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Please comment those of you reading now.  Just want to see its working properly,

Thanks, John

One Moment in Time

Sometimes I'm both struck and stuck. Struck by an overwhelming sense of loss; a meloncholy that lingers unexplained and stuck, insofar as I have no comprehension as to how such a feeling exists and why it exists NOW. It's a classic case of the subconscious entering into the realm of consciousness. That little part in your mind, that golden corridor that houses memories and remains more often than not hidden. Then something happens.

This 'something happens' is like an itch. You know that, although nothing immediate in your life has happened, no birth, no death, no re-birth; something has changed and has in a very subtle manner dripped into your awareness. It's frustrating and annoying especially now that it's two days and no obvious explaination.

Then you watch the news. As somebody who has or at least had an ecclectic taste in music except for all things Diva-ish, it came as a genuine surprise to me that I felt somewhat lamentful in Whitney Heuston's passing. After all, what had I in common with her? She's female, American, black and sang gospel. I'm male, Irish, white and didn't sing gospel. I didn't sing anything!

I never met Whitney Heuston. Most of us haven't. She was obviously very successful at what she did and appears to have inspired many. But why would a person who, although I appreciated and recognised her talent but was not affected by it emotionally, having no attachment to any of her songs, feel somewhat sad?

The answer is memory. It would seem quiet simply that Whitney was living her life while I was living mine. Her success coincided with my attempts to join the world of adolesence and beyond. She was my background music, singing softly in the corridors of night clubs, pubs and even the last chance saloons of taxi-ranks or even Italian Chip shops, long before the days of Supermacs. She sang the anthems for the many sports that I love, singing One moment in Time every time I scored that last minute winner for Ireland in the World Cup Final. Yes my day dreams in bed were all the sweeter with her voice, although subliminal, whispering in my head.

Whitney was probably lurking in the background when I had my first kiss, my first drink, went to my first night- club, when I first fell in love. She was always there, reliable as her smile always gorgeous. I do remember thinking she was beautiful when I was young. She always seemed happy and joyful. It goes without saying that I learned very early in my life, pre- puberty, that I was hetersexual because of her..and Stephaine Powers. Remember her? Hart to Hart. God I loved Stephaine. I couldn't wait to grow up and share baths with somebody beautiful like her just like she did with Robert Wagner. It wasn't even sexual, it was pure and simple puppy love. Innocent as love often is. And Whitney was without a doubt another of my puppies.

Thank you Whitney, not just for your music, which to a great extent is insignificant here as I wasn't a true fan but for reminding me that everybody living during my life has a role in it whether immediate or in the background. That is why I always remember my parents sighing when they would hear of a famous singer or actor dying; similar to this, it wasn't because they knew him or her or even liked him or her but it was because such persons were of 'their time.'

Whitney you were of my time. And it is that time in fact to which I mourn most. I realise that I mourn really, not your passing as I didn't know you, but instead I mourn the childish innocent memories of hoping for a 'like you' person as my first love, the possibilities of the loves to come, the memories I have as you belted out your finest as I was growing up. Going to primary school, then secondary school and so on. Yes Whitney, that lingering meloncholy that lasted for two days stems from a deep acknowledgement of how time and memory are anchored deep in our hearts and entrenched in our minds. And how without noticing it you played a significant part in my life. Thank you for the memories, although mine.

Comments

I am delighted that 23 people from Germany have read my blog today and over 40 this week. However, I would love if you would leave a comment. If its not working then please e-mail me. Thanks. John.....and keep reading!!!

A boy and a dictator

I remember many years ago in primary school seeing 'a big lad' beat up a timid yet older and bolder boy.  It was deserved many of us thought.  He was a little...... who could not be trusted, a thief who had a big mouth, big brothers, was a bully and 'a big lad' himself when surrounded by 'bigger' lads.

However, today he was on his own. No big brothers and no big mouth. In fact he was unable to speak as nervousness brought anxiety and saliva to his quivering, frightened mouth. Swollen from the relentless kicking to his delicate body and face prevented the verbal bravado to exist also. This 12 year old bully became a 5 year old kitten. Terrified, knowing he was about to be humiliated in front of all his peers walking back to school at lunch time.

I can't remember the kicks, punches and taunting by the growing crowd. Their physical reality I can see but their impact emotionally remain non- existent.  What haunts me though is the look in the boys face. I knew him personally and didn't like him. I always felt that if I was to see this day it would not cost me a thought- just deserts, you get what you deserve and all that. What struck me also that day was the look in the stronger boys face.  The wronged boy for what ever reason who was beating the bully senselessly was not enjoying it.  It appeared that the boy like me knew that although it may seem just, appear just and be just- it just wasn't just. It was offensive, ugly, dehumanising (for both of them) and humanly sad. 

On this day the realisation of three things occurred for me and maybe even the big boy: Our hearts surprise us even when we think a certain just action is deserved and that such a realisation may impact on us heavily after the event. The second is closely related to the first- be wary of reasoned morality, including our own.  Let us not be moral or be guided by the retributive moral judgements of others if we are not prepared to act on it ourselves e.g. don't talk about the death penalty unless you're prepared to inject, shoot, electrocute the person yourself. (Of course its easy knowing that a State employee is going to do it behind 18 ft walls and barbed wire). I know for a fact the big boy that day was inspired by the rational arguments of his peers and was egged on. Yet its on his boots and dreams when the bullies blood lies, not theirs. Thirdly, life constantly surprises us- our humanity and cries for eternal friendship and peace always remain prevalent and real.  Especially on occasions like these.

I know events like this both surprise us and remain with us.   I genuinely thought I'd forgotten this event and other similar experiences. Yet like most of us who had to endure the live beating and eventual killing of Colonel Gaddafi, the memory came flooding back.

I pray simply for the men who killed him.  Yes with reason and words they will tell us what happened was just.  They will convince themselves of this reality until the day they die.  They may even be hailed as heroes. The arguments for their actions may be valid and robust, after all Colonel Gaddafi did unimaginable horrible things. Yet I pray for them as somewhere between me, a twelve year old bully and a strong boy looking for justice was a real and genuine sense of inhumanity, spiritual demoralisation and a realisation that nobody would benefit from this depraved act. I can only imagine the aura between those after the killing of another human being. Just and all as it appears to be.

The addition of Justice

Another child died the other day. Apparently he was shot. They put him on a boat and threw him into the sea. The big boys said that he deserved it. This child they said, killed thousands of innocent people. Thousands of innocent loving people. It was justified.

Now it's thousands of loving people plus one.

My South Korean friends.

I am delighted to see so many people reading my blog in South Korea, especially today.  Thank You. Please post your comments and keep in touch.

Thanks Again,
John.

Comment on Comment

Apologies to those who may have tried to write a comment on my blog page.  As it transpired I had it disabled by accident.  It is now working so please feel free to comment on anything that I have wrote.
Thanks,
John.
7th March, 2011.