Tuesday, 25 November 2014

Autumn and Anarchism

I wrote this on another blog and thought I might share it here before Winter.


I smell the musky, earthy, damp leaf loam of Autumn.
Everything is falling apart a little bit.
Everything is becoming a little frayed and undone.
It is glorious.

 

It is as if the crisp perfection of Spring tulips, standing to attention along tidy borders like soldiers or governmental obelisks have thrown off their badges and become ragamuffins drunk on Summer skies.

 

The garden is but a raggle, taggle jumble in the stewy, dewy, un-brewed tea light of a sun that can't be bothered to climb to the heady heights of noon anymore.
Bits of old man's beard roll through flaky Hydrangea like tumbleweed.
The windfall russet's skin is crumpling like old brown paper.




All has withered, weathered and gone to seed.
Well thank goodness for that.

 

It is like nature is breathing a gentle sigh, like when I take up my knitting at the end of the day as the sun's embers ebb to ashes.




I like Autumn's disregard for order, it's tumbling leaves on pathways; their composting of neatly trimmed lawn.
It is rather Zen like the way Autumn strips the garden leaf, by yellowing, page thin leaf with complete detachment.




Maybe I'm personifying Autumn too much. Though, I feel everything has a spirit element to it; everything has it's own story to tell.


 Florence ever belligerent to authority blatantly dozing as she does


Autumn is very Anarchistic in it's way.
I like that.




Anarchism, that poor, misunderstood word, ever slurred by the establishment to be no more than a synonym for chaos.
But I think that chaos occurs in the absence of anarchism.




When people's wills are bent and broken. Bereft of a narrative to express their lack of liberty. When every story is another version of, "it's you, it's your fault, if only you broke your back a little more you'd be okay."




$21tn of the richest peoples money is held in offshore accounts while $40bn could eradicate poverty and perhaps go someway toward healing our fractured earth.
10% own 86% of the world's wealth while the bottom half own only 1%?


Above is a beautiful print from the amazing artist Rima Staines of The Hermitage. This drawing reminds me of Fina who being a child is also, naturally, an anarchist. Below is a quote from Antoine de saint exupery: "tout acte est prière s'il est don de soi" Words for life.


I bought this in Paris years ago. I love her nonchalant expression in that serious Napoleonic hat, rendered clown like beneath all that confetti. Yes, governments  are  the same, just with different hats.
 *
Can you put a value on a beautiful day, when the birds are singing
and people are walking around together?  How many dollars an hour
does it take to pay you to stay inside and sell things or file papers?  
What will you get later that could make up for this day of your life?
How are you affected by being in crowds, by being surrounded by 
anonymous masses?  Do you find yourself blocking your emotional 
responses to other human beings?


How are you affected by being moved around in prescribed paths, 
in elevators, buses, subways, escalators, on highways and sidewalks?  
By moving, working, and living in two- and three- dimensional grids?  
How are you affected by being organised, immobilised, and scheduled.......
instead of wandering, roaming freely and spontaneously?  Scavenging?  Seeing?
How much freedom of movement do you have - freedom to
move through space, to move as far as you want, in new and 
unexplored directions?"


Most group activities are organised, structured and scheduled. Loitering is practically illegal, especially for teens who need to loiter in groups almost as much as they need to eat. Which is a lot.


 

But apparently teens are too volatile. They might create disturbance or vandalism.
They do of course.
Maybe it's because deep in their bones they know what adults dare not say.
 Too many adults have become numb and think that the way things are are just a reality that needs to be accepted. Young people know that something very precious and fundamental is missing like a grief that can neither be named or wept for.

 

There are so many restrictions and assumptions that keep us separate and apart from one another. 
Those that commune in any way and tribal groups have been marginalised because they don't serve the machine.

 

So much of life is based on strange ideas about nations, states and borders.
We are so afraid to be free and allow others to be free. 
We have been taught that it is safer for us to be shackled than to be unshackled and allow others to be unshackled too.
 We are taught to be afraid of one another.

 

Healthy people require healthy roots. Like plants they need:
A beautiful place like warm soil to grow in with nature around them and a community of people of all ages they can spend time with, learn from and be accountable to.
Elders to guide, respect and love them.
Real friendships that aren't contrived within the walls of a classroom, but given the space to grow and develop naturally.
Time to play and dream.
Real, meaningful work that makes the soul sing.
Art, Music, dance and movement.
A spiritual song that breathes through their days.




How many communities have this.

 

There is significantly less crime, addiction, depression and chronic illness in affluent neighbourhoods. Either this is because poorer people are genetically inferior or affluence is a privilege. To consider the first option is to flirt with fascism, to consider the second, is to acknowledge that unequal distribution of resources is a humanitarian issue that needs addressing.

 

A recent study found that the stress of poverty results in an IQ drop of up to 13 points. Factor in the poor diet, the health problems that result from bad nutrition transportation issues, mind numbing work, bad housing and low social status that poor people have to contend with on top, this amounts to quite a handicap.




I was recently told of an African tribe that does the most beautiful thing.
When someone does something hurtful and wrong, they take the person to the center of town, and the entire tribe comes and surrounds him. For two days they’ll tell the man every good thing he has ever done.
The tribe believes that every human being comes into the world as GOOD, each of us desiring safety, love, peace, happiness. But sometimes in the pursuit of those things people make mistakes. The community sees misdeeds as a cry for help.
They band together for the sake of their fellow man to hold him up, to reconnect him with his true Nature, to remind him who he really is, until he fully remembers the truth from which he’d temporarily been disconnected: “I AM GOOD”. 





 You know when someone comes up to talk to you and you feel their kindness rest upon you like a gentle sun?




You feel as if they can see right into your soul, noticing only the truth of you, the beauty of you, your vulnerability, the essence of your spirit?


 

The few people who have given that gift to me have been etched starkly in my mind and heart.
They made me feel like I was okay, I belonged here, on this miraculous, beautiful, wondrous rainbow sphere we call home.




I hope someday, to become one who can see other's "in spirit and truth." Past the pain and the walls we build, and through to the goodness and the spirit we share.
I'd like my smile to meet their soul. Not an awkward, glancing, polite smile, but a warm, open, real, vulnerable smile that accepts all, withholds nothing and is abandoned to the good in both of us.

 When I have been greeted in such a way it is as if God is smiling on me. That kind of smile can heal a soul and transform a life perhaps. 



This is my beautiful little girl who's smile is like the sun to me.

Monday, 24 November 2014

Birthday



























For a Daddy who left his family and his broken land when just 16 to find a better life. Who takes his girls to ballet early every Saturday morning so Mummy can rest and read and write. Who makes up impromptu songs on his guitar for the dancing feet of five. Who takes me for coffee every Sunday afternoon and generally puts up with being outnumbered by women 7 to 1 (because even the dog and cat are girls)
We love you much.