C.G.Ayling

Month: March 2013

  • Same-Sex Marriage.

    The US Supreme Court is currently considering cases regarding a touchy, emotive subject. Namely the question of the veracity of same-sex marriage.  Unfortunately, I don’t do well when I’m troubled by thoughts of injustice, and this subject is rampant with such thoughts.

    Until relatively recently, my view was that the word “marriage” should be reserved for the specific union between a man and a woman.  {For those interested in my change of heart, my post, “Marriage,  a word’s meaning” provides a little background.}

    Why did I change my mind?  Because of prompting from my youngest daughter {thirteen at the time}, who expressed shock I could be opposed to same-sex couples.  I corrected her by stating I had never held that bigoted viewpoint, then went on to explain that we were talking about the meaning of a root word, namely marriage.

    Though I wish I could remember Julia’s exact words, I cannot, so here’s the gist of how she prompted my change of heart, “That doesn’t make sense, dad.  Words change their meaning all the time.  Just because people in the past were ignorant and had the wrong ideas doesn’t mean we’re stuck with what they thought something meant.  I think marriage is for couples who love each other and intend to be with each other forever.  What do you think?”

    How is it that the young see the truth of things so clearly?  Perhaps it is because they haven’t yet been trained to the biases of whatever society they dwell in?

    What could I do but agree?  Julia’s definition of “marriage” cuts to the heart of the matter.  Marriage is not about sex, or about gender.  Marriage, is about commitment.  No one, neither individual or government, has the right to deny any committed couple their chance at the permanent bond of marriage.

    So, since I’ve come to terms with my change of heart, why am I troubled by thoughts of injustice?  Simple.  Because I fear the US Supreme Court is about to allow a massive, long running injustice go unaddressed… or at best inadequately addressed.

    Sadly, the USA seems to be a country where the courts are less concerned with justice than they are in following the letter of flawed laws.  In reflecting on the technicalities of the matter of same-sex marriage, Justice Sonia Sotomayor seems to be following that precedent.  She asked this question, “If the issue is letting the states experiment and letting the society have more time to figure out its direction, why is taking a case now the answer?”

    Allow me, a gravely troubled citizen, to answer that question.  Because everyone deserves equal access to justice now, not at some unspecified time in the future.

    Many of the original European immigrants came to America to escape religious persecution.  Limiting marriage benefits and responsibility exclusively to heterosexual couples has no basis other than religious or politically motivated dogma.  How has this country been so sorely turned about that where it once held separation of Church and State as sacrosanct, it now seeks to entrench religious persecution into law?

    I don’t do well when I’m troubled by thoughts of injustice…  Withholding access to marriage equality from any committed couple, regardless of gender, is injustice.  As a strictly heterosexual male already past my silver wedding anniversary, and looking forward to my gold, I can only imagine how same sex couples denied access to equal rights feel.

    That very imagining troubles me.

    Same-sex couples are victims of persecution, oppression, and injustice.

    That needs to end, and it needs to end now, not at some other undetermined time in the future.

    The following is a quote from my work, Malmaxa. “Were those denied justice ever satisfied with their lot?”  Since the answer to that question is a resounding, “No!” we should not be surprised when same-sex couples aren’t satisfied with their lot.  Indeed, no moral person should be content to remain silent in any society that denies equal justice to all its citizens, regardless of gender, color, caste, creed, sexual orientation, origin, or religion.

    The time for silent social conscience on this issue is long since passed. Now is the time for social activism.

    {04/14/13 – further steps on this journey can be found here.}

  • Conscious Activism

    On February 26, 2013, I posted back-to-back tweets from my Twitter account, @CGAyling.  The first stated:-

    “Social conscience: recognizing injustice. {widely encouraged}”,

    the second,

    “Social Activism: acting on your social conscience. {widely discouraged}”.

    A growing sense of inequity, prompted these thoughts.

    In my youth, fortune smiled on me.  The middle child of seven, my first memories are from our life in an extremely small village named Melsetter.  Melsetter is located in the scenic Eastern Highlands of a place now mired in tragedy, and renamed Zimbabwe.  In Melsetter, my father held a position of influence and my mother one of mystique – least those were my perceptions, for how else does a very young child raised in the security of a loving family see their parents?

    Fortune’s pendulum swung.

    Misfortune widowed my mother, leaving her to raise seven children.  While we lacked for things material, we never lacked for love.  My Godfather stepped into my life and assumed the figure of father for me, while never presuming to replace my deceased father.  The world seemed fair and equitable – a place of dignity, with difference assumed, and respected.  In my Godfather’s care, I learnt of conscience, and of deed.  He taught me that for conscience to hold any moral value, one must act upon it, with deeds.

    A decade passed, my Godfather moved to Spain, and a terrible war ravaged my peaceful land.  I served on the losing side, volunteering for service before my scheduled conscription into the Rhodesian Army.

    Why did I volunteer?  From a powerful sense of social activism – I knew Rhodesia was doomed to fall before the onslaught of communist backed terrorists.  (Terrorists is what we called them then, and terrorists is what they have proved to be.)  My conscience goaded me to act in defense of a homeland whose demise was imminent, and inescapable.  Following my Godfather’s lesson, I acted on my conscience and decided to volunteer for Military Service.  Widespread disapproval met my little act of possibly misguided activism.  Teachers drew me aside and told me that all I had to do was wait, the end of conscription was as hand – just as soon as Rhodesia lost the war.

    Even within my family, my decision met with powerful disapproval.  My three older brothers, already undertaking their National Service, each urged me to reconsider.  My mother cried, something I have very rarely seen.  Although shocked at my family’s lack of support, within my heart I knew that their admonishments were in attempt to protect me from very likely harm.  When my mother perceived I would not relent and intended to serve, she urged me to join Internal Affairs, the Airforce, or the Police – all alternative forms of National Service instead of the Army, and all with far less risk of combat.  However, my wish was to fight for my country, not serve in another less active role.  I joined the Army, attended the School of Infantry, and ultimately received my wish.

    Be careful what you wish for – for sometimes wishes are granted.

    Looking back through hindsight’s rose tinted spectacles, I question much of what I believed at that time.  It turns out that truth is not absolute – it is nothing more than our perception of available information.  However, whether I did the right thing is not the point of this post – the point, is that I acted on my social conscience.

    Question your conscience, to be sure its motivation seems pure, and then act on it.  Even if only to yourself, you will make a difference – and remember, change begins at home.

    <<<-0->>>

    While you’re here, please take a look around my blog, you’re sure to find something to promote thought.

  • Beware, what you wish for.

    Prompted by an oft repeated sentiment wishing for warmer weather, tweeted by a Twitter companion {I don’t really like the terms following / follower}. The tweet, by @marlo_maybe read, “I swear that I won’t complain about summer heat ever again. This snow shit is for the birds.”

    While undergoing military service during the Rhodesian counter-insurgency war I had occasion to visit the Zambezi Valley.  On one particular day, written vivid within a memory of misery, the temperature reached 47°C.  {For those still trapped beneath the tyranny of Imperial measurements, that’s closer to 117°F than 116°F.}  No problem, I hear you say – just go indoors into the air-conditioning.  If we could have, we would have…  Not only was there no indoors in our camps, there was no air-conditioning either.  All we could do to relieve the heat was lay beneath tents with all sides raised in hope of some breeze.  More than a few succumbed to heatstroke and had to be trucked out.

    If you’ve ever heard the expression, “Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun”, the Zambezi Valley might be where it originated.

    So, the next time you make a fervent wish to change your circumstances, make sure you add in a caveat – it might protect you from yourself…

  • Places, that shiver.

    We’re all concerned with things larger than life. For the religious, that translates into belief of a greater, guiding power. For those lacking the comfort of religion, the same thoughts are troubling. Regardless of which camp you fall into, each of us knows that there is more to life than, well, just being alive.

    Experiencing, firsthand, the power of certain mystic places drives this intuitive knowledge home. I call such, the places that shiver, and I’ve been fortunate enough to find a few. Where are they, and why the connection? I’ll describe several of them, and expand on my thoughts as to what causes the electric shiver that makes these places so powerful.

    The first time I experienced a connection was in the country of my origin. Rhodesia at the time, Zimbabwe now. I was travelling with my Godfather, who drove us to a small solid granite mound protruding perhaps a hundred feet from the ground. He never told me what it was, just stopped the car and asked if I felt anything. I did – a wave of goose bumps on a warm day. My Godfather pointed out the remains of an uncharacteristic, low stone wall about a hundred yards off the road. He made no move to approach, and I didn’t feel like moving – not with such an extraordinary feeling washing over me. After a few minutes of shivering beneath the sun, we got back in the car and drove away. Apparently, there were hundreds of similar places throughout the countryside, generally avoided by the local tribes, who held them sacred. After agreeing sacred might be an appropriate description for the strange feeling, I asked what he meant by “generally avoided”. He replied that we were on our way to visit the most famous one of all – the Zimbabwe Ruins, and that people are often willing to disregard their intuition for pay.

    A long time passed before I felt the shiver again, this time during a visit to Spain, where we visited a place called the Alcázar. It happened again while travelling around Ireland, at a place called the Riasc Monastic Settlement. More recently, I visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial with my wife – though the site is impressive and solemn, I felt no shiver and left somewhat disappointed.

    Looking back, I notice several similarities. Each of them contains worked stone. Each has a dark past in which I suspect people suffered, and died in substantial numbers. On each occasion, I accompanied my Godfather. There are probably more, all of which collapse before logical analysis. As someone who considers themselves logical, it should be simple to dismiss them out of hand as the working of an overactive imagination. However, I can’t – you see, I was there, I know what I felt, and I also know nothing had been said beforehand to suggest something strange was about to happen.

    Perhaps you’ve felt something similar without need to travel to exotic places. I’ve experienced the graveyard chill, and it does hold similarities. However, the creepy feeling we get venturing into a place we know holds the mortal remains of people, is weak in comparison. Sort of like dipping your fingertips into a cold stream, versus falling into an icy lake you had no idea was there. The graveyard chill is also quite unpleasant, while the shiver of a mystic place is very strange, but not scary – rather, it serves to focus your mind, which renders you fully alert and open to other possibilities.

    Some things are larger than life, and that’s OK. After all, life is magical, and connected. I’d love to hear your feelings and experiences, contact me on Twitter where you can find me as @CGAyling. Till then, search out the places that shiver, in a good way.

    {Originally posted here.}

  • Reaping Karma’s Reward

    Back in the 1970’s I sustained a serious back injury that compressed four of my lumbar vertebrae, reducing my height by nearly two inches.  During recovery, I lay in a hospital bed, my self-pity fanned by the sympathy expressed by my family and friends, my every whim catered to by eager nurses.

    One morning a shorter friend named Nigel, who I hadn’t yet seen, walked in and sat down in the vacant chair beside the bed.  I turned to him, anticipating a stern faced nod of greeting, followed by softly spoken words of comfort.  Instead, Nigel held two flat hands toward me, then drew them about two inches toward each other before bursting into laughter so strenuous tears he actually shed tears.  On recovering, he chuckled, “Do that again, and we’ll see eye to eye.”

    In response, I shook my head and frowned.  Ignoring my glare, Nigel added, “There’s a life lesson in this – you have to be able to laugh at other peoples’ misfortune.”  I had difficulty accepting his words.

    About six weeks later, with my injury preventing me taking my place in our hunting team, opportunity opened for my younger brother to assume my role as spotter.  He jumped at the chance.  Nigel, the leader of this particular foray, handed his beloved BSA Model 12 sliding block .22 target rifle to my brother to carry to the car.  Inexperienced in the handling of rifles, my young brother took the rifle, holding it in the way rifles are commonly held – left hand on the front stock, right on the butt, finger through the trigger guard.  He smiled in appreciation as he hefted the beautiful little rifle, and promptly shot Nigel through his left foot.

    Standing on the veranda, I watched the incident unfold, saw Nigel collapse to the ground, and listened to a stream of creative invective until my elder brothers loaded Nigel in the car and drove him to hospital.  I stayed behind with my younger brother, now persona-non-grata, and shame-faced at his accidental discharge.  Though we discussed the incident, we didn’t discuss Nigel’s culpability, or stupidity, in handing over a loaded and cocked weapon.  Instead, we focused on the real lesson – that firearms should always be considered loaded, and unsafe.

    The next day I hobbled into hospital on my crutches.  Nigel lay in bed, bandaged foot elevated.  Hearing the tap tap of my crutches, he woke up, grimaced in a manly fashion, and generally behaved about the same as I had during my stay in the very same hospital ward a few weeks earlier.  After pursing my lips and nodding in apparent stern faced sympathy, I burst into laughter before saying, “You have to be able to laugh at other peoples’ misfortune.”  Nigel didn’t seem to appreciate the humor.

    This is a true story.  During the course of my life, I’ve collected thousands of itty-bits of wisdom, many of which hold little more than superficial truth.  However, all of them hold value, even if that value is restricted to contemplating how foolish some sayings really are.  At the time, I had difficulty accepting Nigel’s words could ever hold value, yet on that one occasion, they felt appropriate – beware the seeds you sow, lest you reap Karma’s reward.

    {This post originally appeared on the blog, Between the Covers.}

  • Very Inspiring Blog Award.

    veryinspiringblogaward

    A wonderful person I know only as Ursula nominated my blog for this award – more on her below.

    The Rules.

    1. Display the logo on your blog.
    2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
    3. State 7 things about yourself.
    4. Nominate 15 other bloggers for the award.
    5. Notify your nominees.
    {I’ll follow these, though the rebel within demands I re-sequence them.}

    The Link-Back.

    My nominator, is Ursula, from the blog An Upturned Soul.  Why Ursula decided to nominate me, she states upon her blog with her usual eloquence. I’m included in the list of people who inspire her, but I must wonder why… Only two reasons spring to mind. The first, that my tweets might inspire her, as hers inspire me.  The second, that she is reading Malmaxa, and sees reflected within its hidden depths, another world which touches her.

    Regardless of Ursula’s reason, her nomination means an enormous amount to me.  Her choice places me deeper in her debt – unlike matters monetary, this is a debt I am pleased to possess, and still more pleased to repay.  Ursula, you’ve granted me yet another memory I shall treasure, quite literally, forever.  Thank you.

    The Fifteen Nominees.

    Unlike Ursula, I had no difficulty in selecting fifteen bloggers.  Each of the following, in deliberately random order, inspires me in some way. For my reason why, hover your mouse over the link to their blog – it will reveal their twitter handle, and a hint.  I’ll comply with notification rule five, by tweeting each of them through Twitter – a continual stream of inspiration, least for me.

    Be warned, a click below will whisk you away, to another blog, at play,

    1. S L James Writing
    2. A Thought Grows
    3. Tuigen’s Wall
    4. Damaged & Dangerous
    5. faeries faeries faeries faeries
    6. Stephie Smith
    7. The Grumbling Gargoyle
    8. Sandra Gore Nielsen
    9. W.M.Morrell’s Musings From Down Under
    10. Iambic Utterances and Other Wayward Words
    11. Write Like A Wizard
    12. Write Now
    13. Amused By Books
    14. Rhyme Me A Smile
    xx. Daytime Insomniac
    15. sarah monagle, pondering it all

    Seven things, of me.

    Very well – each is true, yet cast within words which some might question.

    • I hail, from a land of five names, yet it is only called by one.
    • I am not as tall, as I used to be.
    • Though my brothers number four, there are only two.
    • Both of my twinned sisters bear the name, Elizabeth.
    • My name, is my own, yet borrowed from an honorable man.
    • Though I reside in Dublin, my soul remains bound to Africa.
    • My wisdom must be great, for I shed those teeth four times.

     

  • Shaping Memories

    Last night I ventured from the safety of Twitter, and joined Tumblr to post a question to one of my favorite Twitter companions. A few hours later, Tumblr emailed me an auto-bot question asking, “What is your earliest human memory?” The question prompted me to think about memory, how it shapes our character, and how we reshape it each time we take the time to reflect on something in our past.

    After consideration, a memory of sandworms popped into my mind. No, not the variety popularized by Frank Herbert – the real, and much more frightening variety, “Cutaneous Larva Migrans”. The larvae of these parasitic little monsters penetrate the skin then burrow around leaving itchy trails. I must have been between three and four when the tops of my feet developed the visible tracks left by the infection. My memory, is of none of these things. No, my memory is of some brutal, nameless, faceless doctor deliberately freezing my feet.

    As soon as I managed to cast aside the sandworm experience, another immediately popped into mind. I’m guessing the connection between the two memories is of approximate age. This recollection is about another traumatic experience. Our dog, Ginty, had a litter of pups. After finding homes for most of them two puppies remained – I adopted one, my brother, the other. Life was good. Then, someone who had been on vacation returned and offered to take one of the puppies. My father gladly accepted, promising we would keep whichever dog remained. An intense competition with my brother ensued, both of us attempting to convince Uncle Eric that the other’s dog was the better. I lost, and Uncle Eric departed with my pet. (The name literally popped into my mind as I typed that sentence.)

    Now let us consider how these memories shaped me, and how I’ve just reshaped them.

    The sandworm incident was particularly unpleasant, and quite likely the start of my lifelong distrust of doctors. Although I’ve never analyzed this before, I suspect one of the reasons I never had another dog as a growing child, or even realized I wanted one, was because of the devastating loss of a treasured pet. The memories definitely shaped me.

    With the two memories are now associated in my mind, and because of the order I recalled them, an assumption that the sandworm incident happened before the puppy incident is trying to take hold. I’ve also taken a few minutes to research “sandworms”, which is where I found the Latin name for them. During that research, undertaken to validate the memory, I saw some pretty horrible pictures of the infestation the parasites leave. When next I reminisce on that incident, I expect the memory will include frantic itching. Simply by remembering, I’m reshaping my own memories.

    As humans don’t have digital brains, memory is far from perfect … every time we recall something, tiny portions of it change. Memories are in constant flux, and seem more and more real, the more we remember them. We’re effectively creating our own past, the more we think of it.

    As a writer, I reverse that process and create a future by imagining it. Are my novels filled with my thoughts and memories? How could they not be?

  • of an Ogre, and a Princess.

    Yesterday, we attended the third Birthday celebration of our Granddaughter, Eden – who turns three today.  On Friday night, my wife and I went shopping for birthday gifts.  My wife chose a wooden farm set, complete with building and various animals.  I wondered up and down the aisles exclaiming, “Oh look, isn’t this nice!”

    Eventually I selected the gift I knew Eden would like – a fairy crown, and a fairy wand with a tip that lights when a button in its handle is pressed.  Filled with my usual certainty {ok, ok, my arrogance…}, I proclaimed, “She’ll love this!”  My wife snorted in derision – confident in her equal assurance that Eden would love her choice at least as much.

    Like many people, my wife buys gifts she thinks are cute and appropriate to the recipient.  She falls blindly into the trap advertisers lay – children don’t buy gifts, adults do.  Sadly, the marketing of children’s gifts targets adults, not kids.

    I bind myself with no such artificial restrictions!  My primary consideration is how much the child will enjoy the gift.  Here, I must admit I hold a huge advantage over my wife – it’s easy for me to place myself in the mindset of a three-year old, indeed my wife often says that’s where I usually am.  Anyway… if I was a fairy princess there is one essential thing I’d need – a wand, for who can make wishes, without a wand?

    Eden received so many gifts, both of ours were initially lost in the huge pile.  Eventually, she found mine, tried and discarded the crown {incorrectly sized for one of her impressive cranial capacity}, and retained the wand.  {Eden’s other grandmother thoroughly enjoyed assembling the farmhouse, so my wife’s gift met with a worthy, age appropriate audience}.

    As the day wore long, Eden tired and eventually exclaimed, “Too many people!”  Turning to me, eyes filled with a wicked gleam, she made a mystical motion with the wand, aimed it directly at me, and incanted, “You… Go!”

    Who says children don’t intuitively know how to banish ogres?

    And now, a treat in reward for reading this, pictures of Eden.

    Eden Wand

    A three year old princess, preparing to banish those in need of banishment!

    Eden

    {and here, is a Fairy Tale of a different sort}