adventurous happiness had become scarcely possible.” (Epicurus suffered from ill health throughout his life.)
Back to square one then. (See 21-02-04 and understand how far the dementia has got!) Nietzsche says plunge in and accept life in all its pleasure and pain. Epicurus, by contrast, turns away and recommends a quiet life. The Buddha would question the whole enterprise of pursuing a worldly happiness that’s inevitably fleeting, and yet the foundations of the religion and its practices are based on the avoidance of suffering, and the "goal" - though Buddhists would never describe it as such - is a state of awakened calm and bliss.
I suspect that there’s nothing to choose between them! Whether people hunt down their happiness for years, paddle contentedly in the shallows or just forget about it is, ultimately, a choice that is deeply personal - and irrational.
Bertrand Russell in his History of Western philosophy interprets Epicureanism as a philosophy which was based on the avoidance of fear.
Because religion and death were seen as such great sources of fear, Epicurus denied Providence and immortality, and this became a “gospel of liberation”. Seen in this light, it’s in tune with modern humanism. Russell’s critique, however, portrays the philosophy as rather lacking in spirit, “a valetudinarian’s philosophy, designed to suit a world in which adventurous happiness had become scarcely possible.” (Epicurus suffered from ill health throughout his life.)
Back to square one then. (See 21-02-04 and understand how far the dementia has got!) Nietzsche says plunge in and accept life in all its pleasure and pain. Epicurus, by contrast, turns away and recommends a quiet life. The Buddha would question the whole enterprise of pursuing a worldly happiness that’s inevitably fleeting, and yet the foundations of the religion and its practices are based on the avoidance of suffering, and the "goal" - though Buddhists would never describe it as such - is a state of awakened calm and bliss.
I suspect that there’s nothing to choose between them! Whether people hunt down their happiness for years, paddle contentedly in the shallows or just forget about it is, ultimately, a choice that is deeply personal - and irrational.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
ACCORDING TO EPICURUS...
My own small edition of the West's most famous research into happiness is in a friend's loft, where it has lain since 1997, along with most of my possessions. Every so often I do get a craving to surround myself again with all those wonderful books, but it quickly goes away.
So I've had make do with the web quotations below. From what I can remember, Epicurus advocated a life governed by calm reason, and talked a lot about tending his garden! There is much in common with Buddhism, that other great happiness-focused tradition, but without the total dissolution of the ego, so hard to attain without a severe asceticism, and so contrary to our culture-bound idea of ourselves as discrete individuals. So, although he lacks a wide readership today, perhaps studying his ideas may provide some insight into our modern condition.
As I've said before, it's EXPERIENCE, Stoopid:
"Not what we have but what we enjoy, constitutes our abundance."
And lower expectations:
"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you have now was once among the things you only hoped for."
And freedom:
"A free life cannot acquire many possessions, because this is not easy to do without servility to mobs and monarchs."
And friends:
"Of all the things which wisdom provides to make us entirely happy, much the greatest is the possession of friendship."
Independence (basic financial security):
"The man least dependent on the morrow goes to greet the morrow more cheerfully."
This could also be read as advocating less attachment to the consequences of our actions, a commonplace Eastern teaching. Finally, there is independence of mind:
"I have never desired to please the rabble. what pleased them, I did not learn; and what I knew was far from their understanding."
My own small edition of the West's most famous research into happiness is in a friend's loft, where it has lain since 1997, along with most of my possessions. Every so often I do get a craving to surround myself again with all those wonderful books, but it quickly goes away.
So I've had make do with the web quotations below. From what I can remember, Epicurus advocated a life governed by calm reason, and talked a lot about tending his garden! There is much in common with Buddhism, that other great happiness-focused tradition, but without the total dissolution of the ego, so hard to attain without a severe asceticism, and so contrary to our culture-bound idea of ourselves as discrete individuals. So, although he lacks a wide readership today, perhaps studying his ideas may provide some insight into our modern condition.
As I've said before, it's EXPERIENCE, Stoopid:
"Not what we have but what we enjoy, constitutes our abundance."
And lower expectations:
"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you have now was once among the things you only hoped for."
And freedom:
"A free life cannot acquire many possessions, because this is not easy to do without servility to mobs and monarchs."
And friends:
"Of all the things which wisdom provides to make us entirely happy, much the greatest is the possession of friendship."
Independence (basic financial security):
"The man least dependent on the morrow goes to greet the morrow more cheerfully."
This could also be read as advocating less attachment to the consequences of our actions, a commonplace Eastern teaching. Finally, there is independence of mind:
"I have never desired to please the rabble. what pleased them, I did not learn; and what I knew was far from their understanding."
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
ALAIN DE BOTTON'S LIST
"Mankind is perpetually the victim of a pointless and futile martyrdom, fretting life away in fruitless worries through failure to realise what limit is set to acquisition and the growth of genuine pleasure." Lucretius, quoted in The Consolations of Philosophy.
"Happiness may be difficult to attain. The obstacles are not primarily financial." from The Consolations of Philosophy.
Alain de B's acquisition list begs the question (about acquisition), but only for an extreme Buddhist, so it's as good a place to start as any:
1. some form of shelter
2. friends
3. a garden, "to avoid superiors, patronisation, infighting and competition". Of course, it is mightily hard to obtain one in London, but per se, a plot of earth may be 'owned' in some sense, or occupied, or just there to surround you! Even here.
4. time to think/read/meditate
5. er, he finishes with a joking desire for a reincarnation of a Madonna by Bellini. He's gently suggesting that the desire for a soul-mate might remain in any romantic heart, and OK, he has a point. But he's bending the rules! (And how many of today's Bellini's Madonna lookalikes would be interested in Alain without his lucrative book deals?)
What does Buddha say? What would Puskas do? What about Jesus, Nietzsche, Proust and all the great names that have graced this little group of blogs? And what about you? This is my suggestion box. Drop in your lists. They've got to be practical, and honestly drawn from the peaks of your experience.
"Mankind is perpetually the victim of a pointless and futile martyrdom, fretting life away in fruitless worries through failure to realise what limit is set to acquisition and the growth of genuine pleasure." Lucretius, quoted in The Consolations of Philosophy.
"Happiness may be difficult to attain. The obstacles are not primarily financial." from The Consolations of Philosophy.
Alain de B's acquisition list begs the question (about acquisition), but only for an extreme Buddhist, so it's as good a place to start as any:
1. some form of shelter
2. friends
3. a garden, "to avoid superiors, patronisation, infighting and competition". Of course, it is mightily hard to obtain one in London, but per se, a plot of earth may be 'owned' in some sense, or occupied, or just there to surround you! Even here.
4. time to think/read/meditate
5. er, he finishes with a joking desire for a reincarnation of a Madonna by Bellini. He's gently suggesting that the desire for a soul-mate might remain in any romantic heart, and OK, he has a point. But he's bending the rules! (And how many of today's Bellini's Madonna lookalikes would be interested in Alain without his lucrative book deals?)
What does Buddha say? What would Puskas do? What about Jesus, Nietzsche, Proust and all the great names that have graced this little group of blogs? And what about you? This is my suggestion box. Drop in your lists. They've got to be practical, and honestly drawn from the peaks of your experience.
HOW CAN WE BE HAPPY?
In a book called The Progress Paradox, Gregg Easterbrook points out that despite our average quality of life having risen on a number of different indices, we are less happy than we once were. (By "we", I mean a very crudely sampled average person on an average salary in a developed country.)
Why is this? And why were people in Ghana, where I lived for a couple of years, generally happy and optimistic even though they had so little?
Is it the lack of God, time, generosity of spirit? A poor diet? Too many unfulfilled expectations? What is it that we lack? What do you think?
In a book called The Progress Paradox, Gregg Easterbrook points out that despite our average quality of life having risen on a number of different indices, we are less happy than we once were. (By "we", I mean a very crudely sampled average person on an average salary in a developed country.)
Why is this? And why were people in Ghana, where I lived for a couple of years, generally happy and optimistic even though they had so little?
Is it the lack of God, time, generosity of spirit? A poor diet? Too many unfulfilled expectations? What is it that we lack? What do you think?
Friday, May 07, 2004
POINT OF DEPARTURE
Like a stained glass window in an explosion, my carefully pieced-together life has suddenly shattered and is reconfiguring. I'm so excited and I just can't hide it.
It's always a shot in the dark. I look for a "sign" but there never is one. So I just acted. And all is very, very well.
Mood: happy Music: Bob Dylan live in 1964
Like a stained glass window in an explosion, my carefully pieced-together life has suddenly shattered and is reconfiguring. I'm so excited and I just can't hide it.
It's always a shot in the dark. I look for a "sign" but there never is one. So I just acted. And all is very, very well.
Mood: happy Music: Bob Dylan live in 1964
Thursday, May 06, 2004
EARLY MORNING CALLS
I haven't had time to write (or read) blogs recently, having been gripped by yet another mid-life crisis. Happens all the time. My life must have several midpoints, so we're not talking Cartesian geometry.
It's always the same contrary pull, between security and an adventure.
Well, my romantic heart hasn't stopped beating yet - I've decided to leave my job and go overseas again. Despite everything, I still know that time and experience are more important than money. What's the Bob Dylan line about whoever's not busy being born is busy dying?
It sounds a bit Californian and embarrassing, but as long as you acknowledge what your heart says at 6a.m. and don't fight it too hard, you can make the best decisions. My friend reckons that I am a "solution-attracting organism". Good!
On Sunday morning, woke at 3.20am and went with K to a piece of woodland -Blean Wood, I think, by Rough Common in Canterbury - for international dawn chorus day. The woods were pristine, glorious, and bathed in mist. The sky was absolutely clear. And through it all the dots, loops and whistles - identified for once. Something quite magical. We laughed about having become middle-aged, which is obviously not the case, though everyone else was :-) . At the end we saw through the binoculars a nightingale, its little throat and body working with all its might to produce the calls; the sound was unique, like flutes.
I haven't had time to write (or read) blogs recently, having been gripped by yet another mid-life crisis. Happens all the time. My life must have several midpoints, so we're not talking Cartesian geometry.
It's always the same contrary pull, between security and an adventure.
Well, my romantic heart hasn't stopped beating yet - I've decided to leave my job and go overseas again. Despite everything, I still know that time and experience are more important than money. What's the Bob Dylan line about whoever's not busy being born is busy dying?
It sounds a bit Californian and embarrassing, but as long as you acknowledge what your heart says at 6a.m. and don't fight it too hard, you can make the best decisions. My friend reckons that I am a "solution-attracting organism". Good!
On Sunday morning, woke at 3.20am and went with K to a piece of woodland -Blean Wood, I think, by Rough Common in Canterbury - for international dawn chorus day. The woods were pristine, glorious, and bathed in mist. The sky was absolutely clear. And through it all the dots, loops and whistles - identified for once. Something quite magical. We laughed about having become middle-aged, which is obviously not the case, though everyone else was :-) . At the end we saw through the binoculars a nightingale, its little throat and body working with all its might to produce the calls; the sound was unique, like flutes.
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