This is my second attempt at electro etching copper using salt water. This time I used the Silhouette Portrait to cut vinyl masks which worked very well. I used a saturated salt solution of tap water and table salt. Then a 9v PP3 type battery. The battery drained in 30 minutes and I used a second one to complete the job. If I decide to do this again, I’ll use a mains adaptor.
I’ve been intrigued by the idea of a prose poem since I first heard of the form. Not sure I’ve understood the concept, I’m having a go anyway. I’m wanting to capture the essence of a moment.
I shared this first with friends in a closed Facebook group. No one said it sucks. Of course, they may be being kind.
I stand beside my friend, bathed now and wearing a favourite dress, laid on her bed, surrounded by flowers, profoundly still. With no sound or movement I hear her gift: “Life is precious”. I know this already. “No”, she tells me, silent, insistent, “it’s much more precious than that”. My heart is open and her lesson lands without resistance. Watching her shocking stillness, I understand. Life is precious. “And another thing”, I hear from the silence, “you could be a lot more gentle”. I know this is true. But how will I become more gentle? Silence. Incomprehensible stillness.
My dear friend and house mate Lindajoy died on Good Friday 2016. She was well known in the circle dance community as a dancer, musician and teacher. Another friend is planning a celebration of Lindajoy’s life at Small World Theatre, Cardigan in June.
I want to be able to sing one of LJ’s favourite songs at the celebration which is a tall order as I can’t sing and I gave up trying to learn guitar a couple of years ago. So now I’m hoping to find a guitar teacher to fast track me to being able to play this sweet little song. Recently, I’ve been going to Finding the Voice sessions at Small World which has given me a little confidence in singing. It’s going to be tough.
I don’t know who the performers are here and I’ve no idea what the copyright is. If anyone who reads this can help, I’d be pleased to hear. It may be that the link to the MP3 shouldn’t be here. I’ll take it down if anyone makes a convincing case for being the copyright holder.
I’ve been invited to submit a sound recording for a sound scape project for Earth Hour. Sounds from the natural world are requested. I haven’t made outside recordings before and the quality on this isn’t as good as I hoped. Lots to learn, I guess. The sound is water running down the cliff face at Caibwr, with the waves breaking on the beach in the background.
It’s noisy at the start, improves at about 20 seconds in.
Some days, when the weather is just so, the waves pile into the caves and the air bursting out sounds like distant artillery fire (I used to live near an army range). I’d love to record that, perhaps using something more sophisticated than a mobile phone.
I love the name of this place — I think Caibwr is pronounced like Khyber as in Khyber Pass.Download
We are, Sartre told us, doomed to be free. “Essence precedes existence”, which is to say there is no essence of human calling us to be human. No other animal has such freedom. If a wolf ignored the essence of wolf and tried to live as a haddock, he would soon die. A haddock trying to live even as a different fish would be doomed. But we humans have a huge range of choices on how to live. Anyone who finds freedom on this scale unbearable has an easy way out: just sign up for the voluntary slavery offered by any religion. Hand your unwanted freedom the men in funny hats (and it nearly always is a man).
With unanswerable questions, I can see two obvious choices but I’m going to recommend the third. The obvious choice with difficult questions is to rely on the men in funny hats again, a popular option for religious people. Not only can they be relied upon to answer the unanswerable, many will even insist on obviously incorrect answers and perhaps stone you to death if you disagree. The second option, typically chosen by atheists, is to ignore unanswerable questions, deny they exist or insist asking them is futile and absurd. This may leave some atheists looking rather cold, having intellect but little emotion about them.
I’d like to recommend a third option: embrace Mystery, even come to love it. Ask the impossible questions. Embrace the beauty of the questions and embrace the Mystery of not knowing the answers. If you find the knowledge that your questions will never be satisfactorily answered, acknowledge the fear, embrace it and live with it. If you genuinely believe a question to be worth asking and yet unanswerable, is it not wiser to embrace Mystery than to pretend to know the answer?
What is love for? I don’t know. Are there different kinds of love, or are they all variations of the same experience? I don’t know. What happens to me after I die? Probably nothing, but I’m not sure. Is there a god? Unlikely, but I can’t be certain. What is the purpose of life? I don’t even know that it has a purpose. Do I have a soul? Probably not, but I can’t be sure. Is there intelligent life on other planets? I don’t know, and if there is, they could be so far away we would never meet them or even know they exist.
I noticed something rather lovely on Monday, something that’s been building for several years. I’m effortlessly happy, even in challenging situations. I was happy while waiting to see a vascular consultant about an ancient leg injury that’s limiting my mobility at the moment. A few years ago, I might have been resentful of the time waiting to see the consultant and the probable many months wait for surgery to improve my ruined knee. On Monday, without making any conscious effort, I noticed how kind the nurses were, how amazing the medical technology is compared to what was around when I injured my leg in 1977. The delight was easy and genuine. It’s the result, I think, of several years training and practice in several areas including NVC, Positive Psychology and mindfulness.
Last year, I completed an on-line Positive Psychology training course with Dr Chris Johnstone and Miriam Akhtar. The practices I learnt on the course were valuable, simple to use ideas like optimism, daily gratitude and savouring. I practice most days and they’ve become habit. It might seem that pessimists are most realistic and least likely to be disappointed, but evidence based studies have shown that optimists tend to be happier. Just so long as over-optimism doesn’t lead to extra risky behaviour or repeatedly attempting failed strategies.
I get angry, really angry when people try to press their opinion that homoeopathy is a form of medicine on me. And I get angry if someone tries to insist my preference for evidence based medicine is “just an opinion” and is just as valid as their opinion that homoeopathy is true.
I’m going to take a step back from the homoeopathy argument and concentrate on why I get angry when I hear it defended. Quite simply, homoeopathy and other forms of “evidence light” thinking scare me. My reason for finding these ideas so frightening is that I fear another dark age. There are signs of a desire for such an age everywhere; not just the theatrical barbarism of ISIS, but the science denying Christians, particularly in the USA.
According to a Wikipedia article on Age of Enlightenment, the Enlightenment began 300 years ago. Humanity began to shake off the horror of theocracy, to replace it with democracy and to prefer humanist values (which the church has sometimes tried to take credit for!). We began to do away with superstition, to embrace the scientific method and to look for evidence to support beliefs, or to discard those beliefs. This work isn’t complete and won’t be until religion has been cured. And the work is becoming a fight as the forces of darkness push back and claim the hearts and minds of many.
Any belief that has been shown to be incorrect, and this includes homoeopathy, but which people continue to cling to belongs with the dark side. As Voltaire said, “Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.”. Homoeopathy isn’t a harmless eccentricity, it’s an example of deluded thinking, a failure of reasoning and a symptom of an enthusiasm to descend back into darkness and ignorance. It’s as ghastly as religion and belongs in our past, our history, not the 21st Century.
If any homoeopathy enthusiast has read this far, please don’t try and persuade me with your anecdotal evidence or by raising your voice. I’m not impressed by your anecdotes and shouting doesn’t make you sound any less foolish. Show me the proper randomised trial (not the amateurish rubbish from Bristol). Don’t waste too much time looking for that trial — it doesn’t exist. And remember, in the immortal works of Carl Sagan, “extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence”. Make no mistake, the claim that homoeopathy is a form of medicine is extraordinary, and the evidence is pitiful.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Age_of_Enlightenment Wikipedia article on Age of Enlightenment, viewed 25/12/15.
http://skeptico.blogs.com/skeptico/2008/01/extraordinary-c.html an informative article about the statement “extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence” which apparently didn’t originate with Carl Sagan.
This morning I revisited a project from 10 years ago, my paper houses. I had the idea of making a house by printing it with a pattern and colouring it in. I used a pattern I found on the web. I’d like to know who really owns the copyright — I’ve seen several different sites asking to get paid to use the image commercially. I’d be happy to pay a reasonable fee to the real owner. The house is cut from light (160gsm) card and measures 5x5x5cm.
I coloured the pattern using Kuretake Zig Clean Colour Real Brush Pens from Cult Pens. These pens are lovely to use and have strong bright colours. I used to cut the houses out using a craft knife. These days I use my Graphtec Silhouette Portrait which saves a lot of time. The houses are stuck together using double sided tape.
(Graphtec have one of the worst web sites I’ve seen in recent years. I don’t think the Silhouette is made any longer).
Over the last year, several things have happened that lead me to reflect on the nature of love & heartbreak.
Last autumn, I lost connection with my closest friend. This happened suddenly and without warning. It was an intensely painful and frightening time. Without realising it, I had come to rely on the close connection we had created. Before this friendship, I hadn’t experience such close connection or even known it was possible.
In May 2015, I went to Chicago to attend the Leveraging Your Influence retreat lead my Miki Kashtan. In one session, Miki told us that if we committed ourselves to living NVC and to spreading it to a wider audience, “know this, you will fail”, a reminder that such commitment really requires resilience and the knowledge that we won’t always succeed.
A few weeks later, I stumbled across a David Wyte audio book When the Heart Breaks at Sounds True. Whyte reminds us of the inevitability of heartbreak: love is rarely symmetrical.
At Spirit of NVC camp in summer 2015, during a heart connection exercise, I remembered a fragment of a poem or prayer that suggests “Love like you’ve never been hurt”. My heart immediately replied “I can only love as though I’ve never been hurt, I will return broken hearted again”.
In the summer of 2015, I went to John Dawson’s public speaking workshop Taking Your Place in the World in Bristol. I was aware that speaking in front of an audience was a problem for me and perhaps obstructing progress in other areas. Speaking while sitting, in a group such as an NVC practice group, had never been a problem. As soon as I stood before an audience, fear and panic rose, my throat constricted and a thin voice poured out an incomprehensible stream of words.
John invited each of us to stand in front with the other participants acting as audience, sitting with blank faces. Three times I stood there, the fear, if anything, getting worse. I was shaking and getting out a few words to describe the experience. I think John may have been getting concerned about me. Towards the end of the second two-minute spell at the front, I half remembered the invitation to listen, not only to my inner critic, but also to my inner ally (an inner voice like a supportive, encouraging friend). If I gave words to the thoughts that arose from this idea, my ally might say something like “I see your belly full of fear and I love your fearless heart”. It’s a valuable lesson from Focusing that, when I’m afraid, it’s only part of me that’s afraid, there are other parts that aren’t.
Some way through my third spell in front of an audience, rooted to the spot and trembling with fear, I had one of those “ah ha!” moments. I realised I was waiting for someone to give me permission to be there. What would it be like to claim the space, to give myself permission? Without planning to, the deed was done. I took leadership of myself. Perhaps this is what NVC trainers mean when they talk about “being in our power”. As I claimed the space, I realised I wasn’t rooted to the spot and was able to move about the space as I spoke to different members of the audience.
Afterwards, I thought (and hoped) this was a breakthrough. And so it proved to be — after that, each time I took time in front of the audience, I was enjoying myself more and more. By the end I was loving it.
Even if life and career don’t involve public speaking, being fearful and unwilling to speak to an audience is likely to be holding us back. If you live in the UK, I recommend John highly (and don’t get paid for doing so).