Teetering around the edge

As I read a book the Andrew has sent me entitled Relative Truth, Ultimate Truth one is again forced into reflecting what a difficult experience life would be if our brain didn't filter the discrepancies between the information received by our senses, the eyes, nose and hearing and what we make of it all as we place ourselves in the centre of the world we perceive. 

Any road and the cars passing on it is different in many ways from another road but we have the confidence to cross the road because our brain has stored a default picture of a road and the traffic moving on it. Without the default we could be totally confused by the many different things about this road, from other roads, but we are confident that the structure of the road, the traffic, the speed of the traffic, whether it is coming towards us or has passed, allows the brain to comprehend the situation and make us feel secure in our relationship to the road and its traffic. If we are in Amsterdam our default picture is thrown off balance because for one thing the traffic flows in the opposite direction and our confidence is shattered for a while whilst a new default picture is built for the mind to gain some equilibrium. 

So the real world is not completely real, rather it is an amalgamation of our past experience. This relative world, or relative truth places us in a difficult position vis a vie our self belief in our actual place within the scheme of things since who are we to judge anything that is not finite. 

Our philosophical security is rendered dodgy if the "we" is based on such a flimsy reference system which has to be modified when the "present" introduces a whole set of new unforeseen images. 

What is for real, - our instinctive search to find the default setting or, the stimulus that initiates the whole process.  If we don't exist in a sense that you can't pin us down because of the nature of how we operate in the world of the senses and therefore we are only an amalgam of events over which we have no control it wrecks the concept of our integrity . 

Perhaps we have to reinvent ourselves, which seems to be what the Buddhists want to do by re-examining the

fundamental process of our self recognition, by drawing away from the concept of self and identifying a oneness with all sentient beings by recognising, through the power of contemplation a deeper clearer understanding of our time and journey through this life. In wrenching ones self away from what we in the West would take for granted as "living", it being a struggle to obtain things and promote our self both internally and externally with an eye on the crowd. 

The Buddhist finds this is meaningless and false, their ultimate goal is to understand the nature of, life and death, and our part in this journey.            

Too late the risk

One of the issues that is never addressed in all the discussion about the possibility of young men returning to these shores with evil intent is the extra dimension that

strong religious beliefs bring.

The debate about Muslim men returning from fighting in Syria and posing a danger to society here is countered by the comparison of young men in the 1930s going to fight in Spain for the anti Fascist cause being no threat on their return. Ideology was involved, many of the people who joined the anti Franco forces were committed socialists but in no way were they immersed in a deep religious belief system which not only creates an indissolvable brotherhood but also knows no national boundaries for the extremists. The belief in Jihad as a method of paying homage to Allah, even giving ones life as a suicide bomber is a very far cry from the social ideology of the pre-war days. 

There is no reasoning with blind faith but it becomes a nightmare when the faithful take up arms against ones own society.

 

How we got here is as usual a set of ill-thought-through political decisions without understanding the consequences. Many parts of the world, particularly the Middle East is a mess because of the Imperial Masters re-defining boarders and mixing tribal cultures without understanding the checks and balances that had developed over generations within a geographical area. 

Since the end of the War a social experiment has been conducted in this country in which multiculturalism has been propounded to fit the need of an economic package which imported thousands of culturally different people to work, propping up dying industries by working for much lower wages. There was never any debate with the people here who of course would be most effected, only a continuing hope that the pliability of the normal working class would assimilate all comers. Now with the Trojan Horse inside many of our deprived cities we recognise, too late the risk!!             

        

Contesting opinion

Having watched a vigorous debate on Sunday morning television about the place of war in a religious context. There were a phalanx of veiled Muslim women who were espousing their right to wear the veil and there were a number of carefully crafted responses suggesting that to cover ones self completely was anachronism in Britain in the 21st century. 

One person who was much more direct in his criticism was a Muslim himself, who had his name placed as a possible candidate as a  Liberal Democrat. The voluble section of the Muslim society has been outraged by this man, and his conflicting opinion, even suggesting that a Fatwa be placed on him and he now faces a death threat.

The response by the Liberal Party was to consider the man's position and that pillar of Liberal leadership Paddy Ashdown was all over the place, visibly scared to upset the Muslim minority. 

It is a sad  day in Britain when we are frightened to counter protest with reasoned argument, for fear of upsetting this minority religious viewpoint. Its outrageous that we, the majority, are constrained in discussing or holding a contesting opinion.             

The power of books

Waking up to the sun streaming in through my bedroom window I feel its good to be alive. The body seems to be performing reasonably well considering the mileage, although, sods law will strike me down in an hour of writing this. My room is lined with books, they are my friends and companions when I need a bit of a lift. Each contains an insight into someone else's life and one can be fascinated by the rich tapestry of characters in history, philosophy, science, business and sport, all one has to do is to reach out and pluck any book from the bookcase, in a minute you are lost in another world learning and being stimulated in a very real way.
The mind is our last resource as the body and the lungs slowly give out, it remains as young and as absorbent as we want it to be and, of course, it reconnects us to our own history and the people who played a part in it.
The issue of remaining fit and able to walk, to get about is also fundamental since I suppose there will come a time when I can't !  Does one engage in a fitness frenzy to elasticate the muscles for as long as one can, spending precious hours on a treadmill ?
Of course the benefits of being fitter and feeling better, more stimulated, the option of congregating with others and being a part of the community is also worthwhile.

Its a question of balance,  a question of growing old gracefully or perhaps as

Dylan Thomas wrote :-
"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day.
Rage rage against the dying of the light"

Alternatively maybe

Omar Khayyam :-
The Worldly Hope men set their hearts upon.
Turns Ashes - or it prospers, and anon,
Like snow upon the Deserts dusty face.
Lighting a little hour or two - and is gone.               

Craven in the field of battle

Normally when things are going wrong it's time to draw your head in, disappear behind what ever you can find to keep stum. 
The English cricket teams performance is one of those occasions but how can one keep quiet when the performance has been so bad, so lifeless, so guilty of wearing the shirt that others before them, who wore the shirt and represented England must feel cheated by the craven cowardice shown on the pitch. If these men had been in the front line in the First World War they would have been shot !! Is it because we pay them too much and they assume that the income stream will remain that pulling on an England shirt means so little. We see it in the English Football team of overpaid Prima Donners not willing to put everything on the line other than when playing for their (bread and butter) clubs.
How the likes of Brian Close must turn in his grave to watch such craven performances in the face of fast balling.
Close, without helmet or substantial protection of any kind faced, not one Mitchell Johnson but four of him in the form of four 6'6"plus West Indians who were the four most ferocious bowlers to grace a cricket pitch. As they thundered down, ball after ball, over after over he stood swaying out of line of the bouncers, only his cap to protect him or absorbing ball after ball into his body which bruised and battered he continued to defy all they could throw at him. Where was the grit he showed or has the persona of the current crop of cricketers become so saturated with celebrity status, conscious of their heath and safety - that they wanted out ??   

The Sunday debate

Sunday is debate time at least it is if you watch BBC1. The Andrew Marr show draws together Political Leaders, Spokes People on a whole range of subjects, Columnists and Agitators they all get a platform. Another very different platform is provided on the program that follows The Big Questions a program that is held in different cities each week, before an audience of local people with a smattering of so called experts,  to air opinion on largely moral and ethical questions that affect our way of life now in the 21st Century. I find this particular program riveting in that deeply held beliefs are contested by others of equally deeply held belief and in listening one can soak up the flavour of these impassioned life style commitments weighing each point and helping one to form ones own, hopefully balanced, opinion. The value or otherwise of monogamy in marriage. Whether greed is a vital component to success. Should women have babies after 40. Is the weight of immigration pushing us as a nation into rebellion. These were today's crop and whist I would have had an opinion on any one of them, listening to the debate brought fresh knowledge and help in understanding someone who previously I would say, "were talking out of the back of their head". 
Its a wonderfully rich world if we can rid ourselves of prejudice and maybe the only way to do so is to get out, at least mentally and mix with all sorts of people. We would be surprised at what we have in common.        

I had a dream.

"I had a dream", no not the poetic prophecy of Martin Luther King but one of my own, rare but simple confusing affairs that are a mixture of people and place, some recognisable some a mish mash of other places jumbled into one. I'm usually late to get somewhere and the route is strewn with obstacles, frustration and tension in equal parts. Its Old Cape Town and the route into the city from the suburbs, the harbour is ahead maybe I am catching a ship.  Another setting is Jo'burg,  trying to make it through the airport to board a plane which is just pulling out.  In my youth it was trying to catch a bus, even hanging onto the pole that you could pull yourself on board the open platform at the back of the bus but always the bus was accelerating away pulling me with it but too fast to jump on board. 

Perhaps that's the underlying story, wanting to be somewhere else, someone else, not quite content maybe but also not wishing to let go of the current situation. 

Is there a lack of confidence because of my background, not taught to naturally expect things to improve, one was always surprised at any change. There was no planning for the future such as inculcated by a good school and education, it simply happened and yet, the romantic side, the inquisitive side, always off, escaping like Walter Mitty on another fantasy was the antibody to an acceptance of mediocrity. 

How many of you have recurrent dreams, my dreaming is very rare at least remembering them is, but some people swear by them as predictors of a future event and uncomfortably they seem to often get it right and the dream comes true. I have regularly banged on about the power of the mind, even to question whether it is all there is to our experience (Kant, "I think therefore I am") which we establish through the senses, not a true reflection but a concoction of what our memory has on file to photo-fit what is actually going on around us. 

Mittys fantasy was real to him as perhaps my dream is real to me. It underlies the essence of the me as a brain consisting of previous experiences which are the sum total of my constituency.     

Happy New Year.

The crowds are gathered on the Embankment, some of them have waited for over 6 wet hours with the stoic willpower which event see'rs have in the bucket full. I was never one for an "event". Year after year I would promise myself to get out and party or watch the firework display in London and year after year would see me in bed or, at the most sitting in front of the TV watching others having a good time. This year is the same but with one difference. your intrepid blogger is writing his impression trying to capture the moment perhaps the moment behind the moment.
As the clock climbs into the last half hour of 2013 we are faced with the perennial Jools Holland and his collection of bands and vocalists on the big stage at Broadcasting House whilst Garry Barlow struts his stuff on BBC 1.
Usually there is a lot of time setting the stage amongst the crowd on the Embankment, people from all over the world who focus their end of year entertainment facing the the London Eye and the firework display. Tons of fireworks ready to go up in 10 minutes of colour and noise. 20 seconds to go 10, 5, 2 they are off, flash, bang, greens, shimmering white, orange and blue. I can't of course smell the acrid smoke or sense the crowds anticipation, the gasps of delight as another phase of pyrotechnics, choreographed to a music, finally reaching a tremendous finale of light and sound but its there.
The revealers not to be out done with the rain turn one to another to kiss and hug, wishing each other the best for another year before beginning the search for transport home or more likely looking for a pub or club to sing and dance the night away.

Where will we be this time next year ?

Happy New Year Everyone  From John and Family   

Don't bring me flowers

You don't bring me flowers any more, what a plaintive refrain, Barbara Streisand at her best, we used to link our own melancholy to these songs or in happier mood feel the urge to dance with Thriller and Michael Jackson. The parties were full of these songs, ABBA and Dancing Queen so much fun so much a release of our cloistered self into an exhibition of of another person who wasn't afraid to be judged, who's only thoughts were for the partner in font of you and the hormonal instinct to attract and show off.  Sitting on ones own, the haunting refrains of the Girl from the North Country Fair with Dylan the bubble of the Beach Boys, so many songs to remind you of those party's when we were young !! 

I have just resumed my subscription of Spotify and sit regaled with the wonder, at the peck of a key to the whole world of music. Classical, Dance Band, Pop and Jazz from any era you chose the whole catalogue.  "The Winner takes it all" ABBA, "Django" by the modern Jazz Quartet, "The Lady with the Flaxen Hair", Chopins, "Moonlight Sonata", Charles Aznavours  "She", "Women in Love" Streisand again. You don't need alcohol to become drunk on the stimulation of music, "Send in the Clowns" makes the mind reel to the melody, listen to those words they are about you !