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Thursday, April 19, 2012

Forgiveness, the daughter of Love [S-serie 1]

Doing some profane and simple work gives my thoughts a chance to roam. I don't remember which route my thoughts had taken this time, but I can't overlook their conclusion: Forgiveness must be the daughter of Love.
I guess as a Christian I might state that Forgiveness is the Son of God.
But that doesn't alter my train of thoughts... Hop on please. The ride is free!


Forgiving means disregarding -out of Love !- your principles, your requirements, your own limits and limitations as you decide to keep on passing on your positive feelings to the one who has transgressed your moral boundaries. You give respect, help, kindness... [all friends of Love] in spite of it all. Freeing the other of Love's opponents, like  Guilt and Shame. And yourself of maybe Anger, Vengeance, Victimhood, Disempowerment.
If you forgive the right way, you are serving a cup of humility for two.

Some claim the idea that a deed needs forgiving is the worst way of thinking: because it means judging the deed as bad. Where being 'unjudgemental'... forgiving would be redundant, even impossible. There is nothing to forgive.But that is going a bit too far, even for me, who likes to stretch things. 
For instance, I like to argue that obedience is actually a bad habit. Because it includes acting without taking your own ideas into account. It is following blindly. I prefer people who think and decide on complying only if the act agrees with their own conscience. What else is a conscience for?
[And.. we have a conscience around 9 years of age... please allow children to practise living with it!! Don't force them into obedience.]

You may not always be knowledgeable enough for deciding by yourself. In that case you should only act out of trust. Trusting the one who gave the order.
Obedience doesn't necessarily include trust. It is more often done out of fear for punishment. By some powerful person, like the class bully. Or for being sanctioned by the social group you belong to, the group that issued the order. That can be a group of schoolmates, your family, your country. Or your religious group.

And Fear... is the antagonist of Love.




Saturday, April 7, 2012

Late Bloomer and Misfit



The drawing was made about 20 years ago. 
It's called "Waiting For The Day..."



Extract from Mulan (c) 1998 Disney Enterprises Inc. 
Voice: Soon-Teck Oh as Fa Zhou

And this tulip is worth a closer look...




I've made the drawing and the photo myself.
The audio clip is an extract from Mulan  (c) 1998 Disney Enterprises Inc.
Voice: Soon-Teck Oh as Fa Zhou

Though this recording is subject to copyright, its use is covered by the U.S. fair use laws because:
  1. It doesn't limit the copyright owner's rights to sell the film in any way, in fact, it may encourage sales.
  2. Because of the length of the recording, it cannot be used to make illegal versions of the movie or soundtrac.
  3. The recording is part of the subject of the article, which is not used for commercial purposes.


Saturday, March 31, 2012

Childhood Friends


We met on the playground.

You know that large open space with slides, climbing frames, swings and the inevitable sandpit. Is it bottomless or not?
Where you discover all about yourself and about socializing with others? Where you can experiment with Life and expand? 
Where I learned what discrimination feels like and that it is held up by the so called lower classes just as well. Where a bloody knee didn't always come from being clumsy on the monkey bars.

Yes, that's where we met. Can you imagine the tension in me, running into a stranger in that place?
But there was that big swing I wanted to give a try. And he was standing real close to it. Was he going to stop me? No, he felt like swinging too and the big swing was a bit hard to handle for one... So we mounted it, the two of us... both surprised at having such fun together. Apart from the swing we found out there was more to uncover and enjoy on that playground. So that's where we meet regularly now. I guess you could say we are Childhood Friends.


Jo

Thursday, March 1, 2012

True Friends

   How can you know a friend is true?

   Friendship should make one feel happy, right? But not just in receiving. In giving also. And maybe not straight away, or not at all times. And maybe not that exuberant kind of joy, but one like little gems you can make a necklace with after a long time. Or that you carry with you in your 'pocket' [your memory; translator's note.]
   Fact is true friends don't leave when things are going bad. That's when they support you. Or you support them. 
Just watch ... any help from a friend triggers the wish to pay it back. Or forward.

   I do not agree with Ecclesiastes, when he claims that Frustration is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart. (Eccl. 7:3).
   I remember feeling very tired once, while on my way to my work. I was fearing the next 6 hours I had to spend behind my desk... At a crossing I had to slow down my bike to let an elderly woman cross the bike path with her shopping trolley. She stopped and motioned for me to go first. Slowly I increased my speed... then she smiled at me. And I smiled back at her. In that short moment, in which we made a connection, I felt all my wearyness disappear. I felt wide awake and strong and relaxed.
   Now which friends make me feel that way? Joyful, supported, supportive and connected.

   What about the High Self Esteem I'm so often writing about? Without it, you will not act, having been delayed by doubts and being put off by your fear of failure. With sufficient Self Esteem you will either know you won't fail, or simply not mind failing [failing can be fun and it opens doors]. Self Esteem is not like being vain or egocentric. It simply makes you feel comfortable around others and you connect to others easily. You don't pull away, being too shy, but you 'radiate' something that disarms others. It is allowing you to spontaneously help and share, because you don't believe that people will turn your offers down disdainfully. Self Esteem definitely is a true friend.

   I don't like naming the obvious true friends... did you think of this candidate: Responsibility? True friend or false friend?   
   Irresponsibility, after some unthoughtful acts, leaves you in the midst of havoc and remorse. Definitely a false friend.
   What does Responsibility create? It makes you a person who wants to act wisely, a person who will deserve respect -and no doubt will get it from those who are wise enough to recognise its value-. It will keep you far away from regretting things, so you can spend your talent, your power, on going after your soul's deepest wish.
   Answer: true!!

   Last but definitely not least ...Lady Love, Lady Fear's antagonist... Love, not to be mistaken for lust, is not exuberant. Yes it is a happy and powerful feeling inside you, but it remains modest even though it's as strong as steel. To me, it gives a sense of fulfilment. Love can make you laugh or jest, but it is not flaunting, fleety or flamboyant. Yes it is flaming, but without burning you up. It warms you and everyone around you. What more heart warming friend can you wish for?


Love is patient and kind.
Love knows neither envy nor jealousy.
Love is not forward and self-assertive,
nor boastful and conceited.
She does not behave unbecomingly,
nor seek to aggrandize herself,
nor blaze out in passionate anger,
nor brood over wrongs.
She finds no pleasure in injustice done to others,
but joyfully sides with the truth.  
She knows how to be silent.
She is full of trust, full of hope,
full of patient endurance.
[1 Corinthians 13;4-7]


Jo 





False Friends


The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning,
   but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.
Ecclesiastes 7:4

   

   There are those who are good to you, there are those who hurt you. Maybe they pretend to love you, maybe you are taken in by them so much that you can't see... but those who hurt you, don't love you.

   Yet it's so easy to welcome them. They praise you without holding back, and give you such good times. Awesome. Splendid. What's so bad about that?

   Your friend will tell you there's a shortcut to Hotel Happiness, right through the forest. Maybe it is the Forest of Feasts. He, or she, promises to travel along with you, if you take his/her advise.
   So you pack your bags and go. But after a while, all that seemed fun becomes a bore. You grow weary and your goal is not a mile closer than if you'd stuck to your own way.
   Your friend notices you're tired. Of playing while traveling, of tripping over sticks or getting stuck in hidden burrows. He offers to carry your bag for you, the bag that holds all that represents you.
   But his mood is changing, he's not such a pleasant companion after all. He begins to stall. And suddenly... he's gone. Leaving you in the middle of a dark forest, tired and lonely. Robbed of all your tools and funds. Of your talent and energy.

   I can give you the names of some of these con artists. Like Greed. He robs you of your ability to share, or do without. He makes you concentrate so on getting the best, it makes you a bad friend to others. 
   There's Fear, a lady who will take you to rock solid Safety, making you forego the riskier moores, where you might have uncovered your soul's yearning.
   If you turn Obedience into an art, it will stop you from defending whom, or what, is dear to you. Instead it will tie you down to undesirable commitments, that drain you and lead you away from who you are.

   The list of names is long, and if you take time to think, you can write down other names yourself. 

to be continued ...


Philosophical Exercise 1 [pre S-serie]


Just a little training in philosophy for those who can't sleep. 
Or have piles of dishes to wash or laundry to iron...

What is Wisdom, is it the same as knowledge?


Compare your answer with this ...

Love never comes to an end.
There is the gift of speaking what God has revealed,
but it will no longer be used.
There is the gift of speaking in other languages,
but it will stop by itself.
There is the gift of knowledge,
but it will no longer be used.
[1 Corinthians 13:8]


And compare it with my post “ Essentials

Monday, February 20, 2012

Gender's on the Agenda


I don't know where this post will take me. I often write wanting to explore a theme, just to learn something myself. Not to state my opinion. I call it 'going impro'.
Today the theme is gender roles and true emancipation.

    Roughly speaking there are two of them: male and female. The sex that gives birth, or lays eggs, is generally designated as the female and the other sex, the left overs, should therefore be considered male. So far a working definition, just to avoid miscommunication. (No one communicates with me through my blog but that won't stop me from seeing my blog as a form of communication.)

    What's all the hassle about men and women? Men coming from Mars and women from Venus? I know pretty certain that both my parents are earthlings. My father has Frisian blood, my mother's from 'Holland' (which together with Friesland forms the Netherlands.)
My father comes from a typical macho family, being raised with the credo “if it's a girl we don't like it”. He felt very comfortable in his job at the Air Force. Until the number of female military personnel began to grow and the ladies appeared at the so called 'social evenings', which used to be male only. That does sound a bit outdated, doesn't it?
    Especially if I tell you about my great grandparents, mother's side. They were born around 1885 and got married before 1910. There was a slight traditional role pattern in their marriage: my great grandfather held up the rule “Where there are pants, skirts won't pay”. Meaning that when going out, his wife was not supposed to pay for anything.
But when it came to their marriage they said there were two captains on their boat! The man did not boss his wife, nor did the woman control her husband.
    Since my traditional father folkloristically refrained from bothering himself with his children, my mother  raised my brother and me single handed. In the egalitarian ways of her family. I was hardly aware of any gender issues until I was sent to kindergarten. I don't want to elaborate on it, there is another post for that, but I was really surprised to find that some children expected me not to play with cars, but with dolls. Not being gifted with a docile nature, I refused to comply to this nonsense and became a loner. An observer and a philosopher. And, in trying to gain some appreciation from the misogynist at my home, a bit of a tomboy for some time.

    Most parents can live with a daughter who is a tomboy. But oh, what if your son is a sissy? Help! Therapy is sorely needed. This odd phenomenon made me think twice about feminism and women's emancipation.
    What is an indication of a culture were women and men have 'equal rights'? That women get an education like men do. That women hold high positions in companies like men do. That women can join the army or become police officers. In short: that women are allowed to do the same things as men do. Fine, I'm all for anyone having the right to do what he or she likes most.
    But there's a little venomous snake hiding and waiting for it's poison to take effect in this type of feminism. Women are not only allowed to do what men do, there is special praise for these women: they are called 'succesful'. An Example ! Being a tomboy is what such a culture advocates for women. Female traits, female qualities, still are not being appreciated. Not in men and not in women.
    Is this true liberation of women? Of anyone? No it's just maintaining the status quo 'Act Like a Man'. Even if you're a woman.

    The snake has been identified by some and different forms of feminist movements have been born out of this: difference feminism, new feminism, Chacha-warmi, … all advocating emancipation with the respect of female values. Gender complimentarity. Women are not like men, but they are as valuable and deserve equal rights.
    This respect for female virtues is, in my opinion, a lot better than the appreciation of women who prove that they can equal men in many ways. But even in this type of 'Equal Respect for Women' there is a hidden sting. It reinforces the traditional role patterns. For some women -and men- a fine thing, but not for those who carry character traits, deeply rooted in their veins, in their souls, that are not fitting with their appointed gender role. Gendercomplimentarity will not make them happy.


    Let's take a look at a society where the most successful men are very macho. For this we must travel to Chile, to the foothills of the South American Andes; where else? There lives a very interesting type of rodent, related to the better known chinchilla's and guinea pigs: the degus (Octodon degu). A typical degu man spends his day defending his harem (!), his food resources and chases predators and rivals out of his territory. One of his occupations is building piles with pebbles, the higher the pile the stronger the other males believe him to be. Destruction of the tower leads to loss of the harem.
In the mean time his wives tend the nest and raise his youngsters.
    The behaviour of the male degu is purely dictated by natural pressures. When these macho degus are in captivity, no longer pressed to defend the territory nor the food resources, they help their women in taking care of the young!

    Maybe that is what we should do: just let go of the idiotic idea that some types of behaviour are reserved for men and other types of behaviour for women only.
Character traits, behaviour, are as they are, no matter to whom it applies. Nurturing children, caring for sick and cleaning a house deserve the same respect as showing strong leadership, being smart enough to make a good deal or coming up with a new technological masterpiece. Whether these traits are being performed by a man or a woman is irrelevant.
I'm not saying that men and women are the same. I'm just saying that no two persons are alike. One has a more of this, the other a bit more of that. There are very feminine women, never to be equaled by any man. There are very masculine men, no woman could beat them. And there are a lot of men and women with some overlap in their preferences and behaviour.
    Let's respect all of them. Give them all room to grow and flourish in their own way.



     What is respect anyway? What good is it in society? What does it mean in a relationship, where gender plays an important role ?
The best definitions of respect are these:
- to pay proper attention to; not violate
- to show consideration for; treat courteously or kindly

    Respect can be pretty hollow, if it's not accompanied by understanding. Within a large -cultural- group, you cannot know or understand everybody. So a government promoting respect is good. It is useful when you are dealing with strangers, knowing you'll be respected – and have to show respect- without having to do the impossible: getting to know each and everyone you meet.
    But in a one on one relationship respect is not enough. It is not enough to show consideration, treat courteously or pay proper attention to your partner, while believing you don't have to understand him, or can never understand her, simply because (s)he comes from another planet.
    Or is that just my taste, my point of view ? Maybe there really are those who like to share their life with someone who just looks up to them. Without ever being understood by that partner. What will be shared in that case? Very little, only practical things I think. That must be very lonely.
    It's a choice. And I have to respect that.


    On my desk is a booklet entitled “Wellsprings of Jewish Wisdom” I couldn't let this small book stay at its undeserved location, a secondhand bookstore. I quote from it:


The woman came out of a man’s rib.
Not from his feet to be walked on.
Not from his head to be superior,
but from the side to be equal.
Under the arm to be protected,
and next to the heart to be loved.”

[The Talmud]  



Since she came from his side, under the arm, 
I guess she is good at encouraging and comforting.
And coming close from the heart, she too is capable of loving.


Hitching or Hiking ?


    Her holiday had not been what she had expected it to be. But today she would start on a special field trip. One that had come up unexpectedly. She had immediately warmed to the idea, thinking that this might compensate for all the disappointments she had run into during her stay.
    The trip was very plain. A challenging hike, a walk that would take a couple of days, to an Alpine meadow. It was said to be very beautiful this time of year, full of exotic flowers and the wildlife bringing out their youngsters from their nests and hideouts.
   She'd have to do the largest part of the journey on her own. The other members of the travel group had declined this exercise, preferring to visit some more cities, where there would be the entertainment of musea, markets and concerts. And modern comfort.
    The goal was worth it. Besides she was used to doing things on her own, so she didn't change her plans on account of that.

   The sun did her best some of the days, giving her a good view over the mountains. Other days the rain made the spring gurgle more and more, being a talkative companion during her walk.
    The climb gradually grew more difficult, the road narrower, rockier and the sun really started to burn. The beautiful view became less entertaining. Breathtaking was a description now reserved for the steeper parts of her walk. If the goal of her trip hadn't been so alluring, she might even have turned back.
    Suddenly she heard a familiar sound coming up from behind. It was Herr G. a local landowner and farmer. One with quite a lot of land scattered around here. And consequently a lot to dictate in the area. But the local folk didn't mind so much power in the hand of just one person. This person. For the man was good natured and friendly. Always helping where he could and donating to those who needed support.
    Herr G. was in his buggy like carriage drawn by two horses, speeding along a lot easier than she ever could on foot. Wasn't Herr G.'s summer chalet in the midst of the meadows ? He could take her along, there was enough room in his carriage. It would save her a day. She held up her hand to stop the carriage.
   “Are you going up to the meadow?” Herr G. asked her as he slowed down his horses. She nodded.
“Well you're on the right rack”, the man told her reassuringly. “If you step lively, you'll be there tomorrow afternoon.” He urged his horses on with the reins. Leaving the woman behind, her eyes large with surprise. 

    Herr G. had been right, the next afternoon, she reached the pasture. The sun had done her work well that day and bathed the mountainside in her light and warmth for hours already. The flowers opened their buds for the first time of their short lives. The four footed mothers poked their noses out to see if the pasture would be safe enough for their babies. Having noticed all this with great satisfaction the hiker sat down to rest. She hadn't just been stepping lively, she had stumbled, slipped and even taken a few fearsome slides. But she had made it. She complimented herself on that. She sat down on a large boulder, closed her eyes just to feel the sun and smell the flowers and herbs of the pasture. She concentrated on the sounds surrounding her. Could she hear the rustling of the marmots in the undergrowth, or the bleating of some young chamois or mountain goats ? She heard something alright. She frowned, eyes still closed. What could it be? It .. sounded.. like .... footsteps. Human footsteps. A shadow fell over her. She opened her eyes, meeting those of a big strong man, radiantly smiling down on her. Herr G., without the slightest trace of a bad conscience in his eyes, face or demeanor. “So you made it,” he cheered, handing her a cool drink. Then he sat down next to her, the boulder was large enough. After a few gulps she turned her head to face this powerful man who had left her struggling at the roadside. “You could have given me a ride, you know. It would have saved me a terrible struggle and several sore spots.”
He nodded. “Yes, but then you would have arrived too soon. While the pasture was still barren and gloomy. And you would have been disappointed again.”


Jo.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Behind the Scenes


The story “The Essence of Incense” is based on some true facts. While I was writing a letter to myself, my way of dealing with a problem, I was playing around with incense. Very much like Chris did.
Suddenly I saw the parallels between the way I dealt with the incense and the way I had been dealing with something else, making it a painful experience instead of a pleasure. In that moment I became Collin.
Since Chris is just a kid, I didn't want his father to bother him for too long, with too many rules. But in reality I came up with 8 mistakes I had been making! From those mistakes I made up a list of helpful hints, that I am putting into practise.

Whether you are working on any kind of dream or relationship with someone, maybe you can use these hints too...

  • Don't lose track of your dream nor ruin it by being greedy.

  • Enjoy what you've achieved already. Don't let fear of what might come later on, rob you of that joy.

  • Dare to let things evolve without interfering. Because your interventions may not always be right (they are often prompted by fear or greed)

  • The flame of love, between you and your friend or your dream, is sacred, no matter what it's final shape will be. Handle the flame with great care. 
     
  • Focus! Don't invest in anything worthless.

  • Everything needs time to grow. Be patient.

  • Set aside your expectations and ideas. That way you give the other room to show what (s)he is really like.  (S)he may be even better than you thought.
     
  • Don't give in to reactions like fighting or fleeing. Welcome the Unknown and the Unexpected.

Life will give you so much more when you don't manipulate.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Curiosity Dyed the Cat

   He eyed me with suspicion this morning, while I cut my hair short with my clippers. Of course I use a machine that leaves me with  a decent hair length, I don't want to be mistaken for a marine.
And neither does Diego.  He's not vain, but he doesn't want anyone to meddle with his long persian fur coat. Only cat tongues are allowed to groom it. His hair is real beautiful: when he bobs through my living room, he reminds me of a waving curtain.   - That doesn't sound very beautiful, but there is too much of a comic book caricature in him, to use poetry -
Anyway, Diego likes his fur and wants to keep it as it is. So this morning he had no trouble surpressing his natural curiosity and stayed miles away from me while my hair was covering more and more ground around me.  His relief when the clippers fell silent was profound.

But brief. As soon as I had finished the cutting, I prepared a paste of henna, mixing it with vinegar, and applied the brown greenish muck to my head. Now I didn't just look silly, I smelled bad too.
Diego still had no lust to come closer. He just counted himself lucky that the female human is not the one responsible for his coat.
Since I kept on wearing the stuff on my head, I was a fashion enemy that had better be left alone.   So against his habit,  Diego let me go through the process of washing dishes on my own -someone with an academic background should not be thinking about dirty dishes so often. ;)   But I can't help it: dirty dishes are like the seven heads on a dragon: you may get rid of them, but they grow back in no time. -

It was while I dried my hands with the towel that I spotted the little prince jogging around with an odd looking  green blob in his coat.  Had he come from the litter box, I wondered. But he didn´t smell that bad... I tried to rub him clean with a paper tissue. The stuff gave off an unmistakable orange stain.
While Diego had considerd me a Dangerous Presence, a thorough inspection of the smelly paste could do no harm, he thought. After all, as a cat you have a reputation about curiosity to hold up...

Alas for the prince. the paste had dried up and matted his fur, so I had to take the scissors and clip away a bit, misshaping his coat. Fortunately his grows back.


Friday, February 3, 2012

Retreat


I am longing for my rocky seat, my 'horst'. 
To reach that special place I have to climb through the rough woodsy twigs of purple heath, leaving the sparse and lonesome trees behind me.
As I get closer to the summit, the howling wind of the moorland is giving way to the steady heartbeat of the ocean. It  already has sent out it’s smell to guide me.

My rock protrudes high over the sandy beach granting a rich view over the  ocean. The rock is my throne, the ocean is my spouse, whispering words of wisdom to me.

I am a king and I’ve come to this throne to overlook my world, my life. I fight for those  who are in it, but now  I need to look at  them all from a distance. For I am tired of doing battle and falling back.
The throne, not a symbol of power, but a divine seat, a place for wisdom, is the best place for a retreat.

The purple heath is the robe I let slip off my back.  I am vulnerable now, small and defenseless. I let the rain soak me to the bone, the salt remove the sweetness of my lips.  I let the crying of the wind unnerve my spirit. The drone and clatter of the waves drowse me into numbness .  The storm may shake me, push me to the edge, the cold cuts off my breath.  I will not go for cover.
Because I know these are the rough bejewelled  gifts of Nature, the full range of emotions that come with Life. They are full of power, but I shall not fear them. They may move me, impress me or even leave a mark. But they do not change me. I know that I will walk away from my throne as Me. Enlightened. Encouraged to rule my world again. 


Jo
 

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Three Generations, No Gaps


      Generally speaking, I don't like machines. They work too fast, I can't absorb the details of what's being done. But there's one machine for which I'm truly grateful. I would like to apply for sainthood for it's inventor. I realise this again today, when washing yet another set of towels that I've used for Joost,  the has- been-alley-cat, to sleep on. Joost has … never mind what Joost has. He makes me feel like an Irish washerwoman.

      I've spent six weeks in Peru once. My partner-at-the-time was a native Peruvian, so we stayed with his parents or aunts and uncles, only rarely at a hotel. Living at the homesteads of the Peruvians, instead of among the tourists is very interesting and has it's charms, but definitely has drawbacks as well.
For starters, there's a greater risk of infections. And you have to do without the commodities westerners are used to. Like a washing machine.
      I faced both facts while staying in Cajamarca, in a small house that held three generations of relatives who received even more calling relatives and friends each day. I had arrived with a high fever, exploring only the route from my appointed bed to the bathroom for the first days. As soon as the fever died down, I took a more lively interest in my surrounding, discovering that my partner already built up the habit of entertaining his cousins and their friends at a local football field, deftly leaving our dirty laundry for me to handle. I was born in the sixties in Western Europe. For as far as I knew dirty cloths ought to be crammed into a purposely designed machine. A little fumbling with knobs and buttons and your clothes come out wet but clean.
      Here I was generously treated to a tub with boiled water, a brush and a plank. And a bar of soap if I remember well. These were set up on the first floor [British. Second floor USA] of the house. This part of the building wasn't finished yet: it had shoulder high walls and no roof. It took little time for me to get acquainted with the rabbit that lived 'upstairs', but I just couldn't figure out what to do with the plank.
“What's the use of my university degree?” I muttered under my breath, but the rabbit didn't answer. Then I felt two coal black eyes piercing my back. A five year old sprite, visiting with her mother, a cousin of a sister of … hadn't been able to hold back her curiosity any longer. As soon as her mother got absorbed in a lively talk with the resident family, she had crept upstairs. To observe the gringa, washing her gringa garments.
I'm not sure if she still thinks that all gringa's talk to rabbits... but she soon figured out that gringa's are no good at doing laundry. I looked at her in desperation. She had a pretty Asian look about her, no doubt her family nicknamed her “Chinita”. “¿Quieres ayudarme?” Do you want to help me? I asked. She got out of her hidey hole without hesitation. Maybe she thought I only wanted her to help me wash because there was so much of it. With shining eyes she took the plank, and started using the soap and the brush. I only had to watch her to see how it should be done. I spotted a second plank and brush and took these for myself. I cleaned the larger bits, while Chinita worked her way through my partner's socks. In the meantime we had an interesting talk, each taking the linguistic barrier with a shrug.
      Her mother eventually came 'upstairs', to be introduced to me by the lady of the house. Probably just as curious as her daughter, but more self controlled.  [Pity for her
      Chinita's mother pointed at her daughter and whispered to me that I didn't have to bother with her. Bother? The child was my saviour. I shook my head, said I enjoyed her company. Her mother looked a bit estranged. She'd never let her daughter do anything so important as the laundry. That was no child's play, it had to be done right. But since the gringa insisted. The two ladies went down again, back to the living room. Leaving the girl with me. Chinita was mighty proud that the gringa thought she did a fine job.
      And that was the truth. She worked away with great zest and her movements were skilled. And judging from the mother's attitude, she had picked it up by watching only. She was literally as smart as she looked.


*****

      Now that I'm rambling through Peru again, I might as well do honour to another family member, who was a skilled observer.  It's my ex-partner's father I'm talking of. May he rest in peace...
      During long discussions or lively tittle-tattle, I frequently lost track of what was being said. After all, I had only learned Spanish from a book and some practise with the regional community of South American immigrants in my own country. Not enough to understand every bit of conversation among native speakers.
      But Victor A. always noticed when I got lost. He knew exactly which words I missed and how to substitute them with the right synonyms or phrases. The words I could understand. He was the best interpreter I've ever had, even 'though he could only speak Spanish.

      You don't need to take extra courses or special trainings to be good at something. Just watch closely, taking your time to let it sink in. And when it's time to act, have faith in yourself. Trust your own [in]sight.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

The Essence of Incense [2of 2]




Chris thinks back. “Because I hoped it would make Iris and me friends.”
“And what have you been doing after you got out the stick?”
“What do you mean?” The kid knows his father well enough to realise he's not making small talk. He's going somewhere.
“You took out the church. And I know you've been prying for a tea light.” Chris shrugs his shoulders, so what.
“Why did you do that ?”

“I don't know. I thought it would be more fun.” The boy tries to wriggle himself off his father's lap, but Collin holds him too tight for that. “Now listen to me, Chris” The boy sighs. There's no escaping a serious talk now. He finally looks his father in the eyes.
When you got Iris, you said you'd do all you could to become friends, right?” A distinct nod.
And when you took out the Iris incense you said the same thing: all would be for your friendship with Iris. But that's not what you did.”
I didn't?”
No kid. Why did you take out the church?”
That's an easy answer, because it would be more fun than just burning the stick in the holder.
And why did you put the steeple on?”
For the same reason.” Dad simply doesn't understand about life, Chris thinks.
Yes, but I saw you measure it and you knew it wouldn't be right. But you put it on anyway. That's how greedy you were for fun. And what happened?”
The fire went out. But we lit it again.” Chris added the last tag in a hurry, to stop his father from commenting. But there's no stopping him.
And why did you blow hard into Iris' ear?”
Chris' face tightens. So Dad had seen it.
Well?” Collin says it with a slight laugh in his voice, to coax the child to be open.
Because I thought it would be fun.”
Aha.” Collin inhales. Searching for the right words, so Chris will understand. “So two times already you almost spoiled what you want most. You want to be friends with Iris the Dog, and you wanted to enjoy seeing Iris the Stick burn. But your greed for fun almost spoiled it.”
Yeah, I know, the flame died.” Chris doesn't mention the dog, but Collins knows that he understands the parallel. “A stick can be lighted again. But Iris may remember all the times you upset him with your 'fun'.” Collin bends forward again. “He may not be willing to light up the flame of friendship again.” Chris is used to his father's figurative speech, he understands. “Do you want to lose your friendship over some cheap fun?”
No Dad.” Chris is getting bored. But Collins has more arrows to shoot. Asks the boy why he had popped the ashes from the incense stick.
That was not for fun! I was afraid it would burn too fast.”
And it didn't. But your action almost spoiled something else. And all for nothing as I told you s... Ho!”
Chris has managed to slip off his father's lap, but hasn't escaped his hold yet. He faces his father, with a silent plea to stop the sermon. But his father wants to finish his point. “I just want you to realise that either fun or fear can spoil what you have. Or what you hope to get. Just listen to your old man. And believe me that Iris will be your friend soon.”

The talk is over, and the two look at the incense. The stick is a lot smaller now. “Now Chris,” Collin signals him. “Now you can put on the spire.”
Why now? ” The child is surprised at this sudden twist.
Because now is the time for it. You can have fun, but don't force it. The right time will come to you.”

It is doubtful whether Chris heard that. He already tottered over to the church and now places the spire over the burning stick. He keeps looking at it for some time, with something on his mind. Collin, pen on his paper, notices the lack of joy.
What is it, Chrissie?”
'Chrissie' turns around. Explains how he had hoped to see the smoke come out of the church windows once the steeple would be closing up the tower. But this incense doesn't produce a lot of smoke.
“And what were you thinking?” Collin hopes to pursue his metaphor.
“I was thinking of lighting a different kind of incense. I know the lavender one smokes a lot better.”
One corner of Collin's mouth twitches. “And are you going to?”
The boys face turns thoughtful. He shakes his head. “No. This one smells good. The other one might make your eyes burn. Or those of Iris. ”
Collin's grin broadens. “Good for you. It may not be as you expected it to be, but at least you give it a chance to show itself. So you can love it for itself. And maybe , maybe ... it turns out better than your dream.”
The boy smiles back at his father. Maybe... his father knows more about life than he, Chris, gave him credit for.
“Now, do you still want to trade Iris for Uncle Robert's dog ?”
“No Dad, I'm sorry I said that.” He walks over to embrace his father, to show that he really is sorry about the remark. When they are through hugging, Collin holds him at arm's length. “In the middle drawer of the kitchen cabinet, you'll find tea candles. And when it's burning, you may turn off the light.” Chris almost trips over his own feet for joy, while speeding to the kitchen. Collin shakes his head laughing. Should he tell the boy that if you stop trying to control your life, it will reward you with some unimagined surprises? No, he thinks, his boy will find out for himself. 




JoAnne Lakefield.                                    To 'Behind the Scenes'
 



Tuesday, January 10, 2012

The Essence of Incense [1 of 2]

A snarl and then the clicking of teeth. Collin looks up from his work and sees his son, Chris, put the fingers of his left hand into his mouth. “Did he bite you?” He is ready to jump up.
Chris shakes no, sucking his fingers. He pulled back in time.
“Why don't you give Iris a break?”
Chris takes his fingers out. “Because I want him to be my friend.” It sounds more like a reproach than a defence.
“What were you doing when Iris tried to bite you?” Collin knows exactly what his son did, but hopes the boy is man enough to say it.
“Nothing.” Chris looks away from his father. “I was just playing with him.”
“Is that all you were doing?”
“Yes Dad, all.” The child looks furtively at his father who has question marks lighting up in his eyes. Chris prefers to look at the midsized black dog. “Why do I have to have a he-dog with a girl's name?”
“Mrs. Reynolds doesn't think Iris is a girl's name. And all the puppies in the nest needed a name starting ...”
“... with an 'I'” Chris knows the rap. Can't let off, however. “But why Iris? Iris is a flower.
“Yes. And a symbol for male power. The power of Wisdom, Optimism and Trust. It also stands for Passion and deeply felt Friendship. That's what you want from your dog, don't you?”
Chris nods. He wants to be friends so much, he can't wait to have the dog following him on his heels, everywhere he goes. Why doesn't the dog feel that and respond to it?
Chris gets up and walks over to his father. Leans against him, hiding his face. Almost unintelligible he mutters about wishing he had taken Uncle Robert's dog while he had the choice. Uncle Robert's dog is a lot older than Iris, but at least very familiar with Chris.
“I didn't hear that.” Collin replies. It's a hint Chris knows pretty well by now. He's entering forbidden ground.
Collin knows his son is impatient. But does it help to bluntly tell him so? “Maybe you should give Iris a moment alone, Chris. Maybe there's something you can do for me in the mean time.”
He looks around the living room . What will keep his son absorbed, so he can finish the reading he should do for his article?
His eyes come across a collection of incense. A friend brings him new flavours with regular intervals. Collin's not fond of it, but thanks her each time she brings it along. So the stock is growing out of proportion. Chris likes to watch the smoke dance upwards, it simply captivates his attention.
“Help Dad light a stick of incense. To help me relax and concentrate on my work. That way I'll be done faster.”
With an enthusiastic yell, Chris runs to the pile of bags with incense sticks. He reads the names of the flavours carefully. Picks out the newest taste in the collection. “Here Dad, this one is called Iris. Maybe it'll help the dog relax too.” Collin's eyes wrinkle up in a smile. Chris is very good at making excuses and finding reasons for doing something he shouldn't do. “Takes after his father,” Ellen used to tease him with that.
“I will burn this stick and then we'll both be friends.” Chris says importantly.
“Is his friendship so important to you?”
The child nods emphatically. “I want his friendship more than anything else.”
“Let's work on that, then.”
“Alright!”
“Alright.”

As Collin looks for the long matches in the kitchen -his son would drop the short ones in a second, afraid of burning his fingers- Chris climbs on a chair and carefully takes out a fair sized church building, meant for tea light candles. It's made of clay, with brown enamel, making it look like an old English country church.
“Can I put the stick in the church's tower?” asks Chris, before his father can say anything. He takes the church out of the child's hands and puts it on the table, on a coaster. Then he lifts his son off the chair.
“Now where do we put in the incense?” Collin asks. Obviously Chris already has a plan. He takes off the spire and points. “Maybe we can stick the end into a potato”.
Collin eyes the entrance of the church, through which a tea light is to be passed and shifted to the nave. No potato would pass through that door. Maybe a piece of bread? It works. It was a tricky job, but now the incense points proudly through the church tower into the air. The spire is resting elsewhere on the table.
Collin helps Chris light up the stick. “Finally” he thinks and turns back to his pile of paper, books and magazines. Chris squints as he is peering through the church windows. He seems ensconced in his own thoughts. Relieved Collin picks up his pen. Better finish this quickly, the stick won't keep Chris occupied forever.
As Chris' eyes move to the incense stick, his face twists. Panic shows as he blows at the stick. With thumb and index finger he pops off the ashes that have piled up on top. It lands on Collins book. With an aggravated look, Collins carefully wipes it off. “What is it now?”
“It burns too fast!” Nonsense, with a few straight words his father convinces him that all sticks burn a little faster at the start. There's nothing different about this one.
Relieved the child eyes the stick again. This time he's not interested in playing with the light passing through the church windows. His hand reaches for the idle spire. First he keeps it next to the stick. The stick is just a little bit longer. But Chris places the spire over it anyway.
“Chris, take that off.” Too late, the stick has stopped burning. Chris casts a look at his father. Partly guilty, partly begging for another chance. Together they light another match.


An idea lights up in Collin. He pulls his son to him, lifts him onto his lap. He wraps his arms around 
the boy and bends over to study his face.  "Do you remember why you lighted this stick?" he asks.


to part 2

Essentials

From the tingling of my fingertips I know that my next post "The Essence of Incense" is going to be a real nice one. Sweet and hazy.
You'll just have to wait until it's finished.

Here's a nice quote from Anonymous ( boy, did he write a lot). Just to keep you busy.

It is Wisdom I am looking for. 
For Wisdom won't discourage Love.

Wisdom makes room for Love. 
And Love sustains Wisdom. 
They are like man and wife.


A good audio fragment about Courage and Love, another interesting couple:

Fragment from "Letters to Juliet" (c)2010 Applehead Pictures, Summit Entertainment
Voice of Claire: Vanessa Redgrave

Friday, January 6, 2012

Silent Protest

    I see them everywhere, at any shopping centre that I know. There's one at least outside every shop that sells women's clothing. Standing erect, back turned towards the store window just a step away from the entrance. Both arms stretched down, hands folded patiently in front of them, or holding a bag containing things from a previously visited shop. Invariably their eyes have this glazed, suffering looked.  These are men who's wife, or girlfriend, is inside the store, looking for clothes.
    Just before christmas I was at the heart of my country's capital. In a street just full of clothing stores. And yes, on both sides of the street, an equally long line of waitng men. A Guard of Honour.Though I doubt that they truly  intended to participate in that.
    What does it mean, that stoic waiting outside a store? Not being a man, I'm afraid I would jump to biased conclusions, so I'm trying not to answer the question myself.

    I was musing about it during the shopping trip, when my son and I took a turn into a smaller street, away from the center. There they were, a mother and a daughter outside a mobile phone store. The mother shouted to some people in the store "Come on, please don't take too long.". When I walked by the store I saw a grown men and two boys inside. Outside his wife took position: standing erect, back turned towards the store window just a step away from the entrance. Both arms stretched down, hands folded patiently in front of her.
    This situation I could understand, and I knew I hadn't made any mistaken assumptions.



    My dear men, if you are really trying to discourage your partner while she's shopping for clothes, you are doing it all wrong. My son just keeps trailing after me, into every store. Sometimes mumbling, other times ostensively quiet. But never more than three feet away from me. It irritates me so much that I just wish he was standing outside, standing erect, his back turned to the store window.




Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Great! Behaviour-ism!

When I was in high school I thought it was funny to respond to my class mates as if they scared me. So whenever anyone spoke to me I turned to them in a split second, inhaling sharply, making my eyes large as if I was scared to bits. I think I shrieked at times.
Before I knew it, this became a reflex, I responded that way to every impulse. And not voluntarily anymore. The joke went off, I had a high level of adrenaline and reacting frightened was not the wisest thing to do in some situations. So I had to 'unlearn' myself this state of conditioning.

But high school is a time of boredom.
Due to my SPD I avoided being touched or pushed unexpectedly, so I always chose a seat at the back, or -if taken- at the side of the classroom. There I would sit sideways, with my back against the wall. To have no one sitting behind me.
From my position I was able to pay attention to everyone and everything. Except to the lesson. I used to write letters, design fonts or simply dream of being outside, far far away from the madding class.

In a lack luster moment I decided to play the conditioning game again. From a positive perspective this time: I simply yelled “Great!” at everything people said.
'Hey Jo, you're in my way.' -"Great!"
'OK class, here's tomorrow's homework...' -"Great!"
'Next week there'll be a written test.' -"Great!"
The Greats became automated responses and grew louder by the day.

Economy was one of the seven 'branches' I had chosen for final exams. The new teacher, a young man, hardly six years older than our oldest classmate, had a terrible time keeping order. There were people shouting or having conversations with their backs turned to the teacher. V. had let herself drop on the floor, playing that she'd fainted, and now R. was pulling her up again, Making quite a show of it. I think there even  were objects flying through the air. And in the back there was a girl who kept quiet, her eyes submerged in the sky outside. Needless to say her name was JoAnne.

The teacher inhaled, straightened his back and announced as loud as he could: “The next one ...” the class froze, falling silent  “who makes any noise can leave and report to the principal!”
.....
Yes. Five minutes later I was knocking on the principal's door. Lucky for me, the principal was not in his office, so I reported back at the teacher after the lesson was over. R had stayed behind, spoke up for me. He is a lawyer nowadays, a good one I presume: I was forgiven. Except for one thing. “Why do you always have to have the last word?” the economy teacher complained.

After I had yelled "Great!", the teacher told me to go to the principal and report back later.
“Yes sir,” was my reply, “I will do so with sights ands sounds.”
I was spry simply because I was nervous. It was the first -and last- time I was expelled.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

The Prince and the Pauper

Joost tries to keep up ...


You couldn't ask for more contrasts than with this pair of cats. 
The red one is a long haired pedigree feline of known heritage and homeland. He is the Persian Prince, four month old, no more than a kitten. With all the energy and agility that belongs to his age. He thinks everything is fun and no game is too rough for him.


The black an white cat, short haired and short tempered, is an alley cat from H(a)arlem. He's probably 18 years old, and his sore back makes jumping and fighting hard on him. I know nothing about him, except that he is used to humans and adapted rapidly to life in my house. So he probably hasn't lived on the streets for very long. And was not making a good job of it. When I found him he was starving, standing on shaky legs while he begged everyone passing by on the street. did he ask for food or to be taken home?
The vet. warned me that because of his kidney condition, Joost would hardly make it to april 2011. But today is januari 1st, 2012 and he's still with us. His strong will keeps him going.

Joost did feel a little embarassed when a persian prince entered his attic. Ever since then he's been studying hard just to keep up with the  Royal Highness.
That's not the only surprise the old one's shown me. He keeps the royal fur coat of the prince clean and tangle free.
And there are mock fights every day. Sometimes the fight gets serious, even then Joost doesn't fight mean.



It's very interersting to see Joost fight: he cannot stand on his back legs. So either he must lean on his front paws, fighting only with his mouth,  or else he must lie down, to be able to use the claws of his front paws.

Until now the prince has not been able to defeat the alley cat, but 2012 will probably bring a change to that.




A tribute to the one who buys their food:  
the Prince forms the letter J, while the other is curled up into an O