Small-time Prophets

I am sure she would object to the term “prophet,” or rather she would laugh at me and say, “You are so funny, sweetie!” As if! She really is that, or at least one of them: a small-time prophet.

Leading a quiet life, by example. No big words, no crowds of followers, no fame to be gained. They just do it, because they know it’s the right thing to do. Many of them are mothers. And if they survive the hardships of childbirth and financial dependency, of sleep deprivation and subjugation of some degree or other without much complaint, it is so because they see the bigger picture.

And that’s what it’s ultimately about. The big picture! Of course, you know that it’s not about winning a war, founding the next multinational cooperation, or even becoming head principal. But what are you doing about it?

Well step one would be to adopt the golden rule and to live by it - without any ifs or buts. And believe me, children are good at holding you to it.

It takes a lot of work, most of all on yourself. And over the years, I have seen these women outgrow their partners and consequently being punished by them. A sad thing, but often inevitable in the world we still live in.

Luckily, most of my friends live in societies that embrace at least some basic principles of human (i.e., women’s) rights, so they weren’t burnt or mutilated for having become more self-reliant and independently happy over the years.

But a good life, and most certainly a deserved one, it is not. After having been deserted, betrayed and disparaged like other more notable ones before them, their lives are filled with daily hurdles. But as true captains of their souls, they manage.

Now, that’s an example to follow: Self-reliance and moral rectitude in the face of average human baseness. It’s all that matters.

The good news: These women are everywhere and those smart enough in this world will silently follow their example. Yes, I mean you guys!

She Said...

Some of the more obvious problems with organized religion is that, for one, the big three and most of the others all have male deities reigning over the lofty heavens. From Allah to Zarathustra, there is not that much gender variety (if we neglect, for a moment, the bare- bellied sidekicks of Shiva et al.).

But beyond that, the great prophets, those claiming to carry on the divine message on earth, were all male - or so we are told. Of course, we know better, but then that’s probably not something to be discussed over turkey and stuffings.

The backlash against women who have tried to impact this world with their thoughts has always been horrendous and continues to be so even today. Death and defamation hit them faster than they would have imagined. And so today, Mary Magdalene remains in the memory of the religious mob nothing but a lucky whore. Her teachings tossed into the Red Sea (...or was it the Black?).

Men are capable of that kind of thing. Nothing new.

And when some women bloggers in Germany today are told by investigators to tone down their messages and make their posts less ‘provocative’ to the sensitive ears of male supremacist, or else to expect their wrath in the shape of profanities and death threats, then it is nothing other than that:

Un-called for male posturing.

Just look at the world on the eve of 2011: Over-population, warfare, religious strive, sexual exploitation, torture, totalitarianism, nuclear proliferation, and melting poles...Not so great, guys! But thanks for flushing toilets and penicillin anyway!

He Shall Wipe Away All Tears

Without a construct of eternity or rebirth of some kind, of power beyond our limited means, without a benign entity welcoming us and our loved ones into its bottomless pool of love and forgiveness, death is the end of all and the source of all fear.

That is unless we seek to accept our existence on earth with humility and understand our deaths as mere molecular events in a greater picture that we will never grasp.

Pulling ahead!

In a way this is a very special Christmas for us this year. And so, as Matt is clanking away with a hammer on our US mega size turkey roasting tray to make it fit into a UK sized oven, we smile and toast for we have safely landed. Funny to think that it all started three years ago with us sawing apart our king sized bed at 2am one wintery morning on the day of our move to be able to move it up the narrow staircase of our new English home. Merry Christmas to all and everyone!

103

Three days of being out with one hundered and three is the best that has happened to me in a while.

Of Things to Come

Jules took the news of his best buddy’s mom dying, as a five-year old would. With extreme poise. Death to him is like a vague other-world, one that adults move around in that is infinitely less interesting than his own universe, which is inhabited by gnomes, talking ants and himself among other cool creatures. And to make us all feel better about his friend’s grim lot in life, he added, “When Ricky’s mom dies, she will come back as a little boy to play with him.” When I told J. that, she said that Ricky had come up with a very similar account of things to come, and that she was looking forward to it.

Winter Once More

This winter is like all winters
      Soon come and gone
    A succession of days lulled
      By the shadow of time

   Days drifting barely noticed
      Through the twilight
   Of our awareness at times
      Leaving silence in their wake

    Sameness, the never changing
      Fragrance of all days
    Left behind in a moment
      To behold once more

Dale of Sorrows

My head hurts from hours of silence. Of not crying.
The children have all seen it before, the swollen eyes, the quivering chin.
The days, maybe hours, while J. is still alive.

Out of this World

We had done it again. We had gone and wasted another perfectly good day at IKEA, impulse buying, ordering, and eating way too many meatballs with cranberry sauce. It was once again quite a journey. So much so, in fact, that Julian later on, while bending over a world map in the kitchen, looked up at me and asked, “Where is Ikealand actually?” I knew then, that we had overdone it this time.

Check!

Behold our great contribution to the xmas fair. I scrubbed off twenty labels, Lea cut ten rosemary sprigs and stuffed them into the bottles, Zoe cut out ten turtle doves. I say, it is done! Ten bottles of Extra Virgin olive oil. Let the fair begin...I'll be back later!