She looks at him with love and wonder. This mystery before her eyes. The mystery that she had carried for nine months. Helpless, in the barn with animals. If it didn't get stranger three Kings from afar appeared bearing gifts and worshipping. They said they had sensed a King had been born and had been led by a star. Her betrothed stands by her supportive replaying visions of angels in his mind. Maybe he was trying to make sense of it still.
All we know of love is the love of a mother for a son. The love of a woman and man. The love of friends. But what do we know of the love of God for His people?
Love will tear us apart.
That's how it is on this earth. Life is fleeting and those you hold dear will eventually depart and leave a hole. There may be empty seats at the Christmas table this year, silence that noise used to fill. But love stretches beyond the lengths of mortality. That's what the mystery showed us. That's what He gave us.
Pain for the innocent. The greatest suffering and loss. The greatest love a man can give. To embody it all, take it all upon oneself. That's the greatest mystery.
That despite suffering, pain and loss, love endures beyond what is temporal and physical. It is our gift - knowing that we are not bound.
For this Christmas and all Christmases to come, I hope you find that peace and know that love. Silver and gold and all other pursuits under the sun fade into insignificance one day.
All we have is love.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Everyone wishes for it
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Oh I’m getting old. Oh I’m getting old.
Everyone wishes for youth.
How have I wasted my life?
Trusting the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Lord, come with fire. Lord, come with fire.
Everyone’s wasting their time
Storing up treasure in vain.
Trusting the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Oh I see the end. Oh I see the end.
Everyone’s waiting for death
How do you measure its worth?
When are we ever not plunged in the wild trying to make sense of our surroundings? We are always vulnerable, with choice, not knowing what lies ahead and what will cross our paths.
But we need to take it all in. Feel it out. Listen to how it breathes. Feel small amongst it.
We emerged from a plane crash, you and I, and nothing will be the same. All that can be looked upon is the way forward in whatever direction it may take.
It's the same on the street where you live. Each day you leave the front door. Who says the house will remain standing after you leave? Who says the people you say goodbye to will remain?
Do we know these things?
Do we feel these things?
Because the heartbroken feel them all.
They learn how to live.
They learn how to love.
In the wild.
We always strived for immediacy.
We always wanted to arrive.
How foolish we were to always focus on the outcome.
I look at myself suspiciously in the mirror sometimes and wonder who that person is. I like to think that I stand for something, that I have values and a moral code that I adhere to, principles and frameworks that I abide by and operate freely within but the truth is I am an evil and conniving bastard who is at times sick in the head and the only limitation to the destruction and misery that lies within my capable hands is the duration of my lifespan.
There is perhaps no point to this blog. I am seven hours in on a long haul flight and being extremely bored I have resorted to writing down my thoughts. I have also spent the last hour musing over some of my favourite Iron and Wine lyrics;
"Love is a crying baby mama warned you not to shake"
People will tell you that we were all created in the image of God but I don't think God has an image. I think for God to have an image would somehow be putting limitations on Himself. Maybe instead, all of creation is a concept of what God embodies. Never-ending breadth and depth perpetuating to infinity. And if we are supposed to be the crowning glory of everything that God has created then maybe it is we who are images of the invisible rather than vice-versa.
I'm sure God created us with good intentions and in the beginning everything was perfect, there was no pain and the original man was innocent. But good doesn't exist without evil and love doesn't exist without deceit. The Adam and Eve scenario is a story of God trying to keep two realms separate. We existed in a realm of goodness and innocence, whilst evil did exist it was kept separate from us enclosed in another realm. We were told not to explore this realm but it was something that we couldn't resist. Now with eyes opened there is no going back, both realms co-exist.
So when I look in the mirror I see beauty and I see pain. I see life and I see death. In many ways I see truth and I see a God who sympathizes. Wherever God is, whether metaphorically sitting on a golden throne brushing his beard, omnipotently floating around the universe, or embodying the teardrop that runs down your cheek I'm sure he hangs his head and mourns.
I ask myself questions when I look in the mirror.
Who am I?
What is love?
We're all innocent as long as we're forgiven.
We're all lion's that don't know how to control our own destructive strength.
In another life, in another set of circumstances maybe I'd get my child to hold a sign reading;
"Behead all those who insult the prophet".
A mother takes a photo of her child with a banner during the Muslim riots in Sydney.
Maybe I'd carry slogans reading;
"Islam will dominate the world. Freedom can go to hell."
Islamic protesters in the Europe.
If some people are drawn to carry out such actions then I can't say that the same possibilities do not lie within me given another life, in another set of circumstances. But I've ventured into this life areligious and then with my own theological Christian views and in my current realm of experience I'm at a loss for why these people are doing what they are doing. What has gone wrong in their lives? When did they become so full of hatred and... megalomaniacal?
The above images were taken recently as Muslims responded to an anti-Islamic film made by an American. Muslims around the world seemed to get caught up in a rage about the film inciting violence and anti Western sentiments. In Sydney a protest resulted in a bloody riot.
To be honest, I was not surprised.
Images from the Sydney riot
Before moving to the New Zealand countryside when I was seven years old I grew up in South-West Sydney. Known for its ethnic mix and immigrant communities I had friends with names like Zara and Wasim. They had surnames like Bidaxous. I had aunties, uncles and cousins from Malaysia. As I can remember life was pretty good. Even though my dad was working long days as a carpenter and I'd often stay up as late as I could so I could see him come home before I went to bed I was always taken out for trips in the weekend. We'd go to the beaches at Bondi and Manly, cycle around the Botanic Gardens and Darling Harbour, explore the Blue Mountains to Sydney's West. Friends and cousins would get to come too if they were allowed. The more the merrier.
Now, after twenty-one years absence I've returned to Sydney and it's been interesting contrasting memories with present day reality. Everything is so much bigger. Traffic so much worse. I returned to the avenue I grew up in and noted that my childhood home is no longer standing. It's been knocked down and a mansion has been built in its place. Similar things have happened to the neighbouring houses in the street. They threaten to bulge over their sectional perimeters, they fight against each other for height, they fence each other out with ridiculously high walls. There is less green grass. More concrete. Fewer trees in the yard, if there is any yard at all. You can't have a yarn to your neighbour above the fence anymore. Gates are locked. It's rather depressing.
Likewise, where my Aunty lives, not too far from the Mosque in Lakemba and where I spend time when in-between work contracts I walk past the local public school and notice that the majority of children in the Public School are Arab. As years have gone by white families have slowly moved away. I walk the streets homeward from the train station and kids are running amok in groups without parents.
It can't be much of a life growing up in Sydney's South-West these days. With cost of living high, parents working long hours, kid's are basically co-brought up by television and video games inciting violence and terrorism. Quiet times without radio pop or gangster rap are pierced by the background noise of the incessantly traveled six lanes of Canterbury Road traversing the suburbs. There is no local haven, no place for peaceful solitude.
Sydney harbour
When people think of Sydney they think of the beautiful Harbour, the Botanic gardens and beaches. The Sydney lifestyle is pretty good if you live in these areas and have a lot of money to afford it. The reality though, is that you will fit somewhere in the socio-economic demographic that exists between the coastal outskirts and the less desirable depths of South-West Sydney. You're with the immigrant communities plunged into traffic fighting to keep your family afloat. Life may be tough.
The world is a busier place than it was twenty years ago. I can only imagine what it might be like arriving in Sydney with a young family from another country with a very different culture. I'm technically an Australian and returned on my Australian passport and found it difficult to settle in, get my tax-file number, medicare card etcetera and this was with having family and friends already here, speaking English and not having to find a place to rent. It is little wonder why immigrants stick to their own communities. It is what they know, it is what they are comfortable in. Uprooting families and moving countries and all the associated stresses that go with that can rank higher for stress as death of a loved one.
'White' Australians criticize ethnic communities for not integrating properly into society but I think they do not realize how difficult it can be. The only culture shock they have experienced is reverse culture shock after driving into Cabramatta, a suburb in South-West Sydney. Some of the shop signs are not even in English.
The suburb of Cabramatta in SW Sydney contains a strong Asian presence, particularly Vietnamese.
Even I experience a sense of reverse culture shock when visiting Cabramatta and I'm half Asian and well traveled across the globe. Whilst it saddens me to see lack of integration by immigrant communities I don't blame them. It's a two-fold story. How are immigrants supposed to adapt if not welcomed by others. Without getting to know our neighbours how is a community supposed to function?
Especially in a country that has never been free of racial prejudice. When people have ideas of superiority, that they epitomize the country and that their way should be considered the status quo.
I'm all for multiculturalism and I'm a product of it myself. Both sides of my family are completely different. At times it might seem like they are at odds with each other. When both sides of the family have met there have been elements of uncertainty and awkwardness on both sides which I've found both frustrating, amusing and essential. It might sound strange but my whole life I've clung to these awkward silences, the bonding attempts, the retractions, cautious niceties, the cultural faux pas. I've lived in these spaces because they speak of who I am. I see my acceptance as being a product of two different cultures uniting.
I bring the conversation of immigrant communities up a lot with my patients at work and it's interesting to see their responses. So many of them think that their country is being invaded by foreigners and that they should go back to where they came from. They say this to me, the person who is rehabilitating their injury, and I wonder if they know that technically I am one of the people they are telling to 'f**k off'. And if not, if they consider me one of them, then what of my mother? My aunties, uncles and cousins.
After all. Unless you are an Australian Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander you came from somewhere else as well.
I've been on the other side of the cultural conflict as well. I've hung out with Asians and individuals from other ethnic groups who have hurled anti-white sentiments and that doesn't make me comfortable either. I feel as though caught in the middle and never really belonging. I'm the gap. The divide. I'm the bridge. I'm the metaphor. I'm either the recuperating casualty or the triumphant victory.
Which brings me back to the Muslim riots.
There's a lot of pent up frustration, stress and aggression out there. The mental and spiritual health of many people is not good.
I refuse to believe that many -if any- of the Islamic rioters had even seen anything of the film that was said to offend their prophet Muhammad. I had no idea of the film's existence until the riots occurred and would have had no interest in it but after the ruckus and stink that was created I was curious to see what the fuss was about.
I checked out the trailer on youTube;
Has anyone bothered to watch it? It's 14 minutes long and so terrible that I could barely manage to watch two minutes of it. And that's just talking about the acting and cinematography, let alone storyline or message.
How this movie could cause such worldwide turmoil is beyond me.
But that is my point. I believe that most wars that have ever been fought are never truly in the name of what they are fighting for. There is some other motive, some other agenda. The Muslim protests turned into riots for other reasons.
Capitalism reigns supreme in the major cities of the world. We have 'the haves' and the 'have nots' and there is a tooth and nail struggle for most of those that exist in-between. Social media has also made us a very vain and superficial culture. We justify our self worth and success by what other people think of us, by the lives we are perceived to have, we are a collection of smiles and good times but we seldom allude to all the time in between.
It's not much of an existence crammed into the suburbs struggling to get by week to week. When you don't feel welcome in a country that you call home. When all you see is concrete, buildings, roads and traffic. Nothing is natural. Your parents are barely home and don't have enough time and or money to afford multiple bus and train fares to take you to the beach or the mountains. Maybe they don't even know the joys of the outdoors and how necessary it is for the soul. You spend your time on computers and play games that involve mass murder. You listen to music that encourages negative introspection and being the victim. You see other people. They have it better, easier. They have more. They have everything. And now they are making fun of you and insulting you. But you have an association with an impassioned group. You can unite and act in the name of something bigger. Jihad.
I can see it happening. It's happening now.
As a passage in the Bible states;
"For wherever jealousy and rivalry exist, there is disorder and every kind of evil."
My Aunty's place in South-West Sydney got robbed a few weeks ago. A few weeks earlier she had been home and noticed some Arab youths snooping unabashedly around the street. They were checking out houses and cars. When they saw my Aunty looking at them they pretended to hide behind a tree. A neighbour's house down the street was robbed also. They stole money, jewelery and electronics. They went through all of my stuff as well but decided I didn't have anything worth taking. The idiots. They could have taken two of my most prized possessions: my Gortex rain jacket and my Gortex bivvy tent. In some ways I wish they did. The dick heads could have done with getting away from the city and getting amongst nature and the elements. They could have found a quiet spot where no noise was manufactured, where there was an uninterrupted natural expanse as far as the eye could see. A place devoid of concrete and traffic and advertising and signs and rubbish. A place where they would not be distracted from their own thoughts for several days and where they could have a long hard think about things, maybe experience an epiphany.
In some ways I don't think I'm any different to the robbers though. If push came to shove I could probably manipulate my mind into theft. I imagine it would probably spring from envy, then perhaps a manufactured hatred for others with more than me, pity myself for being one of the 99 percent. Maybe I'd play a race card. Other races haven't done anything special for me so why not steal from them if they are better off. Each is for their own. I'd never do it but I can see how easy it could come about.
It's sad when races don't intermingle. All parties should make a concerted effort to get to know, understand and care for each other. Maybe if they did there would be less hatred and extremism. Maybe if the neighbour of Taliban members baked them some nice fluffy pink cupcakes they would chill out a little and maybe give up researching construction of bombs. Maybe they'd pass up an opportunity to riot and not really feel in the mood.
Keeping to ourselves is not the answer in a multicultural society. Love and community was never created in a vacuum. Constant signs of hope need to be shown by people reaching outside of themselves for others.
That is the real war.
To understand and f**king smother everyone with love.
If anyone wants to kill me after that they might as well go ahead and do so because life would not be worth living.
In a one time shot we each traveled through hundreds and thousands and millions of years and settled on this particular time and space. We found ourselves in the same hemisphere, in the same country, in the same town, in the same street, in the same ten meter square perimeter. We’re only going to be here a short while and then this experience on this earth will cease to exist. Hundreds and thousands and millions of years will go by long after we are gone. Millions of people like you and I will meet on this very spot. They will have traveled for eons through time and space just to find themselves in the same predicament. In this moment. Both here and now. Amidst millions of years that exist when we are not.
The future is already happening and so is the past. We are dimensions folding and unfolding. Reference points in time, minor blips, yet in that, possessing the inexplicable spark, depth, complexity and endlessness of the universe. Each moment in our reality on some plane is timeless. It reaches into the future and it reaches into the past. It is connected by something absolute that is, was and always will be. I'm a part of it and you're a part of it. Before we were and beyond when we are.
But right now in the present held by earthly dimensions, I’m here and so are you.
Heat. Chemicals. Arched backwards over a wooden bench she stares at the lines in the ceiling and feels her hairs stand on end. Her exhalations are large and hands tightly clenched. Possession. Feeling. He helps her up and does up her blouse before hurriedly pulling up his pants. She fumbles to help him, her fingers struggle to gain traction on his jean buttons, pushing and matching them with the holes at great speed. She kisses him long and hard, bodies tightly juxtaposed as they rise, warm hungry air whispering threats between each kiss, penetrating the skin. He leads her out of the darkened depths of the tent, away from the collection of unclothed bodies groaning and grabbing at each other in the dark.
Back in the mass of the crowd the air is warmer and moist and they explore each others mouths. She feels his form and he feels hers. Each movement of the hand is suggestive. A game of movement and pressure. Sinking and sliding. Testing and teasing. They are blind at close proximity. Everything is an engrossment of sensation.
But she is losing him and he is losing her. Their hands lose their intent. Their mouths lose their appeal. A space opens up between them and they can now see each other. Clearly. Freely. She feels his hand slide off her waist and her hand slides off his chest. They can feel the pull. The longing. For some reason he is different from the rest. She feels her hormones at their peak. He wants her and she wants him but they are now drifting in opposite directions and although she keeps her eyes on him and his eyes remain on her the distance between them grows and other people get in the way. She is being drawn back into the crowd. She tries to peak over and around the other bodies but they draw her in and she loses sight of him. The energy of the crowd takes over. She forgets.
In the nexus of the crowd she finds herself in a series of embraces and touches. Packed like sardines she reciprocates and feels forms without faces. Her hands interpret and communicate. She feels the difference of each individual's touch. Forceful. Desperate. Rushed. Some linger. They speak of feeling. She responds with the language of her body. Inviting. Retracting. It happens in rapid succession. Like a dance. She responds subconsciously. Unbound and free. Anonymously entangled in a hedonistic sea.
But she drifts away slowly from the centre. At first it occurs slowly and she doesn't notice. Touches suddenly become more forced, unnatural. The tactile language becomes less fluent. Interrupted. Circumspect and foreign. She loses interest. Her arousal wanes.
She finds herself on the outer perimeter of the crowd and stepping back. There is such a space between her now that and she sees everyone clearly. Their features are obvious. Their age. Their sex. Certain features and blemishes. She can read their body language. Uncertain. Unconfident. Awkward. She looks at them and they look at her. They approach her and hug her and then step away reflecting on the process and how they will go about repeating that with someone else. They react differently. Some laugh. Some seem unconvinced.
She feels awkward.
Everything seems too clear. The details. The concept. The barriers. The space.
She lifts the flap and exits the tent. The sun instantly blinds her and she has to wait for her eyes to adjust.
She sees her friend waiting and walks to her and they both look back at the tent.
"What do you think it's all about?" she asks her friend.
When I was about ten years old I remember seeing a teenager in Wellington wearing a black shirt with the print "TOTAL FUCKING DARKNESS." I was riding in the back seat of a taxi that day with my dad and my aunt and uncle and as we stopped at a set of lights the teenager crossed the road the taxi driver shook his head while reading the contents of the teenager's shirt aloud. He laughed sardonically and as he did so I remember my adult compatriots taking notice and sharing rather sardonic chuckles themselves. What would that kid know about TOTAL FUCKING DARKNESS?
Was it a slow download speed on Napster? Was it the vexatious Wellington wind? Was it being short a bus fare by a few cents? Was it the lack of attention paid to him by a female cashier at Burger King?
Maybe it was all those things. Maybe it was more. I guess it doesn't matter when it comes to TOTAL FUCKING DARKNESS because perception is subjective. It's psychological. It's irrational. But the feeling may be very real.
On a bad day I'm experiencing TOTAL FUCKING DARKNESS.
I'm doomed on such days. There is no hope, no light. There is no promise. And although I pretty much never swear and even seldom do it in my head I resort to profanity and it seems the only apt adjective to describe anything because it is all fucked. FUCKED. Fucking fucked.
FUCKED.
I'm feeling so low on these days which is strange for me as I like to think I'm the sort of person that leaves their front door each day in search of hope.
I feel like I've been abandoned. Although I have lots of friends and family it doesn't mean anything. I am alone even if I am not. I am abandoned even if I am surrounded. People are talking but no one is listening. Suggestions are sugar coated but they hold no pertinence. Even I know that I am being an idiot for the way I am feeling but I can't help it. I have already tried to feel otherwise. Ive already told myself that I am being irrational. But none of this matters because the feeling is so real. I am utterly empty. There is a huge void inside. I'm drowning in a sea of people. I'm falling apart in a public space. I'm silently crying out for help, for anything, something. Something that holds it all together. Something that makes sense. Something that tells me that there is purpose, a plan, meaning. That hope and love are real, not just experiences. That they have a source and it is absolute and unconditional. That love is. That love wants. That love will find me.
I don't nor ever will own a shirt that says TOTAL FUCKING DARKNESS but I feel like I've worn it before. It was on a bad day. Possibly my worst day.
It was also in Wellington. I played indoor cricket without feeling. I drove home with no urgency or desire and then lay in bed wanting to be swallowed by it never to resurface. But the feelings would not go away. I felt tormented. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to bring it to an end.
It was a work night and at 1:30AM I decided to get in my car and drive up one of the hills overlooking Wellington city in the rain. I got out of the car and stepped out into the moonless wintery night. The clouds hung low and remember fumbling my way up an overgrown path. I love mountains because they give me clarity of vision. They put things in perspective for me but on this night I felt devoid of my natural senses. When I could see the specks of city lights below me through the fog I wondered what the point in all of it was. Who really made a difference to the world? I just saw it as one big hopeless fucked up mess. I had an idea that I wanted to scream when I reached the hilly outcrop but I couldn't even manage that. My breathing started to go and I got down on my knees failing to gain any form of composure. What was happening to me? I had no idea. "Oh fuck" I remember uttering to myself. I started freaking out. I was scared. All I felt was darkness and I was at the mercy of it, like it was going to consume me. Oh, God, Oh God, please help I remember voicing in my mind over and over again and eventually my breathing started to slow back to a normal rhythm and it calmed me. I felt as though I was covered in a veil of darkness but now I started to see a pin prick of light. It was faint, tiny, minute but it disturbed the darkness and I clung to it.
'This is what hell is' I was told that night. It is not fiery flames. It is darkness and separation. Devoid of hope.
You must know this. It is a reality for many people.
People need hope. They need love. They need truth.
Light starts in a dark place.
"The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it."
ON A GOOD DAY it feels like nothing can stop me. It's like I am channeling the powers of God, I have been called and counted and this remarkable understanding of love and sense of self, others and purpose oozes from my fingertips. In many ways it feels as if I am uncontainable, like I am bigger than my body and greater than a sum of my parts. I am not alone and I feel a connection to humanity, nature and the universe. I get a sense for how it spins: wheels within wheels, circles within cycles, micro and macro. It all comes down to the same glorious design and purpose and I'm looking at all, touching it, feeling it, inhaling it and I realize that we are inseparable. I was made to walk this earth just as every other. Our lives where made to collide and intersect and although there is pain and other inclement weather, this is not the status quo and these are not chains that are set to bind and confine us.
On a good day I feel as though I am found and placed on a high shelf. It is not because I am better than anyone else, it is simply because that is my value along with everyone else. On a good day I am raised up and can see so clearly. Beyond what I can normally process in my head. Beyond what is dragged around in my heart. It lifts like helium. It shoots into the sky and explodes like fireworks in the dark. All my conflicts, all my fears, all my inadequacies, all my guilt and all my wrongs. They become huge explosions resonating throughout the sky, sending shock waves throughout the earth. There is an explosion of light. A multicolored spectacle of space pioneering sparks.
I'm with friends, family and strangers on a good day. We're all watching the firework display and letting it all go. We link arms together and watch it all explode. On a good day we're all up there. So, so high. So, so free. But we are also on the earth. We are extensions of ourselves. We are in all things and we are in each other.
On a good day we are clutching at something intangible.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if everyone made an honest living. What if all jobs were in some way a benefit to mankind and what if companies didn’t charge too much for products or services. What if everything was reasonable? What if there were no monopolies? I know I’m asking too much. But what if everyone just did enough to have what they needed?
I look at people and their lifestyles and wonder how they keep it all together. These thoughts have stuck with me having rented a spare room temporarily with a family. Both parents are thirty-something health professionals and they have two children, 4 and 3.
I wouldn’t normally stay with a family but for 5 weeks it was convenient.
I watch them. The family. Not in a creepy way but the way someone watches things when lazily microwaving a potato for dinner. I look at the alarm (6AM) when the kids are tearing up the house in the morning. And I watch him (the father) fall asleep on the couch at 8:30PM with an un-drunk cup of tea in front of the television.
Is this the future? I think.
This cannot be the future.
It is this fear of this sort of thing becoming my life that has prompted thoughts about living modestly and making honest gains.
Why do we work so hard? What makes us work so hard? Do we have to work so hard?
These are my answers;
Capitalism. The rich have power. They rich have luxury. The rich have people under them making them money. Why not be rich?
Yep. That’s about it.
But I wonder how many of us working class get there? I mean truly get there. And what is the cost?
I’m not coming from a “let’s move the country and start a commune” point of view (although I do fantasize about it from time to time). Business and industry is important part of society. But what if people worked less? I’m not saying work less hard. I’m saying: still work hard, simply work less. What if we job shared? The tasks would all get done. The cogs of society would keep turning. We’d all have more time for recreation. We wouldn’t always be microwaving potatoes for dinner and we’d all have better quality of life, health and well-being. There would also be a lot less unemployment.
It’s a wonderful thought: A three day work week and a four day weekend.
I know, I know, this is sounding a bit like communism. But isn’t the idea of communism quite beautiful until human nature kicks in and the balance of the scales are corrupted by laziness and greed? There will be people that want something for nothing and there will be people that want everything at the expense of others. We can’t eradicate human nature and therein lies the problem.
I walked across Spain on an ancient pilgrimage trail several years ago with my friend Matt. We stayed in refuges, most really cheap, some requiring only donation. It is a popular trail. Some do it for religious purposes although many do it to ‘reconnect’ with the simple way of life and ‘escape’ the trappings of their general realm of existence. Each day basically consisted of fellowship, walking, eating, drinking, sleeping and enjoying the scenery. The only problem was some people saw it as a race. They wanted to get to the next refuge before everyone else. They would get up at 5AM, turn the lights on in the dormitory, create noise by packing all their belongings and disrupt everyone’s sleep just so they could trudge on ahead. Maybe they were scared of not having a place to sleep. Maybe they just felt the need to arrive at the next destination first.
I revisited Northern Spain again earlier this year and re-walked some of the trail. A Hollywood movie had been made about the walk since and I was surprised at how much busier it had become. It was actually too busy. People were now getting up at 4AM and by lunchtime there were lines outside the refuges waiting for them to open. The prices for refuges had also been put up. Many people even cheated by taking a bus.
Maybe that is just like working life. People have this desire to have more than others or get there faster so they pursue these things rather than focus on meeting their own needs and enjoying the journey.
It is after all the journey that is important, not the destination.
I don’t know where the world is going. We have technology that is supposed to make things easier for us but it ends up making us more busy. We put our kids in a daycare or kindergarten so both parents can work and then this industry of child minding blossoms and pushes up the prices of time spent with our children. Suddenly we want a night out without our kids and then we realize that it’s going to cost us $100 for the babysitter because the going rate is $20/hour. Such is the case with the family I am staying with.
Maybe I’ve travelled too much and maybe I’ve fallen a little too out of touch but I just don’t get what it is everyone is aspiring towards.
On the Gold Coast everyone looks at and wants this;
Gold Coast Highrise and coastal real estate
But I’m looking in the opposite direction. I’m looking at this;
Gold Coast Hinterland
In ten years I wouldn't be surprised if people no longer walk across Spain but instead opt to drive.
There will be pilgrim taxes imposed for accommodation. The concept of 'pilgrimage' will be lost.
The family I have been renting a room off live on the Gold Coast but they never really get to go to the beach.
On the Gold Coast there are already public buses branded with images of women with large breasts advertising for 'medical holidays' in Asia. I hear nurses at work talking about them along with botox and nip-tucks. Meanwhile the 'hard' men are wearing sleeve tattoos and they drive around in fancy cars purchased on finance.
Dying is for suckers so I'm not going to do it. Think about it. Wouldn't it change the way you looked at the world. Wouldn't it change your itinerary, your goals in life? Don't die. Just don't do it. It makes everything so much easier.
I meet people that are scared shitless of dying everyday. Most don't explicitly state it but I can tell. They proudly and importantly talk about their accomplishments and their achievements. They educate me on them because I am meant to appreciate their worth. They mention their boat, their overseas holiday house that they barely visit. The mansion they live in. They speak of their possessions as if holding onto them like they are slipping away. Good for them, I think. They may have generated considerable wealth. They may have established small empires for themselves. But what does it all mean? They're going to die. I'm not bothered with any of it.
That's not to say that I don't try to accomplish great things. That's not to say that I'm not after a home and a holiday. I'm just not in such of a rush. I'm in no hurry. I just take my sweet time. The outlook is pretty cruisy when you think eternal.
All I'm after is a decent conversation, a hike in the hills, a play in the surf. I'm here to learn and to share, to enjoy and to grow. You would think I'd be more concerned about advancing empires in the time that I have. When you are not going to die you can build something that can trump anyone else's. You can spend more time working and more time investing. You can buy more land and afford more labourers. The truth is, this is still a waste of time. Even though I have all the time in the world, there are so much better things for me to do.
I would rather tell people that they shouldn't die because it is that simple. All they need to do is realize that they have a choice and choose not to do it. Just don't do it!
There are so many sunrises waiting to be seen from mountaintops. There are so many seas to be sailed. There are crops to plant and feasts to be shared at harvest. There is nothing else for us to do and there is no need to overcomplicate it.
I'm not going to die.
Even when my body is riddled with cancer and I'm on my deathbed.
I pictured you arriving late and there was apprehension on all of the guests faces but I wasn’t worried in the slightest. They watched the clock and looked at each other, no words spoken and each one taboo. They would look upon my face to try and gain understanding for the circumstances, some justification for their concern but I gave none away. I took it all in. I was aware of the tension and invited it. I inhaled it and enjoyed the way it filtered through my lungs and into each of the smallest passages. I stared intently at the doors at the end of the building - if anything - inwardly smiling for the comfort and peace I knew given the place I stood.
You come through the doors smeared in mud with grazed knees. Past late and overdue, some of your clothes are torn and hanging off your body. Your hair is wild and unkempt, glued together in places in the formation of clumps. You’re barefooted. No make-up. Your fringe covers half of your face and you’ve given up trying to brush it to the side.
I wouldn’t want anything else.
People turn and look at you when you burst through the doors. They don’t recognize you. They don’t know who you are. Their eyes follow you as you walk down the aisle. The music man forgets to play the tune. You have a captive audience.
This is how my baby does it. Resolute and against all odds.
There is a story here but there is no need to tell. I don’t know it but at the same time I know it all.
Maybe your breathing is heavy. Maybe it is not. Maybe things have almost killed you. Maybe your steps are unsteady. Maybe you stumble as you make your way to me. Maybe you have endured the unthinkable.
Heartbroken, out of place, in disrepair, unwanted, troubled, lost, confused, guilty, odd. We've been all of these things.
Sometimes you’ll be in a place and all you want to do is find it. You’ll feel completely lost, completely incapable, completely hopeless. You will search high and low, near and far but the feeling and the loss is inescapable. You’ll be walking alone, amongst the crowd and the traffic. You’ll blast music in your ears without listening. Words will not make sense and emotions will only polish the edge of something you cannot convey. There will be silence when all you want to hear is a small clear voice. There will be noise, deafening scrambled noise when all you want to hear is quiet. There will be this small seemingly insignificant spot inside you that is empty and in realizing this you will discover that that small insignificant spot is actually all that needs to be filled and the remaining space has no bearing or importance in life whatsoever. You will retrace your steps till you found the point where you went wrong. You will remember the time when you had or was close to finding it. You’ll remember how important this thing was. You will realize that this is all that really matters. That this is all you need. Then you will carry on. You feel the sun on your face and the ground at your feet. You will continue as you always continued in all the noise and lights. In all the hum and all the fuss. You’ll run and watch everything blur like everyone else. You’ll watch everything get complicated. The world is a dizzying kaleidoscope. You’ll find yourself lost again. You’ll realize how far you have traveled from where you were. You’ll be in that same place. Completely lost, feeling completely incapable, hopeless. The scenery and the happenings and interactions that fill it will suddenly seem all disconnected. And all you’ll want to do is find it...
This continues the story about a young man called 'Fish'. In 2011 he quit his job because he hated it so much and ventured forth into foreign lands to seek enlightenment and a lifestyle where he could retire at the age of 26 (see A Short Story, A Parable, A Tale of a Man Who Hates His Job) only to find himself lonely and isolated and questioning what exactly he was doing with his life (Sink or Swim). Now, March 2012 the story continues...
FISH RETURNS TO THE CITY and is invited and obliged to tag along to various dinner parties with young adults his age. He doesn't really know any of them, at least he didn't really before and given the setting doubted he ever would. But his friends - the one's that he did know - thought they owed it to him to invite him to such places. He had gone for years without "regular civilized social interaction" and they thought a decent amount of reintroduction was necessary.
So he sat and ate his meal carefully with the cutlery, smiled and laughed when prompted, like all the others when they laughed - such wonderful and exaggerated laughs!
Everything with an exclamation mark!
The conversation so witty!
Sighs so poignant!
Jobs so interesting!
Holidays so brilliant!
The drama!
Excitement!
Excitement!!!!!!!!
He didn't feel at ease in such settings and wondered if anyone else at the table actually did. Amidst the conversation he scanned his eyes around the room at all the knick knacks and posters and paintings and statues and empty bottles of alcohol that should have been put in the recycling months ago but seem to like being left out on display.
"Why?" fish asks himself.
He finds himself at various friend's homes in the days that ensue. They have not seen him for so long and long for his company but soon he is sat down on their couch and a downloaded cartoon episode of the Last Airbender or something along those lines is put on. He watches as the Avatar who is specially skilled bends and manipulates water, fire, earth and air. She moves to the city where she wants to extend her skill and training but there is a protest in the streets and they chant desires to rid the city of Airbenders because they are detrimental to society and cannot be trusted.
Fish does not care for the show but his friends are enthralled. He looks out the window and thinks of suggesting doing something outside later otherwise he knows that another one of these shows will be put on after this one has finished. These were his geeky friends. This is what they always did. Bored, he googles the meaning of avatar. One of the meanings interests him;
The next day it is sunny and he rides a bus through town. On the bus half of the passengers sit staring into their cell phones and three quarters are plugged into iPods. Outside Fish notices that there is a coffee shop almost every four shops and they are all full with people sitting in front of them sipping their medicated beverages. He refuses to be like them. Reliant. Not in control. Suckered into and addicted to an expensive and unnecessary social norm.
The night before a news broadcast had stated that there were plans to send people to Mars because life is habitable there. There were already people in training for the harsh living conditions but they were excited that the place was 'liveable'.
Why send people to Mars when you can live somewhere like Arizona? is all he had thought about since hearing such news.
He wants to take all his clothes off in the bus.
It's the answer, he thinks.
No pretense. No hiding. The truth will set you free as long as you are willing to look at it. Everyone needs to do it.
But he reaches his bus stop and walks down the street and down a small garden path to his friends door and as he presses the buzzer he gets the feeling that he is an avatar.
He just needs to harness his skills.
He hears rushing footsteps growing louder and the door swings open and his friend, all dressed up, envelops him in a huge excitable hug.
'It's so nice out' she says. 'Let's go get a coffee!'
Mankind seems to like to go to war. It's in our fallen nature. For some, our battles are trivial, like fighting for a mother's attention or for someone's affection. Others like to battle for pride, self worth, financial gain. I don't know what it is exactly but there is a certain satisfaction in being better or more powerful than something or someone else. We like to exert our dominance. We like to get what we want and we like to get it easily. So we gather our artillery and ammunition. Wars are fought. Weight is thrown around. Resources obtained all because someone wants to dominate for the sake of their own selfish purposes.
It reminds me of the line in a song "power is only made by power being taken".
Such statement makes sense to me. We are all equal aren't we? We have equal rights. We're all of the same species. But we abuse each other and struggle for power. Social classes are created. Races and sexes are discriminated against. Seniority is enforced. Everyday there is a victim and perpetrator and each lives within. We are the push and we are the pull. We are the innocent and the guilty in some small or large way.
Everywhere there is conflict so everywhere there is a fight. It could be brother versus brother, friend versus friend, country versus country, religion versus religion, or so on.
World peace is a fanciful ideal but it can never be obtained.
In saying so though, I would like to put forth a proposition.
What if aliens attacked?
What if some superior and terrifying species from another solar system came to wreak havoc on us? What if they plundered all the races, social groups, religions and nations?
Wouldpeople of different races, cultures and ethnic backgrounds unite? Even if they had hated each other and been 'enemies' for centuries?
I reckon all of our differences would be put aside in an instant. There would be no more countries or continents. There would just be 'earth'. There would be no more races or ethnic groups. There would just be 'humans'.
And as for religion... The Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Catholics etc would all have their minds blown so much that they'd be desperately seeking and rethinking truth.
And the Scientologists... I guess they'd have a few questions (or answers) of their own...
Maybe if we had an external enemy it would create a greater sense of peace within. Maybe the best way to bring peace amongst each other is some sort of EXTERNAL TOTAL F***ING DEVASTATION.
A homeless guy talked to me when I was looking for Koi fish under the ice in a Chinese garden in Vancouver a few weeks ago. He said many things to me. Amongst them: "It's all going to end soon. Nature is going to reset itself. We've f***ed it all up so it has to fix itself. You'll know by the birds and the other animals. They'll run away. That's when you know it's coming. They know when to leave. It's all going to blow."
He also told me of a strong hallucinogenic you can derive from Acacia wood but that is beside the point. I've looked to the sky ever since and watched the birds. I've actually fantasized about watching them all fly away till not a sound could be heard. I've pictured myself running with all the other people in the city when the ground opens up and the mountains explode. And in that desperation and panic, whilst running I've thought: This is quite nice actually. We are all the same. Just people running from disaster. Why didn't we realize this earlier? Maybe we could have treated each other nicer while we were alive.
