centre of the universe - the dreaming

Yes. you read that right. Natural disasters are Bad Things. This is a well-known fact. They would not be called "Disasters" (natural or otherwise) if they were Good Things. But, and this may make me an Outcast in your books, I do not want to hear about Haiti.

Haiti has been in need of assistance for DECADES. It's been one of the poorest countries in the world for many, many, ma-hany years. And nobody cared about the poor people dying then. Nobody cared about the HIV/AIDS epidemic then. Nobody spent bandwidth from Twitter and Facebook sending $10 per text message to the little bloated-stomach children eating banana leaves then. But NOW. Now you can't *not* hear about it on the news. So, what, it takes thousands of people dying at once (versus thousands of people dying over the past ten years) for anyone to pay attention to people in need?

Sure, I'm unfeeling about this (I'm not *really*; I'm just mad about the way this stuff "affects" people). And I apologise if I've offended your sense of propriety. Dear GOD, how can anyone speak out against disaster relief?

*I* don't care where you donate your money. I'm glad there is something in the world greater than we are, which we can latch on to in support. There are *many* things in the world greater than we are, which we can latch on to in support. And I'm glad folks care about helping people. All this good mojo and good karma has to rebigulate stuff.

But. It's just that...[clicking tongue] I don't know, really.

And hearing that wassisname said the reason the earthquake happened at all was because the Haitan people "were under the heel of the French, you know Napoleon the third and whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said 'We will serve you if you will get us free from the prince.' True story. And so the devil said, 'Ok it’s a deal.' And they kicked the French out. The Haitians revolted and got something themselves free. But ever since they have been cursed by one thing after another."

True story.

Napoleon the Third and whatever.

So. I'm just...pissy. That it took a freaking earthquake for people to understand what living in poverty really means. It means overcrowding and unsafe living conditions and terrible infrastructure and famine and disease and MASSIVE numbers of bodies lying in the streets when Something Bad happens.

Don't not donate your money and time and prayers and effort to helping people. Just...think. About *why* things are the way they are (and I'm pretty sure that hundreds of thousands of people in Haiti aren't dying because they made a pact to the devil, Napoleon the third "and whatever" notwithstanding.

THAT is the problem I'm having with the way this thing is being reported...the way many things are being reported. There's no context. And for people who are Not Inclined to go FIND the context, they're coming away from this with a skewed (and most likely incorrect) view of the Way Things Really Are. That bothers me.

Labels: dirt in your eye, poop in my cornflakes

The night is warm, but the wind is cool. I stand in the centre of a field of summerfallow. Above me, the stars glint and shimmer. Below me, the earth is solid and warm. The soil in the fallow rows is loose and soft as my sandals sink down into it. The soil covers the tops of my feet.

Across the field, far out into the darkness, I hear a coyote yip. It is answered by another, further off away from the river. They sing back and forth, and their song is solitary, even though there are two...solitary and mournful. Their song is a song to the changing face of the moon; they wonder why their grandmother's face is covered by a veil, but she cannot answer them tonight for she is watching the sea.

Sometimes, this comforts me, this darkness, these stars, this moon, the coyotes, the earth, and the wind. Tonight, I reach for my grandmother's wisdom. I reach out my fingers, and try to touch her strength. My fingers play lightly through the heavy air, but her strength is not there. I say to my mother, who hears everything now, "Please. Please, I need you now."

My voice rolls over and over across the field.

This is where you have left me, my heart full of dust, my ribs dry stalks of wheat. I don't know why I remain standing, why I do not topple to the warm soil, my fingers becoming the earth for next year's crop. But I do not. Something keeps me standing.

I hear your voice, as if through molasses. Your words are sharp, abrupt. You judge me. I falter. You judge me. I wither. You judge me. I fall.

Grandmother moon glances down.

Where do I go from here?

Labels: Bad Mojo, dirt in your eye, Lowering standards, ring made from a spoon

Not in *general*, because pretending *in general* is a good thing.

But specifically, let's just stop pretending either that Christmas is a secular event or that Christmas is not a secular event. Let's get all our horses going in the same direction here, before the waggon spills our flour all over the trail.

Either Christmas is a time of sharing, giving, togetherness, and reflection/meditation/prayer regardless of whether you believe in the Great Heebie Jeebie or not, or if you do, how you worship him/her/it/them, OR Christmas is none of the above and shouldn't be celebrated at all.

Face it. The word "Christmas" has lost its meaning. It's become the Great Hallmark™ Consumer Sales Push, regardless of your religion (or disregard thereof), denomination ($100s won't be accepted because of counterfeit bills in circulation), or culture (whatever's in the fridge that USED to be eggnog. Last year). We all pretend like there's this great love of humanity and love for one another that surfaces during the third week of December for some magical reason, but ultimately, we all know the truth. Behind that forced smile is a cuss word waiting to leap out of your mouth.

I know...I KNOW! I have it too.

So I don't get what the big deal is with people getting all irate if their kid's school does or doesn't mention Jesus or the Menorah or Muhammed or freaking Ras smoking gange on a beach. IT DOESN'T MATTER, people. The only "reason for the season" is to boost the economy. You know it; I know it...the Prime Minister knows it. Everyone knows it. Oh sure, you get all teary-eyed when you watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas, but that's just nostalgia. You're in line with everyone else buying that CD or DVD or fancy pair of underpants.

And there's nothing wrong with it, really. Boosting the economy is a good thing, right? Because if we spend more, the government tells us, the economy will roll over and we'll be out of this recession. That's all it takes. Just one person to buy another fridge magnet that says some derogatory thing about men in the kitchen. It really does matter if you shop, Johnny, because even your five dollars counts!

This is so much easier to sell than 'you should vote because it matters', isn't it? Because there's instant gratification. I know how hollow and pointless your life would have been had you not received a package of razors in your stocking. Folks running the country claiming parliamentary democracy is illegal? Doesn't matter. What matters is that the ten-spot you dropped on flavoured coffee for mum-in-law is going to be packaged up and left under the counter along with the flavoured hot chocolate from last year. The rum always seems to go, though...odd.

The kids *need* to have presents under the tree, otherwise they'll feel left out, or marginalised, or it won't be as much fun. And just remember, when you were little, *you* always had presents under the tree, and we couldn't afford much back then, but we always managed to scrape together enough for a new pair of socks, though what we'd have done if Old Mrs. Murphy up the street hadn't been able to knit them from the remnants of Granddad's ratty old blanket, I don't want to think about. You know, our feet all went cold the year she had a stroke and couldn't purl anymore.

So do it for your country! For the good of your family! For your children's well being! Buy that stir stick with reindeer horns! Shell out some dough for the latest edition of Pretend To Be In A Band software! And wrap it all up in brightly coloured wrapping paper that was made from trees harvested in Canada and sold for less than their market value to mills in other countries who underpay their employees and overprice their products. Because that's what Christmas really means, isn't it? You're not up in arms because your kid's school made wee Arthur sing about baby Jesus. You're not upset because it's so hard to find a good Menorah these days. It hasn't anything to do with the marginalisation (nay, vilification) of Ramadan. It's about how you're pissed off because the asshole in the Dodge stole the parking spot you've been waiting for for two minutes outside the store that just sold the very last one of the latest Whores 'R' Us Bratz™ doll that your sister's new husband's daughter's niece said she'd DIE if she didn't get. Guess you'd better stop at the funeral home to pick out a nice coffin.

So let's just stop the lies. It hasn't anything to do with religion. You know it and I know it. We could debate for hours about how the Christians tagged their own brand of lunacy on to solstice celebrations. We could argue about how **ACTUALLY** the fir trees used to decorate our homes are **ACTUALLY** representations of the boughs of cedar the druids used to use to celebrate being blind drunk in the middle of winter and how the actual reason we light the Menorah has nothing to do with the rededication of temples and pressing olives, but how that tradition was STOLEN from some EVEN OLDER group of worshippers who lit each other on fire because it was so Goddamned cold outside for eight straight days. In fact, we could argue about pretty much anything, but let's just make it easier on ourselves.

This is the shopping season. That's it. That's all there is to it. We call it "Christmas" because it's convenient, and because deep down inside, we like to argue about what it all means. It is the culmination of the 11 months of credit card payments we've been making throughout the rest of the year, and it prepares us for the upcoming 11 months of credit card payments we will continue to make. It is the season that reminds us that we give gifts to make other people feel shitty about not having got you anything; the season of one-upmanship.

So here's to dirt in your eye, my friend.

Merry One-Upmanship Season.

Labels: Christmas, consumerism, dirt in your eye, rants