I just heard an interesting article on the radio that has inspired me to take a few moments from writing my book to add to this blog. It was about neuro-marketing, a relatively new field of study that looks at brain activity in various situations, to sum it up in terms that I can understand. I wish they did that on the radio, but no matter.
First, what interested me was the statement that they have proven something that was a surprise to them: no smoking ads promote smoking. The more no smoking ads there are, the more smoking seems to rise. I'm not sure why this is a surprise, but it evidently is.
So, why am I not surprised? I think I talked about it below, but am not going to take the time right now to verify. Simply, the brain cannot process negatives before it processes the positive. All those ads that say "no smoking" are interpreted by the brain as "SMOKING don't". After all, how can you understand what not to do before you understand what it means to do it?
The experiment, evidently, showed that the areas of the brain that are ignited while someone is watching a no smoking ad are the same ones that light up when they, well, light up.
In other words, "bravo". We now have the physical proof of what we've known for years.
Ok. That was only one of two things that caught my attention.
The second item was the statement "We are ruled by fear". This same scientist, whose work I do admire, looked at various political ad campaigns and the effect they had on the brain. Contrary to popular belief, they did not shut off parts of the brain. Well, maybe some did, but the ones he was studying did not.
First, he looked at an ad from the 60s, in which a little girl is picking flowers and then the camera cuts to an atom bomb explosion. Another ad was from 2004 which is quite similar, but features wolves crossing the border, aka terrorists. Both highly ignited parts of the brain, and so on and so forth, and his conclusion was that we are ruled by fear.
With all due respect to his work, I draw a slightly different conclusion. I think we are ruled by love.
I think the reason that fear is so powerful an emotion is that we fear losing that which we love. In every instance of fear that I can think of, love is at the root.
Do we fear death? It is because we love life.
Do we fear heights? It is because we love our safety.
There are countless other fears I can name, but in the end, I believe they are all because we fear losing that which we love.
And this realization, to me, is a means of defining how we live, and where we focus our attention. Rather than trying to fight the fear, savour the love.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Protests and Contests
As you can tell from the scarcity of recent posts, I'm still busy working away on my novel. Even though this has been my preoccupation for some time, there are still many conversations that have come up that I would like to share.
One conversational theme that has come up quite a bit recently is that of protests and social conscience. While I am of the opinion that it is our duty to look at the world around us and help improve it while we are still alive, the following quote sums up, quite nicely, my view of protests.
"Humanity's crying need will not be met by a struggle among competing ambitions or by protest against one or another of the countless wrongs afflicting a desperate age. It calls, rather, for a fundamental change of consciousness, for a wholehearted embrace of Bahá'u'lláh's teaching that the time has come when each human being on earth must learn to accept responsibility for the welfare of the entire human family."
A dear friend recently commented on his understanding of my view of protests, thinking that I was against protests of all kinds. In the course of our conversation, we realized that his definition of 'protest' actually included two different types of action. The first, and most common, is an action that proposes ceasing some other type of action. In short, it is a "Don't-do-this" statement.
The second, much rarer but one which I agree is most worthwhile, is a statement of an alternative option.
Fighting racism is a prime example of the first type of protest. In communities where this has been the prevalent attitude towards addressing the race issue, things have regularly gotten worse. For more on this, see one of the articles below.
The movement in the 1970s for dolphin-safe tuna is a marvellous example of the second. In this case, a problem was identified, namely that the methods of hunting tuna also ended up killing many dolphins. A solution was offered, which was identifying methods of hunting tuna that did not kill the dolphins. The "protests" involved raising the awareness of this alternative option. Today, it seems that most tuna are captured in a manner that is now safe for the dolphins.
To help better identify the difference between the two, I suggested that we refer to the first type as an actual "protest", as the people involved are acting against something. The second type I refer to as a "contest", in that they are contesting the prevailing view and offering a solution.
In the quote cited, it is mentioned that "protesting against one or another of the countless wrongs" will not help meet "humanity's crying need". What will meet this need, it says, is the "wholehearted embrace" of the realization that we must all "accept responsibility for the welfare of the entire human family". If it is this realization, and its subsequent embrasure, that will meet this need, then we need to better understand what it means.
In North America, our society seems to perpetuate the opposite view, namely that we are not responsible for ourselves, much less others. There are countless examples in the court system where people blame others for their own stupidity, for lack of a better word. In the words of Sheri Tepper, an author who consistently writes very intelligent fiction, "If someone has a broken ladder, sees that it is broken, climbs it, falls and breaks a leg, he is allowed to sue the manufacturer without even having to pay the lawyer... This is monstrous!"
A few years ago I saw a gang of 6 beating someone in a public square with baseball bats, while numerous others stood around crying "Someone call 911". I was the only one who ran forward to save this victim. The gang of people killing this person then turned on me. I took a blow to the leg, but was able to draw them away from their intended victim. Since I was the only one who arose to defend this person, the group of them got away and were never caught, much less persecuted, even though it was all caught on tape. If everyone else stopped calling for someone else to come and save this victim, then we would have been able to apprehend at least one of them and bring them to justice. Nevertheless, as disappointing as this was, what really saddened me was the reaction of the police officers. They told me that I should not have gotten involved. These officials, speaking with the authority of the government, were, in effect, telling me that it was better to watch someone die than to risk any possible injury to my own self.
This was not possible for me.
I had to accept "responsibility for the welfare of" this other individual, or else I would not be contributing to helping meet "humanity's crying need".
This is, of course, a very obvious example. It gets much more difficult to see when the problem appears more abstract.
Today, many more of us are coming to understand that our actions with the environment have a direct impact on those people living in remote areas far away from us. By driving when I can walk, or by purchasing commodities that are high in energy consumption in the manufacturing process, I am directly contributing to the manifold problems facing people in the Arctic regions. I am directly contributing to the forces that are augmenting the severe weather patterns around the globe, resulting in more severe hurricanes, tornadoes, floods and so forth.
My choices to conserve energy, and use more responsible products are a direct result of this understanding.
But this is, of course, just a beginning.
Living with these ideas has been likened to walking in a dark forest with a flashlight shining at our feet. We can only see the next few steps in front of us. Of course, as we take those steps, we see even more implications just ahead of us. While we feel we may have some understanding of what all this means, we are really only at the very beginning of seeing the implications. In the words of Shoghi Effendi,
"All we can reasonably venture to attempt is to strive to obtain a glimpse of the first streaks of the promised Dawn that must, in the fullness of time, chase away the gloom that has encircled humanity."
So let us take these first few steps forward, seeing our positive options and helping others see them, and cease keeping our focus backwards at what we want to leave behind. Having a goal to strive towards is so much more effective in giving a positive direction to our movement.
One conversational theme that has come up quite a bit recently is that of protests and social conscience. While I am of the opinion that it is our duty to look at the world around us and help improve it while we are still alive, the following quote sums up, quite nicely, my view of protests.
"Humanity's crying need will not be met by a struggle among competing ambitions or by protest against one or another of the countless wrongs afflicting a desperate age. It calls, rather, for a fundamental change of consciousness, for a wholehearted embrace of Bahá'u'lláh's teaching that the time has come when each human being on earth must learn to accept responsibility for the welfare of the entire human family."
A dear friend recently commented on his understanding of my view of protests, thinking that I was against protests of all kinds. In the course of our conversation, we realized that his definition of 'protest' actually included two different types of action. The first, and most common, is an action that proposes ceasing some other type of action. In short, it is a "Don't-do-this" statement.
The second, much rarer but one which I agree is most worthwhile, is a statement of an alternative option.
Fighting racism is a prime example of the first type of protest. In communities where this has been the prevalent attitude towards addressing the race issue, things have regularly gotten worse. For more on this, see one of the articles below.
The movement in the 1970s for dolphin-safe tuna is a marvellous example of the second. In this case, a problem was identified, namely that the methods of hunting tuna also ended up killing many dolphins. A solution was offered, which was identifying methods of hunting tuna that did not kill the dolphins. The "protests" involved raising the awareness of this alternative option. Today, it seems that most tuna are captured in a manner that is now safe for the dolphins.
To help better identify the difference between the two, I suggested that we refer to the first type as an actual "protest", as the people involved are acting against something. The second type I refer to as a "contest", in that they are contesting the prevailing view and offering a solution.
In the quote cited, it is mentioned that "protesting against one or another of the countless wrongs" will not help meet "humanity's crying need". What will meet this need, it says, is the "wholehearted embrace" of the realization that we must all "accept responsibility for the welfare of the entire human family". If it is this realization, and its subsequent embrasure, that will meet this need, then we need to better understand what it means.
In North America, our society seems to perpetuate the opposite view, namely that we are not responsible for ourselves, much less others. There are countless examples in the court system where people blame others for their own stupidity, for lack of a better word. In the words of Sheri Tepper, an author who consistently writes very intelligent fiction, "If someone has a broken ladder, sees that it is broken, climbs it, falls and breaks a leg, he is allowed to sue the manufacturer without even having to pay the lawyer... This is monstrous!"
A few years ago I saw a gang of 6 beating someone in a public square with baseball bats, while numerous others stood around crying "Someone call 911". I was the only one who ran forward to save this victim. The gang of people killing this person then turned on me. I took a blow to the leg, but was able to draw them away from their intended victim. Since I was the only one who arose to defend this person, the group of them got away and were never caught, much less persecuted, even though it was all caught on tape. If everyone else stopped calling for someone else to come and save this victim, then we would have been able to apprehend at least one of them and bring them to justice. Nevertheless, as disappointing as this was, what really saddened me was the reaction of the police officers. They told me that I should not have gotten involved. These officials, speaking with the authority of the government, were, in effect, telling me that it was better to watch someone die than to risk any possible injury to my own self.
This was not possible for me.
I had to accept "responsibility for the welfare of" this other individual, or else I would not be contributing to helping meet "humanity's crying need".
This is, of course, a very obvious example. It gets much more difficult to see when the problem appears more abstract.
Today, many more of us are coming to understand that our actions with the environment have a direct impact on those people living in remote areas far away from us. By driving when I can walk, or by purchasing commodities that are high in energy consumption in the manufacturing process, I am directly contributing to the manifold problems facing people in the Arctic regions. I am directly contributing to the forces that are augmenting the severe weather patterns around the globe, resulting in more severe hurricanes, tornadoes, floods and so forth.
My choices to conserve energy, and use more responsible products are a direct result of this understanding.
But this is, of course, just a beginning.
Living with these ideas has been likened to walking in a dark forest with a flashlight shining at our feet. We can only see the next few steps in front of us. Of course, as we take those steps, we see even more implications just ahead of us. While we feel we may have some understanding of what all this means, we are really only at the very beginning of seeing the implications. In the words of Shoghi Effendi,
"All we can reasonably venture to attempt is to strive to obtain a glimpse of the first streaks of the promised Dawn that must, in the fullness of time, chase away the gloom that has encircled humanity."
So let us take these first few steps forward, seeing our positive options and helping others see them, and cease keeping our focus backwards at what we want to leave behind. Having a goal to strive towards is so much more effective in giving a positive direction to our movement.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Still the River Flows
I have recieved a number of e-mails asking where I've been, and why haven't I been writing more. Well, I have been writing. I'm working on a book called "Still the River Flows". It should be finished soon, and then I'll begin shopping for a publisher. For now, this has been my focus, and I am quite happy with it. Here. Let me share a short excerpt from it. It is near the end, so I guess I'm giving away a major plot element, but hey. That's life. All comments are most welcome.
Enjoy.
Mead
They took him away on a stretcher, with the blanket pulled over his gently smiling face. He seemed serene, at peace. I’ll never forget the look he gave me right at the end. He just looked into my eyes and smiled. No, more than that, he radiated. He looked at me with such love, the love that every father longs to show his children. And then he began to lean towards me.
It reminded me of the time I was out in the mountains, walking on the grass, in the foothills of the Rockies. I was heading up towards some trees, hoping for a nice long walk in their shadow, when I spotted an eagle flying. This eagle circled round and round, and then suddenly flew upwards. It flew straight up, seemed to go as high as it could, and then came back down to continue its circling. A moment later it lunged upwards again, reaching a little bit higher, or so it seemed. Over and over he did this: circle, up, peak, down. Over and over again. Why? What was he doing? I watched in fascination, puzzled by what I was witnessing. I couldn’t tear my eyes away it was so beautiful.
This eagle seemed to be reaching for something unseen just beyond its grasp, and yet it never stopped striving.
It circled and then turned upwards in its quest once again, but this time, oh this time it was mystical. It reached far beyond what I thought possible. I swear I saw it stretching its neck, sweat on its brow, its wings trembling with the effort, its legs kicking in a vain attempt to give more height, its whole body pushing ever upwards. And then it happened: this majestic creature pushed beyond its limits. It was like watching it let go.
Its body just fell, fell away to the ground, shed like an unneeded coat. I could literally see the moment its spirit left its body. It continued in a graceful, upward arc, while its body was just left behind to fall. It was the most beautiful death I had ever seen, truly sacred there in the mountains.
It was the first time I realized that death is not an end, but a beginning, like birth.
It was soon after that beautiful experience that I found myself sitting with a friend in hospital. He was dying. We all knew it; there was no question. We had spent many hours, days, talking about life and death and beauty and God and “Why are we here” and “What is the purpose” and “Where are we going”, and this is what we had come to understand: death is not an end. It really is a beginning, just like birth.
When you are in the womb, you are building your body, although you do not know why. There is nothing to see, little to hear, and nothing to reach out and touch. Yet, you have to build your body. If you do not develop your eyes, you will be blind in this world. If you don’t develop your ears, you will be deaf. You must develop your limbs, or else you will be severely disabled. You can survive, of course, but life is just that much more difficult.
The question, though, is how can you explain to a foetus why it needs these parts of its body? Although it can hear the beating of its mother’s heart, and the muffled sounds that make their way into the womb, how would you be able to describe the majesty of a symphony, or the sweet sounds of a songbird? How would you be able to convey the glory of a sunrise to one who is trapped in that cramped and dark place? And yet, you know it is true.
What would happen when you tried to tell this unborn child that it is about to leave its “nest” and will go to a better place? How could you convey the pain it must surely suffer as it is forced out of its world into a new one, and then try to assure it that all will be well? How could you speak of the bright lights, the loud noise, the overwhelming scents, and then re-assure it that it will, in time, be accustomed to these senses, and even cherish them?
This is what my friend tried to convey to me in those days before he passed away.
He explained that we are in the womb now, here in this world. Our body, the one we are building for the next world, seems just as useless to us here, as our physical body was in the womb. Here we are building our spirit, with the limbs of compassion and love, mercy and honour, knowledge and wisdom: things we do not necessarily need in this world, but which are vital in the next.
He was the one going, and yet he tried to assure me that all was well.
But then, on that last day, as his gasping breath sounded like nothing more than a coffee percolator, at a time when he had not been able to speak or move more than his eyes for the past few days, then, and only then, did I understand that he was terrified. He was scared of letting go. He had convinced me of the truth of what he was saying, but now he was scared and it was my turn to reassure him.
Now, as I sat there, holding his hand, I was reminded of a ropes course. This was the last day of a camp I had attended, and we were all told that we had to climb a tall platform. We had to climb this platform and jump, letting the rope carry us down. We all knew that we were in no danger, for we had trained on these ropes for quite some time. But that is not the same as standing there and having to jump. At that point some primal fear kicks in and won’t let you move. Every nerve in your body is screaming, “What are you, nuts?” In the end, though, you have no choice: you just have to let go.
I told him of this story and my fear, and how much more joy I felt as I soared down that rope path. And then I saw the fear begin to leave his eyes. He was watching me, so intently. If ever I doubted that he was aware, his eyes convinced me.
And then I told him of the eagle. As I spoke, his eyes grew wider, filled with tears, and a smile passed as a shadow across his face, and that was it. He flew.
That was what I thought of when that old man leaned towards me. He wasn’t reaching for me with his body, but with his spirit. Somehow he crossed that gap that separates us all, and to do so, he had to shed himself of that unneeded body. I watched as he moved, and I could see his body drop with that same uncaring grace that was shown by the eagle.
He flew.
The moment it happened, I knew he had died. But I also knew it was his greatest wish, something he needed to show someone, and somehow I was chosen to witness it. I knew that something sacred had just occurred, and that I wouldn’t be able to convey it.
In the distance I heard a few people scream, and saw one woman lunge towards him. I guess she was a doctor, for she tried to revive him, but I knew it was hopeless. No, that’s the wrong word. His action conveyed the greatest of hope, but I knew she would not succeed in reviving him, for he was where he needed to be.
I can’t say much more than that, except that shortly after that experience I proposed to my friend and she accepted, to the surprise of both of us. Maybe that is what the old man saw. Maybe he knew that I needed to take that leap.
I can’t explain what really happened, but all I know is that I am very grateful. And life has never been quite the same since.
Enjoy.
Mead
They took him away on a stretcher, with the blanket pulled over his gently smiling face. He seemed serene, at peace. I’ll never forget the look he gave me right at the end. He just looked into my eyes and smiled. No, more than that, he radiated. He looked at me with such love, the love that every father longs to show his children. And then he began to lean towards me.
It reminded me of the time I was out in the mountains, walking on the grass, in the foothills of the Rockies. I was heading up towards some trees, hoping for a nice long walk in their shadow, when I spotted an eagle flying. This eagle circled round and round, and then suddenly flew upwards. It flew straight up, seemed to go as high as it could, and then came back down to continue its circling. A moment later it lunged upwards again, reaching a little bit higher, or so it seemed. Over and over he did this: circle, up, peak, down. Over and over again. Why? What was he doing? I watched in fascination, puzzled by what I was witnessing. I couldn’t tear my eyes away it was so beautiful.
This eagle seemed to be reaching for something unseen just beyond its grasp, and yet it never stopped striving.
It circled and then turned upwards in its quest once again, but this time, oh this time it was mystical. It reached far beyond what I thought possible. I swear I saw it stretching its neck, sweat on its brow, its wings trembling with the effort, its legs kicking in a vain attempt to give more height, its whole body pushing ever upwards. And then it happened: this majestic creature pushed beyond its limits. It was like watching it let go.
Its body just fell, fell away to the ground, shed like an unneeded coat. I could literally see the moment its spirit left its body. It continued in a graceful, upward arc, while its body was just left behind to fall. It was the most beautiful death I had ever seen, truly sacred there in the mountains.
It was the first time I realized that death is not an end, but a beginning, like birth.
It was soon after that beautiful experience that I found myself sitting with a friend in hospital. He was dying. We all knew it; there was no question. We had spent many hours, days, talking about life and death and beauty and God and “Why are we here” and “What is the purpose” and “Where are we going”, and this is what we had come to understand: death is not an end. It really is a beginning, just like birth.
When you are in the womb, you are building your body, although you do not know why. There is nothing to see, little to hear, and nothing to reach out and touch. Yet, you have to build your body. If you do not develop your eyes, you will be blind in this world. If you don’t develop your ears, you will be deaf. You must develop your limbs, or else you will be severely disabled. You can survive, of course, but life is just that much more difficult.
The question, though, is how can you explain to a foetus why it needs these parts of its body? Although it can hear the beating of its mother’s heart, and the muffled sounds that make their way into the womb, how would you be able to describe the majesty of a symphony, or the sweet sounds of a songbird? How would you be able to convey the glory of a sunrise to one who is trapped in that cramped and dark place? And yet, you know it is true.
What would happen when you tried to tell this unborn child that it is about to leave its “nest” and will go to a better place? How could you convey the pain it must surely suffer as it is forced out of its world into a new one, and then try to assure it that all will be well? How could you speak of the bright lights, the loud noise, the overwhelming scents, and then re-assure it that it will, in time, be accustomed to these senses, and even cherish them?
This is what my friend tried to convey to me in those days before he passed away.
He explained that we are in the womb now, here in this world. Our body, the one we are building for the next world, seems just as useless to us here, as our physical body was in the womb. Here we are building our spirit, with the limbs of compassion and love, mercy and honour, knowledge and wisdom: things we do not necessarily need in this world, but which are vital in the next.
He was the one going, and yet he tried to assure me that all was well.
But then, on that last day, as his gasping breath sounded like nothing more than a coffee percolator, at a time when he had not been able to speak or move more than his eyes for the past few days, then, and only then, did I understand that he was terrified. He was scared of letting go. He had convinced me of the truth of what he was saying, but now he was scared and it was my turn to reassure him.
Now, as I sat there, holding his hand, I was reminded of a ropes course. This was the last day of a camp I had attended, and we were all told that we had to climb a tall platform. We had to climb this platform and jump, letting the rope carry us down. We all knew that we were in no danger, for we had trained on these ropes for quite some time. But that is not the same as standing there and having to jump. At that point some primal fear kicks in and won’t let you move. Every nerve in your body is screaming, “What are you, nuts?” In the end, though, you have no choice: you just have to let go.
I told him of this story and my fear, and how much more joy I felt as I soared down that rope path. And then I saw the fear begin to leave his eyes. He was watching me, so intently. If ever I doubted that he was aware, his eyes convinced me.
And then I told him of the eagle. As I spoke, his eyes grew wider, filled with tears, and a smile passed as a shadow across his face, and that was it. He flew.
That was what I thought of when that old man leaned towards me. He wasn’t reaching for me with his body, but with his spirit. Somehow he crossed that gap that separates us all, and to do so, he had to shed himself of that unneeded body. I watched as he moved, and I could see his body drop with that same uncaring grace that was shown by the eagle.
He flew.
The moment it happened, I knew he had died. But I also knew it was his greatest wish, something he needed to show someone, and somehow I was chosen to witness it. I knew that something sacred had just occurred, and that I wouldn’t be able to convey it.
In the distance I heard a few people scream, and saw one woman lunge towards him. I guess she was a doctor, for she tried to revive him, but I knew it was hopeless. No, that’s the wrong word. His action conveyed the greatest of hope, but I knew she would not succeed in reviving him, for he was where he needed to be.
I can’t say much more than that, except that shortly after that experience I proposed to my friend and she accepted, to the surprise of both of us. Maybe that is what the old man saw. Maybe he knew that I needed to take that leap.
I can’t explain what really happened, but all I know is that I am very grateful. And life has never been quite the same since.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The Spring Garden
Well, it's that time of year again. Spring has come and the winter's snows have melted. Marielle and I looked at the backyard this morning, wondering what to do with it. As usual, it is a slushy, sloppy mud-pit. The crystaline shimmering snows have turned to dreary piles of dirty ice. There are dead plants in the garden, and the grass is all brown and mucky. Garbage has blown everywhere, and all the trees that looked so healthy last year now seem little more than a mess of dead twigs.
And yet, it is one of the most beautiful sights I can imagine.
There is so much we can lament about it. We could cry over the lost plants from last autumn, or strive to re-build those sparkling structures of snow that gave such mesmerizing moments of pleasure throughout the winter. Instead, we realize that the melting snows that look so dismal at this time are carrying the waters necessary for the garden to bloom.
It would be so easy to say that there is nothing we can do to make it better. The work that is involved in making it a beautiful, lush garden once again is dauting. And we can even say, "What's the point? It will just get ruined again next winter." To those who watch us over the next few weeks, it would be so easy for them to wonder why we are "wasting" our time. All they will see is the family digging in the mud, raking out the grass, and tossing the piles of branches onto the compost heap. They may see us take perfectly good peas, beans or kernels of corn, or tiny seeds from myriad plants, and "throw them away" by sticking them in the ground.
But to those with vision, they will understand that we do it in order to reap the harvest at the end of the season. They understand that most every seed we carefully plant will blossom and give either flowers or fruit. They will know that we will gather the fruit and eat of it. They will see the wisdom in planting the flowers that will give us medicine for the next year. They will smile as they see us labour for a bounty that is, to most eyes, as yet invisible.
It is for this reason, too, that I write these articles.
It is for this reason that Marielle and I take the time to work with the neighbourhood children and teach what little wisdom we can impart.
It is for this reason that Baha'is, all over the world, are not concerned about the various political dramas playing out in many countries throughout the globe. Although we lament any hardships they may cause, still we strive diligently and intelligently to plant the seeds that we know will grow into a plentiful harvest in the years to come. We do not try to re-build the shimmering structures of yesterday, trying to capture their mesmerizing beauty. We work to plant a new garden that will grow into itself and help sustain a needy world.
It is the vision of the gardener that sees the garden in the mud. It is the true gardener that understands that the beauty of the icicles and snowflakes pale in comparison to the true beauty of the flowers that shall come. It is the true gardener who understands what lies ahead.
And yet, it is one of the most beautiful sights I can imagine.
There is so much we can lament about it. We could cry over the lost plants from last autumn, or strive to re-build those sparkling structures of snow that gave such mesmerizing moments of pleasure throughout the winter. Instead, we realize that the melting snows that look so dismal at this time are carrying the waters necessary for the garden to bloom.
It would be so easy to say that there is nothing we can do to make it better. The work that is involved in making it a beautiful, lush garden once again is dauting. And we can even say, "What's the point? It will just get ruined again next winter." To those who watch us over the next few weeks, it would be so easy for them to wonder why we are "wasting" our time. All they will see is the family digging in the mud, raking out the grass, and tossing the piles of branches onto the compost heap. They may see us take perfectly good peas, beans or kernels of corn, or tiny seeds from myriad plants, and "throw them away" by sticking them in the ground.
But to those with vision, they will understand that we do it in order to reap the harvest at the end of the season. They understand that most every seed we carefully plant will blossom and give either flowers or fruit. They will know that we will gather the fruit and eat of it. They will see the wisdom in planting the flowers that will give us medicine for the next year. They will smile as they see us labour for a bounty that is, to most eyes, as yet invisible.
It is for this reason, too, that I write these articles.
It is for this reason that Marielle and I take the time to work with the neighbourhood children and teach what little wisdom we can impart.
It is for this reason that Baha'is, all over the world, are not concerned about the various political dramas playing out in many countries throughout the globe. Although we lament any hardships they may cause, still we strive diligently and intelligently to plant the seeds that we know will grow into a plentiful harvest in the years to come. We do not try to re-build the shimmering structures of yesterday, trying to capture their mesmerizing beauty. We work to plant a new garden that will grow into itself and help sustain a needy world.
It is the vision of the gardener that sees the garden in the mud. It is the true gardener that understands that the beauty of the icicles and snowflakes pale in comparison to the true beauty of the flowers that shall come. It is the true gardener who understands what lies ahead.
A joke
The Red Cross recently had a blood a drive at the Optimist's Club, but they ran into a problem. Everybody's blood type was B-positive.
Well, you gotta admit, it fits in with the theme.
:)
Well, you gotta admit, it fits in with the theme.
:)
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Canadian Museum for Human Rights
If you have not yet been to http://www.canadianmuseumforhumanrights.com, go. Click on this site and watch the video tour of the museum. I'll wait for you. I'm patient.
Ok. Are you back? Let's look at what you just saw.
"Freedom, equality and the right to live in peace" "Ascension of humanity through transformed lives" "Darkness to light, despair to hope"
This is just a little bit of what they speak about.
I was concerned that the Canadian Museum for Human Rights might become a museum showcasing the abuse of human rights, but this does not appear to be the case. The abuses are put into the context of the past, or negative analysis to see where we need to shed a bit of light, while the main focus is on the positive changes you can make for the future.
I only make a couple thousand dollars a year, but I want to do what I can to support this museum. So please take a look around their site. Write to them. Offer them ideas. Offer them service.
And see what you can do to help make a difference, too.
Ok. Are you back? Let's look at what you just saw.
"Freedom, equality and the right to live in peace" "Ascension of humanity through transformed lives" "Darkness to light, despair to hope"
This is just a little bit of what they speak about.
I was concerned that the Canadian Museum for Human Rights might become a museum showcasing the abuse of human rights, but this does not appear to be the case. The abuses are put into the context of the past, or negative analysis to see where we need to shed a bit of light, while the main focus is on the positive changes you can make for the future.
I only make a couple thousand dollars a year, but I want to do what I can to support this museum. So please take a look around their site. Write to them. Offer them ideas. Offer them service.
And see what you can do to help make a difference, too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
