M is for…Mass destruction

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I lived in London for 20 years before I made good my escape to the coastal reaches. Watching tonight’s footage of the riots in Tottenham, Croydon, Peckham, Lewisham and Deptford, I’m saddened to see a city I love blighted by mindless vandalism in the guise of democratic protest.

There is nothing democratic about setting light to the businesses and homes of innocent people, many of whom are law abiding and simply trying to earn a living. There is nothing democratic about covering your faces with hoods and flinging Molatov cocktails. I’ve watched the pundits on TV lay the blame squarely at the door of the police, society and the government. Even the banks. Well, I beg to differ…

Most of the violence today came from young men who don’t work and don’t vote. They have no respect for the society in which they live, and yet they expect everything to be handed to them on a bling-plated platter. They use their race, gender, upbringing, religion and education as an excuse for why they are compelled to a gang lifestyle and violence.  I beg to differ. Failure, like fire-bombing – is a choice.

Put out more flags…

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In my part of the coastal boondocks we are very excited because a rather large golf tournament is taking place in the neighbouring town.  Apart from the much needed injection of cash for the local economy, and the fact that many people have been inundated with visits from distant relatives with a fetish for sticks and small balls, this sporting fixture of note has meant access roads & short cuts to and from the Golf Open are subject to traffic restrictions. 

To help residents get over the shock, we’ve all been given bright orange car badges, that say ‘LR’.  These identify us as locals, and give us right of way over journalists, sneaky golf lovers and out-of-towners. The effect has been curious.  Weirdly some sort of cameraderie has developed – people who don’t know each smile, wave and let other vehicles bearing the LR insignia go first at a junction.  Actually, its the same as when it snows heavily in London and no one goes to work – everyone gets all Christmassy and starts performing random acts of loveliness.

It got me thinking…if a small square of orange plastic could create such profound change, wouldn’t it be great if we had a sticker system for life…?

One born every minute…

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I’m really beginning to think I live in a time-warp.  Watching the news, I couldn’t help thinking of events some 20 years ago. A corporate scandal involving a newspaper magnate whose surname also began with M, rioting in Northern Ireland and kwashiorkor babies.  Sometimes the more the world turns, the more it remains the same.

It’s heartbreakingly sad to see infants and children arrive at the refuge camps across the horn of Africa – only to die of malnutrition when they get there. It’s heartbreakingly sad to see not one or two children in this predicament, but five or six per family. These small creatures cannot speak for or defend themselves.  Their mothers are no better off.  Illiterate, poor, often victims of rape – for these oppressed women, family planning is not an option. The loss of one child is unbearable, the loss of two or three, when this could be avoided….

It’s a complex situation, and I don’t claim to have the answers.  Still, I can’t help wondering if our charitable contributions are merely adding to a culture of dependency in an environment where climate change and civil war have wreaked havoc.  If there is money to fund the warlords in Sudan, Ethiopia and Eritrea, why isn’t there enough to provide irrigation schemes or green energy? 

Instead of food aid, would our money would be better served funding education and contraception programmes for the women and children in such peril?  Though laudable, the charity cartels (think Oxfam, Unicef and Save the Children) have sewn up crisis response in sub-saharan Africa.  There is money to be made from suffering.  And if you think I’m being harsh, just check out the profit and loss accounts of these organisations. They have turnover and assets worth millions! Charity doesn’t even begin to describe it.

 I’m undecided whether I will donate to the latest DEC appeal. Are we are simply trying to hold back the flood by putting our fingers in the dyke? Or can our donations truly make a difference? The Dalai Lama said, ‘compassion and love are essential if we are to save humanity’. From a human perspective, it feels like the right thing to do.

You can find out more about famine relief and DEC by clicking here:
http://www.dec.org.uk
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/696803.stm

Dead Poet’s Society…

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Apart from my nephew, one of my most treasured possessions is a book of poetry by Robert Graves. It was given to me by someone I loved. A lifetime ago. Like the book, I imagine that now he’s a bit battered and threadbare at the edges.  As am I. I found the book at the bottom of a box of keepsakes, and it put me in contemplative mood. I feel like sharing this poem as a reminder that the past is always another country.

The Pact by Robert Graves

The identity of opposites had linked us
In our impossible pact of only love
Which, being a man, I honoured to excess
but you, being woman, quietly disregarded –
though loving me no less –

Mind the gap…

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If it’s true that  women mature faster than men, I’ve never understood why sensible, intelligent females go for the equivalent of the grey gorilla…i.e. older men. They smell and are hairy!  OK, I get why a male mid life crisis involves a sports car, a blonde with pneumatic breats and botox. Mid life crisis women are a bit more selective…a blonde, with pecs…sports car is optional!

Personally, I’ve always preferred men younger than me. Why? Well apart from the obvious – I’m in my sexual prime, men my age are in decline – younger men are more fun. They don’t have baggage. Not an ex-wife or step-child in sight. They have no sexual inhibitions.  And actually, they are really grateful if you sleep with them – they know you aren’t going to have that ‘how was it for you’  or that ‘what are you thinking’ conversation. What they don’t realise is that you don’t care – you’ve had sex, and now you just want to get home and sleep in your own bed!

Besides, older men (in the UK anyway) imagine that you, as a single, professional, female must be so desperate for attention (wrong – on so many levels!) that you are grateful if they pay you a compliment. Oh hallo!  If it was a choice between poking my eyes out or being poked by you, I’d rather be blind!

So, there you have it. Men without their own hair and teeth need not apply!

Truth or consequence…

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Truth is relative.  A few  months ago, compelled by a need to be true to myself, I revealed something little known, but much suspected.  It cost me dearly…the love of someone I adored, the loss of myself. Well… the loss of my former self. I am different now. Still, it was a heavy price to pay. I feel the consequences every day.

As human beings, we often say ‘be honest’ when honesty is the last thing we want. I’ve realised perfectly sane, intelligent  people are happy to accept and to live lies because that is better than facing the consequences that arise from the truth. Of course, truth depends on who is telling it.  It’s not an absolute, simply a perspective. You cannot argue with facts in the same way you dispute versions of the truth.

My favourite role model, Einstein (love him and if he was alive would have his children!) once said: ‘Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important matters’.  I think he’s saying that we need to be honest in the small and big events of our lives, even if that honesty brings consequence. And…I guess he’s making the point that people who cannot be trusted will betray you in tiny increments. The first cut won’t hurt at all, the second only makes you wonder!  Less said about that, soonest mended.

I tell the truth, because I think it’s important to accept responsibility for our actions. Our integrity depends on our willingness to own up for the decisions we make.  We have to face the truth – even if it’s unpalatable – and live with the results. Quid pro Quo.  Truth and consequence.

Warmonger…

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I’m very troubled by the news about Osama Bin Laden.  True, he is no longer a cypher lurking in the background and haunting our dreams. There is no doubt that he master-minded terrorist acts on a vast scale, and that he was directly responsible for the deaths of many innocent people. London, New York, Madrid – an unnecessary death toll. Not to mention all those servicemen and women who are now dying in pointless and un-winnable wars in Iraq & Afghanistan. What a waste!  But was justice served?

Bin Laden was an evil, hate-filled man. Sadly, his death won’t bring back the people who died as a result of his instruction.  It will only be a spur for those extremists who need an excuse to carry on fighting. So, President Obama, you are an idiot!  I really don’t see how shooting Bin Laden in the head means that justice is served.  I’m sad that you capitulated to the pressures of seeking re-election and the hawkish warmongers who lurk in the White House disguised as ‘military advisors’.  It was similar military boneheads who funded Bin Laden, armed and trained him when they wanted to get the Russians out of Afghanistan!  How conveniently you forget that fact.

And frankly, I’m annoyed at the arrogance of a nation who think it’s ok to invade another sovereign country and assassinate someone. Because lets face it, that is what it was. There was no intention of taking him alive. I find it hard to believe that big strong navy Seals couldn’t overpower him when he refused to surrender.  And I find it rather distateful that the US Commander in Chief sat and watched video feeds of the killing.  How is that justice?  Snuff movies maybe! Justice, no way!

Far better, for Bin Laden to be captured and brought back to the US to face the rule of law.  That is justice.  He should have been made to face up to his crimes.  Even the worst excesses of the Nazis (who killed hundreds of thousands of people) were dealt with by due process at the Nurenberg Trials. So why would he be any different? His crimes were no less heinous.

As Ghandi said, ‘an eye for an eye ends up making the whole world blind’.

Birdsong and bluebells…

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As some of my regular readers will know, I live in the coastal reaches of the South East.   It’s a sleepy place with a pier and a shingle beach.  We have big sky, loads of lovely countryside and the most amazing sunrises because we face East into the open heart of the sun. In the Spring, we have hedgerows and bluebells and I can go foraging for edible sea kale, wild rocket and fennel along the shingle path that leads towards the bay near my house.  I am lucky.

I wake up each morning to the mournful cry of the seagulls as they coast inland under onshore winds and the lure of landed fishing boats. Later, I hear the chirp of sparrows, the melodic song of dainty wild doves, and the smug moan of fat suburban wood pigeons when the human inhabitants of their domain come to life and begin their workaday week.  In the evening, blackbirds punctuate the dusk as they stake their claim on the trees, gutters and hedges of the houses in my street.  I am lucky.

Birdsong and bluebells serve as a reminder that the sun always rises.  Believe that it will, be lucky!

L is for…Love, Lessons & Life

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This is the first blog in a while. Thank you for being patient.

A few weeks ago, it could have been  ‘L’ is for the…’Life is shit, and then you die’  blog, but having been to a wedding (my sister’s), a funeral & rebirth (my own) and to hell and back…(least said, soonest mended)… I have to say it’s good to be here again. Blogger on planet earth.

This I know…

1. Your love is not a small thing. It is the most precious gift you can give. It is not always gratefully received, but that does not lessen it. Giving love makes you capable of great things.  You can cross continents, gamble your future on the stars, and sacrifice yourself…all for love. Love is in the letting go…but it takes great love to watch the person you adore walk away, knowing they will never come back. Hate is not the opposite of love, indifference is.

2. Lessons are almost always about the learning, not the experience. The experience may be humbling, painful, humiliating…but as long as you learn from it, you grow. There is an old Buddhist saying ‘ When the student is ready, the master will appear’. Often we don’t think we are ready for the trials ahead, but when they happen, they show us who we really are. Our choice is to fight, to surrender or perhaps...and this may be ever so un-pc… to ‘smack’ the zen master as a reminder that we are human and have fire in our bellies. Whack! How was that for you, Obi Wan?

3.Life…never ever works out how you plan it. I don’t care if you are the supreme deity or a secretary…this is true! So you can spend your days feeling miserable about the cosmos and the fact you cannot use ‘The Secret’ to manifest pizza, money or love… or you can embrace uncertainty. Oh crap!  ‘Uncertainty’, are you sure?  I’m all for the darkside, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t scary…Life is wonderful, but it is also weird. It makes us who we are. It’s lessons make us who we can be.

My advice? …Live well, Love long, Laugh loud…

K is for…Kilimanjaro

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One of the things I’m most proud of is the fact that in 2006 I made it to the highest peak in Africa.  The journey was – at points – exciting…exhausting, tough…terrifying, adventurous…arduous.  I think I sweated out all the bad things I did that year on my ascent – or as I call it, the ‘Hill of Atonement’.

Given current circumstances – where I seem to be atoning for things I haven’t even thought of, let alone done – I’m busy climbing another mountain, albeit metaphorical.  This foothill is just the first on a journey that is taking me to a place I never expected to be. It’s not a good place. Some days all I can do is put one foot in front of the other and try not to fall.

Still…as Victor Kiam said: ‘If you fall on your face, at least you are moving forward’. I’m not sure where or how I will end up, so for the time-being, this blogger is taking a break. 

Thank you for following the blog, and a special thanks to Nubian for getting me writing in the first place.

Chiromancer