What is it going to take to get us to stop hating and fearing one another? This is a very complex problem and no single answer is going to solve it. We have hatred between genders, races, religions, social classes, nationalities, sexual orientations. Our species is naturally oriented towards love, believe it or not. Otherwise we would never have survived this long. But we also seem to have hatred in our genes, or the capacity for hatred.
What makes people hate? Today I got particularly annoyed with a woman stopping her car on the crosswalk when pedestrians had the right of way. I did yell something at her, and though I didn't quite feel like strangling her, let's just say that had she opened her car door and stepped out I would not have hesitated to openly and loudly chew her out.
I quickly forgot about it and got over it. In retrospect, I am aware I have no idea of who she is, what kind day she was having, whether or not she is unwell, or if she, like many people behind steering wheels, is often too selfish, self-absorbed and frightened to really know how to deal with anyone in public.
I don't think we're ever going to get it. We are always going to be struggling with these issues. No matter how well people try to raise their children there is no guarantee that they won't turn out rotten. It happens with every generation. And there are always those of us who end up cleaning up their mess. People like me: mental health workers, emergency responders, health care professionals, lawyers, children's aid staff, social workers, prison guards, rehab therapists and more.
Somehow, in the midst of all this damaged humanity, we still have to engage with one another, whether we like it or not, and for the simple reason that every single human on this planet and in our history owes their sorry-ass existence to all the other humans. Without one another we are nothing. Somehow, we don't really like being reminded of this, do we, Gentle Reader?
After all, who fed us, rocked us to sleep and changed our dirty nappies for us, then continued taking care of us, and educating us, and then employing us, marrying us, helped us bear our children, took care of us in the hospital, then finally hung the dreaded little name tag on our cold dead big toes upon our arrival in the morgue for us? That's right. Other people.
I think I'm going to try to remember this next time I am inconvenienced by some self-absorbed stranger in public. That same person who might one day be delivering my meals to my hospital bed or helping me stumble to the toilet, should I ever need that kind of help.
If we are really going to learn to stop hating one another then we'd might as well start with remembering just how connected and interdependent we all are. And maybe the next time we feel ready to snarl out a cuss word at the idiot in traffic or on the sidewalk or on the bus, or wherever, that we can restrain ourselves just long enough to offer up a prayer of thankfulness that those people also exist and that, whether we know this or not, their existence gives meaning to ours, just as our existence gives meaning to theirs.
Tuesday 31 January 2017
Monday 30 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 11
Wouldn`t it be just so lovely, Gentle Reader, if all we had to do was all join hands together and sing Kumbaya over and over again with our eyes closed and then all the world`s evil would be vanquished and the New Jerusalem would be lowered to the earth? Oh, why do we keep dreaming even if our dreams never change anything and every morning we are going to wake up to the same evil that was contaminating our world when we were closing our eyes to go to sleep last night? We will be waking up to the same evil inhabiting us that didn`t go away while we were sleeping.
Now, all over the news, the massacre of six innocent Muslims in Quebec City by some evil little douchebag likely pushed on by President Dump's gospel of hate, just on the heals of his ban on Muslims from entering the US. The dumbass vote has spoken and already we are paying for that life-support for an anus with the weird comb-over, the short-fingered vulgarian.
Even one person being hurt from those satanic policies of his indicates our failure. We have failed to do our part, to be the community, the friends, the extended family that others were needing: the vulnerable minorities who are targeted; and the pathetic dumbasses who spew their hate on such easy targets.
There are so many convenient targets of blame that I don't think it would be constructive to finger-point, plus, by demonizing others for not agreeing with us we are only adding to the hate. I will say this: there is a vision of our humanity, a higher vision of what we could be, what we are in potential and almost always fail at achieving. What can we do to promulgate this vision? This vision of love?
I try to begin, simply by saying hi to strangers. My daily minimum is two strangers a day. And all it is is a hello, maybe a how are you or a lovely day, but only just enough to remind others that they are not alone, to connect if very briefly, to snap them from their illusion of solitude. Today, only two didn't respond: an Asian man in his forties in the wealthy neighbourhood, possibly a Chinese millionaire who doesn't speak English, or thinks he's too important to acknowledge a stranger, or because he is fearful and doesn't trust strangers. Who knows? I wished him a nice day, anyway. The other was a young Caucasian male, perhaps fourteen years old. Now from him I would not expect acknowledgment, given how parents, justifiably, instill in their children the fear of strangers. Everyone else responded well. Some even smiled. That's all that matters.
This morning, at work, I did ignore one fellow who lives on the street who was following me trying to get my attention so I would buy him something to eat. From time to time I have given money to this man, who sleeps on the sidewalk at Broadway and Granville, but lately I have had to hold back. I work in this area, and I don't want to build a dependent relationship with him. But I also don't know what else is going on in his life, neither feel I assured that he would tell me the truth. I was lied to so many times by so many pathetic addicts and other lost souls during my years of street ministry that I still instinctively don`t believe what I hear. I am out of my depth with this individual and would prefer to interact with him if I had others working with me. I did say to him today that I couldn't help him because I am on a tight budget, which I am. Still, I can afford to fly down to Costa Rica for a month and he lives on the pavement. I don't know if he has an addiction. I suspect that he probably does.
It's like feeding crows. I have stopped feeding them because recently a whole flock of perhaps twenty or more came flying towards me on the usual day in the usual neighbourhood and I knew I had gone too far. My pleasant stroll through a vintage neighbourhood to my final worksite of the week was about to morph into a scary scene from a Hitchcock movie. So, I no longer feed the crows. But people aren't crows. I am open to interacting further with this guy on the street, but it would have to feel appropriate, and right now I can't think of an appropriate setting for this person unless I were to volunteer to work with the homeless. I cannot do this right now because my work in mental health already takes all my energy. And some of my clients are also living with homelessness. I feel though that I can help them better, not because I am being paid to do this, but because I am working as part of a team. The pay simply helps keep me alive so I can continue doing good. The trip to Costa Rica is a lucky side product from good budgeting skills and paying very cheap rent.
Today I have enjoyed coming home to my safe, warm and affordable little apartment. I have just cooked and finished a tasty and nourishing dinner and I feel that I have so much still to look forward to in life, despite that I am almost sixty-one. I know and accept that my middle name is not God and that I can only do what I am able to, which is still better than nothing as well as not excusing me from doing the extra that God may one day ask of me. I stubbornly believe that God has not abandoned us and I hold on to the hope that more of us will catch more than a glimpse of that beautiful vision of our humanity.
Even though they are forecasting snow in a couple of days I am clinging to the image of the beautiful lovely daffodil blooming today by the sidewalk, this thirtieth day of January. Whenever I am tempted to despair, I will try to remember that daffodil.
Now, all over the news, the massacre of six innocent Muslims in Quebec City by some evil little douchebag likely pushed on by President Dump's gospel of hate, just on the heals of his ban on Muslims from entering the US. The dumbass vote has spoken and already we are paying for that life-support for an anus with the weird comb-over, the short-fingered vulgarian.
Even one person being hurt from those satanic policies of his indicates our failure. We have failed to do our part, to be the community, the friends, the extended family that others were needing: the vulnerable minorities who are targeted; and the pathetic dumbasses who spew their hate on such easy targets.
There are so many convenient targets of blame that I don't think it would be constructive to finger-point, plus, by demonizing others for not agreeing with us we are only adding to the hate. I will say this: there is a vision of our humanity, a higher vision of what we could be, what we are in potential and almost always fail at achieving. What can we do to promulgate this vision? This vision of love?
I try to begin, simply by saying hi to strangers. My daily minimum is two strangers a day. And all it is is a hello, maybe a how are you or a lovely day, but only just enough to remind others that they are not alone, to connect if very briefly, to snap them from their illusion of solitude. Today, only two didn't respond: an Asian man in his forties in the wealthy neighbourhood, possibly a Chinese millionaire who doesn't speak English, or thinks he's too important to acknowledge a stranger, or because he is fearful and doesn't trust strangers. Who knows? I wished him a nice day, anyway. The other was a young Caucasian male, perhaps fourteen years old. Now from him I would not expect acknowledgment, given how parents, justifiably, instill in their children the fear of strangers. Everyone else responded well. Some even smiled. That's all that matters.
This morning, at work, I did ignore one fellow who lives on the street who was following me trying to get my attention so I would buy him something to eat. From time to time I have given money to this man, who sleeps on the sidewalk at Broadway and Granville, but lately I have had to hold back. I work in this area, and I don't want to build a dependent relationship with him. But I also don't know what else is going on in his life, neither feel I assured that he would tell me the truth. I was lied to so many times by so many pathetic addicts and other lost souls during my years of street ministry that I still instinctively don`t believe what I hear. I am out of my depth with this individual and would prefer to interact with him if I had others working with me. I did say to him today that I couldn't help him because I am on a tight budget, which I am. Still, I can afford to fly down to Costa Rica for a month and he lives on the pavement. I don't know if he has an addiction. I suspect that he probably does.
It's like feeding crows. I have stopped feeding them because recently a whole flock of perhaps twenty or more came flying towards me on the usual day in the usual neighbourhood and I knew I had gone too far. My pleasant stroll through a vintage neighbourhood to my final worksite of the week was about to morph into a scary scene from a Hitchcock movie. So, I no longer feed the crows. But people aren't crows. I am open to interacting further with this guy on the street, but it would have to feel appropriate, and right now I can't think of an appropriate setting for this person unless I were to volunteer to work with the homeless. I cannot do this right now because my work in mental health already takes all my energy. And some of my clients are also living with homelessness. I feel though that I can help them better, not because I am being paid to do this, but because I am working as part of a team. The pay simply helps keep me alive so I can continue doing good. The trip to Costa Rica is a lucky side product from good budgeting skills and paying very cheap rent.
Today I have enjoyed coming home to my safe, warm and affordable little apartment. I have just cooked and finished a tasty and nourishing dinner and I feel that I have so much still to look forward to in life, despite that I am almost sixty-one. I know and accept that my middle name is not God and that I can only do what I am able to, which is still better than nothing as well as not excusing me from doing the extra that God may one day ask of me. I stubbornly believe that God has not abandoned us and I hold on to the hope that more of us will catch more than a glimpse of that beautiful vision of our humanity.
Even though they are forecasting snow in a couple of days I am clinging to the image of the beautiful lovely daffodil blooming today by the sidewalk, this thirtieth day of January. Whenever I am tempted to despair, I will try to remember that daffodil.
Sunday 29 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 10
I would like to focus this post on Prime Minister Junior. You know whom I mean? Justin. Son of Pierre, surname Trudeau. Likely no relation to the American cartoonist, Gary Trudeau, author of "Doonesbury". Born with a silver spoon in his mouth (Justin, I mean). Choking on his silver spoon every time he promises to support the middle class, and his other social inferiors.
What does Junior have to do with a village raising an adult, Gentle Reader? Or, maybe, a village raising an idiot? I think he could play quite a substantial role, depending of course on how he continues to carry out his mandate. He has recently caught well-deserved heat for letting the Aga Kahn fly him and his telegenic wife and kiddies on his own private helicopter to his own private island in his own private Caribbean to celebrate his own private New Year, but especially for his pay for access dinner parties that, at $1500 a pop, guarantee any wealthy Canadian special access to his Silverspoonship for special privileges and favours.
Smells pretty bad, eh?
I would like to propose an alternative approach. Continue throwing the access dinners. However, they have to be free of charge. And, each guest will represent a strata or demographic of Canadian life, generally low income, poor and socially marginalized. In these dinners, Junior could meet with representatives of our homeless population, people with addictions, working poor, low-income single moms, recent immigrants and refugees, First Nations people, and really hear first hand from those people least likely to be representatives of the Canadian middle class, and most likely to be victimized as part of the toxic fallout from middle class privilege. Or, one could say, the kind of people who never have access to the corridors of political power for being ourselves so chronically disempowered.
If Junior wants to be prime minister for all Canadians then he had better start getting to know all Canadians, on a regular basis and not simply during token town halls all over the country for maybe two weeks out of four years. He needs to start sharing the same amount of time that he spends with Multinational corporation CEO's and bank presidents with the most disempowered members of society.
Why?
Because we, the most disempowered members of society are all the collateral damage of the ruinous fiscal policies of globalization and neoliberalism that, whatever they have done to swell the economy, have also guaranteed that only the already wealthy are going to benefit from its largesse. We see this now in Vancouver and other Canadian cities as they become increasingly uninhabitable to anyone who isn't wealthy.
Justin Trudeau is going to have to accept that his honeymoon with the Canadian public is well over and that his well bred rent boy charm offensive has become more offensive by the day. If we are going to see an end to homelessness and effectively fight poverty it's going to take more than just jobs. We are going to have to remap and revamp our social infrastructure so that every person who lives here can live a life of dignity and inclusion. This isn't something that we should have to work for or earn, not anymore than he had to work for or earn his silver spoon. Access to decent housing, food and other resources is an inalienable human right.
When all Canadians feel they can equally participate in the running and governing of this country, and when all Canadians are satisfied that they have a voice, then we will be able to say that Canada is a functioning democracy.
In the meantime, Justin, keep your shirt on.
Please!
What does Junior have to do with a village raising an adult, Gentle Reader? Or, maybe, a village raising an idiot? I think he could play quite a substantial role, depending of course on how he continues to carry out his mandate. He has recently caught well-deserved heat for letting the Aga Kahn fly him and his telegenic wife and kiddies on his own private helicopter to his own private island in his own private Caribbean to celebrate his own private New Year, but especially for his pay for access dinner parties that, at $1500 a pop, guarantee any wealthy Canadian special access to his Silverspoonship for special privileges and favours.
Smells pretty bad, eh?
I would like to propose an alternative approach. Continue throwing the access dinners. However, they have to be free of charge. And, each guest will represent a strata or demographic of Canadian life, generally low income, poor and socially marginalized. In these dinners, Junior could meet with representatives of our homeless population, people with addictions, working poor, low-income single moms, recent immigrants and refugees, First Nations people, and really hear first hand from those people least likely to be representatives of the Canadian middle class, and most likely to be victimized as part of the toxic fallout from middle class privilege. Or, one could say, the kind of people who never have access to the corridors of political power for being ourselves so chronically disempowered.
If Junior wants to be prime minister for all Canadians then he had better start getting to know all Canadians, on a regular basis and not simply during token town halls all over the country for maybe two weeks out of four years. He needs to start sharing the same amount of time that he spends with Multinational corporation CEO's and bank presidents with the most disempowered members of society.
Why?
Because we, the most disempowered members of society are all the collateral damage of the ruinous fiscal policies of globalization and neoliberalism that, whatever they have done to swell the economy, have also guaranteed that only the already wealthy are going to benefit from its largesse. We see this now in Vancouver and other Canadian cities as they become increasingly uninhabitable to anyone who isn't wealthy.
Justin Trudeau is going to have to accept that his honeymoon with the Canadian public is well over and that his well bred rent boy charm offensive has become more offensive by the day. If we are going to see an end to homelessness and effectively fight poverty it's going to take more than just jobs. We are going to have to remap and revamp our social infrastructure so that every person who lives here can live a life of dignity and inclusion. This isn't something that we should have to work for or earn, not anymore than he had to work for or earn his silver spoon. Access to decent housing, food and other resources is an inalienable human right.
When all Canadians feel they can equally participate in the running and governing of this country, and when all Canadians are satisfied that they have a voice, then we will be able to say that Canada is a functioning democracy.
In the meantime, Justin, keep your shirt on.
Please!
Saturday 28 January 2017
(It Takes A Village To Raise An Idiot) It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 9
Gentle Reader, just as I was ready to be finished, to have done with and pack up this little blog series a few things happened to day to suggest that the show ain't over yet. Where shall I begin?
Well, how about with my lovely little head cold. I still got out to walk around six miles today, three both ways to my favourite Saturday café in south Kerrisdale where I happily sequester myself in a comfy chair in the back corner with the best view in the joint, sipping quality espresso and munching on a chocolate cookie on steroids while drawing and colouring in my sketchbook one of my interminable series of exotic birds in Georgia O'Keeffe-esque leaf and flower settings. It is fun to help provide a little ambience, I suppose, and also enjoyable with some of the little chats that come up between me and other patrons, though the best part of being there is simply chilling and not really having to think about much of anything, really.
I did start the day a bit later than usual, having slept in till almost 8:30 (Gasp!) for which I have an applicable excuse. I was awake for two or three hours in the middle of the night trying to breathe despite the congestion. It was also a good excuse to sit up reading my Spanish translation of the Millennium Series, including the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, by Stieg Larsson. I never saw the movie. I'm mostly through book number two in the trilogy and each volume has more than seven hundred pages. I will probably finish off the series when I'm in Costa Rica for the month of March. Speaking of Costa Rica, when I returned home this afternoon to enjoy a pot of fair trade cocoa made from scratch and a read of the weekend Globe and Mail there was a feature article about the premier of Manitoba who spends two months or longer every year in his Pacific Coast retreat in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, where he lives in a sprawling palace like a pooh bah while the locals subsist in humble shacks. He is conservative of course, hence his lack of basic human values (my apologies to those few conservatives who actually have a moral compass) and as in many parts of that beautiful country, wealthy English speaking foreigners who never bother to learn much Spanish have pushed up property values and other prices so high there that the local Ticos have had to move out. Rather like what certain millionaire Chinese have been doing here in Vancouver and an object lesson, this, that race and nationality have absolute squat to do with being a greedy douche bag laundering their money in other countries.
I did my usual Saturday stuff, beginning with baking bread, then going to the local Shopper's Drug Mart for my weekend Globe and Mail. On my way there, I noticed that the entire block of sidewalk between Granville and Seymour on Drake Street was smeared with dog shit. Unless I was carefully walking right next to the building, there was no way I could have avoided stepping in it. That's right, Gentle Reader, some idiot let his giant dog baby leave one or two big fat piles and revellers and other weekend losers last night stepped in it and tracked it everywhere too loaded from their visits to the local liquor store, bars, and tap houses to know or care. A lot of them probably don't know or care even when they're sobre.
Sorry, but you cannot unread this. You are going to be haunted by this image of smeared dog shit for the rest of your life. Or, stay-tuned for the self-help group for people traumatized by lingering images of smeared dog shit on a sidewalk that I might be organizing online one of these days.
When I arrived in the drug store (I took a shortcut because the exit door was open for someone to leave and it's otherwise a very long walk through the entrance. Don't ask me why those geniuses have designed it this way, probably to force us to have to navigate our way through aisle after aisle crammed to overflowing with useless crap that we don't need but will end up buying anyway because it's there and, well, we are weak. It never works with me, for some reason, probably because for me, feeling that my intelligence is being insulted is the worst possible offence.) There was an affectionate golden lab dog being trained as a therapy dog next to its human who was in the middle of a transaction with the cashier. He was friendly and I enjoyed patting him. I got in line and the lady in front of me chatted with me about the dog, how he is still getting used to humans, and what a nice dog he is and what a shame that some people get angry if you pet their dog without permission. I took great care not to educate her about how for some people a stranger petting their dog is no different than some perv groping their child, but nowadays I seem to know just when to keep my cake hole shut. Then, she invited me to go ahead of her since she had a basket full of stuff and I was just buying the newspaper. I thanked her warmly and the cashier was unusually gracious. It seems that the week before he had kept me waiting and waiting and waiting while the customer ahead of me was dickering about what he was charged for the several cases of Pepsi he was buying. It came my turn and as I was leaving I said gently to the cashier, "and thanks for the apology," as he had done nothing to acknowledge my long wait. This time he was very sweet and gracious about it, perhaps because I expressed my earlier annoyance in the nicest possible Canadian way. (though I did forget to say, "sorry")
On my way home I walked back on the far sidewalk, not wanting to have to avoid stepping in dog shit. I arrived home and phoned city hall. The nice woman who took my call assured me that they would take care of it and I expect that hopefully it's already been pressure washed.
Following breakfast (homemade whole wheat bread with natural peanut butter, strawberry jam, and vintage cheddar on the side), while waiting for the bus, I noticed a man, perhaps my age or so, aggressively hitting on a Mexican woman standing nearby. I say, aggressively, because when he got there he directed at her one of those hard and hungry looks that a starving man usually has when standing in front of a deli display case. He said hi to her, then redirected his attention to her to ask which bus goes as far as Broadway. Now I am pretty sure that he already knew how the buses run here and he just wanted to chat up a potential pickup (young enough to be his daughter by the way). I tried to distract him, by giving him the directions myself. He was amiable enough, but clearly he was out hunting and quickly redirected his attention to the young woman. I overheard that she is from Mexico City and I said to her in Spanish, He estado en la Ciudad de Mexico muchas veces, or I have been to Mexico City many times. Now I am aware of the possibility that they both might have thought that I was competing with the old creep, but my bus soon arrived and since then I only hope that my influence was enough to tell the old guy that should he get any more ideas about the young woman, there will be a witness. But I am assuming that they're both aware that I was simply monitoring the situation and looking out for her interests. I can only hope. Let's just say that I would be surprised if he made it past grade school, and if he does have a functioning brain, then I highly doubt that that was the organ he was thinking with.
When I got off the bus I enjoyed a three mile walk along the Arbutus corridor, an otherwise scenic rail line transformed by Mayor Moonbeam into an interminable, butt-ugly landing strip that will accommodate bicycles as well as pedestrians and, er, folks in wheelchairs. Shameful of Moonbeam, I think, to try to hide his ablist preference for cyclists behind the disabled. Really, why can't we have just one nice walking route in this city that is just for pedestrians (and folks in wheelchairs)? Bikes are vehicles and they belong on the road and I'm sure I am not the only pedestrian who would like respite from them. I have also noticed that every attempt this city hall administration makes at creating parks and public space turns out so utilitarian and ugly that you wonder why do they even bother. I used to be on the city website for input on planning but all my suggestions are routinely ignored and they choose only the ugliest options I have bailed. It's still a lovely and scenic hike and I hope they find something nicer than asphalt to pave it with. As if there aren't worthier things in this city to get one's undies in a knot over.
I did say hi to one middle aged Asian (likely Chinese) man walking his cute little Pomeranian dog. He gave me a decidedly frightened look and kept going. Possibly he doesn't speak English, maybe he has been badly treated by racist whites (not all of us are like that, by the way!), or maybe he's just a snob, I don't know. But I do try to say hi to at least two or three strangers every day, and the odd snub is still okay, because I really like the idea of encouraging people to connect, even if it's just a friendly hi, nice day!
In the café a very kind older lady asked me, mistakenly, if she had taken my place in the lineup, and I assured her that she hadn't and then thanked her for being so kind, because kindness should always be rewarded. Two old women came in, I believe a mother and daughter act. Mom might be ninety or older and I think her daughter would be pushing seventy. I imagine they must live together. They almost never talk to each other while they are having their coffee and muffin together. The old woman, though bent and frail, looks like she's otherwise made of steel. They do not appear to be friendly, not towards anyone. I suspect some kind of story, probably some trauma. On my way out of the coffee shop they were seated on the bench and I wished them both a nice afternoon. They hardly acknowledged me, but that's okay, because, really, I don't know their story. I will be friendly again, not often, maybe in a couple of weeks, out of respect as much as kindness. An elderly couple came inside the café. The husband got up to use the washroom and his jacket fell from his chair onto the floor. I mentioned it to him and he said he would pick it up on his way back. While he was away his wife put it back on the chair for him. I told her that was a very sweet thing to do. When hubby returned he said absolute nothing to acknowledge his wife's kindness and maybe she didn't appear to mind, and maybe after a half century or so of being together they take each other's kindnesses for granted. I don't know. I think one thing that makes for a healthy marriage is never failing to be respectful and appreciative. They look kind of old school. You know the kind I mean. Hubby expects wifey to wipe his ass for him and once she kicks off there will also be a name tag on his bare toe three days later.
In a nutshell, Gentle Reader, this has been my day, today, and this is why we need to start doing a much better job at coexisting and learning community with one another. Even though we're all idiots at times, I still believe in the essential good in us, and regardless of my daily disappointment in others there are always sparks of light that rekindle my hope. Let us do our very best to summon forth the good, in ourselves and in one another. Every day.
Well, how about with my lovely little head cold. I still got out to walk around six miles today, three both ways to my favourite Saturday café in south Kerrisdale where I happily sequester myself in a comfy chair in the back corner with the best view in the joint, sipping quality espresso and munching on a chocolate cookie on steroids while drawing and colouring in my sketchbook one of my interminable series of exotic birds in Georgia O'Keeffe-esque leaf and flower settings. It is fun to help provide a little ambience, I suppose, and also enjoyable with some of the little chats that come up between me and other patrons, though the best part of being there is simply chilling and not really having to think about much of anything, really.
I did start the day a bit later than usual, having slept in till almost 8:30 (Gasp!) for which I have an applicable excuse. I was awake for two or three hours in the middle of the night trying to breathe despite the congestion. It was also a good excuse to sit up reading my Spanish translation of the Millennium Series, including the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, by Stieg Larsson. I never saw the movie. I'm mostly through book number two in the trilogy and each volume has more than seven hundred pages. I will probably finish off the series when I'm in Costa Rica for the month of March. Speaking of Costa Rica, when I returned home this afternoon to enjoy a pot of fair trade cocoa made from scratch and a read of the weekend Globe and Mail there was a feature article about the premier of Manitoba who spends two months or longer every year in his Pacific Coast retreat in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, where he lives in a sprawling palace like a pooh bah while the locals subsist in humble shacks. He is conservative of course, hence his lack of basic human values (my apologies to those few conservatives who actually have a moral compass) and as in many parts of that beautiful country, wealthy English speaking foreigners who never bother to learn much Spanish have pushed up property values and other prices so high there that the local Ticos have had to move out. Rather like what certain millionaire Chinese have been doing here in Vancouver and an object lesson, this, that race and nationality have absolute squat to do with being a greedy douche bag laundering their money in other countries.
I did my usual Saturday stuff, beginning with baking bread, then going to the local Shopper's Drug Mart for my weekend Globe and Mail. On my way there, I noticed that the entire block of sidewalk between Granville and Seymour on Drake Street was smeared with dog shit. Unless I was carefully walking right next to the building, there was no way I could have avoided stepping in it. That's right, Gentle Reader, some idiot let his giant dog baby leave one or two big fat piles and revellers and other weekend losers last night stepped in it and tracked it everywhere too loaded from their visits to the local liquor store, bars, and tap houses to know or care. A lot of them probably don't know or care even when they're sobre.
Sorry, but you cannot unread this. You are going to be haunted by this image of smeared dog shit for the rest of your life. Or, stay-tuned for the self-help group for people traumatized by lingering images of smeared dog shit on a sidewalk that I might be organizing online one of these days.
When I arrived in the drug store (I took a shortcut because the exit door was open for someone to leave and it's otherwise a very long walk through the entrance. Don't ask me why those geniuses have designed it this way, probably to force us to have to navigate our way through aisle after aisle crammed to overflowing with useless crap that we don't need but will end up buying anyway because it's there and, well, we are weak. It never works with me, for some reason, probably because for me, feeling that my intelligence is being insulted is the worst possible offence.) There was an affectionate golden lab dog being trained as a therapy dog next to its human who was in the middle of a transaction with the cashier. He was friendly and I enjoyed patting him. I got in line and the lady in front of me chatted with me about the dog, how he is still getting used to humans, and what a nice dog he is and what a shame that some people get angry if you pet their dog without permission. I took great care not to educate her about how for some people a stranger petting their dog is no different than some perv groping their child, but nowadays I seem to know just when to keep my cake hole shut. Then, she invited me to go ahead of her since she had a basket full of stuff and I was just buying the newspaper. I thanked her warmly and the cashier was unusually gracious. It seems that the week before he had kept me waiting and waiting and waiting while the customer ahead of me was dickering about what he was charged for the several cases of Pepsi he was buying. It came my turn and as I was leaving I said gently to the cashier, "and thanks for the apology," as he had done nothing to acknowledge my long wait. This time he was very sweet and gracious about it, perhaps because I expressed my earlier annoyance in the nicest possible Canadian way. (though I did forget to say, "sorry")
On my way home I walked back on the far sidewalk, not wanting to have to avoid stepping in dog shit. I arrived home and phoned city hall. The nice woman who took my call assured me that they would take care of it and I expect that hopefully it's already been pressure washed.
Following breakfast (homemade whole wheat bread with natural peanut butter, strawberry jam, and vintage cheddar on the side), while waiting for the bus, I noticed a man, perhaps my age or so, aggressively hitting on a Mexican woman standing nearby. I say, aggressively, because when he got there he directed at her one of those hard and hungry looks that a starving man usually has when standing in front of a deli display case. He said hi to her, then redirected his attention to her to ask which bus goes as far as Broadway. Now I am pretty sure that he already knew how the buses run here and he just wanted to chat up a potential pickup (young enough to be his daughter by the way). I tried to distract him, by giving him the directions myself. He was amiable enough, but clearly he was out hunting and quickly redirected his attention to the young woman. I overheard that she is from Mexico City and I said to her in Spanish, He estado en la Ciudad de Mexico muchas veces, or I have been to Mexico City many times. Now I am aware of the possibility that they both might have thought that I was competing with the old creep, but my bus soon arrived and since then I only hope that my influence was enough to tell the old guy that should he get any more ideas about the young woman, there will be a witness. But I am assuming that they're both aware that I was simply monitoring the situation and looking out for her interests. I can only hope. Let's just say that I would be surprised if he made it past grade school, and if he does have a functioning brain, then I highly doubt that that was the organ he was thinking with.
When I got off the bus I enjoyed a three mile walk along the Arbutus corridor, an otherwise scenic rail line transformed by Mayor Moonbeam into an interminable, butt-ugly landing strip that will accommodate bicycles as well as pedestrians and, er, folks in wheelchairs. Shameful of Moonbeam, I think, to try to hide his ablist preference for cyclists behind the disabled. Really, why can't we have just one nice walking route in this city that is just for pedestrians (and folks in wheelchairs)? Bikes are vehicles and they belong on the road and I'm sure I am not the only pedestrian who would like respite from them. I have also noticed that every attempt this city hall administration makes at creating parks and public space turns out so utilitarian and ugly that you wonder why do they even bother. I used to be on the city website for input on planning but all my suggestions are routinely ignored and they choose only the ugliest options I have bailed. It's still a lovely and scenic hike and I hope they find something nicer than asphalt to pave it with. As if there aren't worthier things in this city to get one's undies in a knot over.
I did say hi to one middle aged Asian (likely Chinese) man walking his cute little Pomeranian dog. He gave me a decidedly frightened look and kept going. Possibly he doesn't speak English, maybe he has been badly treated by racist whites (not all of us are like that, by the way!), or maybe he's just a snob, I don't know. But I do try to say hi to at least two or three strangers every day, and the odd snub is still okay, because I really like the idea of encouraging people to connect, even if it's just a friendly hi, nice day!
In the café a very kind older lady asked me, mistakenly, if she had taken my place in the lineup, and I assured her that she hadn't and then thanked her for being so kind, because kindness should always be rewarded. Two old women came in, I believe a mother and daughter act. Mom might be ninety or older and I think her daughter would be pushing seventy. I imagine they must live together. They almost never talk to each other while they are having their coffee and muffin together. The old woman, though bent and frail, looks like she's otherwise made of steel. They do not appear to be friendly, not towards anyone. I suspect some kind of story, probably some trauma. On my way out of the coffee shop they were seated on the bench and I wished them both a nice afternoon. They hardly acknowledged me, but that's okay, because, really, I don't know their story. I will be friendly again, not often, maybe in a couple of weeks, out of respect as much as kindness. An elderly couple came inside the café. The husband got up to use the washroom and his jacket fell from his chair onto the floor. I mentioned it to him and he said he would pick it up on his way back. While he was away his wife put it back on the chair for him. I told her that was a very sweet thing to do. When hubby returned he said absolute nothing to acknowledge his wife's kindness and maybe she didn't appear to mind, and maybe after a half century or so of being together they take each other's kindnesses for granted. I don't know. I think one thing that makes for a healthy marriage is never failing to be respectful and appreciative. They look kind of old school. You know the kind I mean. Hubby expects wifey to wipe his ass for him and once she kicks off there will also be a name tag on his bare toe three days later.
In a nutshell, Gentle Reader, this has been my day, today, and this is why we need to start doing a much better job at coexisting and learning community with one another. Even though we're all idiots at times, I still believe in the essential good in us, and regardless of my daily disappointment in others there are always sparks of light that rekindle my hope. Let us do our very best to summon forth the good, in ourselves and in one another. Every day.
Friday 27 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 8
I don`t think it`s ever going to happen, at least not in my lifetime. There will always be enough evil in the world to keep the angels busy. There will always be dishonest people, selfish, greedy and venal people, people who care about nothing outside of their own self-aggrandizement, and many of these people, because of their aggressive competitiveness, are going to control our world. We seem stuck in this reality. The most vulnerable are always going to suffer. There will always be that jack boot of history stamping on a human face.
But is that all there is? Should we write ourselves and our planet off as hopeless and doomed because of how little good we have accomplished as a species? I like to think not, even if my common sense suggests that we may be living on borrowed time.
There is something about darkness that accentuates the light. The shadow makes the brightness even brighter. Throughout history we have had to live with the reality of evil in the world. I like to think that things have improved, at least a little bit. We have a near universal recognition of global human rights, even if the reality is far more dismal than the ideal. But at least we have the ideal to hold us accountable and to inspire us to do better and to be better. There was a time, just a little more than a generation ago, when capital punishment was the norm in all countries. There was a time when all over the world sickness and injury meant that you would likely die very young if you were both sick and poor. There was a time, in almost every country, when people of other races and creeds were not only discriminated against, but enslaved and killed for simply being outsiders. There was a time when people with disabilities had no voice, and were often killed at birth. There was a time when queer people had to fear for their lives, when witches were tried and executed, when life was indeed nasty, brutish, mean and short.
We have seen some absolute horrors in our world, and these horrors linger on. But there is also a forward march of goodness, kindness, compassion and justice that still will not be stymied. You can say Hitler, Stalin, and Pol Pot, and you can also say, Mother Teresa, the Dalai Lama and Martin Luther King.
We are all a peculiar composite of darkness and light, good and evil, angel and devil. We all have the choice to give consent to one and to deny the other. This lies within everyone's purview. For those of us who choose the good I have this to say:
Get out there and inspire others.
I think that by giving way to despair and cynicism we have already lost the battle. We have to keep ourselves and one another alive with hope, no matter how remote it might seem. Even one kind, selfless act can make a difference if we are willing to risk the good. Every generous and caring act matters. We have only to get the courage to continue to love, to continue to care and to continue to inspire. To not be held back by the mean-spirited fear of others.
It takes a village to raise an adult. None of us can do it alone. Not only do children need nurturing, though they do have a special legitimate claim. We all need this. I think sometimes the cruelest thing to say to someone who is barefoot is that they have to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. Yes, we each need the dignity of our independence but this is superseded by our interdependence. Without one another we are nothing. Here, in the West, where rugged individualism is worshipped, we need desperately to learn the humility of one another. To open our hearts to one another. To see our own face and the face of Christ reflected in the other's eyes. To treat one another as something sacred and holy.
I think we, as humans are all icons of divinity. Now I am praying and hoping that others will come to see this. In the meantime I am also praying and hoping that my own vision of the eternal good in others will ever improve and will supersede and conquer the selfishnrss within.
We are in this together.
But is that all there is? Should we write ourselves and our planet off as hopeless and doomed because of how little good we have accomplished as a species? I like to think not, even if my common sense suggests that we may be living on borrowed time.
There is something about darkness that accentuates the light. The shadow makes the brightness even brighter. Throughout history we have had to live with the reality of evil in the world. I like to think that things have improved, at least a little bit. We have a near universal recognition of global human rights, even if the reality is far more dismal than the ideal. But at least we have the ideal to hold us accountable and to inspire us to do better and to be better. There was a time, just a little more than a generation ago, when capital punishment was the norm in all countries. There was a time when all over the world sickness and injury meant that you would likely die very young if you were both sick and poor. There was a time, in almost every country, when people of other races and creeds were not only discriminated against, but enslaved and killed for simply being outsiders. There was a time when people with disabilities had no voice, and were often killed at birth. There was a time when queer people had to fear for their lives, when witches were tried and executed, when life was indeed nasty, brutish, mean and short.
We have seen some absolute horrors in our world, and these horrors linger on. But there is also a forward march of goodness, kindness, compassion and justice that still will not be stymied. You can say Hitler, Stalin, and Pol Pot, and you can also say, Mother Teresa, the Dalai Lama and Martin Luther King.
We are all a peculiar composite of darkness and light, good and evil, angel and devil. We all have the choice to give consent to one and to deny the other. This lies within everyone's purview. For those of us who choose the good I have this to say:
Get out there and inspire others.
I think that by giving way to despair and cynicism we have already lost the battle. We have to keep ourselves and one another alive with hope, no matter how remote it might seem. Even one kind, selfless act can make a difference if we are willing to risk the good. Every generous and caring act matters. We have only to get the courage to continue to love, to continue to care and to continue to inspire. To not be held back by the mean-spirited fear of others.
It takes a village to raise an adult. None of us can do it alone. Not only do children need nurturing, though they do have a special legitimate claim. We all need this. I think sometimes the cruelest thing to say to someone who is barefoot is that they have to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. Yes, we each need the dignity of our independence but this is superseded by our interdependence. Without one another we are nothing. Here, in the West, where rugged individualism is worshipped, we need desperately to learn the humility of one another. To open our hearts to one another. To see our own face and the face of Christ reflected in the other's eyes. To treat one another as something sacred and holy.
I think we, as humans are all icons of divinity. Now I am praying and hoping that others will come to see this. In the meantime I am also praying and hoping that my own vision of the eternal good in others will ever improve and will supersede and conquer the selfishnrss within.
We are in this together.
Thursday 26 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 7
I remember the first time I read about co-housing. I found myself feeling cautiously excited, until...
It became clear that only people who were reasonably well-off need apply. The financial investment was considerable, no subsidies for the low-incomed. This is a pity, because otherwise, I think co-housing is a great idea, and could even have a revolutionary impact on the way we do housing if we work at it enough to nurture the concept and create an accessible infrastructure where no one would be turned away from this opportunity because of having to live on a low income. The idea of a group of people, families, couples and singles of all ages pooling resources and time to actually live in a specially designed complex of townhouses together is really quite tempting. Everyone would have their own home, their own space: bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. And there would be communal space: kitchen, dining hall, lounge, workshops and studios, gardens and play and outdoor relaxation areas. Sound utopic? Well, yes? Is it? Um...No.
Because too many would be excluded due to their lack of income. And this makes co-housing a lovely concept but as a reality, elitist and excluding. The people most in need of this opportunity would have the least possible access. It is axiomatic that chronic poverty and low incomes are major stressors that lead to other health and social problems. If we were to work at creating, building and sustaining micro-communities with true diversity, reflected not only in nationality and race or in sexual orientation, but also income levels, I think we would be on our way to addressing successfully some of the major stressors in our cities that also aggravate our mental health and crime statistics.
Of course the opposition to this direction is considerable. In this country, and notably in my province, people have a notorious tendency of electing governments that work against their own interests. I am referring to the tax-slashing, small government-loving neoliberal fanatics who have been ripping to shreds social infrastructures and public safety nets all over the world. The kind of mentality that has made President Dump a horrifying reality.
To make affordable housing and a healthy sense of community a reality, the free market has got to be kicked out of housing. There is no alternative. After decades of the real estate moguls getting carte blanche from our politicos, housing in many cities, notably Vancouver, has become out of reach to anyone who is not already very well-off. This does absolute squat to build community and everything to undermine and destroy it. It is tragic that the development corporations have been allowed to buy their way into our governments and in many ways are calling the tune because through their unbridled greed and hubris these avaricious monsters are ruining this country.
Control over housing has got to be returned to those who need it most. The People. And our concept of housing has got to change from a private investment towards generating personal wealth through equity to a common good that allows people to thrive and grow together in community. This is diametrically opposed to the kind of vile consumerist nonsense that we are brainwashed with but for our survival as human beings we are going to have to start questioning our values and overthrowing the very selfish illusions that the free market and consumerist pop culture have been using to lure and brainwash us.
Once this begins to happen then I think we can also become the kind of society that promotes wellbeing, wellness and a healthy, inclusive participation. Not a communist sameness, no less brainless individualism, but a living dynamic that balances and integrates the collective and the personal good into a living and powerful dance.
It became clear that only people who were reasonably well-off need apply. The financial investment was considerable, no subsidies for the low-incomed. This is a pity, because otherwise, I think co-housing is a great idea, and could even have a revolutionary impact on the way we do housing if we work at it enough to nurture the concept and create an accessible infrastructure where no one would be turned away from this opportunity because of having to live on a low income. The idea of a group of people, families, couples and singles of all ages pooling resources and time to actually live in a specially designed complex of townhouses together is really quite tempting. Everyone would have their own home, their own space: bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. And there would be communal space: kitchen, dining hall, lounge, workshops and studios, gardens and play and outdoor relaxation areas. Sound utopic? Well, yes? Is it? Um...No.
Because too many would be excluded due to their lack of income. And this makes co-housing a lovely concept but as a reality, elitist and excluding. The people most in need of this opportunity would have the least possible access. It is axiomatic that chronic poverty and low incomes are major stressors that lead to other health and social problems. If we were to work at creating, building and sustaining micro-communities with true diversity, reflected not only in nationality and race or in sexual orientation, but also income levels, I think we would be on our way to addressing successfully some of the major stressors in our cities that also aggravate our mental health and crime statistics.
Of course the opposition to this direction is considerable. In this country, and notably in my province, people have a notorious tendency of electing governments that work against their own interests. I am referring to the tax-slashing, small government-loving neoliberal fanatics who have been ripping to shreds social infrastructures and public safety nets all over the world. The kind of mentality that has made President Dump a horrifying reality.
To make affordable housing and a healthy sense of community a reality, the free market has got to be kicked out of housing. There is no alternative. After decades of the real estate moguls getting carte blanche from our politicos, housing in many cities, notably Vancouver, has become out of reach to anyone who is not already very well-off. This does absolute squat to build community and everything to undermine and destroy it. It is tragic that the development corporations have been allowed to buy their way into our governments and in many ways are calling the tune because through their unbridled greed and hubris these avaricious monsters are ruining this country.
Control over housing has got to be returned to those who need it most. The People. And our concept of housing has got to change from a private investment towards generating personal wealth through equity to a common good that allows people to thrive and grow together in community. This is diametrically opposed to the kind of vile consumerist nonsense that we are brainwashed with but for our survival as human beings we are going to have to start questioning our values and overthrowing the very selfish illusions that the free market and consumerist pop culture have been using to lure and brainwash us.
Once this begins to happen then I think we can also become the kind of society that promotes wellbeing, wellness and a healthy, inclusive participation. Not a communist sameness, no less brainless individualism, but a living dynamic that balances and integrates the collective and the personal good into a living and powerful dance.
Wednesday 25 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 6
This is what needs to be done. And here are some ideas of how it could be done:
We could begin by restructuring the way we think of support services. Welfare, children's aid, disability pensions, forensic counselling and publicly funded mental health services are all about damage control. Inroads need to be taken to prevent the damage. This won't be possible in all cases but it needs to be explored. People, and I mean all people, need to have a clear and concrete sense of belonging and participation in their community. This privilege is largely enjoyed by homeowners and people on higher and more comfortable incomes. Two things need to be done here:
1. Aggressive measures need to be taken towards income equality. We have lived under the meritocracy myth long enough. Not everyone is going to make it by the sweat of their brow or by their university credentials. A competitive social hierarchy that has roots in slavery and feudalism is going to do absolute nothing to address income inequality and, oh, too much to worsen it. There has been a lot of talk recently about providing everyone with a guaranteed annual income. This is a marvellous idea. It's effectiveness would depend on how much this income is going to be and if it can be successfully indexed to the cost of living index. If everyone's housing and food needs can be successfully met with a little left over for a savings account this would be ideal. Which brings me to the second thing:
2. Housing. In our culture, home ownership is the ultimate symbol of success, of having made it, that you now have the full credentials required to be a participating citizen in your community. This is, oh, such utter classist, even castist, nonsense. Whether you are rich, poor, or middle income, if you live here then you belong here. If you are First Nations, White, Chinese, Latino or Caribbean, if you live here then you belong here. Whether your family has been here for one hundred generations or if you are fresh off the boat from Sri Lanka or fresh off the plane from Syria, you belong here. Whether you own or rent, you belong here. Whether you have a roof over your head or you are street homeless, you belong here. Even if you are addicted to drugs you belong here. If you are mentally ill, LGBTQ or straight, you belong here. Even if you are atheist, Christian, agnostic, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, or you happen to worship at the Shrine of the Flying Pigs, you belong here.
If we are to become a healthier, more proactive society that fosters and promotes healthy, happy and successful individuals and communities we are going to have to work, and work bloody hard, to create a place where everyone has a sense of belonging. Where everyone has an equal voice. Where everyone feels valued. Where everyone is valued.
Money doesn't talk, but it screams. And our ears have been deafened by the screaming roar of insatiable greed. We have to start reclaiming our cities, our country, our society. We need money, yes, in order to survive and get things done, but we need even more, equal access to wealth and resources, especially if we want everyone to belong.
But we don't want everyone to belong. Only the rich, the property and home owners, the successful, the meritocrats. But meritocracy is one of the many consuming myths of our society. It suggests that only those who work hard enough deserve their piece of the pie. What they are not telling us is that everyone works hard, simply at staying alive, staying employed, caring for their families and loved ones and friends, caring for the environment. Most of these people never become wealthy. Many stay renters and never earn enough for a down payment. So then, only if you have succeeded by the backward values of consumerist culture can you honestly say that you worked for it. If you worked even twice as hard washing dishes for a living and wiping the behind of your ailing father you cannot make that claim because you haven't become rich? What absolute HORSESHIT!!!!
Housing needs to be revisited and claimed as a fundamental human right in this country and every possible resource must immediately be made available to those who are most in need of stable housing. And every single person ought to have the right to own their place, even if it's a social housing apartment, if home ownership will help cement one's place in the community.
We could begin by restructuring the way we think of support services. Welfare, children's aid, disability pensions, forensic counselling and publicly funded mental health services are all about damage control. Inroads need to be taken to prevent the damage. This won't be possible in all cases but it needs to be explored. People, and I mean all people, need to have a clear and concrete sense of belonging and participation in their community. This privilege is largely enjoyed by homeowners and people on higher and more comfortable incomes. Two things need to be done here:
1. Aggressive measures need to be taken towards income equality. We have lived under the meritocracy myth long enough. Not everyone is going to make it by the sweat of their brow or by their university credentials. A competitive social hierarchy that has roots in slavery and feudalism is going to do absolute nothing to address income inequality and, oh, too much to worsen it. There has been a lot of talk recently about providing everyone with a guaranteed annual income. This is a marvellous idea. It's effectiveness would depend on how much this income is going to be and if it can be successfully indexed to the cost of living index. If everyone's housing and food needs can be successfully met with a little left over for a savings account this would be ideal. Which brings me to the second thing:
2. Housing. In our culture, home ownership is the ultimate symbol of success, of having made it, that you now have the full credentials required to be a participating citizen in your community. This is, oh, such utter classist, even castist, nonsense. Whether you are rich, poor, or middle income, if you live here then you belong here. If you are First Nations, White, Chinese, Latino or Caribbean, if you live here then you belong here. Whether your family has been here for one hundred generations or if you are fresh off the boat from Sri Lanka or fresh off the plane from Syria, you belong here. Whether you own or rent, you belong here. Whether you have a roof over your head or you are street homeless, you belong here. Even if you are addicted to drugs you belong here. If you are mentally ill, LGBTQ or straight, you belong here. Even if you are atheist, Christian, agnostic, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, or you happen to worship at the Shrine of the Flying Pigs, you belong here.
If we are to become a healthier, more proactive society that fosters and promotes healthy, happy and successful individuals and communities we are going to have to work, and work bloody hard, to create a place where everyone has a sense of belonging. Where everyone has an equal voice. Where everyone feels valued. Where everyone is valued.
Money doesn't talk, but it screams. And our ears have been deafened by the screaming roar of insatiable greed. We have to start reclaiming our cities, our country, our society. We need money, yes, in order to survive and get things done, but we need even more, equal access to wealth and resources, especially if we want everyone to belong.
But we don't want everyone to belong. Only the rich, the property and home owners, the successful, the meritocrats. But meritocracy is one of the many consuming myths of our society. It suggests that only those who work hard enough deserve their piece of the pie. What they are not telling us is that everyone works hard, simply at staying alive, staying employed, caring for their families and loved ones and friends, caring for the environment. Most of these people never become wealthy. Many stay renters and never earn enough for a down payment. So then, only if you have succeeded by the backward values of consumerist culture can you honestly say that you worked for it. If you worked even twice as hard washing dishes for a living and wiping the behind of your ailing father you cannot make that claim because you haven't become rich? What absolute HORSESHIT!!!!
Housing needs to be revisited and claimed as a fundamental human right in this country and every possible resource must immediately be made available to those who are most in need of stable housing. And every single person ought to have the right to own their place, even if it's a social housing apartment, if home ownership will help cement one's place in the community.
Tuesday 24 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 5
How does community look? Community is what we are going to need if we are going to be effectively proactive and preventative in the way we approach mental health. There is very little available in our communities that could actually stave off or actually prevent mental health and addiction issues from afflicting our most vulnerable populations. The reason is quite simple: our obsession with individualism and making money. And, basic human selfishness.
I could blame it on capitalism, as I have used this convenient whipping boy many times over on these pages. Here I am going to try not to, not just because it can get to be too easy a target, but because the roots run a little bit deeper.
One issue that strikes me is how busy everyone is with their jobs. So few workers have sufficient time for their own families, much less for perfect strangers who lack the kinds of supports that most take for granted, and are also casualties of poor or no parenting. The pressure to earn a living, pay the rent, mortgage, bills, and for groceries, and the growing gap between people's income and the costs of living (especially housing) is already having a catastrophic effect on our collective and individual wellbeing. Add to this mess people's greed and materialism and expectations of a luxurious style of life and things get yet more complicated.
The way we look at work, income and survival needs to be reviewed. Much of what we know as work has its roots in slavery and in feudalism. Even though no one can legally be owned or exploited without remuneration the hierarchy of the workplace and the sense of bondage to one's employer often suggests that we really haven't evolved that much since Roman times when everyone with even a little money owned slaves, nor from the Dark Ages in Europe when the feudal system became deeply entrenched. We all need to survive, to pay for our shelter, food, clothing and means of transportation. This is usually accomplished through either hiring ourselves out to an employer or becoming entrepreneurs. But we still have to struggle. Even if we really like what we are doing, the value is often corrupted by our need to do this job, however noble, to keep soul and body together.
Because of this toxic dynamic we tend to have limited availability for one another, even though our needs for legitimate human bonding almost always surpass what is available to us. Because our employers are eating up our souls. This in itself is a form of slavery.
In order to really become a community that is also extended family we have to consider making sacrifices of income for time. But if our income barely covers our necessities then we will have to remain unavailable.
Or, we could become a little more creative. Perhaps ask ourselves some telling questions about luxuries we take for necessities. Do we really need all those high tech toys when a simple phone or laptop will do? Do we really need to have a car? Cigarettes? Alcohol? To shop at Whole Paycheck (Whole Foods?). How much time that we waste on Facebook could be better used for those who occupy the same room, or to make contact with a lonely friend? Or to make the effort of making new friends?
It isn't just how available we are able to be, but how willing are we? How many times do we simply make excuses because we are simply selfish? How prepared are we to open our lives and our hearts to others in a spirit of trust? And how many wounds of betrayal are we willing to endure before we break down under the pressure and then need for ourselves the kind of help we might offer to others?
It's really a seething mess we are living in, but we still need to be creative with what is available to us, and we have to start opening our eyes and looking around to see how we can share ourselves with one another, which also means running all kinds of risks, and sometimes getting hurt and damaged and then helping one another work it through so we can actually set in motion a new dynamic of community that will eventually take form around us once we have let the seeds of love germinate and take root in our hearts.
I could blame it on capitalism, as I have used this convenient whipping boy many times over on these pages. Here I am going to try not to, not just because it can get to be too easy a target, but because the roots run a little bit deeper.
One issue that strikes me is how busy everyone is with their jobs. So few workers have sufficient time for their own families, much less for perfect strangers who lack the kinds of supports that most take for granted, and are also casualties of poor or no parenting. The pressure to earn a living, pay the rent, mortgage, bills, and for groceries, and the growing gap between people's income and the costs of living (especially housing) is already having a catastrophic effect on our collective and individual wellbeing. Add to this mess people's greed and materialism and expectations of a luxurious style of life and things get yet more complicated.
The way we look at work, income and survival needs to be reviewed. Much of what we know as work has its roots in slavery and in feudalism. Even though no one can legally be owned or exploited without remuneration the hierarchy of the workplace and the sense of bondage to one's employer often suggests that we really haven't evolved that much since Roman times when everyone with even a little money owned slaves, nor from the Dark Ages in Europe when the feudal system became deeply entrenched. We all need to survive, to pay for our shelter, food, clothing and means of transportation. This is usually accomplished through either hiring ourselves out to an employer or becoming entrepreneurs. But we still have to struggle. Even if we really like what we are doing, the value is often corrupted by our need to do this job, however noble, to keep soul and body together.
Because of this toxic dynamic we tend to have limited availability for one another, even though our needs for legitimate human bonding almost always surpass what is available to us. Because our employers are eating up our souls. This in itself is a form of slavery.
In order to really become a community that is also extended family we have to consider making sacrifices of income for time. But if our income barely covers our necessities then we will have to remain unavailable.
Or, we could become a little more creative. Perhaps ask ourselves some telling questions about luxuries we take for necessities. Do we really need all those high tech toys when a simple phone or laptop will do? Do we really need to have a car? Cigarettes? Alcohol? To shop at Whole Paycheck (Whole Foods?). How much time that we waste on Facebook could be better used for those who occupy the same room, or to make contact with a lonely friend? Or to make the effort of making new friends?
It isn't just how available we are able to be, but how willing are we? How many times do we simply make excuses because we are simply selfish? How prepared are we to open our lives and our hearts to others in a spirit of trust? And how many wounds of betrayal are we willing to endure before we break down under the pressure and then need for ourselves the kind of help we might offer to others?
It's really a seething mess we are living in, but we still need to be creative with what is available to us, and we have to start opening our eyes and looking around to see how we can share ourselves with one another, which also means running all kinds of risks, and sometimes getting hurt and damaged and then helping one another work it through so we can actually set in motion a new dynamic of community that will eventually take form around us once we have let the seeds of love germinate and take root in our hearts.
Monday 23 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 4
I think I've been fortunate in some ways. I went through much of my teens and twenties with safe houses to visit and in my thirties and forties I was, for a while, anyway, able to pay it forward. As a teenage Jesus freak I had a huge extended family of other fanatically devout Charismatic Christians. There were communal and ministry houses full of friends where I was always welcome. This continued in my early and mid-twenties and then I began to repay the hospitality by taking in guests and visitors in my own home till my early forties when I became homeless.
These were not tight, exclusive little cliques of friends. What really set us apart from others was our porousness and our welcoming attitude towards others, perhaps sometimes too welcoming. We took seriously the Gospel of love, seeking to incarnate in our lives as accurately as we could within our limitations the reality of the welcoming and healing love of Jesus. Then I tried my best to show gratitude as I began opening my own home to others. It was never perfect and I didn't always get it right, but do we ever, really, any of us?
This life experience, of having support and available respite long before I would ever need it therapeutically, did not prevent me from becoming mentally ill, nor did it protect me from homelessness. But it did help me develop enough inner strength, resilience and balance to get through those ordeals with just a minimum of damage.
Partly the benefit was in having people in my life I could trust and be safe with. But there was also the challenge of extending to others the same love and hospitality that I was able to benefit from. This helped me mature young so that already, when I was just fifteen, I was more a young man than a teenage boy.
I have already mentioned that I work in a psychiatric respite centre, where people who are experiencing a mental health crisis or extreme life difficulties and challenges can come for refuge for a few weeks. I think it is just wonderful that this service is available. I think it would be even more wonderful if this kind of respite was much more widely available to a much larger demographic of our population.
It seems that mental health and housing support services are only available when the damage is already done, when our lives have already been ruined beyond hope of recovery by poverty, trauma, poor housing, homelessness, childhood abuse, addictions, and underemployment. When I was on social assistance I found it appalling how our government will refuse to offer any needed support while we are working and paying taxes to help us stay healthy and in good condition emotionally, bodily and spiritually. Many are expected to bust their asses working in low paying employment with only the hope that they can somehow get ahead by taking extra education and training and by finding other, better paid employment. The sad truth is, there are many casualties along the way, and a lot of people just don't make the grade. They lack family and spousal supports and in order to keep their heads above water all they can do is keep working and hope the rent cheque doesn't bounce. How can there be any way but down when this is the way that so many of us end up having to live every day, every year of our lives? By the time we get on welfare, if we can get it at all, we are already humiliated and damaged. A few of us bounce back. I am one of the lucky ones.
The system is broken. It breaks and damages human lives and souls in its greed and zeal to feed the corporate machine with new flesh and blood, and all in the name of churning out profit. We have to find a human scale that respects and honours our humanity and makes it possible for us to get through life, pay the bills and put money in the bank without getting broken and damaged by the very machine we are expected to help sustain.
These were not tight, exclusive little cliques of friends. What really set us apart from others was our porousness and our welcoming attitude towards others, perhaps sometimes too welcoming. We took seriously the Gospel of love, seeking to incarnate in our lives as accurately as we could within our limitations the reality of the welcoming and healing love of Jesus. Then I tried my best to show gratitude as I began opening my own home to others. It was never perfect and I didn't always get it right, but do we ever, really, any of us?
This life experience, of having support and available respite long before I would ever need it therapeutically, did not prevent me from becoming mentally ill, nor did it protect me from homelessness. But it did help me develop enough inner strength, resilience and balance to get through those ordeals with just a minimum of damage.
Partly the benefit was in having people in my life I could trust and be safe with. But there was also the challenge of extending to others the same love and hospitality that I was able to benefit from. This helped me mature young so that already, when I was just fifteen, I was more a young man than a teenage boy.
I have already mentioned that I work in a psychiatric respite centre, where people who are experiencing a mental health crisis or extreme life difficulties and challenges can come for refuge for a few weeks. I think it is just wonderful that this service is available. I think it would be even more wonderful if this kind of respite was much more widely available to a much larger demographic of our population.
It seems that mental health and housing support services are only available when the damage is already done, when our lives have already been ruined beyond hope of recovery by poverty, trauma, poor housing, homelessness, childhood abuse, addictions, and underemployment. When I was on social assistance I found it appalling how our government will refuse to offer any needed support while we are working and paying taxes to help us stay healthy and in good condition emotionally, bodily and spiritually. Many are expected to bust their asses working in low paying employment with only the hope that they can somehow get ahead by taking extra education and training and by finding other, better paid employment. The sad truth is, there are many casualties along the way, and a lot of people just don't make the grade. They lack family and spousal supports and in order to keep their heads above water all they can do is keep working and hope the rent cheque doesn't bounce. How can there be any way but down when this is the way that so many of us end up having to live every day, every year of our lives? By the time we get on welfare, if we can get it at all, we are already humiliated and damaged. A few of us bounce back. I am one of the lucky ones.
The system is broken. It breaks and damages human lives and souls in its greed and zeal to feed the corporate machine with new flesh and blood, and all in the name of churning out profit. We have to find a human scale that respects and honours our humanity and makes it possible for us to get through life, pay the bills and put money in the bank without getting broken and damaged by the very machine we are expected to help sustain.
Sunday 22 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 3
What is particularly troubling about the social fallout and the many human casualties of rampant global capitalism is that there never seem to be adequate supports in place for people when they are needing them. Almost always it's going to be too little too late. This came up in my conversation with one of my clients the other day as he confided that she (gender confusion of pronouns intentional to protect client's privacy) wished he didn`t need the support of the respite centre where I am working. I replied that if supports such as what are offered here were more widely available to people while they are doing well, then perhaps such places and services wouldn`t be quite so necessary as they are now. A little anecdotal evidence here, Gentle Reader:
After years of government funding cutbacks in my field of employment which was home support, I eventually found it impossible to make a living at my job. Meanwhile, I was having a generally difficult time coping. I had friends but they were about as messed up as I was, so my life went sideways for a while. At that time I did have a vision for community. There were others interested in pursuing and realizing with me this dream. All we lacked were resources. We were all poor, precariously employed, if working at all, and our collective mental health was, shall we say...
Fragile?
We did spend a lot of time together: visiting one another`s homes, having meals and potlucks together, going out for coffee, enjoying long city-wide walks together and talking, endlessly talking about how clever and forward looking we all were. We had potential. This idea had potential. But we couldn't pull it off. We weren't strong enough. Some of us were living with or fighting mental illness or substance abuse issues. Others were simply too stressed out with the general demands of life to be able to offer much of anything. Others were simply too self-centred to want to give as well as take.
I think I was the only strongly religious or spiritual person in this loosely constituted group, so there wasn't really anything of a common vision or ideology or sense of spirit to hold us together, help us form a workable constitution and facilitate our growth and development as a real community. We still tried, we still did what we could and we did stay open to others who wanted to participate with us.
Then disaster hit all of us. I became homeless, others had other problems and tragedies to sort through. Some in our little group did harbour me for a while but the personality differences became too great to manage. We were all simply too burnt-out, wounded and emotionally immature to pull this off. We all spun off each into our own little orbit. And I ended up dedicating the next two decades of my life to becoming well and reconstituting my life into a form that could work without damaging me again.
I am back now. And again I am ready. But I am not going to attempt to form a new community. Too big a project for one person to take on. However...
There are things I can do to help prepare the soil, so to speak. I am starting to open up again to other people, not too much and not to too many. I am thinking of small things, small acts of kindness and courtesy, small acts of friendship. This is too big a work for one person to pull off. But there is such a thing as influence.
The idea is to not only seek or create safe places of refuge for others, but to become that, to incarnate that reality. No, I cannot invite the whole world to come and live with me. With my tiny, subsidized one room apartment I can't even shelter one homeless person, despite all my survival guilt, having myself been homeless for a time. What can I do? I can sow seeds. I can open my heart to others, in general. Out in the public forum I can be kind and friendly to others, if it simply means saying good morning to a stranger, or chatting with someone on the bus, offering my seat, holding a door open, being kind to a child. It isn't much, but it's a start.
What I am hoping is that as I do more, so will others, that somehow we can role model for one another and each with our resources, no matter how limited, can help create conditions, can help facilitate a sense of welcome, of refuge. Perhaps inviting a stranger to share a café table, inviting a new arrival into my home, being generous to my current friends and befriending new people.
It is going to take a lot of effort, though. For one thing, a lot of us are going to have to start getting our noses out of our handheld devices while out in public, at least long enough to get a sense of those around us. We need to start being more aware of one another in public places and to spend less time on social media which really provides nothing better than ersatz community. We have to start engaging more with one another. Even a meetup group is better than nothing, but just as the voting booth is not where our democracy ends, but its starting point, so are meetup groups but a starting point for forming community.
After years of government funding cutbacks in my field of employment which was home support, I eventually found it impossible to make a living at my job. Meanwhile, I was having a generally difficult time coping. I had friends but they were about as messed up as I was, so my life went sideways for a while. At that time I did have a vision for community. There were others interested in pursuing and realizing with me this dream. All we lacked were resources. We were all poor, precariously employed, if working at all, and our collective mental health was, shall we say...
Fragile?
We did spend a lot of time together: visiting one another`s homes, having meals and potlucks together, going out for coffee, enjoying long city-wide walks together and talking, endlessly talking about how clever and forward looking we all were. We had potential. This idea had potential. But we couldn't pull it off. We weren't strong enough. Some of us were living with or fighting mental illness or substance abuse issues. Others were simply too stressed out with the general demands of life to be able to offer much of anything. Others were simply too self-centred to want to give as well as take.
I think I was the only strongly religious or spiritual person in this loosely constituted group, so there wasn't really anything of a common vision or ideology or sense of spirit to hold us together, help us form a workable constitution and facilitate our growth and development as a real community. We still tried, we still did what we could and we did stay open to others who wanted to participate with us.
Then disaster hit all of us. I became homeless, others had other problems and tragedies to sort through. Some in our little group did harbour me for a while but the personality differences became too great to manage. We were all simply too burnt-out, wounded and emotionally immature to pull this off. We all spun off each into our own little orbit. And I ended up dedicating the next two decades of my life to becoming well and reconstituting my life into a form that could work without damaging me again.
I am back now. And again I am ready. But I am not going to attempt to form a new community. Too big a project for one person to take on. However...
There are things I can do to help prepare the soil, so to speak. I am starting to open up again to other people, not too much and not to too many. I am thinking of small things, small acts of kindness and courtesy, small acts of friendship. This is too big a work for one person to pull off. But there is such a thing as influence.
The idea is to not only seek or create safe places of refuge for others, but to become that, to incarnate that reality. No, I cannot invite the whole world to come and live with me. With my tiny, subsidized one room apartment I can't even shelter one homeless person, despite all my survival guilt, having myself been homeless for a time. What can I do? I can sow seeds. I can open my heart to others, in general. Out in the public forum I can be kind and friendly to others, if it simply means saying good morning to a stranger, or chatting with someone on the bus, offering my seat, holding a door open, being kind to a child. It isn't much, but it's a start.
What I am hoping is that as I do more, so will others, that somehow we can role model for one another and each with our resources, no matter how limited, can help create conditions, can help facilitate a sense of welcome, of refuge. Perhaps inviting a stranger to share a café table, inviting a new arrival into my home, being generous to my current friends and befriending new people.
It is going to take a lot of effort, though. For one thing, a lot of us are going to have to start getting our noses out of our handheld devices while out in public, at least long enough to get a sense of those around us. We need to start being more aware of one another in public places and to spend less time on social media which really provides nothing better than ersatz community. We have to start engaging more with one another. Even a meetup group is better than nothing, but just as the voting booth is not where our democracy ends, but its starting point, so are meetup groups but a starting point for forming community.
Saturday 21 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 2
We have a really big problem when it comes to self-evaluation. We tend to expect way too much of ourselves. For the most part we tend to accept the Darwinist shark tank we are living in as something normal and healthy. We don't even know that we are living in a shark tank. And Darwinist? What the hell does that mean?
Just to refresh your memory, Gentle Reader, and if this simple and basic concept is something of which you still profess ignorance then I'm a-gonna send you back to school, eh? Of course you remember Charles Darwin. That British guy who went sailing around the world for two years during the 1830's collecting fossils and looking at weird birds in the Galapagos Islands as he came up with the theory of evolution through natural selection, to the horror of church people and the delight of industrialist capitalists everywhere.
It's really chicken-and-egg about which came first: Darwin's theory of evolution or proto-Darwinism brought on by the rapacious entrepreneurs and architects of the Industrial Revolution. Or it could be that both concepts spawned each other in the ruthless winner-take-all zeitgeist of the nineteenth century. Nature without God turned out to be nasty, cruel and brutish, permitting only the survival of the fittest, anything inferior contributing to the global fossil record. Industrialism without humanistic restraints turned out also to be nasty, cruel and brutish, permitting only the survival of the fittest. If you didn't survive and find a way to flourish you deserved to perish. Natural Selection.
So, this is the water that has been slowly being heated to boiling point and we are the gormless little froggies dozing in our metaphorical Jacuzzi until we end up happily cooking to death. I guess the sharks don't prefer their meat raw.
So, we live in a culture based on competition, high achievement, superior survival skills and luck. The familiar supports of extended family as well as social service supports have been well-eroded and quite simply it has gotten very scary out there. Everyone is still expected to not only do well but to excel and flourish. Any success that isn't a ringing endorsement for the kind of uber-individualism that Ayn Rand endorsed is nothing but failure by default.
For this reason we are all under increasing pressure to market ourselves, to be continually marketing, branding and rebranding ourselves, all in the name of selling ourselves to, maybe not the highest bidder, but to whomever will accept our paltry offerings. This means research, network, groom and modify ourselves, join the gym and get Botox and a dye job if we are really starting to show our years, listen to music we don't like, watch TV programs that bore us, plug into Facebook, Twitter feeds and other social media that really don't interest us, all in the name of never losing our sense of relevance, era and place, while maintaining that competitive edge. Keeping ourselves marketable and chronically and perpetually reinventing ourselves in order to stay marketable.
Who could ever be expected to live up to such a tall order? Expected we are.
I am one of the lucky ones. I am already too old to either care or to matter. In four years I hit retirement age, then I can carry on working part time if I wish but I at least will no longer have to go on kissing my employer's ungrateful ass in order to keep a roof over my head.
Meanwhile, the cracks are widening and there are increasing numbers of losers falling through them. By losers, I simply mean those who have not won the game, since the ethos of global capitalism has transformed human life as we know it into a very high stakes competitive game. A blood sport, so to speak. This rather brings to mind the ancient Mayan sport of handball. The losers were made human sacrifices to the gods, and, it has been supposed, their severed heads went on to serve as balls in future games.
And we still go on blaming ourselves, we the victims, the human sacrifices languishing at the cold rejecting stone feet of the gods of global capitalism.
In this kind of highly competitive, uncertain and combative marketplace, only the very strong are going to do well. As the stakes get higher and fewer people are able to make the grade, the fallout is going to increase. In the meantime we go on blaming ourselves for not making it, for not being able to compete well, for not being independent or strong enough, for not being able to stand on our own two feet. We don't even realize that the bar is being raised to unreachable heights while the rug is being pulled from under our feet.
Just to refresh your memory, Gentle Reader, and if this simple and basic concept is something of which you still profess ignorance then I'm a-gonna send you back to school, eh? Of course you remember Charles Darwin. That British guy who went sailing around the world for two years during the 1830's collecting fossils and looking at weird birds in the Galapagos Islands as he came up with the theory of evolution through natural selection, to the horror of church people and the delight of industrialist capitalists everywhere.
It's really chicken-and-egg about which came first: Darwin's theory of evolution or proto-Darwinism brought on by the rapacious entrepreneurs and architects of the Industrial Revolution. Or it could be that both concepts spawned each other in the ruthless winner-take-all zeitgeist of the nineteenth century. Nature without God turned out to be nasty, cruel and brutish, permitting only the survival of the fittest, anything inferior contributing to the global fossil record. Industrialism without humanistic restraints turned out also to be nasty, cruel and brutish, permitting only the survival of the fittest. If you didn't survive and find a way to flourish you deserved to perish. Natural Selection.
So, this is the water that has been slowly being heated to boiling point and we are the gormless little froggies dozing in our metaphorical Jacuzzi until we end up happily cooking to death. I guess the sharks don't prefer their meat raw.
So, we live in a culture based on competition, high achievement, superior survival skills and luck. The familiar supports of extended family as well as social service supports have been well-eroded and quite simply it has gotten very scary out there. Everyone is still expected to not only do well but to excel and flourish. Any success that isn't a ringing endorsement for the kind of uber-individualism that Ayn Rand endorsed is nothing but failure by default.
For this reason we are all under increasing pressure to market ourselves, to be continually marketing, branding and rebranding ourselves, all in the name of selling ourselves to, maybe not the highest bidder, but to whomever will accept our paltry offerings. This means research, network, groom and modify ourselves, join the gym and get Botox and a dye job if we are really starting to show our years, listen to music we don't like, watch TV programs that bore us, plug into Facebook, Twitter feeds and other social media that really don't interest us, all in the name of never losing our sense of relevance, era and place, while maintaining that competitive edge. Keeping ourselves marketable and chronically and perpetually reinventing ourselves in order to stay marketable.
Who could ever be expected to live up to such a tall order? Expected we are.
I am one of the lucky ones. I am already too old to either care or to matter. In four years I hit retirement age, then I can carry on working part time if I wish but I at least will no longer have to go on kissing my employer's ungrateful ass in order to keep a roof over my head.
Meanwhile, the cracks are widening and there are increasing numbers of losers falling through them. By losers, I simply mean those who have not won the game, since the ethos of global capitalism has transformed human life as we know it into a very high stakes competitive game. A blood sport, so to speak. This rather brings to mind the ancient Mayan sport of handball. The losers were made human sacrifices to the gods, and, it has been supposed, their severed heads went on to serve as balls in future games.
And we still go on blaming ourselves, we the victims, the human sacrifices languishing at the cold rejecting stone feet of the gods of global capitalism.
In this kind of highly competitive, uncertain and combative marketplace, only the very strong are going to do well. As the stakes get higher and fewer people are able to make the grade, the fallout is going to increase. In the meantime we go on blaming ourselves for not making it, for not being able to compete well, for not being independent or strong enough, for not being able to stand on our own two feet. We don't even realize that the bar is being raised to unreachable heights while the rug is being pulled from under our feet.
Friday 20 January 2017
It Takes A Village To Raise An Adult 1
I had a conversation with one of my clients today who expressed embarrassment about needing frequent mental health support and was wondering why she couldn't be more self-sufficient. This resulted in rather an interesting set of ideas taking form in my head. I found myself saying that given how difficult it's becoming for many people to compete and cope well in life, I find it truly amazing that anyone can survive this monstrosity of competition and survival of the fittest brutality. I am thinking here of a recent quote from Kevin O'Leary, reality show host and contender for the leadership of the federal Conservative Party of Canada and millionaire sociopath. In an interview, he said that he thinks it is "fantastic" that the eighty world's wealthiest people have the combined wealth of what the poorer half of the world's population, or, three and one half billion, have to live on. His rationalization? This way the poor will have to get off their backsides, pull up their bootstraps and work and compete with the hope that one day they will also become millionaires.
Can it get any more ludicrous that that, Gentle Reader?
Of course, O'Leary would not even listen to any of his interlocutor's well-reasoned argument of the absolute inhuman, Darwinist barbarity that this potential federal nightmare was endorsing, and being a man likely lacking a conscience or anything at all resembling human decency, O'Leary simply repeated what he said, expressed absolutely no interest in examining his position and tried to move on. Here it is, if you don't believe me:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuqemytQ5QA
The purpose of this blog does not include giving oxygen to wealthy imbeciles, so I will get on with the show here.
It is the likes of O'Leary, President Dump, and other obscenely wealthy psychopaths who are running our world. Or, we could say, ruining our world. Because of their unbridled, brakes off, free market-mania, we are now living in a global shark tank, to cop the title of one of O'Leary's TV shows. The competition to survive, much less get ahead is becoming increasingly fierce and the integrity and fabric of communities are being slowly ripped to shreds. As housing becomes increasingly more expensive, and as jobs continue to pay less than a living wage, there are going to be more people competing for smaller and ever-shrinking slices of the pie.
The fallout in public mental health is increasing as diagnoses of depression and anxiety become more common-place, as well as trauma and other mental health disorders. The inability to keep pace with the rapid change and competition is compromising the quality of life for many, and there are growing numbers of human casualties falling through the cracks as the gap between rich and poor continues to widen and more people become vulnerable to low wage employment, unemployment, poverty, hunger and homelessness.
Social problems are increasing and only the strong, which is to say, the very strong, are going to survive. We thus become increasingly isolated from one another as we struggle and do heroic battle to stay on top of things. Human beings are social creatures. Living in any form of isolation for too long is going to be toxic.
We struggle alone, some of us taking stubborn and perverse pride in our isolation, and refusing help from others even as we sink slowly to the bottom of our post-industrial cesspit.
We rise together. But we all fall alone.
Can it get any more ludicrous that that, Gentle Reader?
Of course, O'Leary would not even listen to any of his interlocutor's well-reasoned argument of the absolute inhuman, Darwinist barbarity that this potential federal nightmare was endorsing, and being a man likely lacking a conscience or anything at all resembling human decency, O'Leary simply repeated what he said, expressed absolutely no interest in examining his position and tried to move on. Here it is, if you don't believe me:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuqemytQ5QA
The purpose of this blog does not include giving oxygen to wealthy imbeciles, so I will get on with the show here.
It is the likes of O'Leary, President Dump, and other obscenely wealthy psychopaths who are running our world. Or, we could say, ruining our world. Because of their unbridled, brakes off, free market-mania, we are now living in a global shark tank, to cop the title of one of O'Leary's TV shows. The competition to survive, much less get ahead is becoming increasingly fierce and the integrity and fabric of communities are being slowly ripped to shreds. As housing becomes increasingly more expensive, and as jobs continue to pay less than a living wage, there are going to be more people competing for smaller and ever-shrinking slices of the pie.
The fallout in public mental health is increasing as diagnoses of depression and anxiety become more common-place, as well as trauma and other mental health disorders. The inability to keep pace with the rapid change and competition is compromising the quality of life for many, and there are growing numbers of human casualties falling through the cracks as the gap between rich and poor continues to widen and more people become vulnerable to low wage employment, unemployment, poverty, hunger and homelessness.
Social problems are increasing and only the strong, which is to say, the very strong, are going to survive. We thus become increasingly isolated from one another as we struggle and do heroic battle to stay on top of things. Human beings are social creatures. Living in any form of isolation for too long is going to be toxic.
We struggle alone, some of us taking stubborn and perverse pride in our isolation, and refusing help from others even as we sink slowly to the bottom of our post-industrial cesspit.
We rise together. But we all fall alone.
Thursday 19 January 2017
My Orange Little Friends
I mean earplugs, Gentle Reader. I am starting to carry them with me. Everywhere. Ever since that nasty session in the coffee shop where one spoiled little princess was yapping very loudly on her phone for over an hour just two weeks ago, completely dominating the place with her little mediocrities and leaving me with a colossal sense of angst and unease that I almost took to bed with me that night. I make sure there is a set in my pocket. Today I needed them. It wasn`t a princess on her phone this time but two very loud rather twee looking individuals (I would swear they were both raised in the Westside and that she anyway probably attended a posh boarding school for privileged girls). I simply wanted to enjoy my time in the coffee shop with my sketchbook then her friend came in and it was game over. I glared pointedly in her direction as she squealed in upper class schoolgirl delight, rather like a pedigreed sow faking an orgasm, with her friend and then carefully inserted the earplugs while still holding the stare. Ah the schadenfreud as she struggled to veil her discomfort!
By the way, Gentle Reader, here`s a nasty little joke for you: Do you know the difference between Westside girls and Eastside girls? Eastside girls have fake jewels and real orgasms.
Hmm... It's almost as if I never wrote a single word about kindness in my previous posts. Oh...I'm just having a bad day, I suppose...
It did go much better afterward. I could still hear them but the decibel level was tolerable and I had fun working on a new bird drawing: a Blue Crowned Motmot native to Costa Rica where I will be visiting in March. Here`s a sweet little google image of this lovely bird (gag! I`m starting to sound like the loud mouthed upper class princess)
Now this is not a screed against upper class princesses or other objectionable twits. They cannot really help what they are just as I have my baggage to live with, and they might even be lovely people despite their, er, breeding.
But the world has become a very noisy place in recent years. Noisier than ever. We have more traffic than ever, more machines. In coffee shops for example. Can you remember the last time you could actually enjoy a quiet cuppa in your local café? Without the racket of baristas operating industrial strength blenders to make their absurd little cold coffee beverages that waste more plastic containers than can fill a landfill in one year. Without the cacaphony of a half dozen patrons yapping on their precious little phones at a time. Or with having space available only at those absurd communal tables where strangers refuse to interact and if you happen to be alone are at the mercy of the loud voices of teenagers fresh out of school for the day? And what about sirens? They are louder and more strident than ever and almost everyone has to plug their ears when an ambulance, fire truck or police cruiser are screaming past.
In my own backyard there are the obnoxious six am garbage trucks and the delivery trucks carrying hooch to sell for the liquor store next door. Those guys are always slamming and banging while doing their job. Deafeningly. Sometimes, even with my window shut I still have to put in earplugs and turn up the radio. I'll say nothing of the noisy idiots next door, upstairs, downstairs across the hall and the ingrained habit I have had to acquire of inserting my orange little friends into my ears every night so I can get a decent night's sleep.
How did it get this bad?
By the way, Gentle Reader, here`s a nasty little joke for you: Do you know the difference between Westside girls and Eastside girls? Eastside girls have fake jewels and real orgasms.
Hmm... It's almost as if I never wrote a single word about kindness in my previous posts. Oh...I'm just having a bad day, I suppose...
It did go much better afterward. I could still hear them but the decibel level was tolerable and I had fun working on a new bird drawing: a Blue Crowned Motmot native to Costa Rica where I will be visiting in March. Here`s a sweet little google image of this lovely bird (gag! I`m starting to sound like the loud mouthed upper class princess)
Now this is not a screed against upper class princesses or other objectionable twits. They cannot really help what they are just as I have my baggage to live with, and they might even be lovely people despite their, er, breeding.
But the world has become a very noisy place in recent years. Noisier than ever. We have more traffic than ever, more machines. In coffee shops for example. Can you remember the last time you could actually enjoy a quiet cuppa in your local café? Without the racket of baristas operating industrial strength blenders to make their absurd little cold coffee beverages that waste more plastic containers than can fill a landfill in one year. Without the cacaphony of a half dozen patrons yapping on their precious little phones at a time. Or with having space available only at those absurd communal tables where strangers refuse to interact and if you happen to be alone are at the mercy of the loud voices of teenagers fresh out of school for the day? And what about sirens? They are louder and more strident than ever and almost everyone has to plug their ears when an ambulance, fire truck or police cruiser are screaming past.
In my own backyard there are the obnoxious six am garbage trucks and the delivery trucks carrying hooch to sell for the liquor store next door. Those guys are always slamming and banging while doing their job. Deafeningly. Sometimes, even with my window shut I still have to put in earplugs and turn up the radio. I'll say nothing of the noisy idiots next door, upstairs, downstairs across the hall and the ingrained habit I have had to acquire of inserting my orange little friends into my ears every night so I can get a decent night's sleep.
How did it get this bad?
Wednesday 18 January 2017
Order
Getting your ducks in a row. How to take charge of your life. There was a little self-help book by that title that my mother put in my Christmas stocking when I was twenty-one. She made no secret of her disapproval of the way I was living and I made no pretence of accepting or tolerating her expressions of disapproval. Oh, we had fun together, my German mother and me! I did have a glance at the pages of this little book. I couldn't see it working for me. Not because my life lacked order. I was a twenty-one year old male. Of course I lacked order. And no one was going to impose on me or on my life their version of what I might or might not be needing.
I did have a basic routine. I was generally up early in the mornings, eight or earlier, depending on my employment situation or schedule. I always began my morning with a long walk of up to two miles or so. Returning home I had a glass of orange juice and a healthy breakfast, usually granola with yogurt and fruit. If I was working that's how I would spend the day. But stable employment was difficult to find for young males even in the seventies. No one I knew seemed interested in helping connect me with decent employment, and low wage employment made post-secondary education out of my reach. My mother, like many women of her generation lived in her own bubble world and it was impossible to communicate with her about this. She could never understand why I found her infuriating.
My life did not lack order. It was wanting for focus. I read copiously, especially literary classics: Virginia Woolf and Fyodor Dostoevsky were two of my faves. I was always meeting interesting people and getting into endless conversations and visits with fascinating strangers.
Looking back, I realize that there was a certain order to my young life and also a huge simplicity. This was pre-high tech. No one had a computer and the very idea of the internet was so sci-fi that no one would have believed what would be the every-day banality thirty years later. There were no smart phones, no cell phones. You had one landline phone in your home. Two if you were well-off. And television of course. And books, magazines and newspapers. Instead of sending emails you visited people. Public space was much quieter since no one was yapping on their phone. There were payphones.
Getting older, my life has had to become considerably more disciplined and organized with all the networking and communications technologies and the increasingly demanding workloads. In order to cope I have had to become hyper-organized. Everything in its place. Necessity makes obsessive-compulsives of us all.
One positive thing that has come out of all this. The sense of order feels organic. It comes from within. Ever since I was very young I have been developing this sense of order, or maybe it has been developing me. There are things that can and should never be imposed from without.
Ever since my mother's death twenty-six years ago appear to have internalized her and she has been living in me like an incubus, dictating and putting my life in order. So I have become more disciplined and more organized than ever. Almost like Mom. Except for one little difference. It is all happening on my terms.
I did have a basic routine. I was generally up early in the mornings, eight or earlier, depending on my employment situation or schedule. I always began my morning with a long walk of up to two miles or so. Returning home I had a glass of orange juice and a healthy breakfast, usually granola with yogurt and fruit. If I was working that's how I would spend the day. But stable employment was difficult to find for young males even in the seventies. No one I knew seemed interested in helping connect me with decent employment, and low wage employment made post-secondary education out of my reach. My mother, like many women of her generation lived in her own bubble world and it was impossible to communicate with her about this. She could never understand why I found her infuriating.
My life did not lack order. It was wanting for focus. I read copiously, especially literary classics: Virginia Woolf and Fyodor Dostoevsky were two of my faves. I was always meeting interesting people and getting into endless conversations and visits with fascinating strangers.
Looking back, I realize that there was a certain order to my young life and also a huge simplicity. This was pre-high tech. No one had a computer and the very idea of the internet was so sci-fi that no one would have believed what would be the every-day banality thirty years later. There were no smart phones, no cell phones. You had one landline phone in your home. Two if you were well-off. And television of course. And books, magazines and newspapers. Instead of sending emails you visited people. Public space was much quieter since no one was yapping on their phone. There were payphones.
Getting older, my life has had to become considerably more disciplined and organized with all the networking and communications technologies and the increasingly demanding workloads. In order to cope I have had to become hyper-organized. Everything in its place. Necessity makes obsessive-compulsives of us all.
One positive thing that has come out of all this. The sense of order feels organic. It comes from within. Ever since I was very young I have been developing this sense of order, or maybe it has been developing me. There are things that can and should never be imposed from without.
Ever since my mother's death twenty-six years ago appear to have internalized her and she has been living in me like an incubus, dictating and putting my life in order. So I have become more disciplined and more organized than ever. Almost like Mom. Except for one little difference. It is all happening on my terms.
Tuesday 17 January 2017
On Kindness 7
What makes us kind? Why are many of us inclined to be kind to some and unkind to others? I think this could be found in the word itself. Kind. To be of the same kind. Or, as an old friend of mine said shortly after we met, "You and I are the same kind." (And we did have a lot in common. Except, he was an alcoholic and an ex-ballet dancer and I was a strong Christian and aspiring writer.) Or, kinship, because the two words appear to be related. So, in order to be kind, it helps to see the kinship, to feel that we are the same kind as the one receiving kindness from us. It is easy to have empathy towards those who most resemble us, or at least resemble our most flattering notion of ourselves, and to have little regard for others. This could hardly be called true kindness and more a kind of projected narcissism. We are all like this to some degree.
One of the most egregious examples of this kind of selective kindness: the German Nazis who drafted Hitler`s Final Solution were not terrifying monsters. They were very ordinary German family men. After each day of laying out the plans for the systematic slaughter of thirteen million innocent Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals and disabled persons they would each go home to their fraus and kinder, bouncing their little Hanses and Heidis on their knees while eating their schnitzel and cabbage washed down with good German beer and kuchen or strudel with coffee for dessert. The banality of evil. They could not, or would not, see the humanity that they shared in common with the alleged inferior peoples while loving to death their own kind.
It is this mentality that makes it possible to kill the enemy in war, or to even have an enemy. In our minds we systematically dehumanize the other. It is really something sinister and evil. Because in many cultures women are treated as less than human, men think they have a blank cheque to rape and abuse and exclude them at their whim; queer people are regarded as the other and are marginalized and persecuted; racism is rampant because in each designated group only those who look like me need apply, and so on. For this reason our sad human history has been marked, punctuated and wholesale debased by slavery, massacres, sexism, racism, homophobia, class hierarchies, religious intolerance, poor-bashing, even genocide. This is how the church managed to justify the Inquisition and the slaughter of alleged witches and heretics. They were the other. This is how Hitler stuffed six million Jews into gas chambers and mass graves. They were the other. This is how Stalin starved millions of Ukrainians to death during the thirties. They were the other.
The categorical opposite to kindness.
Whenever I find that I absolutely dislike someone, or want to say or do something nasty and cruel I try to ask myself two questions: 1. What do we have in common? and 2. What could I actually like about this person?
Especially in my profession these are essential questions that I sometimes have to ask when I am presented with a new client. We are not always going to have a lot in common. And we are not always going to like each other, at least not at first sight. With the vast majority of my clients I tend to do very well, but I sometimes have to work at learning to like them before it actually happens. And sometimes they have to learn how to like me, and I have to be prepared to accept and respect this. As long as both parties are willing, I think that almost any relationship is redeemable as well as being redemptive.
Even yesterday on the bus I had a very enjoyable conversation with the passenger seated next to me. It was brief and inconsequential and at first blush we would not appear to have a lot in common. She was a young woman, perhaps thirty and I am an aging man pushing sixty-one. She had brown skin, likely South Asian descent, though her accent was pure Canadian English, and I have pinkish-white skin. She is a woman, I am a man (well, sort of). She appeared well-educated, probably with a few degrees and I appear to be well-educated while being a college dropout. I was trying to adjust my big golf umbrella so it wouldn't hit her and she asked me if I wanted to leave the bus, in case she needed to get up and give me room. I told her not to worry, that I just wanted to be sure my umbrella wouldn't injure anyone and she laughed about how golf umbrellas can be dangerous weapons and I agreed and there we went. But the humour brought us together, however briefly as friends, and as she left I thanked her for taking the time to chat with me.
Kindness takes so many different forms but if it is authentic then it will proceed out of a real desire to express love, care, joy and compassion, often with humour, to those around us, and to help us be the change that we desire to see in our small world.
One of the most egregious examples of this kind of selective kindness: the German Nazis who drafted Hitler`s Final Solution were not terrifying monsters. They were very ordinary German family men. After each day of laying out the plans for the systematic slaughter of thirteen million innocent Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals and disabled persons they would each go home to their fraus and kinder, bouncing their little Hanses and Heidis on their knees while eating their schnitzel and cabbage washed down with good German beer and kuchen or strudel with coffee for dessert. The banality of evil. They could not, or would not, see the humanity that they shared in common with the alleged inferior peoples while loving to death their own kind.
It is this mentality that makes it possible to kill the enemy in war, or to even have an enemy. In our minds we systematically dehumanize the other. It is really something sinister and evil. Because in many cultures women are treated as less than human, men think they have a blank cheque to rape and abuse and exclude them at their whim; queer people are regarded as the other and are marginalized and persecuted; racism is rampant because in each designated group only those who look like me need apply, and so on. For this reason our sad human history has been marked, punctuated and wholesale debased by slavery, massacres, sexism, racism, homophobia, class hierarchies, religious intolerance, poor-bashing, even genocide. This is how the church managed to justify the Inquisition and the slaughter of alleged witches and heretics. They were the other. This is how Hitler stuffed six million Jews into gas chambers and mass graves. They were the other. This is how Stalin starved millions of Ukrainians to death during the thirties. They were the other.
The categorical opposite to kindness.
Whenever I find that I absolutely dislike someone, or want to say or do something nasty and cruel I try to ask myself two questions: 1. What do we have in common? and 2. What could I actually like about this person?
Especially in my profession these are essential questions that I sometimes have to ask when I am presented with a new client. We are not always going to have a lot in common. And we are not always going to like each other, at least not at first sight. With the vast majority of my clients I tend to do very well, but I sometimes have to work at learning to like them before it actually happens. And sometimes they have to learn how to like me, and I have to be prepared to accept and respect this. As long as both parties are willing, I think that almost any relationship is redeemable as well as being redemptive.
Even yesterday on the bus I had a very enjoyable conversation with the passenger seated next to me. It was brief and inconsequential and at first blush we would not appear to have a lot in common. She was a young woman, perhaps thirty and I am an aging man pushing sixty-one. She had brown skin, likely South Asian descent, though her accent was pure Canadian English, and I have pinkish-white skin. She is a woman, I am a man (well, sort of). She appeared well-educated, probably with a few degrees and I appear to be well-educated while being a college dropout. I was trying to adjust my big golf umbrella so it wouldn't hit her and she asked me if I wanted to leave the bus, in case she needed to get up and give me room. I told her not to worry, that I just wanted to be sure my umbrella wouldn't injure anyone and she laughed about how golf umbrellas can be dangerous weapons and I agreed and there we went. But the humour brought us together, however briefly as friends, and as she left I thanked her for taking the time to chat with me.
Kindness takes so many different forms but if it is authentic then it will proceed out of a real desire to express love, care, joy and compassion, often with humour, to those around us, and to help us be the change that we desire to see in our small world.
Monday 16 January 2017
On Kindness 6
One area where kindness really needs to be present, but seldom is, is in the way we communicate with those with whom we disagree. I am sometimes faced with this challenge when listening to various current affairs programs on CBC Radio. Generally I enjoy the content: it is always well-presented, well-researched, timely and thought-provoking.
However...
I have noticed, to my dismay, that the various journalists who work on the CBC are not just secular. I am okay with secular. I approve of and endorse secular. It keeps everyone equal, neutral and safe. Secular is public fairness in action. However, it is not the same as atheism and many of the journalists, eggheads and learning gurus at the CBC appear to be atheists. Strong and fervent atheists, almost the same ilk as Richard Dawkins. There is a tendency to mock and deride religion, especially Christianity. They`re not all like this, and some appear downright sympathetic if not in agreement.
There is nothing wrong with this, as long as it is handled respectfully. This morning I heard something on the Sunday Edition that I found sad to the point of depressing. It was not a disrespectful approach to religion but still a rather dismal and unquestioned acceptance that this life, without God, is all that we have, is all that there is. The theme of the segment was about how atheists, or people who don't believe in an afterlife, cope with the idea of death. I couldn't listen to all of it, it was just so sad.
I was also wondering, on the strength of my Christian faith and my experience of death and dying through giving palliative care, how I could best approach the host of the Sunday Edition through an email. A whole number of ideas ran through my mind, but nothing really stood out as being particularly kind or tactful. I only wanted to attack and undermine their belief system without considering how they might have arrived at their conclusions about life and death and God. I wondered, in the theme of kindness, how to best speak to them without alienating them while clearly delineating my position based upon my own life experience. While, of course, respecting that their position also comes out of their own personal life experience.
So, I'll give it a try:
Dear Michael:
I listened to some of your program, the Sunday Edition yesterday, and to the early part of the segment on coping with the idea of death when you don't believe in an afterlife. It was interesting but I couldn't go on listening as I also found myself getting increasingly sadder. I understand that many educated people do not believe in God. I also respect that you have all arrived at this conclusion very thoughtfully and carefully and likely not without some personal struggle. Some of you might have grown up in religious homes. Others might have had some notion of faith and the afterlife but after considering that any God of love could not be possibly involved with such a sad and sorry planet as our Earth, have opted to not believe. For some it just doesn't make sense.
I understand this, accept and respect it. I do have one little question to ask here. How do you know? How can you prove there is no God and no afterlife any more than I can prove they exist? I ask this because there is something I find very sad and final about the atheist position. It is like a voluntary closing of the mind to the possibility of anything that is too wonderful to be logically or rationally understood or codified. Are you aware that you are really cutting yourself off from the possibility that you could be mistaken and that this could be for you a very costly sacrifice?
What I am saying is that ultimately we cannot say that we really know anything, regardless the evidence, unless the evidence is absolute, concrete and conclusive. Right now there is snow on the ground and ice on the sidewalks. All you need is to go outside, see it, feel the cold and slip and fall. Conclusive evidence. If there is no evidence of snow and ice, and you have never seen snow or ice, and someone tells you about it, you read about it, you see pictures of it, then you will accept by faith that snow and ice do indeed exist. By the same token, you say there is no God when there is no conclusive evidence to either affirm or deny his existence. In the negative sense, you have taken a position of faith about the nonexistence of God and that there is no afterlife.
I have been around a lot of death and dying in my time and I have worked in palliative care. While I have mourned the passing of many dear people I have never despaired that their passing is something final. I have had paranormal experiences that have left me more than convinced that there is an afterlife. No, this is not conclusive evidence, at least not for those who would make a scientifically statistical inquiry. But I will provide one example:
Some years ago a friend died, in her forties from cancer, leaving behind her husband and three children. While praying for these people with another friend at home I had a strong visual image of this woman. She looked about fourteen or fifteen years old in this "vision." Her hair, always short in life, was long and flowing. She was wearing a peasant like blouse and skirt in different shades of white and brown. She was running uphill through grassy meadows and woods with a radiant smile on her face as though reaching and running towards God. A couple of days later we had a visit from her widowed husband. Without further ceremony he began to tell us about a friend of their family, a Christian woman, who had been praying for them. Then he described to me, to the very last detail the vision his friend had of his recently deceased wife. Detail for detail it was exactly the vision I had of her. This woman and I did not know each other, by the way, and neither had I communicated any details of this vision to anyone. We have never since known, met or communicated with each other.
This is of course, far from conclusive evidence, though to me it is very reassuring and at the end we all have to make our own conclusions and live by them.
I do have a lot of compassion for those who don't believe. And, no, I do not believe that it is possible to be good without God. We can be good without believing in God, but all goodness comes from God, whether we believe or not, and simply by opting and consenting to what is good we are connecting ourselves to God, even if we don't know it at the time.
To those of you who cannot accept that a good and loving God would consent to the cesspit we have made of the world I have this to say:
We cannot blame God for our own mistakes. He made the world and us to be something good and beautiful, and in many ways we are. But we have in many ways perverted and degraded this beauty, by giving rein to our selfish and destructive tendencies. God has given us free will, he will not have robots, he wants to be in a relationship with us and you cannot have a relationship with a robot. We cannot expect him to intervene and clean up the mess that we have made. That is our job. When you consider that almost all of our species' problems come out of human greed and selfishness, I would say that instead of waiting for a supreme being to take care of our problems and wipe our behinds for us, it is our responsibility to reclaim the nature of love, goodness and kindness that we were originally created to embody and express. By fully reclaiming and ratifying our very best humanity we will have played our role in fixing this world while also restoring our original relationship to the divine.
For those of us who still don't believe that God is interested or moved by our suffering, let me condense here in a couple of sentences the Christian message:
God, moved by the misery we have made of ourselves and our planet, became one of us, a vulnerable human baby born to poor parents in the humblest of circumstances. He grew up and lived among us as one of us and touched and healed the lives of many. He was unjustly tried, convicted and executed and died a miserable and ignominious death. We believe that he rose from the dead and has since sent us his Spirit to inhabit guide and empower us, those of us who will accept the promise and hope of his love for us. We believe that it is through our relationship with the divine that we can bring healing and restoration to our broken and damaged humanity and planet. I am not saying that the Christian message is the only relevant message, of course there are others, but ours still needs to be thoughtfully considered, even if the church has done so much damage to the beauty and integrity of this message.
I do not expect that in a few words I am going to persuade you to believe, but I would like to conclude by saying this:
If you cannot bring yourself to believe in God, but you still believe in the good, then please do this: reach and keep reaching for the highest possible good you can conceive, and embody this good in your life, in every detail and every facet of your life, and even if you don't believe you will still be releasing the power of God's goodness and love in your life and in your world.
Can you accept my challenge?
However...
I have noticed, to my dismay, that the various journalists who work on the CBC are not just secular. I am okay with secular. I approve of and endorse secular. It keeps everyone equal, neutral and safe. Secular is public fairness in action. However, it is not the same as atheism and many of the journalists, eggheads and learning gurus at the CBC appear to be atheists. Strong and fervent atheists, almost the same ilk as Richard Dawkins. There is a tendency to mock and deride religion, especially Christianity. They`re not all like this, and some appear downright sympathetic if not in agreement.
There is nothing wrong with this, as long as it is handled respectfully. This morning I heard something on the Sunday Edition that I found sad to the point of depressing. It was not a disrespectful approach to religion but still a rather dismal and unquestioned acceptance that this life, without God, is all that we have, is all that there is. The theme of the segment was about how atheists, or people who don't believe in an afterlife, cope with the idea of death. I couldn't listen to all of it, it was just so sad.
I was also wondering, on the strength of my Christian faith and my experience of death and dying through giving palliative care, how I could best approach the host of the Sunday Edition through an email. A whole number of ideas ran through my mind, but nothing really stood out as being particularly kind or tactful. I only wanted to attack and undermine their belief system without considering how they might have arrived at their conclusions about life and death and God. I wondered, in the theme of kindness, how to best speak to them without alienating them while clearly delineating my position based upon my own life experience. While, of course, respecting that their position also comes out of their own personal life experience.
So, I'll give it a try:
Dear Michael:
I listened to some of your program, the Sunday Edition yesterday, and to the early part of the segment on coping with the idea of death when you don't believe in an afterlife. It was interesting but I couldn't go on listening as I also found myself getting increasingly sadder. I understand that many educated people do not believe in God. I also respect that you have all arrived at this conclusion very thoughtfully and carefully and likely not without some personal struggle. Some of you might have grown up in religious homes. Others might have had some notion of faith and the afterlife but after considering that any God of love could not be possibly involved with such a sad and sorry planet as our Earth, have opted to not believe. For some it just doesn't make sense.
I understand this, accept and respect it. I do have one little question to ask here. How do you know? How can you prove there is no God and no afterlife any more than I can prove they exist? I ask this because there is something I find very sad and final about the atheist position. It is like a voluntary closing of the mind to the possibility of anything that is too wonderful to be logically or rationally understood or codified. Are you aware that you are really cutting yourself off from the possibility that you could be mistaken and that this could be for you a very costly sacrifice?
What I am saying is that ultimately we cannot say that we really know anything, regardless the evidence, unless the evidence is absolute, concrete and conclusive. Right now there is snow on the ground and ice on the sidewalks. All you need is to go outside, see it, feel the cold and slip and fall. Conclusive evidence. If there is no evidence of snow and ice, and you have never seen snow or ice, and someone tells you about it, you read about it, you see pictures of it, then you will accept by faith that snow and ice do indeed exist. By the same token, you say there is no God when there is no conclusive evidence to either affirm or deny his existence. In the negative sense, you have taken a position of faith about the nonexistence of God and that there is no afterlife.
I have been around a lot of death and dying in my time and I have worked in palliative care. While I have mourned the passing of many dear people I have never despaired that their passing is something final. I have had paranormal experiences that have left me more than convinced that there is an afterlife. No, this is not conclusive evidence, at least not for those who would make a scientifically statistical inquiry. But I will provide one example:
Some years ago a friend died, in her forties from cancer, leaving behind her husband and three children. While praying for these people with another friend at home I had a strong visual image of this woman. She looked about fourteen or fifteen years old in this "vision." Her hair, always short in life, was long and flowing. She was wearing a peasant like blouse and skirt in different shades of white and brown. She was running uphill through grassy meadows and woods with a radiant smile on her face as though reaching and running towards God. A couple of days later we had a visit from her widowed husband. Without further ceremony he began to tell us about a friend of their family, a Christian woman, who had been praying for them. Then he described to me, to the very last detail the vision his friend had of his recently deceased wife. Detail for detail it was exactly the vision I had of her. This woman and I did not know each other, by the way, and neither had I communicated any details of this vision to anyone. We have never since known, met or communicated with each other.
This is of course, far from conclusive evidence, though to me it is very reassuring and at the end we all have to make our own conclusions and live by them.
I do have a lot of compassion for those who don't believe. And, no, I do not believe that it is possible to be good without God. We can be good without believing in God, but all goodness comes from God, whether we believe or not, and simply by opting and consenting to what is good we are connecting ourselves to God, even if we don't know it at the time.
To those of you who cannot accept that a good and loving God would consent to the cesspit we have made of the world I have this to say:
We cannot blame God for our own mistakes. He made the world and us to be something good and beautiful, and in many ways we are. But we have in many ways perverted and degraded this beauty, by giving rein to our selfish and destructive tendencies. God has given us free will, he will not have robots, he wants to be in a relationship with us and you cannot have a relationship with a robot. We cannot expect him to intervene and clean up the mess that we have made. That is our job. When you consider that almost all of our species' problems come out of human greed and selfishness, I would say that instead of waiting for a supreme being to take care of our problems and wipe our behinds for us, it is our responsibility to reclaim the nature of love, goodness and kindness that we were originally created to embody and express. By fully reclaiming and ratifying our very best humanity we will have played our role in fixing this world while also restoring our original relationship to the divine.
For those of us who still don't believe that God is interested or moved by our suffering, let me condense here in a couple of sentences the Christian message:
God, moved by the misery we have made of ourselves and our planet, became one of us, a vulnerable human baby born to poor parents in the humblest of circumstances. He grew up and lived among us as one of us and touched and healed the lives of many. He was unjustly tried, convicted and executed and died a miserable and ignominious death. We believe that he rose from the dead and has since sent us his Spirit to inhabit guide and empower us, those of us who will accept the promise and hope of his love for us. We believe that it is through our relationship with the divine that we can bring healing and restoration to our broken and damaged humanity and planet. I am not saying that the Christian message is the only relevant message, of course there are others, but ours still needs to be thoughtfully considered, even if the church has done so much damage to the beauty and integrity of this message.
I do not expect that in a few words I am going to persuade you to believe, but I would like to conclude by saying this:
If you cannot bring yourself to believe in God, but you still believe in the good, then please do this: reach and keep reaching for the highest possible good you can conceive, and embody this good in your life, in every detail and every facet of your life, and even if you don't believe you will still be releasing the power of God's goodness and love in your life and in your world.
Can you accept my challenge?
Sunday 15 January 2017
On Kindness 5
I often think of Jesus' famous words about being as gentle as doves but shrewder than serpents, especially when it comes to kindness. I think that often when people are trying to be kind after a lifetime of being selfish they are going to be taking a long series of faltering baby-steps. There are also those who have always been chronically kind, but seem to deliver their acts of compassion rather stupidly and clumsily. Face it, Gentle Reader, most of us are not accustomed to thinking much and we're often afraid of thinking.
I am also considering one of the very basic kindnesses or acts of courtesy that sometimes occur on the street. This is the benevolent pedestrian giving right of way to someone who is driving a vehicle. Generally there is nothing terribly wrong with this, outside of the doglike and servile passivity of the lowly pedestrian giving place to his betters, but when you look at it a little more carefully this is a gesture that could stand to be reconsidered. A couple of years ago, while one of my clients and I were just about to cross a busy street on a pedestrian walk signal, the Einstein just ahead of us waved to a car driver to turn on the crosswalk, making it unsafe for us and for other pedestrians. I mentioned to him that it was our right of way, not the driver's. He said that he wanted to do something kind. I suggested that he might next time consider the consequences for others when he wants to show kindness to a driver. He gave a hostile shrug and went his way. Most drivers, I have noticed, here in Vancouver anyway, are too decent to accept this kind of bait of kindness, knowing that as well as endangering others they are also breaking the law. I also like to consider that pedestrians, being more vulnerable, merit extra care and respect while negotiating traffic (not to mention the fact that we are not contributing to climate change and global warming by walking).
On the other hand it could also be argued that as an expression of kindness I might have kept my mouth shut and not spoiled for that guy what might have been a faltering baby step towards being less selfish. Or maybe he is already naturally kind and that's all that matters. There is also no way of knowing what kind of day the driver, who is also a human being, might be having and maybe was needing just one little act of kindness to keep from derailing the rest of his day. We often never know really what is going on in the lives of our dearest friends much of the time, much less those of complete strangers.
I do, on occasion, offer a driver the right of way, but under certain conditions. Never will I do this on a crosswalk or a walk signal, especially if there are other pedestrians present. If it's just to turn off an alley way, or something similar I will pause, look ahead and behind. If there are no other pedestrians nearby to be endangered or inconvenienced then I will wave the driver through.
This might strike some of you, Gentle Reader, as meticulously and obsessively conscientious, rather like a neurotic form of mindfulness, but I have had to learn the hard way that all our actions, benevolent or not, can have consequences for others, and not always good ones. I also concur that we can't always make carefully considered decisions on the fly and that we are always going to make mistakes. My over-cautiousness can also backfire, where I get so caught in a muddle about considering consequences of my actions that I become paralysed, nothing happens and I just hope we all come out of this unscathed.
It might be said that the greatest kindness could occur when we accept that none of us is perfect, we are all on a learning curve and maybe only occasionally are we going to get it right. But this doesn't excuse us from trying. We are always going to have to keep trying. Making mistakes. Learning from our mistakes. Trying again. Make new mistakes. Learn from those...
And try again.
I am also considering one of the very basic kindnesses or acts of courtesy that sometimes occur on the street. This is the benevolent pedestrian giving right of way to someone who is driving a vehicle. Generally there is nothing terribly wrong with this, outside of the doglike and servile passivity of the lowly pedestrian giving place to his betters, but when you look at it a little more carefully this is a gesture that could stand to be reconsidered. A couple of years ago, while one of my clients and I were just about to cross a busy street on a pedestrian walk signal, the Einstein just ahead of us waved to a car driver to turn on the crosswalk, making it unsafe for us and for other pedestrians. I mentioned to him that it was our right of way, not the driver's. He said that he wanted to do something kind. I suggested that he might next time consider the consequences for others when he wants to show kindness to a driver. He gave a hostile shrug and went his way. Most drivers, I have noticed, here in Vancouver anyway, are too decent to accept this kind of bait of kindness, knowing that as well as endangering others they are also breaking the law. I also like to consider that pedestrians, being more vulnerable, merit extra care and respect while negotiating traffic (not to mention the fact that we are not contributing to climate change and global warming by walking).
On the other hand it could also be argued that as an expression of kindness I might have kept my mouth shut and not spoiled for that guy what might have been a faltering baby step towards being less selfish. Or maybe he is already naturally kind and that's all that matters. There is also no way of knowing what kind of day the driver, who is also a human being, might be having and maybe was needing just one little act of kindness to keep from derailing the rest of his day. We often never know really what is going on in the lives of our dearest friends much of the time, much less those of complete strangers.
I do, on occasion, offer a driver the right of way, but under certain conditions. Never will I do this on a crosswalk or a walk signal, especially if there are other pedestrians present. If it's just to turn off an alley way, or something similar I will pause, look ahead and behind. If there are no other pedestrians nearby to be endangered or inconvenienced then I will wave the driver through.
This might strike some of you, Gentle Reader, as meticulously and obsessively conscientious, rather like a neurotic form of mindfulness, but I have had to learn the hard way that all our actions, benevolent or not, can have consequences for others, and not always good ones. I also concur that we can't always make carefully considered decisions on the fly and that we are always going to make mistakes. My over-cautiousness can also backfire, where I get so caught in a muddle about considering consequences of my actions that I become paralysed, nothing happens and I just hope we all come out of this unscathed.
It might be said that the greatest kindness could occur when we accept that none of us is perfect, we are all on a learning curve and maybe only occasionally are we going to get it right. But this doesn't excuse us from trying. We are always going to have to keep trying. Making mistakes. Learning from our mistakes. Trying again. Make new mistakes. Learn from those...
And try again.
Saturday 14 January 2017
On Kindness 4
We are angels and devils, simultaneously. A little more complex than the caricatured little red devil on one shoulder whispering evil temptations in your ear and the little gold and white angel on the other shoulder whispering urgings towards virtue into your other ear. I have a slightly different interpretation:
We all have the will, need and drive to survive, and to not only survive but to flourish and thrive. Oh, how poetic this all sounds. But underneath it all, we are all trying to get through our day and we often have obstacles. These obstacles often come in the form of other people. Because we are so fixated on our own little processes of self-actualization and this has become in itself such a quintessentially selfish kind of behaviour that we all coexist each living inside our own little bubble of self, and woe to anyone who dares to break our little bubble!
So, we end up living in a culture of entitlement and offence. Here are some of my worst case scenarios. A smoker is rapidly catching up to me on the sidewalk and soon is walking ahead of me leaving behind him a trail of toxic second-hand smoke for me to inhale and gag on. Fortunately it is generally only the young smokers that are able to outwalk me. By the time they reach my age, if their filthy habit hasn't already bumped them off they will either be trundling along with a cane, a walker, or, horrors!, on an electric scooter when they will be running over any pedestrian who gets in their way while sucking on the same cigarettes that put them there in the first place and, yes, leaving yet another lovely trail of second-hand smoke to get inside your face.
So there are two selfish parties here: me and the smoker. Me, because I am so obsessed with my delicate health that I couldn't care a rat's turd for the wellbeing of someone caught in a health-destroying addiction. The smoker, because instead of coming to terms with his self-destructive behaviour he simply exhales his poison wherever he wants, compromising the safety and health of any passerby unfortunate enough to inhale a toxic dose of his second-hand smoke.
Another pet peeve. People, almost always under thiry, who put their dirty boots up on cafe tables. I always have to restrain myself from telling them off. I simply don't, unless I happen to be using the same table, which hasn't yet occurred and I hope it never does, in which case I will likely just chicken out and move to another, preferibly private, table. Everyone knows that cafe staff in Vancouver establishments very rarely clean the tables. Equally that they're generally cowards and won't dare risk offending any of their precious regulars by simply asking them to keep their feet on the floor where they belong. Just as the ones putting their dirty sneakers up on the same tables have likely just been outside walking through mounds of dogshit while staring at their dear little smart phones. I have actually seen this happen. Their offence: their absolute lack of consideration of the impact of their self-perceived right to put their dirty feet wherever they please on the health, hygiene and mental wellbeing of others. My offence: assuming the absolute worst of someone that I don't even know and getting all delicate and fussy about my precious health. Though I would still opt to move to another table. Perhaps while considering that this person might be exhausted, a student up studying all night, or perhaps just a little sex hound who couldn't get enough from their best friend with benefits last night, or someone in a dismal funk, or just some entitled little prince or princess that thinks they own the world.
I could name many more examples here, Gentle Reader, but that is not the point of this particular blogpost. It behooves me, instead, to suggest that there is something inherently amiss with this kind of individualized bubble existence that keeps us all so divided and separate from one another.
It is of course easy to blame capitalism, and I happen to do this with relish (ketchup and mustard, too. And a little salsa?) But there is something seriously wrong in a world where everyone has to feel so completely isolated and on their own in order to get anything done in their lives. Like find a job, for instance. While there is much about the West that I love and admire, we really tend to take individualism to an extreme. People become increasingly isolated and lonely in their pursuit of success and happiness because I have to do it my way. We all say this to ourselves and this lie is perpetually reinforced throughout our lives. But I think there is a different way. There has to be.
Somehow, we need to get it through our heads and into our hearts that none of us rises alone. We all rise together. This is what makes kindness so important. It doesn't necessarily break our bubbles but extends them and connects us to one another. I only began to do well in my job search, for example, when I found a competent and compassionate employment counsellor who was there for me and offered me not only her support but her friendship. And this has really branded upon me the supreme importance of sharing the load. We are all in this together.
Two recent examples: Yesterday, on the bus, on the way home, the young lady seated next to me asked me if we were on the number 14. I wasn't sure, so I asked the people seated across from us and they said yes, this is the number 14. I smiled and said "Teamwork. Yes!" and they all smiled in agreement. Today in the grocery checkout the woman behind me thought the seal was broken on the can of coffee she had purchased, then I told her the coffee she was smelling was coming from my knapsack as I had just bought fresh ground beans from Bean Around the World. We had a friendly chat and I think the load was lightened for both of us.
We are in this together and we can use kindness to make this idea more real and effective, even through very small steps and gestures.
That's right, Gentle Reader. Kindness.
We all have the will, need and drive to survive, and to not only survive but to flourish and thrive. Oh, how poetic this all sounds. But underneath it all, we are all trying to get through our day and we often have obstacles. These obstacles often come in the form of other people. Because we are so fixated on our own little processes of self-actualization and this has become in itself such a quintessentially selfish kind of behaviour that we all coexist each living inside our own little bubble of self, and woe to anyone who dares to break our little bubble!
So, we end up living in a culture of entitlement and offence. Here are some of my worst case scenarios. A smoker is rapidly catching up to me on the sidewalk and soon is walking ahead of me leaving behind him a trail of toxic second-hand smoke for me to inhale and gag on. Fortunately it is generally only the young smokers that are able to outwalk me. By the time they reach my age, if their filthy habit hasn't already bumped them off they will either be trundling along with a cane, a walker, or, horrors!, on an electric scooter when they will be running over any pedestrian who gets in their way while sucking on the same cigarettes that put them there in the first place and, yes, leaving yet another lovely trail of second-hand smoke to get inside your face.
So there are two selfish parties here: me and the smoker. Me, because I am so obsessed with my delicate health that I couldn't care a rat's turd for the wellbeing of someone caught in a health-destroying addiction. The smoker, because instead of coming to terms with his self-destructive behaviour he simply exhales his poison wherever he wants, compromising the safety and health of any passerby unfortunate enough to inhale a toxic dose of his second-hand smoke.
Another pet peeve. People, almost always under thiry, who put their dirty boots up on cafe tables. I always have to restrain myself from telling them off. I simply don't, unless I happen to be using the same table, which hasn't yet occurred and I hope it never does, in which case I will likely just chicken out and move to another, preferibly private, table. Everyone knows that cafe staff in Vancouver establishments very rarely clean the tables. Equally that they're generally cowards and won't dare risk offending any of their precious regulars by simply asking them to keep their feet on the floor where they belong. Just as the ones putting their dirty sneakers up on the same tables have likely just been outside walking through mounds of dogshit while staring at their dear little smart phones. I have actually seen this happen. Their offence: their absolute lack of consideration of the impact of their self-perceived right to put their dirty feet wherever they please on the health, hygiene and mental wellbeing of others. My offence: assuming the absolute worst of someone that I don't even know and getting all delicate and fussy about my precious health. Though I would still opt to move to another table. Perhaps while considering that this person might be exhausted, a student up studying all night, or perhaps just a little sex hound who couldn't get enough from their best friend with benefits last night, or someone in a dismal funk, or just some entitled little prince or princess that thinks they own the world.
I could name many more examples here, Gentle Reader, but that is not the point of this particular blogpost. It behooves me, instead, to suggest that there is something inherently amiss with this kind of individualized bubble existence that keeps us all so divided and separate from one another.
It is of course easy to blame capitalism, and I happen to do this with relish (ketchup and mustard, too. And a little salsa?) But there is something seriously wrong in a world where everyone has to feel so completely isolated and on their own in order to get anything done in their lives. Like find a job, for instance. While there is much about the West that I love and admire, we really tend to take individualism to an extreme. People become increasingly isolated and lonely in their pursuit of success and happiness because I have to do it my way. We all say this to ourselves and this lie is perpetually reinforced throughout our lives. But I think there is a different way. There has to be.
Somehow, we need to get it through our heads and into our hearts that none of us rises alone. We all rise together. This is what makes kindness so important. It doesn't necessarily break our bubbles but extends them and connects us to one another. I only began to do well in my job search, for example, when I found a competent and compassionate employment counsellor who was there for me and offered me not only her support but her friendship. And this has really branded upon me the supreme importance of sharing the load. We are all in this together.
Two recent examples: Yesterday, on the bus, on the way home, the young lady seated next to me asked me if we were on the number 14. I wasn't sure, so I asked the people seated across from us and they said yes, this is the number 14. I smiled and said "Teamwork. Yes!" and they all smiled in agreement. Today in the grocery checkout the woman behind me thought the seal was broken on the can of coffee she had purchased, then I told her the coffee she was smelling was coming from my knapsack as I had just bought fresh ground beans from Bean Around the World. We had a friendly chat and I think the load was lightened for both of us.
We are in this together and we can use kindness to make this idea more real and effective, even through very small steps and gestures.
That's right, Gentle Reader. Kindness.
Friday 13 January 2017
On Kindness 3
I mentioned to a friend that if he is patient enough with people here in Vancouver as I had to be in the capital city of his native Colombia he would be pleasantly surprised that we all carry hidden treasure. This is often hard to believe when you have to deal with people in public where, face it, no one is going to be at their best. The woman shoving her way in front of you on the bus or the transit train might have just been changing bedpans for a patient with terminal cancer. The cyclist who swore at you when you asked him not to ride his bike on the sidewalk might have just consented to donate one of his kidneys. The driver flipping you the bird while almost running you over on the crosswalk might be a volunteer in a homeless shelter. We don`t know what kind of stress any of these people might be under at the time, what kind of problems they have to face every day. Or, it might be less straightforward. They could be angels and devils inhabiting the same bodies. Aren`t we all?
I remember this really horrible Ukrainian woman whose church I attended for a number of years. I call it her church because for a number of years she was the clergy's housekeeper and she basically ran the place. She hated me unreservedly and I seemed to represent everything in life that she loathed and feared. Like many older generation Ukrainian immigrants she was very conservative, not well educated and tended to hate everyone on welfare, everyone who worked with people on welfare and anyone else whose values were remotely liberal or progressive. I always saw the same surly, miserable scowl on her face without comprehending that I might be somehow bringing out that side to her. Until just one Sunday at church. There were a couple of young children there and the ugly hag mask that I knew as her face suddenly melted and all I could see was a fond old woman smiling with every molecule in her body for her unabashed love for children. Only once I saw that side to her. No matter how much she infuriated me afterward with her snubs, her hateful remarks and hateful treatment of the many local poor and homeless, and almost everyone else on the face of her flat earth, I would from time to time try to conjure in my memory that brief fleeting moment of that ugly face suddenly made beautiful and radiant with joy by her love for children.
She recently received the highest award of honour from this Anglican diocese for faithful church work and service. I wonder if they still would have picked her, knowing that she was a bigoted poor-basher. But likely it was the doting grandmother who got the award, even if I have seen her only once.
I took another early walk this morning on the seawall in Yaletown. I decided that instead of giving myself time to get annoyed with the people around me that I would say good morning to some of them. To my surprise, almost everyone responded, some even smiled.
And every last one of them looked surprised.
The sunrise was glorious and I returned home full of joy and all the strength I would be needing to face a new day.
I remember this really horrible Ukrainian woman whose church I attended for a number of years. I call it her church because for a number of years she was the clergy's housekeeper and she basically ran the place. She hated me unreservedly and I seemed to represent everything in life that she loathed and feared. Like many older generation Ukrainian immigrants she was very conservative, not well educated and tended to hate everyone on welfare, everyone who worked with people on welfare and anyone else whose values were remotely liberal or progressive. I always saw the same surly, miserable scowl on her face without comprehending that I might be somehow bringing out that side to her. Until just one Sunday at church. There were a couple of young children there and the ugly hag mask that I knew as her face suddenly melted and all I could see was a fond old woman smiling with every molecule in her body for her unabashed love for children. Only once I saw that side to her. No matter how much she infuriated me afterward with her snubs, her hateful remarks and hateful treatment of the many local poor and homeless, and almost everyone else on the face of her flat earth, I would from time to time try to conjure in my memory that brief fleeting moment of that ugly face suddenly made beautiful and radiant with joy by her love for children.
She recently received the highest award of honour from this Anglican diocese for faithful church work and service. I wonder if they still would have picked her, knowing that she was a bigoted poor-basher. But likely it was the doting grandmother who got the award, even if I have seen her only once.
I took another early walk this morning on the seawall in Yaletown. I decided that instead of giving myself time to get annoyed with the people around me that I would say good morning to some of them. To my surprise, almost everyone responded, some even smiled.
And every last one of them looked surprised.
The sunrise was glorious and I returned home full of joy and all the strength I would be needing to face a new day.
Thursday 12 January 2017
On Kindness 2
I live in rather an unpleasant neighbourhood. It is called Downtown South, or the Downtown Eastside's slightly prettier sister. I used to go out for long walks first thing in the morning, often before sunrise, every single day. That all changed after I'd been living here for a few years. As homelessness and open begging became more visible in my neighbourhood I found it increasingly difficult being confronted with all this human misery before I'd even had breakfast or a cup of coffee. But that wasn't the worst part. Everyone it seemed now owned a dog or had turned into a fitness freak. Yaletown, or Whistler By The Sea as I like to call it, is right next to my rapidly gentrifying but still squalid neighbourhood. Where the yuppies go. Where the yuppies live. Where the narcissistic yuppies totally fixated on staying young and beautiful and living forever like to go jogging on the otherwise beautiful seawall. Where the yuppies began to go jogging before sunrise, often with their little or big dogs too, completely altering the atmosphere and absolutely destroying the stillness and tranquility I once associated with early morning walks by the water. Now, I have nothing against dogs nor against people who own them. I am less than comfortable with adding so many dogs to an already densely populated area but that is for another blogpost. And all these lonely and unloved people who can`t seem to do well with other human beings do need something that will love them unconditionally.
I am trying to go out walking again in the early morning, on occasion, because I really miss seeing the sunrise. I have just done this today, the second time in as many weeks. I don't feel quite as stressed as I did the first time. Maybe because I started a bit later and made sure I'd had something to eat first. Maybe also because I found myself silently praying for the people around me, the street people and the young and older wage slaves rushing off to their daily penance. But I am making the conscious choice to try to see the others around me, who often annoy me, as victims, as people who live under tonnes of stress, who might right now be facing a terminal illness, bankruptcy, a divorce, a betrayal by a loved one, getting fired from their job, underemployment and poverty, mental health crisis, addictions, chronic loneliness...
The list goes on, but it also puts emphasis on the importance of kindness. I don`t have to go out in the morning before starting work. I do have to be kind.
I am home now from work. As always there have been abundant opportunities for kindness, especially on public transit. Especially on the East and South sides of the city there are a lot of visible ethnic minorities riding the buses. Some are students, a lot of them are elderly. I often think of them as people who particularly need and deserve kindness because they are also particularly vulnerable. Even with a lack of English, a kind look, a gentle tone of voice and a friendly smile can communicate reams. Making room for people, offering seats as needed, and not getting cross if you feel your personal space being crowded are all small gestures of kindness that can speak volumes.
I think what is really important is to slow down, not get caught in the rush, and start seeing other people, to get a sense of each individual life, if only for a few seconds, and to offer a small prayer of blessing for each person you see. I often fail in this myself as it is too easy to forget everything and everyone but for my own need to get from point a to point b as fast as possible. But every time I slow down to get a sense of the humanity of those around me I also benefit. I`m sure that my blood pressure even goes down a little.
I just had coffee with my Colombian friend who stood me up yesterday. After a fuller explanation I understand the miscommunication that led to his no-show. I also gave him one of my drawings to take back to Colombia with him. Friends for life. Here is a google image of the bird in the drawing:
I am trying to go out walking again in the early morning, on occasion, because I really miss seeing the sunrise. I have just done this today, the second time in as many weeks. I don't feel quite as stressed as I did the first time. Maybe because I started a bit later and made sure I'd had something to eat first. Maybe also because I found myself silently praying for the people around me, the street people and the young and older wage slaves rushing off to their daily penance. But I am making the conscious choice to try to see the others around me, who often annoy me, as victims, as people who live under tonnes of stress, who might right now be facing a terminal illness, bankruptcy, a divorce, a betrayal by a loved one, getting fired from their job, underemployment and poverty, mental health crisis, addictions, chronic loneliness...
The list goes on, but it also puts emphasis on the importance of kindness. I don`t have to go out in the morning before starting work. I do have to be kind.
I am home now from work. As always there have been abundant opportunities for kindness, especially on public transit. Especially on the East and South sides of the city there are a lot of visible ethnic minorities riding the buses. Some are students, a lot of them are elderly. I often think of them as people who particularly need and deserve kindness because they are also particularly vulnerable. Even with a lack of English, a kind look, a gentle tone of voice and a friendly smile can communicate reams. Making room for people, offering seats as needed, and not getting cross if you feel your personal space being crowded are all small gestures of kindness that can speak volumes.
I think what is really important is to slow down, not get caught in the rush, and start seeing other people, to get a sense of each individual life, if only for a few seconds, and to offer a small prayer of blessing for each person you see. I often fail in this myself as it is too easy to forget everything and everyone but for my own need to get from point a to point b as fast as possible. But every time I slow down to get a sense of the humanity of those around me I also benefit. I`m sure that my blood pressure even goes down a little.
I just had coffee with my Colombian friend who stood me up yesterday. After a fuller explanation I understand the miscommunication that led to his no-show. I also gave him one of my drawings to take back to Colombia with him. Friends for life. Here is a google image of the bird in the drawing:
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