The Force

It was a few days ago that I felt it for the first time. I was on the ground, sweating on a yoga mat in a room with an exceptionally dry and hot climate. The people around me were trying to make it tropical with their sweat. Lying there, inhaling the smells of dubious quality, I felt it for the first time. 

Gravity.

Yes, it is quite peculiar indeed. To only feel gravity for the first time in your life at the age of thirty-seven. But I’ve never been particularly good or interested in physics. The idea of a chair pressing against my butt while I sit on it never sounded convincing to me. To me, force is action rather than passive resistance. A chair being thrown at me in a fit of anger - yes, however unwelcome, this is a true manifestation of force. But one which stood in the corner before I sat on it and will still stand there after I get up? One that stayed totally unmoved while I was on it? Does it show any force in action? 

Not to me, but I haven’t managed to convince anyone so far. Nevertheless I’ll try to convince you, for this last time. Believe me, my doubts are a product of careful consideration rather than scientific ignorance. How could an innocent and inanimate chair exert any force on my behind? 

But last Tuesday I experienced The Force empirically. Something was definitely pushing me. It wasn’t just me lying there, and naturally sticking to the floor rather than the ceiling. My body was being pushed by an external invisible force. This is, strangely, how it felt.

Only it wasn’t the floor that was pushing me. No, the floor was there, cold despite the 40 degrees in the room, hard and unmoved. Passively resisting my body being pressed against it by a flock of invisible arms of gravity. 

My thoughts wandered away into our planet’s atmosphere, which is basically all the gases being pushed in one direction by the same force that was pushing me. How extraordinary. It bothers to push me down on the floor, so that I don’t float away in the air just as much as it bothers to keep all the gases  enveloping Earth where they are. 

If you want freedom from that omnipresent force, there’s still outer space. To get there, you need to be very strong. Getting back   on Earth should be more relaxed though -  after all, gravity will lovingly take you into her arms, in the hope of not letting you go away any more. 

In that hope it will make sure you’re properly pushed down next time you do your exercise. So that you remember how difficult it is to get up, let alone get away for a weekend in outer space.  

Supermarket Philosophy Top

It’s not what you think it is.

And because you think  “it is what it is”,

It’s not even what it is.

Things are not what you think they are.

And because you think "things are just things",

things aren’t even things.

Life is not what you think life is.

And because you think  “life is life”,

It’s not even life.

So is it a Rabbit or a Duck?

 

The meaning of life depends on the direction you look at it: forward or backwards. This is where this scribble brought me to.

 

Is it hard to make a stand?

You hear a song sometimes, and there's just one line getting into your head. That's usually a line your brain insists on misinterpreting. It just stubbornly doesn't want to put it in the right context. The line grows, the words give rise to an image, and you start to laugh, as the new life you've given to those lines is so refreshingly bizarre.

This is what recently crossed my mind when listening to Sheryl Crow's: "It's hard to make a stand" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9Nb9YdYRcw). Sure it's hard, especially if it's a large stand with lots of display products. One at Hannover Messe, for instance. You really need to involve a professional company for that - don't try to build it yourself, or it will look terribly amateuristic and will not attract much audience.

I see this advertising spot in my head: you remember the hilarious series "the Neighbours" from Czechoslovakia? Those two guys helping each other with their small household repairs, but as they don't have much skill, their 'repairs' usually lead to ruin. Let them try and build a stand for a company, say, for Black and Dekker or Bosch or something of that sort.

They try to knock together some walls, a reception desk, some seating area, they arrange their hand tools on display, only to watch everything fall apart seconds later.
This is the moment Sheryl Crow comes with her 'it's hard to make a stand' and a voice-over: 'we know how to make it easy' voila!

I'm not sure if she would agree, after all she does say something about miscreation later on in the lyrics, and that this isn't really what she meant. But Sheryl Crow really is a very good singer and I think she's worth taking the effort. Who knows, with some convincing she might agree to endorse a stand-building company.

"My friend, o lawdy,
Went to take care of her own body,
And she got shot down in the road
She looked up before she went,
Said, "This isn't really what I meant"
And the daily news said,"Two with one stone"
And I say, "Hey there, Miscreation,
Bring a flower, time is wasting"

And now, suddenly, we're talking about death and flowers,which brings me to another song, "Killing me softly". This one usually makes me think of euthanasia (it doesn't make me consider euthanasia, it isn't that bad, it only brings the topic of euthanasia unwittingly to my mind). This is how lyrics get a life of their own.
Or death.

Words Playing Games

You know what's funny? That words play games. They are like children, up to mischievous things all the time.

That means there can be no serious conversation, even between two serious men, all dressed in suits, covering a topic richly populated with numbers. As they use those obnoxious brats to communicate, you never know when they'll start their tricks.

- Today's index doesn't look too good.
- Mine does. - says the other tied-up and grey-suited exemplar of dead seriousness.
- What on earth are you talking about?
- My index finger, it looks good.
- I meant today's Dow Jones.
- The Long Johns index, it starts in december only. If there's sudden hike, that means the winter is going to be harsh.

Ha ha ha, those words at play! There's nothing better for a bad day than a few words playing cheerfully! Making me laugh, making others laugh, they create a sense of community. Or commutation: exchanging one thing for another.
For instance, dead-seriousness for dying of laughter and pundits for bandits and brats.
I love to hear them play.

A life worth living

I’ve seen a very distressing photo of a baby without limbs on facebook recently . I was invited to “like it”, which I didn’t. I simply “didn’t like it” but there was no such button.

Neither did I like some of the comments under the photo. Two of them were in Dutch. One said:

“This has no life expectancy!!! So miserable if it stays alive”

Another one translated as “That’s very egoistic of the parents, to allow it to get born. “

The comments in English were much more compassionate, in general.

All that brought so many questions, that I'll just continue the rest of this post multiplying the question marks.

What makes those two Dutch persons so sure a life without hands or legs is not worth living? Is it just a coincidence that they are Dutch, or does that have something to do with the Dutch attitude to euthanasia? Why is the baby called “it” in this context? Do only limbs give a human being the right to be called a he or a she, and lack of those – deny that right? What happens if one has them all, but they are all paralyzed? Nobody would dare call a person suffering from ALS not a person, but an “it”, a thing. Is the life of Stephen Hawkings not worth living?

Do these arms or legs have to be functioning, or is their sheer presence sufficient to be recognized as a “he” or “she”? And what happens if someone has lost all their limbs – does “that” qualify for a human being, or not?

Why would that be egoistic of the parents to bring to life a child a care for whom will cost them considerably more effort than for a healthy one?

When can one human being decide about the right to live of another one? Or of oneself?

I have a hunch why the two comments in Dutch were so cold, so inhumane: that is probably because the key to life in Holland is “genieten” – enjoy. If one stops or is stopped from enjoying life, the latter may just as well be ended. In case of a baby, who cannot communicate the level of his/her enjoyment of life, it is up to the parents to decide whether “its” life is worth living.

Before “it” is born, that’s the enjoyment of the life of the parent(s) that supersedes that of the enjoyment of the life of the child. If the parents will enjoy their life substantially less after “it” is born, it’s ok to end “its” life. I think parents of a severely handicapped child will not enjoy their life after the child is born, so the decision to deliver such a baby can be judged as anything but egoistic.
With enjoyment, you never know – to judge your level of enjoyment you need a point of reference, for example – the moment in your life when you enjoyed it the most.

In case of a handicapped child the point of reference is very different than in case of a grown-up healthy adult.

The Dutch, who claim to have created the Netherlands, assume the right to decide when a life is worth living and when it’s not. Not only do they decide it for themselves, but also for others.

But I think all life is worth living. We might just not understand the reasons why.

Just read this: “When Michelangelo was commissioned to sculpt a puppet clown, it was just enough to touch the wood several times with his knife, and the clown was ready. But when he was requested to sculpt a human being, he had to labour painstakingly long in stone. I want you to be human, and this hurts” (an interview with Ewa Minge in “Wysokie Obcasy Ekstra” Nov12 edition)

8 Almonds and 1 Rabbit

KLM attractive packaging of not particularly attractive snacks is a proof that, even in our digitalised world,  the words maintain their power. If you got just a plain bag with 8 salted almonds in it, and you’d have consumed them immediately (which you certainly would, starving on board a short distance flight after getting up too late to have breakfast at home), you would have thought you’ve just consumed 8 salted almonds. You’d probably feel like having some more, not because they were so tasty, but because you can’t hope to get anything else during  such a short flight.

But on board a KLM city hopper getting your 8 salted almonds is a different experience . It is a “Delicious treat” – this is what the bag says. And if it’s your first time, and you don’t know what’s in there, your imagination is set to work and the sachet starts to feel like the tantalising amuse you get at a good restaurant while waiting for your meal. “Delicious treat” - those words create expectations, and might be a source of slight disappointment if 8 salted almonds isn’t exactly your idea of a delicious treat. “Well, ok, maybe that’s because I’m simply not that much into salted almonds.” you say to yourself while you watch your neighbour devouring the 8 nuts with genuine pleasure.

Next time you have the bag in your hands it makes you laugh. That’s power of words, too. In this case the contrast between what it says on the packaging, and what’s inside.

But laughing is good. Much better than an edible delicious treat. "Laughing and smiling are a gate and a door, through which many good things can slip into you” (Christian Morgenstern, my own translation) . So you smile, and consume the same 8 salted almonds. Thank you, city hopper. You never know when inspiration strikes you.

I’m still starving, but of course it doesn’t say anything about the quality of the almonds. Everybody knows that a visit at a Michelin star restaurant is not supposed to appease your hunger but to elevate your spirit and tantalise your palate (and you can still have some hearty soup after you get back home).

The same goes for movies: my favourites are “A Beautiful Mind”, “American Beauty” and the stealing one (“Stealing Beauty”). All very beautiful indeed. I’m not sure if I would like “The Beauty and the Beast” though – that depends on the share of the latter in it.

“I can’t possibly know what I think before I say it” writes Pascal Mercier (“Night Train to Lisbon”). I like that. Mee too, I need to dress my thoughts in words before I realise what I actually think. But on some bad days, whatever I say only brings me down. I need someone else to assure me it’s much better than I think it is.

Obviously, it’s often difficult to find a credible person to tell you what you want to hear the moment you want to hear it. Chances are that they will either tell you today what you wanted to hear two days ago, or they will tell you today something you don’t want to hear at all. Alternatively, they might tell you exactly what you want to hear and when you want to hear it, but they do not sound credible at all.

Therefore, for all such difficult moments, I keep a paper placemat in my drawer, a souvenir from a Chinese restaurant I once visited.
That was an important event, not in terms of the quality of food, but on the psychological level. Namely, this was the day I discovered that I was a Rabbit. "luckiest of signs – talented and affectionate, yet shy. Seeking peace. " I can't help it, you see. I'm the luckiest! But I'm sure so will you be, if I send you the decription of your own sign. (There was also advice on whom I should marry, but I skipped it, as it came too late, and I married a Tiger in all ignorance, not aware that I should have married a Sheep or Pig. But  I came out all right, maybe because the Tiger’s hair is quite Sheep-like, in fact, I might perhaps be revealing a family secret here, so please keep it for yourself: he actually was called a Sheep in his school days).

There’s something for everyone on this placemat. Just tell me the year you were born, and I’ll share some good words with you: the words you want to hear, the moment you want to hear them, and very credible to top it off. After all, which horoscope could be more reliable than a Chinese one  found at a Chinese restaurant?

This brings me to a good idea for T-shirts: if you print your horoscope (or some other good words) on it, then what's inside (i.e. you) will instantly become someone special. Just like the 8 almonds inside the KLM city hopper sachet.

In praise of a one-night-stand

I like my own home-made metaphor which likens books to people. No arrogance, I just like the fact that they really are alike. I like this likeness, for phonetical reasons and others likewise. They need to be handled carefully, stroked, opened or put aside. Some are for sale, some are out of stock, some others  may be borrowed and returned, or never so. Some are illegible, some others seem too easy. Some are forgotten. There are books for each audience. Some carry a profound meaning, some others sound very superficial. Some were terribly misunderstood.

Despite all the obvious parallels between people and books, there’s one feature that works to the advantage of the latter: they don't know jealousy. How many times did I not put a book back on the shelf, just to pick up another one seconds later – there was no protest, no moaning, no reproach. They calmly accepted their lot, and still look eternally happy in their spacious wooden home. They are always there, on standby, any time of the day or night.

Talking about nights – in case of books a one-night stand does not make you a wicked one. For example, one might be completely smitten by Kundera and read all his works in alphabetical order, which still doesn’t stop him (her) from a one-book stand with Wolfram Eilenberger. And nobody gets jealous or offended. Even if your one-book stand does actually happen in one night. If you’re a fast reader, and the book is really good – why not? The only one with regrets will be you, the day after.

As for the other attributes – I really can’t see any major difference. Both people and books become what you make of them. They are much more you than they are themselves.