Whispering Hope

I thought that I would end what has been a truly tumultuous year with the words from an old song. The lyrics have meaning and the music is very easy listening.

Lyrics for “Whispering Hope”.

Soft as the voice of an angel,
Breathing a lesson unheard,
Hope with a gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word:
Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done,
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow,
After the shower is gone.

Refrain:
Whispering hope, oh, how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.

If, in the dusk of the twilight,
Dim be the region afar,
Will not the deepening darkness
Brighten the glimmering star?
Then when the night is upon us,
Why should the heart sink away?
When the dark midnight is over,
Watch for the breaking of day.

Hope, as an anchor so steadfast,
Rends the dark veil for the soul,
Whither the Master has entered,
Robbing the grave of its goal;
Come then, oh, come, glad fruition,
Come to my sad weary heart;
Come, O Thou blest hope of glory,
Never, oh, never depart.

   

Whispering Hope

 Written by: Septimus Winner, 1868

It is still there.

I suppose it will still be there until I too die – one day! My grief that is. I know I have written about this before but we will all, all, at some stage of our life experience the searing knife cut of the parting, of the death of someone close, be it child, partner, sibling or parent. It is just part of life. If there is a beginning there needs also to be an ending. 

But this physical ending of someone close – as anyone who has experienced it will testify, lasts and lasts, and lasts. Of a certainty no one will experience my grief, just as I cannot experience theirs. It’s so personal. 

My way of coping with grief varies from day to day, even hour to hour. Sometimes I go for a longish bicycle ride; sometimes I read, either a book or poetry; other times I write; sometimes I listen to music – I like both classical and country and western. I do, however, with one or two exceptions, find it difficult to talk to others about my grief. They might not understand my way of expressing my grief, and I don’t want to belabor or otherwise impose on their emotions with my, possibly uninvited, feelings.  

I find that poetry, music, of any kind and books, fiction and some non-fiction, all contain sentiments of love and parting, either through death or in other ways. Always love, a meeting and a parting. This is not so strange as love is the most powerful emotion there is, and I don’t just mean the eruption of hormones that all experience at some stage of their life. I mean that unquestioning love, that deep knowledge, that trust, that comfortable companionship that develops with time together.

Of course the passage of this love, this knowledge, this trust, to arrive at the place of comfortable companionship is never smooth! That is not the way it works. We will all stumble on our life’s journey and we will all have misunderstandings. But that just makes the arrival point more worthwhile.

I can testify, with some feeling, that life with my wife, Magucha, was often tempestuous. But it was never dull, never boring. Her quick fire Portuguese temperament and my (relatively) slower and less emotional temperament meant that we both had to work hard at our relationship. I know she found me very frustrating at times and would spare no criticisism. She could do that but no one else was allowed to! She would fire up, almost vibrate with anger in my defense if anyone dared criticise me in her presence! I found that very touching and, in a strange way, deeply moving.

But it was all worth it.  I for one had thirty-six wonderful years with a dear friend; with a loyal companion on our journey through life; with a staunch ally; and with someone who I know loved me, deeply. Just as I loved her, just as she was, deeply loved her. 

I of course, cannot now speak for her, but I believe there was nothing, short of some criminal intent, that we would not have done for each other. I know that I would have defended her to my last breath.

This is why I, for one, have found her death so hard to bear; the apparent severing of the physical bonds, so difficult to come to terms with. I will never believe that her soul – she most definitely had a soul – died with her physical body. It is there somewhere. And I know, just know, that sometime, somewhere, we will reach out and hold hands again. 

Saudades!

Is “Civil"-"isation” in jeopardy?

At this time of year when we wish for “Peace on Earth and goodwill to all”, I ask the question, “Is civilization as we know it in jeopardy?”

Today, December 23, 2018, trust is “missing in action”. Trust has been absent without leave – AWOL - for quite a while and trust is desperately needed. Right now. And trust is such a subjective, fragile thing. It cannot be bought or sold. It has to be earned.

Trust in governments; government trust in the electorate; trust in parliaments; trust in politicians; trust in financial organisations; trust in big business; trust in religious institutions; trust in all these, so vital for the smooth running of societies is no longer there. In consequence no one is considered trustworthy.

Trust evaporates when secrecy prevails, with closed meetings, and when cameras are banned from recording; trust evaporates when money takes precedent over humanity; trust evaporates when greed takes precedent over compassion; trust evaporates when veniality is condoned or simply ignored; trust evaporates when those in positions of power tell lies; trust evaporates when meaningless words -“spin”- take the place of policy action; trust evaporates when there is an attempt to indoctrinate with lifeless words.

People – the populous – citizens (the “civitas”) are not stupid. For any leader to consider them as such is a massive mistake. For any leader, anywhere to ignore the will of the people is to do so at their peril. The old saying, “even the worm turns” is very true.

The answer, in my view, is very simple – just treat people, others, the way you would like to be treated. It is an ethical thing.  That is what a “civil” society is based on. That is what “civilisation” is based on. Being “civil” to each other. No matter what colour or creed the “other” may be. All are Human Beings.  That is why it's called the "Golden Rule". 

Is that so difficult?

Oh! And Merry Christmas.