Walk with me for a day

In today's heated emotions about what, if any lives matter, I suggest that this poem written by a member of the "first people" - 65 000 years of history in Australia - is worth reading.

Walk with me for a day

The colour of my skin your eyes do see

Pain dwelling deep within

Afflictions to experience is a mere dream

Walk with me for a day.

Souls of black Australia in the sea of mankind

Neither here nor there

Memories lost of tribal care

Walk with me for a day.

Share my dreaming of this great land

Grassroots problems where did they begin?

Please don’t criticize my countryman

Walk with me for a day.

History’s footprints linger within the depths of time

As its path of destruction lays a snare

Emotions deep in the valley of despair

Walk with me for a day.

Torn and battered weary souls fight on

Equality beats to the sound of progress roar

Reconcile and together we’ll learn

Walk with me for a day.

                                                                        Tania Con-Goo 2005

Another day has passed.

Some things, like memories, are not easy to write about. I know that memory is a wonderful thing yet it can be quite frightening in its scope. My memories seem to be activated at random, as I presume happens to others. All of a sudden a memory is there without seemingly being called. While others have to be dragged from wherever they reside. 

While the time spent without Magucha has not been easy, time can be kind. It dulls the pain. Sort of. But the ache remains, as do the memories. They always will. 

But the curious in me wants to know so many things. One thing has bothered me, even though I think I have worked it out – why we/I grieve. Grief hurts in many ways but it’s all about me! It’s about my hurt; my loss; my feelings. 

I should be glad that Magucha no longer suffers; I should be glad that she is no longer burdened by the trappings and necessities of life, as we live it. I am - but it is not easy!

That her love; that her emotional strength; that her mischievous sense of humour; that her deep and sensitive knowledge of the needs of others; that all this has just disappeared into "nothing" is beyond my understanding. 

Of course it is a given that I have absolutely no idea what has "happened" to her. I have the strong conviction though, that when we die we still “exist”, obviously without the bodily form we used when “alive”. The essence that was/is us continues. That essence, that “Life”, has returned to wherever it came from.

All I know is that (in the words of the song) “Loving her was easier than anything I’ll ever do again”.

There are always poems.

Some events; some memories; some recollections don’t get any easier, any less confronting with the elapse of time. They are still too fresh, too raw to be easily cast aside.

At times, such as the present, when recent past events cast a long shadow over my life, I am drawn to poets magisterial use of words to express the inexpressible. 

For reasons that I cannot explain – possibly because of its very early, childhood introduction – poetry has always stirred, within me, a deep well of emotion and intense imagery. Poets use of words are like a cry from the heart, that bring forth both pain and a salve to ease the pain.

One such poet is the Bengali polymath and Nobel prizewinner, Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941). From his 1913 publication, Gitanjali, a very short poem, number 87, hit me with a body blow that left me breathless and deeply moved.

87.

“In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my room;

I find her not.

My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be regained.

But infinite is thy mansion, my Lord, and seeking her I have come to thy door.

I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I lift my eager eyes to thy face.

I have come to the brink of eternity from which nothing can vanish – no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through tears. 
Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean, plunge it into the deepest fullness. Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch in the allness of the universe.”

Euthanasia? All life is terminal!

While I appreciate that the Hippocratic Oath in effect stipulates physicians should  “do no harm”, this is not the end of the matter.

To only allow (or disallow) a “terminally” ill person to decide when they wish to end their life is looking at this problem from the wrong end. It is not if they are ill, terminally or otherwise, but a person’s quality of life – their perception of that quality, which should be the main issue.

Recall and understand that all life, repeat ALL life, is terminal – we cannot escape the end. It is terminal! Sooner or later we all die – ill or not. Palliative care, however well administered, will not halt this process. Furthermore it is impossible to accurately determine the exact time or date in the future as to when a person will die. So to stipulate a time or date (following the Victorian “model”, six months is suggested), sometime in the future which may determine whether or not a person is “allowed to die” is regrettable, to say the least. 

Furthermore, why should anyone have to “live” according to another person’s expectations? We have no “right” to interfere. It is not our life; it is not our choice.

We, and by “we” I include all humans, were presumably born to live in the world. Now if a human being decides, because of the status of their health, that the life he or she is currently experiencing in the world is not a “quality life”, who is to say they are wrong? We, you or I, cannot experience that person’s view with all the emotional, stressful or painful events they may have suffered or endured during their life to date. How can anyone, other than the person concerned, determine what level of “quality” is acceptable or unacceptable? 

We can have no idea how this expression of life plays out; or how life events (particularly their health) affect a person’s outlook, towards themselves or others – no one can “know” this except the person concerned. They make a choice based on such experience – good, bad or indifferent. It is their decision. You or I are in no position to say they are wrong. 

Similarly, what evidence, what insight do we have such that we can proclaim that a particular person’s view or expression of life (as currently experienced) is wrong and that we (or at least the “experts”) alone know better? We may not like or approve of their view but - so what! 

Likewise, what evidence is there for the “experts” to state that those who wish to end their life may be suffering from a “mental disorder” (hence the proposed requirement - for a totally subjective - psychiatric assessment on any person wishing to end their life). Disordered from what? From “normal”? As far as I can determine there is no accepted definition of “normal”. Possibly those considered “mentally disordered” react to life’s trials and tribulations differently from those around them. Are they “wrong”? Or are those who condemn euthanasia just being intolerant and lacking in understanding, compassion or empathy? 

Then there is widespread over prescription of antidepressant and antipsychotic medications (remember that, allegedly, one in five people (1 in 5) will, allegedly, suffer from a “mental illness” in their lifetime). There are many reasons why all concerned should be critical about psycho-pharmaceutical drug treatment, such as uncertainty regarding the causes of mental disorders, the problematic accuracy of the few diagnostic tools available, poor understanding regarding the mechanism of drug actions and their many side-effects together with the related problem of publication bias. Then there is commercial conflict of interest, [Note:The reanalysis of the – originally ghost written - GlaxoSmithKline Study 329 relating totheir antidepressant drug formulation paroxetine,Paxil, (also known as Serotax or Aropax) provides an illuminating, if unfortunate, example of these issues]. 

Also there is extreme pain. Anything that results in an actual or perceived loss of personal control will (possibly) bring about a loss of dignity and of “hope” - those most subjective attitudes of mind.

Furthermore for some to say that only God can decide when any person dies is surely a gross over assumption – how do they know? What special insight do they possess? Is it not possible, because (I assume) God gave us free will, that God may have already decided to allow a person who wants to die, to die?

Then what about those who say that the legalization of euthanasia would see the end of compassion? Surely it would be more compassionate to allow someone who wishes to end their life to do so in a private setting of their choice, with (possibly) family and friends in attendance?

Far rather this than, to get their way, forcing a person to take extreme actions – starving, drinking or drugging themselves to death; shooting themselves; jumping off a high rise building or cliff; driving at high speed into the support column of a freeway overpass or into a tree on a country road; consume rat poison or drink some corrosive liquid (such as ammonia) and take four days, in agony, to die.

Recall also that the British philosopher David Hume (1711 –1776) said, “I believe that no man ever threw away Life while it was worth keeping.” 

Finally I will repeat a quote, from the Indian sageJiddu Krishnamurti (1895-1986), who said, “It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society”. 

There we have it – in a nutshell! 

Different people – so what!

They may have a different colour skin; they may speak a different language; they may have different customs; but they will all scream in pain when tortured (as I am sure I would do); they will all bleed when hurt; they will all die of hunger if not fed; they will all die of thirst with out water.

They are all HUMAN BEINGS, like me and like you.

Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus all worship God – God, Yahweh, Allah and Vishnu (or Shiva or Brahma) – different names for the same thing. All worship in a different way, according to their tradition, but does it really matter?

The fact is that about 65 million people are displaced at present, in the World. This is the greatest number since World War 2. And many, if not all, have been displaced because of their skin colour, their language, their customs or the manner by which they worship God.

This is nearly twice the population of California. About the population of Great Britain and also about the same as the population of France!

This is appalling. It is outrageous that this displacement and the suffering – almost always the suffering of the most defenceless and vulnerable, women and children - should take place at all.

All because of a perceived “difference”!!

There is much wringing of hands and many words of condemnation, but methinks, too little action. These unfortunate people now have no home, little food and shelter and in many cases, no country. Children are denied education, denied the emotional and physical stability and support that is so necessary for their development to achieve fulfillment as useful citizens of the World.

Religious persecution, and this displacement of millions is, at its root, religious persecution, is a significant relapse of values, a relapse of humanity, a relapse back to Medieval, even primitive times and is a very poor reflection on our current, collective, morality.  How about the “Golden Rule” – treat others the way you would like to be treated? Have we forgotten this? Does it no longer apply?

It was Nietzsche (admittedly not one of my favourate philosophers) who, I believe somewhere said, “Anyone who fights with monsters should take care that he does not in the process become a monster.”

Are we becoming monsters?

Do differences really matter that much?

Over seventy years after the Second World War, I don’t believe this will be looked upon as our “Finest Hour”, by future generations.