A Mind of One's Own

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

“It is amazing how complete the delusion that beauty is goodness.” – Leo Tolstoy

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.”- Steve Jobs

Everyone has doubts and will often seek advice. The best advice my mother ever gave me was “Never forget you are your own person, son. Take a good look at any doubts you may have, come to your own conclusions and go your own way. You may be right, you may be wrong, but you’ll find out sooner or later and it’s never to late to change course.”

I know people who are contemptuous of professional counsellors, invariably commenting to the effect that anyone can give advice. A professional counsellor, though, is trained to assess what’s best for whoever is asking. Too often, we may turn to someone we know well, and that person genuinely has our best interests at heart, but any advice given is as likely as not to be what they would do if they were in our position; only, they are not, are they...?

Despite my mother’s good advice, I have taken bad advice in the past, lived to regret it and, yes, had  to change course... for better or worse, but still here at 76, so must have got something right.  😉

A MIND OF ONE’S OWN

I see who I am
warts ‘n’ all, happy-sad and glad
to be so, no character
in a soap opera on the radio
or TV, nor someone
for whom my family nurse ambitions
for needing me to be seen
doing better than a neighbourhood mate
before it’s too late...

I have needed
mentors, teachers, both in and out
of school, showing me
how it’s done, this growing up to be
my own person,
not some copycat version created
by those closest to me
thinking they know the ‘real’ me they see,
that’s but their fantasy

They mean no harm,
quite the reverse, those who imagine
they can read me
chapter and verse, and thereby hangs,
a tragedy, expectations
of various projections always there
at my shoulder
as I get older, a mind of my own grown wise
to their ways

It’s bad enough being told
this or that job or profession is out
of the question...
because we haven’t the intelligence
or aptitude for...whatever,
few people thinking to reason why
I have dreams I need
to try out for size, and if I can’t fit into them,
my fault, not theirs

Oh, and what of stereotypes
around for centuries, given a new
lease of life
on social media, scaring everyone
should they get ideas
and (heaven forbid) starts scoring points
over subscribers,
pointing fingers as may give a mind-body-spirit
food for thought?

Every society and community
has its own agenda, to be recommended
in all sincerity
by such powers that be as positioned
to impose their authority
and integrity on any ear, trusting
those pricking up won’t dare
question either, no interest in sleights of argument,
only consent...

So, first choice, personal space,
to be or not to be a place we can hide away
or embrace each day
with both hands, our fair share of its ups
and down all but certain,
but certain, too, of doing our best,
in a world of winner, losers
and many a beggar, too, the poorer still for a devil
on the shoulder

For any tears shed, loves lost
and won, even toes trod on (serves them right)
whatever our ethnicity,
creed, sexuality, political persuasion,
just as all opinions matter,
deserve a voice, so, too, do all lives,
many deserving better
than being misled by life forces perceived as allies,
proven enemies

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

 

 

Mind-Body-Spirit, Only a Heartbeat Away

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Now, when all is said and done, advice given and counselling taken on board, the course of action we choose to take has to be ours, no one else’s; nor should we blame anyone but ourselves if things go wrong.

Sometimes, though, things have to go wrong in order to come right.

As regular readers will know, 1969 saw me ‘emigrate’ to Australia, but it didn’t work out and I came home, much to everyone’s delight who had advised against going and could now smugly say “I told you so …”

What no one understood, though, was that I emigrated in sheer desperation to get away from those same people. I was a psychological mess, not least for being a closet gay man, but many other reasons too; e.g. having failed one of my A-levels, I was unable to proceed with the career of my choice and hadn't a clue what to do next.

I had no one to talk to in whom I could have any confidence they would really listen or understand. Oh, they would try, but … have you ever noticed that when you are needing to talk in-depth about yourself to anyone, most people respond, not in relation to you but to themselves; they proceed to tell you what they think they would do in your situation, given their history and various sets of circumstances not what they think you should do given yours. Invariably, it is all very well-meaning, but little if any help. In the end, we just have to trust our own instincts.

Now, my emigrating may well have been a huge mistake, but it had the saving grace of buying me time. My ship -The Southern Cross - sailed from Liverpool via Panama and took six weeks to reach Melbourne. For the first time in my life, I had time to think, listen to mind-body-spirit and learn to trust my instincts. I had made so many mistakes, and there never seemed to be time work out how best to rectify them ... until Oz.

Subsequently, I returned home home, a different person and (hopefully) a better one. I knew now what I wanted (a professional career in public libraries) despite a significant hearing problem (no effective hearing aids for perceptive deafness were available then) and coming out to the world as a non-stereotypical gay man. Both took time, but I had achieved the former by 1975; it would take about another ten years, following the death of my mother and a bad nervous breakdown to achieve the latter. They were good years and bad years; it took a good 10 years - and more mistakes - before I would start to feel not only a whole person, but comfortable with that person. By now, I had learned to make time rather then let it break me.

Sometimes, looking after number one has to be a priority before we can really let numbers two, three, four or more into our lives and stand any chance of our connecting with them or they with us. Sadly, for all modern technology, really connecting with each other is not always human nature’s greater forte. We all have a responsibility towards one another, but as a wise R E teacher once commented to the class at my old school some 60+ years ago, "We can't expect to be of much help to others if we can't, don't or won't even take good care of ourselves." Oh, but so true, never more so perhaps than  during the COVID-19 pandemic. 

“The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking.” ― Albert Einstein

“He who thinks little errs much…” ― Leonardo da Vinci

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, ONLY A HEARTBEAT AWAY

World, in a hurry, 

no time to think things through,

making mistakes …

(Oh, and who’s blaming who?)

priorities blurring …

Need answers, can’t keep deferring

finding a solution

because Head says “Keep on going ...”

Heart, weary of trying

Folks, rushing by,

all needing things done yesterday

having to settle

for ‘maybe tomorrow’ if not too late

(as it often is …)

No one to blame, but so easier said

than done …

when the Head says “Keep on going …”

Heart, weary of hoping

Time, hastening on,

waiting for no one, haunting us all

as we try to fit in

with yesterday-today-tomorrow’s

agenda for life, death

and whatever else we can succeed

instead of failing

while Head says “Keep on going …”

Heart, weary of waiting

Instinct, kicking in

where head-heart (far) from certain

regarding the best

course of action, keyword confusion,

given contrary advice

by those we thought knew us better

(rude awakening)

where Head says “Keep on going …”

Heart, "No surrendering

Human clock, ticking,

mind-body-spirit risen to the occasion,

taking chances

on what it perceives as the better option

for first person singular

if not plural of the species, taking action

(before it's too late)

where Head says “Keep on going …”

Heart, the faster beating

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018

Christmas At The Going Rate

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

This poem was written in 1997 and first appeared in a poetry magazine based in Canterbury before I included it in my first poetry collection.  I wrote it after shopping in the West End of London and being shocked at seeing so many homeless people huddled in sleeping bags in shop doorways, on the steps of theatres, even churches and other religious institutions.

Years on, London, like so many big cities around the world, continues to be haunted by its homeless. It is a sad reflection on the 21^st century, in particular its finely rhetoric-tuned, comfortably-off world leaders in politics and religion/s world-wide. [Does anyone really believe they put the interests of the everyday man, woman and child in the street before their own?]

Although I am not a religious person, I have no problem with (any) religious celebrations although I have to say they often strike me as more than a shade hypocritical  where giving thanks to God often appears to play second fiddle to one-upmanship among family, friends, and neighbours who share the same religion.

Please give as generously as you can afford to charities that help homeless people. 

It has to be said that giving money to homeless people can be a mixed blessing as they will often just use it to buy drugs or alcohol. Most, though, appreciate someone to talk to who can not only sympathise with their plight without being patronising, but also offer constructive advice such as where to go for help. [The nearest public library, for example, will have a wealth of information. During my years as a librarian in public libraries, I often looked up useful addresses that I would then call and hand the phone to a homeless person seeking help.]

CHRISTMAS AT THE GOING RATE

Starling on the snowy bough,

where will you go now 
as you stir your weary wings to fly 

across this sorry sky?

Better off than I, stuck here,

sitting pretty enough

in a world dishing up pity

to its cardboard men…

I pause and you disappear, bells

ringing out Christmas cheer

to celebrate the Church's share

in a saviour for all seasons

who taught the heart needs not reasons

to care about another, rich or poor,

saint or sinner. A local tramp passes.

Good souls pause…

Wiping glasses, hedging bets

on Judgement Day,

doling out a sweet reprieve

of misery, and all for 50p.

Now, let's hurry, we'll be late;

carols at eight (or is it nine?)

Thinly drawn, a twenty-first century’s

cardboard line

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]