Sometimes of an evening

Sometimes of an evening – usually rather late of an evening I sometimes have a rather other-worldly idea that I am not alone. I am of course and have been now for the more than six years since Magucha died in in January 2016. 

 

I know full well that this is my, possibly, over active imagination wishing that it was true. Because you see I really miss the companionship – just having someone to touch. Whenever I see couples holding hands I can “feel” Magucha’s pata (Portuguese for “paw”), what she called her little hand, creep into mine. 

 

But then close to 36 years of a, sometimes, tumultuous marriage leaves its mark. Magucha’s quick fire, Latin temperament, meant that there were moments of high drama but we seemed to get on well together. A bit like Yin and Yang – interconnected opposite forces I suppose. But I loved her dearly and sorely miss her mischievous sense of humour and her intelligence. I’ve now lost the sound of her voice and her infectious laugh – I can’t “hear’ them any more. She was never a “hugger” – accusing me, in her sometimes deliberately mangled English, of “strafogating” her if I hugged her too tightly. She never objected too strongly, though, to a kiss. And that I miss too. 

 

Grief is so strange – I know that everyone is different and “one size” certainly doesn’t fit all. With me grief seems to come in “waves” but it’s in the evenings that I miss her so keenly. Someone to share the day’s experiences with, a goodnight kiss and knowing that if I stretch out I can touch her. Now just a dream of course.  

 

That is one reason why I write things down – and I always have. High emotion is difficult to express and keeping it “in”, as it were, something I never agreed with. I used to keep hand-written journals – plenty of those – but now it seems to be digitalized! Not quite the same as holding a pen and putting my thoughts on paper. That has a more cathartic effect I think. But it’s what I do now. 

 

This may sound as if I’m sorry for myself! I’m not. You see we had a very rewarding life together.  But living in the past was never something I did. At least I don’t think so. So I’m going to end, as I often do, with a poem, a bit of a wish, I suppose, by John Masefield:-  

 

The Word 

 

My friend, my bonny friend, when we are old,

            And hand in hand go tottering down the hill,

May we be rich in love’s refined gold,

            May love’s gold coin be current with us still.

 

May love be sweeter for the vanished days,

            And your most perfect beauty still as dear

As when your troubled singer stood at gaze

            In the dear March of a most sacred year.

 

May what we are be all we might have been,

            And that potential, perfect, O my friend,

And may there still be many sheafs to glean

            In our love’s acre, comrade, till the end.

 

And may we find when ended is the page

Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage. 

Hope revisited.

In today’s World with the current Covid pandemic, the Russian War with Ukraine and the dramatic climatic events, Hope is an essential ‘element’ of life today, or so I believe.

Hope it is best defined by its opposite – despair. We all understand Hope but cannot explain it. Hope is more than a belief, though it is often defined as such – a belief that the situation will get better. It is more a combination of a judgement, an optimistic outlook and an ‘inner knowledge’ that everything comes to pass and all will be well. 

Hope is not dependent on some future event - this is a wish. It is a present experience dependent on nothing but itself. Furthermore Hope never comes suddenly but always results, from a gradual, and almost certainly unconscious, reappraisal of the current (and generally calamitous) situation and based on this a judgement is made – either hope or despair. It has in it an element almost of faith, which is defined most elegantly in the King James Bible (Heb 11:1) – “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” - but Hope is certainly more than faith.

Destroying Hope is a ruthless tool used by autocratic, dictatorial and oppressive regimes wherever they are found. 

Most of us have heard the term ‘Pandora’s Box’ (or more correctly it should be a jar) – but may not know the story behind the term. It is a story worth repeating. 

In the ancient Greek legend about the beginning of mankind and how the travails that beset human beings came into being, Pandora (meaning ‘the all gifted’) was the first woman sent by Zeus to earth. Typical of all Greek legends it is complex and multi-layered, with many possible meanings (this myth came to prominence in a poem by Hesiod about 850 BCE). 

In the beginning (according to the legend) when the world was new and man (as in male) had just been created by Zeus, Prometheus stole fire from heaven for the benefit and comfort of man. Zeus was extremely angry at this and took revenge by presenting Pandora, a beautiful woman (created from earth and water), to man. As part of her outfit, Pandora had a jar (sometimes described as a box) which she was told never to open under any circumstance. Driven by her natural curiosity, Pandora opened the container and all the evils and travails that now beset mankind escaped and spread over the earth. In shock she quickly closed the jar (or dropped the lid of the box), but the whole contents of the container had escaped, except for one thing, Hope. 

Definitely misogynistic – carried forward to the Bible story about Adam and Eve!

Despair is dark whereas Hope is light and as moths to a candle humans are attracted by the light of Hope and repelled by the darkness of Despair. It is the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel.” 

In the darkest hours and when confronted by the most severe calamities of life, never give up Hope. Remember everything comes to pass and there will be the light of a new dawn.

Hand and heart

We, certainly I, give very little daily thought about our hands or the metaphorical heart – not just the actual blood pump thing guarded by our ribcage. 

 

Lets first take our hands – not necessarily both – just one, the whole hand, will do for explanatory purposes. Our hands, in some respects, may be considered as the “reason” for our rise to preeminence in the animal kingdom. And, of course, our opposable thumb – no other animal has this feature.

 

A hand can beckon; a hand can rebuff; it can direct; a hand can caress; it can chastise. A hand can reward; it can greet; it can grip; an upraised hand – palm outward may be used to stop someone. A hand can “talk” to those who are deaf. And a hand can kill!

 

The fingers of the hand are not only astonishingly sensitive but very manipulative as well. Fingers can sense rough from smooth; sharp from blunt and can point; the forefinger and thumb that can delicately hold or fiercely grip are a uniquely human feature.

 

The heart – metaphorically – is often thought of as the seat of emotions. Vital though the physical heart is to life it is the emotional “heart” we mostly refer to. 

 

We all know what is meant when someone refers to another as broken hearted. Then the terms, heart felt; hand on heart; warm hearted; hard hearted; soft hearted; he or she has a heart of stone; she (or he) has a place in my heart; the derogatory term “blackard”, derived, I understand, from “black heart” meaning someone with little empathy, who is only out for their own gain, are all well known figures of speech. 

 

So, as may be seen, these two – hand and heart – hold pre-eminent positions in our collective lives as human beings.   

 

 

War and the Small Nations (Kahlil Gibran, 1883-1931)

In light of the unpredictable machinations of Russia (more particularly Putin) regarding the Ukraine, this little story may resonate with some: 

 

Once, high above a pasture, where a sheep and a lamb were grazing, an eagle was circling and gazing hungrily down upon the lamb. And as he was about to descend and seize his prey, another eagle appeared and hovered above the sheep and her young with the same hungry intent. Then the two rivals began to fight filling the sky with their fierce cries.

 

The sheep looked up and was most astonished. She turned to the lamb and said, “How strange, my child, that these two noble birds should attack one another. Is not the vast sky large enough for both of them? Pray, my little one, pray in your heart that God may make peace between your winged brothers.”

 

And the lamb prayed in his heart.

Mother's Day

I know that I was very fortunate. I had parents who were gentle and kind – both highly intelligent, well educated people.

But I suppose I was a bit of a “Mummy’s boy” as I adored my mother! I know that she had a very difficult time with the birth of my late brother Bruce and she lost a baby boy, Adrian, between Bruce and myself. So I suppose there was some anxiety when I came along – a hulking 4kg (9 1/2LB) baby.

But this is not about me but my thoughts on mothers generally. To me mothers are special and I really believe a jump or two ahead of us men. Physically smaller, nor as physically strong as men, generally they are emotionally way ahead of us males. 

Think about it - life is conceived in a woman’s womb where it is nurtured until birth. That must be very difficult, I would think, while still carrying on with daily life. And a baby, once born, is so helpless.

So, I owe my mother a great deal. More than I can ever repay. She gave me unconditional love and an a deep appreciation of literature, music and poetry that have been my standby during my times of tribulation. And I trust that in my life so far, I have tried to treat women, all women, with the respect I believe they deserve.

Not being able to find a poem that would be appropriate, instead I will use a short piece by Max Ehrmann (1872-1945):-

Love some one.

"Love someone – in God’s name love someone - for this is the bread of the inner life, without which a part of you will starve and die; and though you feel you must be stern, even hard, in your life of affairs, make for yourself at least a little corner, somewhere in the great world, where you may unbosom and be kind."

And may this always refer to a man’s treatment of a woman and a mother – any man and any woman or mother – anywhere. 

Just be kind.

Sell your reputation for a song.

This is actually quite an old post that I have resurrected as I believe it has some resonance today.

People have idols; things they value above all others; even, unfortunately more than they value themselves – their self-worth, their honour and their reputation. There has been a spate of media reports about people who have indulged in, shall we say, less than charitable behaviour.  People from all walks of life have been found guilty of malpractice of one type or another.

I have said before that poets can often say in a few words what it takes others, like me, many words to express. There is a very appropriate quatrain (verse) in the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (Omar Khayyam was an 11^th Century Persian mathematician, astronomer and poet) - which goes as follows (verse 69): 

 

69

                                           Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

                                           Have done my Credit in Men’s Eyes much wrong:

                                              Have drown’d my Honour in a shallow cup,

                                           And sold my Reputation for a Song.

 

For many people their idols are money (or the “stuff’ that money can buy); or prestige and the power that comes with their position. If you “love” something above all others – an idol - this will soon be apparent to all who know you. You will have removed yourself from the rest of humanity; you will be using people as a means to an end; you will be using people to acquire more of what you “love”. They will sense this and you will have done your “credit in Men’s eyes much wrong”. 

To get your idol you will cheat, you will lie, you will become untrustworthy, you will be immoral, you will not be ethical in your activities. You will have drowned your honour in a shallow cup – lost your honour for something of little value – a “shallow cup”. 

Your love for, your fixation to, your worship of your idol means that you have lost all sense of proportion or reason and are prepared to sell your self-worth – who you are – for a “song” - something of no substance. You will have diminished yourself as a human being.

No one will ever trust you again – your self-worth, your reputation, your honour will have been damaged almost beyond repair.

Today - The importance of ORDER.

I know that I have commented on this before but I strongly believe that today, in April 2022, it is even more necessary for Governments, all Governments, to be VERY careful.

 

These turbulent and extraordinary times require that we should all take time to reflect on what we, as belonging to the species Homo Sapiens (“wise man”?) can start doing now and keep on doing into the future. 

 

We need to reflect on the full meaning of the term “civilization” and how this is expressed by our current ways of life and the general disorder we generate.

 

Such reflections may, just may, help to redress the disastrous and damaging ways we, as a species are despoiling the very Earth, the Nature, we need for survival.

 

To this end I offer the following extracts from quite an old book – but the sentiments expressed are, to my mind, still valid and very true:-

 

From “African Genesis” by Robert Ardrey, (Fontana Books paperback, 1970).

Pages 393/394:-

 

“But no animal compulsion stands alone in the debate of our instincts. And so I return to my second assertion, that civilization is a product of evolution and an expression of nature’s most ancient law. Far antedating the predatory urge in our animal nature, far more deeply buried than conscience or territory or society lies that shadowy, mysterious undefinable command of the kind, the instinct for order. And so, when a predatory species came rapidly to evolve its inherent talent for disorder, natural selection favoured, as a factor in human survival, the equally rapid evolvement of that sublimating, inhibiting, super-territorial institution which we call, loosely, civilization.

 

It is a jerry-built structure, and a more unattractive edifice could scarcely be imagined. It’s greyness is appalling. It’s walls are cracked and eggshell this. It’s foundations are shallow, it’s antiquity slight…… Yet however humiliating the path may be, man beset by anarchy, banditry, chaos and extinction must in last resort turn to that chamber of dull horrors, Human enlightenment. For he has nowhere else to turn.

 

If man is to survive without war, a gloomier conclusion could not be written that that this fragile, despicable, unattractive structure must become our last court of appeal. It has failed us consistently in the past. It tends to fall down every thousand years or so.”

…….

 

“But the choice is not ours. Never to be forgotten, to be neglected, to be derided, is the inconspicuous figure in the quiet back room. He sits with head bent, silent, waiting, listening to the commotion in the streets. He is the keeper of the kinds.

 

Who is he? We do not know. Nor shall we ever. He is a presence, and that is all. But his presence is evident in the last reaches of infinite space beyond man’s probing eye. His presence is guessable in the last reaches of smallness beyond the magnification of electron microscope. He is present in all living beings and all inanimate matter. His presence is asserted in all things that ever were, and in all things that will ever be. And as his command is unanswerable, his identity is unknowable. But his most ancient concern is for order.”

……

 

“You may read his command in the regularity of turning things, in stars and seasons, in tides and in striking clocks….”

 

“Where a child is born or a man lies dead; where life must go on though tragedy deny it; where a farmer replants fields despoiled by flood or drought; where men rebuild cities that other men destroy; where tides must ebb as tides have flowed; there, see his footprints, there and there.”

 

 He does not care about you, or about me, or about man for that matter. He cares only for order. But whatever he says, we shall do. He is rising now, in civilization’s quiet back room, and he is looking out the window.”