Why?

I think this is the most important question there is – Why? It betokens a curiosity to find out more about – anything – and is a very human trait. I suppose that being a person with a “curious” and seeking mind I have, seemingly, always had a questioning outlook to the world around me.

 

My curiosity must have started very early – my mother told me that she was very amused by my asking, when aged about two years old, “Have moffers got mouffers?” – (translation – “ have moths got mouths?”). I’m not sure of the reason for the question. It was quite a long time ago!

 

The question “why?” is followed closely by its corollary “how?” And also, of course, the equally important, “why not?” 

 

Some questions that have exercised far greater minds than mine will forever, I assume, remain unanswered. Such as, “why are we here – why us?” Likewise, the hard question, “ what is consciousness?”

 

There is an illuminating quote from the book “Why us” by James Le Fanu, wherein he writes, regarding the discovery of the literal blizzard of electrical activity in the brain:

 “But the greatest perplexity of all was the failure to account for how the monotonous electrical activity of those billions of neurons in the brain translate into the limitless range and quality of subjective experiences of our everyday lives – where every transient, fleeting moment has its own distinct, unique, intangible feel: where the cadences of a Bach cantata are so utterly different from the flash of lightning, the taste of Bourbon from the lingering memory of that first kiss.

            The implications are clear enough. While theoretically it might be possible for neuroscientists to know everything there is to know about the physical structure if the brain, its ‘product’, the mind, with all its thoughts and ideas, impressions and emotions, would still remain unaccounted for.”          

 

And which comes first – is it the activity of the neurons which by some means create the thoughts, sensations and memories or do the thoughts, sensations and memories somehow activate the neurons? 

 

It will be recalled that all observable forms of matter are constructed from atoms and molecules. This becomes interesting if “Matter” (in the form of the human body and brain) together with “Life” and “Consciousness”, are considered in the light of quantum physics which states (very basically) that Energy = Matter (remember E=MC²?). Einstein, with this famous equation, revealed that the Universe is not just billions of distinct items separated by inert space but in fact is a dynamic construct in which matter and energy are so inextricably mixed that it is not possible to consider them as separate elements. If this is true, where does this leave ‘life’, the ‘mind’, ‘consciousness’ and ‘intelligence’? How can energy/matter be intelligent or conscious? What is ‘dead’ energy (i.e. some matter which was alive and is now dead) compared to ‘live’ energy (i.e. some matter which is animated and alive)? Furthermore, physics tells us that there is no foundation for a view of life based on the pre-eminence of matter. Energy is indestructible and outside of time, and as a result the total quantity of energy is constant. This is known as the law of conservation of energy (The first Law of Thermodynamics). Likewise with the conservation of Matter – it is constant but changes its form - The Law on the Conservation of Mass (matter). 

 

Then there is a further problem, our freedom to choose – known as the “problem of mental causation”. It is a fundamental fact of science - a precept - which states that nothing can happen that is not governed by natural laws of material causation (i.e. physical things cause physical effects). Thoughts are non-physical (they are subjective), therefore by definition cannot cause anything physical to happen. For example, how is it possible for subjective (non-material) thoughts of the “self” to so influence the function of the (material) brain that they compel the brain to direct the body to perform a particular action? This has yet to be resolved.

 

All human life is bound to individuals who manifest it, and is simply inconceivable without them. But every human is charged with an individual destiny and destination, and the journey to that destination or the fulfillment of that destiny is the only thing that makes sense of human life. The individual journeys and destinations may differ but the fundamental purpose is the same – the expression of Life.  

 

This all seems a bit circular! We are back where we started – what, actually, is Life? And why?    

Trust

Trust, a noun, is defined in my two volume Shorter Oxford English Dictionary as: "Faith or confidence in the loyalty, strength, veracity, etc., of a person or thing; reliance on the truth of a statement etc., without examination."

 

Now in the World today, (I almost wrote "dystopian World"), what is it or who is it that we can say truthfully and honestly we REALLY trust? 

 

Governments and the Politicians involved? Surely not.

The banks? I don’t think so. 

Law enforcement? Their image is slipping I believe – so maybe not.

What has been called "Big Pharma" – the giant pharmaceutical companies that control the production and marketing of the products the medical profession prescribe? Again, I don’t think so. 

Big business – those multi-billion dollar companies? Especially those involved in producing what is known as Social Media or in extracting fossil fuels. Once more, I don’t think so.

Religious organisations? Surely not now after all the abuse scandals – at least the ties that used to bind are now broken.

 

So what or who are we left with who are trustworthy?  This is almost impossible to answer. I really don’t know. Most certainly not every person involved with these organisations is untrustworthy; many would hold themselves to the highest levels of integrity.

 

The trouble is that money and the accumulation thereof gets in the way. Company board’s of directors are often pressured to producing ever-higher dividends for shareholders. Such boards are almost obliged to pursue any means, repeat any means, to increase profits – and damn the consequences.

 

Likewise members of parliament are often fixated on holding the "Party Line" and hanging on to their "seats" by satisfying the wishes of a relatively narrow cohort of voters in their electorate.  

 

But then all this doubt leaves us lesser mortals in a state of quandary. Who or what do we trust? We are left, metaphorically, seemingly up a creek, in a canoe, without a paddle.  This is not good for one’s state of mind or for the well-being of Society as a whole. 

 

In such circumstances people may turn to their own interpretation of the news or events and construct conspiracy theories to suite their interpretations. This may provide a version of the "certainty" that many are searching for – however misinformed it may be. Again this is not good for the wellbeing of Society.

 

But this is what I believe is happening.

And Now?

Anniversaries keep coming round don’t they? Yep – 42 years ago today I married Maria Augusta Bandeira de Lima – better known to all by her nickname – Magucha. Now being married to someone from a different culture and language base has its challenges. And then throw into the mix the different personalities – me, tall (1.96 metres and 97kgs) and relatively phlegmatic, and she, tiny (1.52 metres and 50kgs), very pretty with a quick fire, Portuguese (Latin) temperament and sparks would often light up the environment!

 

She loved flowers, pretty things, small things, bright colours and mirrors – there are mirrors all over the house that I have left in position, not having the heart to move them. But then she also had a kind heart, was very loving with an innate sense of justice. She also was indomitable and absolutely fearless - I never saw her afraid of anything.

 

Another strange thing, which I call to mind, is that I never saw her cry. I’m sure she did – in fact when her father died, twenty years ago, I’m certain of it, but not in my presence. In that respect she was very private.

 

Being my wife, she could criticize me and point out my many faults but if anyone else tried that within her range of hearing she would fire up, almost vibrate with anger, and defend me with all her considerable powers.  I loved her for that. 

 

You see – I truly know that, if the situation had ever arisen, I would have defended her to my last breath. I have absolutely no doubts that she would have done the same for me.

 

Finally, however, with all her health problems and the pain she suffered, the “uninvited visitor” called and she went with him to that “Undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns”.

 

She was only 62 years old when she died five and a half years ago on 21 January 2016. We were together for just over 36 years - and I miss her more than I can tell.

 

As always when my emotions run high I turn to poetry to best express how I feel. I offer the following which I have used before but it still resonates with me:-

  

  My Wife

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The Great Artificer
Made my mate.

Honour, anger, valour, fire;
A love that life could never tire,
Death quench or evil stir,
The Mighty Master
Gave to her.

Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul-free
The August Father
Gave to me. 

             Robert Louis Stevenson

The Human Spirit

I am puzzled.

 

That we are wayfarers, on our journey through life, should be self evident to all. And what befalls us on that journey to the only end possible cannot ever be known. It is just when the thought of the inescapable end and its immanent arrival that one is brought up short. This is especially so with a person one loves – in my case my wife, Magucha.

 

Many are the thoughts I’ve had over the purpose of “Life” and the fact that “Life” is expressed in so many different forms – estimated at somewhere in the region of 8 million. That of course excludes the unknowable number of bacteria that also inhabit the Earth.

 

Needless to say, I am no nearer arriving at an answer, as the answer can never be known. 

 

But, one thing I do know is that somewhere in “Life” is lodged the “human spirit” – however this is defined – that shines through as a beneficent force in human interaction. This human spirit defies definition. It is apparent when and in whom it appears. It is not attached to physical beauty, or physical strength, or intelligence, it just “is”.

 

And this human spirit is wondrous to behold. I know that the passage of time tends to distort some memories and remembrances but when it comes to Magucha they are still quite sharp. You see, she was dauntless (I never saw her afraid of anything) and her kindness and willingness to help other wayfarers she met on the road of life was an inspiration, certainly to me.

 

 She was quite diminutive in stature but, however, once you got to know her, size did not come into it – her intelligence and personality shone through like a beacon. Because she had survived serious illness and several near death experiences she lived for each day and, seemingly unconsciously, had taken to heart the Biblical instruction, “Take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself” (Matthew 6:34 in the English King James Bible).

 

She was utterly fearless and, when it was brought to her attention, would fight unfairness or injustice with a ferocious intensity and singleness of purpose. Her most enduring and endearing qualities, however, were her kindness, her generosity of spirit and compassion. Magucha subscribed to the belief that we are wayfarers all, on the journey through life, and she was always prepared to give a helping hand to those who stumbled while on that journey. She seemed to shed a loving and kindly light and many were attracted to that “light” which gave warmth and comfort to those in need and good counsel to those in distress. 

 

All this, to me, is an example of what I understand the human spirit to be. Like tempered steel, the “fire” of Magucha’s personal experiences and the blows life dealt her seemed to make her emotionally stronger and strengthen her resolve. 

 

For all this I respected and loved her dearly. She was just sixty-two when she died but then as the Ancient Greeks proclaimed, “Those whom the Gods love die young.” 

Is anything new?

I know that this post is likely to annoy some people but I think it is important from, at least, a historical point of view.

 

We cannot win all the battles of Life. Life (however defined) will always win in the end. But it helps to remember that we are each an individual and not required or obliged to be totally “conformist”. Certainly one should always help one’s fellow being and do the “right” thing for the greater good and just be kind but this must be an individual determination.

 

As described in a book by Dan Jones, “The Templars”, about the 12th century (and very mercenary) religious army, conformism may lead to unintended consequences. The “chivalry” later associated with Knights was not yet apparent, in fact these early Knights were often considered no better that hired thugs.

 

The “dangers” of extreme conformism, however, may lead to the following:- 

 

One of the Templar “rules” banned the company of women. They were scorned as, “A dangerous thing, for by it the old devil has led a man from the straight path to paradise…. the flower of chastity is always (to be) maintained among you… For this reason none of you may presume to kiss a woman, be it widow, young girl, mother, sister, aunt or any other… The Knighthood of Christ should avoid at all costs the embraces of woman, by which men have perished many times.”

 

One assumes that each of the Templar’s must have had a mother and a father? 

 

The hypocrisy is extraordinary. Blaming, scapegoating, women is easy - “It’s not my fault - see what she made me do!” It’s their fault you see. Leading us pure men astray!

 

The Catholic and other religious clergy today still (try) to believe this. I wonder if anything has really changed in over 1000 years? 

 

And the Templars, followers of the Prince of Peace, fought, pillaged, killed and (sometimes) raped their way across Europe and the Middle East. 

 

Believe it or not the Templars managed to distinguish between “homicide”, the sin of killing a man and “malicide” - the act of killing “evil” itself, which God, apparently, would consider a “noble” deed! 

 

Evil, in their view, resided in Jews (they killed Jesus, you understand) and Muslims, because they weren’t Christian. 

 

An “ingenious” theological distinction!!

 

I know that the Templars were a very disciplined force and were influential in ridding the Iberian Peninsular of the Moors in what is known as the “Reconquista”, the Christian re-conquest of Portugal and Spain – which, of course, for the local inhabitants was an admirable outcome. But then they, the Templars, were told, by the Pope, that fighting the “unbelievers” would remove the need for any penance for sins committed. 

 

Surely an open invitation for the Templars to do whatever they wanted.

 

More hypocrisy!

 

So is anything new?

 

 

 

 

Ideal

Just in case no one knew this fact, I will repeat and emphasise that I really like poetry! The rhyme and rhythm the poets use deeply resonates with me. This was understood by ancient troubadours travelling from village to village to tell their stories or bring news. They used rhyme and rhythm to help them recall what they wanted to tell. Also rhyming poetry has a "beat" similar to that of the human heart, hence the "resonating" effect on peoples everywhere. 

So when music and poetry combine (most song lyrics are poetic) there is an emotional connect. At least I find it so. Now some years ago I heard the songs composed by Francesco Paolo Tosti (1846 – 1916). An Italian by birth his songs became so popular in Victorian England that he became a British citizen in 1906. He was actually knighted by King Edward VII in 1908 for his services to the arts. Eventually he returned to Italy in 1913 and died in Rome in 1916 (my reference is Wikipedia).

As I said, when music and poetry combine I find that, without being too melodramatic, I am "transported" to another dimension. And this simple and gentle Tosti song, Ideale, with the lyrics shown below, certainly transports me back to times in my life with Magucha. (It has been recorded by many artists but I prefer the old, 1951 version, with piano accompaniment, sung by Beniamino Gigli. It’s on YouTube) 

Remember that this is a translation and the original Italian poetic form has not translated well I don’t believe. I still love the sentiment expressed.

Ideale  (Ideal) – a translation from the original Italian.

I followed you like a rainbow of peace

along the paths of heaven;

I followed you like a friendly torch

in the veil of darkness,

and I sensed you in the light, in the air,

in the perfume of flowers,

and the solitary room was full

of you and your radiance.

 

Absorbed by you, I dreamed a long time

of the sound of your voice,

and the earth’s every anxiety, every torment

I forgot in that dream.

Come back dear ideal, for an instant

to smile at me again,

and in your face will shine for me 

a new dawn.

 

Lyric: by Carmelo Erico. Music: by Francesco Paolo Tosti in 1882.

 

You see, again, without being too melodramatic, Magucha was my "Ideal".

Hypocrisy

In the world today with all the diverse communication technologies at our finger-tips it is all to easy to rush in “where angels fear to tread”, as it were, and shoot off a message without thinking of the consequences. I’ve done it myself, it’s like road rage, an immediate “fight or flight” response – “I’m not going to let that bloke get the better of me”!! kind of thing.

 

Two thousand years ago Hillel the Elder, a Jewish religious leader and scholar who was influential in the development of the Torah, gave expression to the “ethics of reciprocity” or the “Golden Rule”:- 

 

"That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn."

 

Also which is a natural follow on from the above:-

 

"Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place."

 

Now nothing gets up my nose and irritates me more than hypocrisy. Today hypocrisy is present with religious leaders (of ALL faiths) who profess to follow the “word” of their faith yet who have been guilty of extreme violence, of sexual abuse, paedophilia and other offences against the precepts of their faith. Just think of the businessmen who exploit staff and pay them below recommended wage levels while paying themselves obscenely high salaries; think of businessmen whose sole aim is to please their shareholders at the expense of providing a service to their customers; think of “hackers” who exploit our gullibility for financial benefit but who wouldn’t like to be “hacked” themselves; think of Government leaders who proclaim one policy yet actively work against this for political gain – all contrary to the basic “Golden Rule” that is central to all faiths and an ethical life and which is written somewhere in every sacred text and recommended in every business textbook. 

 

I know that we all fall at some of the hurdles we come across on our journey through Life. I certainly do and I certainly have. But I also, most certainly, try not to make a habit of it.

 

What follows is a quote from the writings of Eusebius (265 – 339 CE) an early Christian cleric and scholar, which I believe is applicable for all people everywhere – particularly other clerics and those who profess to lead. 

 

Difficult I know (maybe impossible) but it is best to aim high!

 

May I be no man’s enemy. 

 

May I be no man’s enemy, and may I be the friend of that which is eternal and abides.

May I never quarrel with those nearest to me, and if I do, may I be reconciled quickly.

May I never devise evil against any man; if any devise evil against me, may I escape uninjured and without the need of hurting him.

May I love, seek, attain only that which is good.

May I wish for all men’s happiness and envy none.

May I never rejoice in the ill fortune of one that has wronged me …

When I have done or said what is wrong, may I never rebuke others, but always rebuke myself until I make amends …

May I win no victory that harms either me or my opponent …

May I reconcile friends who are angry with one another.

May I, to the extent of my power, give all needful help to my friends and all who are in want.

May I never fail a friend who is in danger.

When visiting those in grief may I be able by gentle and healing words to sooth their pain …

May I respect myself.

May I always keep tame that which rages within me …

May I accustom myself to be gentle, and never be angry with people because of circumstances.

May I never discuss who is wicked and what wicked things he has done, but to know good men and follow in their footsteps.

 

Such is Life

Today, a Sunday, happens to be a celebration of two events – Mothers Day (in Australia) and it is also Magucha’s birthday. She would have been 68 today.

 

I’m pulled in two directions – to celebrate the fact that motherhood is celebrated partly because it is something that no man can fully understand and also that this is not only Magucha’s birthday but that she is no longer in this world to share it with us. 

 

Motherhood, in fact life generally wasn’t easy in Zimbabwe (still known as Rhodesia in those far off days) but I did try my best to support Magucha in what was a very difficult time for her. She was married to a non-Portuguese speaker (me), in a "foreign country" (Zimbabwe) without close family or her mother’s support. Her mother did eventually fly out from Portugal to lend support. That didn’t last long and after a few weeks she returned to Portugal – I’m not sure of the reasons now but I believe it was because of the (usual) arguments that erupted between the two and my dedicated support of Magucha wouldn’t have helped smooth over the daily "eruptions".

 

Magucha was a devoted mother. She was so proud of firstly (against all medical advice) falling pregnant and then producing a beautiful daughter. The fear expressed by her doctor was that her already compromised kidneys would fail thereby threatening the lives of both mother and child.

 

I’ve written about this before but when Magucha’s waters broke and I took her to what was then known as the Lady Chancellor Maternity Hospital, I was presented with a document to sign. If a "medical situation" arose that threatened the life of either mother or baby or both did I want the mother to live at the "expense" of the baby or did I want the baby to live at the "expense" of the mother!  

 

That was the most difficult decision I’ve ever been called upon to make! I knew that if Magucha lived at the "expense" of the baby, she would never have forgiven me. That I know for certain – it would have always been a dark shadow over our relationship, even if that could continue. 

 

On the other-hand what was I supposed to do, as a working single parent in Zimbabwe, with a new-born baby and a 7yr old son? My mother was too old to be of much assistance, and in any event she and my father were living in a retirement home some 60 km away.

 

Fortunately the stars must have been properly aligned because both survived. And the rest, as the saying goes, is history.

 

So I now celebrate the two – a birthday and Mothers Day –  but without the person directly involved. 

And by way of celebration I (as is my usual way) offer this poem – for mothers everywhere and especially for Magucha – that poor girl suffered ill health for as long as I knew her.

 

The Anvil

Stand like a beaten anvil, when thy dream

            Is laid upon thee, golden from the fire.

Flinch not, though heavily through that furnace-gleam

            The black forge-hammers fall on thy desire.

 

Demoniac giants round thee seem to loom.

‘Tis but the world-smiths heaving to and fro.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Take the doom 

            Their ponderous weapons deal thee, blow on blow.

 

Needful to truth as dew-fall to the flower

            Is this wild wrath and this implacable scorn.

For every pang, new beauty, and new power,

            Burning blood-red shall on thy heart be born.

 

Stand like a beaten anvil. Let earth’s wrong

Beat on that iron and ring back in song.

 

                                                            Alfred Noyes

Sometimes.

Sometimes I may read or hear something and some passage I turn to or listen to will trigger a memory. It may be a memory of some time far back in my youth when still in Durban or, frequently nowadays, a more recent event of my life with Magucha. 

These are not always sad – often quite funny memories, recalling something relating to Magucha’s quirky sense of humour. But dates of celebration – birthdays, anniversaries – always bring some poignant remembrances. And what would have been her 68^th birthday is coming up soon – 9^th May, also as it happens, Mother’s Day this year.

I know that Magucha was no saint but with all the energy generated in her small body she seemed to shed a kindly light, like a glow. I truly believe that most people who came in contact with her benefited in some way. She was that kind of person.

Likewise I know the old saying that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" and after over five years of Magucha’s "absence" maybe that is true - that I now gloss over her all too human frailties. 

But I loved her you see and it has been said that love is blind. Maybe it is. Because I’m sure she ignored or at least learned to live with my, again, all too human frailties! 

As always I turn to poetry to express what I feel. I’ve said it many times before that poets seem to find the words that pierce the heart – certainly my heart. I miss so many aspects of our 36 years together. Little things, like what she referred to as her "pata" (Portuguese for paw), her little hand in mine as we walked or resting on my knee when I was driving. Just that simple close contact. I have now lost the sounds of both her voice and her infectious laugh – they have gone. But I can still see her eyes when I look at one of the many photographs I have of her. It was her eyes that attracted me when I first saw her. What attracts is indescribable – it just "is".

Quite a while back I came across this poem, from an anonymous composer, and it certainly resonated with me – it seemed to be very true. At least sometimes!

I heard your voice in the wind today.

I heard your voice in the wind today

And I turned to see your face;

The warmth of the wind caressed me

As I stood silently in place.

 

I felt your touch in the sun today

As its warmth filled the sky;

I closed my eyes for your embrace

And my spirit soared high.

 

I saw your eyes in the window pane

As I watched the falling rain;

It seemed as each raindrop fell

It quietly said your name.

 

I held you close in my heart today

It made me feel complete;

You may have died … but you are not gone

You will always be a part of me.

 

As long as the sun shines….

The wind blows ….

The rain falls ….

You will live on inside of me forever

For that is all my heart knows.

 

                                    Unknown  

 

The Fates

This has always fascinated me – the seeming “randomness” of our life span. Some people live to a ripe old age, while others barely survive birth and some don’t even get that far, much to the grief of the expectant mother. 

 

What started it all? Every effect has a cause. But what? And why? That we can never know – which is why I’m attracted to the Ancient Greek idea of the Fates. Those mysterious "forces" which the Greeks portrayed as three women. Each of the three Fates had a different task, revealed by her name: Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured its allotted length, and Atropos cut the thread with her shears. 

 

But what determines our “allotted length” of life? I suspect that Hubris and Nemesis play a part but then, maybe so does the Eastern idea of Karma. Karma – the concept that we carry forward our deeds, good or bad, into our next manifestation of life. 

 

To me that is only fair.  We reap what we sow. 

 

Two “quatrains” from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam emphasise our impotence:-

 

49

‘Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days

Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:

Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,

And one by one back in the Closet lays.

 

50

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,

But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;

And He that toss’d Thee down into the Field,

He knows about it all – He knows – HE knows!

 

 

As a reminder – Hubris, to the ancient Greeks, is when a human, with over weening arrogance and pride, tries to alter the course of events and by so doing encroaches on the realm of the Gods. Something not  to be recommended!

 

Hubris always invited the arrival of Nemesis – the female Goddess of retribution – implacable in her task of tracking every wrong back to its doer and dispensing justice commensurate with the wrong committed. Nemesis was generally portrayed holding the Scales of Justice on one hand and a sword or dagger in the other.  

 

But all this brings me back to where I started, that, to me, fascinating and totally unknowable concept of Life (with a capital L) and what determines its span or length of time? 

 

And I have absolutely no idea! 

The opinionated

I wonder what the reaction would be if those who so readily express opinions about the morals and general behaviour of others were asked to express an opinion about themselves? 

 

Their opinion of their own morals and general behaviour? It might make for an interesting conversation I think.

 

But this is what we all tend to do nowadays – from political leaders, newspaper columnists, radio “shock jocks”, TV commentators, and us, lesser mortals – they, we, all express opinions. Everyone has an opinion about something. However (in my opinion!) this is never knowledge based. In any event a “knowledge based opinion” would be an oxymoron, in my opinion!

 

You see if your appearance is different – your skin colour or the shape of your eyes, or you worship God (I believe there is only one) in a different way, or speak a different language from me, or dress in a “funny way”, then, in my “opinion” you are not to be trusted. You might be a rapist, or a criminal, a fraudster, a drug addict – whatever. In my “opinion” that is. Never based on “knowledge”, or verifiable facts, only in my opinion.

 

It has been declared by some (please allow for the hyperbole) that being good (therefore more like me) you are more likely to have blue eyes, a smile with pristine white teeth and blonde hair. Being evil (or different from me) you will have you black hair, red eyes, rotting teeth, and horns!

 

You know as well as I do that this is complete hogwash – that good (and bad) people are everywhere in every society. We are all part of the human “family” – good, bad and indifferent. 

 

So why then do we so freely express our opinion? I have no real idea (opinion?) except to say that (in my opinion) it might be to cause controversy. If I was a politician it might be to please my political “base” to ensure my re-election. Possibly it might be to start a rumour that may increase the value of my shares in a particular company. There is no limit to the range of human ingenuity, particularly when it comes to looking after “me” and preening my ego.

 

Bearing all this in mind and referring back to my original question, I wonder what the reaction would be if someone was asked to express their opinion of themselves?

 

Interesting.

It's a world of partings

It’s a very true saying – that this is “a world of partings”. There is no need to get maudlin about it. It just is what it is. Friends parting; young family members going their separate ways in the world; divorce; then the most confronting parting of all – death.

 

Nothing anyone can do about it. But, as I have written before, no one knows or has the least understanding of the “meaning” of Life (with a capital L) or what happens when some previously living organism is now dead. What happens to the “Life force” that enervated or activated that organism and which is now (apparently) absent? No one has the least idea.

 

Many, many years ago, when I and the world was much younger, I came across a poem that intrigued me without my fully understanding what it meant. Now, after both my marriages ended with the death of my wife and the death of my sibling, parents and many friends I think I, more or less, understand it now (maybe I’m just a slow learner!).

 

In neither situation, regarding my marriages, was I able to do anything. Obviously, one cannot “fight” death!

 

But I’m still intrigued by this poem!

 

The Shadow.

 

The Shadow leaned over me, whispering, in the darkness,

            Thoughts without sound; 

Sorrowful thoughts that filled me with helpless wonder

            And held me bound.

 

Sadder than memory, sharp as remorse, in the quiet

            Before I slept,

The whisper I heard of the one implacable Shadow,

            And my heart wept.

 

“Day by day, in your eyes, the light grows dimmer,

            With the joy you have sung.

You knew it would go; but, ah, when you knew it and 

      sang it,

            Your heart was young;

 

“And a year to you, then, was an age; but now” said

      The Shadow,

            Malignant and cold,

“The light and the colour are fading, the ecstasy dying,

            It is time to grow old.”

 

Oh, I could have borne the worst that he had to tell me,

            Lost youth, age, death;

But he turned to breathe on the quiet heart sleeping 

     beside me

            The same cold breath.

 

And there by the throat I grappled him. “Let me bear

     all of it.

            Let her dream on.”

Soundlessly, shadow with shadow, we wrestled together,

            Till the grey dawn.

 

                                                            Alfred Noyes.

Time is always there.

This is something that is with us always. Time! But what is it? It slows the closer we get to the speed of light. Apparently space travellers age less during the "time" they are travelling at hundreds of thousands of kilometres per hour than when they are back on earth.

 

But its my perception of time that interests me, punctuated as it has been, by major events – deaths, births, accidents, travel – all quite normal for anyone who lives long enough. It’s the "switch" that intrigues me. One moment I can be listening to world news and in the next some word, thought, scent, photograph or sound will send me back, right back, even to my childhood.

 

I know, full well, that the passage of time dulls memories – that’s just life I suppose. Strangely though some are still very sharp and vivid. I can still remember my first day at "kindy" – in Durban, at St Thomas Church hall and Mrs Dibbs the teacher.

 

Then of course and more importantly in my current situation, on my own, in a house that I shared with Magucha there are many memories. She is never far away. I will admit, in the more than five years that have passed since I held her hand and watched her die I can still, in an instant, seemingly switch from that to an incident in our life together in (then) Rhodesia. Then in a split second later I can be back here, now, listening to music.

 

So time, it seems, is a "flexible" measure of life. It slows down or speeds up according to our mood and circumstances. It most definitely speeds up, or seems to, as one grows older – the days, weeks, months and years roll by with apparently increasing velocity.

 

There are, however, some things that time will never touch. Memories. Not necessarily little individual memories but broad brush remembrances – Magucha’s kindness, her generosity of spirit, her inherent sense of justice, her mischievous sense of humour but above all her astonishing courage. And then her eyes. They are what attracted me when I first saw her – their liveliness, their warmth and intensity. 

 

These will always have a place in my heart.  

 

I’ve looked long and hard for a poem that even comes close to expressing what I feel about time.  This one by Paul Dunbar, the first African American to achieve recognition in the literary world, comes close:-

 

Forever

Paul Laurence Dunbar - 1872-1906

 

I had not known before

    Forever was so long a word.

The slow stroke of the clock of time

    I had not heard.

 

‘Tis hard to learn so late;

    It seems no sad heart really learns,

But hopes and trusts and doubts and fears,

    And bleeds and burns.

 

The night is not all dark,

    Nor is the day all it seems,

But each may bring me this relief--

    My dreams and dreams.

 

I had not known before

    That Never was so sad a word,

So wrap me in forgetfulness--

     I have not heard.