This unremarkable drift

I was going to write about this child who got lost and how, although he seemed pretty sanguine about it (you know, ignorance is bliss), it was heart-wrenching for me.  I was feeling the anguish of his parents or at least, the anguish that I would have felt had my child gone missing for 5 minutes let alone forty minutes and then some. 

And I couldn't help feeling both grateful that the child (about two and a half to three) was oblivious of his situation as well as how terrified and alone I'd be feeling as a child if I'd had the misfortune to be clued in. Know what I mean?

I waited some forty minutes as I watched one of the girls from the park management team keep this tiny angel company (or was it the other way around?), distract him by talking to him and making up games to play, all of which he took to with the calm and decorum of someone who knew no fear.  Oh, how I wish I could be as calm and unperturbed when unexpected or undesirable things happen to me. 

Okay, it's true, I'm a lot more calm and relaxed about most things and I tend to be more so when others around me get into a bit of flap.  But there are times when the entire world is spinning out of control inside me though you'd never know it on the outside.  Well, perhaps I exaggerate.  Perhaps it's not quite as out of control as I seem to think it is.  Perhaps it's just my fear that it is.  This mind can get pretty conflicted sometimes, you know?

So, despite changing my mind about what I was going to write, I have managed to tell the original story and I find that I've no where else to go with it.  It's been told, it's done and I'm glad I've got it out of my system.

Now, for a not so subtle change of direction, did I ever mention how much I love the blues?  I really, really love the blues, especially blues rock.  I wish I had a scratchy, blues voice or a deep mama voice.  I have neither.  Not that those are the only voices that can sing the blues well, just that I kinda wish I could sing 'em like that :)

Right, am not even sure why I've started talking about the blues.  Could it be because I'm listening to a cool blues program that's on the radio just now? :)  Or the fact that I'm so looking forward to my guitar lesson/session tomorrow with a local muso whose blues style I just love?

Anyhow, I best call it quits here before I drive myself and you insane with this unremarkable drift...apologies if its been irksome.  But if it prompts you to share your thoughts, please do. I always love reading other people's drift :)

 PS  Oh, how could I not write about this part of the story? 

The park girl assured me that a crew was going around looking for the parents.  Still, I really didn't want to leave without the assurance that the child and his parents were reunited.  So I held this intention - I just want to know that it's going to happen soon because there's already been too much suffering (on the part of the parents, at least).

Instead of making my way back towards the bridge which would take me to the city - it was after seven and dark - I started walking back into the park.  Well, I hadn't gone a few meters when I saw two women, their faces filled with an anguish that was not yet ready to go, and a security man who was leading them in the direction of the child. 

My heart just soared way over the clouds that had been lingering around it and I called out to the women, "Your child is safe.  He's right over there!"

I floated along that bridge and home that night :)









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And some time it's been....

Sigh - Yeah, it's like that. I'm beginning this with the weight of guilt and disappointment for not being more consistent with this blog.  I'm also encumbered by the uncertainty of when my next post will be.  Mmm...it makes me wonder...why am I posting now?

Truth? Because for a very brief, nanosecond-like moment, I felt like I wanted to and so here I am.  Which is one way of saying that in all the time since my last post, I've not had that kind of a moment.  Mmm...it makes me wonder...why I haven't...

'Honestly?  I think it's because I've had other things on my mind.  Like a romantic interest (although NOTHING was said or done by me or the object of my desire - was he completely unaware of how I felt?  Or was he just as scared as I was to say or do anything about it?  Or were the feelings simply not mutual?).

And besides that, I've been blissfully engaged with my music, songwriting and recording and songwriting some more.  And I've been writing for money - quite a bit more money than I was getting.  So that's all been good.

But this songwriting journey, yeah, it's taken a bit of a new direction, which is a little scary.  The last lot of songs I wrote and recorded were risk-free - transcendent stuff revolving around the eternal truths of life and love. 

But the songs I'm writing now are different in subject and sound - speaking of vulnerability and uncertainty and longings that may never be realized and that may even be considered unconventional or at least unpopular...but at least they're all true.  There's integrity,  

Not that the previous lot lacked integrity - no, not at all.  Just that they didn't feel as close to the bone as these ones.  Doesn't make the latter more authentic, I don't think, but might make them more accessible, more the sort of thing that more people can relate to.

Funny, I didn't think I'd be writing about my songwriting.  For that matter, I really had no idea what I'd be writing about.  So, forgive me if this isn't quite your cup of tea, assuming you're reading this.  /Well, there's nothing to assume there - if you're reading this, you are.  Sheeze...my brain's gone mushy, I think.  Mushy peas?

Perhaps this might be a good place to stop?  Yep, I think so.  Do stop and say 'hi' if you're reading this - it will put a big smile on me face :)

Sunday reverie

Sometimes, when I start to write, some of those gorgeous images that I'd been watching on my mind screen, those tender stories that had started to take shape, just disappear.

It is as if my fingers are not meant to capture them.  As if words have no right to describe them, or even hint at them.  As if it would be sacrilegious to express them in any way other than how they appear in my mind.

In some ways, this feels grand.  As if these images, these scenes, are sacred, meant only for my mind's eye, for my heart's senses.

Yes, in some ways I accept this is bizarre, that I should even think to use little lines and curves that make up words to capture something so ephemeral, so untouchable by anything other than the senses, so shy of exposure.  So obviously meant for a private and intimate audience - me.

But if I don't make some attempt to capture them, how shall I remember?  How shall I share them with others?  How shall I relive those gorgeous, delicate, brilliant, tender, exquisite, sweet, enchanting moments?  Moments so wonderfully free of history, of time, of meaning, of purpose?

Perhaps I am not meant to.  Perhaps, if I let them come and go as they please, they'll send along their friends and family and distant relatives who may be just as pleasurable and sometimes more.  In other words, I shall never run out of such mindful pleasures.

All I'll have to do is show up.  How hard can that be?

What motivates you? Really? Time to find out.

It's been a while since I've got out of bed deliriously excited about what I will accomplish during the day.  To be honest, I don't think I can remember when the last time was that I did.

Mostly, I rise with a sense of determination that I will get a few things done, things that are mainly related to work.  Occasionally, that determination is garnished with a sliver of enthusiasm.

I think the size of the latter would increase if I wasn't so afraid of not making enough money to meet all my expenses. And I'm certain that the determination could easily be replaced with a raw, spontaneous and unflinching sense of purpose that aspires to put my creative nature to good and novel use, not just for my benefit but for the benefit of others.

With that kind of purpose, who needs determination? The need to create and the application of one's mind, body and spirit to the creative process is just gloriously congealed into one's purpose.  At least, that's what I've discovered.

In the world of cognitive psychology and in corporate and educational circles, this sort of stuff is loosely wrapped up in the concept of 'motivation'.  It's complex, as we tend to discover about most things we give words to.  But, I still found this video both entertaining and informative.

Surprising too, if you haven't really been paying attention to what motivates you (or been completely honest with yourself) and others.

Hope you enjoy it as much as I did. And do let me know what you think.

A woman with hardly unique imperfections

Oh dear.

I can't help feeling a little bit sorry for her. If, as the media reports, she's been in financial strife for some time now, any easy money would be a welcome relief. Besides, 15,000 pounds a year for an ex-wife of a British Prince and the mother of potential heirs to the throne does seem a tad tight-a*sed. 

I mean, doesn't she have airs to put on and an image to keep up (or redeem), regardless of how badly she's tarnished them in the distant and recent past?  It must be hard to live on relatively paltry funds when you've become accustomed to a  considerably more lavish lifestyle. It must be additionally hard when society retains associations of you and the royal family in its selective memory, using that association as an excuse for hurtful mockfests at your personal expense. 

I've never been a royalist and although I choose to remain oblivious to most of their business, I do occasionally get myself a spectator seat at the latest royal circus the media has spotted, or deftly contrived, for our entertainment, ridicule and/or judgment.  Fergie's latest gaffe is one such occasion.

I can't help feeling that the media has been particularly unkind to her over the years.  I'm not sure why. Why I feel this way and why the media has been so.  I don't recall her going out of her way to seek attention. If anything, I often wondered what it was like for her to be cast into obscurity by the blinding light of her supernova sister-in-law, whom I seem to think she had a mostly good relationship with.

I don't even recall her doing anything especially bad or unkind.  But then, as I said, I've not made it a point to follow the royal circus. She might have been horribly mean and nasty for all I know. Still, on the basis of what I do know, I can't help feeling sorry for her.

I'm sure it must have hurt terribly to be called the Duchess of Pork, a slight accorded her for no reason other than her (over)weight.  And to be frequently made the butt of cruel fashion jokes and unfavorably compared with a model-esque sister-in-law must surely have cut deep and painfully. 

No, I'm not suggesting that any of this excuses her latest installment of 'lack of good judgment', but taken in context, it highlights to me the bullying nature of society's unofficial judge and jury - the media - and the very public humiliation of a woman whose hardly unique 'imperfections' have provided many of us with cheap entertainment. 

It's a shame, in so many ways, for so many people, including her daughters. I just hope Fergie survives this.   And I hope that we can all be kinder.

Unconditional commitment - it's a four letter word

This thing called Risk
I just can't handle it
This thing called Risk
I must get round to it
I ain't ready
Crazy little thing called Rissssssssssssk.

(With thanks and 'You're welcome' to Freddie Mercury et al)

To be honest, this is not a word or a concept or a 'thing' that I enjoy. Nope. I like my life risk-free, buttered all around and served on a bed of brilliant crystal, soft to the touch and shatter-proof.

And, to continue in honesty, I really deplore the claims that you cannot grow or progress or gain anything you value without taking risks.  Either the world is inherently flawed in its creative process or we, I, have failed to master its true machinations. I'd prefer to believe the latter.

But how do I sustain such a belief against what appears to be an overwhelming body of evidence to the contrary?  A body of evidence that seems to give support to the claim that I so deplore?

I think I can do it my redefining what I have thus far thought 'risk' to be.  No more shall I see it as the treacherous wilderness I must navigate, fraught with endless possibilities of attack, pain and despair.  No more will it be the loathsome suitor that I must court as the torturous means to the rainbow's end.  No more shall I hide in its ominous shadow, afraid of being noticed and summoned to undesired action.

Instead, I shall redefine risk as love.  Love? And what might that be? Or passion. Oh? Do tell.

Unconditional commitment. According to Kiekegaard. Whose work, Either/Or was mentioned to me by C.Bosco.  That's what passion is - unconditional commitment.

Can you imagine that? To be unconditionally committed to something so that notions of risk and failure and pain and disappointment have absolutely no room, no meaning in your worldview?   What kind of life would that be?

Perfect. Passionate. Wondrous. Glorious. Truly beyond belief for it would supersede all beliefs and all need for beliefs.

Actually, to me that would be the only worthwhile meaning of life. That life would be love.

Give it to me baby!

Better still, I give it to myself.

These vague feelings that had been prowling around my mind

Four million deaths since 1998 in the Republic of Congo.

Less than $1 for a day's work in a rice field in Thailand, provided you make your quota. If you don't, your wages get docked.

An innocent man who's already spent 12 years in a prison in Texas for a crime he never committed.

A twelve year-old girl in Afghanistan who was set on fire for refusing to marry a man thirty years older.

A  three-month old infant in Nigeria dies from a preventable disease.

A protester shot in Bangkok.

100 million more Indians living under the poverty line today than six years ago.

Part of my TV dinner.  This is the world at 6pm on a very normal day.  There is nothing abnormal here, neither my reaction (or lack of it) nor the events that have occurred and that continue to occur.

The words of Phil Collin's 'Just another day in paradise' keep running through my mind. What an odd, odd thing.  Or is it? Perhaps it's as normal as everything else on this very normal day.  But paradise?

Have I lost sight of what's normal?  Is it just as normal for me to be blogging about it?  Am I really interrogating the meaning of 'normal'?  What is this really about?  Is there anything I can do?  Do I want to?

This afternoon, I had a chat with myself. I asked myself what it was that I really wanted?  As images of a grand home, loving partner and family, wealth and world travel fleeted through my mind, another set of images hung around persistently.  Images of homeless people, children dying from preventable diseases,  people living in stinking, putrid squalor and children and adults laboring long hours everyday and not always earning enough to feed themselves.

I asked myself if I felt guilty about wanting the things that I wanted and if having them would be denying those who didn't and couldn't.  No, I didn't feel guilty and no, I didn't believe that.

I asked myself if I still wanted what I'd previously identified I'd wanted as they appeared in those images. Yes, I did.  So why was I still feeling this unease? 

I realized then that more than what I'd wanted for myself, I wanted to share with those people what I knew and believed - that they could have a better life if only they'd believe it were possible.  I just wanted to share with them what I knew and believed, and, if they wanted it, I would help them in whatever way I could. 

My spirit lifted then upon this realization. It was the first time I'd fully articulated these vague feelings that had been prowling around my mind for what I now realized, had been years, in terms of their associated desires. This was perhaps the least  normal thing about my day.