Sorry and thank you

I thought this post would make sense here. I'm also posting it on my blog.

I've wanted to write about this topic for a couple of weeks. And when I saw this image from Indexed this morning, I figured it was a sign.

Jessica's simple illustration communicates how shallow we are with our gratitude. We say "thank you" so many times during the course of a day -- when someone opens a door for us, when someone serves us water, when someone picks up something off the floor -- it's almost an auto-response. Without a thought. Without a pause.

But when someone does something we truly should be grateful for, do we take the time to express our gratitude? And then is a simple lightweight "thanks" enough? And what about the people closest to us -- the ones we take for granted -- how often do we sincerely take the time to communicate our appreciation for all they do?

Same goes for apologies. It's really easy to say "sorry" to strangers and acquaintances but so difficult to convey our heartfelt remorse to the ones we love the most. Why? Because of our inflated egos? Because it's too hard to accept we were wrong? Because it's too shameful? Because it means taking responsibility? Because it means we're accepting what jerks we've been?

There can be a thousand reasons ... but it just comes down to one thing -- we don't like acknowledging our failings. We don't like being wrong.

They seem so simple, but these two words are the ones we use the least in our most-valued relationships. Saying them is easy. Feeling them requires selflessness and introspection. Realization and acceptance. Humility and frailty.

We shower others with these expressions, but leave the ones we cherish impoverished.

Don't hold out on your loved ones. They won't just "know" -- these things need to be said, expressed, shown somehow. And most times, expensive gifts aren't required to do the task.

A simple but sincere expression of emotion is enough.

The Beauty that is Blogging

Many years ago I made a decision to stop reading newspapers and stop watching television. It seemed to me that there were too many depressing stories, too many scary stories and too many negative stereotypes being portrayed. Is the world really that bad? I think not. There are many good and happy stories that never get told.

In the UK, we have a lot of 'soaps' for instance. Programs such as 'Eastenders', 'Coronation Street' and 'Hollyoaks' and in these shows there are common themes: everyone is depressed, relationships are doomed to fail (usually through infidelity), people are miserable and bad things happen ALL the time.

Sure, you could say that these are only fiction but I happen to think that watching these sorts of shows affects people. I often see young people arguing and shouting at each other, seemingly emulating the sort of behaviour they see on the television. Who knows? Maybe I am wrong but I do often wonder, "What if these shows showed people being happy, successful and in loving lasting relationships?" How would the world change as a result of seeing positive uplifting messages consistently, rather than negative depressing messages that are so often promoted in the media?

This is my opinion on the media and it is why I have decided to be (as much as possible) media free. I say as much as possible, because every where I go I see advertisements - on buses, on posters, at train stations, even recently on the pavements! I imagine some people may laugh at my views and not see the damage media can do, but I see it. I see it very clearly when I walk into a newsagents shop and see magazines with women exposing themselves not just on the top shelves but in the daily newspapers. Young children walk into the shop and are exposed to this type of 'message' from their earliest age. If normal everyday women do not walk around with everything exposed, why is it acceptable to be bombarded (and where I live we are bombarded) with images of women in this way.

I'm not a prude. I think normal loving relationships are good and healthy but I would object to any woman walking into my home with everything on show. I'd ask her to have some respect and cover herself up - so why should I also not have concerns for the sorts of images you see regarding women in the media?

This is a large topic, too large to go into here but suffice to say, I believe that the media is very controlled and generally portrays some very negative messages regarding the world and people. At the very least, the media is very limited in its scope of the human experience.

Which is one of the reasons I love blogging. Blogging is a freedom. It allows individuals a voice. It allows individuals to share their thoughts, feelings and experiences with each other. I would much rather read about the life story of a real person in another country, than read about the latest bomb attack. I would much rather read a true story of someone's success over adversity than be 'encouraged' to buy the latest women's razor or perfume.

Blogging to me is a much needed antidote to the highly-controlled media world of information. I think I have already learned so much more from reading other bloggers' posts than I could ever hope to gain from reading the latest copy of 'Hello Magazine'.

So I'd just like to say thank you. Thank you to everyone that shares their thoughts, their feelings, their experiences and their stories. It enriches my life and my understanding.

P.S.
I have a problem leaving comments on blogger sites. It simply won't let me leave comments, unless they are in 'pop-up' mode so although I am delighted to be in such good company here, I haven't been able to comment for this reason.

This Time

Dear All, I intended to post this on my own blog, but after I clicked the Publish Post button, I realised I was posting using my Writers Rising profile. Looks like this poem was meant to be here. So here it is, and it's on my blog too. :-)

This time I will not
sit back and wait
For the leaves to turn yellow
and another winter to dawn
So I can relegate
my dream to a new spring.

Nor cast away the swirls of
myriad feelings
That wash over my soul
and speak to me
In ways they never have
before.

This time I will not
shy away
in fear and allow
walls
to be built
around me
To protect me from
the storm that has not
and may never come.

And should the storm come
this time
I will not choose to
be fearful
and run for cover to the closest
shelter
But look the storm in the face
and continue moving forward
Until the winds relent
and the rivers part
To show me my path.

This time I will not rest
until I have tasted
The freedom
of lasting happiness.

Feeling mortal

FEELING MORTAL

     Tired--- so very tired I feel the wind chill as it courses through the holes in my rusted armor. Once resilient, the tarnished exterior succumbs to the wear of a seemingly never-ending onslaught.

     I find that once I embrace that youth is not eternal, mortality become more imminent. Each grain of sand that slips through the orifice of the hourglass represents another lost opportunity. Often disregarded as ceaseless gifts, these grains represent the time fleeting. The orifice widens. The sands, they fall as the transition mocks us with the truth of an eventual eternal slumber. We must play before bedtime.

      No longer feeling like the sting of a wasted day is not felt. The days, they slip like pages torn from a book, blowing--- lost to the wind, their words to be forgotten. I scramble to gather my words, my legacy, trying to hold onto the best chapters. Maybe someone will want to read someday. Will anyone care?

     How did this personal erosion occur unnoticed? The silent carcinogens of doubt, of apathy--- they ate their way through. It spreads the disease that eventually releases the tethered cords that secure me to the stronghold of my spiritual wharf. The wind it blows. The wind it is cold.

     So tired--- I realize that my body is no longer able to withstand the torrent. Bruised and blistered, I may have won the fight, but realize that upon healing, the scars restrict the agility once needed to maneuver the obstacles. I bend, it hurts. I twist, the body responds with pain.

     Will the realization that the path I now tread is far off course from the destination I once sought. The goal is no longer to arrive where I once aimed, but to simply find sustenance along the way, to not emotionally starve as I seek refuge from the expectations I once had. It doesn’t taunt, but it does haunt. Will I ever settle again into feeling I am almost home?

     I find it challenging to separate this score I keep with myself as to what I ventured to achieve, the successes that I once harvested; long since consumed, now left with the remnants of missed expectations. Although playing for both teams, I find myself rarely celebrating victory.

     The hypocrisy sneers as it sinks its meat hooks into me. It bears its enthusiasm as I am made aware that I detach so easily and divert from my nature. I derail. I slip into a lack of awareness that I am not able to counsel myself with the same love and compassion I would show others, including my enemies. Does this make me more contemptuous than my nemesis’? How can inflict the deepest cuts yet allow myself no sutures?

     So tired. Unable to fly I am held captive by guilt and responsibility. Living in the shadow, the sun no longer reflects off my now rusted armor. The once impervious metal now only adds weight. Responsibility stands in the way of dreams. Dreams being the air that sustains me and dispels the pain, yet with responsibilities choking off its nourishing supply. Blue I choke, gasping I whither and release my clutch to hope.

     Holding myself in contempt, I realize I have opened Pandora’s Box and have lost the lid. The sirens call to lure me further from the shore, beyond where the lights upon the shore illuminate the refuge for return. Time being the link to possibility; the rope grows shorter with every passing day. Soon I will be set adrift at the mercy of the current.

     Mortality it looms over the fallen. Only can I rise up and patch the holes that expose me to further barbs. Perhaps realizing I am mortal, I can hold time as a most precious resource. I am not immune to the disease of doubt--- contagious and draining. Should I choose to rise like the phoenix from the ashes, I must add faith to my arsenal. I mustn’t stand as an army of one, my current condition needs support. Standing over my defects like fallen comrades, I must check them like bodies on the battlefield to look for survivors. Once nursed they can stand beside me guarding the flanks.

     So tired, yet once rested may I rise to a new dawn. Hope it can peek through the cracks like a sliver of sun’s rays to warm whatever it touches and to light the way to the door. The fool continues the same path with his progress eternally impeded. Choosing right, choosing left is choosing the life restoring detour. Just go! Wait no longer for the rusted armor to weigh down the soul into simply sitting before the wall that impedes it, cursing its presence.

     Perhaps shedding the weight of what once protected is the ideal course. Vulnerable yes, but light, allowing the body and soul to heal and run freely in the direction of the sun. No more shall the burden of past baggage weigh me down. Rest and restore. Sleep to soothe the tiring ache, arise to the promise of new shores. Seek solace in the realization that one pivot in a new direction leads to the potential for a new journey with a new outcome. Eternity shifted in a simple pivot. The subtlest of turns affects destiny.

     Mortal I am. The opponent of mortality is life. Sleep will I now to awaken with new hope. Life is not measured in time spent. It is the collective story between our entrance and departure. Sometimes more of the story needs to be written for the rest to make sense.

365 Lessons-Lesson 33: Pay Attention, The Signs are Right in Front of You

My friend, Rosedanie Cadet, hadn't been back to her country, Haiti, in 36 years. In December, she sat at my dining room table and told me that she was going back. She had planned to return to Japan, where she once lived, but didn't receive her visa in time. Since she had the time, she decided she would like to return to her country to help her people. This was before the earthquake.

She left in December with a non-profit organization called Answered Prayers. She was selected to act as the translator of this program which would travel to an orphanage in Haiti in order to bring supplies to the children and help with building projects. She asked me if I knew of anyone who had any baby items. I don't have children, so I immediately contacted my sister and best friend who both provided Rosedanie with a few boxes of items.

Before Rosedanie left for Haiti, a friend mentioned that she should have a psychic reading to find out why she felt a strong need to return. The psychic told her that her grandmother, who died before Rosedanie ever had a chance to meet her, was waiting for her return. Even though they had never met, Rosedanie felt her grandmother was with her and that she had work to do in Haiti.

A week or so after Rosedanie returned from Haiti, after helping out with the orphanage, the earthquake hit. Rosedanie made it back just in time. Many of her family members were missing and it took some time to find them, but all of them are safe.

While most would be frightened to return to a country that was just destroyed by an earthquake, Rosdanie took it as a sign that she was meant to return. She had a strong sense that her grandmother was there helping her in spirit. She contacted Partner's in Health and Mercy Corps to let them know about a project she had been planning for some time. They let her know that she could make a donation, but they wouldn't accept her project.

Rosedanie has been a cook and garderner on Orcas Island, WA for several years. Rosedanie believes that if people in rural areas learn proper farming techniques and have a proper facility to store food, they will learn to be self sufficient and not need to rely on the heavy aid of other countries. If jobs are created in the rural areas through farming, people will be more apt to stay there and there won't be as much of a need to go to the city to find work.

She decided to form her own organization called The Noramise Project, named after her grandmother. She feels this is her calling. Helping the people of Haiti during this earthquake is a wonderful thing. But helping the people to become self sufficient for life is something that will last for many generations to come. Here's a video of Rosedanie talking about her project:



Answered Prayers, the organization she traveled with in December when she went to help out in the orphanage, has decided to link her project to their site. You can make specific donations to the Noramise Project by going to answeredprayers2.org. Make sure to specify that you would like your donation to go to that project. You can also visit noramise.org to find out more specifics on this project.

Rosedanie and I have been good friends for some time now. When I see what she has done in such a short amount of time with her project, I am utterly amazed. After the earthquake, she has participated in two benefit dinners for Haiti. Some of those proceeds will go to her project. She has also managed to mobilize volunteers in Haiti to help with farming. She has gotten a church in the rural city of Limbe, where she is from, to donate land for her food processing plant. Two articles have been published on Orcas Island, WA talking about her project. Momentum for what she is doing is coming from all directions. People are saying, "What can I do?"

I asked her if she finds this amazing. She said, "I am just a conduit. I am like a hub. My main role is to be the connecting person. I am receiving messages of what I need to do and what actions I need to take and I'm taking them." This sense of selfless service in my friend is so amazing. She has put all her needs and cares aside and is doing this for the people of her country.

More than that, all of this seems to be coming through my friend. Not even she knows where it all will lead, she is just taking things as they come.

Rosedanie stopped by my house again today and told me of this project. I knew I had to write a post here. I felt it was a sign to me that she was sitting in front of me at my dining room table once again. If she had stayed a little longer in Haiti, I might have lost my friend.

Pay attention, the signs are right in front of you. If this project speaks to you, I urge you to get involved by either donating or going to Haiti to volunteer your time. My dear friend has reminded me that sharing whatever gifts we have with others on this planet is the reason why we are here.

Not Ciao! Arrivederci!

I'm having an indefinite internet break so I can focus on other projects.
Don't take over the world without me!

I had originally planned to say Ciao - but this literally means I am your slave! so Arriverderci!

ar·ri·ve·der·ci
Pronunciation: \ˌär-ē-vā-ˈder-chē\
Function: foreign term
Etymology: Italian
: till we meet again : farewell

Tell your inner editor to take a hike

  I was stabbed, perhaps in the eye, when Annette Kuhn in her piece "Remembrance" (1993) said that personal photography is really all about the promise of a brighter, better  past...for future consumption. We want to produce a certain kind of past for our future viewing  - we seek to produce a particular kind of story - like a happy story, the story we want our lives to be, with photography.

 

Though I don't think this is always true for all our photography, it is becoming an increasingly more prevalent  reflex - the editorial reflex - as image technology is invading more of our lives from every angle. We now have paid image consultants, people particulary adept in interpreting the image for insinutated meaning - we now edit everything - as if all we are, all we encounter is but an image.

Have you ever been on camera/video duty, viewing an unfolding moment - like a child's first birthday - and experiencing this moment through a lense? It sucks, because you sense your own disconnect, the lense coming between you and the moment - the lense making you see the moment only as it will be seen in the future. And how about when you are helping you little one blow out the candle? You are aware of the camera's gaze, aware of the future's gaze boring into you - you somehow feel as though you are performing to a canned script. Afterwards, now seconds after, we can alter the photos, and later photoshop them, editing our moments into some ideal - sometimes narrowing in on a detail and creating a story that was not even present in the moment at all. We know all too keenly that the image can lie - it can tell a story out of context, it can single out something that was not part of the lived moment, it can misrepresent, it can be a proxy for lived life.

This reflex is not a new thing. I think with the beginning of the camera, we have always sought to preserve our best. In around 1826 the invention of the rudimentary camera was taken to a level where photographs could be taken and reproduced in clear images. In cities and villages scattered about the world, who were blessed to have a photographer visit the home or open up a studio - we sat stiffly, often in our best black or formal attire if we had some, sometimes in our own Salon or a recreation of it outside - the best room of the house, with not a smile to betray our unbecoming feelings. We sensed this was for posterity - a preservation , a proof of our family legacy of uprightness, prosperity, unity... We have scripted out lives with the outlines of the image since early photography, since the comissioned paintings of portraits.

 

Guy Debord in his book "The Society of the Spectacle", says that we try to locate our idea of utopia in our present moments - is it there?  And because of this, every moment has a meaning only outside of itself - an applied value we give it rather than experiencing the moment as it is without labelling it, "oh, this is a nice 'aren't we a fun-loving family' moment", or "hmm, perfect for a "we are rebellious against societal norms" moment, and , when on a trip, you say to yourself not, "wow, how beautiful" but "wow, that would make a beautiful photograph". We see in moment and experiences their future worth rather than their present worth, we capture things that will tell the utopic story of our lives. Sometimes we spend a whole day taking photographs on a trip, then sit back at the hotel looking at the experiences we saw but did not live. We may not be aware of this process of editing moments with labels and functions and future worth - collecting moments we did not live. We may not be aware that not only is there an invasion of privacy from the surveillance cameras out on the street, but there is a constant invading surveillance of life through our inner lense. 

Surely this does not occur all the time. And surely photography adds to the value of life. Yet I am haunted by What Guy Debord famously said, " All that was once directly lived has become mere representation." We are rendered into moving, breathing images.

Foucault says that our society of surveillance promotes what he calls the "normalizing gaze", which he wrote about  in "Discipline and Punish: the birth of the prison". I call this the one-eyed monster or simply the GAZE. With this gaze comes a constant surveillance that makes it possible to qualify, classify, to reward and to punish every living moment. Worldview and religion (imposed or freely taken), family legacy, national identity, friends and partners, cultural heritage all are gazes that reward and punish. But this is not just about images. It is about every second of breath and life. Its about becoming a breathing image of an ideal, rather than being, just being.

To be aware of this normalizing gaze within myself was the first step I took towards being free from it - to acknowledge that it is there, and look at it apart from it, at a distance. But I am in no way free - I'm just toddling towards more freedom, less self-surveillance.

The act of meditation could be described as the practice of clearing our present moments from the invading clutter of thoughts and images  - quieting that incessant monkey mind. It teaches us that our mind - that producer of images and thoughts, is not actually our true self, it is a mind, a tool, and we can tell it to be quiet. The practice of this allows for a quieter mind and perhaps a more lively self  - allowing our moments, some moments, to unfold unto themselves, free of the gaze, free of self-scrutiny. Prayer and contemplation is another way people use to quiet the inner editor - as is being in the Zone in a sport or loved activity - to be so engaged in a moment that time and self-scrutiny ceases to exist. This is not to say we should not plan and orchestrate our lives as best as we can, but it is to say that after planning and orchestration, we should then let the moments unfold as they will. Accepting them - as a gift,  instead of resisting them, editing them, capturing them. We have to trust them to be, so we can BE.

Cheers all - I posted this on my blog www.tinkerbellys.blogspot.com as well, hope thats not breaking a rule or something! And of course I want you to visit :)