Home Games, Own Goals

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

It is not uncommon for many if not most of us to rail against fate when life doesn’t work out as we had planned/ hoped it would; a train of thought that can prey on the mind with even greater force as we grow old. Whatever manner in which we choose to contemplate dying, there is no getting away from the fact that it involves departing the known for the unknown, leaving those closest to us, hoping and/ or praying that their love which has sustained us in life will continue to do so in death. 

Those who subscribe to a religion tell me that this is where Faith comes into its own. Now, that well may be, but - as regular readers know - I subscribe to no contemporary world religion and see myself as a pantheist rather than either atheist or agnostic. It doesn’t matter who’s right or wrong; what matters is whatever leaves mind-body-spirit feeling at ease rather than fearful. 

An old schoolfriend, the last time I visited him before he died, confided that he was less scared of dying than full of regrets for being, as he saw it, one of life’s losers. He had been a closet gay person all his life, having grown up, as I had, in the grip of a society that was essentially homophobic. Hopefully, I managed to convince him that his life as a teacher had touched many young lives for the better, cause for celebrating a life rather than regretting it. 

Oh, how I empathised, though. While I had eventually emerged from that particular closet myself, and doing so had brought a welcome relief from years of loneliness, it would always fall short of the stuff of which dreams are made. Never had I envisaged growing old alone, for example, as I do now. Yet, I don’t think of myself as one of life’s so-called ‘losers’ albeit no ‘winner either… 

So, how do we measure our losses and gains? Not in material terms if we have any sense (no disrespect to the ethos of legitimate wealth intended.) Suffice to say, perhaps, there is far more to the idiom ‘to each one’s own’ than any dictionary can supply. 

I once read life being described as a ‘beautiful game’. Certainly, it can be… sometimes.  I guess it depends on whatever motivates the player/s. Such is the complexity of human nature, it is always worth remembering that ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; yet another idiom to bear in mind, of course, is that ‘One man’s meat is another man’s poison.’ Whatever, while our mind-body-spirit may well let close family members and friends access certain parts, its whole remains ourselves to know (for better, for worse) and no one else. (True, there are many among us who will argue that God sees and judges us for all that we are, but these are the same people who may well also argue that we are His creation…) 

To err may well be human, but all we human beings are vulnerable, no more so than to the various pressures imposed on us by our own hopes and dreams, nor any less so by such expectations of those who matter most to us others as persistently haunt mind-body-spirit. We can but let mind-body-spirit find its own way in life, remind ourselves that we are loved and do our best to let that love be its greater driving force while remaining true to ourselves.

HOME GAMES, OWN GOALS 

Fate, all things to all people,
often the butt of games we choose
to play rather than lose face
by accepting our share of any blame
for whatever fault it may take
to make a loser of any one of us, have us
fall or give us a break

Fate, at whose whim some argue
the world turns, for better or worse
as the case may be, no telling
how a dice may fall, Lady Luck mistress
to creatures great and small,
as likely as any deity in time’s watchful eye
to have us rise or fall 

Fate, all things to all consciousness,
any excuse better than none as it mulls
past-present-future, warts ‘n’ all,
leaning on its strengths to put any failings
aside, encouraging the world
to see it for such potential as supplies history
with all but the last word 

Fate, cat-and-mouse games teasing us
to make the most (or least) of humanity’s
common quest for purpose
and meaning enough to let mind-body-spirit,
wherever, whomsoever,
(and whatever form it takes) have the measure
of its own joie de vivre 

Win some, lose some, the games people play
come what may…

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Key Worker Extraordinary

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

We are, hopefully over the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic if, by no means, out of the woods just yet. A reader asks, do I blame China for not being as upfront as it might have been about the initial outbreak in Wuhan? No, I don't.  Humankind invariably loves to play the Blame Game, not least because it distracts attention from any contribution its own shortcomings may have played in ... whatever. Take climate change for example; no Devil or Fate working against us, but our own (rarely unselfish) needs. As for any God's intervening to save us all, a cleric once put to me that "God can save souls, and will if we ask Him, but everything else is down to us." Now, as regular readers know, I don't subscribe to any religion, but these words certainly got me thinking, and I was only about 12 ears-old at the time.] 

Now, I have to confess to occasional mood swings since I began my hormone therapy treatment for prostate cancer. Fortunately, my closest friends are very patient with me and are very supportive.

Funny, isn’t it, about some people? Family, friends, neighbours, work colleagues...Some rally round in a crisis and others run a mile. Not everyone appreciates that love, friendship or just being a good colleague involves teamwork even or perhaps especially when the team comprises of only two. 

Some people are not into a give-and-take scenario. They see something in someone they want and feel entitled - if only by association - to take, take, and take again. They have discovered an offload Channel, but not a two-way one. (Reciprocity is not in their vocabulary.) When it comes to giving something back, they don’t want to know since any relationship has to be on their terms or not at all. For the most part, they are not nasty people in the least (just being human?) and can be good company when life is running smoothly, but are too self-centred and self-absorbed to be anything but takers; being a giver requires too much effort, imposes on their personal space and makes unfair demands on their time. What we see is far less than what we get. (I remember thinking that once on a school visit to a waxworks museum.)

Meanwhile...

Reason not the need,’ cries King Lear in what is considered by many (including me) to be the greatest of Shakespeare’s plays.

It is true that need sets itself above reason in the sense that human nature rarely answers to logic. So when a follower of logic puts to a follower of religion, that he or she might explain what they mean by God, any reply is more likely to pertain to a personal  need than anything reason can attempt to rationalise. Oh, there will be references made to Holy Books and the usual get-out clause about Faith having less to do with reason than trust and/or divine inspiration, but that doesn’t really answer the question. 

As regular readers will know, it has long been my personal belief that religion has far more to do with a person’s need to believe in God than the existence of God as anything other than a metaphorical force behind all that is good in the world as opposed to all that is bad. That isn't to say, I don’t respect that need, I do. Moreover, I can relate to it far more than I can relate to any personified God. I respect all Faiths, too, but can neither enter into any nor would want to because, for me, Belief is not enough. I need to ask questions and keep on asking questions until any answers I may find begin to make some kind of sense rather like pieces in a jigsaw.

You, me, us…we are all parts of the same jigsaw.

If a sense of spirituality inspires me to ask questions, I take it from nature, my mentor in such matters even in childhood where religion offered me nothing no matter what I was told to the contrary or how hard I looked. More often than not, any debate abut existential life forces invariably shapes up along the lines of playing a blame game. At the end of the day, though, humankind has to accept its share o collective as well as personal blame for any natural and/or human forces working against a Here-and-Now playing host to both its natural and human worlds for better, for worse.

This poem is a kenning. 

KEY WORKER EXTRAORDINARY 

I am the curator

of a love-to-hate museum

down our way

where we all come to see

whatever it is we need

to be, smell, do a double-take

on works of art

bent on taking us to task

for our shortcomings

I am the curator

of obscure desires haunting

mind-body-spirit,

inspiring orgasms sublime

just for playing time

at its own game, letting its tides

take the blame,

(any old scapegoat will do)  

for its shortcomings

I am the creator

of a love-to-hate museum

down your way,

harbouring all creativity’s

burning desire

to expose in this or that travesty

of humanity,

as good a reflection as any

of its shortcomings

Call me God, Devil or Fate as may be;

any answers lie at the heart of M-E

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; 2020

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

Carnage in Colombo

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

While the awful death toll in the recent Easter Sunday attacks on churches and hotels in Colombo continues to rise, the so-called Islamic State terrorist organization, ISIS, has claimed responsibility although Sri Lankan officials have blamed two local Islamic extremist groups for the bombings albeit almost certainly with ‘outside help’.

Reports suggest the preliminary investigation shows the attack was "retaliation" for the March 15 massacre of Muslims at mosques in New Zealand.

It has emerged that early warnings from India's intelligence services to Sri Lankan officials ahead of the bombings were based on information gleaned from an ISIS suspect, but these were neither passed on to politicians nor acted upon. Understandably, a Sri Lanka in mourning is also one nursing disbelief and rising anger.

While I respect those religious people who practise what they preach and don't just play lip service to advocating peace and goodwill to all humankind - and I have met many, albeit in a minority relative to their numbers (possibly because I am gay?) - I have never regretted abandoning religion for nature. 

Oh, nature is not always kind ... and human nature is ...?

CARNAGE IN COLOMBO

One bomb, two bombs, three bombs,

and more; shock, carnage,

fear and (yes, already grief) on streets

soaked in blood and tears;

too soon, yet, to play the blame game,

waiting in the wings …

A day of religious celebration savaged

by manic extremists,

with no care or respect but for their own

perverted concept of right

and wrong in what they see as a fight

for … what, exactly?

World media excitedly paying attention

to a human-interest story

with all the ingredients of a pot boiler

while real families weep,

will probably never sleep fitfully again

in their lifetimes

Oh but ‘acts of terror’ sounding better

over dessert than cold-blooded murder

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

(April 24^th 2019)

Rites of Silence, Fingers of Blame OR Survival, a Collective Responsibility

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

Time and again, we feel inclined to silently lament how there is nothing we can do about this or that, while expecting someone to do something.

There is always something we can do, even if it is only to lend someone a helping hand or shoulder to cry on or (better still, more often than not) speak up for them.

Arguments rage worldwide while fingers of blame point to the damage humankind is inflicting on the planet. Indeed, there seems to be a majority conscience on the streets that something needs to be done…before it is too late for future generations.

So just whose ear does Earth Mother have, and how effective can we expect it to be, the voice of this majority conscience demanding our leaders listen to and respect our greater hopes and worst fears…and whose silence is deafening?

'Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.' - Haile Selassie

This poem is a villanelle.

RITES OF SILENCE, FINGERS OF BLAME or SURVIVAL, A COLLECTIVE RESPONSIBILITY

We've heard Earth Mother crying

dutifully considered speaking up often
but chose to say...what, nothing? 

Wherever our senses reaching,

(restless dreams, at work or play even)

we've heard Earth Mother crying

Finally placed on a war footing,
in all conscience asking we be forgiven,

but chose to say...what, nothing?

A welcome peace celebrating

an end to all battles hard lost, hard won;

we've heard Earth Mother crying

The politics of blame resuming,

pointing out certain voices that complain,

but chose to say...what, nothing?

Her weary vigil forever keeping,

world putting its interests second to none,

we've heard Earth Mother crying,

but chose to say...what, nothing?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised (2015) from a version that first appeared under the title Who’s Sorry Now in an anthology - The Bread of Life, Triumph House (Forward Press) 2004 - and subsequently in  The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised edition in e-format in preparation.]

Playing Dirty, the Politics of War (and Peace)

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

It has to be one of human nature’s greater ironies that it invariably deflects the greater blame for its worst tragedies away from itself.

It is called politics.

It is probably fair to say, though, that most if not all of us are no less guilty sometimes than those who tread the Corridors of Power.

PLAYING DIRTY, THE POLITICS OF WAR (AND PEACE)

Last seen standing on the edge of war,

strutting bravery, dreaming of glory,

no conception of carnage gone before,

rewriting, in blood, a nation’s story

Heads high, eager to answer duty’s call,

faith let fly in the wind, flags unfurled,

no one suspecting how many might fall,

prayers unanswered around the world

Victory (as ever) fell on time’s sword,

eleventh hour, day, month, 1918;

no action-replay, we gave them our word,

only to break it again and again…

Heroes, on Time's sword called upon to fall
for the sake of Peace and Goodwill (to all?)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2018

[Note: Revised (2016) version of a poem that  appears under the title 'The Rhetoric of Blame' in   Accomplices to Illusion, by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Among Games People Play

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

We see politicians and religious leaders at it all the time, but can any of us say in all honesty that we have never played the blame game?

 AMONG GAMES PEOPLE PLAY

There's a secret game people play,

that rarely stays a secret very long;

before you know it, they'll leak it,

see gossip machines into overdrive

It’s a so-nasty game people play,

that nearly always gets (far) worse

before any signs of getting better

for anyone whose head in its noose

It’s a so-sorry game people play

that must (invariably) end in tears,

 its losers left cut to the quick,

while rare, a ring-leader who cares

It’s a so-lonely game people play,

(needing to be one of an in-crowd)

eager to point invisible fingers

at human kindness going belly-up

It’s a game we all love to deplore,

yet who among us can honestly say 

we've not played gossip machines,

regardless of any risks to overdrive?

It’s the blame game people play,

deemed as good a diversion as any

from errors of their own ways

(masks mistaken for friendly faces)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Whatever Happened To Love?

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

This poem last appeared on the blog well over a year ago. I look around locally or further afield, and can’t see that much has changed.

Ah, but hope springs eternal, yeah?

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO LOVE?

No peace in the park for druggies
desperate to fund the luxury;
no time for drugs? Go for alcohol
poisoning instead…

No fun at the fair for pickpockets
out for an easy ride;
sanctuary in our schools invaded
by a culture of bullying

Generation gaps made (far) wider
by five star psychiatrists;
Mother Nature repeatedly raped
by property developers

War on Terror, welcome distraction
from Home Front issues;
our own backyards heaped high
with body bags…

Consciences cleansed with charity,
confession, prison programs …
Problems worse for pointing fingers
of blame elsewhere

C'est la vie, we’re told, and no point
in crying over spilt blood;
prevention better than cure, they say,
so whatever happened to love?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, rev. 2011

[Note: An earlier version of his poem was first published in CC&D poetry magazine(US) 2005 and subsequently in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]