In a war, there are no winners, only suffering.

Yesterday I watched a TV series titled ''The Pacific''.

It depicts the last few years of the second World War

as it played out in the Pacific area.

How ''real'' or close to real the depiction was, this I have no idea of,

but for me it was real enough to make me google

how many casualties there were in the Pacific War. 

Including all countries involved: 36 million.

How accurate that number is, I don't know, but I can't 

help but wonder if it includes all the people not part of
the armed personnel who were affected by that war.

When peace eventually came and one side was declared a ''winner'',

did the war really stop?

As I understand it, it is hard for a mind that has had to endure

the ravages of war in any capacity to ''move on''.

Flashbacks, often horrific and incredibly scary may befall us all

more or less, regardless of whether we were on the winning or

the losing side of a war.

When a soldier/nurse/doctor/etc. returns home from a war, does he/she leave 

the war behind or does he/she bring some of it home with him/her?

Is it even possible for a human being to experience any kind

of a traumatic event without it leaving indelible marks on

his/her well-being?

Chatting with a war vet in a chat room about PTSD, he had this to say:

''PTSD is not an illness, rather it is a ''healthy'' response to an event

(or events) that is detrimental and or harmful to a person's well-being''.

Considering his words for a few days I concluded that there was merit to his words.

How ''healthy'' would I consider someone who is able to bully, punch, hit, kill, 

maim, blow up, bomb, etc.etc. others without any compunction?

Not terribly healthy at all.

In my view, there are ''wars'' being fought as a matter of human existence

everyday and everywhere, although the ''arenas'' may vary:

in homes, on the internet, in schools, on phones, at work, in clubs,

in pubs, on sports fields/arenas, in the streets, in car parks, at parties,

on the roads, on public transportation's, in hospitals, etc.etc.

Where humans are, conflict seem to follow.

Makes me wonder, if in 50 years or so, will PTSD 

(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) be as common as the common cold?

After the war in the Pacific ended, the soldiers went home. 

Some of them in body bags, some of them with body parts missing,

some of them with their wits missing, but one thing they all brought

home with them from the war was flashbacks.

Flashbacks of things that they had seen and experienced.

Regardless of what kind of ''arena'' a ''war'' is being fought in,

the outcome seem to always bring with it suffering.

But,

thankfully, nowadays we have a deeper understanding

and a clearer insight into some of the effects that

often accompany traumatic experiences.

Maybe this understanding can help us to view others

who have had to flee their homes due to wars, famines,

natural disasters, poverty, etc.etc. with compassion

and kindness in favour over suspicion.

''All war is a symptom of man's failure

as a thinking animal.'' (John Steinbeck)

''I do not know with what weapons World War III 

will be fought,

but I do know that World War IV will be fought

with rocks.'' (Albert Einstein)

''In a war, there are no winners,

only suffering.'' (Citizen Z)

Pain has no age limit........

The door opened. She looked up from behind her book.
''Now what? Who was it this time who came into the book store
and asked for an e-book,'' she muttered under her breath.
Letting out a sigh she put down her book on the counter, 
stood up and said: ''Can I help you?''
Only, she couldn't see anybody.
''Hmm, I am sure I heard someone come in, now
 where might they have disappeared to'', she said to herself as
she started to walk up and down the narrow aisles in the book
store.
Strange. Whoever it was seemed to have just vanished.
At the back of the shop there was a cosy corner for
the customers to withdraw to. Aggy, had decided that in his shop,
customers should be able to browse the books before they bought
them, so he had made a cosy corner for them to do so in comfort.
She made her way to the cosy corner.
There, sitting on the worn leather couch, sat a small girl clutching
a big bag.
''Hey, what's your name then?'' she asked the girl as she gently
sat down on one of the armrests on the couch.
The girl didn't answer, instead she clutched her bag closer to her chest.
''It's okay, I'll just tell you my name. 
My name is Isabel and I look after this shop.
Can I help you find a book perhaps?" she asked softly.
The little girl shook her head.
''This girl can't be more than eight or something, 
what's she doing here all by herself?'' Isabel wondered.
''Are you here all by yourself then?''
The little girl nodded.
''I see, having an adventure are you?''
A few minutes passed and then suddenly the little girl spoke.
''No, I'm not. I have run away from home,'' said the little girl.
''Oh, I see, and why is that then?'' Isabel asked.
''My name is Tiffy, I am nine years old, and I am not stupid!
I have run away from home because all they do at home is fight.
Fight, fight, fight! When they are not fighting, all they do is
play with their phones. I hate those things. 
When I try to tell them something, they never listen to me
 no matter how hard I try to get their attention. 
Yesterday when I came home from school, I tried to tell them that
Ruthie and Bianca always tease me, they call me stupid, and sometimes
they hit me. I was even crying! But mom just kept talking
on her phone and Billy called me a crybaby.
It's not fair!!'' said Tiffy as her bottom lip quivered and tears began
 to slowly roll down her cheeks.
''Why did you chose to run away to this book shop, Tiffy?'' asked Isabel.
''Cos I love books, especially books that are happy. Books about
nice people, nice places, about dreams that can come true, and where
people don't pick on you just cos you love books more than
those stupid phones!''
Tiffy dropped her bag on the floor, crossed her arms and looked at
Isabel with eyes sparkling with defiance.
''You know what Tiffy, I ran away from home once too when I was about your age.
''Did you?'' Tiffy asked, ''for real?''
''Yep, just like you, I was also picked on in school, called stupid, strange,
and not normal. I tried to tell my mom and dad just like you, but they
didn't seem to hear me either. For me, music was what made me happy.
Music opened a world for me to escape to when I needed to
get away from hurtful words and feeling as if I was invisible.''
''Isabel?''
''Yes, Tiffy?''
''Why am I not more important to my mom and dad than their phones, and
why do they fight all the time?''
Isabel looked at Tiffy and then decided that she needed to give her a hug.
''Can I please hug you Tiffy?''
Tiffy nodded.
Isabel wrapped her arms around the little girl, pulled her close,
and there they sat, close together in a warm embrace. 
Sharing a timeless moment of feeling seen, heard,
and cared for.


I guess that on some level we all know that life at times
bares with it a measure of pain. For some of us, that knowledge
perhaps comes earlier in life than for others. For some of us that
measure may be larger and or heavier than for others.
But where there is life, there is often pain of some kind or another,
 ....... for all that is alive.
In my view, the paramount question we may need to ask
ourselves is not how to escape pain, but how we can
use it for some sort of gain
as in:
Insight, compassion, wisdom, tolerance, acceptance,
forgiveness, kindness, etc.etc.
Through my life experiences, I have come to view pain this way:
''Joy is a friend, but pain is a teacher.'' (Citizen Z)

(I have a feeling that most of us have ''scars'' (both physical and mental)
 remaining from times when we have been hurt,
although perhaps not quite as
obvious as depicted in the painting above.)

On heartbreak...a perspective

Laying in the bathtub, she tries to hide her aging body beneath soap bubbles.

The small bathroom is filled with flickering candles, discarded clothing,

 and half dried towels.

Managing to hold back her tears, she takes a hesitant sip from her glass of wine.

Although submerged in hot water, a chill sweeps through her body as

she swallows the wine.

She feels like a fool, a failure, she feels betrayed, she feels lost,

she feels as if her whole life was a life built on lies.

She scolds her self for having been so naive, so trusting, and so clueless.

Right under her nose, and for seven years he had been unfaithful.

How did she miss it?

With trembling fingers she reaches out for her glass of wine and

although the smell of the wine makes her feel bilious, she

drinks it all down.

How can he do this to her? And with her best friend at that.

For seven years they have been sneaking around, having secret meetings,

probably laughing at how clueless she has been of their affair.

She feels insulted, betrayed, and angry with herself for

not having noticed what obviously had been going on

right under her nose.

She thinks back of how she used to do ball room dancing, 

and she was good at it too, but how she fell pregnant early in their 

marriage and from then on it was all about him and his career.

She had to let her dreams of becoming a dancer evaporate

and instead concentrate on supporting him as he studied, traveled,

lectured, taught, and flew here, there, and every where

for weeks on end and across the country.

She minded their child, cooked, baked, cleaned, joined the PTA,

played tennis with the ladies, served tea and scones at charity events, 

took care of his dry cleaning, managed elaborate dinner 

parties for his colleagues, took the car for regular servicing,

but somewhere amidst it all,.... she lost herself.

She feels so angry and sad that she can hardly breathe.

What had it all been for?

30 years of marriage. All gone with one sentence: ''I want a divorce.''

The look on his face. She will never forget it.

In an instant he became a stranger. He certainly ceased to be

her husband and best friend in the time space of a single breath.

She desperately wants to open the floodgates and let out all of her

tears, but she just can't. 

''Come on, just cry for heavens sake! What the hell is wrong

with you, why can't you cry all of a sudden?!!!'' she tells herself.

But nothing happens.

Her eyes are burning, her head thumping, her back aching,

and her heart? Does she even have one any more or

is it broken into so many pieces that it no longer is a heart?

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and just listens,

.... listens to the unfamiliar sounds of a city that is not

her city.

The water in the bathtub is no longer hot, candle wax have

begun to find its way down to the bathroom floor, and she

has finished the wine.

''I should get out'' she says to herself but somehow she

doesn't seem to be able to do so.

Slowly she opens her eyes. The bubbles are all gone and

the water looks tired and sad.

A gentle knock on the door stirs her into action.

''Lilian? Are you okay? Can I come in?''

Her sister enters the bathroom with a worried look on

her face.

She stands up, gets out of the tub,

grabs a towel and wraps it around her body.

Her sister looks at her, then walks up to her and

embraces her.

With her sister's arms around her, the floodgates suddenly

burst open. She begins to cry. 

She cries for love lost, for years lost, for dreams lost,

for trust lost.

She cries for what was, for what she thought she knew,

she cries for a world of uncertainty that now lay before her.

A world she now faces alone.

''Pain is an opportunity for us to resurrect our true selves.''

(Unknown)

(ps. this is not my story, but it's a story I have heard many times)

When we look, do we really know what we are seeing?

Standing on the balcony sipping a coffee, I could hear

cheerful chirping from down below. 

I looked down and on a very small piece of lawn I saw

all these beautiful little blue birds jumping about, chirping,

and tipping their tail feathers.

There was something so ''happy'' and carefree about those birds, 

well, at least so it seemed to me, a person who knows very

little about birds.

I decided to try and paint one of those birds, 

and the above image is the result.

Interestingly, many of the people who has seen this

painting has made this comment: ''Oh, how beautiful, but

why is there blood dripping from the bird's claw?''

For this I have a number of answers: 

1. I felt the painting needed a bit of red.

           2. The bird is sitting on a barbwire and one of 

the barbs injured the bird.

      3. Beauty and ''pain'' often go hand in hand.

4. The barbwire represents mankind and

    how its needs and wants often seem to

    unwittingly disturb and or cause ''pain''

   to other living things sharing this planet.

5. The little drops of red makes the painting

''more'' than an ''photo'', aka more than a

realistic depiction of a subject.

''The relationship between what we see and what

we know, is never really settled.''

(John Berger)

Is it possible to really ''see'' something if we don't

''know'' what we are seeing?

Ex: what do you think this is?

or this?

If you think the first one is a close-up of a bottle brush flower,

then well done! you are right. 

If you think the second one is a close-up of a leaf, 

then well done again, you are right.

When we look at something we are using one of our senses, (seeing)

when we know what we are looking at, we are adding experience,

a mental function, to our seeing/looking.

So I am going to suggest that seeing we do with our eyes, 

knowing we do with our minds.

Which for me goes a long way when it comes to

better understand why us humans so often misunderstand 

each other.

I may see a forest, you may see timber,

I may see an ocean, you may see food,

I may see a bird, you may see a nuisance,

I may see a man down on his luck, you may see a lazy bum.

I may see an over-tired child, you may see a spoiled kid.

Vice versa and so on.

In my view,

what we see depends a lot on what we are looking for, 

what we have seen in the past, what we are willing

to see now and in the future. 

It also depends on our experiences, and our

interpretations of those experiences.

''The real voyage of discovery consists not of seeking

it in new landscapes but in having new eyes.''

(Marcel Proust)

To love, takes courage..........

Love, this almost impossible concept to define adequately, 

.......changes, although the essence, if we so chose,

 may stay the same.

Years have passed, but in his eyes she is still the same

beautiful young woman with the Mona-Lisa smile, 

the long dark hair, and the big blue eyes. 

He knows that the years have passed and that they are

now ''old people'', but in his minds eye, they are still

the same. 

He still loves her and he is pretty sure that she still loves him,

but as their minds and bodies inevitably are forced to

succumb to the aging process, they find themselves struggling.

Struggling to understand each others needs, as the aging process

 is affecting them in different ways.

She still cares about the way she looks and what she wares,

comfort-ability and easy access, by this he swears.

She still likes having friends over for a meal and a chat,

he prefers his own company, quiet contemplation and such as that.

She enjoys gentle walks on the waters edge or in the park,

he prefers his armchair, watching others being active from afar.

She likes a bit of ''gossip''', you know, who did what and where?,

he prefers to Google, watch the latest News from ''over there''.

More than sixty years of marriage, yet still together,

sharing ups and downs, facing most kinds of ''weathers''.

Still sleeping side by side, close together at each eventide,

what a marvelous blessing to have been given, what a marvelous life.

**************

In an age when it is easy to find a new partner

by ''swiping right''  (or is it left? I forget) or

texting secret messages for secret ''rendezvous'',

is it possible that we have acquired a somewhat

less loving attitude or stance towards love itself?

I'll finish this post with my own definition of love:

''It seems to me that we love someone when we care

more about the other as she/he is, rather than who we

think they should become; when we reveal ourselves honestly 

and vulnerably, just as we offer the same for the other.

We love someone when we act with patience, resilience,

compassion, forgiveness, attention and with a whole-

hearted commitment to their well-being.

Perhaps we ''fall'' in love,

but we chose to stay with love.''

ps: the above image is made with acrylic on paper

Discover a new you by discovering your self-value.....

(The above image is a poster I painted in acrylic and ink. The original

was a small hand-bill made for the movie when it was released.) 

In 1927, ''Metropolis'', a movie by the German film director Fritz Lang was released.

Some view it as the first ''real'' Sci-Fi movie ever made, and many consider it a

masterpiece. 

Story line: A city set in a futuristic urban dystopia with a privileged class living

 ''on top'' and an exhausted, over-worked and mistreated working class 

living beneath, The Underworld. 

The people living beneath live in squalor, working day and night to keep the 

machinery going, while the privileged class above remain oblivious.

 By accident a man from the ''top'' discovers the ''underworld''

and what they have to endure in order for the privileged to enjoy

their frivolous and carefree lives. He joins the underworld rebellion

lead by Maria, which puts him at odds with his father.

A struggle ensues for the liberation of the workers and 

for a son from his father.

(This movie is in black and white, but it is a visually stunning movie, and the remake,

made in 2010, may I suggest, even more so.)

The story line is not unusual, it is probably one of the most common 

story lines mankind keeps regurgitating in one form or another.

Somehow we seem stuck in the mindset of thinking that some people 

are just more important and more valuable than others.

Actually, as far as I can ascertain, most cultures seem to teach it.

I can't help but wonder where and when this notion first appeared.

Is a doctor more important and valuable than a garbage truck driver?

If you need meds, yes, but not if the garbage hasn't been collected.

Is a teacher more important and valuable than a waiter/waitress?

If you want to learn maths, yes, but not if you want your food.

Is a Politician more important and valuable than an

electrician?

If you want a bill passed, yes, but not if you want light and hot water.

Can comparisons even be made?

If you say ''no, because there are too many variables to be considered'', 

then I agree.

Broadly speaking, one could perhaps say that people in positions in which 

they hold the power to make decisions that affect many peoples lives 

 can be viewed as being important positions, alas, they become 

important people. 

Perhaps similarly, people who hold positions that are highly specialized

and of the ''expert'' variety can be viewed as valuable and important.

In short, the people who hold the power to affect any kind of change

to our lives (including against our will) and our circumstances, 

often tend to become important and valuable to most of us.

However,

looking at importance and value from another perspective,

a personal perspective rather than a ''positional/the jobs 

we do'' perspective, I contend that all human beings

are important and valuable one way or another.

Point in case: self-value, which is about how

we act and behave toward that/those which we value and deem

important. (This includes ourselves and how we care for

ourselves.)

Some say that if we value ourselves, we take care of our

physical and mental health, we endeavor to improve 

our development in line with our values, and correct behaviours

that are not congruent with those values.

Self-value tells us that we do not need to devalue anyone

in order to know our own value. Some say that by valuing others, 

more often than not, we increase our sense of self-value.

But this means that we need to know what our values

are and this may necessitate spending some time

''fishing'' them up from our subconscious.

(According to those in the know, commonly we

are not usually aware of what our values are, they operate 

somewhat in the background, a bit like gut instinct.)

So, how can we find out what our values are? 

We need to ask ourselves what we truly value in life,

and then make a mental note of what those values are

and how we can best act/behave in order

 to reinforce those values.

  Tip:

When we act contrary to our values, we often

feel uneasy and conflicted.

Once the privileged man discovered the Underworld in Metropolis, 

he also discovered that his value system was being challenged.

He could no longer go back to his privileged life and although

this caused friction with his father, he stayed true to his values.

''Every act from the heart is ultimately of equal value.

Monetary income and or a position of power is a

perfect deceiver of a person's self-worth.''

(an elaboration of a quote by Criss Jami)

Things and their importance......

Things. We all have things. 

Things that are precious to us,

things that may carry a sentimental value, 

things that may come in handy, 

things that used to be used but not anymore, 

things we have forgotten that we even have,

things that we have inherited,

things that has been left with us

for safe keeping,

things we don't know whether to keep

or to get rid of,

things that we keep because they

help us to remember......

That's the thing with things methinks, they are tangible/physical,

so we can touch them, smell them, handle them, 

and when applicable, use them again and again.

They have a history, and that history can help

us to connect with our own and or others

connections with those things.

Photo albums, old home movies, books, paintings, CD's, vinyl records,

VHS tapes, diaries, journals, scrap books, kid's paintings,

hand made pottery items, old baby blankets, jewelry,

framed photographs, etc.etc. are some of those things

in my view.

It is possible for us in today's digital world to

transfer a garage/attic/house full of things onto one thing,

all we have to do is take a photo or record a video

of it all with an I-Thingy(Laptops, tablets, computers, smart phones).

On top of one of my bookcases I have a stone

with a drawing on it that one of my nephews

drew when he was three years old. What makes it precious and 

a treasure to me, is that I remember vividly the smile on his face

 and the pride in his voice when he told me he had made it for me.

I could of course take a photo of it and get rid of the stone,

but I won't, because I like holding the stone in my hand every

now and then and reconnect with the moment when the stone

was given to me.

Let's face it, us humans are emotional beings and we have a 

tendency to attach emotions to things. Once we deem a thing as ''ours'',

we usually have feelings about or for that thing.

One could perhaps say that those things become external

receptacles of our memories, relationships, and our travels through life.

So I am going to stipulate here that the more that our senses are connected

to a thing, the more it means to us.

Enter the ''I-Thingy''. (Laptops, tablets, computers, smart phones)

I heard on the News that nowadays there is such a thing

 as a ''Smart Phone Addiction'', it even has a name: ''Nomophobia''

Smart phones, they say, has gone from being a thing to becoming

a best friend for some people.

Wowzers.

When asked what people would grab out of their house if it was burning,

the most common answer used to be Photo albums and memento's,

today I guess the answer would be their Smart Phones/Laptops/tablets etc.

According to some research, some of us are so attached to our

phones that we experience anxiety if we misplace or lose our

phones even if temporarily.

Some of us have a habit of checking our phones every few minutes,

some of sleep with the phone next to us, some of us regardless of

having a meal with friends, being at work, or while driving a car,

still feel the need to keep checking for messages.

This need for constantly checking or using the phone in 

public places has even lead to some establishments putting

up signs prohibiting the use of smart phones. 

Smart phones, or the way we use them, they say, have changed 

how we behave socially and not always in a healthy way.

As far as ''things'' go, it seems to me that the smart phone

sits at the very top of ''most important thing in my life''

list for many people.

(Personally, I have no emotional connection with my smart phone, 

for me it is just a tool to make phone calls and texts on.

Most of the time I forget to charge it, often I have no

idea where it is, and usually, I don't even

hear it when it rings.)

Regardless of my views on the smart phone and its many uses, 

I hope that we will not become so addicted to the

''digital haze'' that we forget the importance of analogue things.

Such as looking at real paintings, holding real books in our hands,

write journals on paper, print out photographs on paper,

go to live concerts, comedy shows, ballets, save our kids

paintings, travel in real life not only on a screen, have coffee or a meal 

with friends with the phones switched off, go for walks on the beach, 

in a forest, in a park, play board games, cards, watch a sunset/sunrise,

make a photo album, start a scrap book, etc.etc......

In short, every now and then, if you suspect that you may be spending too 

much time on the phone, why not turn off your phone/laptop/tablet/etc. 

and do something analogue?

After all, so far a smart phone cannot offer you what real life does....

an analogue experience.....

ps: the above image is inks on paper.....I just love the way ink behaves on wet

water colour paper.