Assorted Notes

SUNDAY, 29 JULY 2012

I am sure I have previously made a similar statement on Facebook – or to total strangers on Twitter, but here it is again: My personal 1972 playlist kicks dust in the eyes of anything that anyone else can conjure up on their iPod.

Okay, that’s a little childish. In the first place, it creates the false impression that I own an iPod, and in the second place I, myself, can think of quite a few other good years in terms of popular music – and that’s just between the years 1960 and 2010.

Nevertheless, what makes 1972 so special? Cat Stevens, Elton John, Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Neil Young, Stevie Wonder, Paul Simon, Lou Reed, Carly Simon, and to close the list, memorable contributions from Johnny Nash (“I Can See Clearly Now”), Bill Withers (“Lean On Me”), Al Green (“Let’s Stay Together”), Stealers Wheel (“Stuck In The Middle With You”), and one of the first tunes that caused me to sit up straight in the back seat of our green Datsun, Hot Butter’s “Popcorn”.

And the icing on the rich chocolate and vanilla cake of 1972? The fact that it seamlessly passes over into 1973 – more Pink Floyd, more Elton John, more David Bowie, and then Springsteen, Tom Waits, Aerosmith, Billy Joel, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Gladys Knight & The Pips, ZZ Top, and a song that will always remind me of my father, “My Friend the Wind” by the Greek vocalist, Demis Roussos.

Thank goodness for music.

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MUZORIAN: 1972 from MUZORIAN on 8tracks.

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SATURDAY, 28 JULY 2012

Damn … sixteen before midnight.

The word “hate” is strong, so let’s just say this is not my favourite time of the day. I am tired … and my eyelids are about to give in. But inside my head there’s still a stirring of things that can be done, things that need to be done, things that will be fun and interesting to do.

In my mind’s eye, I see a bazaar, or a night market in Taiwan. You hear hundreds of people, food thrown on hot plates, sausages and pancakes and fried chicken and samosas being prepared for people waiting hungrily at plastic tables. You know it’s there, but you are not.

That’s how it is, for me, late at night.

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TUESDAY, 24 JULY 2012

Spending money is not something that makes me particularly happy. I know having money to spend on the odd luxury is in theory important for happiness. In practice, though, I have conjured up a lot of personal happiness for months on end without having money to spend on things I did not absolutely need. I can sacrifice personal comfort, better clothes, a bicycle that does not creak when I ride on it and that doesn’t have to be left standing against a telephone pole, even to an extent my health. And I have already sacrificed a lot, just so I can work on my own projects during the best hours of every day.

Yet, for more than five years I worked six, and regularly seven days a week on my own projects – without the accompanying happiness I expected from it. Why so? Virtually all my projects over that period were about making money. Everything was about selling or marketing stuff to people. I did that because I wanted to create a better life for my partner and me. Week in and week out I told her, just wait a little longer, the money will start coming in soon. For more than five years I kept reciting this line over and over, I kept predicting, kept explaining: Just wait a little while longer.

I know writing makes me happy. I also believe writing is part of a higher level of existence for me. I can even believe I serve a higher purpose when I write – especially when I write about certain topics. In the more than five years that I spent almost all my time trying to make more money, for the most part, I relegated my writing to the background. It deprived me of the happiness that was always the result of the writing process. It deprived me of the belief that I was living on a higher level than when I only struggle for survival.

February last year [2011] I decided, or realised, I couldn’t take life for granted anymore. Life ends every day for a multitude of people who were still thinking about doing what truly made them happy. So, starting last February, I have again been spending time on my writing almost every day. And again I have been experiencing the happiness that I knew would be the result.

But it remains hanging like a millstone around my neck, like a scandalous letter against my chest: I don’t make enough money.

Which means my partner – the woman I love – has to work harder to make money.

Which means I am happy at her expense.

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FRIDAY, 20 JULY 2012

Imagine a thick slice of white bread. You spread a thin layer of butter on it, and then you pour about seven tablespoons of golden syrup over the bread. Seven tablespoons. Then you go watch TV for an hour. What do you get when you go back to the kitchen? As expected, you will find yourself a slice of bread completely drenched with syrup.

So it is with purpose and all life on earth. Everything from the eye of the fly to the parts of a microorganism, to your own eyes, skin, toes, blood and bones – everything is completely drenched with specific purpose and function. [Apparently quite a complicated issue. Initially, scientists thought much of the human genome was “junk DNA”. Then they discovered that they may have missed a few things.]

How on earth can every part of every small and large organism and creature on this planet have a specific purpose, but the whole of the fish or cockroach or rhino does not? How can every small part of a human being have a specific “task” to do, but the person as a whole does not? How can someone shrug and claim that his life does not actually serve a purpose? And if it does serve a purpose, they do not know what it is.

Of course no one is born with a note tied around their neck that explains what the purpose of their life is supposed to be, but how many people aren’t exactly psyched up to seek out what might be the purpose of their lives?

Does human life have a purpose? Does each individual have a specific role to fulfil? If so, who – or what – determines what it is? And what kind of possibilities are we looking at?

Many people who wonder about these things turn to their local minister, pastor, priest, imam or rabbi and expect these figures to tell them what the purpose of their lives is supposed to be, to spell it out for them, to give them clear instructions.

I think that’s lazy. I think that’s the easy way. I think it is a shortcut that too many people take.

Question: Does the education we receive from our parents and at school and in the broad community prepare us to sort out or discover what the purpose of our lives may be?

If not, what can we do as adults to make it easier for the next generation? What should we do as adults today to give this quest a reasonable chance of success – for the next generation, and also for ourselves?

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This note was inspired by Document 1_181104_2359.doc.

See also: The purpose of existence 310305.doc

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WEDNESDAY, 11 JULY 2012

Earlier this evening on my way back from to the buffet place, I thought about how much of my adult life so far has run counter to the values my parents maintained – especially regarding religion and the importance of money.

Two thoughts emerged from this:

1. That I stopped believing in traditional Christian doctrines was a direct consequence of the seriousness with which I had previously regarded traditional Christian doctrines. One can even go so far as to say that my eventual “faithlessness” was the result of my former “faith”. I believed in traditional Christian doctrines because I had been taught the value of Truth. I believed in the traditional Christian doctrines because I believed it was the Truth. When I learned how the “truths” had evolved and changed over the ages to serve human agendas, I took the only option that allowed me to maintain my integrity: abandon the path of traditional Christian doctrines, and continue following the Truth.

2. I like to say money isn’t everything. To my parents, thirty years ago, with three children to feed, to keep healthy, to provide with clothes, warm beds and a roof over their heads, and to support in their education, the sentiment that money wasn’t everything was a bigger luxury than a new caravan, a bigger luxury than a holiday by the sea. To say money isn’t everything was a sentiment they could simply not afford.

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