Closet introvert?

Do I discover myself a closet introvert? I am not shy, talk easily to a total stranger, enjoy the company of a few good friends, small groups are still more or less doable but big events are hard on me. Then I fall in the role of the observer, no longer a participant, because I can't do the chitchat. So I watch from the sideline, may find one or two people to talk with and usually I leave early. My brain buzzes with all the stimulation. I can't sleep, thoughts twirling and swirling... Probably I also need more alone time than most to quieten my mind, watch the clouds sail by, observe the changes in the light during the day. In meetings I am ok because, although it is a large group, one speaks to the chairperson or the group in general and about practical things or principles one cares about. With some friends living far away I can even talk for half an hour or longer on the phone, whereas making a normal 'taking care of business' call can be postponed for days. Well the strange chemistry of our brain... maybe this is why I became an avid reader and a blogger in splendid isolation.

Blogging

It has been obvious to some of you there were no new blog posts. Not for lack of subjects or inspiration. On the contrary, so many actions, subjects, writers in prison came up it stopped the flow. The fight against drones, spearheaded by one of my friends, is just one of them and the war in Afghanistan is the biggest mistake yet by the new team in the White House. Yet since I believe art can change the world and since literature is a strong instrument and since translations bridge the differences in culture and can bring understanding the content of the future blogs my change a bit. The concept isn't definite yet but crystallizing slowly. The gentle wind wins says a German proverb. Art against killing (wars and the death penalty, domestic violence...)

A poem by Fred Schywek in English translation:

Jeez us

Thou shalt not kill
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou

I haven't blogged for a long time. Not that there wasn't anything happening in the world or that there was nothing nice and joyful happening. I could have done activism for a writer in prison Zargana, a young comic who is jailed for 37 years by the Burmese generals and now after just a few month is in terrible health. he needs our help. Also spring came along with a force, I found beauty and sights to see...

Yet fatigue and resignation had entered my body.
I could see and recognize the beauty, document it. And only with the present of rambling vines and a fine meal did the the dark clouds lift.

Passaporta

The Passa Porta literature festival is still ongoing in Brussels. The Writers in Prison Committee Flanders and the Writers for Peace performed to remember their colleagues who live in less tolerant regimes.



Dejan Anastasijevic is a journalist from Serbia and knows that there is no longer a free press.

Kamran Mir Hazar is an Afghan blogger who got into real trouble by speaking out about the corruption in Barzai's government.




Faraj Bayrakdar from Syria had a long time ago written a poem and the words 'bread' and 'flower' were used in that text. Two different secret services wanted him to explain what he meant (imagine a secret service knowing the meaning of a metaphor!)
He spend many years in jail and now lives in exile. So does Chenjerai Hove from Zimbabwe. Both poets spoke their poetry beautifully.

Here you see Hilde Keteleer, president of the WIPC Flanders listening to Marleen Decree reading the Dutch translation of a poem by Faraj.
I reminded the world of the plight of Leonard Peltier and added: Further more I am of the opinion that the Nato had to be abolished...

Post-apocalyptic dystopia

Disillusioned, due to the slow pace at which we are trying to do something against the Co emissions, climate change and the post-apocalyptic consequences of our present behavior in about 20 tot 50 years, I picked up Ben Elston's Blind faith set in a distopic, disease ridden London after the city shrunk, in a time called ATF: after the flood. (In that era they wouldn't know how to read a long sentence like that because books, real books are forbidden.) The title of the book refers to the kind of bleak urban society that evolved: nudity and sex, entertainment, vast social electronic networks, faith and no privacy, even an obligation to you-tube your life and to blog every action, pervasive chat screens and camera's in one's home and cctv everywhere. The state, the inquisition and the policy spy, secrets are forbidden. It is a fast, funny, read that makes one think because the faith based society that Ben Elton describes resembles the fundamentalist evangelicals in the US, the black stockings congregations in Holland and other mixes of Christianity, new age and absolute power. It is a chilling vision of one of our possible, yet undesirable futures. Being different, just small defiances are noticed, thinking, looking for understanding and reason is subversive and ignorance is wisdom... The big floods are not caused by melting icecaps but were send by the wrath of Love (god) to punish humanity for their arrogance... Almost too close to home is the longing for celebrity, the public lives people seem to think normal. I believe as one of the characters I can blog and be 'unknown' since nobody reads all the stuff that is on the net anyway. Thumbs up for this picture of a dystopic now.

The Bookworm

In my nomadic life a recurrent refuge are bookshops and this one in particular: The Bookworm run by two American fun and knowledgeable ladies. They fully participate in the local life sponsoring charity runs and such but they also register voters from the American expat community.
The nice welcoming shop is like a candy store, a treasure trove. They also have an interesting second hand book section, so there are always surprises from the newest books to the classics…

They order books if you send an e-mail and then at the next stop in the Librarie Anglaise the goodies are waiting for you. Most of the reading notes on this blog stem from books from The Bookworm . Thanks girls, you make these regular stops happy occasions.

Kris Kristofferson

To see a legend performing life is a gift. There he stood: a black stage, black jeans, boots, his cleanest dirty black shirt, a sunburst guitar, a mike, a music stand for his harmonicas, some water and cleanex and one simple spotlight… He stood and played like a lone busker who had just walked in a café and managed to touch each of us present. It was a personal and intimate performance. He played some of his hits, Help me make it through the night, Me and Bobby Mc Gee, Lobos, Sunday Morning coming down… He talked about his friends the Highwaymen and honored other singers and people killed for their convictions. A pleasant surprise was that he gave us many of his political, anti-war songs… Heartwarming, moving. No doubt where he stands on the Iraq War. It was not a polished performance, he forgot the lyrics, played the wrong note, which he acknowledged and which made him real, not a slick plastic performance, but a real singer songwriter getting older and being on the road, touring again in a bus. ‘This old road’ is his latest very worthwhile cd.
The nice old theater had strict photography rules so they gave this blogger permission to take a few pictures… Great, blogging seen as pat of the press corps.
Wonderful, sweet evening full of memories and longing.

Electricity

Got an electric problem with my laptop. So I will not be online for a couple of days... :-(

Redemptionblue's tag

Chameleon tagged me (see under tagged what the original is). She started a meme, about attitudes which should change. Rape, religion, abortion, the ongoing oppression of 'lower classes' are just a few of the subjects she tackles. Power and the arrogance of feeling that one can use any means to gratify one's lust for power, seem to me the basic problems. Rape: in war raping women is a war crime, a crime against humanity. It happens all the time in most conflict zones like in Rwanda, Bosnia, Congo, Liberia, ... These acts stem from the lack of respect for women's lives thus taking away our self determination. A man getting a woman drunk to 'have his way' with her, a husband beating and/or psychologically breaking his partner, a soldier high on personal power to kill, they all feel privileged to decide for the other person, if they acknowledge their individual existence at all. The same happens in religion where the higher power decides for us what is right or wrong. So my preferred action would be to resist all attempts to diminish us, to objectify us. The existing order is not god given, so be l'homme revolté, la femme revoltée in the sense of Albert Camus and decide that life is worthwhile without punishment or reward in a non existent hereafter. Don't let old patriarchal laws intimidate you, change them. So this post is for the doctors and women in Spain who are once again persecuted for having performed so called 'illegal' abortions, which would be legal in most European countries, it is also for the defense of Roe versus Wade.
And with all the aggravation, don't forget to read poetry, see a good movie, enjoy art and blogging as an art form and your friends. Hugs to all.

White

I have become a painter, strictly monochromatic, using different textures and shades of white. I have become a closet painter and might soon venture into some blacks and radiators... So my time between work and trying to get a flat done has been sparse and blogging to my chagrin has been neglected. The move to the eagle's nest with the stunning view is for the end of November or beginning of December depending on the availability of an outside lifts to hoist up to the 12th floor the stuff that doesn't fit in a small old elevator. When I asked one of the workers to help with getting the doors ready to paint since 'I couldn't get off some of the stuff', he replied, "Yes, now see, you are a woman, there is some difference yet..."

WiFi

Open networks, wasn't that what they promised us when the first wireless computer features entered this world. There were visions of a hotspot on every bench in the park, in all public spaces, free access was just the dream. Or so it seemed. In the hotels in Europe you pay for three hours of access 10 €, in the US in many coffee shops when you drink or eat 5 $ worth you have unlimited acces. My own network at home is open and there are two others nearby. And now I just had to try whether I could e-mail and blog already from my 12th floor. Obviously somebody has a free network and I don't even have a phone yet... So this blog is meant as a hymn to free networks...

Gray Justice

My friends here in Europa complain about the endless rain and local floods since June. Just returning from the desert I feel blessed by having had so much light. Here the grayness threatens to steal all color. In the desert, the clouds rolling over the high mountains, slowly filling up the valleys and then spreading their haze over the main road, blanketing gently the houses, unsharpening their contours, bring coolness, but not darkness. Having such a wide view it seems as if all weather is just a local happening. Four miles down the road the sun reflects upon the copper tailings of the mine. And anyway, you know that in one or two hours, the sun will have burned away all moisture and that the light will be so clear that sunglasses and a black rimmed hat can't really shield one's eyes. So much light and still there is darkness and fear in the peoples hearts: The President has decided that we are all dangerous, and that it is OK to read our e-mails, our blogs and listen to our telephone calls. It is not because it is legal now, that this is right. The USA used to be a free country.

It is a dry heat

The first hurdle to posting was the lack of a telephone line, six calls and three days later I could go online again. Then however it was sooo hot 108 yesterday and 110 today and no air conditioning in my place that my laptop's ventilator couldn't cope with it. I could have written about a smooth ride not withstanding the major scares in the U.K. A Welcome Barbecue in the canyon, help to repair last winters freeze damage in the plumbing department, meeting and greeting and glad to be back in the desert... Water alert RED. Extreme conservation is needed, otherwise we loose the pump for the whole system. My only sin, a bowl of water for the stray or wild animals... My posting may be irregular, photo's can't be done with the slow line in this heat, so be patient and in a few days the temperature should be going down.

Up up and away

Gone, till I have e-mail again. And some time to think of the comments to the two last posts: being for free speech, does this blog have to be the channel for racist comments? I feel soiled when leaving those comments on...

Media

The media are biased. They tend to portray negativity and scandals, preferring bad news over good and thus reinforcing this kind of mentality in the reader, listener, viewer or clicker. The second bias is towards ‘the executive’, in other words towards power and the power base, be it in industry, art, health or in politics. The masses aren’t heard unless they stage a negative event. That would create airtime and attention. Positive messages, dignified protest is seldom aired unless there is a well known face, a celebrity who joined the action. We know who is a scientologist, who defends the Dalai Lama, Indians, Peace, Aids patients… And thus the issue is turned into a human interest story. Maybe that is why there are so many bloggers. We are all voiceless, faceless claiming our space in the media landscape.
What do I expect of the media? Fact, not fiction, yet not only facts also analysis and critical comment. Robert Fisk does it marvelously about the Middle East. If you have different sources you will arrie at a balanced personal opinion, at least if the press is free and not tied to an ideology or a group in power. In that case, there is no longer information or news but the media then have become a propaganda and indoctrination machine. Truthful information is a citizens right and a prerequisite for a functioning democracy.
Boo to manipulation and hurray for today’s good news: After ten years of negotiating, today the first Northern Irish government consisting of four parties, former archenemies protestant and catholic has been installed, promising to work together for peace and the wellbeing of their people. So, there is hope and one day there will be peace in the Middle East, if we help to resolve the conflict, reinforce the good and help to rebuilt trust. Mr No Paisley, who spewed hate for years, who vilified his opponents, let people die in the H blocks is redeeming himself and is smiling, as are all on the pictures of this day. This is one process Clinton and Blair started together and helped come into being in a non-violent way. It is a good day.

Open or closed

Some people live their life by the grace of formality. They don’t question their motives, their whys and whens. They do what is expected. We all do so partially and in certain cases it’s a life saver. My mom is forgetful but she has been brought up in such a way that she is an excellent judge of social situations and she still reacts appropriately. If there is a slow fluidity to these situations, nobody would notice what ails her, and that is a thing to be grateful for.
However, some of us live against the social clock, having a child too young, being a widow too young, refusing to act our age to the degree that even red hats and purple clothes are out. Who, at the end of the ride, will have known more happiness is hard to tell but it is easy to know that for (authoritarian) leaders it would be easier if everyone played by the rules, like my last week’s guests who live by the old traditions & laws, customs & agreements. Of course, a society based solely on this kind of attitude, does not offer a lot of openness. The defense of diversity or the defense of fundamental human rights like freedom of religion or philosophical conviction, the non discrimination according to gender, race, or sexual orientation, freedom in personal ethical choices like euthanasia or abortion. Of course the homogeneity within a society can seem safe, safe like a gated community, safe like a prison, safe like a straitjacket.
Even if the path to follow seems clearer, quieter, seems to lead in a mysterious way to acceptance and contentment for many, I cannot walk down that road. Several people during my life have tried to decide “for my own good”, because “all they want is my happiness" or "the salvation of my soul”. When authorities – on the personal level or on state level –start deciding where one’s happiness lays then freedom and self-determination, self-reflection & tolerance of what is perceived as deviant by the dominant culture will go down the drain. Justice and creativity are shackled and silenced. Boredom, stagnation, permanence of injustice would be the norm. That is what happens under state communism, neo liberal global capitalism, fundamentalist religious opinions, be it Catholicism, rapture, creationism, evangelical or muslim extremists. People in power like Bush, Pope Benedictus, Chomeny, Ian Paisley are just a few examples who illustrate the loss of fundamental freedoms along with the ban on stem cell research. I want to live in an open society, based on dialog, blogs and freedom of opinion, and mutual respect.

Writing?

Sometimes life baffles me - inundates me with things to write about, yet I hold back. Can one write about a public event at work when Martin Sheen - good actor - good opinions - represented the element of fire at the Globe Energy Award or would that be unethical. Could a blogger, innocently, lose her job over a thing like that? So I become only half a citizen.
Friends stayed for about two weeks, I can show city hopping, yet I refrain writing about the discussions between a guest an another lifelong friend, the misunderstandings, the obvious loneliness between the husband and wife as if they are together as by contract with no need to communicate.
Family, friends. Can I, like among others Truman Capote portray them ruthlessly, or even with understanding, as long as it results in good writing?

These questions stop me while spring races to a too early summer with abnormally high temperatures, pleasant, but disconcerting. I should have blogged about the two Iranian writers who were arrested and detained in solitary confinement and who now according to the WIB ( Women in Black) have been released thanks to the human rights activists. I should have written about the experiment conceived 30 years ago and finally partially realized and which proves Einstein and the Wave Structure of Matter (WSM) right. And of course I should have written about all the sad records broken: soldiers dying in Iraq, students dying in Blacksburg, Virginia... Students who mourn their friends said: "We must continue to invent the future". Yes we must avoid undesirable, violent futures. So I must write.

Alienation?

Showing friends the local culture and not just the obvious stuff like food, architecture, cities and art, but trying to uncover the unseen, the hidden values, meaning and traditions and the result of all this in visible behavior, I wonder what the other sees, through the eyes of his/her culture. Explaining, showing a culture entails speaking of religion & ethics; a hard thing to do even within a culture. Yet even subtler things are at play. “Oh, we’re just common folks, little people, we cannot change the world” said to a blogger who feels she just has try and shape for herself and others a subtler level of thought and action, means she could be seen as arrogant or as an important powerful person: “A daisy sticking her head out above the lawn, will have her head chopped off at the next mowing”, versus the encouragement to think and act independently as an individual, rules versus flexibility, religion versus the wave structure of matter (WSM)… Can my friends understand I just live in a different paradigm, can we dream the same dreams?
In exile in my home, I realize that the structure of my house, structures my activities and I wonder can I, past the warm welcome and good food, can I make my friends feel comfortable and not alienated?
Spooky pointed out she found ‘my street’: Dweersstraat, in English Contrary Street, a little street less traveled, not crowded but its own path to the centre of the urban universe.

Blogging

Why do I write the blogs you read? For money? For glory? Because of ego? I don’t think so. Maybe it is practice. I am not quite sure what the practice is for. Maybe it's just a practice in observing, feeling and naming without judgment. Learning to discern whether a chill in a place comes from ghost stories told, or because one is unwelcome or makes the others feel uncomfortable. To be able to tell the difference is part of the survival kit of all nomads and half breeds. So I write to register, to chronicle what others take for granted or can’t believe. I look at the changing landscape of continents and see a human hand forced upon the wilderness, which is disappearing at a fast pace. I listen to the tragedies hinted at in a friend or stranger’s life and know we are all related. Also I know that all of us in our different forms and guises deserve respect. Arrogant Bastards, drunks, the pretty, the down and out and the unfriendly waiter. In Italy some waiters have honed this skill to a point of perfect rudeness that makes me smile. It has become an institution stating that they may be serving guests but are not subservient. The trick is not to be arrogant or snobbish or become annoyed towards them. Just ask: ”What do you suggest today?” … You’ll always be perfectly served since you recognized their skill and knowledge.
So I look out, think and write, imagine the wind in the landscape seen from behind the glass of daily life. I imagine the fear, love and hope of others in the split second of eternity that is life. Already the other place is becoming an absence. The desert a thought in my mind. Traveling there seems only to be the silent reality of memory and speechless anticipation. Unless suddenly reality hits you.

Down the drain

On the road and down the drain, burned up, maybe even burned out to the point that the blogging stopped. Not for lack of subjects to share. After all there was the surprise fiftieth birthday party for a friend, which brought mutual friends from Scarborough to my house. I have shared with them my place in the desert and my lowland place. He wrote and composed ‘Meet me at Death Valley’. It is uplifting but as he writes in on of the songs ‘living on the edge, I can’t afford to stumble…’ During my silent retreat March 8, International Women’s day was dedicated to women and peace. In ‘Pragmatics of Human Communication, Paul Watzlavitch showed us that ‘You cannot not communicate’… Leonard Peltier wrote from his prison:

Silence, they say, is the voice of complicity.
But silence is impossible.
Silence screams.
Silence is a message,
Just as doing nothing g is an act.

Let who you are ring out and resonate
in every word and every deed.
Yes, become who you are.
You are your own comeuppance.
You become your own message.

You are the message.

So, I try to find back my voice, and throw myself in the fray again. Tumbleweed is looking for a breeze to jump off the fence.