I think I need to retreat from the world, for a while. The more informed I am about world affairs; local and national politics; famine, flooding, fires and earthquakes, and all the horrors that accompany modern warfare, the more depressed I become. And, I don’t want to be depressed. I’m normally a happy optimist.
I think I need to switch off the news bulletins and retreat into La-La Land for a while. Just until I get my hope back.
Now, I don’t want you all giving me advice on how to trust in God and keep the faith and keep looking up etc. I know. I do. But, there’s so much misery going on right now that I can’t help feeling a little dismayed at the state of things. I’m one of those weird people that think you can have faith and still get discouraged. I think it’s one of the many paradoxes in life. I’m also well aware that many of you are now anxious to point out how wrong I am, and that’s okay.
One of the things that tipped me over was the last lot of news out of Syria. Have they all gone mad? And, please oh please, don’t send air-strikes. Do they really achieve anything other than more mayhem, pain and grief? (Deep breath, Old Girl. Breathe in; breathe out.)
Yesterday I went to lunch with my best friend. We drove through the beautiful Barossa Valley. The hills and fields were a lush, lavish green. Yellow soursobs were scattered through the weeds on the side of the road. Some of the wattle trees had sent out their first few balls of sunshine. Sheep were grazing among the vines. Birds were chirping and burping and having fun. The sun was shining. (Welcome back, stranger.)
After lunch, as I walked back to the car, I stopped for a moment and tipped my face up to the sky. I breathed the fresh air and let the sunshine kiss my face. It felt good. I need a bit more of this, I thought, and a lot less of the other.
So, dear world, I’m zoning you out for a while. It doesn’t mean I don’t care. It doesn’t mean I’ll ignore you forever. I’m just giving myself time to regroup.
Finally, one of my spammers sent me a slightly enigmatic message that I thought I’d repost here as a public service. It said: open the springform slowly. Thanks fella! Reading that made the whole thing worthwhile.
Amen.
Time to let the Sonshine in.
Begone oh winter blues.
You got it, Trevor! 🙂
That is a tough thing, carving out some happiness and peace of mind in a world gone nuts. A person can end up feeling guilty that they don’t live in a country torn by war and have to endure the barbarity of such things.
I suppose that if we were to dwell on this stuff too long we would all turn to drink. This, of course, reminds me of a bit of verse that somehow locked itself into my brain at an early age. (I can’t honestly recommend drinking to escape the ills of the world but I understand A.E. Houseman’s sentiment.)
“And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world’s not.”
Ah yes, but strong drink is the helper that king-hits you from behind.
I’m very impressed that you remembered some poetry. Well done! The poem that is burned on my brain is:
Spring is sprung. The grass is riz.
I wonder where dem boidies is.
Da little boid is on da wing.
Don’t be absoid.
Da little wing is on da boid.
I had to look up king-hits, it is just not in the vernacular up here. Interesting idiom. The equivalent that I know of in American English would be sucker punch.
As to poetry, every now and then some bit of a written work will stick in my head. Another KHS grad you may remember, Geoff McDonnell, and I once reached Camp Schurman, the climber’s hut at the 10,000 foot level on Mt. Rainier. There, the view sweeps in peaks as far south as Oregon, north into BC and west to waters of the Pacific. It was a clear blue day, we arrived close to sunset and watched the sun sink into the west for a bit then headed down. A full moon was soon upon us as we descended back to our camp.
In honor of Mt. Rainier’s long-time park ranger and part-time poet, Clark E. Schurman, a poem is inscribed upon the door of the hut. It reads:
“Into the cloud sea far below,
I, lonely, watched the red sun go,
then turning, miracle of glad surprise,
Enchanted, saw a full moon rise.”
If anyone ever asked me what the view was like up there, I always related the poem and how my experience was just like the poem. The poem was instantly set within me and has never escaped my recall, probably a reason for that.
No wonder that has stayed with you, Rich – beautiful scene, beautiful words that capture the essence of the moment – all makes for a beautiful, indelible memory.
Re: king hits. How funny! It never occurred to me that it was an Aussie idiom. Sucker punch is close but not quite it, unless I’ve got it wrong. To me a sucker punch is one that takes the receiver by surprise. A king hit, I think, is closer to a knock out; one huge thump to the jaw or face or temple and – bang – they’re unconscious (out for the count). Isn’t language fascinating?
Considering the state of Australian public life at the moment, staying away from it is the sensible option. I have managed to almost entirely block out the whole election stunt for the past month. If I want to watch TV I record it so I can skip through the ads. We need to hold ourselves back from the whole web of lies and self-delusions that constitute our current political/business life.
You are certainly not the only person I’ve heard lately who it taking this approach. You are only responsible to God for how you live your life, not to anyone else in the world.
Thanks, Ken. I find I easily get emotion overload. Thank the good Lord for books to escape into!
The newspapers last week had several letters from people who are blocking public life out at the moment. I talked to a few people over the past weeks who are also doing that. It is the media/government/lobbyist circle which is thrashing around mindlessly and needs to be ignored. There’s nothing wrong with you. Something has gone wrong with Australian public life just recently. I suspect the election itself is not the cure.
I don’t know what can be done about all this. Don’t just escape into a book. Escape into your own life: being with people, gardening, making things. Don’t let the maelstrom impose itself on your life. Remember those words: keep calm and carry on.
Wise words, indeed, Ken. I’m glad to know it’s not just me but, at the same time, mildly alarmed to hear it. You’re right about escaping into my life. I shall take heed. At the same time I can’t seem to stop trying to be a ‘voice that cries in the wilderness’. 🙂 I’ve just got to find some sense of balance.
We have now reached the outer edge of weirdness. In front of me I have a letter from a local Liberal Party stalwart. It encourages me NOT to vote for the local Liberal candidate in this Saturday’s election. Instead it suggests our city would get better representation in Canberra if we voted for the Labor candidate.
We are definitely NOT in Kansas anymore, Dorothy!
Oh my goodness! That’s just plain wrong. Mind you, even Malcolm Fraser is telling everyone not to vote for Mr Abbott, but to give our votes to the Greens instead. And the Greens are far more left wing than Labor! It’s all gone crackers, mate!