Truth is a tool of discourse nothing else

Can there be something called a "truth" other than a scientific explanation.
Listening to a group talking about a number of subjects one is struck by not only the divergence of views but by the strength of the divergent views. As we listen to each person one is often struck by the vehemence and  the intolerance of the other persons view point simply because it is not their "truth" !
How can intelligent people differ in such an antagonistic way, not apparently being able to see the other point of view and getting very hot under the collar as different views are put forward.

"Truth" therefore is illusionary, there is no such thing. Your views are largely based on "hear say", and nothing more, it is a construct based on your background, culture, and your prejudice.
Given that people base their lives, their reasoning, on views that can not be called, the truth, they are in danger of becoming loose cannons, shouting off their opinions as truths.

It must open up the debate, of creating a more holistic society, willing to mix our ideas, not as a controversial punch up but as independent views which bring "more and more "opinions" into our own thinking".  
Of course it flies in the face of "establishment thinking" because their view, is the view of senior established figures and should be valued over and above the ordinary man and women.
It flies in the face of established groups such as, religious groups and their truth.  Also in the face of much of the current legislation and the laws that flow from that legislation.  The field of global finance and their ability to use accountancy practices to avoid paying tax. In the ability to buy a judgement through the use of clever lawyers who exploit the legal framework. 
All use their own interpretation of truth !!

Truth is a construct of language, truth is a tool of discourse and nothing more !!!      

Tick tock

Drink or drugs are the perfect palliative to the ticking clock. Without much to do, the clock becomes the centre of attention, time hangs heavy and the next event seems a long time away. The ache and pains, the slow rise and fall of the chest, these guardians of our very existence take on an all consuming importance as we watch the slow passage of time drift across the face of the clock.
With a trip to the pub, or a pull on a spliff, all those self induced visits to examine ones morbidity are suddenly blown away by an alcoholic  spin which puts the mind into neutral and makes self interest irrelevant. Conversation takes on heightened importance as the topics flow and the intelligence of ones circle expands with each new round of drink. The words of wisdom tumble out and are enthusiastically received by all and sundry. Friends are made in a second or two, inside an hour a lifetimes experiences have been traded and one begins to wonder how you had been without this group to support and listen to all those problems.    As you negotiate your way home, the glow, like an after-burn, takes one to the front door and there it ends.
A larger force moves into view and the clock on the wall starts to tick, once again.          

Less simply less

Watching the world series Triathlon series which takes the athletes to various locations all over the Globe. 

They are all, I would like to be there places, coupling the sea and beach with sunny sea-side suburbs to run and cycle through. Under a cloudless sky this weeks event was held in San Diego with its sun kissed landscape of boating harbours and palm trees It was the perfect escape from our cold grainy environment. 
The thought comes to mind why, having lived in places that are the equivalent, would one want to settle for anything less in the latter stages of ones life.
It is funny that we can be somewhat complacent, entering the final phase of ones life.   There is a sort of wonder that one is still around, feeling fairly fit, the only inhibitor is the mind set, "the get up and go". I keep on looking at bikes and ever smaller boats.



Would a life on Europe's waterways hold my interest, would the Spartan facilities on board be too much of a hurdle, would I miss my hot shower in the morning. 
Of course one is judging the pros and cons from a static position, without the added chemistry that the changing scenery of being "footloose" brings.   Changing scenery and the magic of the accidental vis a vis, conformity, 

When young the accidental confrontation, the necessity to think on ones feet, the possibility of not being in control, (an anathema to most people when they get older), is the juice that gives life to everything.
Chancing ones arm, taking the view that it will turn out ok, is not the attitude that an older person, who has experienced many unforeseen turns of fortune and is less able to turn events around in the time needed, who feels less gung ho, less courageous, less, simply less !!  

     

A lesson that stayed with you all your life

I have been reading a book written about the Chinese, post Mao. Amongst many remarkable things, the thirst for education has set the Chinese apart as parents brow beat their children into the need to progress through education. In this country we have been led to believe that any enforcement of our will on our children is a bad thing. We can negotiate but the willingness to embark on the educational high road has to be theirs and it might even be viewed as child abuse to bully them into doing things they don't want to do !!!
The Chinese, the Japanese, have no such qualms and the parents spend much of their time insisting that their children learn for the opportunity to advance.
It got me thinking of the attitude of many of our kids in the UK, towards matching their opportunities here with the conflicting claim of having the proverbial "good time". 
In my day, oh such a long time ago, we understood the balance and followed the example of our parents to take the only opportunity we had, as "working class" youngsters, to gain the foundations of higher education through "night school". 
My Dad was an exemplar of this route to expanding his opportunity. He had been put in an orphanage at 12, (economic pressure on his mother)  and then having had to go to work at a very early age, night school was his only option. Not having much money he would walk through the streets roughly 5 miles in and 5 miles out, from the suburbs to the centre of town to attend Bradfords Technical College.  As an indicator of the times he lived in he also did a course in Russian since, for the working class, what was happening in Russia, Communism, was considered a worthwhile alternative to the Capitalism that so many lived and suffered under.
His "copper plate" hand written notes were a joy of a logical exposition as each subject, particularly mathematics, each broken down to its basic component, transformed and then rebuilt into an equation to address the physical problem.  Through "Night School" he obtained the not insignificant qualification AMIMeE, which is equivalent to an Engineering Degree.
Bradford was a typical Northern town.   Industry, particularly the Woollen Industry was at the heart of Bradford and the Technical Collage was the heart of the educational input to Industry. The College, an imposing Victorian building clattered to the sound of feet as the students rushed to their classroom for the 7pm start.
The "seriousness  business of education" was reflected by the serious demeanor of the students attending. There was no sense of entitlement, no sense that this was something to take for granted, it was an "opportunity" and one had to grasp it with both hands. The building was built on a scale and with materials that were designed to last.
The staircases were wide and majestic, the lecture rooms were large, high ceiling rooms, some with tiered seating. 


A blackboard and chalk were the means to put over the theorems, no white boards no, interactive equipment. 
One thing they had (worth more that any computer derived image) was the hands-on experience given by the full sized machinery, generating plant, anything that the person being educated would need when out in the workplace.
It was for real and one is often struck today by the disconnect when youngsters are introduced to most things through the keyboard of a computer There is a world of difference between reality and the symbolism effected through the computer. At Night School one could feel the texture, one could be in awe by the size and the power of the equipment one would find in the workplace and very quickly discovered the damage that could be done by a thought-less act, no quick fix through the delete key.  
You were ushered into becoming a responsible adult, a lesson that stayed with you all your life !!!             

So many winners and loosers

You will all be aware of the rotten lead up to Spring and Summer we have had over here.
The unremitting grey sky's and the cold wind blowing in from Northern Europe. At last the sun has come through and we can smile again.


One element in the seasonal chain is the frenzy of frogs that pop out of nowhere, having disappeared throughout Winter, to fill the fish pond with their elemental desire to procreate. Then they are gone, where to no one knows.
Into this world and Why not knowing.
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing.
And out again as Wind along the Waste
I know not Wither, willy-nilly blowing.


They have left their mark, thousands of frog spawn waiting to hatch and reinvent the miracle once again. The fish also wait, in anticipation for a food that beats into a cocked hat the diet of fish food I throw them. Its all part of a food chain which makes sense to the recipient and a nonsense to the scrap of cells which are going to be eaten.

If all this is part of a "big plan" then he must be a Conservative with so many winners and losers.  

The pensioners dilemma

How do you start your day ?
If you are in work then much of the decision is out of your hands. Someone else has set the time line, someone else has decided where you should be and when. But what if you are retired ?
The alarm goes off, fortunately one has the option to ignore it. There is the book on the bed side table which you put down last night but it might draw one in to an extensive time consuming read and the time involved is still measured by habits of a lifetime. The Protestant ethic make great demands on us as we mentally conflict about simply doing nothing, or at least doing what we want to do, which may well be the same thing !! Get up, get washed, do something !!

What is this "something" which has to be done.
Gardening duty, house cleaning, repairs to this and that, shopping, reading, writing, day dreaming, playing golf, photography, watching sport, visits to a museum,restaurant, cinema, walking the dog on the moors, even the pub.
When you write it down there are a hundred things to do but some how, the direction of what and which, seems a little sterile if the bug hasn't bitten, much earlier, when one belonged as a "fully paid up member of the human race" !!
Of course I forgot, there's always the tele' our window on a world of action and events. A picture of other people engaged in doing "something" !! 
How is it that all these other things seem to be substitutes.
When they were an addendum to ones main purpose, earning a living, providing financial security, engaging ones ego in the rat-race of business.
Throughout childhood and into early adulthood there was competition for ones attention. There was the discovery of who we are and how well we could compete with others.    Sport, class work, real work and girls !!

Girls made the world go round in our teens and our 20s.   Unquestionably unfathomable they trailed their allure into our lives and made us doubt the simplicity of our raison d'etre. They were the reason to go out. They were the instrument of torture as we tried to get their attention. They were the introduction to a misery we had never experienced, as we tangled with the complex issue of rejection.

Charles Aznavours song, "She", summed  it up beautifully !!!

Brave enough to enter

I'm watching the London Marathon with a slightly morbid thought, will we have a repeat of the Boston bombing.
The London event has picked a delightful day with the sun out.
It is truly amazing to see the massed runners waiting at the start of the event, a sea of humanity, shuffling forward slowly to cross the start line, as they do so, their timing chips activated, their race begins.
Why do people punish themselves in this way, what is it in the human physic that seems to enjoy the call of the herd. They have no chance of winning of course, the men and women who do, belong to a different universe they aren't really human. They come from countries that in other respects are way behind but in long distance running they are superstars.
So why do Mr and Mrs Bloggs set off to punish themselves in this way. The camaraderie, the knowledge that "taking part" is one of the most important stimuli for humans. To have a sense of their individual importance in the wider scheme of things, in a world in which we are often made to feel inconsequential. Weeks of pounding the streets with club mates come together with other runners from all parts of the UK. It becomes a club run of gigantic proportions. The support from the runners around when as you hit the wall, the collegiate spirit established through humour as well as grim pathos.        
The Olympics were a revelation. The self imposed restraint that dictates the English blew away.  When I hear recordings of the Games, the sound of the crowd, is a spine tingling emotion. It was unimaginable to hear the near hysteria of the people cheering the athletes on. Today the crowds were out again, clapping and cheering all around, lining the streets, acknowleging the people who have been brave enough to enter.