Sunday, August 31, 2008

Sign from above

I was waiting for Paul today and looked up towards the treetops. I enjoy the interplay between the bright green leaves and the clear blue sky. The contrast makes me smile with joy. On this particular day, my eye caught a glimpse of something floating down. I positioned myself so the feather - black, tiny, feathery and fragile - would land straight in my hands held palm upwards. I felt its caress as it landed softly. Where did it come from? I can only surmise an angel dropped it as she was flying over our property.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Random Acts of Beauty

We met a man who sows beautiful wildflowers seeds into wastelands.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Black & White

A friend of mine just came back from her first-ever trip to Poland in which she visited Auschwitz. I was stunned and intimidated when she mentioned that but she skimmed over her visit to the concentration camp saying it had been a difficult day and I did not dare press her. Last night, as I went to bed, I was remembering our conversation and wondering about my reluctance, as this is of interest to me.
I tried to imagine myself visiting a concentration camp. All I could see in my mind's eye were black and white pictures. I have seen, in College, actual footage of the liberation of concentration camps by the Allied forces. Those pictures were in black and white as color film had not yet been invented. I got the feeling that the books I had read never mentioned color. When you are busy surviving, color is not your main focus. I don't know if I was ever in the presence of a survivor but I certainly never broached the subject. I remember reading a book from Bruno Bettelheim, a psychoanalyst and survivor, in my teenage years (The Informed Heart).
I wonder if you feel the pain, sadness and dread. The fear must permeate this compound. I wonder if it feels ordinary and if you have trouble believing in the existence of such evil. I wonder if I would want to go... Would I feel like a voyeur? How could I explain my motivation/fascination? Why would I want to go to a place that I fully expect would make me feel so rotten? Maybe it is the hope that I would feel horrible that would draw me there. The expectation of powerfully feeling the pain of so many people. Or the necessity of not letting the past die.

For those of you who enjoy graphic novels, I strongly recommend Spiegelman's Maus on the subject.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Dreams

Awake dreams. Dreams of the soul. The kind you don't share, except with your closest friends lest they be crushed by indifference or scorn.
I am seeing friends getting hurt because they trusted others with their dreams and those trustees did not realize the precious treasure they were entrusted with and reacted as though this idea, this hope, this seed was nothing but an insignificant *thing* whose substance bore no sustenance, whose seed held no promise. They thrusted it aside like it did not matter. They did not see its shiny nascent wings, its moist gleaming eyes. It's just a fly, buzzing annoyingly they thought. How wrong. How cruel to swat it with the back of their hand. No regard for feeling. No thought for the progenitor of the dream. No compassion.
I am fortunate to have caring friends who listen to me, help me, nourish my hopes and applaud my efforts. My friends embrace my dreams and carry them in their hearts, and with them I accomplish them. My dreams are light and strong and so am I. Thanks to you and your support.

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Trying to explain what I didn't like about the job I just left, I used the following analogy:
Last night, we were waiting for the steaks from the bbq and we had taken out larger than usual plates to accommodate them. I said: Yseult, can you give me the large plates please? Ha, they are not ready? Hmmm, you had promised them for 6:00 o'clock.
They will be ready in another 30 minutes? Well, the steaks are done. Can I do anything to speed things up? No - ok I will manage. We need to use the small plates (I say to noone in particular - I will be the one tracking them down).
Wait, the phone is ringing again.
- You have two large white plates and 1 large blue plate? I am afraid that won't do. We need to have contrast between the food and the plate and we want a consistent look. Thank you for trying.
- Will you have the plates ready early tomorrow? I will need them by 3:00 (we eat at 6:00 but I am adding a buffer because of this experience with my vendor). The chef is giving me grief for the smaller plates that don't do justice to his work.
This, in a nutshell, is what I did. Facilitate processes to keep the internal stakeholders happy...
And do I get extra wine for my efforts? Hardly.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

Soljenitsyne

Soljenitsyne's death brings me back decades ago. My recollections are fuzzy but I remember that my father was deeply moved by his books. Seeing as his Gulag Archipelago was published in 1973, I cannot imagine I read it at the tender age of 10... I remember sleeping on the floor - or was it wanting to? - in an attempt to commiserate with the terrible fate of those who battled against all that stood in the way of freedom.

In my teenage years, I was in awe of revolutionaries. My best friend one year nicknamed herself Fidel; I was Mao. These people sounded like they were making terribly important changes (where was my thirst of freedom then?) and we were enthralled by their energy. No critical judgment - just passion and blind devotion.

It is difficult for me to remember the feelings I had then, now that their legacy is known or intuited... I cannot remember what fascinated me in those stories. I can only guess at absolutes and thirst for what was Right. An idealism that did not dwell on the shadowy sides of things, an innocence that made me believe propaganda at face value.

Atrocities and resilience, good and evil, right and wrong held me captive. Human nature is capable of all that? Can embrace all that?

I majored in psychology, trying to sort out this puzzle until it lost its urgency and life took over.

Thank you Soljenitsyne for shining a light on those shadows we would as soon forget. Thank you for revealing to me the compassionate side of my father.