Beauty and peace in a sunrise at Cavas Wine Lodge in Mendoza.
(Photo by M.G.H.)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Keeping it real
While traveling recently, I had the privilege of flying in business class for a leg of the trip. Thankfully, it came after a flight traveled in coach class, which prompted the following reflection:
I must admit a dichotomy in my senses: awe and appreciation for the feeling of limitlessness and pleasure in the taste of luxury; but also, discomfort and disillusionment at the implications, especially in the stark contrast in treatment between coach and business classes.
It is a reminder in humility and staying grounded that the same person can be treated without significance on one flight and waited on hand and foot 4 hours later. If ever there were evidence that money rules our society, it is this situation. Nothing about me has changed in the last four hours, except perhaps the newly acquired (and much-bemoaned) stain on my shirt. And, if anything, in today's image-conscious world, this would make me less likely to be the subject of groveling.
Note to self: Remember this, should you ever be in situations where others esteem you. Attention is fickle and the only thing that could be more uncomfortable than coach class is facing yourself when others' opinion of you deflates and you realize you bought into the illusion of being more important than you are.
I must admit a dichotomy in my senses: awe and appreciation for the feeling of limitlessness and pleasure in the taste of luxury; but also, discomfort and disillusionment at the implications, especially in the stark contrast in treatment between coach and business classes.
It is a reminder in humility and staying grounded that the same person can be treated without significance on one flight and waited on hand and foot 4 hours later. If ever there were evidence that money rules our society, it is this situation. Nothing about me has changed in the last four hours, except perhaps the newly acquired (and much-bemoaned) stain on my shirt. And, if anything, in today's image-conscious world, this would make me less likely to be the subject of groveling.
Note to self: Remember this, should you ever be in situations where others esteem you. Attention is fickle and the only thing that could be more uncomfortable than coach class is facing yourself when others' opinion of you deflates and you realize you bought into the illusion of being more important than you are.
Monday, September 20, 2010
12 months
A year ago today I received the "last word" from my ex-boyfriend via an email. The past twelve months have brought freedom, struggles, independence, sadness, but above all, a renewed sense of self. Today I celebrate my growth, the distance I've traveled and the way Life marches on.
My "last word"? Silence.
My "last word"? Silence.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Long time no see!
I've been out of the country for the last two weeks. I had hoped to do a setup post beforehand but after pulling two all-nighters before my departure, I realized that wasn't going to happen. I'm back now after a wonderful trip to Argentina (more on that to come), but for now, this is how I feel after traveling for 30 hours and then working a full day.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Happy 'tails'
If Friday's post examined the cruelty and double standards of human treatment of animals, let this one tell the story of redemption and love. Check out the new beginnings of these lovable little ones and the fantastic humans who went to great lengths to save them. Be sure to vote on your favorite dog story and, of course, the kitties' too!
A closing thought from St. Francis of Assisi:
If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.Update 8/23: Voting is now closed.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Questioning Tradition
When a man wants to murder a tiger he calls it sport; when the tiger wants to murder him he calls it ferocity. ~George Bernard Shaw
A story out of northern Spain reported today exemplifies this perfectly. Spectators in the stands at a bullfight had the tables turned when the bull jumped the barrier and used his power against them. Let me preface my remarks: My heart and prayers go out to the injured, especially the 10-year-old boy who is in intensive care as a result. Having said that, I can't help but question the senselessness of this situation.
I remember silent tears sliding down my cheeks when I attended a bullfight in Spain more than a decade ago. The injustice of a system entirely stacked against this mighty creature; the indignity of a death wished for and cheered by hundreds who paid to see it (i.e., to bring it about) sickened me.
I was an unwilling, albeit ignorant, accomplice. While I knew there would be a man teasing a bull, I had no idea there were two other men assigned to weaken the bull's neck muscles by stabbing it repeatedly (if acrobatically). The punctures are "gentle" enough for the paying public to be satisfied with a drawn-out dramatic event, in which the best case scenario would include the unscathed matador delivering the final blow to the bull and being awarded the animal's ears as a trophy. Not all "fights" unfold that way, as we saw this May when a matador was gored in the throat.
French musician Francis Cabrel wrote a song from the bull's perspective called "La Corrida." Two favorite verses from that song roughly translate as such:
Ils ont frappés fort dans mon coup [They struck my neck hard]
pour que je m'incline [so that I would bow]
Ils sortent d'oú, ces acrobates? [They're coming from where, these acrobats?]
Avec leurs costumes de papier? [With their costumes of paper?]
J'ai jamais appris a me battre [I never learned to fight]
contre des poupées [against dolls]
...
Je les entends rire comme je rale [I hear them laugh as I groan]
Je les vois danser comme je succombe [I see them dance as I die]
Je ne pensais pas qu'on puisse autant s'amuser [I never thought one could have so much fun]
Autour d'une tombe [around a tomb]
The saddest part of today's story is that the bull was killed for acting on the instincts it was bred to have and for venting its rage at the indignity of its existence.
Who's ferocious now?
***
From beasts we scorn as soulless,
In forest, field and den,
The cry goes up to witness
The soullessness of men.
~M. Frida Hartley
A story out of northern Spain reported today exemplifies this perfectly. Spectators in the stands at a bullfight had the tables turned when the bull jumped the barrier and used his power against them. Let me preface my remarks: My heart and prayers go out to the injured, especially the 10-year-old boy who is in intensive care as a result. Having said that, I can't help but question the senselessness of this situation.
I remember silent tears sliding down my cheeks when I attended a bullfight in Spain more than a decade ago. The injustice of a system entirely stacked against this mighty creature; the indignity of a death wished for and cheered by hundreds who paid to see it (i.e., to bring it about) sickened me.
I was an unwilling, albeit ignorant, accomplice. While I knew there would be a man teasing a bull, I had no idea there were two other men assigned to weaken the bull's neck muscles by stabbing it repeatedly (if acrobatically). The punctures are "gentle" enough for the paying public to be satisfied with a drawn-out dramatic event, in which the best case scenario would include the unscathed matador delivering the final blow to the bull and being awarded the animal's ears as a trophy. Not all "fights" unfold that way, as we saw this May when a matador was gored in the throat.
French musician Francis Cabrel wrote a song from the bull's perspective called "La Corrida." Two favorite verses from that song roughly translate as such:
Ils ont frappés fort dans mon coup [They struck my neck hard]
pour que je m'incline [so that I would bow]
Ils sortent d'oú, ces acrobates? [They're coming from where, these acrobats?]
Avec leurs costumes de papier? [With their costumes of paper?]
J'ai jamais appris a me battre [I never learned to fight]
contre des poupées [against dolls]
...
Je les entends rire comme je rale [I hear them laugh as I groan]
Je les vois danser comme je succombe [I see them dance as I die]
Je ne pensais pas qu'on puisse autant s'amuser [I never thought one could have so much fun]
Autour d'une tombe [around a tomb]
The saddest part of today's story is that the bull was killed for acting on the instincts it was bred to have and for venting its rage at the indignity of its existence.
Who's ferocious now?
***
From beasts we scorn as soulless,
In forest, field and den,
The cry goes up to witness
The soullessness of men.
~M. Frida Hartley
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Just learned about ...
... yarnbombing! This NYC image is courtesy of KT Tunstall's Facebook feed and the term tip-off was from her FB friend who encouraged everyone to check out other examples online. I have to admit: I love the concept: "...reclaiming and personalizing sterile or cold public places" (Wikipedia).
I love the sense of play, the non-destructive nature of it and the push to make the urban landscape a little more friendly. Knit on, yarnbombers, knit on!
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