Skinny Models

I recently completed some required online training on 'Prevent' (the UK government's strategy to reduce the chances of people becoming terrorists).

Driven by statutory requirement the training was unsurprisingly not hugely inspiring.  However, one part of the module did cause me to perk up a little - if for entirely the wrong reason.

The module supposes that:

"One widely held theory is that terrorism, or an act of terrorism, is only the tip of an iceberg. An iceberg only has 10% of its mass above the water and the analogy is that underneath the terrorist attack there is a great deal going on, including the exposure of individuals to influences that drew them into terrorism..."

Complete with an interactive picture of the pointy shaped iceberg of everyone's imagination, the trainers argue that people who eventually become terrorists are those with a complaint who move through a process of radicalisation, as if going from the bottom of the iceberg to the top.

There's lots here that's not to like.

Firstly, the 'widely held theory'. Hmmm. Well, its difficult to find evidence of it being very widely held. A few newspaper articles seem to invoke the idea and a couple of academic writers seem to have given a nod to it. Who in practice I wonder holds this theory?

As for it being a theory - well, if a theory is a model of something in the real world and the image of an iceberg is considered to be a model, then yes its a theory. But its a terribly worked theory....Surely these chaps can do better?

Finally, for practical purposes, what does the model as it stands enable us to think about in terms of radicalisation? Not very much that is useful sadly.  So it helps us see that the terrorists who commit an offence don't just exist in isolation. Wow.  And maybe perhaps we can see each terrorist has a past when they were not terrorists but were perhaps in the process of becoming one. Again, not particularly surprising (though sadly not logically anything to do with icebergs and how they are formed). Beyond that the theory offers nothing.

So the whole iceberg thing is a pleasant distraction for us in the training and gives us a neat short cut to understanding a key point.

Where's the harm in that?

No harm I guess. Its just a bit naff really. And gives theorists and trainers a bad name.

The problem is that they have focused most of their attention on the shape of the iceberg. They've fallen for the old 'reduce the world down to separate objects that you can see' trap (although sneakily here they've gone just that little bit beyond to think about the part of the iceberg that is deviously hidden under water and which only fish, whales and submarines can see.)

Some questions (arising out of some fairly basic ideas in systems thinking) that we might useto develop a richer model and therefore a possibly more useful understanding of radicalisation:

• What is it that makes the iceberg appear to us as a single whole? Where can we draw the boundaries between that which is 'iceberg' and that which we consider 'not iceberg'?
• What relationships do we notice between an isolated iceberg and other icebergs in the same area? Is there some wider 'iceberg grouping' of which the single isolated iceberg might be considered or even experienced to be a part? 
• What are the processes through which the iceberg gets formed?  How is the iceberg connected to that which is around it over time? And indeed, how might we distinguish between the iceberg as a 'thing' and the ongoing process by which a lump of ice is formed and destroyed in the sea? What is the relationship between form and organisation?

And then perhaps we even ask ourselves about what our way of answering these questions tells us about our way of seeing, framing and thinking?

If we're going to develop an analogy to understand complexities of radicalisation (or indeed, any complex human process) and we're going to look to icebergs (or any other natural phenomena) for inspiration then surely we can do better than treat them merely like lumps of rock?  I'm sure ocean scientists (and even icebergs) would appreciate us not denigrating them so much. 

Scooping up

So a brief cycle of inquiry into parenting was initiated by reading something by Magda Gerber a couple of days ago. Explaining her notion of edu-caring I read the following as an example of where I could make a change in parenting practice:

"Whereas the care-giver may scoop up an infant unexpectedly from behind, thereby startling, interrupting and creating resistance in the infant, the educarer always tells the infant before she does anything with him or her and thus gains cooperation"

Having read this little phrase the first thing that happened was that I started becoming more aware of moments when I would do something to Amaya, without telling her what I was doing. It was an occasional observation here and there. Where I pick her up to change smell if she needed a change. Or take away her bowl from breakfast.  I quickly began to get a hunch that quite often I was doing something that Magda had argued against. And I started to wonder whether this was perhaps something I could change. 

And then today, I had some new information to add to my inquiry.

Amaya and I were coming back from Burnt Oak having met Joanna and her daughter Lianna from our days in playgroup in Colindale. We were leaving the coffee shop where we'd spent a relaxed and enjoyable hour or so.  Amaya was in her red three-wheel pushchair and we were about to cross the road. It was near Amaya's nap time and I figured that she was ready to sleep.  A few moments earlier at the coffee shop and we got our stuff together, both Joanna and I had given the kids our phone to distract them little. Amaya still had my phone and I didn't want her to drop the phone on the busy road as we crossed. Without thinking much or saying anything,  I just pulled the phone out of Amaya's hand. 

Cue screaming daughter. Not a mad wail just a low level angry cry. Immediately my thoughts recalled some of Magda's words. 

On the other side of the road, I gave the phone hurriedly back to her to bring some calm. She stopped crying and we walked on for a minute as she played away. 

And then my second attempt with Magda's words more in my mind. 

Hia. Hu phone leilewchu. Tu suijaje. I'm about to take the phone. You can go to sleep now. 

Amaya let go off the phone and within moments nodded off. 

So a little cycle of learning for me about telling Amaya about what I'm going to do before doing it. I'll probably try to develop my noticing of this way of being with Amaya and Raahi for the next little while and see what comes about. 

A Gentle Stroll around Mount Kenya

Starting off

I was walking with Milena, a German student spending a year at University in Nairobi. From Nairobi we were driven by James (full of knowledge and insight) to Nanyuki, a bustling town that acts as a gateway to Mount Kenya.

We picked up final provisions at the Nakumat supermarket and just outside we were introduced to Daniel who was to be our lead guide for the trip. From there it was a 20 minute drive up to the Sirimon gate through some hillside plantations – land that was once forested that was given by former president Daniel Arap Moi to local people to plant and harvest.

When we stepped out of the car just in front of the entrance to Mount Kenya National Park, I saw the rest of the 'crew' were already there. They were hovering around plastic bags that were piled about on the small patch of grass. There were bags of ugali flour,  a bowling ball sized watermelon, onions, pumpkin, bags of rice, salt and milk powder, an aluminium kettle and an assortment of sufurias.

We pulled our bags out of the back of the taxi while James went over to the entrance gate. He came back requesting copies of our id.  Then without much fanfare we were introduced to the rest of the team  As well as the Daniel there was an assistant guide, Wanjohi. There was also two porters (tall Paul and stocky Godfrey) and a cook called Githai. That was the crew.

We picked up our comfortably light day packs and set off with Daniel toward the route that would take us into the National Park. Immediately the first spots of rain descended and we walked back toward the gate. I took out my waterproof trousers and pulled them on easily. Milena took out her canary yellow poncho and eased it over her head and backpack. A small tear appeared instantly in the fabric of her bright yellow poncho.

Eland Ghosting past Old Moses

We started off up through a lush rainforest with nettles, sweaty ferns and mushrooms on the ground, trees dripping with wispy mosses and plenty of elephant dung splats but no elephants. Daniel, Milena and I walked together with the rest of the crew further back.

The pace was fairly steady and easy.  With the persistent rain we didn't stop much. Four hours on over a slight curve in the path we sighted the bunkhouse we'd be sleeping in.  On our approach a male and female eland in the distance spotted us just as Daniel spotted them; the eland, recognising strange otherness, simply ghosted away into the vegetation. Just when we entered the banda - not much more than a couple of long shacks -  a massive downpour descended, clattering away at the tin roof. This was 3300 metres and that night sleep was already uneasy -  I was already developing a slight headache from the altitude.

Expressive Lobelia

The next morning, after early breakfast of omelette, fried 'nduma' and Kenya tea prepared by Githai, my head eased a little and we left Old Moses Camp. We stretched our legs up heathland that looked back down over the plains below.


The land was rich with plants. There were giant groundsel and large tussocks of olive coloured grass. We saw the occasional red hot poker and plenty lobelia - one variety looking like cabbages, another variety looking brown and withered and another that was devastatingly symmetrical.

After a couple of hours we crossed the Ontolili River and then up a steep valley side. Githai and Patrick had gone ahead so that at the top of the hillside (3850mt) we were presented with midmorning tea and a chance for a breather. But our break was cut short by another downpour.

Donning our waterproof layers, we hustled down a step path to shelter under the edge of some rocks and wondered whether it would pass.  After 15 minutes it didn't look like it so we set off on a long wet trek through the Mackinder Valley - an eerie alpine valley dotted about irregularly spaced giant lobelia that cast recognisable silhouettes - a wise old man, a clenched fist, two people deep in conversation.

Around mid afternoon we arrived at Shipton Camp - in the shadows of the peaks of Batian, Nelion and Lenana (Daniel told us the peaks were named after the sons of a famous Kikuyu elder). We were greeted by a cup of tea prepared by Githai, a chance to clean our feet in hot water and to dry off.

We had an early dinner of chapatis, vegetables and spinach. With rain continuing to fall outside Daniel spoke to us of the plans for reaching the summit. We  had two nights at Shipton during which we could attempt to ascend to the Point Lenana - at 4985 metres it is the highest point on the mountain that can be reached without technical climbing.  He suggested that he the best thing would be to go for it as soon as the weather cleared.  So we were in bed in the small dorm room by 7pm, darkness descending on the camp with equatorial speed.

Night ascent

Daniel came to wake us at 2.30am with news that the night had cleared and we could attempt an ascent to Point Lenana. I thought I would take a look out and as I stepped out of the hut and looked skywards I stumbled over an unexpected step and a more unexpected sight of a billion stars and galaxies lighting up the night sky.

We set of from camp at 3am - Daniel in the lead followed by Milena, me and then Wanjoh. The other members of the crew had remained in camp awaiting our return. We started off gently along a slippery path next to slowly rising river bed. 

After a short time, we left the river and the path began to steepen. We started to walk up the slope in the dark of night with a million stars, a crescent moon and several head torches lighting our way. It went up and up and the pace of our walking slowed down. I didn't have much of a sense of overall direction but recognised that we were climbing confronted a steep scree.

I remembered the advice I heard a couple of times to keep breathing and tried to inhale deeply in through my nose, hoping to alleviate the sickness and headache. Through the nausea I took a small sip of the now icy cold water from the plastic bottle in my jacket pocket.  Occasionally a bursts of a chant, a  refrain from a song or some other catch-phrase would pass through my mind but nothing stayed long in the thin air.

Sometimes I'd make10 paces together.  Sometimes I managed just 5 steps before leaning over the found bamboo stick that had been with me since the second morning. Sometimes I could only make one step before taking one breathe of freezing cold air and then moving forward another step.  Once or twice I took a step and leaned slightly too far back losing my balance momentarily but catching myself before tumbling down.

With a pounding head and some place beyond weary I kept going cursing,  praying, calculating, pausing.  As the dark faded and the first signs of day began to break gently, Wanjohi, the lithe Kikuyu guide who was alongside me started to point out features of the mountain around us: over there is Batian and Nelion; that's such and such a ridge. I  didn't manage to take much in, unable to spare energy to follow his finger or make much sense of the cold, grey mountainscape. Nevertheless I nodded at the lesson.  Wanjohi began to say, in his inscrutable but gentle way, that "it" (never called the top) was not far now.

After just over 3 hours and dawn breaking, Wanjohi and I reached a hidden rock face that showed the mountain was a bit of a joker as well as an crazed army sergeant.  I was not ready to quit but I was also gobsmacked that there was still more to come.  I laughed out loud but then began clambering slowly up the icy rocks. At some point Wanjohi offered to carry my rucksack, noticing perhaps my increasingly clumsy manner. After half an hour uncertain scrambling we made it to the point where "via ferrata" had been nailed permanently into the rock face and another route to the top joined our. We followed the metal rope along and up to a vertical  metal ladder. Getting onto the ladder felt dangerously slippery when I was so tired.

And then suddenly, we were there. I'd reached the top. But even here, on the summit, there were a few more steps to climb to reach the highest point. Exhausted I felt unable to slump down without first placing a foot on the topmost rock, barely noting the small plastic box and Kenyan flag placed there. I stepped up the final few paces and looked around. Having done so I edged a bit back down and then sat down to take some of the vista in. I looked back down the mountain through the valley we'd crossed, I  peered over the other side, taking in the vast but retreating glacier. I took a couple of snaps and still feeling sick but worried about my energy levels, I forced myself to chew a couple of bites out out of a half frozen Snickers bar.

The descent back to Shipton Camp was painful as my pounding head and sickness were multiplied by exhaustion. I forced myself to eat half a snickers bar on the descent but only sleep would ease some of the pain. I just wanted to lie down on the rocks and sleep. An hour and half later we were down at the hut and I was washing my face with some warm water.

Alluring Proteas

The next day we woke at 5am and packed our bags.  We started off with another steep climb up scree before reaching the top of a valley.  We schlept across a tricksterish bog and reached a forlorn looking hut which was to be our breakfast spot. Graciously, we were nourished with nduma porridge, a small omelette and beans and even some fruit. I devoured the lot.

Then for three hours we traversed a sweeping ridge - on one side we were above the deep Gorges valleys on the other low-lying moorland.  We rested up on the ridge for lunch by a favourite viewing spot - unable to see either the valley or opposite mountainside or the moorland  because of the persistent rain and low lying cloud cover.

We set off again along what seemed to be both path and narrow gully for water running off the mountain.  Slowly the species of plants started multiplying. There were more a couple of proteas, more Everlastings, a couple of isolated flowers here, another couple there, and grasses.
And then we arrived at a narrow path that lead us right through the middle of a sea of abundant proteas; in the gentle rain the close branches caressed and flicked at us lightly and after an hour of walking through this forest of proteas  I arrived at a small river -  running torrential from the rain -  deliriously happy.

From there we met a small road head and Daniel told us it was a further 11kms walk on muddy path.  Despite already having walked some 20kms I enjoyed deliciously this final trek; I left my rain-hood down and gentle warm rain poured over me.  The final stretch up to the camp was a dirt road, partly submerged in the water, partly squidging mud.

We reached our third camp twelve hours from when we left Shiptons in the morning. Milena had a shower whilst I unpacked and Githai prepared hot dinner of beans and vegetables.  We left Mount Kenya National Park the next morning via a forest of native bamboo (probably the source of my found walking stick) sighting two bucks on the edge of the track before they scampered off.

Reaching the Point Lenana was tough but I enjoyed more experiencing the diversity of the mountain landscape we walked through.

Not Conquering Mount Kenya

“What is extraordinary and eternal does not want to be bent by us...” Rilke

I'm due to go walking on Mount Kenya later this week. I set off from our home in Nairobi on Thursday and will be on the mountain for 5 days (going up Sirimon route and down Chogoria, for those of you who know).

My initial thought when the possibility emerged was positive but I went back and forth between being convinced to go for it to being certain I should stay in Nairobi. Several times. Each day. Every day for three weeks! 

In the end I decided to give it a go.  However, I've set myself a specific purpose. Surprisingly its not reaching the top of Mount Kenya though I would certainly like to achieve that.

Being defeated by what is extraordinary

As I've been thinking about the climb, I've been listening to people who have climbed. People say you have to have a positive attitude and imagine that you will reach the top. 

At the same time I've been struck by one image that goes around when thinking about climbing mountains - its seems we (men?) are quite drawn to the idea of conquering mountains. 

I'm sure that the notion of 'conquering' a mountain is a helpful motivation for some people but it strikes me that, at over 5000 meters, Mount Kenya is a pretty formidable thing.  I'm not convinced that I want to defeat this mountain or take any other sort of war-like attitude towards this massive thing. 

Even Edmund Hillary's famous quote about not conquering the mountain but ourselves still draws upon ideas of war and vanquish with all that this entails  - like a winner, collateral damage etc.

 

Some other ways of relating to more-than-human?

It seems that its quite easy to reach for images of war when it comes to relating to that which is neither human or man-made. Just like we want to defeat the Zika virus it seems we like the idea of going to war with mountains.

I want to explore some other 'images' of my relationship to the mountain.  I'm interested in seeing what happens if I don't use war-like images in preparation for and whilst I am walking.   

What happens if I think of my climb as being about 'befriending' rather than 'conquering'. How does my experience change if I'm focusing not upon simply getting to the top of the mountain but say 'dancing in tune' with it.  What happens to the 'success' of my climb if I hold less “hawkish” metaphors in my head than battle and defeat?  Will I be able to make the climb or will I 'fail'? 

Over to you

Perhaps, while you're chilling out at home or going to the supermarket, you could notice or spend a moment to reflect on how you relate to that which is neither human or man-made. Do you relate to it as if its a like a battle between two opposing sides? Or is there some other way of relating? Let me know what you come up with and then come back here to find out what happened with me.  

-----------------

Rainer Maria Rilke quote from The Man Watching, translated by Robert Bly in Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart

Tony, curry king of Crawley, makes a discrete rustle unpacking his italicised meal.
Like a lazy traitor, the cover, now removed, provides an inviting field.
A red-eyed seagull welcomes the spiced whiff with symphonic hoots of glee and warning.
Too late, King Tony tries to shut the bombastic gate.
His meal has bolted. But this everyday emperor smiles benignly.

An eclectic tribe gathers.
Like a clattering necklace they have come together 
Not as a purposeful line of defeated. 
Instead they want to rejoice.

He wraps up a viscous bloom of othering in cheap crinkly film from the local supermarket. Offering it to a supine population that dozes gentle in a bed of silence. 
A hesitating phoenix is boiled slowly to its own death
whilst browsing John Lewis catalogues and football scores online. 
Remove from basket. 

Neatly folded. All just order. And then the plan fails. Some saboteur hunts me down and I lay sprawling on the cold muddy earth. Why, that was my own mud that just tripped me up.

God creates coffee cups and music 
and creates the bubble of laughter escaping that woman's throat. 
Reach out with extended fingertips and look.

How to Make up Games

Many people I know love playing games but with Christmas coming up there's plenty of time for playing games. And rather than getting bored with the same old board, how about making some up yourself?

This post offers some of my thoughts on the principles that I have found useful when making up games. Its less of a recipe book, but more like some thoughts on what things might help cook up an exciting game. 

Starting off - rolling a 'double 6', or a 'double 4' or even a '5 and a 1'

The easiest way to make up a new game is by changing one you already know. You don’t have to reinvent the whole thing - just try doing something a bit different, like adding a new rule or changing the amount of time you get to do your go.

Cater for everyone

When making up games for groups to play, try to remember that people love variety and difference. Sometimes people like competing and other times they like working together. Sometimes they like sitting and other times running around. Invent games where you cater for different tastes in the same game.

A few rules go a long way

When making up games getting the rules right is important. If you have too many rules, people will get confused. Try to start with a few simple rules and get playing, rather than creating lots of complicated ones.

Learn to trust your inner genius

When it comes to inventing things and being creative, we each have our own particular genius inside of us – a kind of creative 'boffin' with wacky hair and odd socks. Try to listen to and love your inner boffin, as she is the character who will connect two random ideas to make a stunning and elegant new game.

Yes, and…

When making up games with friends, you all need to feel happy to share your ideas. Its not very helpful if someone stands there with arms folded, saying 'no' to everything (and that includes you).

So learn the habit of saying ‘yes’ to suggestions. If someone suggests something you don't think will work or aren't in the mood for, don't just say 'no'. Find a bit of the idea that you do like and then offer your own suggestion.

For example, if someone said lets play a game where we all have to wear blue hats and you don't like blue and don't have any hats, don't just say 'No, that's boring.' Instead, you could say ‘hmm. Yes, I like the idea of doing some dressing up and why don’t we just dress up in whatever we got and in whatever colour we like?’

Boredom – a great thing to be cultivated

To make up games, sometimes you need to get bored. Learn to sit around and do absolutely nothing, avoiding all distractions such as the TV, homework and picking your nose. Once you are well and truly bored, your whole body and mind will start buzzing with energy and ideas for new games to play.

Embrace failure like a soft teddy bear

If you are going to be good at making up creative games you have to learn to accept that sometimes things don’t work out like you imagined or planned. Mistakes are a part of making up games (and life). The trick is to be curious about what happens.

So get going and try something out.

Someone's been sleeping in my bed...

You did what? You stayed in the house of a random stranger. Half way around the other side of the world? And what if they murdered you? Are you mad?

Earlier this year, as part of our tour around the north western states of New England in the USA, my wife and I couch surfed. 

Couchsurfing is not a novetly olympic sport of standing on piece of IKEA furniture going down hill.Its a way of travelling and journeying that involves becoming part of a community of travellers and hosts around the world. Whilst we travelled around New England in colourful autumn, Kajal and I were hosted by two delightful families who opened up to us in their homes and treated us with kindness and warmth.

Before we went out to New England we searched the online pages of couchsurfing.com. We noted some interesting sounding profiles of potential hosts. We contacted plenty of them and some replied with a 'sorry, not this time'. Others were not sure whilst a few were positively bubbling with enthusiasm. 

After a bit if back and forth on phone and email, we crafted and moulded our itinerary around the area to include some nights  being hosted in two different spots. 

We set off from the UK with plans to stay a night in a B&B in Concord, Massachusetts, home of Ralph Waldo Emerson and host to Henry David Thoreau. 

After our first night we headed north where we met our first couch surfing hosts on the shores of Lake Winnipesauke. We stayed a couple of nights with a delightful family  in a farmstead complete with seven horses, various chickens and a pet rat. We then moved on into the White Mountains, back to B&B territory. And then after that we spent another couple of nights couch surfing - this time in an old paper mill town on the edge of the White Mountains.

The stays we had we fabulous. We were hosted really generously and we had beds, not couches to sleep on. We met some really interesting people and had rich, warm conversation. And we were also given space and time to explore the local area by ourselves, with hints and tips by locals who know. 

Some people ask whether you have to pay anything to surf. Well no, you don't have to pay a penny. If you like to carry on doing this, then you probably ought to be curtious and kind, as there is space for references attached to your profile, so that would be hosts can hear a bit about you from others who have had the pleasure of hosting you. Every time that I have surfed, I have cooked dinner for my hosts and this seems to work wonderfully. But you definitely don't have to pay a penny to surf.

So, if you don't pay a penny to your host, then - people immediately wonder - what on earth they get from hosting you, if not money?

Well, despite the best efforts of our estimed bankers, politicians, media moguls and advertisers, it turns out that not everyone evaluates life choices on the basis of effect upon their bank balance. Some people seem to think that meeting new and interesting people, having unexpected encounters and discovering the small connections that make us part of a shared web of living can be payment enough.

Couchsurfing is not for everyone. 

If you are convinced about things, if you know precisely what life is about and have it all sussed out already then it may not be for you.  But if there is a bit of you that is still not sure, then it might provided you with some curiously intriguing clues by sleeping in some else's bed.

A Gift for Life

We often talk of life being a great journey, as if life is some great conveyor belt along which we travel or like some tourist trip on which we will see new places.

But I think that this image can only take us so far. Its also good to see that it is not you or I that is on the journey of life, but that Life is making a journey through us. I mean to say that by doing what we do and being who we are, we take Life on a journey.

Now, we all know that we can get staid and unthinking sometimes. And so it is with Life (or better 'this strange ongoing, always-only-in-the-now activity of living'). Its good to introduce Life to new places, challenges and tastes.

One of the most interesting ways to take Life on a journey is to bring another person into your home. Sharing your palace with a warm, blooded human being is guaranted to shake up Life. The journey that you will take Life on by bringing someone into your home will lead it to unexpectedly wild realms, into souks of dazzling mystery and museums of the past, present and future.

Whilst you may find it a little challenging, you could see that you are doing a great thing for Life. For Life is nothing if not curious for discovery and novelty. So let her enjoy the journey.  

Can you hear something out there?

I am sitting here with a quite lively breeze questing through the trees just outside. The garden seems to in a noisy mood today and its given me a sense of communicating out there. And this speech brings to my mind an experience I had the other day with, Anay, my 18 month-old nephew that might tickle you....

My nephew's voice is beginning to discover him at the moment and when the moods strikes, he practices making noises, babbling, languaging. On this early summer morning, whilst he was sat in my lap, I heard a delightful sound coming from him. He was repeating the noise over and over again and sensed he was getting deep pleasure in explore the various inflections and variations he could put into this one word. Each time, the same phrase, and each time, a slightly different sound.

I listened for a while, trying to figure out what word he was trying to express but couldn't quite get him. Then I just found myself repeating and discovering a pleasure in making this sound. We entered into a conversation as I walked around the house with him.

I then decided to step outside with him. There we continued making the noise together and we both became louder in our calls. And as we became bolder, I was gifted a moment of grace.

Standing there under a vaulting blue roof and framed by leaf-laden trees, a third voice joined in our dialogue. I gasped in joy as the noise Anay was making made absolute and complete sense. My nephew had not been copying a gujarati word he'd been hearing inside the house. No. He'd been mimicking the sound of a bird outside his bedroom window and what I had been hearing was a fragment of his conversation with those light wonders.

In that moment, I saw that an idea that we humans talk and the rest of the planet makes noises is just a little more than hubristic. I saw also how our own communication has its deepest roots in our relationship with such more-than-human language. From where else would our language come, if not from the birds and trees alongside whom we grew up?

We carried on for a few moments - the three of us chatting away - and then I returned inside feeling rather honoured for receiving this unexpected gift - a chance to hear the sounds of river, breeze and caw whilst talking about tea and toast at the breakfast table.

Presence and presents

Hello there

Various of you have asked Kajal and I about what we want for our wedding. I wondered whether we should think about what we might like to receive but Kajal admitted that she was not comfortable with preparing a list of things that you should buy. We discussed this some more and I also felt a little unsure. After going around in circles, we thought we'd offer you a list that would serve our purpose well. So here goes.....

1. Both of us would love to be more peaceful, enlightened and creative human beings. Any presents/presence you can give that would move us towards self-understanding and liberation from the cycle of birth and rebirth will be gratefully accepted.
2. We'd love to receive any 'experience' or 'thing' that is crafted, created or inspired by you (obviously if it could contribute to achievement number 1 above that would be great).
3. The chance to spend time with you learning, discovering, playing or just kicking back over a cup of tea and home-made strawberry tart. Combining 1, 2 and 3 would be the jackpot.
4. Our deepest dreams involve having a set of towels in a variety of shades, such that when guests come over to stay we can match the towel colour to that night's sunset. Given that between us we only have three towels at the moment - cream, dull green and chocolate brown – you can help us achieve our toweling dreams by getting down to John Lewis asap for some vouchers. 
5. We'd love to walk El Camino, Hadrians Wall or some other great route. If you can give us the gift of time and knees to do it we'd love you. You could join us as well if you like.
6. We enjoy reading, and we already have too many unread books lying around. Whilst a book would be a dear present, the ability to read more efficiently would be a greater gift.

At this point I realise that several of these items involve giving us 'time' and 'space', which are really gifts of the gods. If you can have a word with your particular boss man/woman or animal in the sky and see what's possible on that front it would be great.

7. A guarantee of good weather whenever we go camping. Or, if not available, a portable, solar-powered, wind-up, ethically-sourced, vintage-effect, light-weight, Lib-Lab, vegan lamp to go in our beautiful tent.
8. Nothing. I think it was the Arabs, or Indians, or perhaps Scousers, who invented the number zero. Whoever it was, their genius transformed human society and form 2 maths lessons beyond belief. We think you could effect a similar change in us by presenting us with nothing. And remember, you don't need to give us your gift of nothing on the day of wedding itself. You can wait a little while and offer us a bigger, higher-spec, wide-screen nothing when it comes out next year or the year after.
9. Your own happiness and peace. And we're back to where we stared just from the other side. If you can offer us this gift, we're sure to derive a lifetime of joy from that.

warmest

Rupesh and Kajal

Searching space for humility?

It was Diwali last week...a festival for Jains, Sikhs, Hindus and many others who might care to use light as an aid to marking the sacred nature of existence.

Orion Nebula

Throughout the period I received text messages wishing me good fortune for Diwali and the new year. Amidst these was one verse that I found intriguing:

"Faith makes all things possible.

Hope makes all things work.

Love makes all things beautiful."

Sweet. Its a nice little reminder to be faithful, hopeful and loving, because if I do that then - the verse reassures me - all things will work out beautifully.

But what happens if we're feeling a bit low on faith, if we're not able to bring up all that hope or that loving feeling is gone? Does that mean that nothing is possible, that things won't work and that beauty disappears.

That seems a bit harsh really to me, if not even a bit of hubris.

 

The logic of the (uni)verse

This verse seems work with the premise that the human is the centre of knowing and being. It indicates that its up to us humans to have love, hope and faith and when we do, we almost produce beauty, possibility and working order (love makes all things beautiful, etc.).

I find it odd to think that beauty would disappear because of what we do. That the world would stop working if we lost hope. I can get the idea that if I hope, then things may work. And I know the idea that beauty is in how I look. But this way of looking seems to imply that there is a quite inert, blank world out there and that has no shape or direction of its own and that all that exists is the stuff inside our human head, hearts and bodies.

Are we really happy to say that without these human experiences and ways of being beauty, possibility and working order won't exist?

Fool Praying, Cecil Collins

Turn it up upside down

Of late I've been employing Carl Jung's practice of turning everyday, taken for granted notions on their head, of inverting the logic. I tried it with these three lines, and when I did so, something really interesting showed up:

"All things are possible and this makes faith.All things work and this make makes hope. All things are beautiful and this makes love."

And now, I can read it like this...

• that the universe is one in which all things are possible and this creates, produces or results in the thing you might call faith;
• that the universe is such that all things work and that stunning, elegant, ineffable working order creates the experience and the emotional sense of hope;
• that all things in the cosmos are beautiful and that reality of complete beauty creates the experience of love.

Suddenly, I find this way of looking at these experiences much more intriguing. Much more inviting in fact. I can see that this working, generative beauty is out there already. It exists in the cosmos. Everything (even things that can't manage faith and hope and love - like bad humans and non-humans) can participate in this universe fully because its there. And it doesn't require hope, faith and love in the human way.

A bit of humility?

And if we start with the notion that the reality of this universe is such that all things are possible already, that things work, that beauty just exists, then perhaps we can worry less about whether we are performing properly, whether we've got enough hope, and love and faith. I wonder whether we can then be invited into a humbling process of appreciating this working, beauty of possibility alongside (rather than separated from) the rest of the cosmos?

Tight Spot

Tight spot.

Tilting starboard.

Use head jam and lean to.

Sharp angle threatens golden spill.

Heads out.

Written Aboard Coral

August 2010

How to be Glum

We've all been there. You've been in the doldrums, been going through a series of misfortunes but the times are a changing and life seems to be looking up. Such positive developments can be worrying and its important to nip them in the bud. This is of course easier said than done and so in this article I present some tips on how to build and maintain an attitude of glumness when faced with potentially challenging positive circumstances.

My first tip is to cultivate a habit of saying no to people. Being a block on other people's energy by invariably saying no is quite tricky but will be worth the effort. Its important to make this a reflex and unchanging response, so that any offer that you are presented with is met with an instantaneous no. It won't do any good to think or show you're are thinking about the offer. If you manage this trick of being primed to say no, you'll soon find that offers and invitations from others will dry up. Once that happens you would be in a strong position to view your situation as one of 'me against the world'.

Its really quite important to maintain an aloof and distanced attitude towards your emotions if you wish to stay glum. For example, some people make a mistake of trying to make sense of their sadness, to try and find meaning in it. The problem with this strategy is that you're likely to come to some conclusions. The worst of which is the tragic idea that you are some how responsible for your own emotional experiences and that you could change your feeling at this immediate instance, without anyone's permission. Such an action-oriented attitude is anathema to those seeking deep glumness. So, my advice is to avoid any kind of process of productive reflection.

The challenge here is more complex than it first seems. This is because you want to use your brain to the fullest by replaying the difficulty of your situation over and over again in your mind. However, the untrained brain is notorious for suddenly making sensible and productive conclusions and wanting to move towards action. So watch out.

My next tip is much simpler. If you want to stay glum you should try to maintain a health attitude of scapegoating. Blaming other people for the situation that you are in is a critical tactic in ensuring you feel no gratitude nor grace in daily life. If you have a particular person to blame this can be quite helpful, though the cosmos in general is also quite adequate.

It is important not to get too carried away with the blame game though. If you allow blame against a particular individual or deity to develop too much, there is a danger that you could become angry. Anger is a difficult emotion as it sometimes can lead to sudden outbursts of invective. An underlying state of inaction and passivity is critical to the glum lifestyle and so getting angry at someone can seriously endanger the inactive bubble you're building for yourself.

My final tip is to avoid physical exercise. This may strike you as a little strange but its been shown to work time and again in the modern age. The pursuit of glumness is much, much simpler if you are able to deny the reality of everyday existence. To be glum you need to live in a perpetual state of low level anxiety about a past that no longer exists and a future that is yet to come. Exercise has been shown to foster a sense of grounding and connection with the physical reality of life, to put people in the present moment, and such an attitude is likely to distract us from the task of cultivating the internal damp misery of glum. So stay away from the treadmill.

Being glum is by no means easy and maintaining that attitude for any length of time can be really quite exhausting. In this article I hope I have inspired you to see that with some creativity and discipline there is quite a lot you can do to sustain your glum.

Is there space in loving relationships for conceptual thinking?

This is a question for someone out there.

To what extent is it appropriate to use conceptual thinking to help with relationships between people. Is that a bit freaky or is it a useful way to engage with the messiness of love, life and longing?

I ask because I have been thinking about both of these areas a lot recently and I am just a little tempted to apply some of my conceptual thinking to current affairs of the heart. I've not done so in earnest yet, because of a little nagging feeling that this is 'not on', that I'd be somehow denigrating the ineffable world of love by attempting to apply some structured way of thinking about it. Right now the particular field of ideas that's got me thinking is that of modelling and systems dynamics (systems dynamics is an approach to making sense of complex situations using the idea of dynamic feedback).

But before you think I'm completely fruity I think you should know that I'm not totally alone in looking to the world of ideas as an aide to the ephemeral beauties of life. Some of my favourite writers, researchers and thinkers have used the ideas from the sciences of systems thinking to explore the world of relationships. Bateson (both the father and daughter) and Paul Watzlawick have written about relationships using ideas from systems thinking - ideas to do with cybernitics, communication and control, feedback processes and so on. And I have found their insights fascinating and really helpful.

For example, Watzlawick has uses a wonderful example of a a boy and girl in relationship with each other to exemplify paradoxical communication and differences in logical types. He says that all communication has a content element and a relationship element; sometimes these two things get confused or mixed up leading to paradoxes that seemingly trap the people involved. Take for example, the suggestion by a lover to his partner to "be more spontaneous". Its a lovely thought...

"you know, I think its great that you like routines and I do love the fact that everyday for the past 14years we've had cornflakes/uttapam/gari/wheatgrass juice (delete as appropriate) for breakfast but could you try to something different. I mean just be a bit spontaneous."

Lovely stuff. But our cornflake eating friend is now faced with a bit of a dilemma. Maybe he likes cornflakes for breakfast everyday. And maybe spontenaity at that time in the morning is not all that fun. But maybe also somewhere deep down he hears his partner's request as not being about what's for breakfast. So, he waits until breakfast the next morning and then decides to swerve wildly off course and have a poached duck's egg with some dhal. There. I've done it; I've been spontaneous. Now he can't say I don't act spontaneously.

Meanwhile, our frankly surprised partner, is wondering how much of this spontaneous change of breakfast was down to a desire to show spontenaity and how much another (more depressing) reflection of his increasinly stagnated lover and relationship.

In describing the scenario, I think Watzlwick pointed out that one person's request of another to be spontaneous leaves the other in a bit of a trap. Anything that is done after that request can't be truly spontaneous since it can all be framed as part of a reaction to the original request; so not spontaneous at all. Unwittingly, he's left his lover with no choice but to fail.

-----
My point is that this whole case and analysis of an everyday relationship situation came from some quite deep engagement about a set of ideas to do with systems thinking. It wasn't simply a bit of advice over a pint of beer but was something worked out as a result of logical principles from a set of ideas (hypotehsis) about how the world might work.

And I think that lots of people use ideas and concepts to think about things in their lives such as friendships, lovers and family. The difference being that these acts of conceptual thinking are rarely seen let alone discussed. If they were made more visible, I think that they could help to make relationships better, warmer.

I'll write more on this soon, promise. But for now, a quick survey to the people out there ('What people?', I hear you say, 'there's no audience out here reading your blog'. Well, who said that then).

Is it appropriate for me to
a) use conceptual thinking to help me understand personal relationships?
b) share my use of conceptual thinking with those who I'm relating to?

yours conceptually in love
r

Climbing Trees with Guru-ji

A couple of months ago I was told by a wise woman that I ought to be weary of guru's and that I may find relationships with them difficult because of 'my nature'. I wasn't entirely sure what she meant by the delicate phrasing - 'my nature' - but when she offered me her words it certainly struck a chord....

I have tended to adopt a quite a sceptical attitude towards people who act and are treated as if they are gurus. I'm aware that gurus are jointly and dynamically 'created' through and in relationship (in the same way that someone or thing on taking a parent-type role in a relationship requires the other to be take on a child-type role). And yet, still I've found myself surprised, intrigued and sometimes even upset by the faith that some people seem to have for their guru. I've sometimes felt disturbed by the relative difficulty I have in associating with such figures compared with others; am I lacking in sufficient humility or respect? This tension has increased a little recently, as I've discovered that in some traditions, the role of the guru is regarded as quite important in the context of an individual's own spiritual or developmental journey.

The other day I had a image come to me that has helped me understand the tension I encounter a little bit better. I rolled the internal picture forward a few frames and here's the movie that played:

A man - thin, wiry, dark - is climbing a tree (its not a broad and sturdy English oak or a sparkling spruce; maybe its more like a coconut tree. Yes, that's it – a coconut or palm tree of some sort, swaying in a warm ocean breeze). The chap is climbing the tree, steadily and surely.

Now, the image splits into two separate films.

In one film, as our hero works his way up the tree and we see another fellow above him, climbing this same tree. As he clambers ever higher, debris falls down. Our wiry man barely notices the leaves and twigs falling down. But the leading climber eventually knocks a big fat, green coconut off. Down it tumbles. It hits a branch just above Wireman and whistles past his face. Huh. The grip is less certain now. It looks a long way down and it suddenly seems as if the momentum has changed direction – what goes up....

His guru calls down and Wireman dares to look up. Its easy, he calls. You just need to keep going. Motivational stuff from up there. Listen, bhaiya, positive mental attitude is needed to reach such altitude. Beneficient smile, sweetness and might. You can't be thinking negative thoughts now. Believe me, I did it. Come, yar. Come.

Wireman looks up and then pushes off with his right foot. He misses his footing and for a moment, he's a-gone-a....

Cut to...

Wireman 2.

Its not a sequel or prequel. More like a para-quel. Another story, another vision. Same lighting. Wireman is climbing the tree. Steadily and surely. And the guru is also climbing, sending down his debris. But what's this? The shot pans out....Its not the same tree at all. They're on different trees. And our wiry fellow is making his way up, without those kind gifts from guru-ji's showering down upon him. He looks over to his friend, who seems to be climbing high, and then looks up to the top of his tree. Oh, that's far. How on earth...He notices a sturdy looking branch, sticking out to the side and its within reach. Perhaps, I'll just aim for that one and then have a little rest.

As I said above, I have had a tense relationship with guru-type figures in the past. It not that I've had any conflicts with them; its all internal, as I struggle to know how to engage with their experience, intelligence, insights and so on.

I've wondered whether the source of the tension is my education. Damn, education. Somewhere along the line, I learnt something that is often known as 'critical thinking'. Doubt, doubt, question, doubt, doubt. Its lovely two-step dance. Try it some time. Doubt, doubt, question, doubt, doubt. I'm sure many of you already have. Doubt, doubt, question, doubt, doubt.

The screening of these two films in my head have given me a new angle on the difficulties I have relating to guru-type figures. I've realised that its not that I'm not willing to be inspired or that I lack humility. Its not that at all.

The second film works shows me a healthier way of relating to people who have worked hard and seem to have have gone further.

Its like this. Instead of following someone else up The Tree, its more helpful for me to see that we're each of us on different trees. We're both still connected, through the shared act of our climbing and there's a lot for me to learn from looking over. The challenges we encounter are somewhat similar but altogether different as well. Its my tree, adapted for (and, perhaps even, adapting to) me and my particular clumsiness.

And the guru, we'll he or she is a different kind of person altogether; she's no longer inadvertently sending down her own debris for me to deal with. In fact, she's mainly busy getting on with her own tree and debris.

Does this make sense or have I got the wrong end of the stick? Are there any wise women, sages or guru's out there who can let me know how wrong I've got this all?

work...its a laugh

It’s funny. I walked in to work this morning having had a delightful start to the day and I’m writing this because I’m sad that the delight has gone so easily.

I woke up naturally and early. I knew that I would wake in the morning with a newly discovered shadow of my body after the yoga class last night, where we stretched and breathed our way into new forms. It was a pleasant aching that I felt. The radio happened to be tuned to Radio 3 –and the easy tension of classical music sat well with the feeling in my body. I had a leisurely breakfast - alone for a while and then joined by my brother, sister-in-law and nephew. I walked outside and tended to a few of the vegetable plants – nothing heavy, just a little bit of TLC. I walked down to the train station with plenty of time and found myself on the platform with a few moments of silence to stop and stare. I stared. On the train I sat for a while and I then pulled out my current read – a rather large book about the history of work that has just started engaging my attention. Toward the end of the journey I leafed through some notes and had a moment of inspiration about some pending task at work. I noted down my thoughts and sat back satisfied. I took the early stop on the train so I would have the slightly longer walk into the office along some quiet side streets.

I walked the half mile at a pace but steadily and consciously. Opposing fore-finger and thumb.
And then onto the main street behind the office.
Round the corner.

I’m getting my key fob out and waving it in front of the security sensor. And now I’m in the office. I walk up the stairs. And then suddenly I am here. In a now increasingly familiar place that feels…..

A couple of colleagues are already at their desks, typing away and looking industrious. I say hello and hear a hello back. But there is more than hello that I hear. I hear something like ‘we’re busy working’. I stop myself from saying anything further. I don’t share my calm. I don’t feel they want my energy. It would get in the way of the productivity. Efficiency and accountability has cold voice.

I walk away quietly, quickly to the toilet to wash my possibly H1N1 infected hands. Time to get on. It’s not so funny now.