On expressing oneself............

In 1989 Madonna released a song titled ''Express Yourself''...
Some of us express ourselves using words, some through music, some through sculpting,
some through physical activities, etc.etc......and some through dance.
Some folks hear music and immediately feel the urge to move their bodies.
(Take children for instance, put on some music with a strong beat and more often than not they will begin to move their bodies.)
Some years ago, one of my nieces introduced me to Trance Music, a form of electronically driven music, and thus began my journey of exploration into EDM, Electronic Dance Music.
I asked my niece what it was about Trance Music that she liked so much and she told me that it made her feel good. ''Okay, but why does it make you feel good?'' I asked. ''I don't know, it just feels good to dance with a lot of people all together, no one if arguing or fighting, everyone is at peace and just dancing, it feels like a happiness thing,'' she responded.
''Are there specific moves one does when one dances to Trance Music?''
''Nah, everyone just expresses themselves through their own way of dancing'.''
''What bands playing Trance do you like?''
''Not bands, Dee-Jay's, sometimes there may be two Dee-Jay's but mostly its just one person running the show. My favorite Dee-Jay is Tiesto.''
After listening to hours worth of EDM music I concluded that Tiesto was may favorite as well, but the music had begun to wear me out, catchy and driving as it was, for me there was something missing. (I did find however that it was an excellent kind of music to work out to.)
According to those in the know, we all have a need to express ourselves, to express our emotions/feelings one way or another, and we do so either through words, actions or movement.
Some put this need down to that we are social beings, and that in order to function together we need to get along and we do so when we understand each other.
But there is a but, expressing ourselves may often be helpful, but in my view, considering time and place as well as how it will affect others, is in my view equally important.
Some feelings, like anger, frustration, irritation, sadness or worry, can be hard to restrain but if we express our feelings in a somewhat calm manner, chances are that others may respond more compassionately to us than if we do so for instance loudly and in the middle of a social setting.
Being able to communicate our feelings in a constructive and helpful way often takes practice, often beginning with us understanding and recognizing the feelings we are having, and where they come from.
''Managing your emotions does not mean you don't express yourself; it means you stop short of hurting others and sabotaging yourself.'' [Sue Fitzmaurice]

''There are times in life when words just don't seem enough,
enough to adequately define what it is that we feel,
those are the times when we may
have to get up and dance,
sing at the top of our lungs,
paint as if our lives depended on it,
get lost in a movie or two,
sculpt a something out of nothing,
listen to music we've never ever heard before,
and stare into a painting we don't understand.

or

we may need to
jump in puddles of water,
run with the wind,
swim in the sea,
fly a kite,
sleep with the windows open,
laze in front of an open fire,
smile til our cheeks hurt,
cry until we're empty,
dig a big hole,
then fill it again,
see, the crux of the thing,
is a simple, simple thing,
express yourself,
that's the thing.''

[My mother has a passion for ballet, whether on ice or on boards,
for me however, it was always about the music they danced to until
I watched a ballet called ''Rite of Spring'' with music composed by Igor Stravinsky.
Suddenly I connected not only with the music but also with the movements of the dancers,
which led me to have a period when I feverishly sketched dancers, and the above is one of those sketches.]

Beneath every human exterior beats a heart......looks aren't everything.....

There is a saying: ''What you see is what you get''......but what if what you see is not what you get?

We put much stock into what we see with our eyes, but here's the thing; what we see is very much influenced by our biases, prejudices, perceptions, previous experiences, etc.etc. because we do not only see [as in the function of the eyes] with our eyes, we also see with our understanding of and interpretation of what it is we are seeing.

(We say ''I see what you mean'', but we don't actually see it with our eyes, we see it with our minds/understanding/perceptions.)

Joseph Carey Merrick, often known as John Merrick, The Elephant man, was in many peoples eyes viewed as a freak, a monster, until someone took the time to get to know him and discovered that he was a highly intelligent, gentle and insightful human being. The way he looked, they discovered, had very little to do with who he was as a human being.

It can be easy to make snap judgments about people by the way they dress, the way they speak, the way they carry themselves, the way they look, and often once we have made a judgement it can be difficult to change it.

There is another saying: ''You can't judge a book by the cover.''

More often than not, our first impressions of something or someone is exactly that, a judgement determined by our impressions of the ''cover''.

The cover however, tells us nothing of the substance beneath that cover.

This was evident to me the other day when I took a bite out of a beautiful looking apple, only to discover that it was rotten underneath its glossy and ruby red cover.

(Not to mention the times I have cracked an egg into the frying pan only to discover that the shell was the only thing about the egg that was not off.)

According to those in the know, beauty attracts....human beings, animals, insects, etc. so the way a ''cover'' looks is important but so is substance, because if the substance is ''rotten'' then we are inclined to disregard the cover no matter how beautiful and or attractive it is.

Which makes me ponder oysters,......their cover would probably not be considered beautiful or attractive, yet someone at some time, decided to push past the outer cover and look inside and in doing so found something regarded by many as very beautiful, ....a glistening, precious pearl. 

(That's the thing, a beautiful and attractive cover does not necessarily mean that underneath its cover there is a beautiful and attractive interior/substance, just as an unattractive or ''ugly'' cover does not necessarily mean that underneath its cover there is an ugly or unattractive interior/substance.)

Okay, so enough pre-amble......some of us look in the mirror and do not like what we see, we see this wrong, that too small, that too big, etc.etc. and in our own eyes, we don't measure up.

We may even think thoughts like: If only I was better looking.......then my life would be so much better, I would have more friends, more people would like me, etc.etc....which in my view is understandable since we probably attach more importance to ''looks'' in today's society than ever before. But, looks, like anything organic, has a use by date, wheres substance such as insight, wisdom, and compassion, does not. 

(Socrates, a Greek philosopher who died in 399, BC, was described as a short and ugly man, never wrote down any of his philosophies, yet his ''substance'' remains with us 2000 odd years later.)

In my view, there is a sense of freedom and inner strength in embracing who we are, accepting those bits of ourselves we cannot change (as in for instance how tall we are) and changing the things about ourselves we cannot accept.

All of us will one day look a bit like ''oysters'' if we are lucky enough to live long lives, what we may have to decide however is whether the substance we leave behind will contain a glistening, precious pearl.

''Nobody is superior, nobody is inferior,

but nobody is equal either.

People are simply unique,

incomparable.

You are you,

and I am I.''

[Osho]

(the above image is made with graphite)

''We may need to rise above our individualistic concerns and to find a way to embrace a concern for all humanity and all other living things, in order for all of us to flourish.'' [Citizen Z]

As they opened the door and walked out into the streets, they were met by a wall of water.

      Still laughing and singing, his friends opened their umbrellas and hurried across the street, 

but he didn't.

Although he had enjoyed the swinging music, the booze and the up-beat atmosphere in the club, he still felt 'blue' and the rain just added another layer of blue to his already miserable mood.

What was there really to sing about? he thought, what with lunatics taking over the asylum and people with blinders following those lunatics as they all head for the abyss and utter destruction.

Soaking wet, he opened the door to his apartment, took off his over coat, threw his hat on the kitchen bench-top, opened the fridge and took out a beer.  

He opened the beer, took a sip, and then walked up to the window. 

It was still pouring down with rain.

Standing on the  main table was his typewriter with a blank piece of paper in it. He was supposed to have handed in his manuscript two weeks ago, but he just couldn't bring himself to finish the book.

The typewriter had stayed silent for weeks, and the paper in it, remained untouched.

When he began writing the book, he still had the hope that sanity would prevail and that the drums of war would be silenced, but with more and more rumors telling stories of people disappearing to god knows where, his hope had begun to dwindle. 

What if the rumors were true? 

He pulled out the chair at the table, sat down, and once again found himself staring at the blank page.

Nothing. Not a single, solitary word.

Perhaps a cigarette will get me going? he thought, so he reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a crumpled cigarette, lit it, yet he still remained wordless.

Watching the smoke from the cigarette as it slithered its way upwards, he was reminded of something his father used to say: 'War, son, especially war that involves gasses is hell, there are no words to describe the pain, suffering, death and destruction such brings, and I should know, since I am still suffering from the effects of having survived such.'  Though his father had never really spoken of his

experiences as a soldier, as a boy, he had watched his father as he struggled to keep the demons of war at bay when he returned home from the war of all wars, and watching his father suffer like that, was enough for him to conclude that wars, for whatever reasons, never justified the means.

Ouch!! 

A burning sensation in his fingers snapped him out of his reverie. While reminiscing he had forgotten all about the cigarette. He stubbed it, lit another one and then went back to staring at the blank page.

Nothing.

Again.

He decided to exchange the beer for a coffee.

Waiting for the coffee to brew, he looked out the kitchen window at the street below and noticed

that there was a lot of silent but fervent activity going on. 

Where were they all going?

At 4:30 in the morning and why were they all whispering?

Nosy by nature, he decided that he had to find out what they were doing.

A quick sip of coffee, then he ran downstairs.

Standing on the curb, he found Mr. Hillier, his downstairs neighbor.

-Mr. Hillier, what's going on, where are you going?

-Ssh, not so loud, Mr. Callega, have you not heard?

 -Heard what, Mr. Hillier?

-There are some who have decided that we are not the right type.

-Right type of what, Mr. Hillier?

-Right type of human beings, Mr. Hillier.

-Right type? 

-Yes, seems we used to be the right type, but now we are not, so we must go.

-Go where, Mr Hillier?

-Away from here before something bad happens to us.

-Wait, wait, what makes you the wrong type, Mr Hillier?

-I don't really know Mr. Callega, but there are rumors that not being the right type you may end up dead.

-Please, me and my family must run now, bye Mr. Callega, and with those words Mr Hillier and many others scurried down the street.

Slowly he walked back up to his apartment.

The wrong type of human being? Since when are there wrong or right type's of human beings, he wondered.

Are we not all flawed human beings, capable of at times behaving admirably and at other times deplorably? He poured himself another cup of coffee, walked up to the kitchen window again and looked down at the street below.  

Except for a cat or two, a few odd bits and pieces, the street was once again silent.

Behind the rooftops of the apartment buildings, the sun was trying to rise, trying to transform night into day.

As he drained the last of his coffee, he had a sickly feeling in his stomach.

Were the rumors true? Did Mr. Hillier have it right? Is there some sort of 'human culling' going on?

Are there people who see themselves as the 'right type' getting rid of people they see as the 'wrong type'?

His head suddenly began to spin, not only from having been awake all night, but also from a sense of impending doom. He sat down on the chair in front of the typewriter, pulled out another crumpled cigarette, lit it, took a drag, and then stared at the blank page.

After a few minutes, he pulled out the blank sheet of paper, grabbed the unfinished manuscript next to the typewriter, stood up, walked to the wastepaper bin, then threw the lot in.

Next, he took out a fresh, blank, piece of paper, rolled it through on the typewriter to the middle of the page and then wrote: "Human culling in the name of right and wrong types of human beings always proceed war, death and destruction."

The typewriter no longer stayed silent, it was shouting.

''We may need to rise above our individualistic concerns and to find a way to embrace a concern for all humanity and all other living things, in order for all of us to flourish.''

[Citizen Z]

When words fail, music speaks...........(H.C.Andersen)

She closed her eyes, sat down on the floor, and listened to the music.

The mellow sounds from the trumpet washed away her sadness, the beautifully constructed harmonies from the piano warmed her soul, and the intricate and magnificently woven melody lines played by the saxophonist made her forget about her loneliness.

The music made her feel as if she was among friends, friends that understood her and welcomed her into their world.

Since the death of her brother, music had become her best friend. She had no words that could adequately express the pain and sorrow that she felt, so she said nothing. What she did do was seek solace in music. 

She listened to Billie Holiday, Bessie Smith, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Bach, Puccini, Debussy, Miles Davis, Lois Armstrong, whatever she could lay her hands on, and as she allowed the music to wash over her, she felt consoled. Consoled because their music convinced her that they also knew the pain of loss and heartache.

For some of us, music is perhaps a bit like wall-paper; it's there but you pay it little attention to it, for others it may be more of a social thing; something preferably done together with others, some of prefer music in the background while we work on something; aka it energizes us, some of us prefer music we can dance to, we have music at funerals, weddings, commemorations, etc.etc. 

Come to think of it....in today's whizz-bang technological world...when is there not music of some sort connected to what we are doing?

Words, in my view, are mere approximations, which as I see it means that we often have different opinions, interpretations, and definitions of a lot of words.

So, what exactly is music?

After listening to Rachmaninoff's piano concerto number 2 in C minor, she could hardly breathe,

it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard, but what made it so? she wondered.

Actually, she thought, what exactly is music? Until that moment, she had never really asked herself what made music,.... music, but the thought once she had thought it, began to haunt her.

Although she played the piano and had done so since she could reach the keys, she had no theoretical knowledge at all, whatever she played, she played ''by ear''. She sat down at the piano and started to play....without knowing why, she just knew that after this chord, comes this other one, if it doesn't, it sounds wrong. But why? There must be rules of some sort, she thought, rules that tells me what goes with what. I think I need to find out what those rules are so that I can also write beautiful music, she concluded.

Music: a combination of sounds, or: a combination of rhythm, melody, and harmony, or: an organized combination of sounds and silences, or: music is sonorous air, or: music is....[insert here your fave kind of music]..........music is sound, and sound is vibrations.....

Most of us have very strong opinions about music....

''Jazz? I hate jazz, there's no order to it, everyone just play's whatever they like.''

''Classical music? Are you kidding, it's boring.''

''Blues? What, some ol dude whining about his life? Nah, way too depressing.''

''Country music? What, all that boot-scooting, yodeling, yeeha music? Nah, that ain't music, that's talking with some chords on a giitar in the background.''

''Folk music? that's just like country music without the yodeling.''

''Pop music? Are you kidding? That's just some stupid lyrics with a thumping bass.''

''Rock music? That's just some long haired hippies strutting themselves about.''

"Rap music? Is that even music, I mean, it's just some angry guys spitting out words no one can make any sense out of.''

Etc.etc.etc.

And on it goes......

Regardless of our opinion on what music is, music is an important component in most of our lives, so much so that anthropologists and sociologists are yet to find one culture throughout the human history that does not include music in it.

(Some even suggest that before there was language, there was music.)

Finally it arrived. With trembling hands she opened the envelope.

''We are happy to advice you that your application to the conservatorium has been successful.

Please contact the administration for further details, and good luck.''

Yes! Yes! I am in!!!  This is it, this is what I want to do with my life, I want to be a composer and musician. She could barely contain her excitement, she felt jittery all over, and she felt that music, her best friend and comforter, had once again managed to come through for her.

She ran into her bedroom, sat down at the piano, closed her eyes, and just played.

''Music does a lot of things for a lot of people.

It's transporting for sure.

It can take you right back, years back,

to the very moment certain things

happened in your life.

It's uplifting, it's encouraging,

it's strengthening.''

(Aretha Franklin)

''Where words fail, music speaks.'' (H.C. Andersen)

Taste in music, is in my view very subjective; what may put one person to sleep, may invigorate another and so on, regardless, music evoke emotions in humans, what kind of emotions they may be, depends on how we experience a particular piece of music.

Those in the know suggest that music has the potential to: help us relax, help us fall asleep, help lift our mood, bring comfort if we are feeling down, assist our memory, and so on...

Johnny Depp has this to say:.

''Music touches us emotionally where words alone can't.''

[ps: Have you ever listened to an album by the name of ''Kind of Blue'' by Miles Davis?

If not, then I recommend you give it a shot. It was ranked no 12 on The Rolling Stone 500 all time best albums in 2003.]

Sometimes our souls demand that we act........

When I think of courage, I think of Rosa Parks.

In December, August, 1955, Rosa Parks refused the bus driver's order to give up her seat and to go and sit in the ''coloured'' section of the bus. This act of defiance by Rosa Parks, together with the Montgomery Bus Boycott, became important symbols for the Civil Rights Movement in the USA.

(This is a rendition in graphite that I did from a photo I found in photo book.)

In my view, she was a very courageous woman, especially as in those days ''uppity niggers'' (sorry, but that was a common colloquial term in those days and NOT my opinion) often ended up hanging like strange fruit from the poplar trees. 

Some years ago I found myself sitting on the Montgomery Courthouse (Alabama, USA) steps, barely able to breathe due to a suffocating heat that seemed hell bent of squeezing every last drop of fluid from my body.

It seemed oddly still for being in the middle of the day, but I guess the Montgomery towns people were much smarter than me,...they stayed out of the midday sun. Across the courthouse stood a row of magnificent flowering Magnolia trees, the sky was sparkling blue, the courthouse brilliant white, and as I struggled to breathe, I watched waves of heat off the black, melting, asphalt slowly slithering their way toward heaven.

Echoes of events from days gone by were buzzing in my head like flies on an old hamburger wrapper.

I thought of Rosa Parks, of her indomitable courage and tenacity, of her sitting alone on the bus while surrounded by anger, hostility, racism, and people who viewed her as barely human.

I wondered if I possessed even a scintilla of her courage to stand up for my convictions and beliefs.

Some say that: ''Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear.''  (Franklin D. Roosevelt)

To conclude that something is that important that one is willing to face one's fears associated with that, I guess necessitates knowing what that 'that' is.

How many of us really know what we are willing to fight for, so much so that we are willing to put up with the consequences that may come from doing so?

And, are we willing to do so not only for ourselves and those that are important to us, but also for others?

Most of us will fight for fairness, because we know that fairness is important for social cohesion and collaboration. (Even a four year old child has a concept of fairness and will very quickly point out to us if we are being unfair, but,.... how, and who decides what is fair and what is not?)

Is fair the same as equal? When we get what we think/believe we deserve, is that fairness?

The expectations we have of what we believe we deserve, can they be trusted?

Most of us probably have an idea of what we think our human rights are, but just in case, let me refresh:

''Human rights are inherent to all human beings, regardless of race, sex, nationality, ethnicity, language, religion, or any other status. Human rights include the right to life and liberty, freedom from slavery and torture, freedom of opinion and expression, the right to work and education, and many more. Everyone is entitled to these rights without discrimination.''

Some say that we get what we deserve, but is it really so?

Did the baby born with Spina bifida, congenital heart disorder, leukemia, or any other horrid disease deserve its illness?

Did the many people born with genetically inherited mental health issues deserve their illnesses?

Did the many children born into poverty and starvation deserve it?

For those of us fortunate enough to have been around for awhile, most of us would probably agree that life is not fair, nor do we always get what we expect or believe that we deserve, and with 1% of us having more of everything than the rest of the 99%, neither is it equal......question is.... do we want to play with our phones or do we want to get up, stand up, stand up for all humans rights?

''The rights of every man [human being] is diminished when the rights of one man[human being] are threatened.''

(John F. Kennedy)

Is it easier to be angry than to be loving?.......

Anne Frank wrote a diary while she was hiding from certain death, unaware that her words would become immortalized in a book that many of us would come to read.

She was just a young girl writing down her thoughts and experiences as she dealt with the many trials and tribulations she endured, but due to someone having the insight to realize that her words had much to offer, we are today able to partake in her insights.

With the constant threat of being discovered and shipped off to an extermination camp, how was she able to remain so optimistic and hopeful? How was she able to choose an attitude of love rather than

 anger??

Choose? you may ask.....is anger not a primal response to a perceived threat and or danger, so an instinct, not a choice? (Anger gets our 'juices' flowing, increase our heart rate, pumps us full of hormones, and often feels like a power surge rushing through our bodies. In other words, preparing us for defending ourselves from a possible attack.) Some say that anger is a secondary emotion, and with that they mean that it is expressed on the back of other emotions such as fear and sadness, which are deemed as prime emotions. If this is the case, does that mean that since anger is a secondary emotion, we do have a choice as to how we will respond to it? 

Fear and sadness can often be experienced as emotions that diminishes us, as in we feel weakened and powerless, whereas anger with its mixture of 'juices' can often be experienced as making us feel more able, strong, and powerful.

A child wanders off in a crowd, the parents panic while searching for the child, ..... often these are the first words the child will hear from the parents when they find him/her: ''How many times have we told you to not wander off!!! Do you realize just how worried you made us????''

(Mea culpa (my guilt also), and many times...only to feel terribly guilty and remorseful immediately after.)  Less common is: ''We are so glad we found you, because you are so loved, and so precious to us, that when we couldn't find you we felt really scared, but thankfully, you are here now.''

Pondering this, lead me to wonder: ''Is it easier to be angry than loving?''

('Easier', in the sense that anger somehow feels empowering whereas expressing feelings of love (or sadness and fear) opens us up to possible rejection and so feels more risky.)

A few different scenarios spring to mind:

Is it easier to tell the homeless person to 'get a job' than to say a few kind words?

Is it easier to to tell the broody teenager to 'snap out of it' than to tell him/her a few encouraging words?

Is it easier to tell a person who says he/she feels really sad to: 'look at the bright side and pull your socks up' than to tell him/her: 'you seem a bit down, is there something I can do to help?'

Is it easier to tell the person who is anxious about many things to: 'don't worry about everything all the time' than to say him/her: 'I can see that you are worried, what exactly worries you, perhaps I can help?'

Is it easier to tell a person who struggles with illness and pain what they should do to fix it than to ask him/her what they need?

Is it easier to deny our own feelings of sadness and fear behind a veil of indignation and anger than to

find a measure of love and kindness for ourselves? 

Do we at times veil our authentic emotions in order to protect ourselves, as in,

do we have 'default' reactions/responses to different emotions in order to protect ourselves?

''Sad people make me feel sad, I don't like feeling sad so instead I will ignore those feelings and people.''

''Angry people make me feel scared, I don't like feeling scared so instead I will ignore those feelings and people.''

''Anxious people makes my feel anxious, I don't like feeling anxious so instead I will ignore those feelings and people.''

(These words (italics) is a recollection of a conversation I had with someone. This someone's choice for a default response (according to herself)was: I will only care for those whom I deem worthy.)

Most of the time, what we feel, is about us.....our egos. Other people do not make us feel things, our feelings belong to us, they are our responsibility. I understand that it often feels as if so and so made us angry, but unless someone is able to actually go into our brains and manipulate our synoptic impulses, we alone are responsible for our feelings. (Although there may be extenuating circumstances in which expressing 'negative' emotions may be part of a healing process, aka. rape, abuse, and or some kind of violent crimes.)

''No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.'' (Eleanor Roosevelt)

The ego want protection from, love wants to open up to,

the ego wants to hold grudges, love wants to forgive,

the ego wants to be right, love wants to understand,

the ego wants to be respected, love wants to be connected,

the ego is fragile, love is strong.

''Everyone inside of him[her], has a piece of good news.

The good news is that you don't know how great you can be! How much you can love!

How much you can accomplish! And what your potential is!''

''In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.''

(Anne Frank)

Whether it is easier to be angry than to be loving, we must all decide for ourselves.

ps. Not long before the II World war ended in 1945, Anne Frank died in the Bergen-Belsen camp, barely 16 years old.

The man with the blue eyes......philosophy in a laundromat

The tumble dryer beeped, signaling that my first load of washing was dry. 

I got up and emptied the load into my basket. Two more loads to go. I had just sat down and carried on reading my book when the door to the laundromat opened. 

Carrying a duffel bag, a man in a tattered over-coat, wearing a well-worn woolen beanie and boots without shoelaces, entered the laundromat.

When he saw me he took off his beanie, looked me straight in the eyes and said: ''Evening'', then proceeded to put the contents of his duffel bag into one of the washing machines.

When he was finished, he sat down on a chair next to me.

I didn't know what to do, should I put down my book and begin a conversation with him or should I continue reading? Did he sit down next to me for a reason or was it just a coincident?

I looked at my watch, 8:30 pm, still another hour and half until all my washing would be done.

Truth be told, I felt uncomfortable. With all the empty chairs in the laundromat, why did he choose to sit down next to me? I decided to keep on reading.

A few minutes passed, then suddenly a voice: ''What is your take on time, does it exist or is it a mere human construct?''

I put down my book, turned toward the voice and found myself looking into the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I was lost for words for a minute or two before I answered: ''Actually, I am not sure, it depends on how the word time is defined perhaps?'' I answered.

''Well,'' the man with the blue eyes responded, ''How do you define the word 'time' then?''

''Well, if I am sitting in a dentist chair and having a tooth pulled, then time seems to pass very slowly, but if I am doing something I really enjoy, then time seems to fly, so I guess how one experiences time has a lot to do with not only hours, minutes and seconds, but also what one is experiencing during those hours, minutes and seconds,'' I answered.

The man with the blue eyes looked at me and smiled, ''You have given this some thought then I gather?''

''Yes, I have, and still do, and so far my hypothesis is that there is 'clock time' and then there is 'experienced time', I answered. As on cue, the timer on my tumble dryer, and the man with the blue eyes' washing machine, both started to beep at the same time.

''Alas, regardless of how we define time, it does tend to pass, wouldn't you agree?'' the man with the blue eyes said as he got up off his chair to unload his washing machine.

As I was putting in my last load in the tumble dryer, I quickly glanced over at the man with the blue eyes.

There was something odd about him that I couldn't put my finger on. He was dressed as if he lived on the streets, his whole demeanor quite disheveled, yet at the same time there was an 'air' about him that I couldn't quite pinpoint. As I stood at one of the tables folding my washing, I realized just how biased and judgmental my thinking was. I gave myself an internal slap on the wrist and vowed to myself to snap out of it and to remember that the measure of a human being does not hinge on clothing or appearance, rather, it hinges on a person's inner qualities.

I loaded the last bit of washing into the dryer and then sat down on my chair again.

A few minutes later the man with the blue eyes sat down next to me.

I was just about to ask the man with the blue eyes where he was from when the door to the laundromat flung open and two very drunk women entered.

''Jules, look at this will ya, men doing washing... what? Haven't yous got women to do it for ya? No one wanted yous, is that it? Or are you fags?'' said one of the women as she plonked herself in one of the chairs. The other woman pulled out a crumpled cigarette from her handbag, lit it, then laughed and said: ''Too right Sheila, look at them, miserable bums.''

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I got the chance to say anything, the man with the blue eyes spoke.

''Evening Ladies, I take it that you are in good spirits tonight, so please allow me to answer your questions, however I will speak only for myself since until only a few hours ago the two of us were total strangers. Three years ago, my wife and son were killed in a car accident on the way to pick me up from the airport. One year later our home burned to the ground while I was overseas doing my second tour of Afghanistan. In the space of two years I lost everything that I held dear, but these circumstances were instrumental in bringing about a big change in my outlook on life.

I now view every moment of life that I am given as a precious gift, and as none of us know how many moments any of us are given, I personally do not want to waste any time on concerning myself with pursuing anything that is not life or love-affirming.''

''Jeez, Sheila, what a nutcase, let's get out of here, I need another drink after all that philosophizing.''

''Me too Jules, and you, what's wrong wif ya, why don't you say anything, cat's got your tongue or what?'' The cat did have my tongue, I was lost for words.

The two women laughed, flung the door open and left, leaving behind a pungent smell of cigarettes and cheap alcohol.

''I think your dryer just stopped'' said the man with the blue eyes.

I folded the last of my washing, put it into my laundry bag, then slung the bag on my shoulder.

With his back to me, the man with the blue eyes was loading his washing into one of the dryers.

I felt that I needed to say something before leaving the laundromat, so I dropped my bag on the floor, tapped the man with the blue eyes on the shoulder and said: ''I am so sorry for all the pain and suffering you have had to endure, but I am grateful for having had the opportunity to spend some time with you.''

The man with the blue eyes smiled, put a hand on my shoulder and then said: ''A person who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.''