Community Connection Certainty Control All have died. One by one. Devalued. Violated.Deserted. One by one. The one who understood me best, for whom I risked everything. Final words I understand all too clearly, uttered by another. The one who was the shepherd, laying me before the wolves and telling them not to feed. The ones who I thought would be there, who I thought would be amongst the few. The eternal one who was never there. Cold words - from cowardice and for the comfort of others. Sacrificed - to strangers, to the silence.
Then the tiny life I didn't even know was there, slipping away. Leaving me. Leaving my body so violently. The final loss.
Seems to be going ok, had to sneak back on today to get a phone number but wasn't too tempted to see what everyone has been up to.
Had some positive non-facebook interactions although it's hard to say whether it is a direct result of non-facebooking or random.
Went out for coffee to Mt. Kembla pub instead of spending my lunch break on facebook. Had an interesting conversation with two (female) church staff members about self-perception, specifically weight. It is amazing to what depths women seem to internalise the need to be thought of well, or positively perceived by others. That being a 'people pleaser' can be worn almost like a badge of honour. I guess I accept the trait more when it's openly acknowledged rather than denied. Something else interesting that came out of the conversation was an observation made about myself. That one of my biggest strengths is that I see people for what they really are. One of my biggest weaknesses - I see people for what they really are. Food for thought. Although I just had a coffee.
Another write as if no one is reading post. Which is a pretty safe bet given the erratic timing and subject matter of my posts.
I do love a good forage through an old book shop don't you? One of my all time favourites is The Nostalgia Factory in Kangaroo Valley. Fair but not over priced, not overwhelmingly large like Berkalouw's , but a huge variety from the late 19th century onwards.
Today I was lucky enough to be let into 'the back room', I think it may have had something to do with how much I was gushing about the adorable foreword in the book I had just bought. Here is some of what I found. The Golden Age by Kenneth Grahame, author of my favourite (possibly after Alice), Wind in the Willows. I love it when you are randomly wondering something, such as 'I wonder why I don't own more books by Kenneth Grahame?' and the universe puts in in your hands. THEN I remembered a play by A.A.Milne (of Winnie-the-Pooh fame) based on Mr Toad that I had seen in the shop once. I had not bought the book and had been bitterly disappointed when I had thought better of it and returned, only to find that it was gone. Well, not gone but reclassified as it were.
O found some other books of interest (inspired to branch out from science fiction and high fantasy by my stirring reading of Wind in the Willows perhaps?) Death of a Salesman, The first three Hornblower novels, and a Bill Gates business book (the later I of course take no responsibility for). There were some funny finds too - from a very dry Centenary of Moore Theological College published in 1955 (purchased and put away for a special friend's graduation from same institution) to an very old girly magazine with a headline titled 'Plump Girls Live to Love'. That one went unpurchased.
The other BIG squeal worthy discovery of the day was a McCall's complete book of dressmaking c. 1951. Apart from it's practical value as I'm pretty sure it covers just about everything, the pictures are absolutely divine. If you can get past the waspishly waisted women, and the brutal sounding chapter sections with titles such as 'and what else is wrong with your figure?' (well at least we're encouraged to be completely honest, that's always a good thing right? :s ) the styling is wonderful. I actually picked it up thinking it would be lovely to give to someone in particular, but unless some bridges miraculously get built I don't think that will be possible, which is sad. Oh well, I tend to do such things to myself from time to time. I'll enjoy the book for its pictures in any case, not that I'll ever be up to the tricky manoeuvres contained therein.
I'm such a sucker for them. There's a little giveaway happening over at Sew I Do with perfect perfect little Matryoshka themed do dads. I was in Kinokuniya yesterday and as good as I had been all weekend I couldn't resist these guys. I may be able to redeem myself by giving them away as a Christmas present, but I highly doubt it.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Apparently I’m a ‘fixer’. I shall contemplate the ramifications of this, blog about it and then potentially call a do over.
So God. People. Time. Sin. Pain. I'm assuming for this line of thought that we are examining through physical evidence the nature of a potential creator as outlined biblically.
I had a recoil moment yesterday when someone 'acknowledged' suffering as a result of human sinfulness. I think some things clearly are, although mostly complex. war. abuse. even climate change, weather patterns and environmental degradation could viewed in that way if you were so inclined. Current diseases one could argue may have eventuated since the 'fall'. But when the earth moves, humanity has not a bit of influence. Never has. Never will. In the small amount of time humans have been considered 'human' the tectonic plates and volcanic activity have not changed, but have continued to follow the same principles for millennia. They were ALWAYS going to cause the pain and destruction that they do on humanity, no matter what big choice we had to make. So either a) we were formed predestined to somehow 'deserve' pain and suffering or b) pain and suffering were going to happen even if we didn't make bad choices, they are not linked.
So obviously this God does not put as much value on human pain as we do, either because there is something he considers a larger good that he it achieving (not only our worship and reliance on him, but our choosing to do so) or he really can't conceptualise the scale of our experience within the limited framework that we have. Maybe he really doesn't notice that much.
So, what is our experience, what is it based on? For people, pain is not merely a collection of nerve endings reacting to stimulus, although that is part of it. Much of our pain comes from our ability to see into the future and hold onto the past, to empathise, to understand our own mortality, to contemplate and imagine the unknown. Many of these things are from what we know, uniquely human. Homo Sapiens.
What if the fall itself was actually our final evolutionary step? What if the explanation offered in Genesis describes man's transition to sentience? What if God never wanted us to move beyond the step before us, bearing more animal characteristics. Hunting and gathering, reliant on provision by unaltered nature, instinctive, isolated groups, unaware of our own mortality, experiencing life from moment to moment. That would explain the metaphor of the tree of knowledge. Adam is forced to work the soil - transition from nomadic tribal hunter gatherers to agricultural practices. Even down to the fact that Eve will labour during childbirth - one of the main things that makes childbirth difficult is our transition to fully upright walkers with corresponding narrowing of hips. We have knowledge of ourselves, the ability to manipulate each other, ability to alter the earth, and ongoing knowledge of it's ability to crush us like bugs. Population growth has come from knowledge - farming practices, health care, medicine. Larger groups created competition and conflict. Because of our knowledge and evolved brain we have the ability to act on a grand scale before understanding the consequences. Some effects are obvious, some are not, how were we to know? How are we to be blamed for following the evolutionary drives that apply to all life?
Maybe the Amish haven't gone far enough. Maybe this God of ours doesn't actually take joy in all we've accomplished. Maybe all scientific knowledge, all poetry, all art are nothing more than symptoms of the disappointing and self destructive direction humanity has taken. If he is there, maybe the things I value most in myself have no relevance to him. I'm not sure how to love and trust in that situation
Monday, September 28, 2009
I find it strange that there are still a handful of media personalities whom I regard in a kind of patriarchal manner. Their voices soothe, and I'm tempted to believe anything they say. Why is that? How did they weazle their way into that part of my brain. Some, like the Davids have earned my respect with their wonderful intellect and fantastic enunciation, but others, like Mr Collins down there or Brian have been little more than talking heads. I wonder if it was due to my extreme youth, whether people spent more effort on the perception of integrity and almost condescending authority, whether it could happen now or whether I am sufficiently steeled against the slings and arrows of popular culture. I don't seem to trust anyone at face value, and I like it that way! But sometimes it would be nice not to have to think, merely because Brian told me so. I wonder if I'll ever slip back, and let others do my thinking for me. I think some people would be relieved.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Not from my childhood, but I remember dreaming like this. The hairstyle isn't too far off either. One thing I would change about my dreams is that they don't come with a cool soundtrack like this clip. Or any soundtrack for that matter. This video is from Yo Gabba Gabba!, which I thought looked pretty crap, but turns out it isn't. Still not getting pay tv, but their website is pretty child-friendly too.
I think an artist is not someone who is good at drawing, or painting, or writing or performing. I think an artist is someone who sees the world in a certain way and has to find a way to express it. I think despite my background and training, I have an artists soul (although that sounds trite), and I think I'll feel a bit better about this life thing we all have to do if I could find a suitable medium, or three.
I always got confused when people start talking about left and right brains, and categorising people as creative or logical, language or science. I could never tell, and any test I did varied considerably in their results. During that crucial period as a teenager where you have to suddenly decide who you are and what you're going to do for the rest of your life it was concluded that I was a science brained person. Mainly because maths and science made sense to me and I was good at them, which would not be the case if I was 'arts' brained. Plus I couldn't draw and hated my art teacher and had major philosophical disagreements with half the english staff (not that you could tell, I was very well behaved and compliant). So I got myself scientifically trained. I'm comfortable in that sphere and can operate quite effectively. And I love ideas. New ones, old ones. And the scientific world is full of them. Without training they are very difficult to understand.
I think as a female, and a generally relational creature I have been trying to express myself through and within my relationships, specifically those closest to me. I live for sharing ideas I've found, or come up with and seeing that the other person understands, and even better sees the beauty in it too. Conversely when that doesn't happen I find myself spiraling, I feel so alone in my own mind, and am tempted to grab a hold of anything that resonates with me. Then I feel guilty because the joy that brings is so intense and I can't seem to share it with the one I love or include it in our relationship.
I've been thinking about thinking lately. How wide my frames of reference have become and where I came from. They weird people and things from my memory which still resonate. Since this blog has been abandoned for so long I feel I can just use it for storing elements of 'me' in. might be some random youtube cartoon clips, personalities that still strike a chord, music that I hear and remember a time when I was still forming my identity, trying on different ideas to see which ones fit. I feel I am entering another such time, or maybe I'm the type of person who is always in a state of flux, with constant change being a defining characteristic.
Maybe someone has this blog booby trapped to set off a silent alarm if I set foot in here again. interesting as it all is. Let's test shall we? I'm over tired and wired so this might help. Today was truly a day of wonder. I was honoured to be asked to attend the birth of our best friend's third baby as a carer for their other two children. I'm sure all births are incredible in their own way but this homebirth was so... normal it was exhilerating. It cemented the realisation for me that this was how it was meant to be, and that the idea of welcoming a new person into the world in a strange smelling room in a hospital with the family separated and strangers all around telling a woman what to do is just WEIRD. I knew through Lou's somewhat passionate attachment to the cause of homebirth and my consequent research that it certainly seemed to provide some tangible benefit for SOME women, particularly those that felt stressed out and let down by the lack of respect and consideration they received in the hospital system. but this was something else. Sitting with the kids and hearing their mother's final birthsong and little brothers first cry, and having them walk in to see mum and baby still connected floating happily in THEIR bath, minutes, if not seconds after it happened. That has got to have a different effect on them than being told to accept a small bundle that is seemingly produced from the depths of a large medical institution. I had a brilliant birth with Lorien. I had a short labour, endorphins were flowing, and I felt like I could run to the top of a mountain and then do it all again when it was over. I was focused, I had my husband and my Mum looking after me, and I wasn't afraid to tell anyone to step off if I didn't agree. But there lies the tension. I was in an environment which was 'theirs', visiting like a dinner guest. Somewhere that if you had any opinion at all it would to some degree cause conflict with the 'owners', which would require some degree of resolution, something which detracted from the real job at hand. Never sure where their boundaries would be, knowing that they were ready to step in with their suggestions to guide you back onto the path they thought you should be on in the first place. I don't resent them, I loved my obstetrician, even though he's apparently known as one of the most controlling inflexible practitioners in the area. I didn't find him that way, but I was conscious that he was watching, waiting to pull out his bag of tricks, none of which were without their own risks, risks I was meant to accept readily and without question because he had faith in his own ability to control the elements. Which is fair enough, but it was more the EXPECTATION that a natural physical process would more likely than not require it. Like the 'just in case' has taken over the entire process. At what point does the level of risk have a right to completely dictate all thought and action? Some might see it as precautionary, like wearing a helmet while riding a bike, but in this case the helmet seems way bigger than the bike, like it's covering the riders eyes and saying trust me, I've supervised hundreds of these things so it's safer this way. You feel unbalanced and blind? Don't trust that, it's your first (second third) time on a bike. Hey, you're riding a bike aren't you? You're lucky I don't just drag you off and deliver you to your final destination, actually that's my preference, the ride really just gets in the way. I don't know exactly how I feel about all of that, I just know that today it simply wasn't there at all. None of it.
A completely stoopid post to end a 3 month blogging hiatus but there you go.
You Are Orange
Bright and intense, you embrace the world and all its opportunities. Change does not intimidate you, even if it's a complete life overhaul. You're a very real person. You aren't scared to show the world who you are.
OK so the score was with our own money but still, to be able to purchase in a REAL bricks and mortar store the imaginings of my many nights of blog surfing right here in Wollongong warms my little heart. Unfortunately the shop doesn't have a website but for those of you around here it's called milk (mothers infants little kids) and is in Fairy Meadow (a very apt suburb for a children's shop don't you think?) And I think Lorien may be pretty happy too. My baby is turning TWO people! We're well and truely leaving babyhood behind us in this family, we'll come back to visit you though, I promise. On to the loot. First up we have a snazzy little number by Oobi, makers of the gorgeously unique little Beasties, well it turns out they make equally as gorgeously unique clothing items Next up we have a (well two actually) pair of Babylegs in dark rye and white starburst (for those who are interested), as well as a matching pair of blue garden clogs, just 'cause. Finally we have a purchase from the most coveted toy brand Haba
In a rowboat you need direction and strength or you drift with the current. I need motivation to get things done- learn more, do more, finish more of what I start. And sometimes whinge. Whinging is important too. And bragging, we musn't forget the occasional brag.
