It’s a blessing and a curse ...

This is a familiar line from the Monk detective series. Adrian Monk is usually talking about his skills as a detective - who happens to have OCD.

I have been thinking about something rather different: beauty.

Is the gift of beauty a blessing or a curse?

I’ve heard that it is advisable to use beauty as a business and career asset. What do you think? Have you done it? Does your CV or Resume have - listed under transferrable skills and assets - the legend beauty shown?

I have just been wondering how, if you are beautiful, you go about enhancing this attribute to your best advantage, you know, for rapid career progression.

I know many beautiful people and they have said that being seen as attractive is more often than not a curse because they suffer from the lack of genuine observation of their intelligence or their personality.

They sometimes wish their gift of beauty away or hide it beneath clothes and behaviour. Is this fair?

This made me think about what else, as a natural phenomenon could be used as a business asset?

Should any birthright be cultivated for a career? Maybe Tyra Banks could give me some answers on this ... then more people could become the Top Model in their particular field.  

Right of reply?

When you are offended, as I have been recently, do you want the right of reply? Do you demand it?

In England there is a parliamentary procedure where the person offended passes a note through the chair to ask for an apology.

Blogging can be an ideal forum to defend one’s self publicly and to air one’s grievances as the note is passed through cyberspace but, on the other hand ...

sometimes the best response is silence.

Caste systems: what’s the difference?

Two men sat crossed-legged at the side of a road. The younger man looked up, he felt confusion building in him between what he was seeing, what he had learnt and what he felt in his heart, he quickly decided to interrupt the man sat beside him. He had seen a group of tired looking strangers approaching in the distance, so the younger one turned to his wiser elder and asked a series of questions.

‘Master, what type of men are these? How should I treat them? They look different. Is it our responsibility to be hospitable to all strangers or just those we feel comfortable with?’

The elder raised his head – for he had been meditating quietly, then he peered into the distance for a few minutes to observe the people walking towards them, then turned and said ...

‘They are Jamaicans; you know what they’re like.’

or

‘They are white. I know they are dangerous people.’

or

‘They are poor. Not our type at all.’

or

‘They are conservatives. They’ll do anything.’

or

‘They are untouchables. Keep away from them’

or

‘They are Christians. Hypocritical do-gooders – steer clear.’

or

‘They are working class. Don’t mix with them.’

or

‘They are Scottish. They are mean.’

or

‘They are Asian. Not our sort. So competitive.’

When the thirsty and tired group reached the two men they were met with silence. After a brief time, the group sighed and passed by. Their steps seemed heavier as they walked away. The two seated men left their silent meditation after a minute to look along the road at the fading shapes. The younger one shifted uncomfortably on his seat that also doubled as a well cover. But reasoned he had to listen to the ancient wisdom of his elder.

“Owe no man anything, but to love one another.” Romans 13 v 8

Love does not see difference, love sees similarities: love sees love.

Merry Christmas!

Judge and jury

I think I have it all figured out now. I know why my back was up when I heard a certain comment. It’s because I knew the person speaking was making a judgement on me. My internal reaction was resistance to their opinion. And the thought that quickly formed in my mind was “Who do you think you are to judge me?”

I reasoned, in the way that you do when you are upset, that this person had no right to make any judgement about me whatsoever. Why? You may well ask, well, here’s why... and this reasoning is not based on any scientific study or long research, it’s just based on my gut reactions. I don’t think that person – or any other in a similar situation – has the right to judge me because, in my opinion, they knew little or nothing about me. Therefore, as I’m sure you’ll concur, it follows that logically you cannot make a judgement on a person if you do not know any facts on which to base that judgement.

I think that’s where prejudice stems from: pre-judgement without any pertinent or relevant facts. This was the very situation I found myself in and I was not having it! The man who was speaking to me had adopted a ‘know-it-all’ tone immediately he started to talk. In fact, I stand corrected, he was not speaking to me, he was speaking at me. Because this was obvious I already understood that he had decided that he knew all he needed to know about me and my situation at that moment and that nothing whatsoever I said or did from then on was going to change his mind. I was resigned to his incorrect judgement of me. The only thing I couldn’t decide at that moment was whether or not I could be bothered to correct his wrong assumptions or if I was just going to leave it well alone. I was faced with keeping quiet and walking away or standing my ground and putting him right.

I knew that I had been in this place before so I chose to walk away.

Although he had decided he was my judge and jury I knew that he wasn’t. He in no way represented any semblance of equity and justice relevant in my life so I chose to ignore him. Was that a good decision? It was, at that time, for me. Another day may well have had me standing toe to toe with him and battling right down to the last incorrect perception.

I have heard of people who go through life living as if everybody they meet is a potential jury member that they will need to be on their side at a later point in time, so they act to impress that person not to be themselves. I cannot, and will not, do that. I will, however, take time with people who are genuinely interesting in hearing something new from a different perspective: I have time to share and I have time to hear them when this occurs.

But back to this particular situation: I have some idea why this man chose to cast aspersions on me that day but I also know that he is not in full possession of the facts so his judgement was flawed. Will he ever know the truth? I don’t know. And, at times, I don’t even care. It is not down to me to educate every misguided person that I meet. There are people that I feel it is worth the effort to try and explain some things about myself to them. And sometimes they are open enough to consider the evidence, from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, but, as with all things, that doesn’t always work either. So, I’m back to the initial situation. Is it worth the mental stress and time to open up the channels of communication with this person? As it is he looks as if he is a solid breeze block created to withstand all opinions that are not his own. Therefore I desist. I walk away.

This man is not my judge and jury. His statement about me, his opinion goes unanswered. I leave his words flying in the air behind me like the standard on the castle roof: it can blow in whatever direction it will, but it will not affect me. He can stay in his castle, with his opinions. I’m sure I will not be the last person that he shoots his arrows of disbelief at.

I know that I am not a prisoner to his words. I can move beyond them. I have moved beyond them.

I answered the question I asked myself when I said “Who do you think you are to judge me?” To me, he was unqualified to assert his judgement on me. He was like an undergraduate law student sitting in the High Court as the presiding judge: he was well out of place. He had appointed himself both judge and jury but, in my judgement, he was not fitted for either role as he had neither experience nor evidence.

My response was, “Regarding me, your ignorance is complete, you have no real knowledge on which to base your statements, and your opinion is as useful as an ice cream in a sauna, so that is the end of this interaction.”

Jury is summarily dismissed.

Dual heritage

When you hear that phrase what image comes to mind?

A light brown child ... right? Why is this?

I spoke to someone last night who claims dual heritage and who also objects to the term being used. He said the reason was that it causes more discrimination for his daughter (who incidentally does fit the image that may have popped into your mind upon hearing that phrase); nevertheless he himself is dual heritage.

His father is Polish and his mother is English. He is what most people would term ‘white’.

What? You many protest. That doesn’t count. If not, why not?

Or are all terms of identity, apart from the term ‘human being’ used to further separated, delineate and decimate social cohesion even further?

Are these girls also to be labelled as more than twins?

Motherhood / hooded mother

Motherhood

It starts a new life

exciting prospects beckon

visions of share laughter

float peacefully with the

scent of love. Always

connected – even when

Apart, the bond is fixed

at conception.

Sunrise brings fresh

opportunities to learn and grow.

Smiles dress them daily

and together they dance through life -

this is what freedom is.

Hooded Mother

It ends her life –

never her choice,

the moment of birth

delivers shackles.

Isolated in her private grief

the numbness invades her marrow.

Thrown daily between stark

awareness and blank existence

she lurches drunkenly

with only solitary fallen comets

to remind her

what freedom was like.

Homecomings - DADT

Homecomings are times of celebration. These are great occasions when the people who have been away return home. They return to a place of safety and comfort. A place where all barriers have been removed, all formalities have been taken away and you can relax and be yourself. Homecomings are occasions when the ones who have been away are greeted with joy by those who have remained and also happily reacquaint themselves with those other travellers who are returning to the familiar base. Well, that is the theory…

I knew that there was a homecoming anniversary gathering and I was going home. Yet I was nervous for a multitude of reasons. The relaxation that should have accompanied me was missing. The barriers that I hope were absent were present and the formal behaviour replaced the friendship that used to easily exist.

I went back to my home church to celebrate 50 years since the building had been dedicated for worship. I was greeted, with genuine affection, by several people. I had expected their continued friendship; we had kept in touch over the years. I was also met by sideward glances and frosty practiced smiles on an otherwise bright and beautiful day by those who evidently didn’t expect or want to see me there. 34 years ago my family moved to the area and joined the local church. We grew up in that environment. It was my home.

The day of celebration was punctuated with songs, readings and gifts to recognise long service within the church. The rolls of honour were read. People were applauded, lauded and honoured for their contributions to the Christian ministry and local community. I did not go there that day with expectations of any reward, and I was sat there quietly enjoying the shared memories until my son, who was sat beside me during the ceremony, spoke and it was then that I really acknowledged the missing evidence of my presence in the records.

Morgan was listening to the list of officers who had taken part in the youth club over the years and when they finished reading and were stepping down from the platform, he looked at me, aghast, and said, to everyone and no-one in particular – in what I thought was quite a loud voice – “What about my Mum?”

Embarrassed feet shuffled and heads turned away.

I hugged him and said “Never mind, darling. I know I was there. God knows why they left me out.”

The same thing happened again and again. One after another groups that I belonged to reformed without me. Some people suggested I go and join them on the platform. I laughed at the idea of a mass exodus if I went to the front of the church. I declined politely and remained where I was. The church authorities, in their wisdom, could not see me so I chose to remain invisible to them that day.

My nephew, who now lives in Swansea, and who also grew up in the church community decided not to attend – for his own reasons. When he called me on my return home he asked a simple question.

“Well, how did they treat you?”

“They ignored me for the most part, Daniel,” I said, with a deep sigh. “To be expected I guess. I don’t fit in their picture. They can’t bring themselves to tell me outright to keep away, however they can choose to publicly ignore my contributions.”

I mainly went to support my sister and another nephew who have remained in the area and who are alienated within the church, but my presence seemed to exacerbate the situation - being part of my family means that they are treated as contaminated as well. My link with them is also a constant reminder of my ‘leper’ status within the church ‘family’.

My home is not with them.

There will be no future homecoming events for me with people who don’t acknowledge the person that I am. I’m sure that Christ, the Man the church congregation claims to follow, would not agree with the estrangement of His family members.

I broke the cardinal rule with them years ago. I ignored the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell law. When homophobia was rife in the groups I was part of I stood up and said I found it offensive and unChrist-like. I outed myself, and they’ve never got used to it. They cannot accept that the person they loved and played with through all those years is gay.

It’s not my problem. It’s theirs.

I am home now.

I know why I live so far from them now. I know why for the first time in three decades I haven’t moved every three years; I have now stayed in one place for 14 years. I have found a home and I keep coming back to it.

I don’t need their homecoming to celebrate my existence. I do that everyday when I awaken in my peaceful haven.

I am home.

Daily court is in session

We do not react too well when others judge us … as drivers, friends, parents, lovers. What happens when we judge ourselves? Are we harsher than others or too lenient?

For the past three weeks I have been thinking about being my own judge. I know that I give myself a hard time. And that’s even with knowing more about me than others do!

Judgement – whatever source it comes from - always seems unfair, harsh and painful. When I examine myself and find fault (as that’s what this judgement session seems to be about) it always hurts.

I think that if I find an area of my life that I am not entirely satisfied with then I will examine it – rather than judge myself – and find a solution to make things better. Instead of castigating myself I will encourage myself.

I know that this will produce a quicker and more positive change rather than feeling the self-imposed burden of being condemned as wrong. Condemnation, personal or not, often has the feeling of a large boulder falling on me, one that I can never move, so I stay prone under the weight of the hurt.

Encouragement is like the multiple strong levers placed under the obstacle to remove it and to make a clear path for forward movement.

So on this day I promise I will be fair and kind to myself. I will encourage myself … forward.