It's the around 0815, on the last Monday of 2009.
Snow has already come and gone in London - winter fulfilled it's promises early, and now the sky is empty and blue. I'm listening to Placebo, finally making my pilgrimage through their albums, fifteen years after the rest of the world discovered the talents of Brian Molko and Stefan Olsdal.
Every band has a point of discovery for the listener - a time and a place where the music fits into our lives like psychic mirror. Lyrics that never before registered on our radar are suddenly written in ten foot tall letters. Turbulent feelings somehow resonate with those of a complete stranger, and time falls away into the darkness, lost in the light of melodies, chords and rhythms.
Music has this immutable quality. It is water for the soul. It is a connecting force without equal. To live in a world without it would be unimaginable.
From the moment we are born we begin to make the music of our own lives. Tiny lungs fill with air, our first breath is taken, and we announce ourselves as the newest member of humanity. Eyes may be closed at will, but the hearing sense is not made this way. For better or for worse, we will be listening to each other and the world around us for the rest of lives.
I love analogies for human relationships. The image of a 'garden' has always been a favourite of mine - the process of growing or restricting, nuturing or neglecting. Water has been another analogy I favour - the idea of a 'source', of feeling full or empty, or the ebb & flow of tides that reflect the patterns in our lives.
And now a new analogy - voices and songs.
This one I really love, because it contains an element lacking from the other two, and that element is 'time'.
Not 'big' time - the kind measured in decades, years, months, weeks, or even days. But 'little' time. This is the kind of time we can use to measure heartbeats in. The kind of time that falls between sentences, and quickly pours into awkward silences.
It is the grains of sands in an hourglass - at a glance it is liquid, slow and smooth. But if you look closely, it is chaos and movement - a universe of collisions and inevitability that rules our lives without so much as a whisper. Our relationship with 'little' time is what creates our day-to-day reality. We move between periods of feeling like time is running too slowly, or too quickly. If we are 'lucky' or particularly aware or skillfull we can live part of our lives 'in sync'. This is the feeling of being 'in the flow', that all is working as it should be.
This is the secret of music - a feeling of synchronicity with the world, and others around us.
Every day we breathe, every moment we live through, we are creating a personal rhythm. Our voices combine with those of others to create a form of music - a song, if you will. The song may be harmonious, or dissonant, depending on the person we are with, and the way we are feeling at the time. And as with music, even the silences form part of the song.
Music and the human heart both possess the same inexpressable qualities which make them so special. They fall into the land between the lines on a page, between the words in a sentence. They fall into the vast unknown between reason and passion.
With most people, we can fumble through the rudimentary tunes - meeting and greeting. Perform basic exchanges such as talking about the weather. With some people however, we are harmonised from the moment we meet, and the conversation know no end. With others, mysteriously, it is like two out-of-tune instruments that may never find a common starting point.
Even if we can't identify exactly what the problem is, we all know when something doesn't feel right. And its at this point, that things get interesting.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
World Peace on the Weekend
Morning :)
Having had a couple of coffees and a couple of hours sleep, I am ready to blunder on and put my cards on the table:
Having had a couple of coffees and a couple of hours sleep, I am ready to blunder on and put my cards on the table:
I believe world peace would available tomorrow, were we all not just too busy to organise it.
We can harness and harvest so much from the earth, the sea, and air. We can turn it into houses and cars and magical medicines and the chance of eliminating all illnesses through genetic therapies. But we struggle to overcome the endless repeating drama of conflict between our nations, our groups, or families, and lovers.
Is this not the holy grail, and are we all just too busy too look for it?
What would happen if we would collectively (and though the internet we now have the ability to do this) agree to slow down for a little bit. Dont reject progress, but just for a short period, say two to three years, or a little more, we give ourselves a four day working week, which will cut unemployment, and put enough work and energy into the economy to keep the food and basic services going.
Forget wars, and investment banking, and Ferrari's (I love Ferrari's) and eating out every day of the week.
Everyone chill out for a while. So it's four day weeks for a few years. We're all going to get a chance to have a breather - and only if we all decide to do it at the same time, for the same period - because then the primal fear of 'falling behind' the Darwinian pack can be put aside.
And our lost or latent energies can be gathered... just to help each other.
To rest, to heal. To repair.
Repairing is a fading skill, and really, the world is crying out for a more sustainable, reliable world - one that can provide energy and love to our lives, rather than zap it away.
Instead of paying for all that African food that should in the mouths of it's children, we start to grow food in our gardens again, and we send food to Africa instead, to all those hungry mouths that need our true charity.
The charity which is given in person, with an act of the body so that you as the 'giver' can benefit from the cleansing act of giving, as well as the 'reciever', who of course will benefit - but it's nice to know people care.
How else will we know?
We so rarely get a chance to talk about World Peace.
It would great to rescue this concept back from the misty world of the painfully awkward 'Beauty-paegent' question. How can this be one of the only places you even hear the idea mentioned?
If we could slow down, for just a little bit, for just a little while, we might just be able to figure out world peace alot quicker that you'd think.
We can harness and harvest so much from the earth, the sea, and air. We can turn it into houses and cars and magical medicines and the chance of eliminating all illnesses through genetic therapies. But we struggle to overcome the endless repeating drama of conflict between our nations, our groups, or families, and lovers.
Is this not the holy grail, and are we all just too busy too look for it?
What would happen if we would collectively (and though the internet we now have the ability to do this) agree to slow down for a little bit. Dont reject progress, but just for a short period, say two to three years, or a little more, we give ourselves a four day working week, which will cut unemployment, and put enough work and energy into the economy to keep the food and basic services going.
Forget wars, and investment banking, and Ferrari's (I love Ferrari's) and eating out every day of the week.
Everyone chill out for a while. So it's four day weeks for a few years. We're all going to get a chance to have a breather - and only if we all decide to do it at the same time, for the same period - because then the primal fear of 'falling behind' the Darwinian pack can be put aside.
And our lost or latent energies can be gathered... just to help each other.
To rest, to heal. To repair.
Repairing is a fading skill, and really, the world is crying out for a more sustainable, reliable world - one that can provide energy and love to our lives, rather than zap it away.
Instead of paying for all that African food that should in the mouths of it's children, we start to grow food in our gardens again, and we send food to Africa instead, to all those hungry mouths that need our true charity.
The charity which is given in person, with an act of the body so that you as the 'giver' can benefit from the cleansing act of giving, as well as the 'reciever', who of course will benefit - but it's nice to know people care.
How else will we know?
We so rarely get a chance to talk about World Peace.
It would great to rescue this concept back from the misty world of the painfully awkward 'Beauty-paegent' question. How can this be one of the only places you even hear the idea mentioned?
If we could slow down, for just a little bit, for just a little while, we might just be able to figure out world peace alot quicker that you'd think.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Sunday Night / Monday Morning
So, here I am - in the small hours of Sunday evening. Sometime around now the weekend finishes and the week begins. But when?
It's a point of change in our rhythm, sometimes associated with tension and stress as the work-week approaches ('sunday-itis') or it may be an exciting time if the coming week contains a much anticipated reward.
I mentioned earlier about the perils and strains of negotiating a house purchase. How a wrong move or unexpected structural finding could mean an uncertain gap of in ones own and one's children's 'property/living rights'.
i.e. That you may be out on the street.
Simply because, in this many ways fine country, all the work that went into viewing, investigating, valuating, and soliciting can amount to nothing if another party arrives the day before the keys are to be handed over - with just a fiver more in their hand to line the profited pocket.
So you start again with another property.
It's not to complain - who wants a New Zealand like me to come here and complain about a country which is no longer mine. That said it's a precarious, relationship-testing process, and it suddenly becomes a major consumer of that irreproducible quantity - time.
When we sold our house in New Zealand it took 10 days from the second viewing to the purchase been completed, and titled issued to the new owner. In that period other offers cannot be accepted.
It's very sane, and quick, and there is none of the stress that comes with a system like England, which is all about upholding ancient property rights. and serves those who are into property as an investment. It's driven the economy, but it leaves many families literally out in the cold.
Whether they are better economically, around the world there are alternative systems of property transferrence systems which are moulded away from 'profit', and much more to the basic human need for continuity of shelter. And it works.
So is it all so easy?
Yes, in my humble opinion.
We are just all so busy -
going soo0 fffffffaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssssssssssttttttttttttttttttt...
that we are stretched thinner over a particular point in time, or on a particular task. There is less of us to go around, so to speak. And less, and less ability to take the time to look at the whole system. In a land of specialists, who out there in the goverment is looking past the next election cycle? Past the next 10?
So. Time.
It is the key.
Time to get some rest.
It's a point of change in our rhythm, sometimes associated with tension and stress as the work-week approaches ('sunday-itis') or it may be an exciting time if the coming week contains a much anticipated reward.
I mentioned earlier about the perils and strains of negotiating a house purchase. How a wrong move or unexpected structural finding could mean an uncertain gap of in ones own and one's children's 'property/living rights'.
i.e. That you may be out on the street.
Simply because, in this many ways fine country, all the work that went into viewing, investigating, valuating, and soliciting can amount to nothing if another party arrives the day before the keys are to be handed over - with just a fiver more in their hand to line the profited pocket.
So you start again with another property.
It's not to complain - who wants a New Zealand like me to come here and complain about a country which is no longer mine. That said it's a precarious, relationship-testing process, and it suddenly becomes a major consumer of that irreproducible quantity - time.
When we sold our house in New Zealand it took 10 days from the second viewing to the purchase been completed, and titled issued to the new owner. In that period other offers cannot be accepted.
It's very sane, and quick, and there is none of the stress that comes with a system like England, which is all about upholding ancient property rights. and serves those who are into property as an investment. It's driven the economy, but it leaves many families literally out in the cold.
Whether they are better economically, around the world there are alternative systems of property transferrence systems which are moulded away from 'profit', and much more to the basic human need for continuity of shelter. And it works.
So is it all so easy?
Yes, in my humble opinion.
We are just all so busy -
going soo0 fffffffaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssssssssssttttttttttttttttttt...
that we are stretched thinner over a particular point in time, or on a particular task. There is less of us to go around, so to speak. And less, and less ability to take the time to look at the whole system. In a land of specialists, who out there in the goverment is looking past the next election cycle? Past the next 10?
So. Time.
It is the key.
Time to get some rest.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Friday's Night Alright For F****ing
It's all about counting the *'s.
Yes, Friday night... this is going to be brief.
I'm listening to John Martyn's 'Solid Air' - introduced to me by English friends and I am truly greatful, for music is close to my heart, and I suspect music was probably close enough to Mr Martyn's heart as to be indistiguishable.
And... that's it. Friday night's for all sorts of other things.
Sometimes it's just for forgetting for awhile.
P.S. World peace - we'll get to that - that's what Saturdays and Sundays are for.
Yes, Friday night... this is going to be brief.
I'm listening to John Martyn's 'Solid Air' - introduced to me by English friends and I am truly greatful, for music is close to my heart, and I suspect music was probably close enough to Mr Martyn's heart as to be indistiguishable.
And... that's it. Friday night's for all sorts of other things.
Sometimes it's just for forgetting for awhile.
P.S. World peace - we'll get to that - that's what Saturdays and Sundays are for.
Friday, October 9, 2009
In the Early Hours
It's 0639 on a Saturday morning.
Me and and at least half my parent friends will be up by now, or will be having to defend the warmth of their bed from frozen-toed 4 and 6 year olds. So I get some work done at this hour - the house is quiet and there's no bathroom traffic to contend with.
Saturday is officially starts with 'football morning' for my Mrs. and some of the other mums, and 'music morning' for some of us dads. It's become a bit of fixture - guitars and cups of tea and the kids do whatever they like. Sometimes a group will magically appear and join in on a couple of rounds of 'Me and Julio down by the Schoolyard'. Occasionally there is no music - just more cups of tea and playing unfashionable cds.
Later there is a blur of Saturday-related happenings - which I will not be able to recall again by Sunday. So Sundays (or Saturdays) we try to keep free. One day a week ring-fenced off from birthday parties, group outings, or shopping expeditions. And living in London, 'expedition' is no exaggeration. Getting to a shop in Central London requires a two hour round trip. A trip to Ikea will take a minimum four to five hour round trip. So time becomes very precious.
The 'free day' is spent mostly 'pottering about'. Doing whatever we want. The presence of Time fades a little, and our memories can take a much deserved rest from having to remember things. How nice it will be on Monday, to really have nothing to have to remember from Sunday. How pleasant, and revitalising.
Gold and titanium are all very well, but if you could manufacture 'time', you would have no shortage of customers. Imagine being able to purchase an extra two hours to slip into your afternoon - just close the door, purchase your extra time, and take a siesta. It will fly by in 40 winks for all those around you, while you wake refreshed.
Deadline approaching - no problem - I'll take another twenty-four hour voucher please.
And of course, if I was diagnosed with cancer and only months to live, and my friends and family could band together and buy me a little extra time, a couple of months perhaps if I've been a good friend. Well why not?
Sadly of course the money will run out, one day.
(S0 perhaps we could find away to get rid of the money part?)
Make time free for everyone. Lots of free time. I'm jumping ahead in the story now.
The sun is rising now, it's time I made some toast.
Me and and at least half my parent friends will be up by now, or will be having to defend the warmth of their bed from frozen-toed 4 and 6 year olds. So I get some work done at this hour - the house is quiet and there's no bathroom traffic to contend with.
Saturday is officially starts with 'football morning' for my Mrs. and some of the other mums, and 'music morning' for some of us dads. It's become a bit of fixture - guitars and cups of tea and the kids do whatever they like. Sometimes a group will magically appear and join in on a couple of rounds of 'Me and Julio down by the Schoolyard'. Occasionally there is no music - just more cups of tea and playing unfashionable cds.
Later there is a blur of Saturday-related happenings - which I will not be able to recall again by Sunday. So Sundays (or Saturdays) we try to keep free. One day a week ring-fenced off from birthday parties, group outings, or shopping expeditions. And living in London, 'expedition' is no exaggeration. Getting to a shop in Central London requires a two hour round trip. A trip to Ikea will take a minimum four to five hour round trip. So time becomes very precious.
The 'free day' is spent mostly 'pottering about'. Doing whatever we want. The presence of Time fades a little, and our memories can take a much deserved rest from having to remember things. How nice it will be on Monday, to really have nothing to have to remember from Sunday. How pleasant, and revitalising.
Gold and titanium are all very well, but if you could manufacture 'time', you would have no shortage of customers. Imagine being able to purchase an extra two hours to slip into your afternoon - just close the door, purchase your extra time, and take a siesta. It will fly by in 40 winks for all those around you, while you wake refreshed.
Deadline approaching - no problem - I'll take another twenty-four hour voucher please.
And of course, if I was diagnosed with cancer and only months to live, and my friends and family could band together and buy me a little extra time, a couple of months perhaps if I've been a good friend. Well why not?
Sadly of course the money will run out, one day.
(S0 perhaps we could find away to get rid of the money part?)
Make time free for everyone. Lots of free time. I'm jumping ahead in the story now.
The sun is rising now, it's time I made some toast.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Numero Uno
If I am inhuman, I fail.
If I am human, I succeed.
That was the thought the finally got me round to, amid making popcorn and Sally wanting to talk me about yet another topic, the throughly depressing mortgage topic. The constant ruler and interrupter here for, oh, 2 years now. Because in the UK the process of buying a house can really test you. It can test you for years. It can test your humanity. And inhumanity.
Your future and the future of your family is slung in bundles of paper, from agent to lender to solicitor, and back and forth... hopefully in one piece, but not always.
In our case, not often.
One day it's dreaming of garden furniture and kittens at Christmas, and the next it's '11 months (if you're lucky) of caravan behind Uncle Sergei's place because days before the big day, in a moment of faith, you may have given your 30 days notice to vacate. And now, with one phone call from the real estate agent, it seems there will be a sudden conclusion to proceedings. Bye bye kittens.
And this is not what I wanted to write about.
No.
I was going to start on something about world peace. And solving that...
That's where I'll start off next.
If I am human, I succeed.
That was the thought the finally got me round to, amid making popcorn and Sally wanting to talk me about yet another topic, the throughly depressing mortgage topic. The constant ruler and interrupter here for, oh, 2 years now. Because in the UK the process of buying a house can really test you. It can test you for years. It can test your humanity. And inhumanity.
Your future and the future of your family is slung in bundles of paper, from agent to lender to solicitor, and back and forth... hopefully in one piece, but not always.
In our case, not often.
One day it's dreaming of garden furniture and kittens at Christmas, and the next it's '11 months (if you're lucky) of caravan behind Uncle Sergei's place because days before the big day, in a moment of faith, you may have given your 30 days notice to vacate. And now, with one phone call from the real estate agent, it seems there will be a sudden conclusion to proceedings. Bye bye kittens.
And this is not what I wanted to write about.
No.
I was going to start on something about world peace. And solving that...
That's where I'll start off next.
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