Tomorrow’s my birthday. I’m old, and only getting older as each minute passes.

Birthdays have somehow lost their luster over the years. They’ve become less of an event, more of an ordeal.

Anticipation is replaced with gentle reminders of our mortality, usually by virtue of friends making fun of our age.

Yes, I know I’m closer to 40 than 30. Thanks.

Instead of blowing out a candle for every year lived, we blow out candles in the shape of numbers, lest we risk setting off the smoke detector.

Instead of dreaming about the future, we’re taking stock of where we are and what we’ve done.

We wonder what’s left.

But it wasn’t always like this.

I can still remember my sixth birthday.

I was in first grade.

That was the year I got what has become one of my two favorite birthday presents of all time:

Hungry Hungry Hippos.

I didn’t even know it existed before I tore into a bright shiny box, wrapped with colorful paper and ribbon and found myself staring down in wonderment.

It was just a game. An inexpensive, plastic game. I didn’t even know I wanted it until it was mine.

But I loved that game more than just about any toy I’ve ever owned—more than any present I ever asked for.

These days, if you were to ask me what I wanted for my birthday, I’d say a career doing what I love. I’d say stability.

I’d rattle  off a half dozen intangible things that aren’t for sale.

It’s less about what I want and more about what I need.

But perhaps all I really need is to find myself staring down in wonderment at something I never knew existed—something I didn’t know I wanted until it was mine.

Mohn Light

Freiheit bedeutet Verantwortlichkeit;

das ist der Grund, warum sich die meisten Menschen vor ihr fürchten.

George Bernard Shaw

*

Jeff Gamso at “Gamso – For the Defense” put up a thoughtful post that is responsive to the question I posed in my entry on the Gallup poll numbers.  You can visit check out his insightful analysis here: http://gamso-forthedefense.blogspot.com/2009/11/numbers-speak.html.

A couple of weeks back, on a casual churning of television channels, happened to catch the old Gol Maal, of Amol Palekar. I picked it up in the middle somewhere, but spent the next couple of hours or so, watching it. And thoroughly enjoying it.

I had a very high regard for Amol Palekar, the actor. And if not for Paheli which he directed and made a disaster of, I would have retained that old respect and regard for him. I must find a way to erase the memories of Paheli, and retain the Chupke Chupke, Chit Chor and Gol Maal of Amol Palekar.

What amazed me about Gol Maal in particular, and that cinema represented by the Amol Palekar touch that time, was the simple innocence involved. Where a real boy-next-door or girl-next-door could be the hero-heroine and the film would still run to packed houses. No larger-than-life, no whirlwind romance, no international locations. Just a simple day to day life story, which a large number of middle class Indians could completely identify with, and enjoy.

Of course, popular cinema is truly representative of the mood of the nation at that time. And in earlier days, mood was also morose, and we had tear jerkers that became hits too. Am glad that those times are gone!

But I repent the loss of those innocent Amol Palekar times. You shave a moustache, go see an India hockey match, get together with friends in a simple garden and sing songs, and go and put in a hard day’s work, and be blissfully happy with the 800/- salary + 200/- conveyance that you get. Ahh.. the good old days!

What’s happened now?

Just far too many books to read, movies to see, video games to play, friends to meet, restaurants to go and eat at, pubs and lounges to try out, new beers to chill with, fascinating destinations to visit, cars to drive, groups to participate in…. list is endless.

And yet.. and yet.. one thing has not changed.

We still only have 24 hours in a day.

And this insane obsession that we don’t want to miss out (if we can help) on that one more book, that one more restaurant, that one more place to visit, that one more television program..

So while I would be perfectly happy in spending say, a good 4 hours, just listening to Panchamda’s music – and doing nothing else – and find immense enjoyment and satisfaction in doing so, do I do so?

As long as I have the mobile phone with me, can I control the urge to go check emails or look at my Twitter feed, for something interesting that might have come in?

Constant multitasking.

Somewhere in that, we have lost the Amol Palekar innocence and put ourselves into the Matrix mould.

I want to be different. Watch this space..

In October, Gallup released figures regarding its most recent poll on the death penalty.  The report is available on the Death Penalty Information Center website here.

The most cited figures from Gallup reflect two continuing trends: (1) “65% of Americans continue to support the use of the death penalty for persons convicted of murder (show[ing] little change over the last six years);” and (2) when posed with life imprisonment as an alternative to the death penalty for convicted murderers, “47% said they preferred the death penalty (48% favored life imprisonment).”  While these numbers are obviously important to people who care about the death penalty, I took a particular interest in a somewhat surprising and perverse related Gallup finding.

According to the Poll, “59% of Americans agree[] that within the last five years, ‘a person has been executed under the death penalty who was, in fact, innocent of the crime he or she was charged with.’”  As the report points out:

However, for many Americans, agreement with the assertion that innocent people have been put to death does not preclude simultaneous endorsement of the death penalty. A third of all Americans, 34%, believe an innocent person has been executed and at the same time support the death penalty. This is higher than the 23% who believe an innocent person has been executed and simultaneously oppose the death penalty.

In August, the Supreme Court of the United States granted an original writ for habeas corpus and ordered a District Court to hold an evidentiary hearing in Troy Davis’s innocence case.  Justice Scalia, joined by Justice Thomas dissented from the order.  In his dissent, Scalia suggested that the U.S. Constitution may not actually prohibit the execution of an innocent individual:

This Court has never held that the Constitution forbids the execution of a convicted defendant who has had a full and fair trial but is later able to convince a habeas court that he is “actually” innocent. Quite to the contrary, we have repeatedly left that question unresolved, while expressing considerable doubt that any claim based on alleged “actual innocence” is constitutionally cognizable.

Although his statement about the Court’s precedent is legally accurate, that Scalia might not find the execution of an innocent person constitutionally objectionable seemed to shock the consciousness of many members of the legal community (including Alan Dershowitz, Dahlia Lithwick, and other observers).

But, in this instance, the views of those offended in the legal profession may not accurately reflect the views of people in society at large.  Although I thought Scalia’s comments would generate more public outrage on a wide scale, people seemed relatively unmoved.  Could it really be that people who believe that the State executes innocent people support the death penalty nonetheless?  How could one simultaneously hold both beliefs?

Whatever the explanation, the Gallup numbers present anti-death penalty advocates with a serious dilemma.  Many anti-death penalty folks believed that a public understanding that the system fails to ensure that people who are executed were actually guilty of the crime for which they have been convicted would lead to a decline in support for capital punishment.  The Gallup numbers undercut the force of this assumption.  Indeed, the controversy surrounding Texas’s execution of Cameron Todd Willingham – though serious – has not yet generated a societal backlash against the death penalty.  The numbers also partly rebut the Marshall Hypothesis.  Former Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall speculated that support for the death penalty would decline as people came to understand how the system breaks down at numerous points in the process.  The Gallup poll suggests that he may have been too hopeful.

All things considered, the recent Gallup poll may leave one to wonder what can be done… As always, I look for suggestions…

The Princess, Memphis, TN, 1928

What sir, would you make a ship sail against the wind and currents by lighting a bonfire under her deck? I pray you excuse me. I have no time to listen to such nonsense.

—Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte

The people you situate yourself with will influence you, no matter how distant you stay. The people that are around you know you the best, even if you are unpredictable! Yet the people that say they know you are the people that really know you the least. We think we know someone, but really we have no idea. I never really let anyone into my life, but we’re all insecure about somethings, right? No one really knows what it’s like to be me, and that goes for everyone. We’re unique, just like everybody else. People in your life will hurt you, fact. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt people. Everyone goes through heart-ache through a time, whether it loss, relief, love or even happiness. Just remember, you don’t know me. You don’t know what it’s like to be me or to be inside of my brain. You will not be able to break my innocence of being me.

Marion Kate Slocum, 1924

You don`t swing where you sleep.

—Sammy Davis, Jr.

 

The moment of change is the only poem.

—Adrienne Rich

I’ve noticed a pattern throughout my life so far.
It’s a method of how to determine what I’m feeling during a certain phase in my life.

{I label phases my life by certain bands, or genres of music.}

So what on earth does it mean that I don’t enjoy any music at all now?

What now?

{to gain innocence, did I have to gain experience?}

vancouver aquarium.

emily and i went to the aquarium with our cousins and their four young kids thursday.

little five-year-old leah and i were standing in front of a big batch of fish behind glass, swimming about, swimming about.

we were the only ones at this particular tank, besides this darling little blonde boy, probably just under three-years-old. he was resting his curious little pointer finger on the glass keeping this school of fish on their side and him on his. as the three of us watched, i asked leah, “what do you think the fish eat?”

i made eye contact with him too, to include him in the question, as he had sort of become my second audience member.

before she could respond, though i don’t think she had anything on the tip of her tongue anyways, he sort of turned to me and with all the innocence the world has ever known softly said one word,

“cake.”

i almost died. you should have seen my face.
it was like hope was resurrected out of the dirt somewhere in the world and trees bloomed something more beautiful and the sun felt happy for the first time in a hundred years so it shone that much brighter.
he actually thought fish eat cake. and to believe something so wonderful made my heart swell.

leah protested this idea, “no, they don’t.”

but i wasn’t about to take this kids dreams of cake-eating fish to the garbage can, so i said,

“maybe, hey? if i was a fish, i’d want to eat cake!!”

the little boy sort of stuck his finger in his mouth and drew his eyes back to the tank. to my relief, he didn’t look an ounce deterred.

i want to believe in a world where fish eat cake. 

At first there was only darkness, emptiness all around. There was nothing to feel, nothing that could be heard. But then she stirred and there was light. The girl’s eyes burned red as the light enveloped her and she was suddenly awake. The bright red light poured through her vision and pulsed into her mind and there was nothing else.

After a time, the girl began to become restless with the light and it seemed to grow dimmer for her until it was no more than a yellow haze, so then she opened her eyes and again the bright light consumed her, but this time she recoiled from it. As she clenched her eyes shut once more, she sensed the first tingling of feeling across her eyes and in surprise she yelped in pain. The feeling slowly intensified as the girl desperately tried to lose herself in it, but then it was spreading and her nerves began to scream at her.

Then there was nothing but pain. A pain that spread from her eyes across her face, through her sinuses to her ears and nose, and then mouth at which she screamed. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, the pain moved down her body consuming her heart and stomach, chest and legs, until she was clenching her fists and flailing her legs desperately.

It was when the pain had consumed her entire body and she was completely lost to it that a new sensation pierced her senses and poured down her arm from a desperate outstretched finger. Not pulsing and hot like the pain, but suddenly cool and soothing, and prickling with a new energy. Like the pain that it followed, the cold, ticklish feeling flowed over her until her skin was enveloped by the swirls of sensation that lashed over her body, making her gasp with relief and delight.

Slowly she moved her finger slightly, causing an ice-cold sliver to roll down her hand and back into her, and she gasped again and the movement caused fresh chills leaping across her chest and down her legs, and she consumed herself to the feeling, feeling which left her writhing with pleasure and gasping with delight at every fresh brush against her skin. The cold soon pulsed like the red hot pain and after a few seconds of blissful agony she collapsed again and lay still.

As her breathing slowed and the pulses of feeling faded away she finally opened her eyes once more; and there was light.

The sun was now peeking over the hills to the east and sending shafts of clear white light down on to the fields, and was caught in the raindrops hiding in the long grass. The lacklustre wind sent the blades gently billowing down across the rolling landscape, flying small patters of raindrops across the sunlight once more. In the coolness of the morning there were even a few spirits of frost hiding and spreading themselves out amongst the shrubbery, but they would run from the sun before too long. The light spirits danced over them singing and laughing merrily as they shrunk back from the heat, and started to sink back into the earth.

Eleanor looked at the world and saw that it was good.

She watched the light spirits for a while; the little glowing dancing figures of bright white which leapt over the fields and chased out the wide eyed creatures hiding in the shadows. One of the fairy-like spirits danced up to her and leapt through her hair and across her chest, and Eleanor giggled madly as the spirit landed elegantly on her knee, bowed, and ran off to follow the rising dawn.

Eleanor sat up gingerly, still smiling from the little shoots of feeling that the cold wind shot across her, but with a considerable sense of relief that it no longer was as strong as it was. Gingerly she tried to stand up, her feet sliding on the wet mud and sending her collapsing forward face first back into the grass. Laughing again, she struggled back up and got to her feet after another attempt.

The world around her filled her senses. The chattering birds in the trees to her left had calmed a little now since the light spirits had moved on, but instead sang their morning songs to the rustling trees. Eleanor looked down to the next field where the early mist still hovered and caught sight of the light spirits dancing round it, taunting the rain for wanting to stay in the bright morning. Slowly she took a few hesitant steps down the hill to the field, and when she was sure of herself, started to run.

Again, she couldn’t help but grin madly as the disturbed raindrops in the long grass splashed against her skin, and as her foot landed heavily in a puddle she caught the cry of alarm from the water spirit she had disturbed. She laughed and ran on, clambering over the fence which separated the fields and falling heavily into the mud on the other side. She shook her head, and took a brief glance at the mix of mud and a little blood that now covered her hands; before laughing at the shooting and fleeting pain and ran on towards the mist.

The light spirits opened up for her as she approached and began to dance round her, encouraging her to join in. Eleanor sprang up and kicked, and pranced, and waved, and sang with the flashing white spirits as the mist retreated before them. Just occasionally she caught a glance at the spirit hiding inside, who was sullenly shouting at the spirits round him and desperately trying to grab its raindrops close to it. After a few minutes the mist spirit finally seemed to admit defeat and fell back to the ground and the light spirits cheered, their high resonant voices echoing around the fields. Their song finished, they then, as one, bowed to Eleanor in thanks and flew back towards the sun. Eleanor bowed back to them and waved as they spiralled back into the sky to find another likely spot for a dance.

Now aching from her exultations with the light spirits, Eleanor wandered back across to the edge of the field and sat down heavily against the roots of an old tree, staring at the wide panorama of the morning. Absent mindedly, she gently plucked a brightly spotted mushroom and squashed it between her fingers, letting the mush slop down her hand.

“Hey!” A sharp voice, almost nasal, directed at her. “Leave that alone!”.

Eleanor rolled over on to her chest and found herself nose to nose with a small gnomish creature with a long green nose and half-buried branch-like legs in the wet mud. She supposed that the little thing, whose hairy ears were flapping in the wind, was rather irritated.

“Why?” she whispered back, and the little creature blinked back at her with deep dark green eyes.

But all this did was to draw a long, protracted stare.

“Are you an Earth spirit?” she asked playfully.

“‘Course I bloody well am, think these shrooms just spring out the ground, do yer?” he replied sharply, and stared at her menacingly. “You’re Eleanor ain’t yer?”

Eleanor shrugged, and plucked up another mushroom.

“Oi!“ the spirit cried immediately. “Stop that! Do you need to kill all me crop as well as getting’ them light spirits all excited and keeping all the water away? We’re not going to get any good mist down ‘ere for bloody ages now!”

Eleanor giggled at him and prodded him with her finger, making him rock backwards.

“Don’t be so picky” she said softly, as the sprit mumbled his disquiet and tried to replant one of his legs.

“Don’t you go proddin’ me, young miss, I was raisin’ acorns before you was even thought of!” Eleanor rolled her eyes, but smiled. “And anyways, there ain’t no call for you to be prancin’ about with all them sparkly bastards and upsettin’ everyone else round ‘ere. And in the all-together too, I don’t know; don’t know what the worlds comin’ to these days, I really don’t. Ain’t anyone told you you was naked?”

Eleanor shrugged. “No?”

“Well you bloody well are!” the spirit yelled back. “Now stop pullin’ up all me shrooms!” And with that, he bent back and thrust his head back into the mud.

Eleanor stayed in the fields for the next few days, persuading some friendly earth spirit to let her sleep in their burrow at night, and eating the mushrooms and fruits that she found in the bright sunshine of the day. Despite the occasional mutter of disapproval from the gnomish spirits amongst the trees, she stayed naked.

The days passed slowly for Eleanor; each morning she would wake up before sunrise and wait for the light spirits to come prancing out from the dawn and help to chase the down the shadows and mists, but by the third day they barely had any opposition. She would then wander around the fields for hours on end, running through the grass, trying to leap over the fences, eating whatever fruit she found or talking to the spirits that love the daylight.

She chatted with the gloomy and smelly water spirits that sat sullen in puddles near the edge of the fields, trying to excite them to chase her; but they never did, and she would always end up stamping on them in frustration. She’d shout at the winds until an air spirit would come down to see her at which point she’d to try and persuade it to take her flying; but the best she ever managed to get would be to get the invisible wisp spirit to whistle through her hair. Occasionally she got a few words from the huge tree spirits, though it was usually only a angry deep grumble for her to leave them alone.

By the evening she would switch sides and club together with the spirits who love the shadows and chase all the light shadows out of the fields, before lying back and staring at the stars, trying to will them down to play with her. But they never did.

The rushing sensations of the first morning never returned to her; but she still felt the world around her keenly, the sun felt hot and comforting and every scrape, brush or cut against her skin would make her yelp and smile. On the fourth day she started to explore a little further beyond the first couple of fields, and in the next one she found a large pond and befriended the bright and welcoming water spirit that lived there. The sprit let her swim and splash for hours, and affectionately cleaned her down and squirted water at her to make her laugh. However by the end of the day the spirit grew weary of her constant intrusion and finally asked her to let his water lie still for a while. In response Eleanor plucked up a particularly disapproving mushroom spirit that had been complaining the whole day long and threw it into the pond, and she left them arguing.

Soon she knew her way intimately around the half dozen fields that covered the little valley. When she caught herself looking outside the fields, perhaps to the lofty hills or to the wall of high hedges at the far end of the topmost field, she would look away again quickly and forget what she had seen.

By the sixth day she had found that she had walked all the way round the fields three times without seeing anything she didn’t already know. Most of the spirits were ignoring her now; the earth spirits were leaving, angry at the constant interruptions at night; and Eleanor followed their slow progress, by paw, by twig, and by tiny claw as they left the fields through a hole in the top fields’ hedgerow. She didn’t dare follow. Even the light spirits and shadow spirits were ignoring her now, annoyed at her constant shifting allegiance each dawn and dusk. By the evening the meadows felt cold and unfriendly, and she was forced to sleep above ground, as all the earth spirits had gone and caved in their burrows after them.

The next morning she awoke hungry, afraid and colder than she had ever felt. The fruits had been finished the previous day, and the only spirits she could see creeping on the fields were skulking frost spirits. Eleanor wrapped her arms around her knees and cuddled herself against the cold, tears quietly falling from her cheeks.

Her mind suddenly felt empty, and the cold blasts of wind that had once excited her now seemed to be mocking her in her weakness. She rolled over, sobbing quietly, and lay back against a barren apple tree, but the roughness of the bark just seemed intrusive and painful to her now.

Her desperate eye caught her own hands, and found them to be skeletal, and weak.

“What’s going on?” she shouted suddenly, and her cracked voice echoed a little in the morning gloom.

It was then she turned and her eyes caught sight of a small spirit the like of which she had not seen before. It was in the form of a small female dormouse, with a small cluster of baby pups around her, but it seemed bold and was watching Eleanor intently.

Eleanor, very gently, lay face down in front of the watching spirit until its twitching nose was no more than a few inches from Eleanor’s tearful eyes.

“What are you?” Eleanor whispered, her words bubbling through her sobs.

“What are you doing Eleanor?” the mouse whispered back, so gently she had to strain to hear it. “Didn‘t you want to know more than these fields?” Eleanor blinked as her tears began to dry up, and then smiled suddenly as a tiny pup lost a teat momentarily before gaping and suckling once again.

“Are you a life spirit?” Eleanor breathed, as softly as she could. The spirit still winced slightly.

“Listen to me child.” the spirit squeaked back. “You are wandering why all the spirits in these fields didn’t want to stay with you. You don’t understand why they would not want to play with you, and look after you. You can’t blame them, they are only doing what they know.” The spirit looked away momentarily to stop a young pup moving too far away.

“But I’m the same aren’t I?” Eleanor gasped, suddenly hearing the panic in her voice. “I’m a spirit of the field just like they are right?” The life spirit blinked and looked at her sadly.

“No, child. You’re much more than that. You’re different.”

“No, I’m not!” Eleanor replied immediately, but her shout startled the pups who cried suddenly. The life-spirit didn’t reply for a few minutes as she calmed her pups, and Eleanor was lost in the gentleness of her care towards her young. Finally the spirit turned back to her.

“Yes, you are, Eleanor.” she whispered, even more quietly than before. “And it is a very special thing that you are. You will always be amongst us but you are more than we are.” Eleanor leaned in even closer so she didn’t miss a word.

“What am I?” she breathed. The spirit appeared to pause for a moment.

“I do not know.” she admitted finally. “But do you not think you should find out? You cannot stay in these fields because you will not be able to stay with the spirits. You are cold and afraid, and you are hungry. And you long for more than these fields.”

Eleanor cried once more when she heard those words as she recognised the truth in them. As fresh tears rolled down her pale and mud-caked cheeks, she whispered desperately;

“But where should I go?”

The life-spirit looked down and shuddered slightly.

“The world is a big place, my child. It stretches way beyond these fields, and it is filled with spirits of all sorts that will be there for you if you want them. But it is not an easy place, Eleanor.” the dormouse added, looking back at her. “Go and find new fields. Stay and you‘ll only bring death, Eleanor.”

Eleanor shuddered at the coldness of her words, but she understood, and nodded.

“So I need to go look for new fields?” she asked, her voice cracking as she still cried.

“You will need to make new fields.” the spirit whispered back. “But before that you will need to know why.”

Eleanor shrugged. “Why what? What does that matter?” The spirit gently started to curl up so her pups were huddled close to her body.

“You will find out I’m sure.” she whispered, so faintly that the slight breeze stole the words away. “Now go. Make your choice. Leave these fields or deny it. You’re dying here, and my pups do not long for that.”

Eleanor’s eyes filled up with tears and she had to pull herself away to wipe her eyes clean. When she looked back the spirit had gone.

She felt it then – the harsh punch of hunger that was hammering her stomach, the fever that pulsed her head, the numbing cold that rendered her fingers and toes stiff. She would have to sweat and work hard for her food after all.

Slowly, with teardrops falling round her, she clambered to her weary feet and looked to the distant hedgerow at the top of her fields. Gingerly at first, she clumsily staggered towards it, clutching her stomach and moaning at her fever. As she walked, rain began to fall from the deepening clouds above her, and it made her slip and fall. But each time she would hear the little spirits in the raindrops whisper encouragement in her ears, so she would get back up and stride forward as fast as she could.

After a lifetime of torment she reached the hole in the hedgerow that the Earth spirits had left by. She slowly bent down and crawled into the narrow hole, and once again she could see light, a different light, from the other side.

Even through the pain Eleanor smiled. She knew that the life-spirit had been right – for fresh fields already lay before her.

White Moments

Natürlicher Verstand kann fast jeden Grad von Bildung ersetzen,

aber keine Bildung den natürlichen Verstand.

Arthur Schopenhauer

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]]> http://americamera.wordpress.com/2009/11/25/the-end-of-war/ Thu, 26 Nov 2009 00:56:03 +0000 americamera http://americamera.wordpress.com/2009/11/25/the-end-of-war/

C.V. Hummer, Canute Field, Illinois, @1942

War would end if the dead could return.

—Stanley Baldwin

Children have no use for psychology. They detest sociology. They still believe in God, the family, angels, devils, witches, goblins, logic, clarity, punctuation, and other such obsolete stuff. When a book is boring, they yawn openly. They don’t expect their writer to redeem humanity, but leave to adults such childish illusions.    —Isaac Bashevis Singer

photograph on glass of a boy of uncertain identity

Birth, life, and death—each took place on the hidden side of a leaf.

—Toni Morrison

Earth life can be a tough school and the lessons of Earth life and the meanness and cruelty of others can make it challenging for one to maintain their innocence and purity of character. God purity means loving God to such an extent and to such an attunement that no matter how mean or cruel people are, and no matter how tough the lessons of Earth life are, one holds to their unconditional love, faith, trust and patience in God. God purity also means choosing the path of selflessness at all times, never giving into an attack thought, admitting your mistakes when you have made them no matter what the circumstance,  holding to unconditional love and one’s Spiritual ideals at all times, always being the one to apologize when an ego battle has been entered into, being the first to forgive self and others, constantly being vigilant against the negative ego and ever more so the more success you achieve on all levels … It is when all these attitudes and qualities are made manifest that a person demonstrates true unconditional love and purity. Strive at all times to maintain your purity and to not succumb to the corruption, negative ego, glamour, illusion, maya of the lower-self and fear-based reality. This will take enormous consicousness and vigilance on your part, however, the gift and fruit that you will attain is greater than any gift or item you will find in this world. “Be ye faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life!” – Jesus. So let it be written. So let it be done.

© 2009 www.IAMUniversity.org

Marion Slocum, mother of T.R. Hummer, @1929

Only mothers can think of the future—because they give birth to it in their children.

—Maxim Gorky

]]> http://brazenbeyondbelief.wordpress.com/2009/11/24/the-second-innocence/ Tue, 24 Nov 2009 22:10:17 +0000 beyondbelieving http://brazenbeyondbelief.wordpress.com/2009/11/24/the-second-innocence/

The Second Innocence is an experimental project drawing on nearly five years of thought and work.  

It draws on literature, philosophy, social research, educational theory, music, film and a massive amount of very self indulgent imaginings.   It is effectively, a book which will grow in readable chunks on this blog as long as anyone is interested to read it.  It aims to be a narrative, moving from fictional allegory to philosophical enquiry and back again; until a final point is reached and the entirety of the story becomes apparent, though along the way it will pick up on a lot of topics of interest and creative experiments.  It will be published in a fairly draft form however; and I would be fascinated and and greatly appreciative of any feedback, questions or additions; though I should probably warn the unwary – I will make no apologies for not making it too obvious, or keeping some of meanings hidden for a time.

This blog will tell a story of a trail of thinking around the subject of childhood innocence… and hopefully it will, if not prove interesting to you, then at least open your mind to a way of thinking that never seems to reveal its depths to me.

I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

LATEST UPDATE: 27th November 2009

The first chapter of all of this is up and waiting for your perusal.  I hope you may be able to glean more from it than might be initially obvious…  Just a quick note on the site; the Blog as Book section on the left will contain the text without pictures or comments – this will make more sense as this moves forward as the remaining chapters will be added in sections and I wanted to have somewhere where it could be read straight through.  Comments on the main blog post are extremely welcome – so please, tell me what this makes you think of… and I promise the next chapter will be a little less abstract!

At first glance, the world does not appear to be such a scary place. Through the eyes of adolescence, it almost seems easy. It’s like playing house…no big deal, right? Only when that blindfold of naivety is removed does the truth become apparent. Then, everything changes because, once lost, the playfully blind innocence of childhood can never be rekindled. It dies with unexpected abruptness and is then gone forever. This is the beginning of life as the rest of us know it. This is the bullet on the Grand Timeline marked as “Trial and Error”. Lessons are learned, hearts are broken and mended again, guidelines are set for future  reference, and one discovers the true meaning of self-love. For me, this was quite literally the most difficult portion of my life thus far. To be only 20 years of age, I have seen and done and experienced more already than most people will in their entire lifetime. This is my story, with nothing added nor taken away. This is who I am, and how I came to be the person sitting in this quiet room, typing away the tears and fears. I do not know what inspired me to write this today, nor do I question it. All I know…is to obey it. Here goes.

To be continued.

Innocence of a Child

Ah! The meandering river behold!
Twisting and writhing, it has
trickled o’er leagues manifold.

Somewhere, a child on its banks grows.
His heart joyous, clear; it rushes,
like a mountain stream sparkling cold.

Dreary grows now the path to the Sea,
Sluggish, restrained becomes its might.
Weary of life’s toils, this old heart
yearns for a child’s pristine delight.