Sunday, 12 July 2015
Wednesday, 8 April 2015
Saturday, 4 April 2015
Easter.
Its 3 30 am in Australia on Easter Sunday. The moon is full, and just out of a total eclipse. My transgender friend, Sophia, (she calls herself a ladyboy) has just Skyped me from her village in the the Philippines. It is 1 30 am there.
She is up early to walk with other members of the Trans community in her village to the church of St Raphael to participate in the Easter Sunday parade. The parade starts 4 am, but because there is no transportation on Easter Sunday ( everything in her village has been closed down since Wednesday afternoon) they have to walk for an hour or so to get to the church.
Sophia is helping her friend to dress and parade a statue of Mary, sister of Martha and Lazarus and, because today is the day Jesus rises from the dead, their statue will be dressed in colourful clothes. The priest scolded the people who paraded St Susannah on Good Friday because she was not dressed appropriately. There are protocols for everything.
The parade on Good Friday was so big that it took 4 hours to complete. There were 37 saints paraded on Good Friday. There will be more today. The aura of sacrifice is powerful. Sacrifice of sleep, money, of selfish pleasure. The village, and the town where the church is located, are very poor. Both would be called slums in Australia. Over there there they are called "affordable housing projects for the urban poor". The sacrifices are real and keenly felt.
I am not a Christian. In fact I am strongly opposed to the church because of its role in Trans and Gay discrimination. How then do i explain the feeling of hope that comes over me as I talk to my friend.
My sacrifice begins and ends with waking to answer her call.
My life is comfortable and sacrifice would barely disturb that.
I am challenged by her demonstration of faith. I do not know how to respond, so i write this to express my awe.
Christ has risen. There is a new hope in the world!
She is up early to walk with other members of the Trans community in her village to the church of St Raphael to participate in the Easter Sunday parade. The parade starts 4 am, but because there is no transportation on Easter Sunday ( everything in her village has been closed down since Wednesday afternoon) they have to walk for an hour or so to get to the church.
Sophia is helping her friend to dress and parade a statue of Mary, sister of Martha and Lazarus and, because today is the day Jesus rises from the dead, their statue will be dressed in colourful clothes. The priest scolded the people who paraded St Susannah on Good Friday because she was not dressed appropriately. There are protocols for everything.
The parade on Good Friday was so big that it took 4 hours to complete. There were 37 saints paraded on Good Friday. There will be more today. The aura of sacrifice is powerful. Sacrifice of sleep, money, of selfish pleasure. The village, and the town where the church is located, are very poor. Both would be called slums in Australia. Over there there they are called "affordable housing projects for the urban poor". The sacrifices are real and keenly felt.
I am not a Christian. In fact I am strongly opposed to the church because of its role in Trans and Gay discrimination. How then do i explain the feeling of hope that comes over me as I talk to my friend.
My sacrifice begins and ends with waking to answer her call.
My life is comfortable and sacrifice would barely disturb that.
I am challenged by her demonstration of faith. I do not know how to respond, so i write this to express my awe.
Christ has risen. There is a new hope in the world!
Saturday, 21 March 2015
Authenticity
I have a friend who is dying. It is painful and slow. He is showing incredible fortitude. I like being around him because his courage is contagious.
What he seems to regret most is the bullshit he complied with in his working life. Playing by the rules instead of using common sense and compassion. Speaking comfortable lies when the truth was apparent, but denied.
The authentic life is difficult, but in his last days my friend is living it. He speaks about his pain, and his imminent death calmly and openly. Despite his pain he is still able to, and does, help others.
What I find most disagreeable in my own life is brought into sharp focus by my friend's courage ; I am more interested in looking like a person who cares about things, than in actually being one.
But the disconnect hurts me. Every time I step out of authenticity into pride my spirit cringes. But my spirit forgives. I know that fear is at the heart of ego. Hubris, putting myself in the place of god, is born of my fear that god is not powerful enough to help.
I am lucky enough to have experienced despair. It is only then that I am courageous enough to be authentic
What he seems to regret most is the bullshit he complied with in his working life. Playing by the rules instead of using common sense and compassion. Speaking comfortable lies when the truth was apparent, but denied.
The authentic life is difficult, but in his last days my friend is living it. He speaks about his pain, and his imminent death calmly and openly. Despite his pain he is still able to, and does, help others.
What I find most disagreeable in my own life is brought into sharp focus by my friend's courage ; I am more interested in looking like a person who cares about things, than in actually being one.
But the disconnect hurts me. Every time I step out of authenticity into pride my spirit cringes. But my spirit forgives. I know that fear is at the heart of ego. Hubris, putting myself in the place of god, is born of my fear that god is not powerful enough to help.
I am lucky enough to have experienced despair. It is only then that I am courageous enough to be authentic
Wednesday, 18 March 2015
Attempting to control things
Most, if not all, of my stress occurs when there is a situation about which I think I have some control.
Great mystery, please help me to live and let live
Great mystery, please help me to live and let live
Monday, 16 March 2015
Universe. You suck!
Universe, you have completely failed to provide me with the things I want. You need to change. And fast.
Oh, you cannot change to suit me?
Who is the boss here, me or you?
What do you mean, you are the boss of you and I am the boss of me?
That is just crap.
I bet if I whinge and moan long enough you will give in.
I am going to be unhappy for the rest of my life if that is what it take!
You will be sorry if I waste my own life!
That will show you.
Signed Nancy
Oh, you cannot change to suit me?
Who is the boss here, me or you?
What do you mean, you are the boss of you and I am the boss of me?
That is just crap.
I bet if I whinge and moan long enough you will give in.
I am going to be unhappy for the rest of my life if that is what it take!
You will be sorry if I waste my own life!
That will show you.
Signed Nancy
Saturday, 14 March 2015
Nancy's Theories: Divine MadnessWhen the hypomania hits, usually in ...
Nancy's Theories: Divine MadnessWhen the hypomania hits, usually in ...: Divine Madness When the hypomania hits, usually in the weeks leading up to the equinox, I stay up late and haunt the mean streets looking...
Friday, 20 February 2015
The Woods Decay and Weep their Burdens to the ground.
I believe in reincarnation. In fact I don't just believe it, I know it (for me only). But one life time is enough for me. As I age and grow more reflective, the sadness threatens to overwhelm me. The damage I have caused and the tragedy I have witnessed are constantly just below the surface of my consciousness.
I understand now the joy of quiet monastic living. It seems not so much a good life, but a less harmful one. For me the true heroes, however, are those who embrace the the world and through lives of quiet sacrifice make it a better place. In my ignorant opinion, those who hide in monasteries are like the man who buried his talent in the ground. However Jesus never talked about the fourth man who was given 1000 talents and wasted them on cheap self gratification.
That person is me.
Far better to have buried my talent in the ground.
I understand now the joy of quiet monastic living. It seems not so much a good life, but a less harmful one. For me the true heroes, however, are those who embrace the the world and through lives of quiet sacrifice make it a better place. In my ignorant opinion, those who hide in monasteries are like the man who buried his talent in the ground. However Jesus never talked about the fourth man who was given 1000 talents and wasted them on cheap self gratification.
That person is me.
Far better to have buried my talent in the ground.
Tuesday, 17 February 2015
i am afraid of hard work
Ok, so they always want someone who is not afraid of work. What is a gal like me supposed to do? Can I go on disability support? The problem is, I am also afraid of not having money, not having a roof over my Head, not eating. My job application should say " Will work hard if forced by circumstances to so". I wonder if I will get any interviews?
The world is prejudiced against us lazy people, but we have probably harmed the world less than any other group. Hitler was not a lazy person and is just one of many who are "not afraid of hard work".
Lets unite. Lets have placards saying " hard work is not necessarily a good thing!"
The world is prejudiced against us lazy people, but we have probably harmed the world less than any other group. Hitler was not a lazy person and is just one of many who are "not afraid of hard work".
Lets unite. Lets have placards saying " hard work is not necessarily a good thing!"
Sunday, 15 February 2015
Virgin
Hi World.
Welcome to my journey to the wild side. This is the realm of madness and chaos. It is the realm of creativity. It is the the shadowy place of the other Me's.
These other Me's(does anyone know the plural of Me?) exist in my mania. My mental health people and my friends all try to keep me out of my mania. My rational part knows they are right. But when i get there I love it! Nancy is my collective name for all the small bit players in the person that is me
Welcome to my journey to the wild side. This is the realm of madness and chaos. It is the realm of creativity. It is the the shadowy place of the other Me's.
These other Me's(does anyone know the plural of Me?) exist in my mania. My mental health people and my friends all try to keep me out of my mania. My rational part knows they are right. But when i get there I love it! Nancy is my collective name for all the small bit players in the person that is me
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