A little act of kindness is never wasted.............

''Alright children, settle down. Now, before

we finish for the week, I would like to give you

a task to do over the weekend.

''Yes, Neville?''

''Miss, do we have to, isn't school everyday enough?''

''You know what, Neville, sometimes it is and sometimes

it isn't. Don't worry, this task is not big.

All I want you to do is to write down what you think being

kind means. It does not have to be long, only about

30 words or so.''

''30 words!!! But that's too many, Miss!''

Simon shakes his head and then lets out a groan.

''Okay children, make sure that you put your notebooks

in your bags because I would like you to not use

the computers for this task but to write it by hand."

Simon groans again.

''Everyone knows what to do? Okay, well, have a really

 good weekend everyone and see you on Monday.''

''A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions,

and the roots spring up and make new trees.''

(Emilia Earhart)

''In a study conducted by Dr. Sonja Lyuborminsky,

psychology Professor at the University of California,

Riverside, students were assigned to do five random acts

of kindness per week for a period of six weeks.

At the end of the study, the students' level of happiness

had increased by 41.66 %. Being kind had a profoundly

positive effect on happiness.'' (Inc.)

about the image: Ink and water colour pencils on paper

edited in Photoshop

Yelling may feel good, but how does it affect others?..........

Finally the kid had enough.

She decided that it was time for the others to notice her.

She yelled as loud as she could: Arrghhhhhhh!

Although yelling in most social settings is probably viewed

as ''bad form'', rude, disturbing, I am still pretty sure

that most of us have at some time or another, ... yelled.

And for many different reasons, although some perhaps

a bit more ''justifiable'' and helpful than others.

To warn: ''Hey, watch out!''

To get noticed: ''Hey, look at Me!''

To encourage: ''Well done!! Good on ya.''

To instruct: ''Please! Don't slam the door.''

To coach: ''Put your back into it. Try again.''

To make a statement: ''Freedom for all!!!.''

Yelling obscenities, insults, or offensive words on the other hand,

is in my opinion seldom justifiable or helpful. 

(Granted, when we yell we are usually emotionally charged

which can often make it difficult for us to control our choice of words.

Difficult yes, but not impossible.)

Some suggest that ''it's the nature of yelling that makes it

reflective of other forms of corporal punishment'', and

the intent of corporal punishment some say, is to deliberately

correct, chastise, rebuke and or reprimand.

Even when ''it's for our own good'', being yelled at often

feels confrontational and dare I say, humiliating.

As a keen observer of human behaviours it perplexes me

why so often the first response by a parent when a child lost in a

shopping center is found seem to be to yell at him/her: ''Don't do that!!!!

 Don't ever do that again.!!!!!

How is that child supposed to interpret that?
(Except for feeling humiliated by the public rebuke.)

Hence the dichotomy of yelling; at times it can be a rebuke and an 

expression of excitement simultaneously.

As in: ''Daddy/mummy is so angry with you for wandering off, 

but also so happy with finding you''.

(From personal experience I discovered that after handing

out a rebuke to my son, a clear, calm and precise explanation for

the rebuke often worked a treat in avoiding a repeat performance.)

Some say that frustration begets anger. I would like to

suggest that frustration (for whatever reason) often also begets

yelling.

''Are we there yet?Are we there yet?Are we there yet?

Are we there yet?Are we there yet? etc. etc."

Finally, NOT YET!!!

''Peter, the music is too loud,

can you please close the door, I'm on the phone.''

15 minutes later: NOW!!

Although yelling at others often leads to more yelling,

in my opinion, sometimes finding somewhere secluded and

out of earshot of others to do some yelling, can be quite helpful.

During a very trying time in my life when I was overcome by

sadness and loss, I discovered a safe way to release some of

my emotional turmoil without it affecting anybody else.

I would buy a dozen eggs, drive to a secluded spot somewhere,

get out of the car, find something solid like a rock or a tree trunk,

and then yell at the top of my lungs while throwing one egg

after the other. Each egg representing a burden that I was carrying.

It made a mess, an organic mess, but it also helped to relieve some of

pressure and pain that I was experiencing at that time.

If we find that we resort to yelling a lot of the time

and in a lot of different situation, it may be time

for a little introspection.

Asking ourselves some questions such as: 

Why am I yelling all the time?

Is there a better way for me to communicate?

How does my yelling affect others?

''Anybody who has something sensible or worthwhile to say

should be able to say it calmly and soberly,

relying on the words themselves to convey

his [or her] meaning,

without resorting to yelling.''

(Richard Dawkins)

about the image: water colour and pen and ink on paper , editing

in Photoshop

The Test.........

The phone rang. It was Myra, my agent.

''I've got a gig for you, a well paying one, are you interested?''

''Sure, who is it with and where and when?'' I asked.

''It's in two weeks, it's at some kind of ball here in Birmingham, and it's with Jordan Gray

(not his real name) and his quartet.''

''When do they want to start rehearsing?''

''I haven't got all the details yet, but I'll fax them through as soon as I get them.''

''Is there a play list so that I can prepare?''

''Not yet, but usually it's ''Real Book'' stuff (The ''Bible'' of jazz tunes).''

''Okay, I guess I can handle that, but I would really like to get a play list as soon as possible.''

''Don't worry, I'll take care of it. Bye.''

                                                                Myra hung up.

Since arriving in the US, I had done a few gigs, and Myra was right, most of them

involved using the Real Book.

The Real Book consists of hundreds of standard jazz tunes used

by most jazz musicians. If one was to call oneself a jazz musician

one was expected to be able to play all the tunes by heart,

and in the keys as noted in the Real Book.

Knowing this to be the case not only in the US, but here

in Australia as well, I spent the year before I went to the US

memorizing hundreds of tunes by heart. But, nonetheless,

I always brought my Real Book with me to any jazz gigs

that I did, just in case....

Days passed. No word from either Myra or Jordan Gray.

The date for the gig was creeping closer and closer.

I decided to call Myra.

''Have you talked to Jordan, Myra? I haven't got a play list yet.''

''I'll call him now and remind him to fax you the list.''

Two hours later a fax arrives with the sheet music for three

tunes written by Jordan Gray, but no play list, and no

date for a rehearsal. Jazz is all about improvising,

but......really? Not even one rehearsal?

Before I left for the US, Anders, a jazz guitarist and my best friend,

 told me that I would be ''tested''.

Tested? What do you mean? I asked.

''They'll throw you curve balls just to see if you really know

your stuff. They'll change key, tempo, intro's and outro's

just to see if you can handle it.'' Bearing those words in mind,

I decided to learn Jordan's tunes off by heart. Just in case.

Days pass, no play list.

The day of the gig arrives.

It's a sweltering summers evening in Birmingham.

As I arrive at the gig, I realize just how big of a deal

it is.

The building in which we are performing is very impressive.

As I step into the foyer, I feel as if I have stepped back in time

and into a page of Gone with the Wind.

Sparkling chandeliers, marbled staircases, golden ornaments,

elegantly dressed men and women speaking in hushed voices,

with waiters and waitresses gliding smoothly across the black and

white tiled floor. 

Except, for every now and then, when they stopped to pour some

golden liquid into glistening crystal glasses.

Half way up the right side staircase, I see a stage of sorts being set-up

by some musicians. Trying to catch their attention, I wave.

One of them sees me and hurries down the stairs.

''Hey, I'm Jordan, let me help you with your gear.''

So this is Jordan Gray. Hm, he looks a lot like Chet Baker,

hope he plays as well.

With the help of some of the others we carry my keyboard,

amp, and other bags up the stairs.

I introduce myself and then proceed to set up my gear.

I try out some chords on the keyboard to make sure everything is

working.

''Okay, let's start with one of my tunes. Let's do ''Lost'', says Jordan

then turns around, looks at me and says ''set it up''.

He counts in the tempo: ''one, two, one, two, three, four.''

This was The Test.

Though the fax with the sheet music he had sent me a few days

 earlier was barely legible, I had still been able to work

out a nice little intro to his tune.

As I moved through the chords of the intro, Jordan, standing

in front of the band, turned and looked at me.

Then with a smile on his face, he said: ''Play that again.''

I had passed the test.

''Ahhh, ..... Those Jazz guys are just makin that stuff up.''

(Homer Simpson)

about the image: ink on paper

Dare to dream.....

In 1963 Martin Luther King Jr., delivered a speech that even

today is regarded as one of the most stirring and uplifting speeches

ever spoken.

In front of a crowd of thousands of people he shared his

dream of a more equal society for all people:

''I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties

and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream.''

*

Some of us may say that we dream of equality,

justice for all and long-lasting liberty.

Some of us may say that we dream of freedom

to pursue the very things that gives life a reason.

Some of us may say that we dream of a society,

that honours ethical values and a robust morality.
Some of us may say that we dream there'll be a day
when guns and deadly weapons will all be put away.

Some of us may say that we dream of a humanity,

that values life and living much more than notoriety.
Some of us may say that we dream there'll come a time
when being poor and disenfranchised, no longer is a crime.

Some of us may say that we dream of more unity,
more peaceful interactions in pursuit of more congruity.
Some of us may say that we dream of a day,
when violence and anger no longer is the way.

Some may say you're all dreamers,
but we're not the only ones,
and we hope you'll one day join us,
and the world will be as one.

''Dreamers are mocked as impractical.
The truth is they are the most practical,
as their innovations lead to progress
and a better way of life for all of us.''
(Robin Sharma)

about the images: Acrylic on canvas (top image), pen and ink on paper

Even an over-heard fight has ''claws''.....

She makes herself as small and invisible as she can.

Though she knows that she probably shouldn't be listening

at the door, she just can't help herself, she needs to know

what they are arguing about.

Is it her? Did she do something wrong? Is she the reason

why they keep fighting every day?

She hates it when her parents fight, she just can't make 

any sense out it.

Why do they tell her not to fight with her brothers

when they themselves fight all the time?
It doesn't make sense.
And it hurts.

So, having stared at the blinking cursor for about

an hour, I am now going to try to write about

fighting.

The verb 'fight' means to be engaged in some form of

(disagreement/)confrontation.
This can be done verbally, physically, virtually,

and these days, even all the above at the same time. (Computer games)

Are we sometimes''driven'' by some subconscious,
''reptilian brain'' kind of urge to just pick a fight?
I mean, even the most trivial of conversations can sometimes escalate
 into a verbal ''fight''.
Ex:  My team is the best.
                            No, it isn't, my team is far better.
                            My team can beat yours any day!
                                                   Oh, yeah!!!! Well, I can beat you right now!!!!

 How is that something that starts as a conversation, a simple

exchange of ideas, can morph into a verbal confrontation,

 that then evolves into a verbal conflict,

 a verbal conflict that exponentially escalates into

a physical altercation?

I read somewhere that: 'more than anything else, humans want to

be right.'

So why do we want to be right? Because, so the wise say,

 it affirms and boosts our sense of self-worth.

Ponder this: you're discussing something with a friend,
quite friendly like, when suddenly
your friend tells you that you are wrong.

Your friend then proceeds to number all the flaws in your

thinking one by one. 

What's you knee-jerk reaction?

a) Yeah, well, here are the flaws in your thinking!!!

b) I see, how about we discuss in-depth those flaws as you see it.

c) Flaws?? What makes you so right and flawless????

Our need for being right can sometimes make it hard for us

to be able to appreciate differing opinions.

But if winning an argument(being right),

is more important to us than anything else,
we may find it quite challenging to
 form healthy and lasting relationships

with others.

Fighting is stressful and can cause immense emotional distress

not only for those involved, but also for those over-hearing it.

It can be hard to remain respectful and not raising one's

voice when it the midst of an argument, but if we value

the relationship we have with the person we're arguing with,

then reining in our emotions may prevent an argument from

becoming a fight.
Perhaps it may be possible to prevent some
discussions/arguments from turning into fights
if before we respond we consider how to
do so respectfully.

''The aim of an argument, or a discussion, should not
be victory, but progress.''
(Joseph Jobert)

''Say what you mean, but don't say it mean."
(Andrea Wacher)

''Be calm in arguing, for fierceness makes error a fault, 
and truth a discourtesy.''
(George Herbert)

''Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain
that grows flowers, not thunder.''
(Rumi)

about the image: Ink on paper, edited in Photoshop

Do you really know what a mind is?

If asked if you know what a Rubik's cube is, you would

probably have no problem in answering the question.

'Sure, it's a 3-D puzzle, and the aim is to solve it

by making all sides a single colour.'

Easy, right?

But what if I asked you 'what is a mind'?

Mind, in difference to a Rubik's cube is not a

thing, something tangible that we can touch or see.

But if I was to hazard a guess, most of us probably think of

it as 'real'.

However, ponder this: we treat 'mind' as something real,

something tangible, although there seem to be little scientific

evidence to substantiate that it is anything more than a word 

for a human construct.

(Human constructs exists in the human brain but are not

directly observable.)

Human constructs such as:

Thought, consciousness, love, time, space, soul,

being, emotions, imagination, perception, reality,

truth, soul, dreams, etc.etc.etc.

What if one was to ascribe some of these constructs/words

as being represented by different colours on a Rubik's cube?

Apparently there are 42 Quintilion different possibilities on

 a Rubik's cube with only six different colours. 

How many possibilities would there be on a Rubik's cube

with for example six different human constructs represented

by each colour? Eek....mind boggling.

Imagine one twist of the cube representing a thought, an emotion,

an experience, a dream, a perception, a feeling, etc.etc.etc.

That would mean that with each twist a new/different 'mind landscape'

(mindscape?) would be created.

The thing with constructs is that they can become so familiar and

ingrained in common use that we begin to assume their manifest

existence. Time for example....it's a construct although we experience

it as 'real'/tangible.

Sure we can look at a clock and tell what time it says on it,

but we can't observe time in itself.

Just like a painting of a Rubik's cube is not a Rubik's cube,

but mere a 2D(dimension) representation of it.

Wikipedia says: 'The mind is a set of thinking facilities

including cognitive aspects such as consciousness, imagination,

perception, thinking, judgement, language and memory as

well as non-cognitive aspects such as emotions. Under the

scientific physicalist interpretation the mind is housed at

least in part in the brain.'

(All the underlined words are human constructs aka not

directly observable.)

Mind is a word often used by most of us and my

guess is that most of the time we assume that

others have the same understanding of the word as we do.

I mean, if someone says to you that they have 'lost their

mind', you are probably not going to ask that person

'do you want me to help you find it again?'

Or if someone tells you: 'I've changed my mind' you are probably 

not going to respond with 'what did you get in exchange?'

Since it is not possible to actually directly observe a mind,

we have to make do with ambiguous language and our

own interpretations. 

So my interpretation is that the mind is like a Rubik's cube.

It has Quintilion possibilities for us to entertain,

to make sense from, and to assist us on

our journey that we call Living a Life.

''Biology gives you a brain.

Life turns it into a mind.''

(Jeffery Eugenides)

Spliffs and Paris..........

After I finished High school and before I started Music school,

I had three months of ''freedom''. I decided to use the time to

explore Europe. At that time there was something available called

an ''Inter-Rail Card'' which was basically a train ticket in

the shape of a small book.

For around $100 the ''ticket'' holder could travel 2nd Class 

for one month, anywhere, and at any time, all through Europe.

Not being flush with money, the Inter-Rail Card seemed like a great

way to get a lot of exploring done for very little money.

So I bought one.

A few days later I slung a backpack over my shoulder and boarded

a train in Stockholm heading for Paris.

It was going to take a few days, a lot of stops and changing of

trains, but it was summer, I was still a teenager, and it was the

70's.

There were a lot of us ''hippies'' riding the trains, making new

friends, strumming guitars, singing Peace songs and drinking

cheap red wine. When the train I was on pulled up in Vienna,

I decided to get off. I had never been to Vienna and as it

was a hub for many famous Classical composers, 

it seemed fit for me to find a venue which offered some

live music. Walking the cobbled streets surrounded by beautiful

old buildings and the sweet smell of flowering trees, 

I could hear in the distance a melancholic melody played on a transverse flute.

I recognized it... it was Debussy. I followed the sound and

when I found the source, I opened the doors as quietly as I could

and then sat down in the back row. As soon as the concert

finished I snuck out. 

Realizing that most hostels were closed for the night by the time

the concert had finished, I decided to board a train again.

I found my way back to the Vienna Hauptbahnhof, boarded a train 

heading for Paris, found myself an empty compartment,

and then with my backpack under my head, went to sleep.

When the train pulled up in Zurich some hours later,

 it was time to change trains again.

Thanks to a basic grasp of the German language I managed

to find a train heading for Paris but it meant that I had to get to

the other end of the station in seven minutes.

I barely made it...actually, the train was moving when I reached

the steps to the last carriage.

Standing in the gangway trying to catch my breath, I heard a voice 

behind me saying: ''Was ist los?'' (What's happening?)

''Nichts, ich versuche nur su atmen'', I answered.

(Nothing, just trying to breathe)

The voice belonged to a fellow traveler, a guy my age I guessed.

''Come join us in our compartment, we've got food and wine. I'll

carry your bag for you, come on.''

On wobbly legs I followed him up the gangway to the last

compartment of the carriage. As he slid the door open, clouds

of cannabis smoke engulfed the both of us. 

''Hey, I found a new friend,'' said my fellow traveler as he hoisted

my backpack on to the luggage rack.

''Groovy, man,'' said someone and then I was handed a spliff.

''Why not?'' I thought.

Everyone introduced themselves, food and wine was passed around,

someone started to play the guitar, another spliff was lit, and

a wonderful time was had by all.

(Just in case you were wondering, the minute I stepped into

the compartment we all spoke English.)

Time flies when you're having fun, they say, so when

the loudspeaker on the train announced Paris as the next stop

I was flabbergasted. Hadn't I just got on?

Gare Du Nord. Paris alright.

I said farewell to my newfound friends, donned the backpack

again, and armed with a map of Paris I set out for Montparnasse.

Not only is Paris in summer visually bewitchingly beautiful,

add to that the scents; freshly brewed coffee, crispy breads, 

finely sliced cheeses, salamis, hams, flowers, 

flowering bushes, trees, Gauloise cigarettes, etc.etc.etc.

As I slowly made my way toward Square Loise-Michel,

I realized that I needed to sit down, I was on the verge of

passing out from sensory overload.

With perspiration dripping down my back, I found myself a 

park bench in the shade.

As I looked around the park, I noticed that there

seemed to be old-ish looking French men occupying

most of the benches. 

They all seemed to be wearing black pants, vintage-looking

 suit jackets, and smoking cigarettes.

The way the light filtered through the leaves on the trees

onto the solemn-looking men on their benches, made a

lasting impression on me.

So much so that on a day 30 odd years later and

on the other side of Europe, 

I have a flash-back.

I grab my brushes and my paints, and paint

that memory.