1000 Voices Speak For Compassion, Blogging, Feminism, Guest Blogs and Featured Spotlights, IN THE NEWS AND ON MY MIND, Kerry's Causes, RIP, Shows and Events, Special Occasions

Sewing The Seeds, #TearsForFears #Compassion #1000Speak

“Time…to eat all your words…swallow your pride…open your eyes.”

I won’t include a link to TFF’s most well-known song: Everybody Wants to Rule the World, because I am sick of power and reckless lack of humanity.

As we show the next generation the way, we need to show them love, but too many of us won’t admit where we went wrong ourselves.

Though, (both love and hate, as movements/floods), can, instead, be seen as seeds sewn in each and every one of us given the right environment for such strong emotions.

Adults, those who are handed the positions of power and leadership, do your job and LEAD!!!

I am tired. I am not thinking all that straight. I just can’t…

I was pulled in two different directions on this night, just after February 20th, and of equal wonder, though firmly rooted in sadness for everything I wish could be different but isn’t.

First, a group of youth from the Jane and Finch area of Toronto were treated to a screening of Black Panther and given the chance to see a black man as superhero for a change.

Then, I heard recording of the students in Florida, one in particular, speaking out on the BS they see from the adults and those running their country.

I wanted to cheer all these kids on, to believe they would be in history books in years to come and for only the best of reasons, that they would see nothing else but positive role models that might show them some hope somewhere along the way.

I have two sets of nieces and nephews: one set currently attends a school in an urban setting, in a highly diverse neighbourhood, in one of the busiest cities in Canada.

My second set (nephew for the moment, but soon both nephew and niece, or soon enough) who go and will go to school, in a rural area. It’s out in the middle of the countryside, where their parent/aunt/uncles went to school once upon a time, long long ago, where we grew up in a highly sheltered setting.

If I thought, ever for one moment truly, that any of them were at risk of having some angry/out-of-control person walk into their classrooms with a dangerous weapon, able to kill like we all saw in Florida last week…

My chest both constricts painfully and threatens to burst at such a notion as this. I can hear the anger and the pain and frustration in the voice of that young woman on the video, speaking up for her friends and classmates and herself.

I know there is anger and it is justified. I just wish she wasn’t left with such anger in the first place. It seems to be pushing a great many young people, those speaking with such poise for the media and the world to hear, and these are young people who were born around the turn of this new century, barely even born when 9/11 occurred.

Now I am forced to contemplate my own loved one’s voice shake with anger like that, if anything were to ever happen so dreadful as all this, and I don’t want to.

February 20th was the 3rd anniversary of 1000 Voices Speak For Compassion, the blogging event that a bunch of writers created all the way back in 2015 and of which I was moved to join in on at the time.

More regular violence in places like Syria (those poor babies), (in schools/places of worship) but also there have been changes for the better since 2015 – #MeToo and #TimesUp to name a few.

On this anniversary, with so many horrible things/monumental things having taken place in the last three years, I thought I’d write again on the subject of compassion toward ourselves, each other, and the wider world. Today I was inspired to speak about this, using one of my favourite bands and their lyrics to make my point.

And so, another senseless event, and I have nothing to say, but I find words anyway, but perhaps I am just too naive to know any better. I still believe:

The songs I’ve chosen for this post, from Tears For Fears, they make me cry and they make me keep on hoping, shouting my message of compassion, even in my most furious and pained moments.

As for 1000Speak, this blogging movement for compassion did not continue more than a few years, as I sensed many of its original participants found they eventually couldn’t restate the same things anymore, that they had no more to give to it, no more to add. The fatigue sets in and we ask “what’s the point”?

I get it. I mean, after all, who’s really even listening to my thoughts on all this anyway?

Things change and life goes on, I understand, as sad as that made me, and still does. I feel that same way, but I still write. I don’t give up on compassion. I keep saying my piece. I am glad new voices are always being added though.

Children do need to be where we find hope, where we first look to demonstrate our own humanity, as those who should know better, even if some of us never were shown the way ourselves.

Compassion is a seed that must be sewn and sewn again and again and again.

Thank you to all the hard-working gardeners who keep at it, season after season, year upon year, and throughout all kinds of weather.

As TFF lyrics once put it, as far as compassion and the spreading of it goes: “it’s under my skin and out of my hands.”

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1000 Voices Speak For Compassion, IN THE NEWS AND ON MY MIND, Special Occasions, TToT

TToT: Chameleon in a Room Full of Mirrors – Part Two, #10Thankful

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

– Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

Ten Things of Thankful

I am thankful my brother and his family got to get away for a week together.

Winters can be long. Sun and sea and family time, no cooking or cleaning or work or school. Who wouldn’t like that?

I am thankful for my chameleon eyes.

I can’t see what colour my own eyes are in the mirror, but even when I had more sight, much more sight than I now have, I still couldn’t see the colour of my own eyes.

Well, every time I’ve ever asked, I’ve gotten varied and differing answers. I didn’t know whom to believe.

I got a new artificial eye made the day before Valentine’s Day and it was done within six hours. Not bad.

No, it’s not made of glass. I will answer all the most common questions, in a piece I’m going to write about the experience, once I get through some of the work I’ve currently got on the go this month.

I am glad the new one is in and I was told when the colour is bluish one day, green another, and hazel or whatever, with flecks of something thrown in there somewhere for whatever reason, that is what is known as the chameleon eye, changing colour, depending on the time asked and the light seen in. I thought it was so funny that I’d heard a saying about a chameleon in a room full of mirrors, which could mean any number of things, that I used that as the title for last week’s TToT and then I find out my eyes are chameleon coloured this week.

Thus…part two.

I am thankful for a single girl’s lunch to celebrate all the different kinds of love that matter.

Fancy old mansion and multiple forks and spoons at every place setting.

Truth is that I don’t know a lot about fancy food and don’t think it all that better, overall, but this was a nice way to spend February 14th, to enjoy a nice meal with a friend, celebrating the benefits of being single, especially on a day when all you hear about is romantic love.

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I am thankful for a local, city library card.

I have lived in the town for ten years and am just now getting a library card. So many books that I feel held back from, many print, though there are more and more ways around that for someone who can’t see to read.

I do think the library is a fantastic public resource that everyone deserves to share in.

More on this another week.

I am thankful for positive feedback on a job I’ve got this month.

I was told, at least, I am on the right track which is always nice to hear and know. I will know more by next month.

I am thankful a yoga session could be squeezed into my day.

So busy lately. I can tell, by how quickly I am rushing through even this week’s thankful list that yoga is very much needed in my life.

I had no meeting. She was stuck on Montreal’s public transit. Still, a lesson worked out and I needed that for my sanity.

I am thankful for remittances.

Still learning about such terms of getting paid for work completed. I’m glad it means what it actually means. I admit, the word didn’t sound so good upon first hearing it. I am happy to know its meaning now.

I am thankful for my arms that learn a new thing (dynamics) on the violin.

I guess this is progress. I was sore after, in my upper back and shoulders, as I must have tensed up in learning such techniques. It involves ways of moving the bow, angles, pressure, and a whole lot more to make the music sound quiet or medium or loud, still learning proper names for each level of volume throughout a song.

More to come on this too, also, in the weeks ahead I’d guess.

I am thankful for the nostalgia of a romantic comedy from the 90s.

I wanted to see a movie from my past, about Paris, about forgetting Paris, about basketball refereeing even and I am no sports fan by any means.

It’s an old one of Billy Crystal and one that didn’t receive enough praise, if you ask me.

I am thankful I managed an ending to the short story I wrote last week.

I wrote it, at writing group, on my oma’s birthday. She would have been 97 this year. It’s fiction, based on the girl she might have been, with a few pieces of the girl she told me stories about.

I wrote most of it, but then my braille display died. So, I now have the ending written and I look forward to reading it at the next writing group’s gathering coming up.

Tired and pondering love/hate/indifference lately.

“A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own. The great instrument of moral good is the imagination.”

—Percy Bysshe Shelley

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IN THE NEWS AND ON MY MIND, Memoir and Reflections, Shows and Events, SoCS, Special Occasions, Travel

Fly Me and My Shadow to the Moon, #SuperBloodMoon #GroundhogDay #SoCS

I used to love to see my shadow. I could stand on my driveway and see enough to detect the bright, white cement and then the dark shape that was me. I could look down and see my legs, taking step after step with my flat attachment, the visual image of that game, it made me think of, copycat where one annoying sibling or other family or friend would repeat everything you’d say.

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I moved my hand and the dark shape would follow the action. I was it and it was me – a basic shape, an outline of my body.

Today, the sun was shining brightly as I went about my day. I had a meeting with the travel agent and I went to my violin lesson.

On the second day of February we wait eagerly for a creature to come out. If it sees its shadow, it is frightened and runs and hides. Winter continues, a dreaded fact for most people, but I take winter in my stride.

As well as Groundhog Day, this week there was some sort of a super blood moon, along with a lunar eclipse.

I don’t pay much attention to the one, being such a literal kid that growing up I was always confused what the whole thing meant, but I do wish I had seen the bigger than normal moon and its reddish tinge.

Tough times lately, but February is here finally.

And so,
in other words,
What?

Will there be six more of anything left of winter?

Meh. I know some would tell me I should have a sense of humour, find one, about Groundhog Day and I know I probably should, but I don’t.

I find some superstitions to be curious and interesting, but here in North America, we seem to find this one highly amusing and a sign, to make us feel better (that spring is on its way) or help us wallow in our dislike for long North American winters that we’re told will be even longer.

It just seems too silly for words, in other words, and I’m sticking to that.

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1000 Voices Speak For Compassion, Blogging, Guest Blogs and Featured Spotlights, History, IN THE NEWS AND ON MY MIND, Kerry's Causes, The Insightful Wanderer

Silence Is Acceptance, #MeToo #HolocaustMemorialDay #JusJoJan

There are many things I would like to speak about, on an ongoing basis. Listening to stories of survivors of the Holocaust, their strength and bravery in speaking on such horrid things, makes me feel like not enough is said as of yet, from all of us and that we all must say something.

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There are a lot of things going on, past and present, that I’d like to
address
and then something stops me from saying anything at all. Fear, but of what?

Just Jot It January, #JusJoJan

I am stuck on the Holocaust and I have been for a long long time. I take breaks from thinking about it, to preserve my sanity, but ultimately this historical event creeps back into my thoughts. I am lucky I can take those breaks. I didn’t experience it, though I know many who did have gone on to live perfectly wonderful lives. It feels haunting, even if I often wonder how I’d have moved on if it had happened to me.

I want to speak on things, to write about them, to make sure people don’t forget. Mistakes are repeated. Humans are doomed to repeat what once was. We can’t seem to help ourselves.

If I speak up on such things, I am told I worry too much, as if I am supposed to forget that if I had lived during the time of World War II I would be considered a waste, as one of the disabled.

Yes, if I’d lived in Europe during that time, if I lived anywhere back then, and even if I lived here, years ago, kidney disease would have killed me.

Morbid, perhaps. Speaking up, or addressing the things that haunt my mind, this unsticks those cobwebs from the furthest corners of my brain.

I am lucky to have an address and a roof over my head, even if my heat does keep crapping out on me. I am lucky to be living in 2018 and celebrating that I was born after the inventions of dialysis and organ transplantation.

I saw Nazis marching in North America, I hear that Poland just made it illegal to mention Poland’s involvement during the Holocaust, and I wonder what to say, what I can say about these furious subjects.

I see people are saying things aren’t so bad, and they aren’t really, but they are for some people and they could be, any day, for more of us. We need to stay vigilant and on guard to halt dangers from reoccurring.

Sexual misconduct and resignations as a result are happening in Canada, in Ontario politics now too. Forget presidents and porn stars. This is not so hard to get, is it?

The men who complain this is going too far, that they can’t even talk to women now, make me want to bang my own head against the wall repeatedly.

Pop culture. Politics. Personal space. Is it really so hard for men to not act inappropriately with women and young girls? Really? Reeeeeeally?

It is maddening. I want to keep addressing all these things, to make people get along, and to practice tolerance and compassion. What is it going to take?

TELL ME!!!

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1000 Voices Speak For Compassion, Feminism, Guest Blogs and Featured Spotlights, History, IN THE NEWS AND ON MY MIND, Memoir and Reflections, RIP, Shows and Events, Song Lyric Sunday, Spotlight Sunday

Ode to the Mashed Potato Music, #TheCranberries #RIP #SongLyricSunday

Like a pile of warm mashed potatoes, as odd as that sounds – my mom makes them and my grandmother made them once too. Your voice has always been there,

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as a steadfast and loyal
place and space of comfort.

I think I need to start making a list, keeping track of all the songs I’ve chosen for this thing. Can’t remember if I’ve done this one already, as I have shared multiple songs by The Cranberries here.

Oh well. She is gone and I am sad and I find solace in the sound of her voice. Comfort, very much needed this week.

***

Understand the things I say
Don’t turn away from me,
‘Cause I’ve spent half my life out there
You wouldn’t disagree.
Do you see me? Do you see?
Do you like me?
Do you like me standing there?
Do you notice? Do you know?
Do you see me?
Do you see me?

Does anyone care?

Unhappiness
Where’s when I was young,
And we didn’t give a damn,
‘Cause we were raised,
To see life as fun
And take it if we can.
My mother, my mom,
She hold me, she hold me
When I was out there.
My father, my father,
He liked me, oh, he liked me.

Does anyone care?

Understand what I’ve become,
It wasn’t my design.
And people everywhere think something
Better than I am.
But I miss you, I miss,
‘Cause I liked it,
‘Cause I liked it when I was out there.
Do you know this? Do you know
You did not find me?
You did not find. Does anyone care?

Unhappiness
Where’s when I was young,
And we didn’t give a damn,
‘Cause we were raised,
To see life as fun
And take it if we can.
My mother, my mom,
She hold me, she hold me
When I was out there.
My father, my father,
He liked me, oh, he liked me.

Does anyone care?

[9x]

LYRICS

***

I’m sure we grew up with somewhat different lives, from Ireland to Canada, but it feels like a similar familial comfort once existing there.

You wonder sometimes, when the world gets rough, does anyone care?

Of course, someone cares. Of course, but the question still gets asked.

Many people focus on her pension for the “dooodooodooos” in their songs. Depending on my mood, I found this mildly irritating to lovely, but her voice could and did do more, go further, into intense and haunting tones and cries of something, something I can’t quite recognize.

I chose this song because family are a comfort. I know it’s not like that for everyone and nobody’s perfect, but where else can such security and comfort come from than that?

To her family and to mine. That’s where the comfort lies.

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1000 Voices Speak For Compassion, Blogging, Guest Blogs and Featured Spotlights, History, IN THE NEWS AND ON MY MIND

There’s BOUND to Be One, JusJoJan

I languish in the calm here. I try to convince myself it won’t happen here, or even anywhere close to where here is.

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Canada is my peaceful place, but that isn’t the case for so many, I feel even the circumstances here are biding their time before something shifts and cannot be put back right.

Just Jot It January, #JusJoJan

Governments and corporations like the money and the power, as humans tend to do, when presented with either. It is classic stories that make this clear for me, but shut the book and I am back in cold, hard reality where there is no cover to close.

How long people like myself stay mostly ignorant before blowing it all up in protest is the question on my mind sometimes.

It’s protests in the streets, but often even the biggest of those fizzles out. Or maybe not really. What will Iran do, I wonder.

It’s a rebellion I read about in history class, in Canada’s not so distant past. Those seem like heroic tales from long ago. I stay out of such things. I try to keep away.

The ridiculousness of politics baffles my mind most days. Countries are just trying to function, their citizens only wishing to live a nice life, and all this thought/talk of rebellion and revolutions is simply stirring things up.

My mind gets carried away often and I have to struggle to get it back under control, to where I need to listen to something like the rushing and roaring of the waves, the only thing that puts it all in perspective and calms my racing thoughts.

Fears I have of such discourse as what’s happening in Canada’s neighbouring country ending up no other place than
open revolt of some kind
keep me unable to let it go. It’s ongoing.

As I picture what history books one hundred years from now might look like, I am starting to see that writing in that book in my mind.

I’m being silly, right? Tell me that I’m just being overdramatic. Go for it.

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1000 Voices Speak For Compassion, Blogging, Feminism, Guest Blogs and Featured Spotlights, IN THE NEWS AND ON MY MIND, Piece of Cake, RIP

Silenced, #TheCranberries #JusJoJan

The folded up newspaper sits on my coffee table, containing words about another, taken too soon.

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I can’t see to read it and wonder why I bother to keep the paper anyway.

Just Jot It January, #JusJoJan

This is not an official tribute…or is it?

Just how much do I want/need/have to say about a woman I’d never met before anyway?

I am rocked by the news, left meandering through
contemplation
of my own life and what it’s meant to be.

All her lyrics are on repeat in my head. They invite just this sort of examination.

I keep trying to grow, as I write, and to try a bunch of different things with it all. Some things are bound to catch on, while others might not. I have to trust in that process, to thrive in its randomness, but I won’t lessen the effort I put forth.

I have plans in my head, shifting daily perhaps, and then an unforeseen tragedy happens. A woman, middle aged dies suddenly, leaving behind teenage children in the world.

A man is celebrated every January who also was taken much too soon, in evil and ugliness, leaving the lives of especially his children forever changed.

I am lucky to have all I have, to have love and family and a safe place to be. I listen to lots of music, not just The Cranberries, to keep forging on.

I listen to Another Day In Paradise by Phil Collins and I feel the same as I’ve always felt when listening to that set of lyrics. I may feel better that I am feeling for the homeless woman in the song, but really I don’t know what kind of a person that really makes me in the end.

I see those on the street, just as the blind were often seen as beggars on the street, and I want to feed and house everyone. There is a shame and a stigma about it all.

I contemplate and then I hear Dolores’s words in my head: “Don’t analyze. Don’t analyze. Don’t go that way. Don’t live that way. That would paralyze your evolution.”

And oh the lump in my throat returns and I go back to the revolving thoughts in my head and I know I’ll always mourn her voice silenced far too soon.

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