tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62980196946654144572024-02-22T10:32:29.816+00:00From pain to peace, to sunshine from rain'The cluck cluck of chickens
comes through the open window,
floating in from the farm.
It's magic born from sadness and suffering.
It's sunshine made from rain.'
~ Amberlin WuMichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-32007268115342542372013-05-12T01:41:00.003+01:002013-05-12T01:51:50.512+01:00Being Sick With Grace: An Appreciation of Toni Bernhard<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333;">For
the past five years, since who-knows-what triggered a nervous breakdown in the
spring of 2008, I’ve been an anxious little bunny. Intermittently, at least.
It’s always there in the background, and it needs careful managing if I’m to
keep it there. But it’s also </span><i style="color: #333333;">nine</i><span style="color: #333333;">
years since I first developed chronic pain. The anniversary is only a few days
away – 24 May</span><span style="color: #333333;">. I turn to that thought not with an eager bunny hop,
but a kind of regretful sigh. Very few of us look forward to our birthdays as
we get older, as it’s an uneasy reminder of you-know-what. But at least with
birthdays we have something to actually celebrate!</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nine
years sick – as they would say across the pond. Over here it’s ‘ill’ – or, if
you’re a supporter of the Con-Dem government, or believe what you read in the
shit rags – ‘fraud’.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Imagine
the relief I felt when I opened Facebook one day and found that my friend Toni
Bernhard had posted her new blog piece: ’12 Tips from 12 Years Sick’. When I
first ‘met’ her she was just posting ’10 Tips from 10 Years Sick’, and now I’ve
known her as a friend and been helped in very practical (and spiritual) ways by
her work, for two years. That’s a pretty happy anniversary, even if our mutual
‘sickness’ anniversaries, which both occur at around the same time (French Open
Grand Slam – tennis is one of several shared interests), are not.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTld1CsjfY09LnJZS5TnmFjPFTQno9hMt1iobpfhZxB0VkfemPeoIxlzEnE9XQWR5hUiLBEeyubym6G8gkgRaJ6rfDulacHRFl_-wgQ7pgIqDnBphAR3zpWtPBabN9Hi3wZUowWu_Wficz/s1600/toni+bernhard+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTld1CsjfY09LnJZS5TnmFjPFTQno9hMt1iobpfhZxB0VkfemPeoIxlzEnE9XQWR5hUiLBEeyubym6G8gkgRaJ6rfDulacHRFl_-wgQ7pgIqDnBphAR3zpWtPBabN9Hi3wZUowWu_Wficz/s320/toni+bernhard+2.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Toni
Bernhard used to be a law professor at the </span><st1:placetype style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" w:st="on">University</st1:placetype><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
of </span><st1:placename style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" w:st="on">California</st1:placename><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> in </span><st1:city style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Davis</st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. In May 2001, on a trip with her
husband to </span><st1:city style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">,
she fell ill with what she thought was severe flu. She still hasn’t recovered.
Her doctors have classed her illness, which prevents this life-loving, hard
working ex-professor from spending much of her life outside her bedroom, as
Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (M.E. in the UK) – which many people now suspect to be
several (or many) discrete illness(es). Toni sometimes wryly refers to it as
‘Parisian Flu’.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
discovered Toni’s work while listening to a recorded talk by Tara Brach, which
mentioned a new and remarkable book, ‘How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide
for the Chronically Ill and their Caregivers’. And it </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">is</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> remarkable: a clear but conversational self-help book, with an
autobiographical thread running through it. It’s so helpful and at the same
time so personal, that when I read it I feel almost as if she’s talking to me
personally. And yet it’s become a bestseller and has helped countless thousands
of people like me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Apart
from this rare personal quality, other things that struck me in her writing
included a total openness about how it took her years to ‘get it right’ – and
how she still struggles with her illness at times, even now. She understands
how it feels to hear the remark that every chronically ill person has to endure
at times: “But you don’t look sick!” And she believes, and more importantly
shows, how it is possible to find joy and equanimity even when our lives have
taken a drastic turn, and left us with something painful and lifelong
(possibly) that we didn’t ask for. She’s one of the least judgemental people
I’ve ever known – a wonderful expression of Buddhist practice in the midst of
very difficult circumstances.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
wrote Toni a ‘fan email’, and she responded quickly with just the same caring
and friendly tone as I’d found in her book. We then connected on Facebook,
which in a way has become an extension of her work, as her page attracted
thousands of chronically ill admirers of her book, all seeking a connection
with fellow sufferers and wanting to apply the Buddhist-inspired ‘practices’ in
‘How To Be Sick’ to their radically changed lives. Another page, also inspired
by Toni’s work, has a much smaller membership and is very important to me
personally. All of us in the group are struggling at times, and we all express
so much mutual support and caring that it’s a beautiful experience – a kind of
model Buddhist ‘sangha’ (spiritual fellowship) for people with chronic health
problems. I’ve made some very, very dear friends through Toni’s work, and of
course Toni is one of them.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQKE8Ojc0wPfHCep01j9oRW-fshgK2kLwlPqhvlvu1V2yw3RdMUxFflhk3RklByEI1Anf2Gph431_XrnQj9cubGHjsLEQwd1h-TijSscqlalEO33qKI7Mb8BWZ8U6iAnywD4tl3M6EANi/s1600/2013.04.27+bedroom+buddha+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQKE8Ojc0wPfHCep01j9oRW-fshgK2kLwlPqhvlvu1V2yw3RdMUxFflhk3RklByEI1Anf2Gph431_XrnQj9cubGHjsLEQwd1h-TijSscqlalEO33qKI7Mb8BWZ8U6iAnywD4tl3M6EANi/s320/2013.04.27+bedroom+buddha+(2).JPG" width="235" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When
I first met Toni I wasn’t a Buddhist, although I did try to apply practices
such as mindfulness to help cope with pain and anxiety. Now I think I </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">am</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> a Buddhist, albeit a secular one with
an attitude towards this ancient ‘faith’ very similar to that in Toni’s book.
Whatever her private, personal beliefs, her book doesn’t mention rebirth in a
literal sense, for example. It’s a purely practical approach which can be
applied to anyone’s life, whether they consider themselves Buddhist or not.
Toni has helped me resolve more than one confusion about Buddhist thought, and is
one of the people who have helped me to accept that I can try to follow the
Buddha’s core teachings without a belief in anything beyond the material
universe. I’m very grateful to her for this, too.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So
I can safely say that she’s one of the teachers who, in recent years, has
helped to change my life. Like her, I find refuge from my difficulties in the
music of Mozart and Beethoven, and the love of our partners and pets – we
already had those things in common. But I also find it in the friendship and
support of people I would never have met without her – giving me the
opportunity to give to others with similar struggles in life, and to receive
from them too. And now I can also find refuge in the teachings of the Buddha,
which Toni has helped to clarify for me, and who (in her words) ‘never claimed
to be more than a human being. He found pain just as painful as you and I do. I
take this as a reminder that the equanimity and joy we see in the many images
of him are within the reach of every one of us’ (from ‘How to Be Sick’).</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTLaJZETSjjAaaJ3Yfb2q3mwjxt6JGnhAoqDpu4UTs-6c1DTWPjLAaHXKpb5C1au-4hy0raojUbD2kAeonw3FpRhrwVd4vIDcB3ByKLou7RUYgVaNjpf809VbsYfXN68z04ZgMqmv8UBO/s1600/25791_1352050798018_7682317_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTLaJZETSjjAaaJ3Yfb2q3mwjxt6JGnhAoqDpu4UTs-6c1DTWPjLAaHXKpb5C1au-4hy0raojUbD2kAeonw3FpRhrwVd4vIDcB3ByKLou7RUYgVaNjpf809VbsYfXN68z04ZgMqmv8UBO/s320/25791_1352050798018_7682317_n.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In
September, Toni’s second book, ‘How To Wake Up: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide to
Navigating Joy and Sorrow’, will be published. I wish her all possible success
with it, all the more so because I can only imagine how hard it must have been
to write it while suffering with severe flu that never goes away. And I’m
having to apply a little Buddhist equanimity to manage my own craving to read
it! Meanwhile, here’s a link to Toni’s latest blog post, for any of my
followers who haven’t discovered her regular ‘Psychology Today’ blog. Of her
’12 Tips’, I especially like No 2 (I know I’m in pain, I know I’m disabled, and
that’s good enough for me); No 4 – which redefines the concept of work and
usefulness to society; and No 7 – after all, where on earth would I and many of
my friends be without the internet? Our hidden ‘culture of the sick’,
unobserved by most of the rest of the world, has a vital and compassionate life
in the world on our computers – and my, do we need it!</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/turning-straw-gold/201305/12-tips-12-years-sick" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" target="_blank">12 Tips from 12 Years Sick</a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thank you, Toni, for everything else you’ve shared with so many of us. My
chronic illnesses are still difficult to manage, but you are one of my
treasured guides on how to live with them easier. There are joys in life which
I would never have discovered, if I hadn’t been nine years sick.</span></div>
<br />
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-73255196870816091252013-04-26T19:37:00.001+01:002013-04-26T19:38:15.828+01:00My Place in the Family of Things<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJXiTcb8iV7ZNFEFirP_cbR1vU6i8b-gPxNb0_QLIl46NwIXZ5EMwz92ODlJJ5JVHtIDQgMk3dWbCGL5I0OMpRzWGsEKQ7LA6tjoaG64BOnflisVtkC40lgsSifE1Huj8B3nNHfO6FC3B/s1600/308421_10151138670439456_864521377_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJXiTcb8iV7ZNFEFirP_cbR1vU6i8b-gPxNb0_QLIl46NwIXZ5EMwz92ODlJJ5JVHtIDQgMk3dWbCGL5I0OMpRzWGsEKQ7LA6tjoaG64BOnflisVtkC40lgsSifE1Huj8B3nNHfO6FC3B/s320/308421_10151138670439456_864521377_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the
past five years or so I’ve done several MBCT (Mindfulness-Based Cognitive
Therapy) courses, and this poem by Mary Oliver always seems to come up in them.
I fell in love with it immediately; even the first line is a revelation. For me
it says something about how our conditioning complicates our life with
unnecessary struggle and suffering. It feels like a window into another life I
previously never knew existed – full of light and air and movement, and of
course freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Having a
chronic pain condition and spending much of my life these days indoors (no
longer able to run, let alone fly!) gives it an extra poignancy for me. And right now, if I'm not <i>quite</i> family-less, I'm still feeling scared and uprooted as I have for the past six months. But the
world still ‘offers itself up’. The cry of the wild geese may be ‘harsh’ at
times, but it’s still life – and all of us, whether we feel we belong to it or
not, we really do!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wild Geese<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You do not have to be good.<br />
You do not have to walk on your knees<br />
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.<br />
You only have to let the soft animal of your body<br />
love what it loves.<br />
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.<br />
Meanwhile the world goes on.<br />
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain<br />
are moving across the landscapes,<br />
over the prairies and the deep trees, <br />
the mountains and the rivers.<br />
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,<br />
are heading home again.<br />
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,<br />
the world offers itself up to your imagination,<br />
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -<br />
over and over announcing your place<br />
in the family of things.</span>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-65564163692353565412013-04-01T02:30:00.001+01:002013-04-01T15:31:29.451+01:00Loving Life No Matter What<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZWU8H8XsvNwh_z5tR0LQBOzgJKJFSRjTeh51VPyuisKjQKdD-flfENBFDLS5C5i178sPRjNjxDkhYm_6lyiIKXbZDUDIusfw_7BQ9eva6Bf3-jVtR1fUrw5NY092hF8XmYKmIdkNd0ZI/s1600/morainelake430265_460044050696637_327339707_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZWU8H8XsvNwh_z5tR0LQBOzgJKJFSRjTeh51VPyuisKjQKdD-flfENBFDLS5C5i178sPRjNjxDkhYm_6lyiIKXbZDUDIusfw_7BQ9eva6Bf3-jVtR1fUrw5NY092hF8XmYKmIdkNd0ZI/s400/morainelake430265_460044050696637_327339707_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Moraine Lake, Alberta, Canada (photographer unknown)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">I
have this picture of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Moraine Lake</st1:city>,
<st1:country-region w:st="on">Canada</st1:country-region></st1:place>, by my
bed (tilted sideways so I can look at it while lying down). It reminds me of
the last year I was well: 2003, and a beautiful memory of travelling through
the wilderness with Angie. We rowed out into the middle of this lake, nestled deep
in the <st1:place w:st="on">Rocky Mountains</st1:place>, in a little canoe. Although
the weather, though fine, was quite different that day, this picture is still a
vivid reminder of a place which feels like a sanctuary. It's so tranquil and
still, and I can almost meditate just feeling a part of it. It's comforting. I
so need comfort right now. I so need a true refuge inside myself.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">I’m
feeling that even more now, because today has been SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!! I mean twenty-four hours of absolute fuck! My heart
has been breaking, but at the same time, worryingly, I can feel myself begin to
numb to it, dissociating from my feelings. <i>“Ah yes, Michael, but then it’s
always about your feelings, isn’t it…”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">I
want to look at life and feel it the way Tara Brach does, but I can’t seem to. In
her new book ‘True Refuge’, she writes of ‘loving life no matter what’, of
being ‘happy for no reason’. She’s an experienced meditator, of course, and it’s
only recently, as chronic pain has crept into her life, that she’s been able to
do this. All the same, she’s an inspiration to me. And I know I don’t practice mindful
awareness on a regular basis, so I haven’t really begun to put that inspiration
into effect. Perhaps I will now, because living the rest of my life like this
is not really what I want. I want to deeply, feelingly love life – the whole
damn catastrophe of it all, pain or no pain! But all I
seem able to do is love little bits of it. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMG9cXo2qfSc-qurDdZ53TyFc4F_r5Hbfjnv8SczpYlzb-3woHI0-sGD_tH1ZqazJYUvHGvMqdsVFzelVkBu-7dkjZP30MOEipxxX29f64IfhBWSDxRY3DqiIt21ZnWhyGfxG3aiIDrXkc/s1600/2003.09.19+michael+moraine+lake.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMG9cXo2qfSc-qurDdZ53TyFc4F_r5Hbfjnv8SczpYlzb-3woHI0-sGD_tH1ZqazJYUvHGvMqdsVFzelVkBu-7dkjZP30MOEipxxX29f64IfhBWSDxRY3DqiIt21ZnWhyGfxG3aiIDrXkc/s200/2003.09.19+michael+moraine+lake.JPG" width="141" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Angie Roche,<br />
Moraine Lake,<br />
September 2003</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">I
want to be happy for no reason.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Perhaps
this passage, adapted from the deeply moving final chapter of ‘True Refuge’,
will give you some idea of what I mean. If it resonates with a similar longing in your own life, my heartfelt wish is that you, both of us, all of us, will be able to find a way to love life no matter what.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://blog.tarabrach.com/2013/03/happy-for-no-reason.html" target="_blank">http://blog.tarabrach.com/2013/03/happy-for-no-reason.html</a></div>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-84641809503445004622013-03-18T13:28:00.000+00:002013-03-18T14:32:36.323+00:00Forgetting They're Real<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7h2ipJMX5H1939FR2kq8EGLQ7mXQuJq_CNNm6Hz5OBgn_UIcKhBghDETHMj7p0EbjHjRXguglmmjXIJbW7QKt0XHaI-AafUbUDsPg3F2s9kT8o4wTgTrUBH2vgkCllPvuI66iDGmhkSGK/s1600/25960_540821445941998_1931512833_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7h2ipJMX5H1939FR2kq8EGLQ7mXQuJq_CNNm6Hz5OBgn_UIcKhBghDETHMj7p0EbjHjRXguglmmjXIJbW7QKt0XHaI-AafUbUDsPg3F2s9kT8o4wTgTrUBH2vgkCllPvuI66iDGmhkSGK/s320/25960_540821445941998_1931512833_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Photographer unknown</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Tony Blair’s government, bless their little
whiter-than-white cotton socks, did about two good things during their decade
in power, and one of them was criminalising hunting with dogs. Typically,
however, they did it badly, leaving whopping great loopholes that have led to
countless foxes being accidentally on purpose torn to shreds. It would have
made more sense to have gone the whole way, and ban the activity completely.
But maybe they didn’t want to upset the Bloodsports Alliance further – strange
really, as they never seemed too scared of upsetting the rest of us!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">It was too much, however, for the bunch of high class
hooligans and Boy Mulcasters currently at the reins of our country. Not content
with destroying the economy and starting the smash-up of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s
treasured welfare services, they announced soon after taking office that they
wanted to repeal the hunting act. But to simply do so would make them too
unpopular with townies. Just like asylum seekers, Muslims, benefits claimants
and now even the disabled, wildlife had to be demonised. And so, ever so
coincidentally, the right-wing tabloids started publishing a spate of scare
stories about foxes (urban ones, mostly, but then it’s the town dwellers they
mostly needed to convince). It didn’t matter that we live in one of the safest
countries in the world where wildlife is concerned (due to having several
friends with Lyme disease, I’m far more frightened of ticks than I am of any
mammal), or that you’re far more likely to be bitten (if not mauled) by the
beloved pooch down the road than you are by a fox. As Hitler famously said, and
Tony Blair disastrously continued to prove, (some) people will believe any lie
if you make it big enough and tell it often enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzCfwOvbdavDL9Ch4hKhnz_N4_g8INQMcYfJmNGulw7g5YaMJ0I7oZn2IvL5prbaYEKKlfCyChoHCEwFuR1Wd4AKwdDEPGLMbUzComsRVTyMO-5vWoDKj5Q_NywbSfuntNy4Va1pITVRw/s1600/251311_10151204654264642_2102454694_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzCfwOvbdavDL9Ch4hKhnz_N4_g8INQMcYfJmNGulw7g5YaMJ0I7oZn2IvL5prbaYEKKlfCyChoHCEwFuR1Wd4AKwdDEPGLMbUzComsRVTyMO-5vWoDKj5Q_NywbSfuntNy4Va1pITVRw/s320/251311_10151204654264642_2102454694_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Artist unknown</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">These scare stories have not let up since. Reports of
people having been mugged by foxes for their bag of chips, terrified by them as
they sat cool as cucumbers on their bed, or bitten because they were silly
enough to offer them a hand instead of a sandwich, still proliferate. Then, a
month ago an unattended baby had its finger bitten by a fox that wandered
in through an open door, and suddenly the Mayor of a panic-stricken <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> was calling for a
cull.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNCV1FNDpwiQuOA-doWTCUgLpkPgOJReUOA7_jNRkgoEEhWbZunGhYF1a94iP0loiK0azS_LmHyGubVtJZ9h2s96qtLvPu05yfMHHhqL4YB48DtQOiPQEEaamAk5ogYZqJVz5N_aRiG5Yh/s1600/M+057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNCV1FNDpwiQuOA-doWTCUgLpkPgOJReUOA7_jNRkgoEEhWbZunGhYF1a94iP0loiK0azS_LmHyGubVtJZ9h2s96qtLvPu05yfMHHhqL4YB48DtQOiPQEEaamAk5ogYZqJVz5N_aRiG5Yh/s320/M+057.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Frodo or Flo at the British Wildlife Centre</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">An interesting thing often happens if you spend any time
actually watching animals. Whenever I’m lucky enough to see an urban fox, it
either runs away or sits still and looks at me, probably hoping I have a
sausage roll in my hand. But two years ago I had the opportunity to get really
close to two foxes, Frodo and Flo (and on another occasion Ellis the cub), at
the British Wildlife Centre in <st1:place w:st="on">Surrey</st1:place>. This is
what I wrote back then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The British Wildlife
Centre is an hour’s drive away from Eastbourne, and very close to the beautiful
<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Ashdown</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Forest</st1:placetype></st1:place> (where a certain Winnie-the-Pooh
once lived). Last autumn I visited it with Angie, and for about half an hour or
so I spent time in their fox enclosure, photographing these beautiful animals
as they were fed by the keepers. I got some lovely photos, but it was also a
very moving experience for me. As I sat so near the foxes, I couldn’t imagine
how anyone could want to chase, terrify and kill them. Their resemblance to
certain household pets (and I always think of them as curiously cat-like dogs,
even though they’re far more closely related to the latter) was incredibly
striking. The same look of intelligence was present in their eyes and
behaviour. Would any of those ‘hunters’ traumatise and kill their beloved dogs
or cats? No!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYAupWKE2T0LslMRdnUOe0m5tt70Z1l6KXNVoJAUV4azJXoEpDDEQzxfl2yp_1Fi-W60GusBlXBcXoIZHkSk0TyRroqn1Mr6MDIh85qeg8NUajgufUJc-Eo488qMouEVNYLGzvNhc3E7Cx/s1600/M+090c1e1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYAupWKE2T0LslMRdnUOe0m5tt70Z1l6KXNVoJAUV4azJXoEpDDEQzxfl2yp_1Fi-W60GusBlXBcXoIZHkSk0TyRroqn1Mr6MDIh85qeg8NUajgufUJc-Eo488qMouEVNYLGzvNhc3E7Cx/s320/M+090c1e1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Waiting for chick dinner!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">My passion for foxes
really began in those moments of closeness. I tend to agree with the Buddha
that most acts of evil or cruelty are done in ignorance of our shared natures.
We don’t have to anthropomorphise animals to make this true. It’s a scientific
fact that we’re all related; humans and all other animals have common
ancestors. – </span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">(<i>Shared Natures</i>, 22 April 2012)<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Sentimental? Anthropomorphic? Maybe, but then I don’t
really care – either of those traits is harmless in this instance. But I fell
in love with foxes that day. They’re extraordinary animals, now threatened with
the ultimate punishment for simply doing their best to make a living in the
world (just like us) – and doing it
pretty well, I might add! And far from being ‘vermin’, as they’re so often
described in the bog roll papers, they have far more in common with our beloved
and ever popular pet dogs and cats. Imagine if a council called for the
confiscation of all dog-owners’ pets, on the grounds that they ‘might’ attack
someone (which happens about every day). People would be outraged, wouldn’t
they? Some people love their dogs so much, they’d probably put their lives on
the line to protect them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0mYGq_8drGShFszgaxuNc7lnslBjU_LrTZEPYC4Q-Nx19LAL2QCIHlRMz-aemYlKyl1sKVpOhn-ued_huXH5xae6Ke7BDJUEX1gYTL_3x4s-vvOkTGGbhJ8b7h8LCJR_RKHh8shQCxOC/s1600/M+080c1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0mYGq_8drGShFszgaxuNc7lnslBjU_LrTZEPYC4Q-Nx19LAL2QCIHlRMz-aemYlKyl1sKVpOhn-ued_huXH5xae6Ke7BDJUEX1gYTL_3x4s-vvOkTGGbhJ8b7h8LCJR_RKHh8shQCxOC/s320/M+080c1.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ellis with the keeper who hand-reared him</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Yet in the end, the prejudice against foxes results only
from ignorance – that and a credulity about what people read in the papers. People
who spend time with our fellow mammals (and foxes are very close relatives of
ours, as organisms go), know them and recognise their kinship with us.
Children, especially, are capable of relating even to ‘primitive’ animals that
most of us would find difficult to like. Here’s the psychotherapist, meditation
teacher and writer Tara Brach, writing about her son:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">On my son Narayan's
sixth birthday I gave him an ant farm. He spent hours watching with fascination
as the little creatures magically created their network of tunnels. He named
several and followed their struggles and progress closely. After a few weeks he
pointed out the ants' graveyard and watched with wonder as several of them
dragged the bodies of their dead comrades and deposited them there. The
following day when I picked Narayan up after school he was visibly distressed.
He told me that on the playground the kids had made a game out of stepping on
ants. He was horrified that they were hurting these friends he so admired.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">I tried to comfort him
by explaining that when we really spend time with any living beings -- as he
had with the ants -- we find out that they are real. They are changing,
animated, hungry, social. Like us, their life is fragile and they want to stay
alive. His playmates hadn't had the chance to get to know ants in the way he
did, I told him. If they had, they wouldn't want to injure them either. – </span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">(<i>Radical Acceptance</i>, 2003)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgArv4RaUFi3b4Fq9BrTWAKQ1Iz1puIkmD7RAmWU_P_tyh7yFYSad8i9QdbJgtjaYJYQ_ujAPou09En_7Ww8kJiRsapPBi_UNsGo0qVMAfacRf5_Kzb7A-ecMhSfv5oand0qisuGl6Bym29/s1600/M+108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgArv4RaUFi3b4Fq9BrTWAKQ1Iz1puIkmD7RAmWU_P_tyh7yFYSad8i9QdbJgtjaYJYQ_ujAPou09En_7Ww8kJiRsapPBi_UNsGo0qVMAfacRf5_Kzb7A-ecMhSfv5oand0qisuGl6Bym29/s320/M+108.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Am I in focus?"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Increasingly in this world where war and persecution seem
to have become the norm, many people seem drawn to the Buddhist philosophy of
non-harming – from the rise in vegetarianism, to all those who work or
volunteer for animal rescue or conservation projects. And people love wildlife;
see how popular TV programmes like ‘Springwatch’, ‘Countryfile’ and David
Attenborough’s series are! Except that, when hate, fear and prejudice are
stirred up by the gutter press, people don’t want their wildlife on their
doorstep – or disabled people or ‘scroungers’, either. So many of us are so
easily stirred up into prejudice and fear. Fear, of foxes! It’s nonsensical to
me, because when we get really close to them we usually love them. But so much
is nonsensical in this deteriorating country, which shows every day just how
easily (some) people’s prejudices can be switched on – with just a headline or
two!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjCNgCPisz0cZbR1XL0xo6avQc_orSEY3kVIV7cyALmxScQjc2zVERg88IJpVVu3ieGEc-0yjRFrn9W4yADsqA6o9kXNOltFh65aaX3KnRHoYtS8m6ylJLDgiMnK7F7o2ieVwJCV8uoh-/s1600/M+220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjCNgCPisz0cZbR1XL0xo6avQc_orSEY3kVIV7cyALmxScQjc2zVERg88IJpVVu3ieGEc-0yjRFrn9W4yADsqA6o9kXNOltFh65aaX3KnRHoYtS8m6ylJLDgiMnK7F7o2ieVwJCV8uoh-/s320/M+220.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Frodo and Flo love to sleep in the sun.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">There are many reasons why culling foxes is impractical and ineffective, from the ridiculous expense (in a time of 'austerity'!) to the fact that new fox families tend to move into the vacant territory afterwards. But surely the worst thing about a cull would be the totally unnecessary cruelty involved. Urban foxes aren’t the ones the toffs in power want to
hunt, of course. The calls for a cull are mainly to help influence public
opinion, through appealing to the worst in our natures. Demonising wildlife
means that we then start to see them as ‘other’, as pieces of vermin that can
be hunted without qualms. To allude to <st1:place w:st="on">Tara</st1:place>’s
words, we forget that they are real – that like us, they only do what they know
how to do, to be happy, to survive. Most of us love wildlife, but unfortunately
it’s the psychopaths (of whatever party) who ‘run’ the country, and control the
media who support them. And if they apparently have no qualms about
exterminating human beings for political reasons, they’re not likely to feel
guilty about some of their core voters terrorising and killing our fellow creatures,
whose skins some people still wear to keep their dainty little necks warm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-51180814788255128682013-03-14T01:48:00.003+00:002013-03-14T03:10:15.383+00:00The Human Need for Myth, Part 2<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUwemRXFOZ9YLkdCOV1r7BML19RBuaaoJybDj3C0zTRIuO5JYn2QQGrUvZ96FgUqXDC0DsQY_k3h3-B5n7Vk9AVPZZ7APnVOtFTsAE6dAnHRburPsj0mc-gyoYXwFD5lsGtmH_jc9pVfP0/s1600/as17-148-22727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUwemRXFOZ9YLkdCOV1r7BML19RBuaaoJybDj3C0zTRIuO5JYn2QQGrUvZ96FgUqXDC0DsQY_k3h3-B5n7Vk9AVPZZ7APnVOtFTsAE6dAnHRburPsj0mc-gyoYXwFD5lsGtmH_jc9pVfP0/s320/as17-148-22727.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I never expected to be writing a sequel to my previous blog post (and it
started out as a simple postscript!), but I guess it’s not surprising, since
Karen Armstrong’s book stimulated a lot of thought. And it concerns a subject
where my own thoughts are still developing, because I’m comfortable neither with
religion (even Buddhism, or at least not quite), or with atheistic
views which pose science as something which has made all myth obsolete. As a
result, my views tend to shift about a bit. In my initial flush of enthusiasm
for ‘A Short History of Myth’, I was apt to half-consciously put aside one of
my irritations, which was Armstrong's apparent tendency to be prejudiced against science
as the opposite of myth – a prejudice for<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>mythos</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>over <i>logos</i>. I think I did this
because, with my own prejudice for science over religion, I was afraid I might
not be responding objectively.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Towards the end of writing my piece, I began to be aware that Armstrong
had missed something, in her passionate pleas for new myths to help enrich and
protect the world we now live in. As I suggested in my paragraphs about the
cosmos, the discoveries of science might not be incompatible with myth, and
novels may not be the sole reduced form of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>mythos</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>in our globalised society. Richard
Dawkins, who in my least-favourite book of his (‘The God Delusion’), applies
his tendency to literal-mindedness least appropriately, still makes some very
good points; and one is that the real universe revealed by science is
infinitely more wondrous and unimaginable than that depicted in any creation
myth (though I have a deep fondness for Tolkien’s myth, in which the universe
is ‘sung’ into existence by… what? … whom?). This may well be because myths are
about<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>us<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>– they concern
human problems, fears, needs and aspirations. And, in comparison with
scientific revelations, religions (especially in their own literal-minded
forms) are noticeable for their parochialism. Their concerns seem so small, so
limited, so lacking in a sense of deep wonder. My suggestion is that scientific
discovery has made this apparent, and that religions tend to be out-of-date
myths. They simply don’t fit the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>scale, whether imagined literally or
mythically, and this may be why for many people they’ve degenerated into
childish literal beliefs or (at worst) fundamentalism. Our new myths, I think,
need to be compatible with the true infinite that science describes so
literally, but whose richness is capable of being applied to very human myths.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Our world is so often described as globalised, yet it feels so
tragically fragmented – a almost-planetary culture hardly holding itself
together, tiny parts of it fighting other tiny parts, a vicious empire trying
to divide and conquer, nobody sure of what’s true anymore, and with many of
those who think they<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>are<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>sure
being the most frightening. <i>‘Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold…’</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>A big reason for this may be the
absence of a unifying mythology to bring people together and express our
problems, fears, needs and aspirations… It’s not difficult to see why Armstrong
feels that without mythology, ‘we will not save our planet’.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And yet, the universe that Carl Sagan evoked so vividly that it almost
had the resonance of myth, may contain the elements of a unifying mythology. I
say mythology and not religion, which tends to solidify and become dogma,
and probably <i>is</i> incompatible with
science! Religion tends to stagnate or fragment into opposing (often minutely
different) dogmas; but myths can constantly develop and evolve, just as folk
tales do; and science, (if pursued diligently) modifies and develops its
understanding constantly. ‘We are made of star stuff’ – what could be the germ
of a more wonderful and unifying myth than that! Myths which emphasise both our
unity and diversity (the Vulcan people in ‘Star Trek’ have a wonderful saying,
‘infinite diversity in infinite combinations’) might be just the kind to help
to lift the human species out of its fragmented despair, its sleepwalking into
destruction. The advantage of such myths would be that, far from being
antithetical to the real universe which Copernicus and Kepler and Bruno and
Galileo first began to reveal, they would actually be informed by the realities
that we are all a part of – from the unimaginably vast cosmos to the
incomprehensibly small universe of DNA, which really does unify everything on
this planet, really<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>is<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>infinite
diversity in infinite combinations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Armstrong, I think, misses a trick – or rather, she misses the hope of a
brighter future for<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>mythos</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and for our planet. I think we can see
glimpses of it in the explosion of new-age beliefs (such as the ones that
permeate Facebook), which express the human sense of wonder and need for unity,
but remain based on only fragmentary and flawed understandings of science.
Another is the subtle change in human consciousness that was triggered by the
Apollo lunar missions in the late 1960s and early 1970s. For the first time in
the whole history of our planet, life forms from this planet left the cradle
and stood on the surface of another world. When I think about this, it doesn’t really matter to me that the necessary money and technology was only ploughed into the
‘space race’ because of political rivalries and military tensions (which is
why, once America had ‘won’ and proved its ‘superiority’, the money and
political support stopped coming and the dreams of so many of us went back to
being dreams again). It remains in some ways the most tremendous achievement of
the human species, and is so full of mythic resonance that I get chills just
thinking about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">On Christmas Eve, 1968, the astronauts of Apollo 8 (how appropriate that
the programme was named after a great mythical god!) orbited the Moon for the
first time, and both photographed and filmed our own world rising above the
lunar surface. It was broadcast live internationally, while astronaut Frank
Borman read the opening lines of Genesis. Near four years later, the Apollo 17
crew photographed the whole earth as they returned from the moon.
This photograph (reproduced above) has become one of the most famous and iconic
ever. The image is dominated by the landmasses of Africa, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Madagascar</st1:country-region> and <st1:place w:st="on">Antarctica</st1:place>,
surrounded by deep blue ocean and swirling white cloud. Around it is the deep,
impenetrable, utter darkness of space. The photograph has almost become an
iconic image for the environmental movement, and it’s not hard to see why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">By the end of the 1970s, two small automated spacecraft were visiting
the biggest and most mysterious planets in our solar system, beginning with
Jupiter and Saturn. By 1990, having fulfilled its task perfectly, <i>Voyager 1</i> was
high above the plane of the solar system, and about six billion kilometres from
Earth. It was the furthest anything from our planet had ever travelled (and it will continue travelling, in theory, for ever, there not being much for it to collide with). At the
request of Carl Sagan, NASA commanded the spacecraft to take an image of the
sun and various planets in the solar system from this vast distance. In a small part of this photograph is the Earth, and thanks to its use as the theme of a book
by Sagan, it's become known as the Pale Blue Dot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PGO_NTdDmPuPLgK8WaHwhdwX4i83AlKjKvGCK7-Xb06KdBg8dKwQc7SO5wqx3W5267-AmGixri_WeNQkneA_t_aKWHpmujtl__EoZrMTzdoqCewBkbqBylvaqJsGAxW5AznEtlNk78RU/s1600/PaleBlueDot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PGO_NTdDmPuPLgK8WaHwhdwX4i83AlKjKvGCK7-Xb06KdBg8dKwQc7SO5wqx3W5267-AmGixri_WeNQkneA_t_aKWHpmujtl__EoZrMTzdoqCewBkbqBylvaqJsGAxW5AznEtlNk78RU/s320/PaleBlueDot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The image is dominated by a scattered light ray caused by the close
apparent distance of the sun to the earth from such a huge distance. In the
centre of this ray is the Earth, so small that it takes up less than one pixel
in the entire image of which this is a part. In his book ‘Pale Blue Dot: A
Vision of the Human Future in Space’ (1997), Sagan commented on the meaning
that this photograph had for him: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular
interest. But for us, it's different. Consider again that dot. That's here.
That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone
you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The
aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions,
ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and
coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant,
every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor
and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every
"superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner
in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in
a sunbeam.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">The Earth is a very small stage in a
vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals
and emperors so that in glory and triumph they could become the momentary
masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants
of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some
other corner. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill
one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined
self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the
universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely
speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity – in all this
vastness – there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us
from ourselves. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Earth is the only world known, so far, to harbor
life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species
could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment, the
Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling
and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of
the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me,
it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to
preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Here is the seed of a myth – probably very many myths. And although the
apparent insignificance of our home as revealed by <i>Voyager 1</i> in this image may
frighten or disturb some people, it reveals truths which, at this moment in
human history, have never been more urgent for us to realise. The futility of
our fighting, the parochialism of so many of our concerns, the fragility of life
(and probably the <i>rareness</i> of life), our apparent aloneness, and our
responsibility to be the wise stewards of what is so far the only life we know
in all this emptiness… If we were to heed these truths, and simultaneously
awake to the wonders that exist on our planet and beyond, then we may not even
need mythology (certainly not religion as we know it now) to help bring
humanity together and help us live noble lives. It may be that the push forward
into space that began half a century ago (and now appears to have stagnated) could lead us to a point where humans have outgrown the need for mythology – in
at least some of its forms. Personally, I’m not so sure. For one thing, humans
love to tell stories, and if as a species we ever wake up to the realities
that Sagan reflected upon, then I’d expect those realities to inform many of
our stories. But I do think that scientific discovery, far from being cold and
clinical and concerned only with creating high technologies, provides a hopeful
vision for the Earth’s future, if we can listen to it in the right way. And
there’s so reason why mythologies far grander and more truthful – perhaps also
more fragile and human - than anything of the kind we’ve imagined so far,
might not be a part of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">To help save us all, we probably do – as Armstrong says – need<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>mythos</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>logos</i>.
This means that we need an ability to think mythically (therefore a deeper
understanding of myth and its importance in human history), as well as a deeper
and wider education about science. Sagan was always calling for the latter when
he was alive, and Dawkins does the same now. But as the previous century
showed, we need to be careful what kinds of myths we create.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">As Karen Armstrong says, so many destructive myths took hold during the
twentieth century, and they haven’t gone away now. It was a century of
unparalleled technological and scientific development; yet it left the human
need for myth in despair, and that need turned to myths of separateness rather
than the celebration of unity in diversity that we could have had. A richer
education would reveal to far more of us that myth is different from religious
dogma, and that science is not limited to technology (which is actually more of
a by-product of science). With these levels of understanding, new, far wider,
more wonderful and more truthful myths might grow. And the human species might
really have something to aspire to.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">At the present point in human history, this doesn’t seem to me very
likely. But there are seeds of hope. The question is whether or not they can
grow and flourish in this climate.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-33122499413249841702013-02-24T14:30:00.001+00:002013-03-14T01:19:55.677+00:00The Human Need for Myth<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMc6uD6LHM5McKh_P0Bnr1iQzuSpdwWAoJLKBosDv0Kv3DupbWWD4XtlmLDOlRcGaiyMFrY_iv1bkqkPBTCbCuWi6NehCOe_33TIq3C5VgMAisJ3oEUnI4f5-_6-iZHMN7Vu8R46-VwMT/s1600/51kXlvrWtbL._SL500_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-big,TopRight,35,-73_OU02_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMc6uD6LHM5McKh_P0Bnr1iQzuSpdwWAoJLKBosDv0Kv3DupbWWD4XtlmLDOlRcGaiyMFrY_iv1bkqkPBTCbCuWi6NehCOe_33TIq3C5VgMAisJ3oEUnI4f5-_6-iZHMN7Vu8R46-VwMT/s320/51kXlvrWtbL._SL500_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-big,TopRight,35,-73_OU02_.jpg" width="208" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve just finished reading Karen Armstrong’s book, ‘A
Short History of Myth’, which my partner Angie found in a charity shop and
brought home for me. I was ambivalent about reading it, and to be honest I
still am - slightly. But it’s a quite absorbing and informative book, despite a
few biases and omissions, and packs a great deal of rich thought and ideas into
its 140 pages.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Knowing Armstrong’s Christian background (she was a
Catholic nun for several years, but
writes ecumenically about all the world’s main religions), I was worriedly expecting
it to have an anti-scientific bias, which I think <i>is</i> somewhat evident in the final chapter. She does however,
describe myth and science as in some sense opposites, accepting that we ‘need
both’ in order to fully live in and understand the world. And despite my own,
normally scientific bias, I share her concern about the way that the
consequences of the Age of Enlightenment have made it difficult for many of us
to think mythically. Scientists like Richard Dawkins (much as I like much of
his work) often seem to regard myths as nothing more than ham-fisted, ignorant,
childish attempts to explain the Creation or the physical universe around us.
What Armstrong says is that the whole point of myths is that they’re not literally
true. The Genesis myth is not literally true, and Jesus himself was
mythologised by <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">St Paul</st1:place></st1:city>.
The Catholic doctrine of original sin (which, amongst other things, began the
Church’s morbid preoccupation with sexuality), was <st1:city w:st="on">St
Augustine</st1:city>’s re-interpretation of the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Eden</st1:place></st1:city> myth, and has no real basis in the
Bible. The ‘Holy Trinity’ is a myth created to express the impossibility of
limiting the inexpressible to a ‘Father God’ or other such representations. She
might have said (though she doesn’t) that ‘The Lord of the Rings’ or the
Arthurian myths are not literally true. A successful myth is ‘true’ in the
sense that it expresses, obliquely and through metaphor, deep truths about our
lives and encourage us to live in certain ways (often through hardship) and with
nobility and courage. If a myth moves us deeply and brings a sense of
deep-rooted, ethical meaning into our lives, then it is ‘true’. It’s a
successful myth. A myth that doesn’t do this is unsuccessful and fades away. But
the fact that none of them are literally true does not make them unimportant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
In such a short book, Armstrong leaves a lot out and her own fields of interest
are consequently very evident. In a way, she might almost have called the book
‘A Short History of Religion’. She concentrates, after taking us through the
Paleolithic and Neolithic periods (which I feel involves a fair few
simplifications about these vast periods of time, and a lot of guesswork about
the mythologies described, since none of them were written down at the time),
mainly on the three Abrahamic religions, with a fair amount of space given to
Buddhism and Hinduism and a bit about Confucianism. So: the Middle East, <st1:country-region w:st="on">India</st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. But that leaves a lot
missing, surely? What about the pantheistic mythologies of the native North
Americans? Or the so-called Celts and the people who built the prehistoric
stone monuments of <st1:country-region w:st="on">Britain</st1:country-region>
and <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Brittany</st1:place></st1:state>?
These latter people always get left out, as if we Brits are still encouraged to
think of our ancestors as sunk in the depths of barbarism while <st1:country-region w:st="on">Egypt</st1:country-region> and <st1:place w:st="on">Mesopotamia</st1:place>
were inventing the modern world. But recent developments in archaeology are
bringing about some fascinating ideas about the religions and mythologies of
the ancient British – the people who created the awesome and richly suggestive
sacred landscapes of Orkney and Wiltshire. Admittedly these theories are
unlikely to be definitively proven, for obvious reasons, and perhaps they fall
within the generalised category of prehistoric mythology described in the first
two chapters. But I missed even the briefest reference to my own prehistoric
ancestors, and felt that they surely deserve a glance even in a ‘short’
history.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What I learned about the Abrahamic religions (Judaism,
Christianity and Islam), was fascinating. Apparently it’s only in recent times that their
sacred texts have been taken as literally as they are today by many of their
adherents (I'm not sure quite how convinced I am by this). Armstrong explains how each story in the Koran was presented quite
openly as a myth; the tales in the Old Testament are similarly myths, and many
of them cannot possibly be literally true because they break the laws of
physics or contradict historical evidence. But they are powerful myths, and
this explains their dominance in the world for so many centuries, indeed
millennia. The life of Jesus, thanks largely to the efforts of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">St Paul</st1:place></st1:city>, is a powerful myth for Christians. Jesus cannot
have literally risen from the dead, but it’s what his story tells Christians
about their personal ‘rebirth’, redemption and resurrection that’s important.
It’s what makes his life story (an archetypal one, in that it bears such strong
similarities with other myths in other cultures) so deeply moving for those who
‘believe’ in him – even after two millennia. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the final chapter, while lamenting the decline of myth
in the Western culture of the last few centuries, Armstrong describes how the
deep human need for myth keeps trying to express itself wherever it can. I like
the way she feels that modern novels are a way that we can tell new myths, and
re-invent old ones (her explanation of the ways in which art and contemporary
story-telling can fulfil this role, is convincing). And here I feel it’s a
shame that she doesn’t even mention fantasy literature and science fiction,
which is myth-making in ‘novel’ form if ever there was one. J. R. R. Tolkien said
that his creative literary work arose out of a desire to create a ‘mythology of
<st1:country-region w:st="on">England</st1:country-region>’ – our original myths
having been obscured by various cultural and physical invasions, particularly
the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Norman</st1:place></st1:city>
takeover of 1066. In his ‘Silmarillion’ stories, which he kept telling and
retelling throughout his creative life, he provided a rich creation myth
(involving a ‘Fall’! – Tolkien was a Catholic) with a Scandinavian and Germanic
flavour which is deeply powerful and moving. It has a tremendous resonance, as
does ‘The Lord of the Rings’, which is a myth that can be read on many levels,
but particularly about power (and the renunciation of power) and ‘growing up’.
Personally, I think it’s a ‘true’ myth. When I first read it, I occasionally
had to remind myself, when I found myself lost in Middle-earth while working or
performing household tasks, that it wasn’t history – it hadn’t actually
happened, and could never happen in the real world. Because it <i>felt</i> as if it had! I think the profound
resonance this book has for so many people – a resonance that far outstrips
that of the vast majority of fantasy writing – is precisely why (even before
the films were made, and despite constant sniping by the Arbiters of Literary
Taste), ‘LOTR’s popularity has never waned in the half-century since it was
written. It still has claims to be the most popular, the most loved, book by
readers in the <st1:place w:st="on">British Isles - a</st1:place>nd of course
it’s loved throughout the world as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Due to my own personal interest, this paragraph has been a
bit of a sidestep! But I enjoyed Armstrong’s book, despite feeling just a
little irritated now and then. I think both my interest and irritation result
from feeling at a crossroads recently regarding both science and religion. I
love science; I think it’s by far the best way we have of understanding the
physical universe, and I’m agnostic about the idea of a universe which isn’t
physical. If anything else exists, I don’t think we have a way of knowing about
it for certain. Science strongly suggests that the material universe is all
there is (but what an ‘all’!), and metaphysical experiences may turn out to
have purely physical causes that can be understood by science. But at the same
time, I’m increasingly alienated by the aggressive atheism of Dawkins, Hitchens
(now deceased) et al. I sympathise with its frustrations, but for me, the way
to weaken religious fanaticism and stupidity is not through aggressive atheism but through
tolerance (which is the opposite of fanaticism).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve also found myself increasingly attracted in recent
years to Buddhism, partly because not everyone even regards it as a religion,
but also because I’ve been practising vipassana (mindfulness) meditation as a
therapy tool for living more happily with chronic pain and anxiety. I’m also
attracted to Buddhism’s emphasis on kindness and compassion, its ethical system
based on non-harming (and tolerance). Despite ethical similarities with many
other religions, Buddhism feels a long way from the guilt and sin-preoccupied
Catholicism I grew up with. It’s deeply refreshing. I find it hard to relate to
the ritual and ‘religious’ aspects, but there’s a growing secular movement
which lifts a lot from Buddhism, and its core beliefs and practices can be
followed without any mention of the supernatural. And it’s not a theistic
religion, by a long way. So this, together with Armstrong’s treatment of
religious texts as mythology, and the realisation that myths can in a sense be
‘true’, suggests to me that everything is more complicated and more subtle than
the new atheists seem to realise. The belief systems of the American Christian
far-right and the Taliban may be deeply childish and crude, but they are not
something with which to judge the whole, complex and often immensely
frustrating mythologies of the world – religious or otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s also possible that the future of a world where myth
has been discredited, even by religious leaders who insist on taking their
texts literally, might be more hopeful than Armstrong imagines. Because many of
us seem to equate science either with technology, or with a field of knowledge
so arcane and difficult that it’s intellectually beyond us, I think we are
often unaware of the sense of wonder and meaning that science can engender. As
we learn more about ourselves and the universe, we learn more about our place
in it – a place which often seems so miniscule and insignificant that people may
react either with despair or a defensive retreat into fundamentalist religion.
But it isn’t necessarily like that. Exceptional, visionary scientists and
writers like Carl Sagan, without leaving behind their commitment to rational
thought, have communicated such a sense of wonder about the cosmos that <i>logos</i> and <i>mythos</i> don’t seem so far apart. “We are made of star stuff”, Sagan
said, and in a demonstrable, scientific sense, we are. Our bodies are formed
from the very atoms created by exploding stars billions of years ago. We could
say that we are the universe made conscious, a way for the cosmos to know
itself. Similarly, we are also direct descendants of the very first and
simplest forms of life to have evolved on this planet, and every other living
thing in the world today (or that has ever lived) is in a profound and provable
sense our cousin. These ideas are, to me and many others, so awe-inspiring that
they have something of the power of myth – and yet they are demonstrably,
literally true as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The way to these profound discoveries was paved with the
scientific virtues of objectivity, experiment, testability – not with the
ancient ways of storytelling and myth-making that has served us throughout
human existence, and which people still seem to hunger for, because the
conflation of science with technology and their guilty, perhaps unconscious
sense that religion doesn’t stand up as ‘truth’, has left them with nothing to
feed the human sense of wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These scientific ideas may even provide the germ of the
kinds of modern myths which Armstrong passionately cries out for in her final
chapter: compassionate myths which address the reality of our global village,
in which we are all dependent on one another. In a way, the discoveries of
biology and astronomy and physics are not incompatible with Buddhism, whose
emphasis on kindness and compassion <i>for
all beings</i> seems increasingly attractive to educated westerners. And again,
one of the reasons for the enduring popularity of Tolkien’s works may be their
reminder of the need to cherish all things of this earth (or Middle-earth), our
deep interdependence with nature, and of how easily everything we need and love
can be swept away by corruption, greed, technological destruction and love of
power. As Armstrong pleads, we need myths that help us deal emotionally and
ethically with these realities. ‘This is crucial’, she writes, ‘because unless
there is some kind of spiritual revolution that is able to keep abreast of our
technological genius, we will not save our planet.’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
These previous few paragraphs are just thoughts, stimulated by a night’s
reading and writing when I should really be fast asleep! At the moment, I
haven’t reached a place in myself where I feel comfortable in relation to
atheism and religion, or science and myth. My agnosticism in part stems from my
deep confusion. But it’s an interesting journey. And it’s one that many,
perhaps a growing number of people, seem to be sharing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Meanwhile, give Armstrong’s book a read. There’s plenty in
even this short history that I didn’t know before – and it’s a deceptively slim
book which is full of rich ideas. It will really get you thinking!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-30780817349272064742013-02-03T20:30:00.000+00:002013-02-03T20:30:52.180+00:00Finding Safety, and a Caring Presence<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">For several years now I’ve been practising mindfulness
meditation, to help me live more comfortably with anxiety and chronic pain.
It’s gradually led me into a new and refreshing outlook on life, as its
Buddhist roots have inspired me (an agnostic – almost an atheist on bad days!)
to look at other aspects of that ancient religion. I’m very attracted to the
Buddha’s teachings on living <i>this life
now</i> (rather than more metaphysical ideas about reincarnation, etc), and the
growth also of a kind of ‘secular’ Buddhism in the West has made its central
components of awareness and kindness/compassion a lot more accessible to me.
Over the past two years, several books and teachers have opened up for me
possibilities of <i>self</i>-compassion.
Having been brought up as a Roman Catholic with its myth of Eden and doctrine
of original sin, self-compassion feels almost like a revolutionary idea; I
can’t begin to express how refreshing, almost lifesaving it is! All my life
I’ve assumed that my own feelings were unimportant compared to other people’s –
a belief that has led to a lot of pain and many regrets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Like self-compassion, meditation is a practice I’ve always
found difficult, even while recognising the benefits (which can be quietly revolutionary).
I’ve suffered from anxiety since a traumatic nervous breakdown five years ago.
But even when I’m not especially anxious, meditating alone can bring up
uncomfortable feelings of unease and isolation. And I spend a lot of time
alone, as my partner lives away from home for half the week and I’m too unwell
to go out to work. And if I’m under emotional stress, these feelings make it
even more painful to accept any other emotions that surface while I’m
meditating. Recently I discovered that when I’m meditating in groups, the
anxiety is much less and I’m much more comfortable. So for the past few weeks
I’ve been attending my local Buddhist group (even though I don’t consider
myself an out-and-out Buddhist), where I can feel included in the welcoming presence
of other practitioners. This is really what Buddhists call <i>sangha</i>: a deep emotional refuge found within a community of friends
on the ‘spiritual path’. A friend and I recently started a small <i>sangha</i> of our own on Facebook: a private
group of friends, all with some kind of chronic illness, and all following
Buddhist practices as a way of growing spiritually and living more positively
with our ill-health.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">My favourite meditation practice is one that expresses
intentions of <i>metta</i>: another Pali
word usually translated as ‘lovingkindness’, ‘friendliness’ or ‘kindly
awareness’. I think I love this partly because it encourages a sense of
connection with others, and therefore of safety, since our kindly intentions
are directed towards others (even those we may not find it easy to like) as
well as ourselves. But even this, when I practise it alone, sometimes makes me
aware of feelings of anxiety, although they may be lessened. The intention of
meditation practice is to help us be aware, non-judgementally, of our
moment-to-moment experience, whether revealed by our senses or the internal
experience of our thoughts and emotions. Any feelings of aversion that come up,
any impulses to escape from painful feelings, are accepted non-judgementally as
well. With practice, we can gradually become more at home with our experience –
more at home in ourselves and in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">My difficulty, which must surely be shared by many,
especially those who have been traumatised, is that I struggle to accept my
feelings of physical pain and anxiety. It’s just too unpleasant and
frightening. As Tara Brach says in her new book ‘True Refuge’, mindfulness
meditation can involve the risk of re-traumatising if a sense of sufficient
safety isn’t included. One option here is to practice, very gently, with the
help of a compassionate and experienced teacher or therapist. But what do we do
when we’re alone? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">There’s a chapter in ‘True Refuge’ that affected me deeply
when I read it a few nights ago, and which gave me a sense of hope – a way through
the difficulty. Tara describes one of her therapy clients, Dana, who had been
profoundly traumatised as a child. With Tara’s help, Dana managed to create a
refuge for herself by thinking of several people she trusted and felt safe
with, while she offered herself phrases of lovingkindness. Over a period of
time, this practice had a deep effect on her feelings about herself and other
people, and the ultimate effect was de-traumatising. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">This, for me, is a deeply moving inspiration. Over the
past few days, I’ve been creating my own ‘true refuge’, hoping ultimately to
facilitate my acceptance of the feelings brought up in meditation without being
quite as frightened by them. In the short term, just having a ‘safe place’ to
offer lovingkindness, by repeating the phrases in a traditional <i>metta</i> meditation, is a gift that I can
offer myself in the face of almost daily pain, anxiousness and isolation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Here is what I’ve come up with. The places and people in
my refuge are fluid and can change depending on what ‘feels right’ in the
moment, so I’ve included several examples. I spent a lot of time thinking and
listing examples; <i>where</i> and <i>with whom</i> do I feel most safe, secure
and at ease?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">My safe place</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">: Rosebank, the childhood cottage
of the writer Laurie Lee in the Gloucestershire <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Slad</st1:placename></st1:place>,
which Angie and I visited last summer. The cottage lies at the foot of a steep
bank covered in wild flowers. Near the top of this bank, but raised a little
above the flowers, is where I sit with the people in my refuge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Alternatives: a residential street I lived in for one year
as a child, where I remember feeling very happy; and a fictional village called
Sinshan, where Ursula Le Guin’s far future utopian novel, ‘Always Coming Home’
is set. This book deeply moved me and has stayed with me, even though I haven’t
read it in nearly twenty-five years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">My safe people</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">: my partner Angie sits at my left
side with her arm around my waist. We love each other dearly, and she always ‘has
my back’. Our black-and-white cat Tally lies curled up on my lap. On my right,
almost touching me, sits a red fox – one of my favourite animals – and I rest
my right hand on the fox, perhaps stroking it behind the ears. Next to the fox
is a woman; sometimes she’s one of my close Facebook friends, and sometimes
she’s Tara Brach herself. Sometimes she’s both of them! We can do anything in
our imaginations! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">As I sit on the flowered bank, or in the street, or in the
imaginary village, with my partner, animals, friend and benefactor/mentor, I
offer this simple <i>metta</i> phrase to
myself:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">May I be happy and
peaceful.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The repeated phrase, which is a kind of mantra, varies. If
I’m in a lot of pain or anxiety, it might be, “May I be well, and free of
suffering”, or even Thich Nhat Hanh’s phrase, “I care about this suffering”. Many
people have a short list of phrases, but I’ve found that just one keeps it
simple and I like that. After a few minutes of repeating this phrase, either
silently or aloud, I might move on to the following traditional stages of the
meditation: offering <i>metta</i> to a
friend (or friends), a ‘neutral’ person, and then someone I’m having
difficulties with. Sometimes I’ll just stay with the first two stages, or maybe
only the first. It depends on how I feel, how much time I have, what feels most
needed or appropriate in that moment. But I always try to keep that image of my
safe place and people in my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I’ve since decided that, apart from brief ‘mindfulness of
breathing’ practices, and the occasional quick scan through my body to relax
tense muscles, the <i>metta</i> meditation
will probably be my main practice for the near future. I’m hoping that giving
myself this refuge, as well as the other refuges provided by the Buddhist and
Facebook groups, will help me in time to feel more comfortable with my inner
experience. That I can eventually get in touch with the ‘felt sense’ of my
emotions in my body, without being frightened into non-practice, distraction
and what Tara calls ‘false refuges’ – over-dependency on medication, other
forms of addiction, trying to control my experience or other people… I sense
that it may be a long process. But I don’t mind so much about that now. I have
a refuge which should help me, in time, to access the ultimate true refuge of compassionate
awareness, which <st1:place w:st="on">Tara</st1:place> calls loving presence.
In the meantime, my companions on the bank of wild flowers in the English
countryside, will always be there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I’ve already noticed other benefits of providing this
refuge. The people in my safe place may be images in my mind, but they are also
real people. And they are people who care about me: Angie, my friend, and Tara,
who may not know me personally but has given me and hundreds of thousands of
others a great and caring gift. So when I imagine them caring about me, it
helps me to care for myself, and to bring a caring presence to my experiences
in that moment – including difficult ones. The words ‘caring presence’, in the
context of suffering, really mean the same thing as compassion. So providing
this safe refuge is helping me to be compassionate towards myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The presence of these caring figures in my refuge also
helps me to feel compassionate towards others. Bringing a caring presence to my
own suffering reminds me that I’m not alone; just as my friends care about me,
so I can care about them. The refuge reduces that sense of isolation which I
often feel so deeply when I’m alone, and the disconnectedness that
characterises so much of our experience of suffering. It reminds me that we all
suffer. In the Dalai Lama’s words, “Everyone wants to be happy. Nobody wants to
suffer.” The refuge that helps me to bring caring presence to my own suffering,
helps me to offer that same quality to others as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Perhaps one day, it may also make it easier to be aware
and compassionate towards the suffering of people I dislike, especially those
who have hurt me. If a loved person hasn’t been present for us, if they haven’t
accepted or encouraged us to feel at home with a part of our emotional
experience, then that can be deeply scarring, especially if it was during the
formative years of childhood. But in all likelihood, they haven’t been present
with themselves either, because significant others in their own past didn’t
allow <i>them</i> to feel at home in their
own skin. So people who’ve damaged us have been damaged too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">But that’s not so easy for me right now. I haven’t yet
managed to deepen my attention and bring caring presence to deep and raw
feelings of emotional pain, such as I’ve recently been having in family
relationships. When I tried to do that before creating my refuge, I was flooded
with feelings of anger, hurt and guilt which felt too scary to stay with.
Neither have I been able to focus deeply on the suffering of people in war
zones, or who have lost their human rights; I tend to get caught up in anger,
fear and helplessness, as I did before having to give up peace activism. It’s
very difficult for me to bring caring presence to such intensity of feeling. As
Tara and all great Buddhist teachers say, we need first to bring compassion to
our own suffering; and by touching that tender place with a caring and
accepting presence – not dwelling on it or wallowing in it – but simply by
saying, “I care about this suffering”, we begin to recognise our kinship with
the rest of humanity. Otherwise it’s like forgiving someone without first
experiencing the ‘felt sense’ of how they have wounded us. The forgiveness is
premature. We can’t truly forgive someone until we’re fully aware of what
they’ve done to us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">So right now I have my hands full – or perhaps I should
say, my heart full! – in learning to bring a caring presence to myself, and to those
closest and dearest to me. And when it all seems too big, too difficult a task,
I can remind myself that both awareness and compassion lie very deep in our
evolutionary nature. Their potential will always be there, a true refuge that
we only have to bring a caring attention to ourselves to find. Without
condoning the times when we’ve hurt ourselves or others, we are not
intrinsically bad people; we all have ‘buddha nature’. As <st1:place w:st="on">Tara</st1:place>
has said many times in her writings:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">‘The very nature of our awareness is to know what is
happening. The very nature of our heart is to care.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-26512387758184400052013-01-19T19:22:00.002+00:002013-01-19T19:23:23.383+00:00'On Children'<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ux83VrTefpTZvB1k65121rW8yr6S7OCEe5qk3cbhE-FF6XGxV1xb9iNB0yxgEiebzXzW32ApocNc5YoHqOpqxevlNShLg7N8jsvpDll8MAn9rqmag1wCUqKkhiRYUGjdjEd3sc3hCHpT/s1600/2010.10.23+birling+gap+(9).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ux83VrTefpTZvB1k65121rW8yr6S7OCEe5qk3cbhE-FF6XGxV1xb9iNB0yxgEiebzXzW32ApocNc5YoHqOpqxevlNShLg7N8jsvpDll8MAn9rqmag1wCUqKkhiRYUGjdjEd3sc3hCHpT/s320/2010.10.23+birling+gap+(9).JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your children are not your children.<br />They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.<br />They come through you but not from you,<br />And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />You may give them your love but not your thoughts.<br />For they have their own thoughts.<br />You may house their bodies but not their souls,<br />For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.<br />You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.<br />For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />You are the bows from which your children</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">as living arrows are sent forth.<br />The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and He bends you with His might</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">that His arrows may go swift and far.<br />Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;<br />For even as he loves the arrow that flies, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">so He loves also the bow that is stable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>From 'The Prophet', by Kahlil Gibran</i></span><br />
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<a href="http://www-personal.umich.edu/~jrcole/gibran/prophet/prophet.htm#Contents"><br /></a></div>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-26333798108206033922013-01-01T02:22:00.001+00:002013-01-01T02:22:26.647+00:00What Was Lost<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5cK21sTmsM2spYZFl8nq9rf7_pq4NGuEAzKaX0GnXcXHjZDOVA7Td3DL_PveYk7NRAY-ZBgA1tizmhLD3ZnOPPW34M5WSO2NfJtvcD0-tnOdpxeiKScJkG16_H0vEn-JmktbEfB5v5Pk/s1600/20030101+11+fishfrombainsdespaquis+e1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5cK21sTmsM2spYZFl8nq9rf7_pq4NGuEAzKaX0GnXcXHjZDOVA7Td3DL_PveYk7NRAY-ZBgA1tizmhLD3ZnOPPW34M5WSO2NfJtvcD0-tnOdpxeiKScJkG16_H0vEn-JmktbEfB5v5Pk/s320/20030101+11+fishfrombainsdespaquis+e1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br />This is a poem I wrote ten years ago, in ten minutes, about a very specific experience which is yet shared by many. Now another loss is happening, which sometimes feels almost overwhelming, so the poem now has an added context. It came back to mind just now, and it feels right to share it.<br /><br />The water metaphor, and some of the words themselves, derive from Margaret Atwood's 'Cat's Eye', one of my favourite books.<br /><br /><br />What was lost?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">Where is it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">How can I get back
to it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">How can I find it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">So I can be whole
again?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">So I can be me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">The past is a well
of water<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">where memories are
seen murkily<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">fading<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">falling back<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">lost forever
through the darkness of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">But love and hurt
remain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">The heart’s memory
is clear as a fresh window pane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">The beloved’s love
is retained, is welling up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">Her name is Michael.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">What was lost is
here, within me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">Nothing goes away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-39154199011453205942012-09-06T13:49:00.001+01:002012-09-07T13:01:01.032+01:00Lost, with a Political Compass<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; text-align: justify;">It’s been a while since I last wrote a blog entry that was
political in nature. I tend to shy away from it now, because getting political
can send my mood crashing and anxiety rising, and I’m not as brave as other
people I know who are more committed. But this one is an exception. A few weeks
ago I took part in an online questionnaire called ‘The Political Compass’, and
the results surprised and fascinated me. They may help to explain one of the serious
flaws of certain so-called democratic states, as well as the feeling so many
people have (which I share) of being disenfranchised.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The questionnaire can be found at <a href="http://www.politicalcompass.org/index">http://www.politicalcompass.org/index</a>.
It’s worth reading the explanation at the start, and I’d better warn you that
this blog entry contains spoilers! It’s possible that knowing them might
influence the answers you give to the questions – if you take the test. So if
you do want to, it might be worth taking the test before reading the rest of this
article. (It only takes a few minutes).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The results are plotted on a graph, and measure not only
how left-wing or right-wing you are politically, but also how authoritarian or
(its opposite) libertarian. My score was -7.50 for economic left and right, and
-7.44 (almost the same) for social authoritarian/libertarian. This means that I
am both very left-wing and extremely libertarian. I was pleased with this,
because when I looked at the score for certain well-known political and
spiritual leaders (based on what we know of them through their words, actions
and policies), I could see I was in what I regarded as very good company! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Those self-same results for famous people, however, were
extraordinary, and so were mine in relation to them. Certain figures were about
where I expected them to be; Stalin very left-wing and authoritarian, Hitler
rather more right-wing and equally authoritarian. But Gandhi, the Dalai Lama
and Nelson Mandela, all of whom I admire greatly, were all significantly less
left-wing and libertarian than I am, although they were the closest figures to
me on the chart. Pope Benedict XVI (the present pope – actually not so
surprising!) is nearly as authoritarian as Robert Mugabe, Hitler and Stalin. And
a whole host of present-day Western leaders, including David Cameron, Barack
Obama, Stephen Harper, and the completely loony Mitt Romney and Benjamin
Netanyahu, are clustered in a group towards the upper right hand corner. They
are both very right-wing and authoritarian (only a little less authoritarian,
in fact, than Adolf Hitler!), and hold some pretty extreme, not to say crazy,
views. But this same group also includes those who most people consider more
moderate, such as Obama. Only the current French president, Francois Hollande,
is on the libertarian side of the chart, and a little to the left as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">What the chart suggests is that Obama is only a little to
the left of Mitt Romney, and Cameron only slightly further right than Ed
Miliband – although significantly more authoritarian. What does this say about
the range of political choices we have in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Britain</st1:country>
and the <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country>?
Think of the spectrum of possible leaders we <i>could </i>vote for in an election – from Cameron and Romney to someone
more like Nelson Mandela, who is vastly more left-wing and libertarian. Yet the
choices we actually have, especially in the <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country>, are very narrow indeed. Obama
and Romney, for all their much vaunted differences, are very close indeed on
the chart. They are both very right-wing and authoritarian, with Mitt only a
little more so than Barack. American voters have a choice between right-wing
authoritarianism and… right-wing authoritarianism with a few more brain cells. The situation is only
slightly better in the <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">On a personal level, these results show why I no longer
feel able to vote in General Elections. There are no candidates capable of
getting anywhere near winning, who come anywhere close to representing my social
or economic views. In the past, like many people, I’ve voted tactically – for
the candidate most likely to beat the even worse, next-likely candidate. After
the horrendous result of the 2011 election, however, I am resolved never to
vote tactically again, because all three main parties are a) awful, and b) very
similar. And in the last election, there were no candidates of <i>any </i>party in my home constituency who came near to representing
my views and values (I can hardly vote for the British Nazi party, can I?). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The same is probably true for many other people. Several
friends of mine also took the test, and their results varied; a couple had
results very close to mine, while others were less left-wing or libertarian.
But none of them were anywhere near the top right-hand corner, where the
supposedly mainstream political leaders and candidates are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Of course, my friends are only a few, and because they’re
my friends I suppose they are more likely to hold similar views to mine – like
attracts like. I would like to see a scientific study done of a wide range of
people, and see how many of them were near the top right of the chart. Probably
quite a few would be. But possibly not as many as you think! Surveys of
people’s views on various issues often seem to suggest that in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country>, at any
rate, we’re a pretty liberal lot. That doesn’t mean Liberal Democrat; Nick
Clegg would probably be in the top right, somewhere between Cameron and
Miliband. But when we discount issues where the public have been partially
brainwashed by concerted propaganda efforts by politicians and the mainstream
media (benefits claimants, for instance, or asylum seeking), very many of us
tend to hold pretty liberal – and libertarian- views. We are not by nature a
right-wing or authoritarian people. And yet all our leaders and would-be
leaders <i>are. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">We often hear these days that people feel politically
disenfranchised. “They’re all the same!”, people say, or “my vote doesn’t really
count anymore”. Perhaps this chart helps to explain why. There <i>are </i>other parties and candidates, of
course: the Green Party, Respect, the Socialist <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Alliance</st1:place></st1:city>… Yet the mainstream (ie: far right)
candidates, as well as the mainstream media, tell us that such parties are
extreme and in any case, highly unlikely to win an election. Before the last
British election, the Green Party candidate Caroline Lucas was accused by an
interviewer of being “more left-wing than Labour”. Her response (with an amused
smile) was something like, “So?” In other words, to be left of the present-day
Labour party isn’t saying much!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The result is that people end up voting anyway for parties
they don’t actually like, or dislike less than other mainstream right-wing
parties. They vote tactically, for the lesser of two or three evils – just as I
have done repeatedly until now. The parties they vote for, in many cases,
probably don’t represent their true views on social and economic issues. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">No wonder there is such apathy. No wonder the number of
people who actually vote on Election Day tends to be so small. If what I’m
saying is true, there is something seriously wrong with our democracy. In <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country> it may
be a little different, as election fever tends to be more frenzied in that country.
But even there, I suspect that millions and millions of voters are actually to
the left, and almost certainly less authoritarian, than Obama or Romney. Yet
those two men are the only choices being presented to the electorate. Two
candidates who, compared to the range of candidates theoretically possible, are
very similar indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Funny, isn’t it, how these leaders are presented as being
mainstream, when the chart actually shows that ‘mainstream’ means very
right-wing and authoritarian, and not a very long distance away from the most
famous tyrant in history? An intuitive sense of this is perhaps partly why I
snorted derisively when the previous <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country> prime minister, Gordon Brown,
said publicly, “Gandhi will be my inspiration” (another reason was that he was bombing Afghanistan). No western leader is anywhere
near Gandhi on the chart, and any candidate with similar views to Gandhi would
immediately be presented as extreme by the mainstream media. It’s also why I said
to a friend yesterday that the <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country>
is about as right-wing as a democracy can get (which means not truly
democratic, in fact). And yet there are the Republicans and their corporate
media friends, busy labelling Barack Obama a socialist!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">So we have a situation where leaders such as Gandhi and
Mandela are widely admired, while anyone who held views like theirs would never
win an election in the US or Europe. The electorate have been hoodwinked into
believing that candidates on the authoritarian far-right are the only ones
worth voting for, and that the differences between them are huge, when in fact
they aren’t. All this is fascinating, but nonetheless depressing, to think
about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I’m not an expert, it’s true, on these kinds of surveys,
or on how the results are worked out. It’s possible that this one is flawed or
simplistic, and like I said, I’d like to see a proper scientific study
conducted. But The Political Compass is certainly suggestive. It provides a
convincing explanation for why I, at least, feel completely disenfranchised –
why I feel there’s no one left for me to vote for. All those centuries of
struggle for a gradually evolving democracy, and this depressing bunch of
far-right authoritarians (the argument moves further to the right every year,
it seems) is all that I and so many of my liberal friends are left with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Of course, there are other ways of engaging in democracy,
which many people, increasingly disenchanted with the political process, have
discovered. Needless to say, governments are cracking down on non-violent
protest and becoming more draconian in their tactics all the time. But increasingly,
it looks as though the ballot box is not the way to change things. The Arab
Spring showed that non-violent protest can, sometimes, effect a change –
although keeping that change is often another battle. It seems to me that if we
don’t find some way of increasing the political choices open to us, our
democracies are only nominal ones. And our sometimes rather smug sense of
living in a real democracy is no more than an illusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-38454862823583335232012-08-12T19:56:00.001+01:002012-08-12T20:25:00.502+01:00'Confessions' of a Buddhist Agnostic (or Whatever)<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; text-align: justify;">Someone once described me as having a “pick ‘n’ mix faith”
– which was both insulting and funny, since I haven’t had a faith in nearly
twenty-five years. At first I wondered where he got that idea from. Then I
remembered my Facebook profile, in which I described myself as:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Agnostic, verging on atheist, with ambivalent remnants of
a Catholic upbringing and an interest in some aspects of Buddhism.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I guess that could be easily misunderstood! But at the
time I thought I’d made myself clear. Being interested in ‘some aspects’ of
Buddhism didn’t make me a Buddhist. I had remnants of a Catholic upbringing,
because being brought up with any kind of faith is bound to leave lasting
effects (or scars, for some people). And although I thought of myself as an
agnostic, this sometimes veered vigorously into near-atheism, usually in
proportion to how often I was subjected to Tony Blair in the media.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I was brought up, forty-odd years ago, with a ‘benign’
form of Roman Catholicism (thanks mostly to my mother; my Dad seemed only nominally
religious). I put ‘benign’ in quotation marks, because I don’t really think
that bringing children up with any kind of faith is totally harmless. However
gently it’s done, indoctrination is still indoctrination. How can a child begin
to understand that the faith (s)he is brought up in is only one of many faiths
and none – an infinite number of ways of trying to understand the universe?
Small children instinctively (with good reason) trust that what their parents
and elders tell them is true, and if on some level they suspect it isn’t true,
psychological confusion and conflict results. By the time they’ve reached the
age where (if they’re lucky) they can begin to seriously question what they’ve
been ‘encouraged’ to believe, their religious education has had effects which
are very difficult to completely shake off. If their experience was ‘benign’
then this may not matter much, but if it wasn’t, they may be damaged and
traumatised for life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">My Catholic upbringing left me with lasting effects which
I still feel, decades after I consciously rejected it. Some of them I’m glad
of, others definitely not – none of them have been totally catastrophic. I feel
utterly at home (and often deeply moved) in English country churches and the
vast Gothic cathedrals, which I think are some of the wonders of the world –
like their Muslim counterparts in the East. I love Christmas carols, and
Christmas never feels purely materialistic to me even now. I’m moved by the
story of God becoming man and sacrificing himself to expiate the sins of
humanity (although I don’t like to think of them as ‘sins’), and my tendency to
hero-worship Jesus (the one in the Bible, that is; I don’t know who the real
Jesus was) has only gradually lessened. I often have nightmares about the Crucifixion,
as well as a certain morbid interest in it whenever a Biblical epic comes on TV
(fancy subjecting children to such gruesome imagery; well, it was everywhere!)
And, like many Catholics, I have a deep sense of personal guilt and shame, and
have really only recently begun to realise that it is quite unnecessary. It
will take a lot of working on, though! These latter effects are probably common
to most of us in the ‘Western’ world, because even atheists have grown up in a
largely Judeo-Christian culture. It permeates so much still, even with the
enlivening effect of multiculturalism, that it’s very hard to completely escape
it (in politics, for example, religion shouldn’t be but is pervasive). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">In my teens, I questioned the tenets of Catholic faith bit
by bit. In church I recited the parts of the Creed I believed in, stayed silent
for those I didn’t. This former, devout little altar boy, who’d been to a
Catholic primary school mostly run by nuns, believed less and less of what he’d
been taught. But I still thought of myself as a Christian – until I started
college and began reading more widely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">What stimulated an interest in psychology I’ve no idea,
but I suddenly found myself reading Freud. I was astonished by the originality,
depth and fascination of his thinking. I am much less sure these days about
some of what he said, but from the point of view of religion, Freud made
suddenly clear to me what should have been obvious but wasn’t. We can so easily
fool ourselves into thinking that what <i>feels</i>
true must be true. But it doesn’t always follow. Just because a deep spiritual
experience <i>feels</i> like a link to the
supernatural (or God), doesn’t mean it is. I began to realise that there were
other explanations for experiences that had previously felt self-explanatory.
There were other explanations for religious experiences; a whole new world of
thought had opened up. No wonder the religious fundamentalists typified by the
Christian right in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">America</st1:country></st1:place>
regard not only Marx and Darwin as an enemy, but Freud too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I never considered myself an out-and-out atheist, though,
and the process of separation from my faith continued for some years. In a
state of emotional distress, at the age of 21 I went to confession because I’d
done something that felt deeply sinful. It wasn’t at all, but I suppose at
least it felt like something actually worth confessing, unlike the occasions in
my childhood (<i>“Bless me father, for I
have sinned… erm… I told a lie… erm… erm… can’t think of anything else, father”</i>).
That was my last experience of that particular Catholic strangeness. And my
mother had to come to terms with it as well. I stopped going to Sunday mass,
and there was a difficult moment when I told my mother that, for the first
time, I wouldn’t be joining the family at Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. From
my bedroom, I heard her quietly sniffing on the stairs, so I went out and said
okay then, I’ll come. But I didn’t the following year, or any year afterwards…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">So I remained a rather un-militant agnostic, aware that
I’d definitely rejected my religious training but also that part of me still
felt an affinity with at least some of it. I couldn’t reject it entirely, and
to an extent the attitudes I voiced depended on the company I was in. Then 9/11
happened, and the Bush/Blair axis and a new Crusade (I was amazed when Bush openly
called it that) against several Muslim countries, interspersed with broadcast threats
from a few bigoted criminals in caves. The President and Prime Minister, in
their smart suits, sat down to pray together while stripping habeas corpus from
uncharged, untried and frequently innocent men, dressing them in orange
jumpsuits, locking them in cages indefinitely and then torturing them. Other
worrying things were happening, too. Having long ago discovered the wonders of
the natural world and Darwin’s great theory, I was dumbfounded to learn that
here in Britain, Tony Blair had given the go-ahead for faith schools run by
‘teachers’ who thought that Noah’s Ark should be part of science classes
(perhaps on the orders of Mr Bush, who had them from God). Had I <i>really</i> voted for this idiot, <i>twice?</i> Meanwhile, Christian parents took
their children to see Mel Gibson’s big budget video nasty, Tony Blair joined
the Roman Catholic faith (in the schmoozy, high profile way that only he can – <i>“quick, wash the blood off, Mr Cardinal!</i>”),
and even only last year, the Pope who had conspired to cover up countless cases
of child abuse came on a state visit to <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country> and had the gall to
complain about militant atheists. So I found myself siding with Richard Dawkins
(I still admire most of his books) as he found voice for the outrage of secular
humanists like myself. I looked down on my mother for the apparent
contradiction between her following of a man who preached love and forgiveness
with her cheerleading of the Iraq War. It was the closest I’ve ever come to
describing myself as an atheist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I still have moments, usually in reaction to something in
the news, when a voice somewhere in my personality suddenly speaks up and
threatens to turn into Christopher Hitchens (well, maybe not that bad!) As I
write, three members of a Russian punk band may be sent to a labour camp for
seven years, in punishment for a protest in a cathedral where they mocked the
Russian Orthodox Church and recited a prayer for the removal of Vladimir Putin
from office. Three ordinary young women, sitting in court locked in a cage,
thanks to the twin bullies of Church and Government. Whenever I think about
this, I want to scream at those Pharisees and bellow, <i>“WHAT WOULD JESUS DO?????!!!!!”</i> I still partly hero-worship him,
you see, and part of what I love about him is his iconoclasm and low opinion of
Authority. How he would have loved storming into the <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Vatican</st1:place></st1:country> and ripping those robes and
riches off his Representatives on earth! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">In the past few years, though, I’ve mellowed in my stance
towards religion. Partly its frustration at Richard Dawkins ranting about it on
TV when I always preferred to read him in my bedroom writing with a sense of
wonder about the symbiotic relationship of figs and fig wasps. Christopher
Hitchens appalled me when he was alive – an intellectual bully who supported
the War on Terror and relished the dropping of cluster bombs on people in Iraq,
boasting that their Qurans wouldn’t protect them against <i>our</i> weapons. Even the milder tones of the new atheism seem rather
smug at times: <i>“Oh, you poor believing
idiots making up 99% of the world’s population, you don’t know anything, do
you?”</i> Many of my Facebook friends, thanks mostly to my several years involved
in peace activism, happen to be Muslims, and quite a few others are Christians.
I don’t agree with their faith or indeed their practice (which they share with
my parents) of teaching it to their children. But they’re not idiots and they
don’t deserve to be patronised or insulted. They have a right to believe what
they like. I sometimes think the atheists should be targeting not religion but
religious intolerance – although I do agree that teaching children outright
lies should be outlawed, not encouraged. Pretending that myth is science is a
lie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The other influence on me here is Buddhism. Which brings
me back to the beginning of this post; how can I describe myself as an
“agnostic, verging on atheist” and still have a deep interest in Buddhism? A bit
pic ‘n’ mix, that, don’t you think? Well, maybe yes, and maybe no. For one
thing, not all Buddhists describe their ‘faith’ as a religion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">My interest began through the practice of mindfulness
meditation, which I started as a way of coping with chronic pain and, later,
with anxiety. Mindfulness, which started as a Buddhist practice but has since
spread around the world and is often adopted as a ‘secular’ one, is really the
practice of being non-judgementally aware of whatever is happening in the
present moment – both internally and externally. This can help people suffering
with chronic pain in several ways – one being that it can help us to experience
pain non-judgementally (ie: as just another kind of experience), without
getting so caught up in the frightening stories that our thoughts spin around
it when fear is present.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">The founder of Buddhism was brought up as a Hindu, so in
his world such beliefs as reincarnation were taken for granted. But although
the Buddha spoke about ‘rebirth’ many times, it’s not absolutely certain that
he was talking about literal reincarnation; he might have been speaking about
the rebirth into each moment that occurs within mindful awareness. In fact, he
didn’t really speak about God (or metaphysical matters, in that sense) at all.
And although many Buddhists claim that the Buddha was divine, he made no claims
for himself in the way that Jesus did, for instance. All he described himself
as was ‘enlightened’ – something which he believed it was possible for anyone
to become. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveU_hCJmvMGaEy_VJvRtQejIwzS1rSulYyJa-z2tHlY40GQGrBxMYUVNC6031iKaAY4pZOJBfJyKzuQHpoMXSDJVJzd_mUnKUcPFOf-hkA84Gb-zQu6i1V7ERmt8WhYrsTN_f8JimUpJR/s1600/2006.05.28+horseshoeplantation02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveU_hCJmvMGaEy_VJvRtQejIwzS1rSulYyJa-z2tHlY40GQGrBxMYUVNC6031iKaAY4pZOJBfJyKzuQHpoMXSDJVJzd_mUnKUcPFOf-hkA84Gb-zQu6i1V7ERmt8WhYrsTN_f8JimUpJR/s320/2006.05.28+horseshoeplantation02.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Buddhism’s central concerns are mindfulness, and the
practice of compassion and kindliness (usually referred to as lovingkindness)
towards oneself and all other beings. All of these qualities are developed
through the practice of mindfulness meditation, which can be through an
extended formal practice or in moments of brief practice throughout the day. My
favourite quote said to be from the Buddha is this expression of what the
purpose of his work was for: </span><span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">'This is for the welfare
of the many, for the happiness of the many, for the benefit and welfare and the
happiness of beings. This is out of sympathy for the world.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">The growth of
a kind of ‘secular’ Buddhism in recent years in the West, has I think resulted
from the attraction towards these practices felt by many who are dissatisfied with
the punitive aspects of the three Abrahamic religions, and/or unable to believe
in the existence of a supernatural. Perhaps also, mindfulness meditation is
perceived as an antidote to the kind of stressful living-in-the-future that
typifies Western living. In a way, I wonder if Buddhism is the purest kind of
religion, because it doesn’t require a belief in the supernatural in order to
practice being exactly what the Buddha invited us to be. Those qualities and
practices which are preached by other religions as a guide to living purely and
morally – love for others, not judging – are the very essence of Buddhism;
there isn’t really much else that’s essential. The emphasis on kindliness
includes that of tolerance for those of other faiths and none – a quality which
is exemplified by the current Dalai Lama but not, appallingly, by the so-called
Buddhists apparently intent on wiping out the Rohingya Muslim minority in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Myanmar</st1:place></st1:country>. (It’s
recently come as quite a shock to me that Buddhists can be just as capable of
terrible violence and atrocities as those of other faiths).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">This is how I
feel able to describe myself as an agnostic with an interest in Buddhism. I
might one day go the whole hog and describe myself as an agnostic Buddhist or a
Buddhist agnostic; it doesn’t seem to me a contradiction. I once came across a
book on the web called ‘Confessions of a Buddhist Atheist’ – which made me
smile, both because I could relate to it and because of the very Western (one
might almost say ‘Catholic’) use of the word ‘confessions’!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">As a
recovering Catholic myself, the emphasis on lovingkindness is attractive as an
antidote to the preoccupation with guilt that is part of my earlier ‘faith’. I
described my religious upbringing as ‘benign’, and in many ways it was; the
priests didn’t preach fire and brimstone, the nuns were mostly kind. Other
people have had far worse experiences of Catholicism, as the recent child abuse
scandals show. But I’ve still been scarred, in more minor ways, by my childhood
indoctrination, in ways that both therapy and my interest in Buddhism are
helping me to deal with. I was very much brought up to believe that other
people’s feelings, needs and welfare were more important than my own, in
contrast to the Buddhist emphasis that compassion can only begin with
self-compassion. And so I find myself engaged in a sort of late re-parenting,
and although it’s difficult, after more than forty years of habit-formed shame,
I am indeed discovering that it’s easier to feel compassion for others if I can
first of all feel it for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">One of the
reasons I hesitate to describe myself as Buddhist (apart from a dislike of the
limiting effects of ‘ists’ and ‘isms’) is that I don’t feel I’m a very ‘good’
one; I don’t practice regularly enough for that. There’s more than a shade of
self-judgement creeping in even there, but allowing for that, I still feel I’ve
a long way to go. For example, as readers may have noticed, I have a problem
with anger – and I’m not even sure what my attitude is towards that emotion,
after a childhood where it was forbidden and an adulthood in which it’s been
hard to express it. Not only do I find it difficult to extend lovingkindness
towards some people, but with certain politicians I don’t even want or intend
to. One of the nice things about Buddhism is that it’s the practice that’s
important, and by practising, we are supposed to find it easier. But like I
said, I feel I’m at a very early stage – tentatively dipping my feet in the
water, as it were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Even so, I
think Buddhism has contributed to the mellowing attitude towards religion that
I’ve noticed in myself over the past few years. Like Dawkins’s friend David
Attenborough, I cannot bring myself to embrace atheism, despite not believing
in God or the supernatural. To completely dismiss the whole thing, definitely
and absolutely without any doubt, seems to me irrational, however unlikely its
premises may be. But more than that, it would seem to invite feelings of
arrogance and intolerance, and seeing those forces at their destructive worst
in the world right now, it doesn’t feel right to encourage them, especially
when it would also suggest arrogance and intolerance towards the beliefs of so
many of my friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">I still have
a few things to work on, and remnants of my childhood that I still kick
against. A few years ago, my mother suggested that I send my sister an Easter
card, because she’d been “hurt” by certain opinions I’d once expressed about
religion. Recognising the Catholic guilt forces at work again, and their genius
for emotional blackmail, I didn’t send a card but I did explain to my sister
why. Only today, a similar situation surfaced. My mother phoned to give me an
update on my sister’s progress in hospital; she’s suffering terrible pain following
surgery for severe endometriosis. “I know you don’t believe in the power of
prayer”, she said with an audible smile, “but maybe you could do it ‘just in
case’, as it were.”<br />
<br />
That one was more difficult, because Clare is suffering so much that it seems churlish
not to pray for her if there’s the slightest possibility that it may help her.
But I can’t bring myself to do it. I simply don’t believe, so I won’t do it
just as I won’t slit the throat of a lamb in the remote possibility that it may
help. So there’s a little bit of guilt hanging around here, amongst the
feelings of worry and sadness for what Clare is going through. I have such a
fear of pain myself that it’s not difficult to empathise. But – and no offence
is meant here to anyone who believes differently – I can’t help thinking that a
caring and omnipotent God wouldn’t need praying to. Without hesitating for a
nanosecond, he’d help my sister straight away, and the Burmese Rohinga Muslims
too, and everyone suffering pain and fear throughout the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">So, it’s
difficult for me sometimes even to extend lovingkindness to those close to me –
let alone a multimillionaire British war criminal. But there are times, too,
when it is easier – when feelings of tenderness for myself and for someone else
can surface and lead to a practice of Buddhism. Agnostic that I am, I’ll be
practising a lovingkindness meditation today – and my sister will be very much
a part of it. I don’t see any contradiction in that.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><br /></span></div>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-42339360143950715022012-06-11T22:39:00.000+01:002012-06-12T00:52:29.279+01:00Jumping Through Hoops<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">This post is a copy of a letter I've just written to the Department for Work and Pensions, as the latest part of the jumping-through-hoops process called Applying for (and Keeping) Employment and Support Allowance. I may shorten and edit the letter further before sending it, as it is long. It is not a happy post, and does not make cheerful reading.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">I've shared it here on my blog, however, because it feels important to do so at a time when disabled people in Britain are being blamed for the budget deficit and, in effect, disbelieved for being ill. By the government and by newspapers, they are labelled as workshy scroungers. In reality, many chronically ill people are being made more sick through the prolonged stress and anxiety of rejected applications, humiliating medical assessments, nerve-wracking tribunal hearings and more. In my case, even having had my appeal successfully heard by a tribunal is proving to be far from the end of the story. I am fed up, depressed and very angry. And yet there are others who need their benefits even more than I do, who are suffering more than I am. This awful situation has already led to many becoming homeless and at least one preventable death.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">ESA is a hideously complicated benefit, and to clarify the bit near the beginning re the two components: the reason I'm asking to be considered for the support component of ESA, is that if I'm on the work component alone I will not get any more money after January 2013. If I'm placed on both components, there's a chance (although this is not guaranteed) that my payments will continue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">If, before, after or instead of reading this, you would sign the following Avaaz petition, I will consider this posting well worth it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://secure.avaaz.org/en/petition/Stop_stealing_disabled_peoples_benefits"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">https://secure.avaaz.org/en/petition/Stop_stealing_disabled_peoples_benefits</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Many thanks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">11 June 2012 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">To whom it may concern<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">My partner spoke to one of your advisors on the telephone
on 8 June 2012, to discuss why I have not been placed in the support component
group of Employment and Support Allowance. A tribunal I attended last month
allowed my appeal against your earlier decision that I was not eligible for
ESA, but they said only that I was eligible for the work component. The advisor
last Friday explained that I would be considered for the support component as
well, if I submitted evidence that my mental ill health (anxiety and occasional
depression) also affect my ability to work, and not just my chronic pain
condition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">I am therefore writing to you to explain more about my
anxiety and how it affects me. You will also be receiving letters from my
partner, my GP and my counsellor on this issue shortly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">As far as I’m concerned, my chronic pain condition
(neuropathic pain) is already severely disabling, in that it affects my ability
to sit upright, stand or walk for more than short periods. I believe (and the
tribunal evidently agreed with me) that I would be unable to hold down a job,
considering these disabilities. However, my anxiety is also a major issue and
would greatly impair my ability to cope with a job, especially as it is often
triggered by flare-ups of pain. I would like first to explain something once
more about how my chronic pain affects me, because this is often a cause of
great anxiety for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">One of the main difficulties I would have in a work situation,
would be pacing my activities so as to avoid these major distressing flare-ups
of pain. At home I have to pace myself constantly in order to avoid these flare-ups,
which can be incapacitating and cause great distress, often triggering anxiety
or low mood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Pacing myself involves regular and frequent rests after
any activity that involves sitting, standing or walking. This would be
extremely difficult if not impossible in a work setting, and from long
experience I believe that flare-ups would be frequent and inevitable. I would
therefore need to take time off sick on a frequent basis. Flare-ups can
sometimes last for weeks or months, which would obviously be impractical if I
was working.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">With regard to sitting times, I can usually sit
comfortably for no more than fifteen minutes, not thirty minutes as stated in
the assessment. I can usually stand for</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">only a few minutes without rapidly increasing pain. During
flare-ups, sitting for only a few minutes can be very painful, and standing is
correspondingly more difficult too. The need to pace myself by sticking to
sitting and standing is therefore essential for me to avoid such flare-ups.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">In order to attend the tribunal in <st1:place w:st="on">Brighton</st1:place>,
my partner had to recline the passenger seat of the car for me, so that the
journey of nearly an hour would not trigger a pain flare-up. We do this for all
car journeys of longer than fifteen minutes. Similarly, during the tribunal
hearing I had to lie on a sun lounger we had brought with us, as there was
naturally no reclining furniture available in the hearing room. Wherever I go,
I take a couple of cushions with me, so that I can be as comfortable as
possible and if necessary lie down in order to prevent and increase of pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Other activities also trigger more pain, such as reaching
repeatedly for things, or lifting and carrying. These activities are
correspondingly more difficult if I’m in a pain flare-up. I can also get pain
in my hands from using a keyboard repeatedly or over long periods. In the past
I was given redundancy from my job because I had developed a repetitive strain
injury in my hands from using a keyboard continuously. I was not able to go
back to work for another eighteen months. The pain in my hands can still flare
up again sometimes if I write or use a computer keyboard too much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">With regard to my mental, cognitive and intellectual
functions, I suffer from anxiety which at times has been very severe, as well
as emotional distress when I am in a lot of pain. The anxiety itself began in
2008, when I suffered a nervous breakdown. For several months I was in such
fear that I couldn’t function, or even be left on my own for long; my partner
had to take two months off work to look after me. I was on very high doses of
valium at the time. I had a lot of help from an organisation called No Panic,
which runs a helpline, but it still took me much of that year to recover. It
was the worst time in my life, and whenever I suffer bad anxiety now the
feelings are worsened by a fear of becoming as ill as I was then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Since 2008 I have had fairly frequent recurrences of anxiety.
These setbacks are often triggered by flare-ups of pain or other health
problems, many of them quite minor. My anxiety also worsens these flare-ups, by
adding extra emotional distress to the distress I already feel as a result of
the intense pain. During flare-ups I struggle to manage both the pain and the
anxiety, and my GP sometimes prescribes me valium to help with the latter. I
don’t take valium all the time, but I do need it to help me through the worst
of these episodes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">When suffering from anxiety, I am under such stress that
it is difficult to concentrate on learning new tasks, coping with changes, and
dealing with people I don’t know. I also feel nervous of answering the phone at
such times. The stress involved in such situations tends to feed back into my
pain and anxiety, making both worse because I am under such stress. When this
happens I need to rest in a comfortable position (ideally, lying down), and
practise deep relaxation exercises such as diaphragmatic breathing, in order to
reduce pain and anxiety. I also practice mindfulness meditation, but it can
still take days or weeks to bring the anxiety back down again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">As an example of the ways in which my anxiety would affect
my ability to work, this current situation with my benefits has itself caused
me significant anxiety. Receiving the letter which mentioned that I would not
receive any ESA payments </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">from January 2013 was a big shock, and as my partner and I
did not understand the situation we needed to make several phone calls to the
DWP for an explanation of how ESA works. This was so stressful for me that I
had to go to bed to try and stay calm, while my partner made the phone calls. I
am also very anxious about my interview at the Job Centre on Thursday, to
discuss ‘getting back into work’. My feeling is that the DWP still believes I
am capable of work, and so the thought of having to explain all this once more
to someone I don’t know is very difficult for me.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">I have been prescribed anti-depressants since my chronic
pain began eight years ago, but I still experience low mood. In 2009 I suffered
a spell of deep depression following the onset of a big and debilitating pain
flare-up. This depression lasted several months. Even now, I still have to work
hard to keep my mood up, as the pain and my inability to do many of the things
I want to do causes me such distress. Over the past few years I have had
frequent support from Health in Mind (the local mental health team), which has
helped me to manage my mood, but it is still very difficult at times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">In a work situation, managing both the pain, anxiety and
my mood during a flare-up would be next to impossible, and once again I believe
that I would inevitably need a lot of time on sick leave in order to recover.
Such times are also emotionally distressing for my partner whom I live with,
and whose life includes extra stress when I am suffering in this way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Finishing tasks is another area that I would find
difficult at work. Because I need frequent rests, completing tasks takes a lot
longer than it would for someone without my chronic pain condition, which I
believe would make it very hard if not impossible for me to meet targets and
such.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">I can get about on my own if it is to a place that isn’t
too far. However, if it is further than walking distance I need someone to
transport me in a car or a taxi (I don’t drive). This is because I find bus and
train travel too painful, partly because of the seating and also the waiting
times. Such travel therefore exacerbates my condition and tends to make
flare-ups more likely. My partner works and lives in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> for three days each week, so would not
necessarily be able to drive me to and from work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Such difficulties are very common for people with my
condition (neuropathic pain or NeP), which is notoriously difficult for people
to manage. One of the main problems is that often an activity does not cause
much extra pain at the time, but tends to trigger it afterwards. So sitting or
waling for too long, for instance, might be manageable at the time. But doing
it persistently always leads to pain flare-ups. I’ve learned this through long,
hard experience, which is why pacing myself and resting frequently is so
important. It is also something that was confirmed on a pain management
programme I recently attended at the hospital, where much emphasis was placed
on pacing and relaxation as well as certain exercises which help to strengthen
and mobilise without increasing the pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Part of my pacing involves gradually trying to increase
what I am able to do. It is a very slow process, but I believe I am gradually
improving in my ability to do certain activities without increasing pain or
causing flare-ups. I hope I will be able to go back to work sometime in the
future, especially as I greatly enjoyed my last job working with people with
mental illness. But that time is not yet. I do not believe I am ready to go
back to work, as my condition has not yet improved enough for me to be able to
do so.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Although I would really like to work again, and hope to do
so in the future, I firmly believe that working at present would present a huge
risk to my health – both physically, in terms of greatly increased pain, and
mentally, in that it would almost certainly worsen my anxiety and low mood. I
cannot emphasise the latter too strongly. My anxiety seems so closely tied to
my physical health – my chronic pain in particular – that any increases in pain
as a result of work, not to mention the stress of the working environment,
would almost certainly make me anxious and present a risk of another nervous
breakdown. At the present time, working would be completely impractical for me
– and I have previously sent you letters from my GP and counsellor advising you
of the same.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">I hope that what I have said here, as well as the other letters
which will follow, will give you a better idea of how my condition affects me
and help you to make a decision which reflects this. I believe I am fully
deserving of both the works and support components of ESA, and am asking you to
award me the support component because of the extent of both my physical and mental
difficulties.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Finally, I would like to add that this ongoing situation
of having to defend my claim for ESA, is causing me great emotional stress.
Almost every day now I am anxious and worried about my claim, and my mood is
often low. I have already suffered eight years of physical pain and four years
of anxiety. I did not ask to be ill, and I would be out there working in the
world if I could. And yet, although I trust that staff at the DWP are trying to
help me, the process is making me feel powerless and stigmatised. These are not
good or safe feelings to have, for someone who already frequently suffers from
anxiety and low mood, and I am worried about my mental well-being as a result
of this ongoing situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Please do contact me if you have any questions. I look
forward to hearing from you soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">With best wishes</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-45673607425927336632012-05-24T19:32:00.002+01:002012-05-24T19:32:55.247+01:00When Sex is a Pain<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZs6THXWNgK9pdCoaMkrQjrIz85YewjJb7gOjh3NlOMqcP1LZ45R3hS4pphG90fTeHDqD846b2I3FDiwzD4dVU3WsF9z1_fFoI3nT4_n3QKrodfK-DS9ktU1fKS6gV-QIH1w7UfO7xfGZN/s1600/Kokoschka+-+Bride+Of+The+Wind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZs6THXWNgK9pdCoaMkrQjrIz85YewjJb7gOjh3NlOMqcP1LZ45R3hS4pphG90fTeHDqD846b2I3FDiwzD4dVU3WsF9z1_fFoI3nT4_n3QKrodfK-DS9ktU1fKS6gV-QIH1w7UfO7xfGZN/s320/Kokoschka+-+Bride+Of+The+Wind.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I wrote a blog entry a while ago about sex working, called
‘Safety and Exploitation in the Oldest Profession’. It’s a subject I seem to
have different views about from my other liberal friends; perhaps because with
trafficking and slavery being so rife, it’s becoming easier for people to
generalise about exploitation. In the blog I mentioned briefly that one of the
legitimate uses of sex working was to provide sexual experiences for those who
cannot find them through the ‘normal’ channels. This includes the disabled, who
can often find it very difficult to find sexual partners or even to have sex
‘normally’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Although I didn’t develop that theme, it got me thinking
about my own difficulties with sex, caused by my chronic pain condition which
began eight years ago. I have never seen the issue of sex treated adequately,
or even at all, in books about chronic pain, no matter how excellent they are
in many ways. And this is strange, because sex or the absence of it is a very
important part of most people’s lives. The difficulties that chronic pain and
illness cause for people’s sex lives are very significant, and can cause great
distress. I know I’m not the only one who is affected by this. So I decided,
with the encouragement of a friend who is writing her own blog on the subject,
to discuss the issue here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">In brief, here’s my own experience. Without going into too
much detail, my chronic neuropathic (nerve) pain is centred mostly in my groin
area, and is exacerbated by simple activities such as walking, standing or
sitting for too long. I have to pace myself with all these activities, neither
of which I can do comfortably for more than a few minutes, most of the time. So
you can imagine what sex does to this painful condition! (which at its worst,
is very painful indeed). Sex has to be timed carefully for when I feel at my
best. It also tends to be brief, careful and somewhat inhibited. My partner and
I still have a sex life, but it’s much less frequent and obviously not the same;
neither as satisfying or excited or uninhibited, as it used to be. Both of us
very much aware of the possibility of flare-ups, our enjoyment is tempered by a
continual effort to be careful and avoid any lasting increase in pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Since being in pain, I’ve also felt a gradual but not
total loss of libido. It may be partly the medication I’m on, and it may also
be that I’ve adjusted to not experiencing sex as often. But I also think (and
other sufferers have said this to me as well) that when we’re suffering we
don’t feel sexy. During flare-ups, I feel less like a man and more like a
child, because I feel sad and vulnerable and in need of ‘looking after’. It’s
aggravated by the fact that I often suffer anxiety during these times, which
makes me feel even more vulnerable. All this greatly changes the nature of a
relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I think when we’re sick or suffering, the need to get
better or to be in less pain becomes an over-riding priority. Other needs take
second or third place. I guess, in evolutionary terms, this makes sense. The
need to reproduce is of paramount importance to all animals, but we need to
survive first if we’re to be able to have sex! When we’re suffering, we go into
fight or flight mode, and from the point of view of our nervous systems, our
survival feels threatened. So sex, along with many other human and animal
needs, feels less important. Recovery, or feeling better, feels all-important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Perhaps this why I (and other people I’ve spoken to) feel
an increased need for physical affection, even while our libido is reduced.
Because we’re suffering, we need love, reassurance, and ‘holding’. We need
comfort and cuddles more than we need excitement. We feel a bit more like a
vulnerable child, and a less like a virile adult.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">When I can afford it (which isn’t often!), I treat myself
to a professional back and shoulders massage. This is very nice, a beautiful
sensation, but it isn’t exactly sexual! It creates a much needed relaxation more
than it does arousal. For this reason, it seems to have more in common with the
gentle reassurance of ‘affectionate’ touch than it does with sex. There’s no
love there, but its effect is calming and reassuring, and only little bursts of
intense pleasure relate it to sexual excitement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">There’s another aspect to sex and chronic pain or illness.
Because sufferers can be disabled in varying degrees, it can also be difficult
to ‘find’ sex in the first place. I know that if I wasn’t already in a
relationship, it would be very difficult to meet potential partners (I never
found it that easy anyway!), or to find someone who could be patient enough
with the sexual difficulties my chronic pain leads to. Who would, in short, be
willing to forgo a fully-active sex life herself. And I’m lucky; I’m far less
disabled than some! Some people find having ‘normal’ sex impossible, and yet
they have the same desires and needs. Where do they go?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">In response to my article on sex working, a friend sent me
this link to an Australian newspaper article: <a href="http://www.adelaidenow.com.au/news/south-australia/disabled-deserve-sex-rights/story-e6frea83-1226310720177">http://www.adelaidenow.com.au/news/south-australia/disabled-deserve-sex-rights/story-e6frea83-1226310720177</a>.
The majority of this article concerns one woman’s attempt to get the law
changed, to provide government funding to allow the disabled to visit sex
workers – and so have sexual experiences that would otherwise be denied to them.
But what struck me, and touched me the most was the quote from the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Adelaide</st1:place></st1:city> sex worker at
the end of the article: </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">"It's often a
long time since someone (with a disability) has been touched in a sensual
way," she said. "I'd really like to see a time when we can speak
about it openly."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I find this very moving. We all of us crave touch, and
sensual touch is very special. Even though I have a (limited) sex life, I found
myself instantly relating in a powerful, emotional way to that sex worker’s
words. It’s a reaction which tells me that, even though sex and physical
affection are not absent from my life, I have needs which are greater than the
part being fulfilled. I haven’t had totally relaxed, free and uninhibited sex
for the past eight years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">As another friend said to me, all the difficulties around
having sex with chronic pain, illness and disability create yet another loss
for us to have to deal with. Yet it’s one that, for natural reasons, is very
hard for us to talk about with others. I guess I’d like the non-disabled,
non-sufferers, to think about this for a while, especially in the current
social and political climate. The British government, and the newspapers who
support it, are encouraging hostility to the disabled, who are seen
increasingly as work-shy benefit-scroungers. This is classic
politically-motivated scapegoating; the disabled (and others on benefits) are
being blamed for the budget deficit, which they didn’t cause. And it seems to
be working; verbal and physical abuse of the disabled is apparently on the
increase. But think about what we have lost, and then think what being
‘work-shy’ would involve sacrificing. We often cannot work, and yet our means
of basic survival is being cut and many are plunged into poverty or even made
homeless. Many can’t walk, or have difficulties walking. Many can’t get out of
bed. Holidays, or even a drive out of town, are a no-no for many. Our
relationships can suffer, and we can lose friends or even the support of our
families. And on top of that, we also have to deal with the total or partial
loss of sex in our lives. So many of the things that non-sufferers take for
granted in their lives…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">One irony is that chronic pain sufferers can probably
benefit from a passionate and satisfying sex life even more than ‘healthy’
people can. Sex is one of those things (like other activities, such as laughing
and eating spicy food, would you believe!) that releases endorphins –
opiate-like substances which are released naturally by the body. Also,
pleasurable sensations send messages to the brain from the peripheral nerves,
up to seven times faster than unpleasant sensations! So the sheer pleasure of
sex can help to block pain signals from even reaching the brain. I presume that
this explains why I often hardly notice my pain while enjoying sex, but find
myself suffering afterwards. My body is telling me to let go and get carried
away, but my mind knows that if I do I may pay for it later. A short-lived
increase in pain I don’t mind, but a really big, lasting flare-up? No thanks!
And so my sexual experience, despite the physical and psychological benefits of
having sex, is diminished – along with that of my patient, long-suffering
partner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">It goes without saying that many of these losses,
including the sexual ones, are felt by our partners as well. They struggle with
us, knowing at close hand what having a chronic illness means for sufferers and
their loved ones. Those of us who have understanding partners are very lucky,
despite all we've lost. We have the understanding and compassion of those we
love the most, and even if we don't always have sex, we have physical affection
and love. How much harder for those who don't have that either...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>The painting at the head of this article is called 'Bride of the Wind', by Oskar Kokoschka.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-67144001631839762442012-05-14T19:13:00.002+01:002012-05-14T19:13:56.469+01:00Meditative Fish<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbi99YiKOMSjLs9BzTPv_RvkBCe_MVeuEHZ6dGSZ5PGTbUGhX-O-NhHQkxGF5ZIpI-9OvcI2fgZljDkynyvjcjFPEGPk08xhMiC4l5cb2oUVbZd9EjDUbOCSTb-E3xvhC3L1oyBnMwkiK5/s1600/M+134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbi99YiKOMSjLs9BzTPv_RvkBCe_MVeuEHZ6dGSZ5PGTbUGhX-O-NhHQkxGF5ZIpI-9OvcI2fgZljDkynyvjcjFPEGPk08xhMiC4l5cb2oUVbZd9EjDUbOCSTb-E3xvhC3L1oyBnMwkiK5/s320/M+134.JPG" width="316" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">A woman I studied with on a degree course in the 1980s is
now a very fine and successful artist. With her love of nature, almost all of
her paintings are of landscapes or animals, and I have a big and beautiful
print of hers on my bedroom wall. Entitled ‘Evening at Sweetbriar’, it’s a calm
and atmospheric painting of a fishpond, with trees and the rising moon
reflected, and two koi carp swimming in the depths below. It’s a magical and,
for me, a rather comforting picture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Last week, my partner Angie and I discovered that a
neighbour of ours has a wonderful fish pond in her back garden, and the fish
are impressive: large and graceful, some orange and others of different colours
and patterns. We took photos of them at the weekend, and behold! – the results
are very like Rachel’s paintings. I spent a couple of happy hours editing them
on the laptop, and cropping them into pleasing compositions. One of them I’ve
posted above, and if you imagine it created in paint instead of pixels, you’ll
have a good idea of Rachel’s work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Working on my photographs is very therapeutic for me, all
the more so because like Rachel, I tend to focus a lot on nature and wildlife.
Being at home a lot of the time because of my disability, I can get isolated,
anxious and occasionally depressed. I have to work quite hard to stay positive,
especially when I’m in a lot of pain. So just looking at nature, even if on a
computer screen, lifts my mood because I’m focussing on beautiful things. The
fact that I’m being creative at the same time – doing my best to <i>create </i>a beautiful thing – helps even
more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">There’s something meditative about these new fish pond
photos, I think. I need to remind myself to slow down a little, because I’m on
a high at the moment after winning an appeal against a decision last year that
I was able to work and therefore ineligible for state financial help. Now that
all the anxiety and stress have subsided, I want to get out and experience new
things – but I also need to remember that my body can only cope with so much.
So right now, I’m working on these photos and enjoying the sight of the cool
colours, the bright fish, and the reflected sky. Thanks to my camera and a
helpful neighbour, I can enjoy these even without having fish of my own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">After this experience, I would love a fish pond in our
garden, though. I could sit there and breathe gently, mindfully aware of the
ever-changing movement and colours of the gentle scene below me. And every
photograph I took would be different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">There’s just one problem: our darling cat Tally. She’s
definitely a fisher cat, because she sits on the edge of the bath and reaches
for our toes! So I wouldn’t trust her with no fish. She’s too slow to catch
insects or birds – although she manages earthworms and the occasional moth. But
I wouldn’t be happy to see her jump through the cat flap with a bleeding,
chunky koi carp in her mouth. Although judging by the size of some of them in
Val’s garden, she wouldn’t need another meal for days…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Sometimes you can’t have everything you want. I’m quite
happy to sacrifice a fish pond as long as I can keep Tally!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">PS: You can see Rachel Lockwood’s art at <a href="http://www.rachellockwoodartist.com/">http://www.rachellockwoodartist.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-41835695609016743832012-05-03T15:09:00.002+01:002012-05-03T15:12:25.896+01:00Self-Compassion First!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaA2VCMbvVdYq9KeKqmtshw5CmJjH5b0HAIZltZhRTDu4xh_EZmuDc5ExBCseZ1HMl8gfyrk39iiuBym7n85q0RzcfOHeQpbc0yQsjHBM2TaCYSzsy8ATUA6_UodEKFcXALvX7nf5mM9M/s1600/2010.06.25+shamrock.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaA2VCMbvVdYq9KeKqmtshw5CmJjH5b0HAIZltZhRTDu4xh_EZmuDc5ExBCseZ1HMl8gfyrk39iiuBym7n85q0RzcfOHeQpbc0yQsjHBM2TaCYSzsy8ATUA6_UodEKFcXALvX7nf5mM9M/s320/2010.06.25+shamrock.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">This is an extract from a draft of a chapter for my new
book, whose working title is, ‘Healing the Second Wound: A Compassionate
Response to Chronic Pain and Suffering’. No doubt much of the text will change
before I try to get it published. I thought I’d use this part in my blog as a
defence of self-compassion, which many people confuse with self-pity or
selfishness, believing that compassion for others is only what matters. On the
contrary, it seems clear to me that self-compassion has to come first. If we
can’t show compassion for ourselves, we are liable to damage ourselves, and
then we cannot effectively show it to others either. The example I give from my
own life, towards the end, is a case in point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">The Dalai Lama defined compassion as ‘the state of wishing
that the object of our compassion be free of suffering… Yourself first, and
then in a more advanced way the aspiration will embrace others.’ Buddhism is
strong on compassion. One of my favourite quotations from a Buddhist is by Rob
Nairn in his book ‘The Tranquil Mind’: ‘The most important thing in all the
world is to be kind.’ It’s a simple statement, but true. Imagine how universal
kindness would transform the world and its fortunes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">The Dalai Lama’s definition is interesting because it puts
self-compassion first, before any compassion we can give to others. This is the
opposite of what many of us are brought up to believe from childhood onwards.
So often we are taught to go out into the world and put other people’s needs first,
if necessary sacrificing our own. Although it’s an understandable belief, an
awful lot of guilt is created by this, and a terrible amount of self-punishment
and suppression of the most natural basic needs. Sometimes this suppression –
which, when it becomes unconscious, is called repression in the Freudian sense
– can only allow our thwarted needs to be expressed physically, through pain or
illness. We saw in Chapter Four how the effects of trauma can become ‘locked’
into our bodies, but normal tension and stress also have physical effects;
often being expressed in the muscles, causing back pain or irritable bowel
syndrome. Chronic back pain, for instance, is often correlated with unhappiness
or frustration at work, where someone is in a job but getting no satisfaction
from it, and constantly under pressure to meet targets or deadlines imposed by
someone else. Sacrificing our own needs can become such a habitual feature of
our lives that we are unaware we’re doing it. But self-sacrifice, on a regular
basis, causes much unnecessary suffering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Often, if we are willing to get our needs met, such as the
emotional and psychological needs which inspire some people to go for
counselling, other people may regard us as selfish or navel-gazing. As a
counterpoint to the talking therapy industry which is so popular in the western
world, there is great hostility to it in many quarters. “Why can’t this person
just pull themselves together and get on with it?” people say. I suppose it <i>is</i> possible for some to get addicted to
counselling or therapy. But people often have very good reasons for embarking
on such a journey: relationship problems or childhood traumata, for instance.
Studies suggest that in the United States, between 20 and 25% of women and
between 5 and 10% of men were sexually abused as children. Think about that for
a moment! Embarking on therapy to deal with these traumata constructively and
with self-compassion, takes a deal of courage and some wisdom too. Less
constructive ways of dealing with abuse include self-harm (self-abuse) and
abusing others. Are those ways less selfish than treating our emotional needs
with compassion?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">It makes sense to realise that we have to help ourselves
first before we can help others effectively. This means that compassion follows
on from self-compassion, not the other way round. It’s almost impossible to
give attention to others if we’re trapped in our own internal struggles, and
likewise we can’t begin to empathise with others – their fears, joys, struggles
and hopes – if we take a hard line on our own feelings. Once our own
difficulties become workable, we can extend our compassion to others, and truly
go out and participate in the world, giving what we can to help others be free
of suffering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">A friend of mine who experienced a major and traumatic
bereavement, finds it impossible to offer emotional support to bereaved
friends; it simply hurts too much. Her counsellor said to her: “You can’t give
what you don’t have.” It’s true! Our own healing has to come first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">In the context of having chronic pain, if we ignore what
our bodies and emotions are telling us, we are likely to make our own suffering
worse. This depletes our energy and our ability to help others. It will also
make life harder for those around us, because they will have to deal both with
our emotional distress and our diminished physical capacity. So either way, it
makes sense to look after our own needs, and to treat them with understanding,
patience and compassion. Not doing so causes problems for everyone, starting
with ourselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Before I had my nervous breakdown in 2008, I had been
putting myself under stress for years, and at the same time berating myself
because I still didn’t think I was doing enough for others. In my case it was
anti-war campaigning that did the damage. I cared passionately about the
suffering of millions of people in other countries, was beside myself with
frustrated anger at the politicians who caused such suffering and lied to us in
order to justify it, and was fearful of where such developments would lead us
in the future. So: I was upset, angry and scared. I focused on these issues
almost continuously, but because of my chronic pain condition I couldn’t get
out into the world and campaign as actively as others. Neither did I, like friends
I knew, put myself on the line by non-violently breaking laws that criminalised
peaceful protest. Nothing I ever did was enough. I was pushing and pushing and
pushing myself to campaign harder, despite being afraid and in stress already
due to a chronic pain condition, and I certainly wasn’t treating myself with
compassion. Is it any wonder that my nervous system, without the buffering of
anti-depressants that I’d recently withdrawn from, finally seemed to decide it
had had enough?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">Trying to help the bombed and traumatised people of Iraq
and Afghanistan, while not taking care of my own basic needs (including the
need to feel safe), is a fairly extreme example of where non-self-compassion
can lead. But I learned about the importance of self-compassion the hard way.
I’ve had to learn how to gradually implement it in my life since, and I must
say it’s better late than never! My hope is that this book will help readers to
learn self-compassion in an easier way, because it really is the first step in
managing chronic health problems of all kinds. We can, like the Dalai Lama
says, wish ourselves to be free of suffering, ‘and then in a more advanced way
the aspiration will embrace others.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">In Chapter Eleven we will look at ways we can extend
compassion and kindliness to others as well as to ourselves, as this too is a
part of getting well and regaining more of our lives once more. But for now,
let’s focus on ourselves, and how we can help give ourselves the compassion
that, in our difficult situations, we both need and deserve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-3561757578451389782012-04-27T00:27:00.001+01:002012-04-28T13:56:43.004+01:00Safety and Exploitation in the Oldest Profession<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSJqt-Y6itj9qpZtdfvnMDGP4eP2AxPxKxzeUdMv_SQyUXvrzLKP1z-nV2HJRKSfZHGGnZHZdgA9DCWQBBqOr2Q1oBugbqrI_7WUNT-249rAMXDf4ttCdz6U2rAbGA7SMeF3tdDhlfF_6/s1600/Jasper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSJqt-Y6itj9qpZtdfvnMDGP4eP2AxPxKxzeUdMv_SQyUXvrzLKP1z-nV2HJRKSfZHGGnZHZdgA9DCWQBBqOr2Q1oBugbqrI_7WUNT-249rAMXDf4ttCdz6U2rAbGA7SMeF3tdDhlfF_6/s1600/Jasper.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This piece started as a reply to a letter in my local
newspaper, by a Mr Dalton who I know personally through our mutual work in a
local peace group. He was effectively condemning the profession of sex working
as exploitative, with the workers portrayed as victims and their clients as
‘sad’. He gave examples of the increase in trafficking, sexual slavery and
child prostitution as evidence for his assertion that ‘prostitution is
exploitation’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This got me thinking, because sex working is a subject
that interests me and one of my friends used to be in the profession herself.
While she admits that prostitution is almost always exploitative, her
experience was nothing like that portrayed by Mr Dalton in his letter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let me say that I agreed with a great deal of his letter, and
feel the same compassion for the victims of crime that he mentioned. He’s a
liberal and humane man with a deep concern for human rights, which I share. But
the letter seems too great a generalisation. It’s as if he took examples from
the extreme end of the spectrum, and then tarred the whole profession with that
brush. It’s certainly true that prostitution is often highly exploitative, and
that there has been a great increase in trafficking over recent years. So the
kinds of experiences that my friend had over ten years ago may be rarer now; although
I’m sure there will always be honest people who decide to make a living from
selling sex. But to state in such a bald way that ‘prostitution is
exploitation’ is too great a simplification, and I don’t see that in itself
it’s necessarily a bad thing, especially if it could be legalised and the women
involved better protected. It’s the exploitation that is wrong, not the
prostitution.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My friend, who I’ll call Martha (not her real name) lives and
works overseas, in a far less controversial profession; but she used to work
near the heart of Soho in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">London</st1:city></st1:place>.
She wasn’t very happy as a sex worker, although some of her friends were more
comfortable with it than she was. Neither of these women were forced to become
sex workers, and although they were exploited financially, they felt physically
safe and were not abused by those they worked for. They chose to be sex
workers, and when my friend was totally fed up with it, she chose to stop being
one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tragically (and everything Mr Dalton says about the
desperate circumstances of many sex workers is true), a huge number of women
don’t have that choice. But many do, and their reasons for sex working are as
varied as the reasons people choose any job. Neither are they necessarily any
more likely to become HIV positive than people with a predilection for one
night stands are; in fact, they may even be safer. Mr Dalton’s letter very much
overemphasises the danger here, as if there’s something especially unhygienic
about having sex with a prostitute. Sure, it depends on where they work, how
desperate they are for money, and other factors. But Martha and her friends
weren’t HIV positive; they worked in the business for many years, and protected
themselves every time they worked. Neither she nor her friends ever became
infected with anything.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mr Dalton’s letter really got me thinking though, because
the subject of exploitation, trafficking and slavery is such a serious one. So
I asked Martha if she would tell me more about her years as a sex worker,
because I didn’t feel I knew very much about it. She sent me the following
reply - which I’ve edited somewhat, without removing anything she says about
her experiences:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hey Michael! Don’t worry; I have no problem in
talking about my days of a working girl. No regrets, that’s what I think.
Sometimes one can find a greater exploitation between a man and a woman who are
in a “loving” kind of relationship than between a prostitute and her client. In
the latter, everything is clear and open. It is like any other business where
one has to deal with people. Some people are easy going; some others are hard
to manage.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;">All I know is my own experience and things I
heard about at the time. Everywhere I worked I felt exploited by the premises
owners and maids. The rental we had to pay was very high and the maids were
very expensive. Not only we had to pay a very good wages but we also had to
give them commission over</span></i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> <i>our earnings. Sometimes we would go home
with a lot less than we paid out…or even owing money. It was sad, depressing
and humiliating. They wouldn’t pity us. The one I worked with most often was
the greediest.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">All the girls would go for medical checkup
frequently, and we were very aware of the danger of doing anything without
proper protection. Yes, it’s easier to catch something with a one night
standing than with a prostitute.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">I thought it was quite safe. Out of all the
years I worked there, we got mugged only once, but that can happen anywhere. We
just have to be careful everywhere these days.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Well, about trafficking, slavery and all the
rest of it; I don’t consider it prostitution; these are crimes, despicable
crimes. Just the thought of what these poor girls, usually children, go through
brings tears to my eyes. Some men are just so sick that I can hardly find words
to describe them; they should be put in jail for many years…and where children
are involved, they should throw away the keys.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Many kisses to you and baby Tally, and kiss
Angie for me when you see her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Martha</span></span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Beyond its honesty and openness, there are several
striking things about this message. The first is in Martha’s opening paragraph,
where she writes about the contrast between the ‘open’ relationship between
prostitute and client in contrast to certain other relationships. Working girls
and their clients only do openly and honestly something that mirrors the more
covert dependent/exploitative relationships that can exist between other
partners. It’s often been argued that traditionally, the state of marriage was
exploitative, in that the wife would provide sex, the rearing of children, cook
the meals and keep the house clean, all in return for financial security. In
past times, it was virtually impossible for the vast majority of women to be
financially independent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Martha and her friends were exploited not only by men (in
the sense that the rents were very high) but also by other women. This somewhat
turns the table on the popular idea of prostitutes as tragic victims of men’s
despicable behaviour – which of course is often true, but a simplification
nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They felt <i>safe</i>.
That’s not to say that some clients weren’t ‘hard to manage’, but generally the
women felt okay, and the clients were as mixed in personality and behaviour as
any other segment of the population.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They practised scrupulous sexual hygiene. It’s not how
promiscuous you are that makes you dangerous as a sexual partner; it’s how
blithe and careless you are in your behaviour. Again, in some ways sex working
is not much different from some other sexual relationships, and may in certain
respects be a lot safer. I realise that some working girls, if desperate for
cash, will have sex without using condoms – but again, this is far from
universal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The fact that there <i>are</i>
often dangers involved in sex working, and that many sex workers are desperate,
exploited, abused or under-age, doesn’t strike me as a reason for generalising
or discriminating in a negative way. Many sex workers themselves insist that
these are valid reasons for legalising their profession. Legalised brothels,
monitored for safety and hygiene, would do much to protect sex workers from
exploitation, and both the workers and their clients from infection. Sex
workers are still often afraid to approach the police when they have serious
reason to, for fear of arrest and prosecution. Stigmatising or legislating
against prostitution tends to drive it underground, where it’s far more
dangerous.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Martha’s letter shows that even near its best,
prostitution is a pretty exploitative profession. And even many of Martha’s
clients were probably under the mistaken impression that they were paying her
for the pleasure she gave them, and not the maids and others who fed off her.
But then, look at the way that bankers exploit their staff and customers, and
sex working suddenly doesn’t seem that different. The banks (who caused the
financial crisis) and corporations who make billions in profits and don’t even
pay their taxes; MPs who effectively commit benefit fraud through their
expenses (our taxes); multi-millionaire government ministers who keep getting
richer while cutting vital welfare and services… The Murdochs! It’s the way
things are now (capitalism is parasitic almost by definition), and it seems to
me unfair to single out just this one profession.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On the other hand, at its worst this one profession
involves abuse of a terrible kind. I’m not sure if trafficking and slavery are
continuing to get more common or not, but certainly it’s worse than most
exploitative practices you’d expect to meet in everyday life. Perhaps it’s
because of these terrible practices, that while Mr Dalton correctly (if
slightly sweepingly) refers to prostitution as exploitation, the examples he
gives are of the worst kind: sexual slavery, trafficking and paedophilia. Yet
my friend Martha says that these crimes are ‘not prostitution’ – they are
simply heinous crimes. They bear little relation to the profession she used to
work in – unless it’s in the same sense that a brain tumour is like a mild headache.
We would not call an Eastern European au pair who is kept as a slave a nanny or
a cleaner, even though she does many of the same things as a nanny or a cleaner.
She is simply a slave.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Perhaps it’s just a question of semantics. Yet I feel that
labelling and wording are important when making generalising statements about a
particular group within society.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Personally, I think that sex working fulfils a widespread
need. I’m sure that many clients are purely casual or thoughtless in their
behaviour, and some can be abusive too. But many people (not necessarily men,
either!) find it difficult if not impossible to have a sex life without paying
for it – whether because of loneliness, lack of confidence, lack of opportunity
or even disability. Having spent the first decade of my adult life without a
girlfriend or even a one night stand for comfort, I can’t say I blame them. Some
people have strong moral views against prostitution, but I would not like to
judge either the sex workers or their clients, certainly not without knowing
their personal reasons. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is it ‘sad’, as Mr Dalton says, that the clients of sex
workers choose to obtain sexual satisfaction in this way? Yes, maybe, although
the reasons for being a client must be at least as varied as the reasons for
being a prostitute. Perhaps, not being able to have sex at all is even sadder –
you’d have to ask the person concerned. But of course, not many clients would
come forward to answer the question, because the stigma is so severe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As for the difference between sex shops and brothels, I
think Mr Dalton over-emphasises it. He says in his letter that the new local
sex shop is morally okay but a brothel wouldn’t be. But pornography can be highly
exploitative in many of the ways that prostitution can. I wouldn’t have a
problem with the presence of a legalised brothel in my town; after all, I
expect sex is sold here anyway, just like anywhere else! We can’t prevent
prostitution; not for nothing is it dubbed the world’s ‘oldest profession’!
What we can do is make it safer and less exploitative – for as many people as we
can. In a civilised society, surely people’s safety, health and well-being
should be the most important concern? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Legalising brothels would also mean that clients would
know they could go to legalised establishments without fear of harming anyone
or having anything to do with that appalling kind of slavery. I’m sure that
many of them must care just as much as anyone about the injustice and cruelty
that has been on the increase in recent years, and would not want to contribute
to it. Legalising brothels would not protect everyone, but it would be a huge
step in the right direction. Sadly, unlike in some other countries, governments
in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country-region>
have so far placed a Victorian ‘morality’ above common sense, decency and the
safety of all concerned. We can only hope that things will change for the
better in the future.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know that Mr Dalton is not prejudiced in the way I mean
here, but it seems that there are already far too many groups in our society
who are stigmatised and generalised about: from Muslims, travellers and asylum
seekers to the disabled - and even foxes! To state the obvious, sex workers and
their clients are as much a varied mix of people as the rest of us. Yes, there
can be appalling abuse and exploitation involved, and because of this we need to
make the profession as safe and out-in-the-open as we can. But I believe it’s
also true that, even now, the oldest profession can often be less sensational
and much less sordid than many people believe. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Postscript: A follower of this blog has sent me the link to this story, about a call from a (female) New South Wales MP to decriminalise sex working and provide government funding for the disabled to hire sex workers </span></span><a href="http://www.adelaidenow.com.au/news/south-australia/disabled-deserve-sex-rights/story-e6frea83-1226310720177">http://www.adelaidenow.com.au/news/south-australia/disabled-deserve-sex-rights/story-e6frea83-1226310720177</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">. This is the sort of humane response to sex working - and also the disabled - that is a breath of fresh air to me. As far as I know, the state of Victoria has already legalised brothels. In the current political climate though, I can't see either of these measures happening in Britain!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-88476112495910642062012-04-22T15:32:00.000+01:002012-04-22T15:32:19.065+01:00Shared Natures: getting out, and meeting Ellis the fox cub<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhDqGh3yLF1-x4ZgJSa281Ygmjr8htEm9TMyAeZGYLKr5onAqQZ30lzo4NN-F5vYXk_oVbdySzU9hDmewo2PfKUI4ZckFYcJv3ZFSS6RTmhEMSY1eZWyKeL0bdKy1vxXMKgD_2xRb6bNX/s1600/M+080c1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhDqGh3yLF1-x4ZgJSa281Ygmjr8htEm9TMyAeZGYLKr5onAqQZ30lzo4NN-F5vYXk_oVbdySzU9hDmewo2PfKUI4ZckFYcJv3ZFSS6RTmhEMSY1eZWyKeL0bdKy1vxXMKgD_2xRb6bNX/s320/M+080c1.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Like so many people who suffer from chronic pain or
illness, isolation is a constant difficulty. I spend a lot of time at home,
only able to move around for short periods because too much activity can
trigger pain flare-ups. I go for a short walk each day. I’ve never learned to
drive, and to do so now would be too expensive as well as painful, due to
problems with sitting. For three days a week I’m completely alone because my
partner Angie lives and works in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>
on those days. In these circumstances it can be very difficult to stay positive
and cheerful, and I know that this isn’t unusual amongst the many other people
who live in similar circumstances.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I rest, on and off, in my very comfortable reclining
chair in the living room, I am sometimes prey to a kind of existential
loneliness, where I feel cut off from the rest of the world. Because I have
periods of anxiety, noise can be stressful, and silence can be spooky. Four
years ago I had a nervous breakdown in this house, suffering severe anxiety for
several months, and with a lot of hard work and support I recovered, but I
still occasionally have setbacks. I work hard at various relaxation and
self-help techniques, and they do help a great deal. But despite the frequent
presence of our beloved cat Tally, nothing helps to combat isolation like
contact with other people does. For several years now, my main contact with the
outside world on those three days has been television, the internet and the
occasional phone call. Facebook, that social network with a bad press, which is
often accused of encouraging isolation and ‘virtual’ relationships, has made a
huge positive difference to me, all the more now since I’ve joined a closed
group for other sufferers. The support and friendship we people in different
corners of the world give each other is an absolute joy, and my only regret is
that because much of my computer time is taken up with writing, I don’t spend
as much time with my friends there as I’d like.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This rather lengthy preamble is meant to contrast the life
I experience most of the time with an episode of sheer joy when I was actually
able to get out and do something different. The episode itself gives me an
opportunity to write about a recent passion of mine which is all the more
intense because of the current British government’s obsession with legalising
the persecution of wild animals – and the surely-not-coincidental proliferation
of anti-fox stories in Conservative tabloid newspapers. All my life I’ve
related to those who are persecuted, bullied, legislated against or bombed to
smithereens – so no wonder I became a peace activist! Maybe it has something to
do with years of bullying in my childhood, or maybe it doesn’t. But like I said
once to my therapist, in a moment of realisation, one of the reasons I’m so
against fox hunting is that “I always felt like the fox”!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The British Wildlife Centre is an hour’s drive away from
Eastbourne, and very close to the beautiful <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Ashdown</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Forest</st1:placetype></st1:place>
(where a certain Winnie-the-Pooh once lived). Last autumn I visited it with
Angie, and for about half an hour or so I spent time in their fox enclosure,
photographing these beautiful animals as they were fed by the keepers. I got
some lovely photos, but it was also a very moving experience for me. As I sat
so near the foxes, I couldn’t imagine how anyone could want to chase, terrify
and kill them. Their resemblance to certain household pets (and I always think
of them as curiously cat-like dogs, even though they’re far more closely
related to the latter) was incredibly striking. The same look of intelligence
was present in their eyes and behaviour. Would any of those ‘hunters’ traumatise
and kill their beloved dogs or cats? No!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My passion for foxes really began in those moments of
closeness. I tend to agree with the Buddha that most acts of evil or cruelty
are done in ignorance of our shared natures. We don’t have to anthropomorphise
animals to make this true. It’s a scientific fact that we’re all related;
humans and all other animals have common ancestors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Earlier this month, in the midst of the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Ashdown</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Forest</st1:placetype></st1:place>
spring, Angie and I got a chance to go again. This time it was to meet Ellis, a
rescued orphaned fox cub who was being reared at home by one of the keepers (where
he apparently enjoys playing with her adult black <st1:place w:st="on">Labrador</st1:place>).
Once he’s old enough, Ellis will be released into an enclosure with Biscuit,
one of the adult foxes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As Katie the keeper held him, we got so close to Ellis that
we could have cuddled him ourselves. The cat-like quality was even more
evident; although a canid, Ellis still reminded me of Tally in his movement,
eagerness, and nervousness battling with curiosity. The little thing couldn’t
keep still! – constantly moving from one side of Katie’s body to the other, and
consequently not easy to photograph. But both Angie and I felt the same strong
impulse to smuggle him home. And although he was born a wild animal, Ellis
seemed already at least half-domesticated.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spent a while on my feet, not only with Ellis but also
photographing polecats, adders and a sleepy adult fox who rested under a
yellow-flowering gorse bush and looked a little warily at the small children
crowding by the fence (“Hello, Foxy Loxy!”, said one). So I was in a little
worse pain than before, and the car journey home seemed longer than the one
earlier. But I can do these things sometimes, just not on an everyday basis or
in a flare-up. The pain settled down again – and I got some lovely photos of
Ellis!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I sat telling my therapist about this a few days later,
I realised that when I have these special times – getting out somewhere new,
meeting other people, doing something I love – “I feel indistinguishable from
my old self”. I meant the self that I felt I was before I became ill. And this
is one of the dilemmas for all of us living with chronic pain or illness. We
long to be able to do the things we used to do, live the lives we used to lead.
We all feel a great sense of loss, as if we’ve lost our identities as well as
the ability to do things. But we’re held back by pain, or by severe fatigue, or
(in my case) anxiety and loss of confidence as well. This isn’t always obvious
to non-sufferers, because our illnesses are often invisible – indeed, <i>we </i>are often invisible, when forced to
spend most of our lives at home or even in bed. This is partly why I feel such
a sense of kinship with my friends in that Facebook group. We all understand
these dilemmas – our frustrated needs, our isolation, our physical and
emotional suffering, and our frequent misunderstanding by other people. It can
be very healing, comforting and cheering to get in touch with people I share so
much with.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Even so, I am trying to get out a bit more now. I felt
like hibernating in the winter – spending more and more time curled up in bed.
Now I’m starting to come out again. We could have gone back to see Ellis
yesterday, as he was running about in his new photographic enclosure; but that
lack of confidence I mentioned returned, and I didn’t quite feel up to it. It’s
a difficult balance – doing too much could precipitate a flare-up. But I want
that feeling again, of experiencing the ‘old me’, of being Michael again. I’m
still Michael at home, of course, the same as I ever was. But thanks to pain,
anxiety and isolation, it doesn’t always feel that way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now a new opportunity has come up. The Fox Project (in
fairly nearby <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kent</st1:place></st1:country-region>)
has days when the public can meet the foxes in their hospital, and other days
when we can meet and hold the cubs. This is too good an opportunity to miss!
The next day is 6<sup>th</sup> May, and if we can’t make that one then I’ll
make sure we get there sometime soon. To hold a cub!!! What a privilege! Such
noble animals, yet sometimes so easy to get close to!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I know I’m a bit fluffy. But one thing I learned
four years ago when I’d recovered from my breakdown, was that it doesn’t matter
how embarrassing or childlike I behave any more – and my love of furry animals
dates way back to my childhood. As long as it doesn’t hurt or harm anything, if
it’s fun and brings pleasure to life then it’s okay. I’m learning to be kind to
those aspects of my personality, instead of feeling ashamed of them. So I’ll
carry on being fluffy! But it doesn’t mean that I lack respect for these
wonderful creatures. Wild animals they may be at heart, but I recognise and
rejoice in our shared natures.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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</span>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-88154323762735044462012-04-15T14:37:00.003+01:002012-04-15T14:43:28.428+01:00Sunshine Made From Rain<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoCK6Y5iTXHznMGS23Ut58QE-WlhbQ8SMFqd1j_f6SadHasmMXrF0T2qLvm73_Xs6zTz8r46swj31Au3OUJrWLnHTSKkpTfN0GSv42ZutAttQnHB9yIswqDIQt5aVLhWWv__6R6RHbiAE/s1600/DSC02482.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 188px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoCK6Y5iTXHznMGS23Ut58QE-WlhbQ8SMFqd1j_f6SadHasmMXrF0T2qLvm73_Xs6zTz8r46swj31Au3OUJrWLnHTSKkpTfN0GSv42ZutAttQnHB9yIswqDIQt5aVLhWWv__6R6RHbiAE/s320/DSC02482.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731622023971826018" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana">For some time now, I’ve been trying to think of a good title for this blog. All the really great ones seem to have been taken. As I ran through the blogs of friends of mine who similarly suffer from chronic pain and illness, a beautiful phrase kept coming into my mind. ‘Sunshine made from rain’… It’s not the name of a blog but a poem, written by a Facebook friend last year, not long before she died.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; ">Amberlin Wu was a dancer, a writer, and activist and a therapist, living in the San Francisco Bay Area of California. She kept chickens in her back yard. She also suffered from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome – as she put it, “the bad kind”, the kind that is absolutely devastating to sufferers’ lives. I didn’t know her well, so the details of how CFS affected her life I’m not really sure, but I do know that she had good periods when she could go out to the beach with friends, and flare-ups when she could barely get out of bed or even move. She worked hard to publicise an illness (or, quite possibly, a collection of different illnesses) which is still deeply misunderstood by many of the public and even medical professions. As my friend (and Amberlin’s) Toni Bernhard has said, ‘chronic fatigue’ is an absurd misnomer. It is a state of deep and chronic sickness, nothing like the ‘fatigue’ that most of us experience from time to time.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; ">I only ‘met’ Amberlin on Facebook only a few months before her death; we had both written contributions to a mutual friend’s book project, and I thought hers was just wonderful. We only really exchanged a few brief messages over that time. As a result, I still don’t know exactly what she died of, but assume that it was from complications of her illness (little known fact amongst non-sufferers: CFS – or ME, as it’s more commonly known in the UK – can sometimes kill). And her poem, ‘Sunshine made from rain’, has felt even more touching since she passed away; it expresses deep sadness and joy in almost equal measure. To experience the world around her so fully, even through pain and illness – and then, quite suddenly it seemed to her friends, to leave the world entirely… At the time I had no idea she was so ill, or that CFS could take away a life, just like that.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; ">What came across most, however, from Amberlin’s life, her writing and her personality, was that she truly loved life, and that she was determined to live it as much as she possibly could – and to help others live it too. Her Facebook page is still online, kept going by her mother Ann, and messages to Amberlin are still posted by her friends, saying how much they love her, miss her, and value the friendship she gave them. She was an incredibly loved woman – that much is so clear. With respect to her cluck-clucking chickens, it was Amberlin who made sunshine out of rain.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; ">Although I’m not nearly as devastatingly ill as Amberlin was, my own chronic pain and anxiety have affected my life in some similar ways. And having been through periods where I was tormented and couldn’t see a way out of the hole, I’ve re-assessed aspects of my life since and am trying now to create something positive out of the pain I’ve been through – both for myself and for others. Because of this, the title and content of Amberlin’s beautiful poem resonate with me all the more. So the poem has given me my own title for this blog. Warm thanks to Ann Wu for kindly giving her consent for me to use and quote from it, and to Amberlin for writing it. And of course, for living her life and being the warm and giving friend she so clearly was to others.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana; ">You can visit Amberlin’s blog at </span><span><a href="http://bealightcfsawareness.blogspot.co.uk/">http://bealightcfsawareness.blogspot.co.uk/</a></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "> </span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana; ">Meanwhile, here is her poem.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 100%; text-align: left; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 100%; text-align: left; ">Sunshine made from rain</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left; ">Today, I’ve been teetering along tears</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left; ">I don’t know what or why</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">To stay in bed<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">Or get into a car and go<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">Go somewhere that might take me away.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">There’s a grief inside me<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">Though I don’t know its name<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">It reaches up into my throat<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">With its clenched fist<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">Making it difficult to swallow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">The cluck cluck of chickens<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">Comes through the open window<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">Floating in from the farm<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">It’s magic born from sadness and suffering<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana">It’s sunshine made from rain.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Verdana"> </span></p>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-51522299323083379072012-02-14T13:50:00.003+00:002012-02-14T13:56:13.512+00:00CD Review: 'The Fragile'<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMTo-HcrkKlk7mj3EFdmjjItSG3rcB_Sm553ELVG75Cd-JjaD4jNUefyoWUdUnpM7BN225s7bLuLPAbXOP0PbyQZnI763YKdjgEu6RLnsvIEoAmBsBqCdHh0x31aFlQeMf3w8hYa3Lauaq/s1600/51LFYst%252BEfL._SS500_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMTo-HcrkKlk7mj3EFdmjjItSG3rcB_Sm553ELVG75Cd-JjaD4jNUefyoWUdUnpM7BN225s7bLuLPAbXOP0PbyQZnI763YKdjgEu6RLnsvIEoAmBsBqCdHh0x31aFlQeMf3w8hYa3Lauaq/s320/51LFYst%252BEfL._SS500_.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708989280391791970" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana">It’s become almost customary, when discussing O’Hooley and Tidow’s albums, for reviewers to mention Belinda O’Hooley’s previous work with The Unthanks. But that’s understandable, because not only did Belinda’s piano style contribute a great deal to the sound and mood of the award-winning ‘The Bairns’, but her later work with Heidi Tidow is fully worthy to stand beside The Unthanks’ refreshing brand of English folk music. O’Hooley and Tidow are less traditional than the other group, though, and both this and their first album ‘Silent June’ consist almost entirely of memorable, self-penned songs – each album paying homage to its roots with a beautiful, lone and melancholic song by Ms or Mr Trad.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; "> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana">On the whole a jauntier album than its predecessor, ‘The Fragile’ shares with it an underlying sense of melancholy and tenderness, and a preoccupation with ‘outsiders’ and with people and animals who are so often ignored, unseen or victims of prejudice in our (it seems to me) increasingly cold and pitiless society. The tender compassion that permeates the album is far from hidden by the singalong tunes of some of its songs; ‘The Last Polar Bear’, which was a recent online Christmas single, has a tune that lodges itself in your head, until it’s immediately replaced by the irrepressibly catchy ‘Gentleman Jack’, about a 19<sup>th</sup> Century gentlewoman whose serial seductions enraged countless boyfriends and husbands. Throughout these songs the arrangements are sparse but subtle and at times punchy, driven along by O’Hooley’s piano while their voices float above. None more so than ‘Little Boy Blue’, which creates some haunting sounds with no more than a prepared piano and the duo’s exquisite voices. ‘Teardrop’, meanwhile, showcases acappella harmonies that rival The Unthanks and once again reveal O’Hooley and Tidow’s traditional roots.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; "> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana">Elderly people feature twice on this album. I remember Paul Heaton of The Beautiful South lamenting the ageism of pop music’s usual subject matter, and the two on here are both beautiful and subtle tributes to another of society’s almost invisible groups of human beings. ‘A Daytrip’ is a jaunty but touching song about Vera and Albert’s trip to the seaside, while ‘Mein Deern’ (my personal favourite; it has a truly gorgeous melody) immortalises the last words to Heidi Tidow of her German grandmother. ‘She Lived Beside the Anner’ is a haunting rendition of a traditional song, and prefaces the album’s quiet climax, ‘Ronnie’s Song’, about an aging, homeless homosexual man, who was taken under the wing of an actress at a Huddersfield theatre. Her attitude – “a person is a person; it makes no odds to me”, becomes the refrain of the song, and when the words are taken up by the London Diversity Choir at the end it takes on a wonderful, universal quality, without ever becoming embarrassingly overblown. The refrain has been in my head many times since, and for me it feels like an anthem to all victims of prejudice, for whatever reason, everywhere.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; "> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana">After this ‘big’, yet always understated song, the album closes with a brief but touching tribute to a much-loved cat (animals and the environment being another ‘fragile’ theme). There’s a subtlety, softness and humour about O’Hooley and Tidow’s music which (together with the catchy tunes) allows the listener to be completely free of any sense that they’re being hit over the head with a political hammer. And yet, Belinda and Heidi’s political sympathies are at times devastatingly clear, and nowhere more so than in the opening song, ‘The Tallest Tree’, where a robin looks down on the world it sees below:</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; "> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana; "><i>The second night her sleep disturbed by visions of a street</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; "><i>Where crows in pinstriped uniform gather to repeat</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana"><i>The systematic ruin of the commoner’s nest egg<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana; ">To feast upon their bonuses, then freely fly onwards</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; "> </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana">With its witty, touching lyrics, stick-in-your-brain tunes, gorgeous singing and wonderfully subtle arrangements, ‘The Fragile’ deserves to win not only folk awards but the Mercury Music Prize as well. It’s garnered many excellent reviews, and fully deserves them. Let’s hope that like The Unthanks, who have to some extent transcended their folk / roots classification, it’s not only in the folk world that O’Hooley and Tidow become popular. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana; ">'The Fragile' is available from </span><a href="http://ohooleyandtidow.com/" style="text-align: left; "><span >http://ohooleyandtidow.com/</span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana"><br /></span></p>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-28790200147301251812011-09-17T11:23:00.000+01:002011-09-17T11:23:58.586+01:00Explaining Invisible Illnesses<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7smR1MaBnMplVk9MSfN_sfgwcQAWp4hyphenhyphenJSGdqLMSU2AWKjN-dbIlV0O-uY-llJN1v9SOdH-MoOTB885xCTWt6K3XZF-m7TwrkklNAylBAMQY0SNI6hzeTgVGeD6D4v_iaccuW_fDl1Sub/s1600/Mb+305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7smR1MaBnMplVk9MSfN_sfgwcQAWp4hyphenhyphenJSGdqLMSU2AWKjN-dbIlV0O-uY-llJN1v9SOdH-MoOTB885xCTWt6K3XZF-m7TwrkklNAylBAMQY0SNI6hzeTgVGeD6D4v_iaccuW_fDl1Sub/s320/Mb+305.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I had a typically frustrating and hurried visit to my doctor this week. He's normally quite good, but a lack of empathy and understanding does sometimes come across. I wrote him a letter this morning, which many sufferers from invisible illnesses, such as ME/CFS, anxiety, depression or chronic pain may be able to relate to. I haven't decided whether to send it yet! Anyway, here it is...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Dear Dr -<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Thank you for your help and support yesterday regarding my
concerns about my anxiety and diazepam intake, and also for reassuring me about
the other matter. I’m very grateful and in fact I was a lot less anxious
yesterday as well!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I appreciate you as a doctor and all the help you’ve given
me and the work you do. As you know, however, I sometimes feel frustrated by an
apparent lack of empathy and understanding of me and my chronic illness, and I
felt that way yesterday as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I readily admit to having difficulties sometimes in
managing my anxiety, and that my fear of anxiety feelings sometimes encourages me to take a diazepam tablet for the sake of immediate relief; that was why I
came to you yesterday for help and support. As you said, I am not addicted but the drug needs to be managed carefully. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t
try my hardest to manage my anxiety in every other way I know as well. You
suggested that I use distraction; well, I do that as
much as I possibly can! I mean, I have a book to write! I love music, watching
tennis, doing photography (landscapes and animals, mostly), socialising when I
feel up to it, having sex when I can, playing with my cat, breathing in the fresh air of the downs, paddling or even
swimming in the sea when I’m able to… I also practise meditation and relaxation
and breathing techniques that I learned from a charity supporting anxiety
sufferers (these same techniques also help my chronic pain, and were a vital
part of the pain management programme I attended this summer). I do everything
I can to manage my anxiety constructively and to try and get better. Yes, the
temptation to take diazepam is there and I may give into it a bit too often at
times. But I am the one who has to live with a condition which frightens me and
causes great distress at times. And I feel sometimes that you don’t always give
me enough credit for what I do to help myself which such a difficult condition.
I have several friends who manage worse! (although as a fellow sufferer I fully appreciate the difficulties they face and that their anxiety is more severe and disabling than mine).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Perhaps it is partly because, when I come to see you, I
tend to be worried about something and therefore come across as quite negative.
Maybe I seem passive and not always giving myself enough credit, so you don’t
see that positive side of me. I did however explain all this to you in an
earlier, longer letter which you kindly read. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I also feel a need to correct a possible misunderstanding
of yours regarding my ability to get out and exercise. I’m quoting you as
accurately as I can remember. When I said that it’s more difficult for me to
distract myself by going out and exercising because of my frequent need to
rest, I think you said: “There’s always a reason. In my case it’s because I’m
working. In your case it’s because you get a little bit tired.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">If I was a sufferer from ME I would probably feel insulted
by that! But Dr -, I do not suffer from fatigue and I am generally no
more tired than most people. I actually have a lot of energy and wish I could
do a lot more than I presently do – as indeed I always did in the past. I often
feel resentful of my frequent need to rest, which results not from chronic
fatigue but because I have a chronic pain condition! My resting is not due to
laziness or lack of motivation but because I am trying my best to follow a
pacing programme which I learned years ago from an expert in managing chronic
pain. The leaders of the pain management programme I attended taught the same
thing: little steps forward, a gradual increase in activity interspersed with
rests when needed to avoid incapacitating flare-ups. My chronic pain is only
severe during flare-ups, but it is disabling at present because there are
limits to what I can do. Those limitations are not due to being tired! I am not
tired, I am not fatigued, I have a neuropathic pain condition which is
notoriously difficult for anyone to manage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">It’s possible that I’m over-reacting to your comment,
because I hear so many similar comments elsewhere. If that is the case, then
I’m sorry. I don’t usually hear them from health professionals, however, and I
think that’s why I find it especially frustrating. Please excuse me if I am
over-reacting but I kept thinking about it yesterday and it really affected my
mood quite badly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I am writing this, really, not just to get things off my
chest but because I believe it might be helpful to you in understanding my
condition and situation. I hope it does not bother or offend you that I’m doing
this. I do appreciate your work as a doctor and you have of course been very
helpful to me over the years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">I also understand that you must have a huge number of
patients, and that it may be difficult to remember what I have told you in the
past and therefore the details of how I manage my condition. I fully admit to
my difficulties sometimes with medication and that I need to be a bit tougher
with myself sometimes, as well as the fact that I have never yet really been
able to overcome my fear of pain and anxiety and therefore my tendency
sometimes to need a ‘quick fix’. I was badly traumatised by my experience with anxiety three years ago, and would do anything rather than go back to that. But because of that, I also do much that is positive and
constructive, especially as I have two difficult conditions to manage, both of
which tend to worsen or trigger the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Thank you for reading this, and I hope you understand and
accept my reasons for writing to you about this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">With best wishes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10.0pt;">Michael Bentley<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-75264806766529834322011-07-29T15:09:00.005+01:002011-07-29T16:19:14.333+01:00Love Letter to Myself<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6Ng0Ew6F6ag4K2O6ppyh8978ij1T-MPDXT-nBHp6yAPEErsYXVze11UuyAEVhD8GcyTFwXyaSDNv6yS75juQoQethuNW_Wu4CgHubmmuWb7hQ5WU_vhpLrdSrBZJUhv7DyrxLwFP3tdq/s1600/2006.11.03+motcombepark.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6Ng0Ew6F6ag4K2O6ppyh8978ij1T-MPDXT-nBHp6yAPEErsYXVze11UuyAEVhD8GcyTFwXyaSDNv6yS75juQoQethuNW_Wu4CgHubmmuWb7hQ5WU_vhpLrdSrBZJUhv7DyrxLwFP3tdq/s320/2006.11.03+motcombepark.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634779586522785202" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana">I do hope this doesn’t make anyone feel like puking. But I got this idea from another blogger, and due to a recent painful experience I really need it now. And I can recommend it to anyone whose self-esteem needs a boost! How often do we criticise ourselves each day? Writing a love letter feels a lot better, I can tell you!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; ">Dear Michael</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; ">Your self-esteem has taken a vicious blow recently, so I know you need to know how much you are loved. I want to tell you that you are very special to me, and that I know you are a good person. I should know! – I know you better than anyone else does, because I’ve lived with you every minute of every day for forty-five years! You may not always feel or believe it, but you have some special qualities you can be truly proud of. I know how kind and supportive and empathic you are to your friends. How much you are willing to listen and care and understand when they have precious few people in their lives who are able to do that for them. I know how sensitive you are: how this makes you vulnerable to hurt, but also sensitive to the hurts and feelings of others. I know how intelligent and creative you are, and also how playful; while perfectly capable of speaking and behaving as an adult, you are not ashamed of your inner child and your capacity for play. This too connects to your love of animals, which was with you throughout your childhood and has recently been revived. I know how much you care about the myriad forms of life on this planet, and the dangers that threaten them – and how you see humans as an integral part of the ecosystem with a unique responsibility towards all species. I know how much you care about peace, justice and human rights, even though your willingness to fight for these causes has led to emotional suffering in your own life. That this too is a part of your sensitivity, and of the anger you feel towards those who persecute and destroy. You are not afraid of the stigma that so often comes with mental distress or illness, and are willing to admit your vulnerability and share it with others. Not only have you had to deal every day with some very difficult circumstances over the past seven years, but you have come through the worst time in your life and are now endeavouring to share the benefits of your learning experience with others, with the aim of reaching out and helping others with similar problems. And you are trying to be honest and real in your relationships with others, despite difficulties you’ve had all your life which have made it hard to show your true feelings in so many situations. I know how much you are trying to grow – away from the pain and fear of the past and the pull which it has on you, and into someone who can admit to fear and vulnerability but still develop new and stronger resources for your life in the present and future. You are always searching for new ways to look after and respect yourself and all those around you, through your growing holistic view of health and well-being, your willingness even to investigate one of the world’s main religions (you, an agnostic!) because you believe in love and kindness and compassion towards all. You are sometimes all too painfully aware of your shortcomings, and this too makes you vulnerable to the effects of those who can use that awareness to hurt you. But you are learning to develop kindness and compassion towards yourself, and in support of that I want you to know that I like and love you anyway. None of us is perfect and you know that all too well, but I see the good in you clearly and I love you for who you are.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; ">Michael, you love beauty and wisdom and I can see that too, so clearly. You love art and nature and science, with its attitude of vulnerability and willingness not to assume the truth but to keep on testing, questioning and opening up to new uncertainties. You love the beauty of women, and your sexuality is passionate and open and full of longing. And you love the earth and the other planets, and all the wonders of the universe that lie beyond. You love the fact that the cosmos is vast beyond imagining, and that whatever humans do there is a vastness that they cannot touch. But you still love humanity and life on earth, even though you struggle with pessimism and fears for the future. You are a caring person and I love you for it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; ">You know you have shortcomings, but you feel them all too painfully at times. Remember that the only people who have deeply hurt or been cruel to you in your life (including this latest attack, which caused you such pain because it was by someone you’ve cared about so deeply for so long), are people who were abused themselves and were probably acting out their own suffering. They are also people who didn’t know you well, like your friends know you, like Sally knows you, like Angie knows you, and like I know you. All those who really know you, appreciate you for who you are, without idealisation but simply acceptance of what they see of your self. There are far more of these people than there are of people who’ve hurt you, and they know you far better. You can trust their judgement, as you are gradually learning to trust your own.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; ">Not only do I know you best, but I love you too. I will help you uncover the parts of you that you’re afraid of, that you have always found it hard to express or admit to. And even when you find parts of yourself that you don’t like, and that others criticise you for, I will still love you. I will be by your side and inside your heart at all times, and help you through every difficulty and crisis. I love you. And I know that you don’t have to idealise in order to love yourself. You are okay. You can trust yourself. And you will be fine.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; ">Just trust.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; "><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-22984965385357605312011-07-14T16:49:00.005+01:002011-07-14T16:59:23.605+01:00A Life True to Myself<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuNQg_MvNhSDzNrPoijoP6A_pWB3PrblETd0OBUMPXP1yDx7SJwhY5EputoG1NMw5JWAeLcIehpkpwSjGa8jVQ-xzbVf3nuuFSiD8JV-LLhORm_EhPC8H34ob177N1SRlYS7c1zozgoZg/s1600/2011.07.03+flowers+%25287%2529.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuNQg_MvNhSDzNrPoijoP6A_pWB3PrblETd0OBUMPXP1yDx7SJwhY5EputoG1NMw5JWAeLcIehpkpwSjGa8jVQ-xzbVf3nuuFSiD8JV-LLhORm_EhPC8H34ob177N1SRlYS7c1zozgoZg/s320/2011.07.03+flowers+%25287%2529.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629237102604669202" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >For the past few weeks, as some Facebook friends will know and for reasons which are too personal to go into here, I’ve felt intermittent but sharp pangs of ‘iPad envy’. At times, though I know it’s ridiculous, it’s been quite a strong feeling. “I <i>must </i>have an iPad! I <i>wish </i>I could afford an iPad! Can I find a way of affording an iPad?” And even the additional complication of envy for someone I care about: “So-and-so can afford an iPad – they have such a successful career and comfortable life and they can afford an iPad and an iPhone and God knows what else and <i>IT’S NOT FAIR!!!!!</i>”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >In my case, although I do have a fondness of electronic gadgets and mini-computers, my hankering for an iPad is based on an association with something far less mundane, so it’s not quite as pathetic as it sounds. But even so: when I reach the end of my life and look back at whatever regrets I have (and I expect there’ll be a few!), will my lack of a soon-to-be-obsolete piece of hand-held technology be one of them? Will the absence of a high-flying career, ‘successful’ in society’s terms, be one of them either? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Probably not. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Yesterday, a Facebook friend posted an article by Bronnie Ware called ‘The Five Greatest Regrets of the Dying’ (<a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/the-five-greatest-regrets-of-dying-2011-6">http://www.businessinsider.com/the-five-greatest-regrets-of-dying-2011-6</a>). Don’t stop reading now! – it’s not morbid, honest! Bronnie Ware used to work in palliative care with people who had gone home to die, and during her work she learned the commonest regrets which they typically had in the last few weeks or months of their lives. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >These were: </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.</b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p> </o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.</b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p> </o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.</b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p> </o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.</b> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">5. I wish that I had let myself be happier</b> (this was the ultimate realisation that happiness is, to a far greater extent than commonly realised, an attitude). </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >On a personal level, the two regrets that leap out at me the most are the first and third. That’s because they are both aspects of living that I’ve always had profound difficulties with, both aspects that I’m working through the most in therapy. Like many people, I experienced both subtle and unsubtle pressures while growing up, to conform to certain expectations of how I should behave, what kind of ‘career’ to go into, even (subtly) how I should <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">feel</i> – and of course I’ve continued to experience those pressures, not least from myself. It’s not unrelated to the third regret: I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings. Only now, in middle age, am I learning to be more authentic and free in my relationships with others. Many of the biggest regrets I already have are because I couldn’t bring myself to express my feelings to (and for) others, in life situations where doing so might have brought so many positive things into my life, and much sooner. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >What strikes me too about these regrets is that they have little or nothing to do with what society, the media, the government, or our peers, tell us we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">should</i> want most in our lives. We are told to work hard. We are told to buy more things. We are taught that we are worthy if we earn a lot of money, have a lot of expensive things, and are young, desirable and have lots of sex. We are certainly told that we should be happy. Yet even this is sold as something which is dependent on our having other things (money, products, sex appeal, sex). We are not so often told that happiness is an attitude – unless it’s along the lines of “cheer up!”, “smile!”, or similarly (un)helpful encouragements. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >None of these regrets have anything to do with the iPad, the iPad 2 or any other very expensive piece of plastic with a tiny piece of hi-technology inside. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ware’s article, far from being morbid, was for me both a comfort and a wake-up call. It’s comforting to know that some of the things I want so much currently, as well as the status anxiety that often troubles and preoccupies me, are things that will probably seem very insignificant in the last months, weeks or moments of my life. And it’s a wake-up call because it’s never too late to start trying to live authentically and honestly – but the sun is getting lower, all the same! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I’m forty-five years old. My partner is fifty. Neither of us are old, but then we’re no longer that young either. And I already have so many regrets about my teens, twenties, thirties, and even about the present. I have chronic health problems which make it much harder to achieve some of my dreams, to live the kind of life I so much want to live. But things like valuing my friends, learning to express my emotions honestly to others – those are not out of my reach at all. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >They’re not out of anyone’s reach – unless they are unfortunate enough to live in solitary confinement. The things that tend to matter most to us, when we reach the end, are the simple, non-material things. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >As Bronnie Ware says: “It all comes down to love and relationships in the end.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And her last words: “Choose happiness.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Verdana"><br /></span></p>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-48613148496624481102011-04-16T20:06:00.004+01:002011-07-12T18:27:29.299+01:00Lemurs and other animals<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKheO9GJ_Dl8U7LbD1O8ksPYX1nqTU28gIKrxRVh5weiGe_fmy-vsO3B_KgVUNxGwQaC7SoLjI1htwzS3_YsdLNQ_0pwwdPFr00yG82RVInz_bfEvL5V9yTI_ZT3O4AYR_x2pDSyj-d_re/s1600/2011.04.12+drusillas+%252891%2529.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKheO9GJ_Dl8U7LbD1O8ksPYX1nqTU28gIKrxRVh5weiGe_fmy-vsO3B_KgVUNxGwQaC7SoLjI1htwzS3_YsdLNQ_0pwwdPFr00yG82RVInz_bfEvL5V9yTI_ZT3O4AYR_x2pDSyj-d_re/s320/2011.04.12+drusillas+%252891%2529.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596261763613480178" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); line-height: 19px; " >I'm ambivalent about zoos, because I don't like to see animals confined. But a recent visit to Drusillas Park in East Sussex gave me a welcome opportunity to see some of my favourite species, and to take many photographs, especially of the photogenic lemurs! The sociable ring-tails, which seem to spend a lot of time huddled together and grooming each other, are incredibly striking with their inordinately long, striped tails, subtly coloured backs, endearing, wet black muzzles and expressive faces. As with many lemur species, their brilliant orange eyes are extraordinary. Also in the enclosure were a couple of male and female black lemurs (the females, confusingly, aren't black at all). As I watched and photographed these beautiful animals, I kept reminding myself that they are primates, as their grasping hands make immediately obvious. That means that, although their evolutionary line diverged from ours a lot earlier than that of the great apes, they are still close relatives of ours. And since their only home in the wild is Madagascar, it's always a privilege to be able to get so close to them. Having had an emotional time lately, it was great to get out on a sunny day and see some wonderful creatures from all over the planet. So despite being on my feet for far too long and experiencing a pain flare-up afterwards, I enjoyed every minute.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); line-height: 19px; ">Some of the lemur photos as well as of other animals - otters, prairie dogs, meerkats, fennec foxes - have been added to the Animals gallery on my photography website. You can see them at www.michaelbentleyphotography.co.uk. More to come soon! :)</span></span>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-11457113431527813022010-11-13T18:46:00.002+00:002010-11-13T19:30:14.137+00:00Friends and Islamophobes<p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Recently I came across Islamophobia on Facebook. Not for the first time; ever since 9/11 and 7/7 it’s been everywhere. But this time it was in a discussion under someone’s status update. It was expressed by friends, and for that reason I wish I could be diplomatic, in case they may be reading it. But it was distressing reading, and in a way I found it more disturbing because it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">was</i> expressed by friends – not close ones, but friends. They are nice people.</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">The discussion was in reaction to an incident in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>, where ‘Islamic extremists’ ceremonially burned red poppies. As I said in the discussion, the action was not something I agreed with, even though I sympathise with the feeling that presumably motivated it: that Muslim countries, towns and villages have been bombed to smithereens by Western forces, and the red poppy symbolism was seen as a kind of glorification of British wars. The reasons I don’t agree with it are, firstly, that it causes unnecessary distress and offence to the families of soldiers killed in war, who feel that their sacrifice is being mocked. And secondly, because there are other ways to protest. If they don’t like red poppies, why don’t they wear white ones instead?</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">The comments in the discussion came from friends who have loved ones in the armed forces, and who understandably have strong views and feelings on the issue. In fact, I could see and sympathise with both sides. But the actual comments themselves were unpleasant and disturbing. And the comments of other people in the thread were even worse – along the lines of ‘shoot them all’. One said that the offenders should be sent back to wherever they came from, and if they were born in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country-region>, then to wherever their ultimate roots were. This last one was both disturbing and illogical. Disturbing because it is all too reminiscent of what nice, normal Germans were saying about the Jews in the 1930s. And illogical because, if any one of us were to take a DNA test, we might be surprised as to where our roots lie. Many English people have roots in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country-region> that only go back a few hundred years or less, and only some of us go back beyond Neolithic times. A recent study in <st1:country-region st="on">Germany</st1:country-region> concluded that the first farmers in the region had roots in what is now <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Iraq</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Can there be a greater irony than that?</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">In response to my attempt to introduce more reason and less emotion to the discussion, my friends urged me not to forget 9/11 and 7/7, and argued that our forces wouldn’t be in ‘their countries’ if they didn’t keep blowing themselves up. I agree that 9/11 was a terrible crime, but the suicide bombers and fighters in <st1:country-region st="on">Afghanistan</st1:country-region> do actually have a legal right to defend their country against invaders; they are doing what our own Home Guard would have done if the Nazis had invaded <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Britain</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I am, broadly, a pacifist so I don’t like what they are doing, but as long as they don’t target civilians their actions are within international law, however much politicians and the media portray they as terrorists rather than freedom fighters. Even the 7/7 bombers were motivated in defence of Iraq and Afghanistan, but their actions were far from legal as they did target civilians – some of whom, ironically, were Muslims. It is hard to see how occupying and bombing Muslim countries can stop similar atrocities, when those atrocities are motivated by Western military actions in the first place.</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">In fact, it was hard to tell in this discussion, whether the participants were referring to the Taliban, the 7/7 bombers, the poppy-burners or just Muslims generally. With regard to the ‘peaceful Muslims’, they ‘only had their own to thank’. But who are ‘their own’? The important distinction is between people who commit acts of terrorism and those who don’t; the 7/7 bombers had more in common with pilots who bomb Afghan villages than they did with the vast majority of Muslims. The language suggests a dangerous generalisation and stereotyping of people as a group – and a group, moreover, of a billion people. And it suggests a further confusion. Did some of the commenters want just the poppy-burners out of the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country-region>, or all Muslims? What about Muslims who are white, whose roots in this country go back as far or further into the past than the commenters? I’m not sure whether the possibility of there being white Muslims had occurred to them, which would mean that Muslims were first stereotyped as violent (or at least as sympathising with violence), and second as ‘brown’ or ‘black’. In which case the commenters were displaying covert racism – something which, unless they were members of the BNP or EDL, they probably wouldn’t regard as acceptable in any other situation.</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">It’s possible that I’m assuming too much here. But what certainly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">was</i> apparent was a perception of Muslims as ‘other’. They all come from ‘somewhere else’, somewhere outside the <st1:country-region st="on">UK</st1:country-region> and in the <st1:place st="on">Middle East</st1:place>. They don’t really belong; they’re not the same as us. What I tried to get across in my own fairly lengthy comment was that they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">are</i> the same as us. I have lots of Muslim friends and I know for a fact that they have the same feelings, problems, joys and sadnesses as the rest of us. And why wouldn’t they have? Islam is less than two thousand years old; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Homo sapiens sapiens</i> is two hundred thousand years old. Many of my Muslim friends love much of British culture, and they live British lives in almost every respect. It’s the current British wars they don’t like – and with good reason. My ‘English’ friends decried the crimes of 9/11 and 7/7, but made no mention of the torture, the massacres, the imprisonments without trial, and the bombings of towns and villages committed by Western forces. If we don’t try to understand the point of view of the poppy-burners as well as the points of view of many other Muslims (and non-Muslim peace activists, come to that!), and if instead we generalise from the more sensational actions of the few that reach the mainstream media, then what we are doing is widening the gulf between communities. We are separating certain people off as ‘other’, and projecting all our fears and prejudices onto them. Far from recognising that we are all human, and that all sides in war commit crimes just as the majority of all people do good, we are decreasing understanding and increasing the potential for anger, misunderstanding and hate. We are wasting an opportunity to help us grow as a species, and decrease the amount of conflict and destruction in the world. What a loss! What a tragic mistake!</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Taking part in this discussion thread was distressing for me because some of the participants were friends. It was difficult to hear such disturbing views uttered by friends, who I know to be good people, living quiet lives and doing harm to no one. It’s a worrying thought, really. If ordinary, decent people are capable of stereotyping and generalising a cultural or religious group in such negative ways, then it’s not just the EDL and the British Nazi Party we have to worry about. And history shows us this. Hitler probably couldn’t have committed the worst atrocities of Nazism – or at least, not so easily – had it not been for the prejudices of ordinary, decent Germans that were just waiting to be exploited. He manipulated his own people through clever use of the media; and this too we can see today, if in a more subtle and gradual fashion. No country is immune from racism and fascism. There are so many parallels between Islamophobia and 1930s anti-Semitism, that we have good reason to be worried.</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">And there’s another aspect. If ordinary, decent Brits are capable of such confused prejudices, what about their relatives in the armed forces, who are trained to kill the enemy? If they too have the same conscious or unconscious generalisations about who the enemy is (are they only people with guns and bombs, or are they Muslims generally?), then it’s no wonder that massacres happen, that killing is sometimes indiscriminate, that civilians are inadequately protected and sometimes actually targeted. I’m not accusing my friends’ kids of committing war crimes. But why do war crimes happen? And it may be that I’ve read too much into the whole discussion, and that the participants’ prejudices only referred to the poppy-burners, or actual terrorists. But if that’s the case, then why do they so fervently support the actions of the military, who have - far too often for it to be an occasional fluke tragedy - reduced men, women and children to ashes and scattered body parts?</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">I am, thankfully, still friends with my friends – I hope. But the episode left a nasty taste in my mouth. How many people in this country agree with them? If it’s a large proportion, then the potential for understanding and bridge-building between communities, and for recognising what unites us rather than what separates us, doesn’t look very hopeful.</span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"> </p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></span></p>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298019694665414457.post-29837667806620117622010-08-03T11:00:00.005+01:002011-07-12T01:24:03.637+01:00Belonging<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SHhHr_2DUCFPjczbx155t0MmvPV7I-x7WXBYObAZvtn0zG9Si_blizklC0Zv59n-0HS529t-KD8yvgvBdlQ45ymR81luCC_0f8Cpqa8kIBuH4BFKimyZNcfnlXXw7PbVrJM_6KZpjctc/s1600/004+loss+2000-2001+2002.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SHhHr_2DUCFPjczbx155t0MmvPV7I-x7WXBYObAZvtn0zG9Si_blizklC0Zv59n-0HS529t-KD8yvgvBdlQ45ymR81luCC_0f8Cpqa8kIBuH4BFKimyZNcfnlXXw7PbVrJM_6KZpjctc/s320/004+loss+2000-2001+2002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501125080207294850" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >This is a very different subject from the ones I usually write about - and a longer entry too. My sense of belonging and not belonging has shifted many times throughout my life, and so it feels easiest to tell it chronologically, like a story. I dunno, maybe it's the therapy! Either way, you can take it or leave it, but it helps me sometimes to get these things down.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial; color: rgb(109, 109, 109); ">My earliest clear memory is of my first day at school. I felt abandoned and unsafe, and cried the whole day. All the other little kids seemed to be taking the day much better, so I guess I could say that my earliest memory is of not belonging in the social group I found myself in.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; color: rgb(109, 109, 109); "><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">My sense of the rest of my early childhood, however, is of feeling fairly happy and secure. I was always a bit shy, and tended to play sometimes by myself in a little fantasy world. But I still had friends, and birthday parties, and don’t remember feeling very different from the other kids. And I think I felt fairly secure within my family as well. How much of that may be due to remembering the past in a rose-coloured way I’m not sure.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">My last really happy memory of childhood is when I was about nine years of age. The days were hot and sunny, and I’d be playing in the street with my sister and a girl who lived down the road, who I really liked. I’d like to think that if my childhood had continued like that, then eventually she might have become my first girlfriend. But in fact my childhood got sort of hijacked.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">When I was nine we moved to a different county, as my dad got a new job. We moved to a smaller house in a less pleasant street, and of course my sister and I had to start a new school. I was very nervous, but it was okay and I ended up with a few friends there. Starting secondary school two years later was more scary, but although I was shy I still had some friends. I still sort of belonged. But soon after that my parents got divorced, which of course shook us all up somewhat. And a year after that my mum got remarried, so we moved again, back to where we lived originally! This posed new problems for me, as I found the ‘new’ family difficult to settle into and there were various strifes and frictions at home. I didn’t have the same sense of belonging and security that I remember from just a few years earlier. To make matters worse, I was very shy on entering yet another new school, and for the next two years was bullied quite a bit. I went to school every day in fear. This was, I think, my first really deep experience of not belonging.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">To protect myself I spent as much time on my own as I could. I retreated into a kind of fantasy world where I imagined being a very different person. Later I found a retreat in books, especially science fiction books, whose stories were so very different from my own reality. I was nervous of boys because they might be a threat, and kind of idealised girls who came to my rescue when I was given a hard time. By the time I was sixteen things eased off quite a bit, but I think the previous few years had traumatised me and I was still pretty shy. I had one or two close friends though.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">In the sixth form I suddenly found myself beginning to fit in more. The classes were smaller, and my fellow pupils more accepting of me. In my last year at school I actually enjoyed myself! I became very fond of some of my peers, and they seemed fond of me too. I no longer felt judged as a wimp, was no longer laughed at and certainly not punched or kicked. The bullying was well and truly over, I enjoyed being with people, got invited to parties and socialised outside of school. I felt I really did almost belong, and this happy feeling of being more accepted into the human race continued into the following years at college.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">This change, however, was too late for the romantic feelings I had at the time. I still tended to idealise women, but I couldn’t convince myself that anyone would be interested in a relationship with me. I fell in love with a girl at school – we were both seventeen – but despite my passion I could never bring myself either to ask her out or tell her how I felt. The irony is that she definitely knew, because friends told me she did. I don’t know if she would have gone out with me, had I asked. If she had, then my sense of belonging in adult life might have been very different.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">I remained ‘in love’ with this girl for years, long after I last saw her. My relations with work colleagues, housemates, etc were okay in some ways, but I remained shy and in my late twenties, I felt I ‘belonged’ less than in my final year at school. Although I shared a house with others, I tended to be isolated, keeping to myself in my room. I was very unhappy at work. But health problems forced me into redundancy, and I needed a change of career from the office job I’d been in for so long. So I took up studying counselling, and also did voluntary work on a crisis helpline. The preparation course for this was a joy, and was I think the first time I really, really felt part of a group. The voluntary work gave me a sense of purpose and also opportunities to socialise when, due to unemployment, it might otherwise have been difficult. The counselling course was great too, but here I felt I didn’t fit into the group as well. I also lost confidence in my counselling abilities, and didn’t pursue it to diploma level. Instead I started working in mental health, in residential homes. Here, as in every work situation I’ve been in, there was internal strife and politics, which spoiled the experience a lot. But I was pretty happy there on the whole, and I did make friends. The work was fulfilling and varied, and in my own slightly insecure way I felt I did belong there. In fact, especially as I did regular sleep-ins at the residential home, I often felt more at home at work than I did at home!</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">My sense of never quite fitting in remained however. I always felt a bit ‘different’ from other people. Looking back, I know that this was due to my inexperience of sexual relationships. The couple of relationships I’d had were brief and very unsatisfying, both emotionally and physically. As the 1990s wore on I felt increasingly lonely. Everyone else seemed to be having fun, having sex, sometimes getting married and having kids. I still believed no one could really want me in the way I needed them to, and its effect on my self confidence and self esteem was quite severe. At the beginning of 2000, when a close friend embarked on a blissful relationship, I became very depressed. I was so desperate, and yet happiness seemed further away than ever.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">After about three weeks of feeling like this, fate kind of stepped in! I met a beautiful American woman at a party, who came up to me and simply stated that she wanted to kiss me! I wasn't going to turn that offer down, and although she was in a relationship and her life was pretty complicated, we agreed to have one night together. After how I’d been feeling only hours before, this was pretty overwhelming for me.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">The trouble was, that night was too good! I don’t quite understand even now why this woman who was already in a relationship and only intended one night with me, behaved so passionately and lovingly. We talked about it a few times afterwards, but I never completely got me head round it. But for me, that night was the deepest experience of belonging, of being accepted, that I’d ever had. It was as if I’d been shut in a cell since childhood, while everyone outside was having fun, and then suddenly being let out and realising what I’d been missing. All my dreams coming true all at once. But only for one night. The following day, despite the experience’s beneficial effect on my self-confidence, I felt I had to crawl back into the cell, and that was hard too.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">I did have a bit more confidence now, though. I felt I’d begun to join the human race. I had a couple of brief relationships that year, and though neither of them were really what I wanted, they helped my confidence too. Things were definitely getting better.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">A year after I met the American woman, I said an emotional goodbye to her as she left for a new life in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state>. I actually met her only four times. A month later, however, I met my present partner, who I’ve been with now for nearly ten years. My feelings for Angie didn't bloom so suddenly, but now I love her deeply and she loves me too, very much. I moved in with her after six months, and although it was a struggle compromising for a long time, with both of us inexperienced at living with someone, I was happier now than I’d ever been before.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">In terms of belonging, what I had now was a sense of being part of a ‘normal’ couple – a family, almost. We had our life at home together, had sex regularly, went out socially as a couple, mixed with other couples, and went on holiday together. I hadn’t been on holiday properly for decades, as I felt I had no one to go with. Twenty four hours in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Cornwall</st1:place></st1:city> in 1999 to see the total solar eclipse had been a lonely experience, as I was surrounded on the campsite by tents with couples and families – a reminder of the sense of belonging I’d had on family holidays as a child, compared with my solitary life now. In my new life with my partner, we went abroad and saw many wonderful places. It was fantastic!</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">I also had a new job at a day centre – just as fulfilling as the last one, but less stressful and more fun. It was the best job I’d ever had, and I felt I belonged and was accepted there too. I was very happy most of the time.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">Then fate stepped in again – or it would have done if I believed in those things!</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">………….</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">Out of the blue, in 2004, I developed a chronic nerve pain condition which meant that I had to give up work. I became anxious and depressed, and started on anti-depressants and sundry prescribed pain killers. The pain was disabling: it limited how far I could walk, how long I could sit for – really almost all aspects of my life. It was difficult for my partner too, who since then has had the responsibility for bread winning and for doing all the other things I struggle with. I found a sense of purpose for a while through getting involved in the peace movement and setting up a local group with my partner. But this became an emotional strain and I had a nervous breakdown in 2008, spending much of that year recovering from severe anxiety. I did get better, with support from helplines and a lot of self help, but my life remains very limited compared to what it used to be, and all sorts of basic activities that I used to take for granted are now much harder for me and sometimes, when the pain is very bad, almost impossible.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">Looked at in one way, the depression and anxiety I’ve had since the pain started six years ago are a kind of response to not belonging. I spend much of my time at home, and quite a bit of that time resting. My partner lives and works away from home three days a week, so I’m quite isolated. Often I feel that the world is going by without me. The worst feelings were when my anxiety was at its worst, in 2008. Besides being frightened I felt as if I was trapped in a kind of bubble, breathing my own stale air and kind of watching everyone outside without being able to feel a part of it. It’s very hard to describe, but certainly it was the worst experience of not belonging I’ve ever had. I really felt as if I was trapped in my own tiny, frightened world and no longer a part of the real one.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">Things have got a lot better since then, if gradually so. My life still feels very limited, but I am less disturbed by it now and am gradually taking charge of my situation, learning how to manage my pain and my mood. I’m beginning to find things I can do that I get satisfaction from: writing, art and photography, enjoying the countryside even though I can’t walk very far… I’ve recently started writing a book! So I feel as though I’m gradually rebuilding my life, reinventing it almost. And as a result, slowly increasing my sense of belonging in the world once more.</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">This entry may seem a bit maudlin to some readers, but I'm glad I wrote it. Sometimes putting these things into written words can help to clarify or crystallise things in my mind. I’m grateful that the opportunity sort of fell out of my mind and into my laptop!</span><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">I hope something of all this is interesting or helpful to other people, too.</span></span></p></span><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><div><div><div></div></div></div></div>Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16204564862931095574noreply@blogger.com2