What the invisible hand cannot touch.

The United States House of Representatives refused to grant seven hundred billion dollars of taxpayer money to slap mortar on the burgeoning cracks in the foundation of the grand altar that is "the Economy", and as a result, stock markets the world over went for a bit of a tumble. Among the dwellers of the great beehives of Wall Street and the Docklands, panic has ensued. A nebulous cloud of uncertainty now hangs over the proletariat.

I can't say I'm all that worried.

"Good Heavens, why not?" one might ask, and rightfully so. After all, I have a home that needs heating, a mouth that needs feeding, lights that need to be kept on, and a mortgage to keep that roof over my head, all of which now lie in peril. How can one bear witness to this imminent calamity with such nonchalance?

Well, at the risk of corroborating Stephen Harper's accusations of rooting for the demise of our economy, I was waiting for this to happen, though I can't say I'm "rooting for" the despair left in its wake. I wish to advise Mr. Harper at this time that, contrary to what he may believe, it is this lifestyle, our way of doing things he espouses- nay, lauds, that has led us to the edge of this cliff, and it is our way of doing things that will send us tumbling down its jagged façade.

But... despair? Sure, our world will be turned on its ear, and times will be tough, but must we necessarily despair? I hate to say it, but at this stage in the game, perhaps we need something like this to happen to wake us from our collective coma and realize the comfort in which we immersed ourselves is but a warm, soft, steaming pile of shit (I have a friend to thank for this one; if he's reading, he knows who he is). The time has come to cease relying on politicians and bankers for sustenance, to cease pinning our hopes on those too rich to care about us, to look out for one another; in short, to empower ourselves.

We are witnessing the end of money, and with it, the germination of consciousness and a reacquaintance with our Earth Mother. Granted, we will have to learn to stand on our own two feet, which will take some time, but it will happen. There is enough land in the city - land we designate as "lawns" by transforming grass into carpet - to feed us, not to mention the rooftops that can house plant life, as well as the copious amounts of food we lay to waste. "They" might try to take your home, but what good will it do when the land loses its monetary value? Besides, despite it being some commodity in their eyes, you have made it your home, and no one has the right to take that from you.

In these times of economic peril, I'm not worried, for we are witnessing the end of our wanton destructive ways, and the dawn of something new, something that cannot be captured and sold at some market: the awakening of our collective love.

Photoblogging - Part VI

Some things never change.

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* LavaLife

** J.G. Stedman, Narrative of a five years expedition against the revolted Negroes of Surinam...from the year 1772-1777, Volume I

Seven years later...

How many millions of theirs are worth three thousand of ours?
Why commemorate this day when it is every day over there?
And every day in our backyard, in the dark corners we choose not to see?

And where is this Emmanuel Goldstein?
Haven't we cornered him in a cave?
How did we ever let him escape?

The flames may have abated,
but the smoke screen remains.
No amount of bullets or bombs
or ballots
will make this dark cloud disappear;
only that which resides
in our hearts.

If you are looking for something long-winded,
read my post from last year,
and the year before,
and the year before.
We can only revisit this day so many times.
Let's ensure it never happens again
anywhere
by anyone's hand.

"His judgment cometh, and that right soon..."

More powerful than fists or firearms...

I wish to relay a story to you, my faithful readers, for I feel it ought to soften - to a small degree, at least - even the most petrous hearts. It is a story of the efficacy of love, and what could happen if we let it guide us.

I spent the last week of July in an ashram in the Mauricie region of Québec (for those who may not know, an ashram is a place to retreat from the frenetic pace of society), spending my days in meditation, service and silence. Towards the end of my stay, our group of eighteen-to-thirty-four-year-olds was informed that a group of youths were visiting from Panama and were not enjoying their stay. On the morning of the day I was to leave, as we sat in the meditation hall for a final discourse, we were introduced to these people, whom we greeted with the most stentorian ovation we could generate; the ensuing smiles on their faces warmed our hearts immensely. We took turns greeting them individually with smiles and hugs, and they responded in kind. Though we could not communicate through words - well, we could through their interpreter - our feelings spoke volumes. Perhaps this was the moment when they finally felt at home.

I did not know much about these fine people from Panama, nor how they ended up in the Canadian wilderness. I would have welcomed the opportunity to become better acquainted with them, but alas, 'twas my mother's birthday and I was eager to return home to spend the evening with her. I did not think much of them since until last Friday, when I had a chat with an instructor who was also at the ashram; she mentioned that these individuals were actually members of street gangs in their homeland, one of whom professed to have killed over a hundred people. I sat aghast after hearing this revelation: it did not occur to me in the least that they might have been gang members, for all I saw were people happy to feel included in a group of complete strangers.

This revelation has been swirling in my mind for several days, and now, I'm finally translating it into words for you, for it is imperative that it be shared. Even today, I am still amazed by what I saw: we systematically stigmatize "gangsters" as incorrigible ruffians fit only for a jail cell or casket, yet somehow, a group of us were able not only to sit in the same room with some of the roughest, but approach and embrace them as our own. This goes to show just how powerful love is.

We Canadians find ourselves in the throes of an election campaign, during which time, I imagine we will hear certain candidates speak ad nauseam of the importance of "getting tough on crime", which really means throw the book at criminals and do nothing about crime. I hope, somehow, our policy scribes catch wind of this experience - I haven't had much success connecting with Members of Parliament through mass media - and, rather than skew it into ballast for a personal agenda, see it for what it is. We seem to think we can function as a society in which we are apprehensive of one another; you can see how well this is working, so it's high time we dispel our fear and loathing.

I wonder how much love these so-called "gangsters" experience in their lives. In this world of ours - and I do mean ours, for we are all hustlers trying to survive - hatred and selfishness are rewarded, from schoolyard brawls to back-alley bullets to bombs over Basra and Baghdad: so long as we set our crosshairs on self-gratification and disregard love, this sort of behaviour will never abate. Our society needs not more war, more jails, more cops and tougher laws; rather, we need love and respect for one another. Just think, if we abandoned this pursuit of capital, how much better our health care system would be; how much better our education would be; how much better off our police officers and armed forces personnel, routinely thrust into harm's way so that their superiors may gain, would be; how much better off all of us would be.

If you are one who subscribes to the notion that, without proper fortification, we will be at the mercy of evil-doers, I ask this: What message are we sending when we buttress our home with truncheons and assault weapons? Why is it these "evil-doers" wish to attack us? Perhaps people see guns pointed at them as an affront? We are all connected to one another in this universe, whether we wish to espouse this idea or not; the hostility we harbour is felt by those around us, who respond in kind. Imagine if, instead, we macerated our fears and let love be our guide: how would our counterparts behave then?

To quote the Qur'an: "But if the enemy incline toward peace, you (also) incline toward peace, and trust in Allah: for He is the one that hears and knows all things." (Qur'an 8:61) I avoid lending credence to whatever names and pronouns we use to identify God, for they cannot possibly capture what God is. Here, God is not in the name "Allah", nor in the pronoun "He", but rather in the message "if the enemy incline toward peace, you (also) incline toward peace", for that, my friends, is God: beneficent, merciful, loving.

Shalom Aleichem.
As-salamu Alaykum.
Peace be unto all of you.

Aside: You may have noticed the rash of "thousand dollar words" appearing in my latest entries. I recently wrote the Graduate Record Examination (GRE), thus in the weeks leading up to it, I had to expand my vocabulary. Rather than let these new additions to my verbal repertoire go to waste, I figure I'll continue using them when appropriate. Please advise of any malapropisms I may have committed along the way; it would be much appreciated.

The Maelstrom

These are turbulent times for all of us.

Hurricane Gustav battered the Caribbean and Gulf Coast of the United States, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. As we speak, tropical storm Hanna is unleashing its fury on the eastern seaboard, and hurricane Ike, now at "Category 4" status, is blazing a trail across the Atlantic, with Florida in its sights - rather than featuring the islands it is crossing, the twenty-four-hour news stations are showing us images of frenetic Floridians scrambling to gather provisions and plywood, but I guess we look after "our own" first.

When Burma was struck by a cyclone earlier this year, I remarked that the puissance of the storm was a consequence of our living in the fast lane; the same can be said of the frequency and ferocity of the storms we experience, wherever we may live. In the grand scheme of infinity, perhaps Mother Nature is responding to the awesome, unchecked force unleased on her and her constituents, one I wish to dub "Hurricane Whitey", though it is by no means a phenomenon exclusive to Him.

You see, friends, our media magnates report this "Gustav" slamming Haïti and killing a dozen or so people, yet will say nothing about the chaos wrought by Hurricane Whitey, the juggernaut that deposed its democratically elected President and swept a pro-business plutocrat into power, that brought an occupying force with it, that killed (and continues to kill) scores of people. The same Hurricane Whitey - in the form of negligence, apathy and opportunity - perpetuates a state of despair in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans while erecting casinos and condominiums where the locals' homes once stood. That's not all, as it continues to wreak havoc on such places as Iraq, Afghanistan and Palestine, and takes aim for Iran and Pakistan. We need not delve into great detail as to what happened when it first arrived in Africa, Australia, Asia and the Americas.

The hurricane winds are a-blowin' here as well. All year long, the storm that is the campaign to elect the President of the United States has been gathering momentum, stirring citizens into a frenzy. From now until early November, the maelstrom will be at its most potent, as we become imbued by the downpour of rhetoric and are tossed in every direction by the fanatical fracas of feces-slinging. To add to the chaos, we Canadian folk are on our merry way to the polls ourselves, as it is all but certain that our Prime Minister - yes, the one who extolled the implementation of fixed election dates to prevent incumbents like himself from calling an election at a most favourable time for his party - is about to call an election at a most favourable time for his party. It has already begun: the winds of the maelstrom are starting to churn on the north side of the forty-ninth, beckoning us humble folk to do our duty and feed it votes, pulling us this way and that in the process.

How does this storm gain so much momentum?

The answer, I'm afraid, is us. We feed it the money and ballots necessary to aggrandize its colossal power, and do so without the slightest idea of what exactly we're doing. We sweep its debris out of our domiciles and neighbourhoods, and cry foul when the winds blow it all back to us. We expend exorbitant amounts of resources buttressing our homes, hoping to render them impervious to the turbulence while leaving others to fend for themselves. We excite the atmosphere with the heaps and heaps of energy we reject into it to expedite our lifestyle. We succumb to the sweet nothings of those who promise "change", unaware that we are merely in th eye of the great storm that only gets worse again because we fail to get better.

It is us, then, who must reduce this hurricane, this austere force, to a spittle cloud. Perhaps by the time this is done, we will be standing with the shards of former glory at our feet, wondering what to do now. Personally, I like to think something can be done sooner, rather than later. Why not start now, by not casting our votes for one or the other (or even the other, depending on where you may reside)? Why not put a halt to surrendering our power to this maelstrom and instead retain it for ourselves to decide what's best for us? Furthermore, why not all of us take a day off work together and take care of each other? Why not make it a few days? a fortnight? a month?

We're all caught in the maelstrom together, but together, we can mitigate its severity until it is but a gentle breeze blowing softly through the leaves; and we are no longer grappling for dear life as we navigate the ocean's turbulent waves, but rather floating blissfully on its halcyon surface.

Mahalo.