GUILTY GENERATION

I'm home sick with some potent incarnation of the swine flu, hopefully not as fatal though, although I definitely have been having melodramatic feelings about writing my will on occassion. I know this is bad, because I didn't even enjoy this Saturday morning, my head feels like it's full of cotton, delirious cotton, brought upon either by fever or vast quantities of mulled wine I'm consuming....anyway... now I feel like writing something, but I of course cannot really think of anything to write, so I shall attempt to convert a talk I recently did into a blog post i.e. a form of intellectual recycling, which in this instance is actually quite apt - you'll hopefully get the joke if you read the post ;)

*****

Why do we (should we) care about climate change?

Because climate change is no longer just affecting our climate system, but through peoples efforts it is having an effect on our thinking, society, our markets, policy, economics, and industry. Sadly constantly the phrase rings out – I ‘believe’ in climate change, I do not ‘believe’ in climate change. I hope we share the desire not to believe (or not) in climate change, but because as we see its far-reaching influence, we want to ‘know’ more about it.

But I find that there’s not a lot of clarity out there on this issue. More specifically, clarity on how we are affecting it, and how we will be affected by it. This isn’t exactly clear to me. If we take to one side the question about whether humans are affecting the climate or not, and consider a message that has received some traction – that of reducing your energy consumption, or your ‘green footprint’ you get an overwhelming amount of questions:

Don’t you print double-sided? Don’t you drive a Prius? Don’t you recycle? Don’t you switch the lights off when you leave the room? Don’t you unplug your mobile phone charger? Don’t you avoid using the elevator?

We are: 'THE GUILTY GENERATION’.

'Back in the good ol’ days' people were optimistic about the future. It seems like a foreign sentiment to feel these days. Optimism about the future is unheard of in a general humanitarian sense. Sure, you can be optimistic about your future SAT scores, or your new baby etc, but about the future of mankind in general - well that's blasphemy really, and/or you just haven't been watching the news. They (i.e. our parents, and theirs) thought that by now we’d be on Mars, teleport all over the place, live forever, looking like Elle McPherson. There was excitement, optimism, things where being built, people where looking forward to the future…

Not anymore.

We, the future of the past are made to feel guilty all the time. Is that fish you’re eating? Is it from a sustainable source? But what is sustainable? (I have this awesome app on my phone: http://www.sustainableseafood.org.au/Sustainable-Seafood-Guide-Australia.asp?active_page_id=695)  Do you recycle your plastics? But did you know that packaging companies might finance recycling centers, and encouraging consumerism (http://www.forbes.com/sites/amywestervelt/2012/04/25/can-recycling-be-bad-for-the-environment/)? How is it that it may costs less to buy a new TV than to have your old one repaired? How much do cows really fart – and how is it really affecting the climate? (this is kinda cute: http://www.show.me.uk/site/news/STO873.html)

When I consider how much 'badness' there is out there, it's like trying to imagine the size of the universe - except it makes you feel guilty not giddy. I GUILTY (and I’m not even Catholic). If I starting thinking about it - I feel bad about what I eat, what I drink, how I live... If you just open the lid on ‘climate change’ you can feel like a downright rotten human being for existing, because it seems that your existence precurs the existence of the future for the human race.

I don’t think I deserve to, or that we need to.

I think the reason I become susceptible to this external guilt is that I do not understand the problem(s) entirely. I don’t know how large it is, and I don’t actually know how I contribute to it. This cloudiness leads to lack of action, to the point of apathy on my part. I think the key is in quantifying this issue, i.e. putting it in a context, and removing ambiguity always helps – for example, very simplistically, price is usually a first indicator we use to judge quality: How do I know if a bottle of wine is better than another? I look at the price. (For me £100 is always worse than a £5 bottle....especially for mulled wine... :))

So in my search for clarity, I stumbled across a text that addressed the issue of sustainable energy objectively. It got down to the numbers and quantified the situation. It’s called “Sustainable Energy: without the hot air” by David Mackay (http://www.withouthotair.com/).

This in my opinion is a text that addresses the issue (ahem…guilt) of sustainable energy (conveniently for those of you in the UK, in a British context) in a quantitative way, fanning away adjectives, and replacing them with numbers. It removes the guilty feeling, because it quantifies the problem. It answers questions about how big this problem really is, how you can affect it as an individual. By putting the issue of sustainable energy in a current quantitative context it becomes tractable.

I 'believe' that this is a work that objectively presents how you can contribute on an individual level to affecting the consumption of fossil fuels. One interesting message that I got from the book is that if “everyone does a little, we’ll achieve only a little”. What is a little? What is a lot? For example, switching off your mobile phone charger for ‘one year’ is equal to the energy in a single hot bath. The message? No more washing... ;)

Seriously. The message? Let’s stop to this guilt, by making a directed/informed choice.

Saturday mornings

Perhaps it's something particular to Saturdays that come after a busy week, during which you've been pushing yourself to do too much, and achieving little by your standards. Perhaps it's the warmth of the bed that won't let you leave until the morning is mature. Or maybe it's the crisp air, barely warmed by the autumn sun that sends a tingle through your body as you take deep breaths to clear your head.  What is it then, that unexpectedly opens your soul to the words in a book, and the thoughts they weave send waves of emotion coursing through, your head spins and you gladly fall into a new world... 'And when you do find one, observe with care,' he said to the intern: 'they almost always have crystals in their heart.'

Scheherazade

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
                                         and dress them in warm clothes again.
       How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
            It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
       it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,
         how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
                                                                       to slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means
        we’re inconsolable.
                            Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
                                                     Tell me we’ll never get used to it.

-Richard Siken

What is it that we miss?

I love autumn particularly because it is quiet. Particularly those days when the sky is clean from clouds; the morning air is crisp and fresh, and forces you into a brisk pace. The leaves crunchy under your feet. The trees dressed in a brilliance of flame coloured leaves. The sun still warm. The evening tepid, and the wind soft as it caresses your face, and whisks away the fallen leaves. I love walking home on days like this, because I see the sunset, because the day feels tired and lazy and feels happy to have ended. Because in the blue-yellow sky I see Venus and the crescent moon, and feel romantic and eternal...

...and sometimes I remember people who are so dear to me, but with whom I can never create new memories. I miss them. I miss their voice, their hugs and warmth. Their thoughts. Sometimes this makes me think that I am a very selfish person. I miss them because I gained so much from them. Being with them made me happy, and doing things for them made me happy. Sharing my life with them made me happy, and playing a part in theirs.

Recently a dear friend passed away, and I am sad.

Now you can no longer change me, and I can no longer affect you. But I won't forget that you made me a better person and how grateful I am that you cared. I will keep you with me.

"I will always miss you."

Hope(full)

Ehhh....stop the music. Why, why, are people allowed to impress themselves onto others in the name of tradition. Why are the values behind a particular tradition not re-evaluated at least occasionally, to ascertain the continued value of the occasion? 'Tradition' should not mean an action that is justified a priori, and whose consequences are not to be questioned. Why is the human condition full of these lazy short-hand actions?

Ah, well, now that I've had this little rant of exasperation, I turn to something more pleasant, and perhaps more revealing. I spent the afternoon in my first attempt to translate a poem from Russian to English. It caught my attention first as it is also a beautiful song (do look it up) by: Владимир Высоцкий "Надежда". 

------******------

Hope

Now that the trembling in my hands has stopped,

Now – higher.

Now that my fear has down the chasm slipped,

Forever, ever…

There’s no reason to stop,

I continue, slipping,

And the are no peaks in this world,

Which cannot be scaled.

Amongst the untrodden paths

Let one be mine,

Amongst the unconquered borders,

Leave one to me,

And the names of those, who fell here

The snow will conceal…

Amongst these untracked roads

One is mine.

Here the sky-blue radiance of the ice

Pours forth over the horizon.

The secret of another’s footsteps

Is harbored by the granite,

And I gaze into my dream

Above their heads

And faithfully believe in the purity

Of snow and words…

And let no short term pass

I will not forget

How here, the doubt within me

I managed to destroy.

That day the water whispered to me:

“Good luck, always!”…

But what day, what day was that?

Oh, yes, Wednesday…

------******------

Happiness

"Shukhov went to sleep fully content. He'd had many strokes of luck that day: they hadn't put him in the cells; they hadn't sent the team to the settlement; he'd pinched a bowl of kasha at dinner; the team-leader had fixed the rates well; he'd built a wall and enjoyed doing it; he'd smuggled that bit of hacksaw-blade through; he'd earned something from Tsezar in the evening; he'd bought that tobacco. And he hadn't fallen ill. He'd got over it.
     A day without a dark cloud. Almost a happy day." Solzhenitsyn, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.

Human brutality knows no bounds. The capacity to really do evil (harm, hurt each other without reason) is inexhaustible - instead it feeds upon itself and grows ever bigger.

This is only one perspective - Shukhov's, who'd done his outmost to survive a day in the 'Special Camp'. But his actions drawn from basic instincts of self-preservation undoubtedly precipitated events which hurt others around him. Who can blame him? When does stealing become virtuous? Like taking a couple of pens from a stationary cupboard at work for your friend.

Perhaps when you believe that you're struggling against "the system" - the machinery of society - the network of abominable interactions. Why is it that all of us forget the embarrassing moment that our very actions not only created it, but feed its existence. I guess this is because an individual realisation is not enough. It is not enough for a single person to gain 'enlightenment' of this fact, but that this liberating thought must permeate the collective consciousness. Only then can the fabric of a society be rewoven. But this is like asking an exothermic reaction to reverse itself. And perhaps in the end 'we get what we deserve'.

"Ivan went to sleep fully content. He'd had many strokes of luck that day: he had two new prisoners in the cells; he finally filled the quota for teams sent to live the "Socialist way of Life"; he'd beaten some lazy scum zek who complained that he didn't have any dinner; he'd arranged to get the largest shipment of flour and oats through for the camp; he'd fixed up his tommy and he enjoyed doing it; he'd smuggled a pint of vodka through; he'd earned something from Pavel in the evening; he'd bought that sheep skin hat. And he hadn't fallen ill. He'd got over it. 
     A day without a dark cloud. Almost a happy day."

To live and not know why the cranes fly, why babies are born, why there are stars in the sky. Either you must know why you live, or it's all nonsense. Dust in the wind!

Hello there, I'm in a place where time is lazy, where it runs like thick oil seeping into the routine of your day which is consequently very unambitious. The hours are wiled away eating or lying around staring at the dusty earth, and brittle olive trees and thinking about nothing. The air is dry and hot; the dappled sun pleasant as it warms your skin. The idle touch of the wind reminds me that I'm still awake... and still thinking about nothing...

I've discovered I'm really quite good at thinking about nothing. :)

And what a luxury this is. To let your thoughts run wild, to explore anything and everything that strikes your fancy, to let your imagination string thoughts together on tenuous 'flights of logic' :) to think of the ordinary and beautiful and simple. To let yourself feel happy and sad and lost and found.

To be.