An aquaintance of ours suffered a stroke last year. He is an intelligent man with two professional engineering degrees. His mind was largely unaffected, but he is now physically impaired and requiring ongoing rest home care. He is in a horrible situation, unable to relate easily to his fellow residents who are elderly and largely demented whereas he is not, dependent on nurses, no longer able to get out and about by himself, and with regards much of what the rest of us commonly take for granted, has suffered a great many losses. Strokes are so cruel when they suddenly steal so much of one’s lifestyle and leave such cause for grief in their wake.

Today we paid a visit, having to drive for some distance to get there. We had called beforehand but there was no answer. Of course, it would have been lunch time and everyone taken to the dining room for their meal. But we went anyway as he is usually “at home” that time of day. As things had come about, we were one of the few who now bothered to visit at all since he could no longer join in as before. Life moves on often leaving the incapacitated behind. We had just arrived and barely said “hello” when his partner (now living on her own) arrived too and immediately hurried him up to get ready for a gym appointment that she had made. He would need to get a move on and there was no time for talking. He would have to miss our visit. This woman was in charge now, the decisions being all hers, and she called the shots. We left.

The stroke had robbed him of much of his lifestyle, his independence, mobility and freedom of choice. The rest home, despite all their best efforts, was assisting him to become institutionalized. His partner, possibly quite well intentioned, was robbing him of much that was left. He was often telling us by phone that he was “going mad” in this situation. We hoped the frustration would help energize his rehabilitation, but it seems that he has reached the “plateau” and progress has now slowed to a stop. He had got as far as he could go, and the frustration was driving like lasers through his brain, together with its causes burning up what was left of any self determination, integrity and (for want of a better word) personhood.

So much of this is about control. He had lost a great deal of that, thanks to the stroke, and what was left was being usurped from him some more. It was a relief to hear of a belligerent episode he had with a very managing nurse, but unfortunately the nurse ruled regardless. A little rebellion does not go amiss and it is a shame that his carers did not read the message in the language it occurred.

I remember failing a job interview once when, given the scenario of an elderly and almost blind gentleman insisting on having his bedroom light left on at night, I did not come down on the authoritarian “you must behave yourself and switch it off” side of the management options. Since the light would have disturbed no-one, it was one interview I was very glad to have “failed” as working in such an environment would have surely been dreadful. Likewise, a nurse once looking after my mother during a brief stay in hospital, called me to request that I bring in some “day clothes” so that her patient could be dressed “properly” despite the fact she was so ill that she threw up each time she sat up. My mother, resisting the increasing dependency and wanting to determine for herself what she wore, did not want to be dressed thus. I was often put in these tricky situations, and so asked the nurse for her reasons. To prevent bedsores, I was told. Sure! Of course, there is considerably less risk of bedsores when wearing a petticoat and dress compared to a nightgown and robe, all else being equal. Those day clothes stayed at home and recovery occurred smoothly without any sign of a bedsore. Taking control away from others is often a bad move when there is no good cause for doing so.

Losing control creates a cabbage. That is the horrible description one hears for those who are near a vegetative state of being through whatever cause. Take away control without good reason and that has much the same result. People are not cabbages, not even in a vegetative state, but their “personhood” can so easily be overlooked to render them such in the eyes of some - including those who are otherwise very well meaning.

How much freedom do you think we have? And how much responsibility goes with such freedom?

I remember being told very early in the piece that with privilege comes responsibility, that one does not exist without the other - or should not, if one was a decent human being. I think the same can be said for freedom, since freedom is a privilege clearly not shared by all in this world. But what exactly is this responsibility that we have? To what extent must it be for others, and how much for ourselves?

The editors of the two NZ papers which printed the Muhammad cartoons yesterday apologized in a meeting with Muslim leaders and convened by the Race Relations Commissioner. They apologized for the offense caused, but did not resile from the decision to publish. In return, the Muslim leaders recognized freedom-of-the-press issues. The president of the (NZ) Federation of Islamic Associations felt it had been a successful outcome.

But what exactly is responsibility when it comes to personal reactions? If you do something that I find to be offensive, and someone else did not find to be offensive, then does that mean you did two different things? No, of course you didn’t. You did one thing, but there were two reactions. In fact, there can be as many reactions as there are people to react. So who is responsible for the reactions that occur - you, or the people reacting?

Two women are baking cakes in their kitchens, both of them using identical recipes. Coincidentally, both of them leave out the raising agent and the resultant cakes turn out to be a bit of a mess. One of the women, on taking her cake out of the oven, gapes in horror and then worries and starts the negative “self talk” that drags herself down into hopeless despair and self-loathing. Yes, there are many people around whose self esteem rest entirely on their achievements and can brook no failure without it reflecting in a somewhat fragile self image. But the other woman, on seeing her cake, gives a sigh of frustration but matter-of-factly sets about planning how to recover without any harm done. She does not catastrophize nor relate this to her own self esteem. Two quite different reactions to the identical situation, and each the responsibility of the owner of the reaction.

Two men have insults thrown at them, but in a language that they do not understand and so they have no idea what was said. They look at each other and pull one of those faces that says “Did you get that? Neither did I.” They did not feel insulted - not because no insults were thrown at them, but because they did not comprehend. Again they have the same insults thrown at them, this time in their own language which they do understand. The words are heard and a huge network of neurons fire within their brains, both cognitive and affective associations being made. One simply laughs and walks away. The other raises his fists and fights back. Who is responsible for each of their quite different reactions?

Now if I did something that you find to be offensive, I can certainly feel sorry that you have reacted that way, and I am likely to even say that - “I am sorry!” or “I am sorry that you are offended by what I did.” It is quite possible that I might even, out of compassion, say “I am sorry that I offended you” since I know it is not a pleasant experience to feel offended. But that is not to say that I should be blaming myself for your offence taken because, in fact, it was you and not me who is responsible for your own reaction. Would I do it again, knowing that you will be offended? Well… it would very much depend on what exactly it was that I did, and how important in the larger scheme of things it was that I did. I may not wish to offend you, but it may be that there are even more important things to consider. And this is where responsibility comes into the equation. The responsibility to consider all things and to make the decision that I honestly believe to be best.

So our two newspaper editors apologized for the offense caused, and the Muslim leaders recognized the freedom-of-the-press issues. I’m not exactly sure what that means. I would like to think that they took responsibility for their own reactions, but I have not been told that they did. If we are all to enjoy certain freedoms, which in this world are priveleges that all do not have, then we have a matter of responsibility to consider. Is it that we must be responsible for the reactions of others, and if so, to what degree are we responsible?

I think I have been hearing many say that we are indeed responsible for the reaction of others - that the Press is therefore irresponsible to publish information that will have negative social outcomes.

But just a moment… what about those who are doing the reacting? What about their own responsibilty for the attitudes and beliefs that they hold, and to curb their reactions in the interests of preventing negative social outcomes. Is responsibility to be abrogated for them? No, this is a both ways affair. And what about the responsibility we have to protect our freedoms, and to exert them despite the fact that not all will react in the same way? Oh-oh, there is much to consider in this whole big issue, and just right now when I observe the events on the world stage, it is still looking awfully one-sided to me.

Now that Christmas is not so far away, we are having a fresh round of them… the end-of-year cocktail party.

I go when invited but more out of curiosity than anything else. It is always the same. How easy it would be to hang out in a corner balancing a glass of something, paper napkin and fussy nibble, and not get to speak to anyone at all. Why must it always be me to initiate and maintain a conversation, or else stand around on my own? How much the others like to talk about themselves with seldom a genuine question in return. Then when there is space for some comment, all care must be taken to keep it well under 50 words max as the average cocktail party attention span usually doesn’t go over that. Brief, witty and pithy is what works.

Sometimes it is more inspiring just to observe. So few people really listen, really attend, or show any real interest on these occasions. My observations have lead me to contemplate just how self-centred we can be. Last night, although I spoke with others, listened and responded thoughtfully - bright, witty and pithy - nobody, absolutely nobody, asked me anything pertaining to myself at all. What a dull and boring type I must appear! I should probably ask my hairdresser to dye my locks that new electric lime colour next time. Maybe that would provoke a question. Or might I just be marginalized back into the corner with a plate of delicious chocolate-dipped strawberries all to myself? Given the strawberries and a half-good shiraz, things could always be worse.

Know how to listen and you will profit even from those who talk badly. Plutarch

Sometimes these thoughts on self-centredness lead me back to this whole blogging thing. Why do I think anyone is really interested in what I have to say? And interested enough that I should publish it world-wide at that? Well, I did say in the beginning that this was kind of an experiment… I’d see how it worked out.

But there are things that I believe important to be made known. There is a lot of misinformation and ignorance out there in the world, folks being fooled into following what has been dishonestly told to them, or not asking good questions and listening, really listening, to whether the answers make any real sense. Sometimes it seems that the 50 words max attention span is not just a cocktail party phenomenon, fish bowled for more poignant revelation, but true of the rest of life also. How much do we prefer to talk than to listen? After all, it takes effort to actively listen, to think critically about what is heard, and to respond appropriately with some perceptiveness, sensitivity and understanding. It may also require a change of mind, but the odds are high that something worthwhile will be learnt from doing so. And although it may be quite blatantly self-centred of me to consider my thoughts worthy of world-wide publication, I still hope that doing so may have others consider what truth they know and what it is that actually verifies it.

It is what we know already that often prevents us from learning. Claude Bernard

The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn. Alvin Toffler

Proverbs 18: 2 A fool finds no pleasure in understanding but delights in airing his own opinions.

One of Leonard Bernstein’s best serious compositions is the five movement Serenade for orchestra and violin. The movements are each named after characters in Plato’s dialogue, The Symposium, and the setting is a banquet at the house of Agathon where the host, Socrates, and others speak on the subject of love. Bernstein wrote of his composition:

“The music, like the dialogue, is a series of related statements in praise of love, and generally follows the Platonic form throughout the succession of speakers at the banquet. The relatedness of the movements does not depend on common thematic material, but rather on a system whereby each movement evolves out of elements of the preceding one.”

The elderly Israeli lady whom we normally find sitting next to us at NZSO concerts was not there the other night. We usually enjoy her entertaining insights and perceptive little comments on members of the orchestra, but we know she is not one for 20th century composers… which probably explained her absence. I cannot make such a blanket statement about any “Age” of music as I often find something to like in all of them. On this occasion we were treated to the exceptionally brilliant talents of Taiwanese-American virtuoso violinist, Cho-Liang Lin, who seeks out contemporary composers and puts heart and soul into his playing. The performance was pure magic for me, but not so for hubby who prefers a common theme to an evolving development of elements. For neither he nor our absent companion, despite his physical presence, did it start where either of them happened to be.

So how many places can one person be? Whereas one’s body is anchored to a set of physical dimensions, it is fun that the mind can experience some freedom from those physical restrictions and travel the realm of ideas. We can find ourselves in many places that way. And in varying degrees, according to the measure we each have of the ability to empathize with others, we can also place ourselves where another happens to be.

The other day someone who said he was not very religious voiced a question about God, about how one can know for sure that God exists. Not being very religious, this was more of a casual interest… just a question he had in the back of his mind, he said. What I was hearing from him was no pressing need expressed on his part, no intensive search after God. It was just a question… rather like one might wonder at breakfast time what one should plan for dinner tonight. To my way of thinking, a good answer should meet the nature of the question, and in this case using this analogy be appealing to someone who had just eaten breakfast and is not too serious about dinner just yet. Of course, the faint wafting aroma of newly baked bread and freshly ground coffee can arouse the appetite of even the most replete breakfaster. Savouring this can lead to a pleasurable anticipation of dinner later in the day. On the other hand, the immediate delivery of a second plate of bacon, sausages and eggs is just too much, and when served up with the ubiquitous epithet “Enjoy!” or some other supposedly well meaning comment that overshoots the mark, I cannot leave the scene quickly enough. Yes to the aroma, but No to the second helping. That does not start where I happen to be.

On the one hand I enjoy and applaud the enthusiasm of Christians for whom the Gospel message is so evident in their lives, and completely understand their wish (and our Lord’s command) to share the truth. I appreciate the sense of urgency that goes with it too. And yet on the other hand, I find my own enthusiasm is tempered by another consideration. It is not I who deals with the souls of others, but it is the work of God who uses me. Therefore I must listen to His voice and heed His direction. There is a little matter of obedience, of self control and discipline, and something that I see as being the hallmark of God… that which He gives matches perfectly the need that exists. I believe that God starts where someone happens to be.

Sometimes people talk funny.

A classic example in this country is when a receptionist type person wants to know your name.
The question put is this: "What was your name?"
Sometimes the ratbag in me escapes and I choose a response from one of the following…
- You want my maiden name? (said with some surprise)
- Same as it was before. (said nodding enthusiastically)
- It hasn't changed lately. (said with a slight head shake)

I get the most amazed stares when I do that.
So I repeat my response, or swap it for one of the others to see if that goes down any differently.
Usually it doesn't at all.
Eventually I have to come to the rescue with (said as though I have just made a discovery) "Oh, you mean you want to know what is my name?"
By then the poor hapless receptionist type, fixing me with smouldering eyes, is quite ready to arrange my admission to some asylum as far away as possible.

Today I heard another quaint little gem.
The receptionist concerned was talking to the caller on the other end of the phone, someone who did not cause too much of a problem when asked what was her name.
The next question was "How do I spell that?"
Had that been asked of me, my ratbag would likely have replied "Well, I guess that is up to you. I can't really answer that."

Oh, you really meant to ask "How do you spell that?" Silly me. I should have corrected the pronoun for you. Well I guess I just did.

Why don't people say what they really mean?

OK, time to trot off and digest another helping of the dictionary.

Have you ever noticed how critics so often put themselves above the object of their criticism?
A critic being someone who was not fooled, someone really cool, someone who so often knows better.

Did I really know much (if any) more than whoever selects quotations for our morning newspaper?
You could say that whoever selected a quotation may have meant for some nitpicky type to have some kind of reaction, and hopefully blog about it somewhere to add further energy to the ripples radiating out from centre.
Maybe I was just a pawn in a little game. And even worse, maybe I was so gullible that I had not even recognized my humble place in the far greater scheme of things?

OK, time to reframe the whole thing…

That was not criticism - it was merely an observation. I was not playing the critic - I was just an observor.
An observor has a more comfortable role, there on the sidelines, not actually participating, not really doing anything for which they could possibly be called accountable, a kind of lack-courage position.
Oh-oh, maybe that's not so comfortable either. After all, I wouldn't want anyone to see anything in me that could have me branded a coward!

How about musings? I was just thinking, mulling over aloud, generously sharing some private thoughts.
Yes, that sounds much better. That shows I actually have something surrounding the ventricles enclosed by my skull, and even some of their number appear connected and firing, randomly though that may be. I probably won't have to be so accountable for musings. Perhaps even the ancient Muses had something to do with it, and I was just converting to words primordial vibrations detected from the cosmic unconscious… or something like that?

Oh yes, Judah, how much you like to think in spirals and tangents, playing the sounds of words in an orchestra of meanings, following will o' the wisps in the marshes of musings! I know you, Judah, you're pulling our legs!
Who me? You know I wouldn't do that. Well, don't you?

Beware of musings!
Cognition precedes behaviour, and beneath our thoughts lie our beliefs and attitudes from which they were born. Our thoughts may well be the little piggies in the middle, but no matter what their names (criticism, observation, musings) it is the little piggies that will eventually have their way.
Beware the little piggies!

A blog it is a funny thing
Full of words, a song to sing
A way of saying what I like
As ratbag, rascal, little tyke

What I write is what I think
The moment paper contacts ink
Or keyboard keys depress on touch
Just as my gears of thought declutch

You who read may have your say
Click on "comments", do I pray
Add your bit and share a line
Have your piggies play with mine!

Oink oink?

I have just noticed that our morning newspaper quotes a couple or so Bible verses in a little corner advertisement, probably meant to inspire us throughout the day.

Today's words were from Romans, chapter 2, verses 6-8

God will give to each person according to what he has done. To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honour and immortality, he will give eternal life. But to those who are self-seeking and who reject the truth and follow evil, there will be wrath and anger.

My teenager told me today that his cousin had said he must come to her sister's dinner party. I believed it was unlikely my niece would have put it that way, so I asked what exactly were her words.

Son: "Would you come to the party?"
Me: "But that is asking you, not telling you."
Son: "But I thought she meant she wanted me to come."
Me: "She might well like you to come, which could be why she was asking you. But I don't hear her telling you to come."

So much fiction is passed around in conversations, the senders telling what they believe to be true, the receivers believing what they think they are hearing, and all the while the real substance of the message is becoming tweaked, coloured and thereby lost in transmission. What originally stood up to rational inquiry rightly falls over later due to irrational embellishments, context gets changed, and what is heresay becomes honoured with the same credibility as eye-witness accounts.
The same goes for reading something that is written.
It is so much easier (and lazier) to "read into something" by neglecting to think rationally about what those words actually meant. A lot of personal "hidden agendas" sneak into the message that way.
My son clearly had one in the conversation quoted above, wanting to go to the party and thinking his cousin would have more sway with me than himself.
Sometimes these agendas are conscious, a deliberate dishonest manipulation of meaning, but more often than not they are simply bad habits of thinking that lead eventually to believing misinformation without even the awareness anymore to discern truth from falsehood.
Thereby we deceive ourselves and distort our own perceptions.

Are you sure what you have read is indeed what I wrote?
Are you sure what you have heard is indeed what I said?