Give peace a chance

These days it's impossible to not be concerned about the state of the world with its many horrific wars just about everywhere. And it doesn't help to learn about new alliances such as those among the powers of China, Russia, and North Korea. 

I was probably already a bit on the edge of feeling down, remembering that today is the 24th anniversary of the Twin Towers horror. I still remember being home that day, when some kind of spidey sense made me turn on the news--just in time to see the second building be hit. 

I took a bit of comfort when I found a clue in this morning's crossword that led me to figuring out "the fruit  that symbolizes peace in China" which turns out to be the apple.  

It makes me think the idea of the apple being the 'forbidden fruit' in Eden as one I can just about believe, as it sure seems our species has pretty much always been engaged in wars. What a species. So much for having such big brains -- hard to understand how such idiocy could continue. 

A balancing act

Today's the day the Earth does its twice-a-year balancing act. Earlier this afternoon, we experienced the vernal equinox, that special event that marks (for those of us in the Northern hemisphere) the beginning of spring.  

But that isn't the only balance I'm thinking about. For one thing, a number of banks seem a little shaky these days -- even ones in Switzerland, traditionally the most secure (and quiet) banks in the world. It wasn't long ago, though I can't put my finger on where (maybe in a film I saw?) but I heard a line that really resonated: "It suddenly struck them; they couldn't eat money." Which leads me to thoughts about the balance we need when we think about 'developing' farm lands for industrial use. Huh?!

Today also marks the day when China's Xi and Vladimir Putin are meeting in Moscow. It's hard for me to think that much good will come of this. Super-power meets super-power, but it looks more like power-over-others than any kind of balance. 

And the one that faces all of us, today's report from the UN on just how urgently we all need to act to save ourselves from the worst effects of climate change. 

It seems just about the only balance is the one the planet marked today, achieving that perfect angle where day and night are equal. 

As for all those other kinds of balance I keep hoping for, I guess my local graffiti artists say it best: Dream. 

Days that will likely be cause for regret

And now, beyond disappointment. 

This has been a terrible week -- globally and even locally. 

On the world stage we are all aware of Putin's invasion of the Ukraine -- ironically, bare hours after Pink Shirt Day, the date we observe towards stopping bullies. If there's ever been a bully, the president of Russia has certainly shown the world how a bully behaves. 

I'm not a person who's big into any kind of formal praying, but I'm digging deep and doing my best to focus energies towards this horrid conflict ending, and without further losses. Dreaming, I suppose, but that's my small prayer of sorts. 

Yet Putin isn't the only bully who's asserted himself this week. We who live in the southern reaches of Surrey have had one of our most fragile environmental regions put on the chopping block with approval for commercial development being granted by the Metro Vancouver Board. 

Their decision was somewhat astonishing in light of their self-determined plans for the region (currently the vision for 2040, with a revised version for 2050 coming soon). If you click on either of those 'vision' links, especially the jazzed-up video with 2050 'plans' you'll see that nearly every goal they highlight there has been violated by passing the 'South Campbell Heights' (Surrey's gentrified name that hides the old 'Hazelmere Valley' name) proposal. 

Peace starts here

I'm doing my best to remind myself that mindful intention can be nearly as powerful as action, especially when it's combined with time devoted to a meditative practice. But even with such self-reminders, I'll admit to feeling a little guilty about not going into Vancouver today to be part of the Women's March there.

The closest I've come to being part of this weekend's social actions was participating in yesterday's virtual march in Surrey, the city where I live. The little guy in the photo above was one of the marchers in that. Again, intention, intention.

Especially if you've never tried meditating, here's a website that provides some solid guidance. Because it's by subscription, please know that I'm not necessarily promoting it, just saying it's a good place for learning.

But now I'm moving beyond intention (in my own small way) and heading out the door for a private march for peace in my neighbourhood.

A presentation by France sets me thinking...

Sometimes I wonder why I love fireworks. It's a fact though. I can't help it. I do.

And really, with all that's going on in the world, I wonder whether I'd feel the same way about all that fire and noise if I lived someplace else, where the sounds of rockets flying through the air might mean imminent destruction or even death. Even though I love them, fireworks sometimes make me think this way.

This has been the week for observing 100 years since the start of World War One, a war once thought of as the 'war to end all wars'. Sadly, we know that hasn't been the case. In fact, some now think that WWI might have been the war that started a whole new round of wars -- that without it, and the divisions of lands it caused, World War Two might have never happened -- and with it, the countless other disputes, so many of which continue.

For someone who dreams of peace, the idea of loving fireworks might seem contradictory. Still, standing as part of a throng of nearly half a million people, watching the Celebration of Light beside the Pacific Ocean on a warm summer night is something that stirs me. And really, for a show that's free to watch, is pretty darn hard to beat.

 

Worth it, eh?

The last of Canada's troops have left Afghanistan, with a sorry toll to tell. One diplomat and 158 soldiers, male and female, for a total of 159. Too many.

Earlier this year we learned that Veterans' offices in many parts of the country were being shut down, and already we're seeing the sad results. Two suicides in the past week -- deaths that should have been preventable with proper support services in place.

But rather than ramping up services to veterans, our brilliant government wants to celebrate the Afghan mission. Apparently they already did some hurry-up focus group work and determined that a ceremony observing the 12 years on duty in Afghanistan would not be desirable as part of Canada Day celebrations in Ottawa.

So instead, they've set May 9th as the day when the country will 'honour' these veterans.

But funds for this observance will be taken from operational budgets for the military -- sort of like giving someone a medal, then telling them they'll have to pay for it themselves. As Joyce Murray, Member of Parliament for Vancouver Quadra has put it, it looks like "...prioritizing parades over people."

And where did the May 9th date come from? It's the Friday before Mother's Day, so maybe it's supposed to rub salt into the wounds of those mothers whose daughters and sons are dead or wounded or scarred. Or, maybe 5/9 is as close as they could get to a date with the number 159 in it.

And wait a minute, whatever happened to our role as Peacekeepers?

It's been a week for resignations. First, Jim Flaherty. Then today, Alison Redford. Maybe Steve could get off the plane long enough to do us a favour and follow their lead.

Ones of a kind

When we started our big crazy trip last year, the place we began in was just across the line in Washington state. We’re taking advantage of the long weekend, and gone back across that invisible line of the border, spending a few days in one of our favourite places by the sea, Port Townsend.

Readers of this blog will know that I often observe ways to make new beginnings – whether that’s observing the formality of January first, the beginning of September, or my birthday. Besides revisiting the spot where our tour began, today presents another kind of new beginning.

Unless our calendar starts over at zero again, or we get a new kind of year that contains 22 months, we won’t have another day where we can write the date with only a single digit – and not just in this particular lifetime – ever.

I feel especially hopeful for this particular round of new beginnings, partly because we attended a very different kind of ceremony to observe this always-significant day, November 11th.

We joined in with the locals and attended a midday observance at the local Legion. A fabulous band played wonderful music, the speeches were thoughtful and respectful – and best of all, every speaker seemed to focus on peace.

Peace, that’s my kind of new beginnings (and hey, the free lunch, complete with yummy desserts was pretty all right too).

In praise of hope

There's something courageous about a flag at half-mast, especially against the blue of a summer sky. It's a combination of sadness and joy, probably the same combination of feelings so many of us are experiencing today, the day of Jack Layton's funeral.


The words of the letter he left for us have already been championed as a manifesto for change, as impetus to go forth and change the world to the better place we want it to be.


The CBC has taken his words to heart and put out the challenge on their website, How would you make the world a better place?

That might seem like an awfully big question, but it's manageable if each of simply looks within and asks, What will I do today to make the world a better place?


I'm taking Jack Layton's final thoughts seriously, especially the parts about Hope being better than fear, Optimism being better than despair.

One of my greatest hopes is that his death won't have been in vain. I'm hoping that it will serve as a rallying point for the Left to take a page from what the Conservatives have done (aligning the voices of the Right). I am optimistic that the various socially conscious factions -- be they NDP, Green or Liberal -- will find ways to heal their differences and join together.


Coming together seems like the greatest way to honour the memory of Jack, and the best of way of fulfilling his desire that we change the world. And what better time to start changing the world than now?

PS Lipstick Press has been honouring Jack Layton by posting poems.

Ripening

Another perfect day for picking a load of berries, this time the easiest to pick, blueberries. All the perfectly ripe ones nearly picked themselves, pretty much just rolled off into my hand.

The rows were full of people who had the same idea for a good way to spend the day – plenty of families were picking, with kids of just about every age in tow.

Maybe it’s part of being out in the open air, or maybe it’s the illusion of privacy afforded by the rows of tall berry bushes, but whatever it is, lots of chatting goes on amongst pickers. Inveterate eavesdropper that I am, the conversations I enjoyed most were those of the kids.

Sure, there were plenty of burp and fart remarks, lots of laughing. But there were also some treasures: “After you get your tonsils out, can you still sing?” Or, “Every day someone dies and someone is born.”

And on the thought of someone being born, today is the hundredth anniversary of Lucille Ball’s birth. As an enduring performer, she has to be one of the funniest. I’m sure if I were to watch a rerun of just about any episode of I Love Lucy, I’d find something to laugh about. Today’s paper ran a nice piece about remembering her, and referred specifically to the chocolate-factory episode, a memorable one, to be sure.

But back to those fields, where I heard other conversations. Several languages rose into the morning sun – Spanish, some Eastern European sounding language I couldn’t identify, a Chinese dialect, and just in the next row, the softer-sounding (to my ear) Japanese. I remembered that today is the day Hiroshima was bombed and almost wanted to say to them, “I’m sorry.” Instead, we chatted a bit about the berries, about how big and sweet they were, how impossible it was not to keep sampling them. And I can’t help wonder, had the times been different, could it really be that we would have needed to be enemies, rather than being strangers who could laugh together and enjoy the day in a field of ripening berries.

If you want it...

I was at a school Christmas concert tonight. One of the songs performed by the choir was Happy Xmas (War is over). The line above is one of the mantra-like repeated lines that follow 'war is over' in the refrain.

It seems there's lots to remember as we remember John Lennon.

Do you have a memory of this night, 30 years ago?

Olympic flame of a different sort

I was down at the beach yesterday morning, just about the same time the Olympic torch passed by through White Rock. Pink streaks of light filled the morning sky, a sliver of moon still hung above the sea.

The crowds who’d come down to witness the torch were already trudging up the hill, heading for their cars, the busy-ness that would be their day.

Alone against this tide of people, I wandered along the railway tracks, snapping too many photos of sky, sea, trees, and birds.

Walking past the band shell in the park, I noticed a small group of people who looked as if they were waiting for something.

Approaching them, I asked, “Where’s Gordon Campbell?” After all, our premier’s been popping up almost anyplace where there might be a photo op. They point to each other and laugh, as if one of them might be Campbell in disguise. Then one claims instead to be Stephen Harper. “Oh yes, of course, he’s on holiday. He should be out here any day now.”

As it turns out, they’re going to have a prayer of peace for the Olympics. When they invite me to join them, I do.

Organized by a local group, called the Awakening Heart, the people here represent various faiths and belief systems. Among us, there is an imam, a few Jainists, several Buddhist monks and a nun. The representative from the Unitarian church is charming. She makes the claim that her church has ‘borrowed’ from everyone else. Many, like me, are of no particular affiliation, yet all of us clearly respect one another.

The prayers are multilingual – in Arabic, Sanskrit, and, luckily for me, English.

My place in the circle is beside a man from Sydney, Australia. I can tell by his headpiece that he is likely Muslim. When we are asked to join hands, I have the sense to hesitate, realizing that he and I are probably not permitted to touch. He smiles and indicates for me to hold on near the cuff of his sleeve. This makes the link. We are respectfully joined to the rest of the circle.

At one point the sound of helicopters is too loud for any of us to hear what the other might be saying. We stop, and though I realize this is the noise of the omnipresent Olympic security forces, I think of the many places in the world where this might be the sound of an attack.

When we resume, the angle of the sun reaches into the band shell, shining on us even though we are standing beneath the structure’s overhang.

As the circle of prayers nears its conclusion, a chorus of birds revs up with a glorious morning song. And then a dog jumps up on the platform, sniffing us in turn. It’s as if the animals understand what we are asking, and try to say that they want peace too.

As I leave, I carry a flame in my heart, one that burns stronger than the Olympic torch possibly could.

Terrible symmetry

1 - 3 - 1.

One hundred and thirty-one.

That’s 20 more dead soldiers since the last time I wrote about the rising toll in Afghanistan.

And now it’s reported that the most recent victim, Pte. Jonathan Couturier, apparently considered the mission ‘a bit useless’.

It’s seeming that more people are finally questioning Canada’s actions in Afghanistan. Recent statements from Senator Colin Kenny compare the mission’s futility to the war in Vietnam. Robert Fowler, the Canadian diplomat who was kidnapped earlier this year, has also expressed doubts.

The promised date for withdrawal, 2011, seems just too far away.

Perception Shift

I have a thing about numbers. I like certain ones more than others. Sometimes this is based on associations with birthdays or other events. Sometimes my reasons are more superficial – when I fix on a number for the way it looks.

Thinking about numbers displayed on the clock, I’ve always loved the tidy lines of 11:11. And next best has always been its shorter cousin, 1:11.

But today, with three more Canadian soldiers killed in Afghanistan, and the number of deaths there now jumping to 111, I’m pretty sure I’ll be thinking differently when 1:11 shows up on the face of the clock.

Instead of admiring the shape of the number, I'll be viewing it as three red soldiers standing tall. And I’ll be thinking of three men – Warrant Officer Dennis Raymond Brown, Cpl. Dany Olivier Fortin and Cpl. Kenneth Chad O’Quinn.