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.