Thursday, April 28, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
A myriad of missing relationships
Last post I was musing about (among other things) how we seem to grow up alienated in our culture.
While still reflecting on this, I received a letter from a good friend, and I think he really hit the nail on the head with this point:
"I've been thinking that we demand so much of each other as humans, family, friends, lovers, etc. that we burn each other out and increase divorce, abuse, war, you name it. Why? Perhaps because we are trying to get out of one particular creature of one particular species all the myriad relationships we can only have when rooted in a diverse and natural setting with birds, hills, soil, rivers, trees, and other beings. In other words, we need the ironic state of being committed to a place — a 'natural' space — in order to really feel and appreciate diversity of being, and to not burn ourselves and our fellow humans out be demanding what they and we can't offer."
While still reflecting on this, I received a letter from a good friend, and I think he really hit the nail on the head with this point:
"I've been thinking that we demand so much of each other as humans, family, friends, lovers, etc. that we burn each other out and increase divorce, abuse, war, you name it. Why? Perhaps because we are trying to get out of one particular creature of one particular species all the myriad relationships we can only have when rooted in a diverse and natural setting with birds, hills, soil, rivers, trees, and other beings. In other words, we need the ironic state of being committed to a place — a 'natural' space — in order to really feel and appreciate diversity of being, and to not burn ourselves and our fellow humans out be demanding what they and we can't offer."
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
All Aboard!
My ukelele version of a song by Pete Seeger. Lyrics and chords at the bottom. Disapointingly, it was much less dark on my camera and computer before I uploaded it to youtube.
The song's relevant to me right now because... (briefly), two days from now, in a act of civil disobedience, some protesters will attempt to present those attending an arms bazaar in my hometown with a copy of the Nuremberg Principles.
(In detail)
Wednesday June 2nd, there will be an arms bazaar called CANSEC showing off the latest in security and military technology at Landsdowne Park in my home Ottawa, (Ontario). Canada is one of the leading exporters of weapons in the world (ranked 7th by the US Congressional Research Service in 2007).
Some of this technology goes to Middle Eastern and African nations that are dictatorial and repressive, that are engaged in civil wars and wars of aggression, and that have even been accused of war crimes. I'm sure some of it has been quite helpful in suppressing/killing demonstrators in the recent movement that have swept the region.
(Not that I think Western nations – the US is the biggest buyer – are making much better use of these devices. Killing people is ugly, and getting rich selling devices for killing people is grotesque).
Landsdowne Park is publicly-owned by the City of Ottawa. Because of a protests and a public outcry against a previous arms fair in the '80s, arms trade shows were banned by the city in 1989. In 2009, (now former) Mayor Larry O'Brien reversed this decision, so that CANSEC could take place. O'Brien is the founder and still a board member of Calian Technologies, who derive much of their revenue from military and security sources. They are now a regular exhibitor at CANSEC.
Wednesday June 2nd at noon, a group of people will undertake a direct action against CANSEC, attempting to non-violently enter the grounds and distribute copies of the Nuremberg Principles to those attending, asking them to to sign a commitment to adhere to them.
These Principles came out of the Nuremberg Trials, where surviving members of the Nazi leadership and others who helped them (concentration camps doctors, industrialists who fuelled the war machine, etc.) were put on trial for crimes against humanity and war crimes. The trials/principles established in international law that individuals have a duty abstain from such crimes even if they were "only following orders" or they would have broken the laws of their country in order to abstain.
The argument is that
1) Some CANSEC exhibitors deal weapons to countries guilty of war crimes and crimes against humanity, and are therefore complicit in these crimes.
2) Such crimes are more important than trespass, so it is worth "trespassing" (onto public-ally-owned land, ironically) in order to inform/remind those of their possible culpability, and in order to oppose their complicity.
I'll be there, singing a couple of songs. If you're in Ottawa, and this speaks to you, feel free to join us. There are other options other than civil disobedience too.
http://coat.ncf.ca/
http://www.nowar-paix.ca/snag/index.html
The words and chords go:
Chorus
Last train to Nuremberg! (2x)
Last train to Nuremberg! All on board!
Verse
Who held the rifle? Who gave the orders?
Who planned the campaign to lay waste the land?
Who made the bullet? Who paid the taxes?
Tell me, is that blood upon my hands?
Chords
Chorus: Dm Dmsus2 Dmsus4 Dm / Dm Am C Dm (Emsus4)
Verse: Dm – / Dm C Dm – / Dm – / Dm C Dm –
Dmsus2 = 2200. Dmsus4 = 2230. Emsus4 = 4410
Saturday, March 26, 2011
"It is enough," Part II
There is a second and more personal thing that the statement "It is enough" meant to me. (Please see the last two posts for context if you're confused).
Experiencing Jenny's life and death changed how I felt about life, and about being alive.
Previously, my life was — perhaps— like that of many other shy suburban teenagers. Sure there were good moments, mostly when laughing or being silly with friends — moments of joy and even connection. But in order to get to those moments, it felt like I had to grind through much that was grey, kind of empty, and rather boring.
There was nothing particularly 'wrong' with my life, I was comfortably looked after, and my life was devoid of any real suffering. I was a child of priveledge, if not compared to many of my suburban peers, than to most of the people in the world. I had nothing to complain about.
Except a vague emptiness, a certain lack of meaning, and connection. There was no one to share what I was really thinking and feeling, deep down. I had no idea how to start such conversations, and maybe not even the knowledge that it was possible to have relationships and conversations where such sharing could take place.
In the context of all the suffering, injustice, and unmet needs present in the world, to speak of this lack seems obscene. But that doesn't make it unreal.
Maybe my lack just boiled down to being socially awkward and introverted. But I'm starting to think there is something more systemic about it. I also suspect that lack of emptiness, lack of meaning and connection goes deeper than just a 'lack of intimate friends' — even if that's how I tended to think of it at the time.
This train of thought reminds of something I saw in Geez magazine a few years ago. "Help end affluence — sponsor a comfortable Western kid!"
(The fine print is both funny and pointed, so I would encourage you to click on the image and read it).
Anyways, to end this political rant over and get back to the 'real' topic at hand, let me just say this. While walking out of of the cemetery after I had visited my friend's grave for the first time, I broke down and started crying — for the first time since hearing the news of her death a month earlier.
I truly appreciated those times I had had with her, and I was glad I had got a chance to know her. Those rather brief moments — and other moments, with others still alive — now "were enough" to make life seem worthwhile, to make wading through all that grey feel worth it.
Undoubtedly, this will sound cheesy to any outsider. But that realization unblocked a lot in me, and opened my life up to so much, both in that moment, and yet to come.
Experiencing Jenny's life and death changed how I felt about life, and about being alive.
Previously, my life was — perhaps— like that of many other shy suburban teenagers. Sure there were good moments, mostly when laughing or being silly with friends — moments of joy and even connection. But in order to get to those moments, it felt like I had to grind through much that was grey, kind of empty, and rather boring.
There was nothing particularly 'wrong' with my life, I was comfortably looked after, and my life was devoid of any real suffering. I was a child of priveledge, if not compared to many of my suburban peers, than to most of the people in the world. I had nothing to complain about.
Except a vague emptiness, a certain lack of meaning, and connection. There was no one to share what I was really thinking and feeling, deep down. I had no idea how to start such conversations, and maybe not even the knowledge that it was possible to have relationships and conversations where such sharing could take place.
In the context of all the suffering, injustice, and unmet needs present in the world, to speak of this lack seems obscene. But that doesn't make it unreal.
Maybe my lack just boiled down to being socially awkward and introverted. But I'm starting to think there is something more systemic about it. I also suspect that lack of emptiness, lack of meaning and connection goes deeper than just a 'lack of intimate friends' — even if that's how I tended to think of it at the time.
This train of thought reminds of something I saw in Geez magazine a few years ago. "Help end affluence — sponsor a comfortable Western kid!"
(The fine print is both funny and pointed, so I would encourage you to click on the image and read it).
Anyways, to end this political rant over and get back to the 'real' topic at hand, let me just say this. While walking out of of the cemetery after I had visited my friend's grave for the first time, I broke down and started crying — for the first time since hearing the news of her death a month earlier.
I truly appreciated those times I had had with her, and I was glad I had got a chance to know her. Those rather brief moments — and other moments, with others still alive — now "were enough" to make life seem worthwhile, to make wading through all that grey feel worth it.
Undoubtedly, this will sound cheesy to any outsider. But that realization unblocked a lot in me, and opened my life up to so much, both in that moment, and yet to come.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
"It is enough"
I'm going to tell a story or two about (or maybe better said, behind) the song I posted in my last entry. So if hearing such stories takes the mystery/goodness out of music for you, or if the song doesn't do much for you, feel free to move along.
Like the title of that entry said, it's an old song for a friend that died several years ago — though the similarly unexpected death of a friend's younger brother over Christmas has brought it back to mind in a powerful way. Anyways...
Jenny was a lifeguard, but the summer after graduating high school she drowned while swimming in a lake, because of a fit of her just-diagnosed epilepsy. She and I weren't the closest of friends, but we were in music class and "concert band" together, and our senses of humour clicked. Having fun and feeling happy while being at school was an unusual thing for me, nerdy introvert that I was. Not to get too sentimental or philosophic about it (though of course these are the thoughts you think after someone dies), but it seemed like she brought out a 'me' that was fun and funny — a 'me' that rarely saw the light of day. And I think she brought a lot of light and life to many people's lives.
One of the striking things at her funeral was the difference between how the "adults" and the "kids" in her life spoke about her. The adults seemed to have a hard time getting over the lost potential that her death represented, all the things she didn't do: she didn't get to go to university, to become a french teacher like she planned, to become a wife, a mother. Etc. Her peers, other the other hand were content to speak about what she'd done and been, and would continue to be in their hearts and memories.
Some of that, I'm sure, is that we ourselves hadn't had many of those 'adult' experiences yet. But as I thought and felt about it afterward, it seemed to run deeper than that. We didn't see her life in terms of lost potential, or things she didn't get a chance to do. Yes, it was monstrous, unimaginable, and so... so...unfair... that her life was cut short. Especially because she was so special, so well-loved, so full of light and life. But precisely because she was that way, it also was enough. To think otherwise would diminish all she gave. "It is enough" that we knew her for that all-too short time, because we had been given so much in that time.
At least, that's what I thought (and felt, much more importantly).
Like the title of that entry said, it's an old song for a friend that died several years ago — though the similarly unexpected death of a friend's younger brother over Christmas has brought it back to mind in a powerful way. Anyways...
Jenny was a lifeguard, but the summer after graduating high school she drowned while swimming in a lake, because of a fit of her just-diagnosed epilepsy. She and I weren't the closest of friends, but we were in music class and "concert band" together, and our senses of humour clicked. Having fun and feeling happy while being at school was an unusual thing for me, nerdy introvert that I was. Not to get too sentimental or philosophic about it (though of course these are the thoughts you think after someone dies), but it seemed like she brought out a 'me' that was fun and funny — a 'me' that rarely saw the light of day. And I think she brought a lot of light and life to many people's lives.
One of the striking things at her funeral was the difference between how the "adults" and the "kids" in her life spoke about her. The adults seemed to have a hard time getting over the lost potential that her death represented, all the things she didn't do: she didn't get to go to university, to become a french teacher like she planned, to become a wife, a mother. Etc. Her peers, other the other hand were content to speak about what she'd done and been, and would continue to be in their hearts and memories.
Some of that, I'm sure, is that we ourselves hadn't had many of those 'adult' experiences yet. But as I thought and felt about it afterward, it seemed to run deeper than that. We didn't see her life in terms of lost potential, or things she didn't get a chance to do. Yes, it was monstrous, unimaginable, and so... so...unfair... that her life was cut short. Especially because she was so special, so well-loved, so full of light and life. But precisely because she was that way, it also was enough. To think otherwise would diminish all she gave. "It is enough" that we knew her for that all-too short time, because we had been given so much in that time.
At least, that's what I thought (and felt, much more importantly).
Saturday, January 8, 2011
An old song for a friend who died
i don't miss cuddling with you
i don't miss your kisses
philosphizing or emotionalizing
(we never did those things)
what i miss is goofing around
collapsing in fits of gigles
attacks of silliness
belonging when i'm with you
good-bye
good-bye, for now
good-bye — pirouette through light
good-bye, for now
good-bye: it is enough.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
This is scary-good
Hopefully it's not too late for one last Christmas song, a spine-tingling and subversive version of Silent Night. Be patient and wait for the new lyrics to show up.
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