Joy Theory

JOY THEORY

WHAT IF JOY was to be both the inspiration and objective of every decision we made? Would we make different decisions? Would we change where we worked? Would we change our friends? Would we change how we spent our time?

Ask yourself. Why are we alive? What is life all about? What do we desire? Is it not joy? Is that not why we are here?

It's something I've been thinking about over the past several months. Why do we often not consider joy in every decision we make? And if joy is not the object of every decision we make, why do wonder why we end up unhappy, bitter, or depressed?

In light of these musings I have recently been testing a theory: The Joy Theory.

The Joy Theory

We were created out of love and were intended to experience and share unending joy. Nothing has changed. Life is meant to be joyful. Our spirits are meant to rejoice and seek good things. When we are pondering doing something, we should ask ourselves if joy is involved. If it isn't, we should ask ourselves why we intend to do it. Choose the things that lead to joy and really seek them out.

So this is what I have been doing. I have been trying to reconcile my plans and actions to joy. If I can see no joy coming about as a result of an action, I don't do it. If something will bring joy, I do it. 


I apply the theory to all aspects of daily life (when I remember); getting out of bed, what to have for breakfast, who to hang out with, whether to help someone in need or not, to sit and watch television or not, to go out for lunch or not, if I should go for a run. 
It sounds stupid, like all of those decisions are not very important ones, but I've found that they actually make a big difference at the end of the day. It also scares me to think about all of the things that I do without knowing why, things I don't really want to do.


It makes a big difference when you help someone out of a joyful heart or help someone out of joyless obligation.
As does going for a run.
Or having a cup of coffee in a cafe.


The above things do not really seem to be a problem if done joylessly, but what if our lives are a culmination of moments and decisions like these? If we choose badly, we deprive ourselves of joy. We forget why we are living. We forget why we were made. We lose perspective.


This is bad.


In my experimentation I have found that the Joy Theory is not just an applied rule but it is also an outlook. In seeking joy we are not just seeking momentary pleasures but long lasting pleasures. Joy comes from things that are immediate and things that are to come. Good and bad things have a habit of self perpetuating. We are the sum of our decisions. We choose the path in which we walk. We make the bed in which we lie. Where do we end up if our decisions are devoid of joy?


(Note that pleasure is not necessarily the same as joy).


Consider going to the pub when you are in a bad mood compared to going to the pub when you are in a good mood.
Consider buying a sweater when you have had a bad week compared to buying one when you have had an amazingly good one.


Chances are, going to the pub in a bad mood isn't going to end joyously. Chances are, in a few weeks, or months, whenever you look at the sweater you bought you will be reminded of the mood you were in when you bought it. Will you be reminded of that terrible week or that amazingly good one?


How about relationships?


Does application of the Joy Theory change the company you keep? The girl you pursue?


How about your job?


Or when considering consumption of that extra row of chocolate?


The Joy Theory. It's an interesting experiment. Why not test it and see where it takes you. 
I've been testing it and I'm a believer.


This blog is dedicated to my very good friend and fellow peregrino Matt Chernishov, who has made some very good decisions in the name of joy.


joy
–noun
1. the emotion of great delight or happiness caused bysomething exceptionally good or satisfying; keen pleasure; elation: She felt the joy of seeing her son's success.
2. a source or cause of keen pleasure or delight; something or someone greatly valued or appreciated: Her prose style is a pure joy.
3. the expression or display of glad feeling; festive gaiety.
4. a state of happiness or felicity.
–verb
5. to feel joy; be glad; rejoice.

You will show me the path of life. In Your presence is fullness of joy. At Your right hand there are pleasures forevermore. 

Psalm 16: 11

Wisdom (as pointed out to me by elderly ghosts)

How I Learnt to Seek Wisdom: The story of my elderly ghosts

It all began in the hospital. I heard the screams of dead people, past, present and future. They whispered and pleaded but received no answer because the sands of their life had already fallen through the hours of their glass.


But then I had to go and see the people on their way out. Some were kind souls. They were at peace. They understood their fate and destination and ushered the transition as if some sort of holiday. Others were opposites. They clung desperately onto their remaining breaths. They were wretched, disconsolate works that cursed an ambivalent and distant time keeper, or refused to acknowledge any such entity completely. Their essential angst burned with a desire for the destruction of everything and everyone if that was to be their fate. It was a dichotomy that I found hard to shake. If there was one thing I learnt from the departing, it was to consider the destination of accumulated steps, the directions I took, the decisions I made.


And so I would part their curtains and transport myself into some sort of purgatory. Heaven or Hell I told myself. Each had its inclination. There was not much I could do for the bodies that lay, but my contract dictated that I be there to at least give them the option - or sentiment - of disparaging movement. Some would greet me with a smile and a gentle squeeze on my hand but others would outpour a tumultuous internal dialogue. They spoke to me like ghostly apparitions. They warned me of mistakes and the pending apocalypse. With skeletal arms they grabbed me by the collar and pulled my face until it met theirs. I would be forced to look into their half-dead, receding, blood vessel scrambled eyes. 


"Listen!" they would say. "It's happening now! You think you will live forever! I was like you once but look at me now! It tricks you! Time beguiles and dispossesses. There will be no more footsteps, your destination determined. Beware. Pay attention. The thief pretends to be a friend and soon you will be gone."

This is why I no longer work in hospitals. I prefer private clinics. People are much younger. There is no eminent death.


But the elderly people still haunted me. They followed me from the hospital and sat in the room watching as I treated the younger, healthier people. They pointed certain patients out to me. Sometimes they nodded in approval. Sometimes they made a throat slitting gesture. I asked them what they meant by such signals but they no longer spoke because they were dead. And so the behavior continued. Sometimes there was a shake of the head, sometimes a nod, sometimes a slit of the throat. They would follow me to the tea room. When I left work at the end of the day, they would watch me through the window as I drove away.


After a couple of years of having these elderly people persistently follow me around I decided to consult a Great Physician on the matter. I told him about my ghosts and how they continually tried to communicate with me. At this point they were not only bothering me at work but had begun to follow me around everywhere. They would criticize choices of girlfriends, nod their heads in approval whenever I went for a run, fold their arms when I drank too much and conversed drunkenly in a nightclub.


"Why are they bothering me?" I asked the Great Physician.


"They want you to realize something" the Great Physician replied.


"What is it?" I enquired.


"There is nothing I can say that will not always be said" said the Great Physician. "And there is nothing that I can do that will not always be done. You must look, you must listen and you must pray. Everything in nature is a sign. It will be found by those who search and pray. But many do not bother. They are too stubborn, distracted or proud. The path to death is not with feet but led with the heart."  


And so I left the Great Physician's office and walked home with my elderly ghosts en tow.


Days went by and nothing changed. Work was the same. Ghosts would nod, shake their heads, or slit their throats depending on the patient. Life criticism was the same. When I ate my vegetables: nodding. When I went to the mall: shaking. When I considered contacting a particular girl: slitting of throats. I started to suffer from lack of sleep as the ghosts began to make a habit of standing by my bedside staring at me quietly through the night. I told them to go watch some television but they wouldn't listen. Every time I opened my eyes or woke from a dream their deathly faces would be staring at me.


One Saturday morning having woken to the staring faces of death I decided that I had had enough. I would finally get to the bottom of the mystery that was plaguing my life.


"What do you want from me?" I asked the ghosts.


They looked at me blankly.


"I know you can't talk so instead I am going to look to you for permission. If I walk in the right direction I want you to nod. If I walk in the wrong direction I want you to shake your head. And if I walk in completely the wrong direction, I want you to slit your throats. It will be like a modified version of Charades. You will guide my every action with your approval or disapproval."


The ghosts nodded happily.


And so I got out of bed: Nodding.


Slowly I walked towards the door to exit towards the kitchen but the ghosts shook their heads.


"You want me in my bedroom?" I asked.


They nodded.


I proceeded to slowly pivot on the spot and looked to the ghosts for approval. They nodded slowly and then nodded avidly and then proceeded to shake their heads when I had pivoted too far. I returned to the desirable direction and found myself facing my bookshelf.


"You want me to walk towards my bookshelf?" I asked.


They nodded.


There were not many books on my bookshelf. I picked up a magazine and the ghosts started slitting their throats.  I picked up a comic book and they started slitting their throats. I picked up a tennis ball: Slitting throats. Cricket trophy: slitting throats. Rubber band: Slitting throats. Paperclip: slitting throats. Half eaten apple: they pointed to the bin. Eventually I picked up a book. It was a book that I had neglected for some time but knew I should have been reading. The ghosts nodded.


I opened the book: nodding. I skipped to the back: shaking. I thumbed my way more towards the front: nodding. Eventually I found the right page and the ghosts were ecstatic. They threw their hands up in the air and celebrated, championing my achievement.


I proceeded to read from the book;


"Happy is the man who finds wisdom,
and the man who gets understanding,
for the gain from it is better than gain from silver
and its profit better than gold.
She is more precious than jewels,
and nothing you desire can compare with her.
Long life is in her right hand;
in her left hand are riches and honour.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
all her paths are peace.
She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her;
those who hold her fast are called happy."


And with that, the ghosts were gone.




So the moral of the story is this:
Seek wisdom when you are young because it will set all of your paths straight. It will lead to a long, honest life of joy and pleasure, void of regret. It is a wealth that all of the money in the world cannot buy. You will rest easy and peace will find you.

HEBRON חֶבְרוֹן الخليل

I've wanted to write something on the Israel-Palestine / Jewish-Christian-Muslim conflict for quite some time, but even after writing this I don't think I have got my point across. But maybe that's my point.

חֶבְרוֹן
الخليل
HEBRON

We are fed a lot of opinions about the conflict in the Middle East. Essentially what I'm talking about is the land of Israel, or Palestine, a small little strip of land as narrow as 15 km in some points (modern day Israel excluding Occupied Palestinian Territory). Geographically it links Africa, Asia, and Europe. Blood has been shed on this land for many centuries and it continues today. Because it is so small, some would argue: what's the fuss?

Probably the more one tries to understand the conflict in the Middle East, the more complex it gets. The conflict is not just geographical but it is also cultural, religious, and combining all things: political. The heart of the problem is as deep as its roots and there in lies the problem. Identity.

I titled this blog HEBRON. It is an Arab city in the annexed Palestinian Territory not far south of Jerusalem. It contains arguably the most Palestinian-Israeli conflict in the West Bank. I went there late last year to check it out.

Hebron sits in the Judean mountains and is home to 165,000 Palestinian Arabs and just over 500 Jewish Settlers. Some call the Jewish settlement crazy because they certainly don't choose to live there for the quality of life. So why are they there? Well, probably the same reason I was going there (minus a morbid curiosity for disaster). It has something to do with the tomb of the Patriarchs.

The tomb of the Patriarchs refers to the burial cave of Abraham, Sarah, Issac, Rebecca, Jacob and Leah. It is sacred to Jews and Christians because they are the ancestors of their respective religions (Jesus was also a descendant of Abraham, Issac and Jacob).

But when you go to the cave of the Patriarchs today you do not see a cave but a giant mosque. This is because Abraham is also recognized as the ancestor of Islam, the mosque of Ibrahim (Abraham) being erected/transformed from a church during one of the Muslim invasions.

The humble cave has come a long way since three generations of Jews were buried there.

• Over 2000 years ago King Herod of Israel builds a 12 meter wall around the site. It lies enclosed, open to the sky until a basilica is erected in the Byzantine (Roman) era. 

• In 614 the Persians conquer Hebron and the church is destroyed. Muslims take control and build a mosque in its place.

• In 1100 the Crusaders capture Hebron and transform it back into a church.

• In 1184 Saladin invades and the building becomes a mosque once again although they allow Christian worship.

• In the late 14th Century the reigning Mamluks prevent Jews from coming as close as the 5th step (later extended to the 7th step; The wear on the rock at this site is seen today).

• In 1967 Jews gain access to the tombs once again following Israel's victory in the Six Day War over Jordan. The land comes back into their control for the first time in 2000 years. Immediately Jews begin to resettle.

Since then there have been various acts of violence from both Palestinian and Israeli sides; bombings, shootings, massacres, murders, destruction of historical artifacts. When you walk around modern day Hebron you can sense the conflict, there are military checkpoints everywhere and Israeli soldiers patrol the streets to keep the peace. The mosque of Ibrahim itself is now heavily guarded. It has been divided into two sections following a massacre in 1994 where Goldstein, an American Jewish extremist shot 29 Islamic worshipers. Today half is annexed for Muslims and half for Jews. A wall divides.

I had the opportunity of checking out both sides of the mosque. On the Muslim side the Muslims were doing their thing, on the Jewish side the Jews were doing their thing, half of the ancestral skeletons lying under each side of the partition. Afterwards, my friend and I decided to take a walk around the streets and alleyways. We didn't just want to go to the main site and snap a few photos. We wanted to get a real sense for the place, to wander aimlessly, get lost a little, find ourselves amongst it, breathe everything in.

We are stopped periodically by armed checkpoints before gaining clearance to venture further. Some Palestinians greet us genuinely although most do it with mocking manner. Some ask us "Do you know where you are?" as if to say: "What are you doing here? You should leave." Some spit at us, throw firecrackers at our feet so they explode to startle. I am shot at by some kids with a BB gun and feel the sting against my calf.

Eventually we reach a quiet area of abandoned buildings. There is an empty school, a rusted bicycle, graffiti covers dilapidating walls. I kick a flat soccer ball that lies on the ground and watch it struggle to bounce and roll. Apart from the occasional patrolling soldier there is no other life. 

It is eerie.

Just past the school we come across a sign written in Hebrew which is translated in English. It commemorates the murdered Jews who once lived in the area on which we stood. I look at my friend and notice that she is now in tears - at first a few, but soon a steady flow. I sit with her on a patch of dusty ground amongst weeds in a silent street. I place a gentle hand on her knee and rub it while I stare at a star of David spray painted on an adjacent building.

My friend is Jewish but non religious. I can't help but consider how much her tears speak for the otherwise silence on this street.

After some time a young patrolling soldier approaches with his gun slung over his shoulder. He looks as though he doesn't want to be in his body. I acknowledge him and he says hello. I don't think he has noticed my friend crying because he proceeds to ask me where I am from. I tell him that I am from New Zealand to which he responds suddenly upbeat.

"I have a friend that has been there and he says it is really beautiful" he says.

I smile awkwardly and tilt my head in the direction of my crying friend. I try to highlight that she is in a state of sorrow and that conversation is slightly inappropriate.

He nods and continues his lonely patrol.

Abraham in Brief

The Torah is the foundation of Jewish legal and ethical religious texts. It is the same as the first five books of the Biblical Old Testament (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy). The Qu'ran has similarities to both Jewish and Christian Books but splits at the point of Abraham. An abridged account is thus;

God told Abraham to leave his native land and promised that He would bless him and make him a great nation. Abraham's wife Sarah is barren and cannot have any children. They pray to God who answers their prayer by promising them a child despite her being beyond in years. 

As time passes, Sarah and Abraham begin to doubt God's promise so Sarah convinces Abraham to marry their Egyptian maid Hagar in hopes of having a child to her. Because of this, Sarah begins to become jealous and treats Hagar harshly. 

One day Hagar decides to flee but an angel of God appears to her and tells her to return to Sarah as she will bear Abraham a son who will be "a wild ass of a man, his hand against everyone and everyone's hand against him, and he shall dwell in the face of all his kinsmen.” This child is to be named Ishmael. 

When Ishmael is 14 years old, God tells Abraham and Sarah that the time has come for their bloodline to continue. Sarah becomes pregnant and bears a son, Isaac, to Abraham. 

When Isaac is born, Sarah can no longer stand the sight of both Hagar and Ishmael. She tells Abraham that they will not share of the inheritance and that they are both to be sent away. Abraham is distressed by his wife's words and seeks God's advice on the matter. God replies saying that Isaac will continue the Abrahamic line but Ishmael's line too will be made into a great nation.

Ishmael and Hagar move to Arabia (present day Saudi Arabia) whilst Isaac, Abraham, and Sarah stay in the land of Canaan (later to be Israel).

Abraham Sacrifices his Son

Later in both the Bible and Torah, God tests Abraham's love for Him by telling him to sacrifice his son Isaac on Mount Moriah (the mountain on which Jerusalem sits and where Jesus would be crucified). But God provides a ram* as a sacrifice thus sparing Isaacs' life.

*In the Biblical New Testament, Jesus is called both the 'Lamb of God' and 'Son of God'. Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac is believed to be a foretelling of God's sacrificial love for His people through the death of His beloved son Jesus. In the same way sins had been atoned by animal sacrifice, sins would be atoned once and for all by the sacrifice of Christ, who was God subjected to human experience.

In the Qa'ran, Abraham is believed to have acted to sacrifice Ishmael although the name of the son is not stated in Qa'ranic text. This takes place in Arabia. 

Abraham is then believed to have visited Ishmael and Hagar in Arabia. On one such visit he is purported to have constructed a place of worship to God called the Kaaba. This is the cube shaped building in Mecca, the most sacred site in Islam. 

To read more about the story of Abraham click on the link below;
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abraham

You might find these sites to be an interesting read in regards to questions surrounding the Israel/Palestine settlement and conflict;
http://www.beyondimages.info/b247.html
http://www.zionism-israel.com/Hebron_Massacre1929.htm

We're all part of a pretty messy family. May God forgive us all.

Take Me As You've Found Me: The Autobiography of Gordie Sobaka

The following is a very special blog. Act now if you want a friend for life.
  
Take Me as You've Found Me: 
The Autobiography of Gordie Sobaka

YOU DON'T KNOW what it is like to be given a pig's ear. You wouldn't know the juicy, succulent, salty crackle it gives when you crunch it in your mouth. I go bananas for pig's ears. It's like you've just given me drugs. I'll run around the yard with it, leave it, then pounce on it in a surprise attack. Haha! Stupid pig's ear! You can't run from me! I will devour you!
But here comes Marz, he is calling me. He holds something behind his back. A treat? Another pig's ear? Is it possible for a dog to have two pig's ears in one day? Oh boy! Oh boy, it could be! Doggie nirvana! Two pig's ears...


Hey.


Hey wait a minute.


He has tricked me! He lured me in but was holding nothing, and now he has stolen my pig's ear! Damn you Marz! Damn your trickery! Damn your laughing and running around the yard! I will chase you and get my pig's ear back! Haha! I am so happy!

My name is Gordie Sobaka. I was born in the SPCA animal shelter in Wellington, New Zealand, an orphan dog, along with my siblings Jamie, and Nigella. We were each named after famous chefs.


I spent the first four months of my life there with the other dogs. I remember the cages, the confined spaces, the treats, the playtimes. I watched many kind people come into the shelter. Sometimes they would walk past me, sometimes they would stop and pet me, sometimes their children would pull on their parents legs and say that they wanted to take me home before walking on. I watched lot's of other dogs leave during my time in the Shelter. I wondered where they went, surely to a better place I thought, a place where they would belong.


Four months later I would find out. A family said that they wanted me and would take me. All of a sudden I was in a home. I was played with and walked regularly. I went swimming! I ran on beaches! Through forests! I had a family and LOVED my family. But after 2.5 years they had to leave and I didn't know why. They were flying on an aeroplane and not coming back. I couldn't go with them and ended up back in the animal shelter.


Then I met Liz.


Gordie loves Liz!


She has the kindest, most beautiful eyes. She plays rough with me and takes me out and I lick her face. She took me out of the Shelter and I started living with her brother and his partner, but eventually they too needed to catch a plane and although wanting to keep me, couldn't take me with them. It was Liz's brother and partner who gave me my surname. Sobaka. It's Russian for 'dog'. This is what I am: Gordon Sobaka.

When Liz's brother and partner left I moved back in with Liz. Liz is the best person in my whole entire world. I love Liz so much that I would do anything for her! It breaks my heart that she is not able to look after me because she too will be soon catching a plane. I know she wants to keep me but can't, so the SPCA in Wellington take me back and I'm in cages again with the other lonely dogs. People pet us and comment on how cute we are but no one wants to take us home. One day the Wellington shelter runs out of room and I get taken in a van to Waihi.


In Waihi a foster home is found. My new masters have big cars, motorbikes and four other dogs. When I arrive at their house, the dogs think that I am intruding on their territory. They don't like me and don't make me feel welcome. I am scared in this new house and everything stresses me out. I was not meant to have been sent to a home with other dogs. Those were the instructions the Wellington SPCA had given the one in Waihi. I was fragile and vulnerable. A beautiful and loving dog but one that needed to be loved exclusively. Out of fear I made a bad decision and fought one of the other dogs that tormented me. This led the motorcycling owners to complain about me and take me back to the shelter. I was deemed a bad dog. They pencil me in for lethal injection.

Day's before my death a lady comes into the SPCA in Waihi and decides to take me for a while so the shelter isn't overrun with dogs. They tell her about how I had been a bad dog in my last foster home but she sees how cute and timid I am in the shelter and decides to take me anyway. She discovers that I am a really good dog and tells the Waihi SPCA staff this when she takes me back. She says that it would be a travesty for such a good dog to be put down and because of this, my life is spared.


Next thing I'm on an aeroplane.


I have no idea where it is taking me. Was I going to see my previous owners? Was I to be reunited with one of my old families? I didn't know whether to be excited or afraid in the cage on the plane. I looked at the other dogs who also questioned their fate while being deafened by engine noise and sliding around in the cargo hold. Upon landing we are taken in a van. I smell the air and it is familiar. I was in Wellington again and once back at the SPCA shelter I see Liz!


Liz is so happy to see me! The joy on her face is like no other's. She pets me and hugs me and I lick her face as she explains how she had thought I was dead and how she had cried for days. She takes me to Dunedin because she is going to see her parents for Christmas. She hopes that I would find a home down there but nothing eventuates. Not wanting to send me back to an SPCA, her friends adopt me in Christchurch but it is only temporary as they already have a dog and the home is not suitable.


And then the ground began to shake.


The buildings began to crumble.


Everywhere I looked was destruction and panic.


I was transferred back to Wellington. To Liz.


She welcomed me into her cool new flat in Newtown and so did her flatmates Dan, Jess, Marz, and Ken. This is where I am now. I get so many walks and so much attention! Liz's friends come by during the day and take me for walks as well. The cast is epic! Everyone plays with me, they pet me, hug me, and love me. They all want to keep me but the sad thing is, no one is able to. Soon Jess will catch a plane, then Marz and Ken will catch a plane, then Liz will catch a plane. Everyone I love is either catching a plane or can't have me. I bark at the aeroplane and at the constant arrivals and departures in my life. I want something permanent. I want a love that never leaves. I want a permanent home.

Ken takes me on a run everyday he is around. My favourite run is the one past the zoo and up a mountain to a point on the ridge named after an extinct flightless bird. From there you can see all of southern Wellington and - on a clear day - across to the South Island. We watch the planes take off and land, the ships go in and out, and feel the wind on our faces. Here, Ken rests and pets me as I sniff around in the grass.


Everyone wants me and I want them.

I'm a good, loyal, obedient dog. I will sit, lie down, and shake hands on command. I will lick your face at every opportunity. I will love you unconditionally if you commit yourself to me and love me.


Come say hello.


Take me as you find me.


My name is Gordie Sobaka.


Don't leave me to die.

If anyone would like to meet Gordie, get hold of Liz, Marz, or Ken, or come pay him a visit at 27 Hiropi St Newtown.
 Alternatively you can write to Gordie and friend him on Facebook. Search for: Gordie Sobaka. He is the only one.

 

Befriend Gordie on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002180585920&ref=ts