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nickyhemmick · 4 years ago

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A Very Stressed American Jew here again,

Hi! Thank you for taking the time to respond to my ask and yes, I’m someone who loves hearing as many perspectives as possible so I’d love some sources from you. I also very much appreciate the fact you are being very careful to only reblog posts that are anti Israel, not antisemetic (which is frankly a breath of fresh air, the internet has been a bit exhaustingly full of both antisemitic & Islamaphobic content these past feel days as I bet you’ve seen)

I’ve also been to Israel on a Birthright trip. We met people who ( both Palestinian and Israeli) on various sides of the conflict and learned a ton about it, from both perspectives which I was lucky to have the opportunity to do. We even went a little into the Gaza Strip to talk to these people running a pro Palestine peace movement and it was so important to me hearing those stories.

I never said they were on equal footing militarily, they definitely are not, Israel definitely has that advantage. But you are incorrect about Israel always being the aggressor since 1948,they’ve defended themselves about as often as they’ve attacked. Isreal is a small country comparatively to the ones surrounding it, so it makes sense it defends itself heavily in case of an attack.

I 100% agree that there are too many people who are compliant with the mistreatment of many Palestinians! I’m not anti #freepalestine at all! I get why that is a thing. But I also stand with Israel( but that does not mean I condone every action they take. ) Overall I think the situation is extremely complicated and some sort of compromise should be reached.

It’s just been very frustrating to see so many people reblog things on a situation just bashing Israel because so many others are doing it. Especially when then don’t know what they are talking about or using big buzz words that they don’t know what they mean, or spreading misinformation. It’s been on both sides and has been very very draining. I just want peace and some sort of solution. It makes me extremely happy you know what you are talking about and can debate politely yet happily about it. The internet has been so ‘ either agree with me 100% or you a bad person’ about this so it’s refreshing to see you are not like that.

I’ve done a lot of research into it from as many perspectives as I can get my hands on.

Some extremest Israelis are hurting Palestinians

Some extremest Palestinians are hurting Israelis

Both sides are throwing rockets at each other and it’s terrifying.

Both sides claim the other side is brainwashed

There is so much biased propaganda out there on both ends it’s hard to know what is truly happening.

I know people living in Israel who have sent me videos they’ve taken of rockets flying over there heads and I’m so scared for them. I’m so scared for all the innocent people caught in the crossfire on both sides.

Thank you for a more nuanced response and I’d love some of your sources,

A Very Stressed American Jew

Hi anon,

I wasn’t going to respond to this until after my math final tomorrow but I’ve spent the past two days thinking of your ask and the things I wish to articulate in my answer.

I am going to start here: how can you say you support Israel but say you are also pro-free Palestine (as in, you said you are not anti free Palestine). In my opinion, these two ideas cannot coexist. Simply because, the entire establishment of Israel has been on violent, racist, colonial grounds.

(Super long post under here guys)

You said you don’t support all Israel’s actions, and definitely, just because you support something doesn’t mean you can’t criticize it. However, in my opinion, if you do not support Israel’s actions against Palestinians there’s not much left to support? I admit this is a very biased view as I am Palestinian, but many things that people support about Israel have existed before its creation: as in, these are things and qualities that have existed in Judaism and are not due to “Israeli culture.” There is no Israeli culture. There’s Jewish culture--100%. But there is no Israeli culture, because Israel does not only steal Palestinian land, but Palestinian culture, too. Such as claiming Levant food is Israeli; hummus, ful, falafel, shawarma. I mentioned food from this article I know is culturally and traditionally of the Levant, and has been for centuries, it is not something that has come to culinary creation in the past 73 years.

I do not think this is a complicated issue. I said that in the previous ask and I’ll say that again. Saying it is a complicated issue is trivializing the deaths of innocent Palestinians, the violent dispossession our ancestors endured, and the apartheid they live under. I hope if anything comes from this discussion it is you removing the “it’s a complicated issue” phrase from your vernacular.

This is not complicated. A journalist reporting the death of martyrs only to discover that of them include two of his brothers is not complicated. The asymmetry of Israel vs Palestinian armed forces is not complicated, nor is the asymmetry in Israeli vs Palestinian suffering (which I will get to later). It is not complicated. Destroying the graves of martyred Palestinians (or just in general, the graves of the dead) is not complicated. Little children being pulled from the rubble, children being forced to comfort one another as they are covered in the ashes of their decimated homes, attacking unarmed citizens in peaceful demonstrations (you can find videos before this attack where they were playing with kites and balloons), destroying an international media office and refusing to allow journalists to retrieve the work they are spending every waking hour documenting but claiming it was because it was a hide out for a “Hamas base,” fathers who are trying to cheer their frightened children up only to end up dead the next day, while many Israeli have the privilege and the option to go to hotel-like bomb shelters is not complicated.

This brings me to my next point: the suffering of Palestinians cannot be compared to the inconvenience of Israeli’s. On one side, you have children who are happy to have saved their fish in the face of their homes and lives being decimated behind them to Israeli’s in Tel Aviv having to cut their beach day short to get to bomb shelters. You have mothers and fathers ready to set their lives down for their children to save them from bombs to Israeli’s enjoying their brunch only after making sure there are bomb shelters there. You have Palestinian children being murdered to blocking out the sound of sirens in the safety of your bomb shelters. (The first picture of the Palestinian child is not from footage of the recent problems). You have the baby lone survivor of a whole family recovered from rubble. His whole family, gone, before he ever had the chance to realize that he even exists, while Israeli’s decide to flee out of the country,(Translate the caption from Twitter, it checks out), or have to leave the shower due to sirens. Who is really suffering?

I won’t sit here and pretend like the thought of rockets flying over my head, no matter which side I am on, is not terrifying. It is. It’s scary to just think about. But Israeli’s have protection beyond Palestinian’s, they have sirens to warn them (Israel does not always warn Palestinian building members that it is about to be bombed), they have the Iron Dome, they have simply the threat of nuclear power (which I am not saying Israel would use, but the simple fact they have it would make me feel a lot better if I were an Israeli citizen) and they have bomb shelters. What do Palestinians have? Hamas? That smuggles its weapons through the ocean? That only ever reacts to the action Israel instigates? And yet Gazans are branded terrorists and that it is their fault that they “elected” a terrorist organization that only was ever created due to no protection from any armed country? (There are so many links I want to add in this paragraph but it is simply impossible for me to add everything I want, a lot of what I’m referring to can either be found through a Google search, or you can stalk my Twitter account, all that I am posting now is about Palestine, and will include sources of things I cannot add in just this one post.)

Look, I see myself in the genocide happening in Palestine right now. I see myself in this ten year-old girl. In this three year old girl. I see me and my family in videos of cars being attacked in Ramallah and Sheikh Jarrah (I cannot find the Ramallah video, should be somewhere on my Twitter), I see my father in the countless videos of fathers crying out for their children, of kissing the corpse of their loved ones (again, translate the Tweet, the man holding the body is saying “just one kiss”). I see my grandfather in videos like this (old footage). I see my younger brother, I see my grandmother, my mother, my aunts and uncles and cousins. I see myself and my life and my family were my father not lucky enough to get a scholarship to the UK and out of Palestine, were my maternal grandfather not been lucky enough to make it to a refugee camp and build a life in Jordan. I have an unbelievable amount of privilege to be born into the life I was born in to, in terms of I do not have the threat of bombs and violent dispossession around me, and I do not even live in the US. I have privilege and sheer luck that my parents were able to go to the US so that me and my brothers can be born, because now I have both the protection of the most powerful country in the world while at the same time being part of a people to have suffered so generously the past seventy-three years.

On the other hand, you saying that Israel has “defended themselves about as often as they’ve attacked. Israel is a small country comparatively to the ones surrounding it, so it makes sense it defends itself heavily in case of an attack,” I offer you this question: why are they using military grade guns and stun grenades in mosques to “defend” themselves from rocks? And before you mention that Hamas hit Tel Aviv, I remind you that Hamas did that due to the violence in the Al-Aqsa mosque square and the attempted ethnic cleansing in Sheikh Jarrah. The violence didn’t begin with us; the violence was brought out of Palestinians in resistance to the generations of oppression we have endured and the attack on Palestinian Muslims during the holiest night of Ramadan. Hamas has since asked for a ceasefire multiple times and Israel is refusing. New reports say there is a possibility of a ceasefire in the coming days, but Israel could have decided this a long time ago and spared many lives. (Remember, no matter what resistance we make, Israel is the one in power).

Israel has been the aggressor since 1948. Just read up about the Nakba! 700k Palestinian families were dispossessed violently. The only reason Israel was established at all was because it simply declared it was now a country and the US and many other countries recognized it as such. (Of course, there are many other historical details here, like the British Mandate of Palestine, the Balfour Declaration, the Oslo Accords and many others. I am aware of them but these are for a different post all together). My paternal grandfather was a little younger than me when Israel as a state was created. The hostility that followed was due to this independent declaration being listened to over Palestinian voices.

Here is a very, very simplified analogy, one that can also answer some people’s questions as to why Palestinians (not Arabs, we are Palestinian before we are Arab) did not like what happened in 1948 and why they refused a two-state solution (that Israel was never going to go through with anyway). (I am also aware other Arab nations got involved, and that is perhaps what you mean when you said they had to defend themselves, but my response to that would still be we didn't start it, that we only responded to it).

Let’s say you are a farmer. You have many fields of trees, ones you have taken shelter under from the sun since you were a child, or hid behind when you wanted to avoid your parents when you misbehaved. You have seen your trees grow from a seed, to a sprout, to a flower, to a large, beautiful tree with fruits the size of a fist. You pluck the fruits from one tree, and make a jam from it. I don’t know how to make jam but I know it takes a lot of energy. So, you make this jam and from it, produce a lovely, mouth-watering pie. Once it has cooled from the oven, you take it with you outside your balcony just so that you can admire the years, months, weeks and hours this one pie has taken to be created. Suddenly, a stranger walks past and yells to you, “That pie looks delicious, I want it!” And you, shocked at their boldness but ready to share, say, “I will give you a bite.” But the stranger says, “No! I do not want a bite or a slice or whatever you want to offer me, I want the pie!” And they grab it from you. You and the stranger start screaming at one another about who the pie is for, who is allowed to decide what happens to it, and who you can share it with. Then, another stranger comes by and says, “Why all the problems? Let’s cut the pie in half and the both of you can share it!” But why should you, who has spent years cultivating the fruit and grain inside this pie, share it? Why should you give up half of the 100% that you already owned? Of what you already had? So you disagree, and now a crowd has formed around you. “What’s the problem?” someone in the crowd calls. “They don’t want to share their pie!” another voice says. Then you become branded a selfish, mean bastard. Again, this is a super simplified analogy, so don’t take it too seriously, but I am trying to show you why Israel is the aggressor.

In addition, I do not know too much about the Birthright program, just that American Jewish people are sent to Israel, all expenses paid. I tried my best to find the Twitter thread but I read it so long ago, about an American Jewish person who went on their trip and they talked about the propaganda that they were exposed to on that trip. I can’t say for sure that it is true, because I haven’t been on it and never will, but that is the first thing I thought of when you mentioned your Birthright trip. Either way, I think it is still great you went and saw the country. However, I must ask you this: are the people you met ones you, yourself, sought out, or ones you were organized to meet?

Now, I haven’t been to Gaza, so I don’t know what you really saw or didn’t, but did you speak to Palestinians who lost their homes to airstrikes? Did you speak to siblings, parents or children of loved ones who had been lost beneath the rubble of buildings and towers? Outside of Gaza, did you speak to Palestinians that live in poor quarters? Ones who have been victims of an IDF soldier shooting them, or who have family members who have died from such attacks? Did they take you guys to Ramallah, to Nablus, to Beit-Imreen, to Jenin, to small villages in the West Bank, far away from Jerusalem and Tel Aviv? Did you speak to people there? Ask them their stories? Because if you did I have a very hard time believing you still think Israel is “defending” itself.

I’ve been to Jerusalem, many times, even Tel Aviv and Jaffa and Haifa. All the times I visited Dome of the Rock there were IDF soldiers with huge guns strapped to their person, standing menacingly outside the courtyard. For what? Genuinely, genuinely for what? It is nothing but an intimidation tactic. The same way we are not allowed in through the airport. If you could see the struggle some Palestinians actually go through just to get into Palestine, through the land border, you would be disgusted. I love Palestine, it is my ancestry land, it is my culture and tradition. But I always hated going to visit because I knew the way to getting there would be hell.

My father worked in Tel Aviv through the first Intifada. My maternal grandfather was forced out of his home in the Nakba and was forced to leave behind his belongings and the orange trees that have been in his family for generations. Hell, the town they lived in was destroyed! It doesn’t exist anymore except in the memories of my aunts and uncles, who never even saw it, but just heard of it from their father!

I’m not saying there aren’t Palestinians who are racist and anti-Semitic (though, tbh, I will direct you here for that) and who support Hamas in killing Israeli’s, but talking about how there are many “extremist” Palestinians who are hurting Israeli’s and in the next line say there are extremist Israeli’s who are hurting Palestinians is not correct. There are extremist Israeli’s killing, lynching, stealing the houses of Palestinians, and there are Palestinians who are fed up and fighting back. (I am not talking about Hamas vs the IDF here, I am talking about the citizens). I have not seen one reported death of an Israeli due to Palestinian violence (if you have, from a trusted source, send it to me), but I have seen countless of the other way around. I have seen images of charred little bodies, of a baby being dug out of the rubble, of a child’s body that had been so mutilated that you can literally see the insides of their body coming out. (I don’t know if it’s on my Twitter, I didn’t want to save that shit). If this was my country I would be absolutely ashamed of myself and my people and what they are doing in the name of my protection. So you have to forgive me, and forgive other Palestinians, who don’t give a fuck about Israeli’s having anxiety over rockets flying over their heads when we see these images. Where is the protection of our kids? Why does no one seem to mention them except when mentioning the poor, innocent ones in Israel? At least more than the majority of them have their parents to comfort and rock them. At least many of them will probably be saved of ever having to be beneath the rubble of a destroyed building, or digging in it, to hope to find the parts of their parents or siblings just so that they can bury them. Just the links from the start of my answer is enough to support what I am saying.

I have soooo much more I can say, like how Israel uses religion to distort the image of what’s going on (tbh, just check my Twitter for that: language is EVERYTHING), but you didn’t mention religion in any of this and so I won’t either. The only reason I decided to respond to you in such length was because you have been one of the few respectful anons in my inbox in the past few years of me being on here talking about Israel, so I appreciate that from you.

As promised, some more sources: decolonizepalestine is a good place to start if you haven’t used it already, it has reading materials, myth busting, and more. Here is a map list of destroyed localities from pre-1948 until 2017, run by two anti-Zionist Israelis. Here and here are the articles I promised of a former IDF soldier-turned Palestinian activist, I read these two last year in June and remember coming out much more informed than before I read them. I suggest looking into the writer and his organization, which, if I remember correctly, collects accounts from previous IDF soldiers. I would suggest not to follow Israel and the IDF accounts on any platform, or any Israel times newspaper, simply because they will not tell you the truth. In fairness, you do not have to follow any Palestinian Authority accounts (which I am not even sure there are), but to follow on-ground Palestinians like Mohammed El-Kurd, who has been speaking out since he was 12 (he is now 22) and he is part of the families in Sheikh Jarrah. I have noticed that this and this account have been translating Arabic headlines and tweets for non-Arabic speakers, I have just started following this person but their bio says they are a Palestinian Jewish person so I am interested in their view of things. You can also follow Israeli’s on-ground and see their perspective on things, but I would also advise to compare the Palestinian and Israeli side of things from the people, and critically analyze the language used in each case. Also, this article references Jewish scholars opposed to the occupation (I have not looked into them myself but I plan to after my exams), and Norman Finklestein is another great Jewish scholar to look into if you haven’t. Twitter is better than Instagram and Facebook, so I would stick to getting live-info from there, Twitter does not censor Palestinian content as much as Insta and Facebook so you’re more likely to see things there.

I will end this by saying I personally do not see any other option for peace than to give Palestinians our land back. Whether we may be Muslim, Jewish or Christian, it has always been and will always be our land. I only hope to see it free in my lifetime.

Free Palestine.

#palestine #israel #west bank #tala gets asks #anon #whew this ask took me like 2-3 hours to respond to #pls read it even if ure not the anon #lots of good links and info #palestine tag #anon there are more reading lists in my #to read #and palestine tag tags #check my likes on twitter too if u decide btw not just what i retweet #like also: imagine palestinians around palestine and the world who are simply waiting to hear if their relatives are dead or alive or #have been striked from a rocket. like i can see my father worried abt his friend in gaza rn like any day #now he can just never hear back from him and have to guess hes dead somewhere beneath the rubble #and israelis are anxious at the rocket sounds? good for them but again that shows the asymmetry in #palestinian vs israeli suffering #and by ‘good for them’ i mean good that thats what theyre worried abt compared to palestinians #my aunt is in sheikh jarrah #my cousin lives right by the al aqsa square #again theres so much more i couldve mentioned and talked abt but theres just so much #theres so many LAYERS i wld say but not that its complicated #and definitely theres more i need to learn and read and watch dont get me wrong! i am not a fountain of knowledge by all means!!!!

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clausvonbohlen · 7 years ago

Text

Where I am; a manifesto, memoir, and auto-analysis.

I haven’t posted on here for a long time. This was intended to be a brief update, but has turned into something much longer, a sort of summary of the last 10 years. Perhaps that’s fitting, given that I turned 40 a few months ago. It will, however, require more commitment from you, my cherished reader.

But first, a disclaimer of sorts. This is about the ups, but also – and perhaps primarily – about the downs. And yet I know I am lucky. Indeed, I won a sort of birth lottery: I am white, male, educated, and have never suffered from lack of anything. If you don’t think that I should have downs, or if you think that if I have them I should not write about them, then you should stop reading here. This has been my experience, I promise to relate it to you with as much honesty as I am capable of. If that is not enough for you, then we cannot be friends.

This is also, in a sense, the story of my continuing search for happiness. When I say ‘happiness’, I mean it in the deepest sense – a life that is fulfilling, and meaningful, and conducive to continued growth and flourishing. There is nothing unique about that; it’s a journey we are all on, in one way or another. And I also feel a certain duty; if I, with all my advantages, can’t be happy in that deep sense, then what hope is there for those less fortunate? And if no one can be happy, then what, really, is the point of human existence on earth? Is that too grandiose an extrapolation? I don’t think so.

In fact, I do now feel that I am on the right path, but I lost it for a while, and I could lose it again. That’s what I now intend to write about.

I am not the first to have been at a loss, and particularly not at this stage. Seven centuries ago, Dante Alighieri wrote:

‘Nell’ mezzo del camin di nostra vita

mi ritrovai per una selva oscura

ché la diritta via era smarrita.’

When I had journeyed half of our life's way, I found myself within a shadowed forest, for I had lost the path that does not stray.

In my case, I began to find the path harder to follow about ten years ago. At that time I was living in London, writing, going out, occasionally hooking up with girls, going to rugby training during the week and playing matches on weekends. For years, rugby had been a big part of my life. I was only ever competent, but since my work life was solitary, I loved the team side of it, and the physicality too. But then, to my surprise, I found myself enjoying it less and less. The training was predictable, the games often disappointing; only the friendships kept me going.

My life in London also felt predictable and uninspiring. I had finished one novel and had not yet started on a second. I was serving part time as a Special Constable – a volunteer Police Officer- in the borough of Wandsworth. It was generally dull work, though I had signed up for it in the hope of excitement, and to get me out of my apartment, which was also my place of work. Then the opportunity arose for me to change tack and work for a German film director in Los Angeles, as his assistant. I took it. From one week to the next, I handed in my police badge, hung up my rugby boots, and moved to America.

I have recently been listening to some podcasts by the psychologist Richard Alpert, later known as Ram Dass. My experience of ceasing to enjoy playing rugby – a very small thing, in itself – gave me my first inkling of the much deeper changes that he describes more dramatically as ‘the dark night of the soul’. This is from a talk he gave:

‘And you will go through a period, some of you have already done it, where you are horrified by your dying, the dying of rushes you were previously getting from life, that you tried to hold on to something that was giving you a rush before, because you couldn’t ever conceive that it wouldn’t always give you a rush, but it doesn’t, and the lag between when you stopped having the rush and when you are willing to cop to it, see, that’s how bad you want to get done. A lot of us are clinging to rushes we are already done having, partly because we don’t know what to do next, or partly because we are afraid of what happens next, because “lest ye die ye cannot be born again”… and that is the “dark night of the soul” in St. John of the Cross, where you have lost the fun of the world and you haven’t fully tasted the divinity.’

There is a lot more in that talk, much of it still mysterious to me. But I would have to say, other ‘rushes’ then started to fall away too. Drinking. The Cresta Run. One night stands. Not to say that they couldn’t be enjoyable on occasion, but there was certainly no reliability in it. Not as there once had been, and not as other people seemed to experience.

Recently I had a very clear perception of the diminishing returns from ‘rushes’. I was walking home here in Athens, having smoked a joint. The whole way, I was focussed on the next sensory pleasure that I could give myself. I got home and drank a glass of wine. Then I ate some chocolate. Then I surfed the web. The dissatisfactory quality of each gratification was almost immediately evident; the pleasure lasted just moments, and as soon as it was over, I was casting around for the next one. The balance between enjoyment and dissatisfaction has shifted over the years, or maybe I now see it with greater clarity. In any case, I couldn’t help wondering, how long will I continue with this pattern? How long until the dissatisfaction outweighs the enjoyment? And what then?

A Western psychologist reading this might think, aha, sounds like you were/ are depressed. But I don’t think Richard Alpert would have said that. Or, if he had, he would have attributed very little significance to the term. It might be an accurate description – in terms of box-checking - of a certain pattern of feeling and behaving, but it says very little about the meaning and deeper purpose of that pattern. And I am sure that there is both meaning and purpose.

But to resume the narrative – the narrative of my life! – I moved to Los Angeles and very quickly realised that I was completely disenchanted with both the industry I was working in, and the city I had moved to. I met many talented, attractive, successful people, but they all seemed so unhappy, so anxious, so neurotic. In fact, the film industry and the city – hard for me to differentiate the two – seemed to suffer from a collective neurosis. I wanted to understand it.

At the same time, I had started to realise that the traditional goals were not going to provide me with the ‘rushes’ I had lost. I came across a quote by Helen Keller that resonated with me:

‘True happiness is not attained through self-gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose.’

And with that in mind, I decided to become a psychotherapist. I applied to graduate school in San Francisco, quit my job in Los Angeles, and embarked on a doctoral degree in Clinical Psychology six months later.

At first, it was exciting to embark upon a new field of study, in a new city, with a sense of purpose. However, little by little, the disenchantment set in. Not so much with the absence of rushes, but rather with a sense that the material I was being taught, and the perspective I was being taught it from, were misguided. The information was accurate as far as it went, but it was based on a contracted view of what human life could be. I have written about this disenchantment in other places (e.g. my blog at that time, www.icanseealcatraz.blogspot.com). Eventually I found a happier home at Saybrook University, formerly the Humanistic Psychology Institute of California State University. Here I was able to take courses in the Psychology of Shamanism, Eastern Psychology and Existential Psychology, amongst others. I was encouraged to look at human life from a broader perspective.

I graduated with an MA in Existential, Humanistic and Transpersonal Psychology, then I went to work for the Gaza Community Mental Health Programme, a Palestinian NGO in the Gaza Strip. But with only rudimentary Arabic, I soon reached the limit of my usefulness. Following the kidnapping and murder of one of the very few other non-UN foreigners there, I moved to Beirut, to study Arabic.

My short time in Gaza made a big impression on me. Despite the poverty, the nightly sound of drones overhead, the sonic booms of Israeli fighter jets on daytime fly-bys, and the fact that ordinary Gazans cannot leave their tiny strip of land (no airport or port, closed borders), the people struck me as happier, on the whole, than the average American (yes, yes) in San Francisco. That impression deserves an essay in itself, and it is something I rarely talk about, since it is easily misinterpreted. It also has to do with the bonding effect of shared suffering and a common enemy (similar to the Blitz in that respect), as well as more tightly knit families, and minimal materialism. But in short, and as idealistic as this may sound, it made me realise that human relationships make people happier than constant material consumption ever can.

When I first arrived in Beirut, I taught English to Palestinian students from camps in Lebanon, through an NGO called Unite Lebanon Youth Project (ULYP). Then I heard about a vacancy for a full time teacher of English Literature, and also Philosophy, at Brummana High School, in the mountains above Beirut. I applied, went for an interview, and was offered the job.

I worked at Brummana for two years. Some of those experiences are detailed elsewhere in this blog. But in short, I was teaching subjects that I found interesting, to students that I liked. I had a lot of freedom and was even allowed to design and teach a Creative Writing elective that turned out to be more like group therapy, with some poems and short stories on the side. I was living in a beautiful place, with sweeping views over Beirut and the Mediterranean. I was doing the kind of work that is generally thought to be worthwhile, to accord with Keller’s ‘worthy purpose’, and to be fulfilling. And yet, having settled into the daily and weekly routine, it was not long before I once again started to feel restless.

I left Brummana, and Lebanon at the same time. I was not sure what I wanted to do next, but I thought that a cure for my perpetual restlessness might be a long walk, so I walked with Finny – my Lebanese foundling dog – from Salzburg to Santiago de Compostela, along the old medieval pilgrims’ route. The walk took us six months, and I wrote about it here – www.onehundredwordsaweek.blogspot.com

The walk gave me plenty of time to think. I limited my access to email and internet to once a week. One email I received along the way was from an old school friend, organizing a dinner for a group of us who had left school exactly twenty years before. It made me think back to that period of my life, and these lines from the Frank O’Hara’s poem ‘Animals’ came to mind:

Have you forgotten what we were like then

when we were still first rate,

and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth?

I was reminded of certain mornings as a teenager, perhaps during the summer holidays, when my body hummed with energy, and when the future filled me with a sense of tremendous excitement.

And I thought of Housman’s lines from section XV of ‘A Shropshire Lad’, lines that more accurately reflected my own experience of recent years:

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows;

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went,

And cannot come again.

I had hoped that the pilgrimage would allow me to work out what I wanted to do with my life. It didn’t. Or at least, not in any long-term way. However, it did make me think that after almost a decade away from the UK, I should return there to spend some time with my parents, and also to put some energy into maintaining and renovating parts of our family home in Sussex. It is an old house with a lovely garden and I have memories of a very happy childhood there. But it had started to look a little neglected, perhaps more obvious to me since I would just see it once or twice a year. The place has given me a lot, and I felt a responsibility to it.

So I found myself back in a place that I loved, channeling my energy into a project that felt worthwhile, and spending some time with parents who will not be around for ever. Ideas of nostalgia were still in my head, but not in the way they had been during the walk. Now I became aware of the second meaning of the term – not homesickness so much as a more literal ‘nostos’ and ‘algos’, the pain of returning home (an insight that I owe to Rory Dunlop and his very enjoyable novel ‘What We Didn’t Say’). Because I did now feel pain; home was not the same, my parents were not the same, and nor was I.

At first I minimized all this. People close to me endorsed my renovation project, and my decision to spend time with my parents. I knew I was lucky to have grown up in such a beautiful place. But the problem was that I was struggling to see the beauty, or feel the luck. Wherever I looked I just saw problems, endless menial maintenance tasks with no end in sight, like one of those bridges – The Golden Gate, the Severn - where as soon as the painters finish painting one end they need to start at the beginning again.

What’s more, I was drinking a couple of cocktails every evening, then passing out as soon as I lay down. But I would wake up feeling exhausted and achy, and my tiredness would only increase throughout the day. I also felt a tightness in my throat, and a general lack of enthusiasm. I thought I might have contracted a virus, so I went to see my GP. He did some blood tests but couldn’t find anything wrong.

Throughout my life, books and literature have always provided a refuge. But no longer: I was struggling to concentrate, and I wasn’t enjoying any of the books that I picked up, despite the fact that they often came highly recommended.

In a last ditch attempt to lift myself out of this slough of literary despond, I made a larger order of carefully chosen titles, from Amazon. The first book to arrive, clearly addressed to me, was ‘What Matters Most’, by Dr. James Hollis. Bizarrely, I had never heard of it. There was no receipt, and when I viewed my account online, I found no record of having ordered it.

That night, most unusually, I woke up at 2am and couldn’t get back to sleep. I picked up the book and started reading. I read for 3 hours straight; it felt as if the book had been written specifically for me. Dr. Hollis’ thesis, based on his Jungian training, is that there is something beyond the Freudian id-ego-superego structure, and that is the soul. The soul needs to grow, needs to feel that it is expanding and developing, and if that does not happen, then sooner or later we will experience symptoms – lack of energy, frustration, anxiety, indecision, and physical ailments too.

Despite the somewhat pop-y title, Hollis is a serious Jungian analyst. From his perspective, the book’s mysterious arrival would not be an accident, but an instance of synchronicity. The following morning, when I woke, I saw a whatsapp message on my phone from an old friend with whom I communicate about once a month. He told me he had just woken from a dream in which I had recommended a book to him. I told him of my experience of the night, and recommended Hollis’ book to him.

‘What Matters Most’ made me realise that my malaise had a meaning, that my body was the means through which the soul and the unconscious were trying to communicate with me, and that those deepest parts of me were frustrated because they did not feel they were growing. Most people my age are married and have families; many have their own businesses. These are all creative acts. I, on the other hand, was trying to patch up my childhood, to preserve my parents’ vision, and – essentially - to hold onto the past. The book also drew my attention to the way that it can often be fear – fear of change, fear of failure, fear of what other people will think – that holds us back from being all that we can be.

In the summer, I attended an Ayahuasca retreat in Scotland, something I was quite apprehensive about, since I have long questioned the value of de-contextualised shamanism. But the retreat was guided by an inspiring individual who was himself deeply rooted in a specific tradition, and it rekindled my own interest in plant medicine and Amazonian shamanism. I felt that the time had come to delve deeper into that world, so I interviewed the shaman about where it might still be possible to find uncontaminated shamanic practices in the Amazon (without risking one’s life), and based on his information, I planned a trip for the end of the year.

I went to Peru with my mind open; I wanted to see whether it would be possible for me to communicate with the plants in the way that curanderos and vegetalistas describe. I took Ayahuasca twice a week over a period of two months, as described in previous posts on this blog, but the plants did not communicate with me. Or, at least, that is what I thought at the time. They certainly did not teach me their healing and medicinal purposes, nor the songs through which this information is said to be relayed. But, in restrospect, I think they may have had a message for me, namely that it was not the right time for me to explore that world. I needed to ground myself in this world more firmly first, to feel that I had a home of my own, an Archimedean point.

My Ayahuasca trips are rarely very visual, but one mental image that kept coming back to me was of an empty white room, with a view of the blue sky and the blue sea. At the time, I thought this was probably a reaction to my life in Sussex where, in addition to feeling lethargic and unwell, I had felt oppressed by ‘stuff’ – the accumulated clutter of my lifetime, and my parents’ lifetime, and the clutter of previous generations. So many things, and they weighed on me, as a sense of family history also weighed on me. The empty white room was the opposite of that: a space in which to let go, to de-clutter, and to create.

I was able to experience a pared down, de-cluttered life in a Zen monastery in Japan some months later, and I found it very rewarding. But it was brutal too – the monastery was freezing, I was not allowed to wear socks or a hat, and the obligatory 4.30am morning meditation was followed by hours of floor cleaning, with a cold wet rag. But I soon felt calmer than I had done for years, though I also realised that I was not ready to make a longterm commitment to that kind of a life, though at some future point, who knows.

Back in Europe some months later, I joined a few friends on a short hiking holiday in Crete, inspired by the Patrick Leigh-Fermor and Stanley Moss’ kidnapping of the German General Kreipe in 1942, and their subsequent march across the mountainous centre of the island. General Kreipe had been dragging his feet, expecting to be rescued at any moment. On the first morning of his abduction he observed the sunrise on Mt. Ida and quoted the first verse of Horace’s ‘Ode to Thaliarcus’, describing a similar sunrise on Mt. Soractus in the Apennines. When he had finished, Patrick Leigh-Fermor – a classicist blessed with an excellent memory - quoted the remaining verses. The General was impressed and stopped dragging his feet from that point on. In his memoir, Patrick Leigh Fermor wrote, “…for a long moment, the war had ceased to exist. We had both drunk at the same fountains long before.”

I was blown away by the area of Crete that we were hiking through. The walk across Europe had re-sensitized me to the beauty of landscape, but these Cretan mountains were, I felt, the landscapes that I wished to get to know deeply, and one day to paint.

I won’t pretend that I found the actual empty white room of my Ayahuasca visions, but this place definitely had the right feel. It was here that I could imagine building that white room for myself, with its view of the sea and the sky.

I returned to the UK with a sense of excitement about the future that I had not felt for some time. I was finally finding some direction, even a sense of purpose.

Some readers may be thinking, fine, but what about teaching? What about psychotherapy? What about helping people? Maybe you should be less selfish, maybe if you had committed to those things, you would have found that sense of purpose?

I hear you, friend reader! But I felt I did commit, to the extent that I was capable at those times, and yet I was restless. Not despairing, but not exactly happy either. Does that matter? Should it not be enough just to feel that you are doing something worthwhile? I think it does matter. Happiness creates ripples, and if you are happy in yourself, then that will have a positive effect on all the interactions you have, and on all the people you meet. The uplifting interaction with a stranger in a supermarket may have more impact than the worthiest acts that are performed by someone who is profoundly miserable. We are not the originators of love or positivity; rather, we are conduits for those qualities, and we channel them most effectively when we are happy in ourselves.

Happiness, in this deep sense, is not a purely selfish thing. It benefits others too, and in some mysterious way it may even shape the world we live in. So do what makes you happy, but make sure you understand the distinction between sensory gratification and real happiness.

But isn’t the pursuit of happiness always self-defeating? We are happy until we ask ourselves whether we are happy, and then we realise we could be happier, and that makes us unhappy… Happiness is, in the words of Oliver Burkeman, a ‘delicate two-step’: aim at it too directly, and you will lose it.

There is truth in that. But at the same time, I think that there are certain constituents of happiness that will never let us down. Two of the most important, as Freud stated, are work and love. Work, at its best, should provide a sense of purpose, and also allow us to experience a state of flow, that sense of being fully absorbed in a task. Seen in this light, work can be very similar to concentration meditation; it allows the restless mind to settle.

To be in that state of flow and get paid for it is perhaps the holy grail. But even if we don’t get paid for it, we still need it. We might then describe it as a ‘hobby’, or perhaps it is simply unpaid work (like my mother ‘working’ in the garden), but the important thing is that we are having that experience.

We also need to feel love, or else we become brittle and emotionally atrophied. But that need not necessarily be romantic love. We can love our friends, or music, or a pet, or nature, or God; the important thing is to remove the blockages from that channel.

To return to my own story, I have known for some time that I need to rediscover the state of flow. My walk across Europe had reminded me of the power of landscape to move me. Crete’s rugged beauty impressed me deeply. When I was younger, I used to paint a lot. But in my 20s and early 30s, I did not find it dynamic enough. Now I think differently; the calming, meditative quality holds an appeal for me that I was not conscious of before. I made up my mind to return to Crete and devote myself to painting landscapes. And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the right thing to do.

I remembered a piece of advice from a letter that Hunter S. Thompson wrote to his friend Hume Logan. Logan requests career advice, to which Thompson replies: ‘…beware of looking for goals: look for a way of life. Decide how you want to live and then see what you can do to make a living WITHIN that way of life.’

When I imagine my future, I do not aspire to being surrounded by flapping assistants, chauffeured from meeting to meeting, plied with rich food and drink, signing cheques for the maintenance of houses and expensive toys. And estranged wives. No, I would much rather spend time in the landscapes that I love, building a relationship with them through meticulous observation, and recording that relationship through the act of painting. A direct relationship, not mediated through a digital screen, and – crucially – free from distractions. Hemingway said: ‘The man who has begun to live more seriously within begins to live more simply without.’ I want to live seriously within.

I have also been inspired by the film Jiro Dreams of Sushi, about an elderly Japanese sushi chef called Jiro. In my own life, I have not observed many people ageing well, by which I mean being happy and at peace with themselves and the world as they grow old. Jiro, though rather a tyrant in his restaurant, seems to me to be that rare bird: a happy old man. He still works every day, as he has done since his earliest youth, and he is driven by the same goal: to make the perfect mouthful of sushi, just a tiny fraction of a degree more delicious than anything he has ever made before. He has no interest in retirement, or even in holidays; what can they offer a man with so clear a sense of purpose?

Jiro is an artist. Perhaps he is lucky to have been born with a fine palate, and with so clear a sense of purpose. But perhaps we can decide on our purpose, and thereby make our own luck.

In the Amazon, the plants had not spoken to me, at least not through the medium of song. And yet, more and more, I feel that they are alive, and maybe that they do have spirits. Indeed, that all of nature is animate in that way. Painting is a way to concentrate on the natural world, and to explore these intuitions more deeply.

I know that landscape painting is not really part of the dialogue of contemporary art, but that doesn’t bother me. In fact, I think I prefer it that way. If you have got this far, you will have realised that I prefer the monologue anyway. In addition, landscape painting could have a moral dimension, since the more we appreciate the beauty and harmony of nature, the less likely we are to destroy it. Painting has the capacity not only to open the eyes of the artist, but of the viewer too. That is a worthy goal; to communicate something of the vision and the sensitivity.

Finally, perhaps I am starting to see painting as a secular form of worship; through it, I can express my gratitude for creation, and for the fact that I am here to appreciate it. And maybe that is our collective human purpose: we are nature becoming conscious of itself.

Back in London, I started taking Greek lessons at the Hellenic Centre. Then I bought a second-hand motorbike, tidied my affairs, and set off by motorbike for Crete. I took the ferry to Santander, arriving by night in the middle of a rainstorm, then crossed the north of Spain to Barcelona. I stayed with my old friend F, whom I had got to know 20 years before, when we both played for a rugby team in Barcelona. On the last night of my visit, his wife gave birth, two weeks early. He just managed to get her to the hospital in time, and I said goodbye to him and his wife, and their newborn baby, in the maternity ward the following morning.

I spent a week with other friends in France, then continued into Italy in the crucible of a heat-wave. Biking long distances is tiring at the best of times, but exhausting in 42 degrees, when the heat radiates off the motorway and you are clad in black leather. I had planned to bike through the Balkans, but there were wildfires in Albania, and I was finding it increasingly tough going. I crossed the north of Italy and then decided to take the ferry from Ancona to Greece. While biking the final leg from Patras to Athens, I felt euphoric; I had a strange sense of having finally come home. I thought of Cavafy’s poem ‘Ithaka’:

Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Greece is not my native soil, but I am beginning to feel that my journey has been a long one. Perhaps that is enough; anywhere can be home if we choose to make it so.

Except for the touristy areas, Athens in August is something of a ghost town. I only stayed a couple of days before continuing to Crete. I was afraid that it would not live up to my idealised recollections, but I need not have worried. I returned to the area I had visited in the spring, and it was as wild and beautiful as I remembered. I hiked, swam in the sea, painted watercolours, and observed the old men in the taverna at night. But despite the inspiring landscape, I soon realised that, at this point in my life, I would find life in this remote area of Crete too lonely. In addition, I am still a very long way from possessing the technical skill to paint the kind of pictures that I have in my head.

In September I returned to Athens. I started a course of intensive Greek lessons, and I spent my days crisscrossing the city on foot, getting to know different areas and looking for an apartment to rent, as well as a space to use as a painting studio. It was still very hot, and at times the language barrier could make life difficult. But things seemed to fall into place: I met good people and found spaces that far exceeded my hopes, both in terms of charm and affordability. I felt that I was experiencing first-hand my theory about positive energy: when you are happy and open to the universe and to others, then good things often fall into your lap. It seems more than just coincidence.

There are many things I love about Athens. Above all, I feel that people are less neurotic than in any other place I have ever lived. There is not the same restless quality. At times this can be challenging too; it often makes me realise how impatient I am, but that is a valuable lesson. At least once a day I have to say to myself, ‘You can’t hurry the Greeks.’

I love the absence of billboards and advertising in the city generally, and particularly on the underground. My mental space is more protected here, my consciousness not constantly invaded by disingenuous images telling me what products I need to buy in order to be happy, or what I should look like, or the kind of life that I should aspire towards. It’s very pleasant, but most Greeks are unaware of their good fortune in this respect, because it is all they know. I am tempted to draw a parallel with colour perception in the ancient world. There is no word for blue in ancient Greek, perhaps because, with all that immensity of sea and sky, the colour was so ubiquitous that the ancient eye was not trained to pick it out.

I love the fact that the bars and cafés are crowded with cheerful, attractive Athenians who will sip from one or two glasses of iced espresso all night. Their pleasure comes from conversation, from each other, and not from getting wasted.

I love the fact that this is not a nanny state. Occasionally you will see someone riding a motorbike, no helmet, cigarette between his lips, holding a phone to his ear, and with a dog perched on the fuel tank. Dangerous, yes, but free too.

There are many beautiful Greek girls. In some ways they are similar to Lebanese girls, but they are more natural looking. I love the sound of the language as they speak it. It has a delicate, tinkling quality, like a clear mountain stream.

I love the exaggerated respect that you are shown when you have to enter a PIN number anywhere. As soon as a shopkeeper or waiter has given you the portable terminal, he will retreat into a corner, closing his eyes and turning his back, as if you were handling a vial of anthrax rather than a credit card.

I love the fact that in a spinning class I went to, the strapping instructor came round before and after the class offering everyone chocolate truffles; during the class, he projected a sequence of Victoria’s Secret videos, which was an excellent distraction for me, and which the rest of the class – all girls - appeared to not to mind.

As a single person, I love the fact that in Greek the same word (‘ελευθερος’) means both ‘single’ and ‘free’.

I love the fact that internet dating has not caught on in Athens. Greeks prefer to speak to each other in person, and will still start conversations with strangers in a queue, rather than focus all their attention on their telephones. They think that there is something a little bit sad about conducting the affairs of the heart through an app, even when real world interactions mean running the risk of rejection. And, because they are less neurotic, the belief that the perfect partner is just one more swipe away has less traction.

Of course there have been challenging days too, particularly while I was struggling to find a place to live, owing to the boom in Airbnbs, and consequent dearth of furnished apartments on the domestic market. But often things felt not quite real. On one occasion, when I was frustrated after yet another rejection from a prospective landlord, I looked up to see a clown on an oversize unicycle cycling down hectic Piraeus street; as if the universe were telling me to take a deep breath and lighten up.

That is a just a very small moment, but it does tap into a much bigger question about the reality of the external world. For some time now I have wondered about the extent to which we are involved in the co-creation of what we perceive to be reality. I don’t think it is possible to take psychedelics and shamanic entheogens without at some point asking oneself these questions.

There is a famous thought experiment in philosophy: can we ever know that our experience is what we believe it to be, or could we just be disembodied brains in vats having our neuronal circuitry manipulated by mad scientists? In light of last year’s American election, when a clown in a toupée was elected President of the United States, the brain-in-a-vat theory suddenly seems quite plausible.

I am neither a solipsist nor an idealist in the Berkeleyan sense: I do believe that other people exist in meaningful ways, and not just because I have an idea of them. However, what interests me is the extent to which my ideas shape the experiences I have, and how they contribute to creating my ‘reality’. This is a big, and possibly unanswerable, question for metaphysics, but its implications are perhaps most evident in the field of psychology, where it has arisen in an pointed way for me in the context of making choices.

Choice is a sword with two very sharp edges. One the one hand, choice is a luxury and a privilege; the richer, more talented, more successful a person is, the more choice they often have. But on the other hand, it seems to me that nothing is quite as likely to cause neurosis, dissatisfaction, and avoidable suffering. To give a very simple example, I can find myself paralyzed before a supermarket shelf of different washing-up liquids: which is the best? Which is the cheapest? Which smell do I like best? Which colour do I prefer? What can this one do that the others can’t? On a bad day, the decision-making process is painful, probably because this one choice carries with it a little bit of all the other unmade choices in my life. However, if I go into the local corner store which stocks just one size and type of washing up liquid, I will buy it and be perfectly happy.

In small ways, I can find myself undone by choice. I am now consciously attempting to prevent those small ways from becoming bigger ways. For instance, I attend Tai Chi classes here in Athens. There are mornings when I don’t feel like going; I’m tired, or it’s raining, or I just don’t feel like it. I am currently experimenting with pretending that I don’t have a choice. I don’t allow myself to go down the decision-making path. Just do it. And I have to say that so far I feel much better for it.

Washing-up liquid and a Tai Chi class are of course very small things, but it is good to practise with the small things. The bigger things are, perhaps, choosing to move to Greece. I have moved to different countries and different cities in the past, but always in a provisional, transient way. I feel differently about this move, and that is having a beneficial effect on my own habitual inner restlessness. It is also, I think, the right kind of preparation for committing to this new career, and possibly even to a person.

Maybe I have just been rather slow to adopt this strategy. Years ago, I joined a Canadian-American friend in a cross-country skiing marathon from Norway to Sweden. My friend is affectionately known as Captain America, owing to his chiseled chin and robust all-round competence. I had flu on the day of the marathon and was running a temperature, not at all pleasant in -20 degrees. My progress was very slow, also because the phlegm in my lungs kept making me retch. My friend stuck loyally by my side for the first 30 kilometers or so, then – in a moment reminsicent of a Vietnam movie – I persuaded him to push ahead at his own speed. Captain America’s parting words to me were, ‘Remember: failure is not an option.’ I am not sure whether I found it all that motivating at the time, but now I recognise the effectiveness of that attitude.

But for me there is one problem with this approach, and it is a problem of intellectual consistency. Unfortunately, the pretence that I don’t have a choice does not sit well with my commitment to the existential perspective, as formulated philosophically by Sartre and psychotherapeutically by Irvin Yalom. Central to the existential perspective is the recognition that we have total choice, and total responsibility for our lives. There is no human ‘essence’; it is up to us to make of ourselves what we will. We are ‘condemned’ to be free, and any attempt to shirk that freedom is intellectually dishonest, personally inauthentic, and breaks faith with life (Sartre terms it ‘mauvaise foi’, bad faith).

Is my pretence that I don’t have a choice an example of bad faith? I’m not sure. It is a strategy that enables me to circumvent my own neurotic tendencies, a strategy that would have prevented Buridan’s ass from starving. Indeed, Buridan’s ass may have had a very happy life had he adopted it. And in my own case, it has not made me shrink from life. Quite the opposite: I have committed to Greece, to landscape painting, to learning Greek, and to practicing Tai Chi… all of these are slow processes, and this strategy helps me get over the little ups and downs. But I would not have been able to make these changes and commit to these things if I had not recognized my essential freedom in the first place.

This conflict is just a shadow of the more serious one that arises from my growing conviction that there are karmic principles at work in our lives. I am increasingly persuaded by the sages, mystics and monks who believe in reincarnation and who say that the point of our many lives is to lead us, finally, to liberation. There are many things I don’t understand: what aspect of ‘us’ gets reincarnated? How is it all organised? How can there be more people alive today than ever before? But what I like about reincarnation, and what seems intuitively correct, is that there is a point to our lives. Every new incarnation gives us the opportunity to burn through the accumulated negativity of past incarnations. Nothing happens by chance. The relationships that we have in this life are reconfigurations of similar constellations from the past; they repeat themselves until they have been fully resolved. When ‘bad’ things happen to us, they present us with the opportunity to resolve the blockages that are holding us back, and to grow in precisely the ways that we need. This is the amor fati of the Ancients; but is it true? Or is it just wishful thinking, the Panglossian optimism that Voltaire ridicules in ‘Candide’?

A part of me wants to follow Pascal and his wager: we can never know for sure, so why not believe what is most beneficial? There is no doubt that I am happier believing that there is a point to my life, that it is one of many lives, and that suffering has a reason and a purpose. Of course, one cannot choose to believe just anything. But I don’t have to try to force myself to believe this; it is in line with my intuitions.

As I have already indicated, I am increasingly persuaded by the idea that we are involved in creating the reality that we experience. Convince yourself that failure is not an option, and you are more likely to succeed. But does the same hold in the field of metaphysics? Do our thoughts, either individually or collectively, create the ‘reality’ we experience? I think that probably is the case: in significant ways, we think the world into being. The objective and subjective worlds are not completely distinct; if they are separated at all, it is only by a porous membrane. If you believe in reincarnation, then the belief alone may be enough to make it true. This is the perspective of many peoples and cultures down the ages: thought is primary and thinking (or dreaming, ‘dream-time’) creates the reality we experience.

Interestingly, there is no way to disprove this theory. If Western science looks at indigenous beliefs and shows them to be false – i.e. a mistaken representation of the way things really are – this is in fact exactly what the indigenous perspective would expect, since Western science is also just another reality that has been thought into being. There is no ‘way that things really are’; there are just different ways of thinking, and these create different realities.

Belief in reincarnation and the doctrine of karma also seems to presuppose a deterministic world. I once consulted a Vedic astrologer in South India; his reading of my natal chart was astonishingly accurate, and specific. I questioned him about the assumptions underlying the reading. He confirmed that, from the Vedic perspective, the world is fully determined. The outcome of this life, and of all future lives, is already known. We will never change the course of our lives – even the changes that we think we make have already been determined – but we can watch our lives unfold with curiosity.

Does this make life pointless and boring? Not at all. The Vedic astrologer drew the following parallel: Harry Potter’s life has been fully determined by the author, nevertheless, Harry himself does not know the outcome, and his life in each book is still vitally interesting to him - he believes that he is meaningfully shaping his future, although the author has already decided it.

What to make of this parallel with a fictional character? If thought creates reality, then in a sense we are fictional characters, either created by ourselves, or by some much greater ‘author’. Can this parallel shed light on the question of how to resolve the conflict between the radical freedom of existentialism, and the determined universe of reincarnation and Vedic thought? I don’t know, but I feel that resolving this conflict – at least to my personal satisfaction - may be the major intellectual task of the rest of my life.

In fact, it is a task that I have already embarked upon. Part of the reason why I am attracted to Zen Buddhism is because it appears to take one beyond rationality, to a world of pure awareness, a world that is not subject to the rules of thought, and that transcends conflicts of logic. The point of the Zen koan, as I understand it, is to shake us out of our ordinary way of thinking, and to give us an intimation that the world in its suchness is not as we assume it to be. These ideas are hard to frame in language, because language is itself a function of the rules that govern thought (non-contradiction, identity and so on); what Zen attempts to convey is a different perspective, beyond reason and hence also beyond ordinary language.

In the end – at the end of life, at the end of thought – perhaps the best model is provided by the ancient lama in Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Kim’. At the end of his pilgrimage, he returns to the mountains and says: ‘These are indeed my hills. Thus should a man abide, perched above the world, separated from delights, considering vast matters.’

I am finally content where I am, and not ready to perch above the world, separated from delights. But nor am I free from all anxiety. I do, for instance, wonder whether I will ever be able to paint landscapes that will match the images in my head. But here again Jiro Dreams of Sushi has provided me with inspiration. From that film, I learnt that a sushi chef in Japan spends the first two years of his career just learning how to make rice. One cannot rush things. Start small, and stay the course. In my own case, I will start with still lives, and little by little, improve my technique (should you wish, you can follow my progress via instagram: konrad_ratibor_bohemian). If I find flow, and practise diligently, then I am hopeful that one day I will create work that I am happy with. But perhaps, in order to retain the sense of purpose, one must always keep aiming a little bit higher, as Jiro does.

The life of an artist may seem very self-involved to you. It often does to me. But then I think that perhaps the greatest contribution that anyone can make is to find a way of life that makes them happy, and to share the path that got them there. Maybe in the end it can be the artist’s life that inspires others to follow their own passion, whatever it is, and realise happiness for themselves. I will conclude with Dr. Hollis’ formulation of the same sentiment in ‘What Matters Most’:

‘Maybe all of us will learn to grapple with the paradox that living our lives more fully is not narcissism, but service to the world when we bring a more fully achieved gift to the collective. We do not serve our children, our friends and partners, our society by living partial lives, and being secretly depressed and resentful. We serve the world by finding what feeds us, and, having been fed, then share our gift with others.’

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the-record-columns · 5 years ago

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Sept. 11, 2019: Columns

A forgotten father-in-law

The grave marker for Albert L. Hamby in the cemetery of Stony Hill Baptist Church in Purlear

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Anyone who reads this space knows I like to write about mother-in-laws.

For a guy who has managed to get married every time he turns around, I have lots to choose from.

Father-in-laws, however, are another matter entirely. My relationship with them all was good to downright wonderful. I have often written stories about my favorite father-in-law, Dr. William L. Bundy. He is the one with whom, I by far, spent the most time, both during my stint with his daughter, and thereafter—when he would make me feel good by still introducing me as, "Kenneth, my son-in-law."

But today, I want to talk about my first father-in-law, Albert Hamby. Al for short.

Yes, the husband of my famous mother-in-law of the family reunion/burning hot dogs.

Albert was born in1916 in the Purlear area of Wilkes. While his education was very limited, Al had a talent for sizing up a stand of timber like no other, and made a good living doing just that. He was a World War II Army veteran who was on the beaches of Normandy on June 6, 1944. While he was pretty closed mouth about the war, later on he did share one story with me.

And one only.

It was several days into the Normandy invasion and he was among thousands of troops fighting their way inland. Al, like all his brothers, was a crack shot with his rifle, an ability borne of hunting the forests of Wilkes from his early childhood. He was proud, he said, that when he sighted in on a target, he knew it was going to be a deadly hit most every time.

To that end, his story begins. Again, his aim was deadly and as he approached a dead German soldier he had just killed, he thought about getting a souvenir or two. He said he had walked by several men he knew he had just shot, but never stopped and for the life of himself, he couldn't say why he stopped this time. A German Luger pistol was an oft taken prize and he took one off that soldier.

Then he saw a wallet in a coat pocket. He took it out, opened it up, and his life changed forever that day. Thinking about retrieving some German money, he instead was struck like a bolt of lightning by a photo of the soldier, his wife, and his three children staring up at him. Albert said he threw down the wallet and the gun and ran to another place for cover. For seven days he didn't fire his rifle. When there was someone who might notice, he said he pretended to be on guard and prepared to fire, but never did.

All he could see was those five folks staring up at him in that wallet as if from a grave, and the realization that the soldier he killed was doing just what he was doing—as he was taught, and as he was told.

At some later point, as he basically went through the motions of being a soldier until an artillery round came so close to him that the sound of the explosion practically deafened him and killed several soldiers near him. From that moment on, he resigned himself that it was kill or be killed, and resumed being an active soldier for the duration of the war.

I don't know why Albert Hamby was on my mind this morning. Perhaps it was the fact that today is September 11, or that this year is the 75th anniversary of D-Day, but he is a good man to remember any day.

While I was still married to his daughter, Albert sold off his logging equipment and got all his affairs in order. He then told his family he just didn't feel well, and it turned out he had a massive brain tumor that robbed him of his life in 1974.

He was just 57 years old.

He was the proverbial good old country boy.

His handshake was his bond.

He was proud of his service to his country.

He signed a note to help a scrawny son-in-law buy a car.

He died too soon.

Albert Lee Hamby

May 29, 1916-March 24, 1974

Rest in Peace

Incentive to kill

By AMBASSADOR EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

Special to The Record

Most would agree that crime doesn’t pay, and they would be right, unless the reference is to jailed Palestinian murderers and terrorists. You see, if a Palestinian murders a Jew and is captured, tried, convicted and incarcerated by the fair and impartial Israeli judicial system, they and their families will receive hefty lifetime monthly payments from the Palestinian Authority. There’s something very wrong with this picture.

As a reference point, almost 16 years ago, Palestinian terrorists from Gaza carried out two consecutive suicide attacks in Israel; one at a bus stop near a hospital and military base and the other at a cafe on a busy street in Jerusalem. A total of 75 Jewish people were injured, some losing limbs and eyes, and 16 others lost their lives. Since that time, the Palestinian Authority has paid 3,248,900 NIS (New Israeli Shekel) in financial rewards to those who carried out these two attacks. In U.S. dollars, that equates to more than $800,000. To put this in a context to which all can relate, that’s more than $32,000 per year for 25 years with no end in sight. Quite a nice retirement pension and this is in addition to the payments received by the families.

Among the victims of the cafe attack were Dr. David Applebaum and his daughter Nava, who was to be married the day after the attack. American-born Dr. Applebaum was chief of the emergency room and trauma services of Jerusalem's Shaare Zedek Medical Center and a specialist in emergency medicine. Before the attack he had just participated in a symposium where he taught terror-trauma procedures to medical professionals. It’s important to note that Israeli medical professionals treat the victims of suicide (homicide) attacks as well as the perpetrators, if they survive their evil deed. Ironically, in the emergency room, the innocent victims may be receiving treatment right next door to the person who perpetrated the crime and Israeli doctors do not discriminate. Their job is to save lives and they do it well. Any judging is left to God and the justice system.

Alon Mizrachi, the security guard at the café, was killed when he identified the suicide bomber and shoved him toward the door just as he exploded. While Mr. Mizrachi died, his quick actions saved many others. Alon Mizrachi was the uncle of Ziv Mizrachi, an IDF soldier who was murdered by a Palestinian terrorist in November 2015. There is virtually no one in Israel who has not been impacted by Palestinian terrorists in some way yet the olive branch of peace is constantly extended only to have the Palestinians trample it underfoot.

The PA has vowed to continue paying martyrs and terrorists and has even taken their “pay for slay” program to a higher level. Those who manufacture the suicide belts used by the terrorists now also receive monthly salaries of 7000 NIS or approximately $1750.00 USD per month. The average Palestinian could work a 60 hour work-week and not earn this much!

So, back to the question of, “Does crime pay?” The answer is yes, crime does pay if you happen to be a Palestinian who wants to kill Jews.

Payments to terrorists are guaranteed by Chairman Mahmoud Abbas (a.k.a. Abu Mazen) and his Palestinian Authority (PA). In addition to guaranteeing terrorists in Israeli prisons a monthly salary, the PA passed the “Law of Prisoners and Released Prisoners” act which prohibits the PA from signing any peace agreement that does not include the release of all the Palestinian terrorists being held in Israeli prisons and this includes the murderers.

The world is insane to expect Israel to live side by side with such evil-minded people. The days are long behind us when we could count on people, especially our elected officials, to “do the right thing.” Those who know the truth have a duty and an obligation to speak out in support of Israel by using our voices, our pens, and our votes.

Pass the Pawpaw Please

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

Carolina days in late summer provide us with humid warm weather, afternoon showers and the anticipation of a colorful fall season.

This time of the year also provides a forgotten or little know tasty treat.

As with all things, there are those “in the know” who are glad our largest native American fruit remains somewhat elusive. It means less competition in finding and consuming this vintage delicacy.

In case you haven’t guessed, I’m talking about the Pawpaw fruit. While it is grown in about half the nation, due to its short harvest season, ease of bruising and short shelf life, the pawpaw is not found in common grocery stories. You may find them at local farmers markets and even then, only for a few weeks during the year.

I have had the opportunity to introduce the curious fruit to several people this year. Some have said that it will take some getting used to and others have proclaimed their profound gratitude for the introduction. To me, the Pawpaw has the blended flavor of a mango, banana and pineapple.

A few words of wisdom to those new to the Pawpaw: It’s a bit like a custard. It’s important to pick them when they are ripe. They are best when the flesh is yellow and soft, but not too dark and mushy, unless that’s the way you love them.

It’s flexible and can be used in just about anyway you like. It’s like anything else, you just need to experiment and see if you find something that works for you. Pawpaw ice cream is a favorite of many. A cup and half of mashed Pawpaw, two cups of cream, two cups milk, a cup of sugar, a teaspoon of vanilla extract and five egg yokes. Apply your ice cream making method and then you will have an amazing treat.

For those of a certain age, the Pawpaw Patch Song will bring back memories. The Pawpaw Patch Song has several regional versions. This is one of more common versions of the youthful folk song:

Where, oh where is pretty little Susie?

Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch.

Come on, boys [or girls, or kids], let’s go find her,

Come on, boys, let’s go find her,

Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch.

Pickin’ up paw-paws, puttin’ ‘em in her pockets,

Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch.

It’s hard to say how many Pawpaws you can get in your pocket because they vary in sizes.

Dr. Greg Reighard, a Professor in the Department of Plant and Environmental Sciences at Clemson University, is conducting research on Pawpaws. Clemson Musser Fruit Research Center has a good size grove of Pawpaw Trees with a variety of cultivars. The fruit can be small or up to a pound or more. So, you might only get one of those in your pocket.

While the flesh is good to eat, you should not eat the skin or the seeds. A lot of research is being done on the tree leaves and bark as they seem to have anti-cancer properties.

Another note of nature wonderment; The beautiful Zebra Swallowtail Butterfly comes for the larvae that take its primary food source from the leaf of the Pawpaw tree.

Please pass the Pawpaw; It’s warm outside and I need to make some ice cream.

Carl White is the Executive Producer and Host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In The Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its 11th year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturday’s at noon and My 12. The show also streams on Amazon Prime. For more information visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com. You can email Carl at [email protected]

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mossadspypigeon · 3 months ago

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yeah judging everyone based on 2 assholes is guess what @heatedinsanity...demonizing a group of people.

also no one is currently combat-bombing judea samaria. so if your "uncle" is involved in bombing gaza...yes, the idf does know where hamas is operating much of the time, but there are times when they are in the dark because of tunnel systems and your blorbos having military bases in CIVILIAN FUCKING HOMES. MAYBE BLAME HAMAS. but no, bombings ARE mostly precise, not just "heh i think i'll bomb over here," which is how the idf has killed thousands of members of hamas and PIJ. as well as most of their and hezbollah's leadership.

plus, i have heard very different accounts from people who are commanders of these units. so it sounds like, once again, you're making shit up. just like you saying our cultural stories, which have basis in facts btw and can be traced through artifacts like the merneptah stele and through the GRAVES of the people involved, are "national mythology." lmao folk stories are not national mythology, dingus. they are part of the human experience and what makes us different from other species.

anarchists truly know nothing about human nature or human history.

also dumbass, the "rapists" were acquitted because medical evidence showed the terrorist self-inflicted those wounds.

people were rioting because of the lack of support of soldiers. also the terrorists held at sde teiman? WERE UNDER SUSPICION OF HAVING PARTICIPATED IN OCT 7. so yes, a small amount of people didn't care how they were treated. i don't blame them after all the rape, murder, torture, and kidnapping that happened at the hands of HAMAS AND PALESTINIAN CIVILIANS on oct 7.

once again, you believe al jazeera lmao. sad.

wish I could blast all goyim with the message: THE VAST MAJORITY OF JEWS ARE ZIONISTS until they feel so guilty and terrible and change their ways. like even if you, jew reading this, do not id as a zionist, there's a 99% chance your folks and grandparents do (assuming they are jewish). every jew in my family is a zionist. hell I'm a zionist but I've never actually said it out loud on my blog, merely implied it. I want israel to continue to exist. I think israel has the right to exist. like that's the most basic belief right there.

I think a lot of leftie goyim are only staving off the inevitable meltdown at realizing that they are disgusting jew haters by living in this fantasy world where "zionist" and "jew" doesn't have a 98% overlap with some room for like, evangelicals who want us all to go to israel to start the rapture or whatever :/

like. if you hate zionists. you hate jews. you are trying to split squares into two different groups. the bad squares and the good squares. they're all squares, buddy.

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swawesome-wow · 7 years ago

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If you wanted people to be informed, you'd have mentioned Palestinian terrorists and Hamas. You'd have mentioned the suicide bombings and hundreds of murdered innocent Israelis. You'd have mentioned the Palestinian leadership that first declined coexistence in 1948 and rejected every offer of peace since then. You'd have mentioned lies and propaganda and blood libel against Jews, thought in Palestinian schools. You care about playing the victim. But it's an old game. And you'll lose.

I wasn’t going to take the time to respond, but it’s summer break, and I refuse to let you hide behind anonymity and not learn a little something while you’re there.

1. “If you wanted people to be informed, you’d have mentioned Palestinian terrorists and Hamas. You’d have mentioned the suicide bombings and hundreds of murdered innocent Israelis.”

Oh yes, how could I forget to talk about Palestinian terrorists and Hamas. The thousands upon thousands of innocent Israelis killed. Wait, what’s that? 1,213 Israelis have been killed since September 29, 2000. 9,478 Palestinians have been killed since September 29, 2000. I have never claimed that Palestinians have not killed innocent Israelis. Those numbers are only since the year 2000. Israel has occupied Palestine for 50 years, give or take, as you yourself aptly admitted by bringing up the conference in 1948. There is immense loss on both sides, though one has lost nearly 9x as many lives. However, comparing it numerically is extremely reductive, not only are you wrong numerically, you’re ignoring why people have been slaughtered on both sides, and what brought everyone to this point. There is no “justifying” the murder of Israelis by Palestinians, there is only understanding why these killings happened, holistically, and understanding the context.

People refer to it now as the Israeli-Palestinian “Conflict, Divide, etc.” But before recent, heavy political and monetary support of Israel, it was called the Palestinian Genocide, for good reason.

2. “You’d have mentioned the Palestinian leadership that first declined coexistence in 1948 and rejected every offer of peace since then.”

Let me make this very, painfully clear.

Palestine does not owe coexistence to Israel. Israel is an occupying state, an oppressive state, and one that has committed genocide against the Palestinian people.

To bring it down to your level of understanding, the Palestinians were there first. Palestinians of EVERY religion, including Judaism, though I’ll touch on that later. The Palestinian leadership has been lamentable, no one is denying that. But let me put it this way:

Let’s say America was invaded today, by, say, Canada. (Sorry Canada, you were the first country to pop into my head, since I owe half my citizenship to you.) After things calm down enough for the leaders to meet, Trudeau says to *shudder* Trump (or even Obama, in this fake scenario, would make the same decision), “Hey man, I know you were here first and everything, and I know we bloodily invaded you, but like, let’s just coexist, like on that bumper sticker you guys are so fond of.” Do you honestly think the President of the United States of America, would EVER agree to something like that? Seriously? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. Even 50 years later, America would still be fighting for its freedom from its maple-drenched oppressors. So why are you holding Palestine to such ridiculous standards?

I am truly saddened by the violence that has stemmed from this entire situation, but until Israeli soldiers stop wrongfully arresting, imprisoning, and killing Palestinians, even children, I don’t think you can possibly hope for “peace.”

My grandmother, a few years back on a return visit to Palestine after she fled so many years ago to Canada, was stopped at the border wall (yes, there is a wall there, in case people were unaware) for eight hours, for no reason. She was not charged with anything, neither were her daughters, my aunts, that were with her. Her crime was being Palestinian. I wonder what that sounds like.

Oh yes, and because of that wall, the already pitiful economy of the Gaza Strip has crumbled, and they have no way of rebuilding it. Even if Palestinians find jobs in Israel, they’re backed up for hours each day just trying to get processed through the wall in either direction. They’ve been economically choked off from the rest of the world, yet Israel continues to receive monetary aid as if they’re in desperate need.

3. “You’d have mentioned lies and propaganda and blood libel against Jews, thought in Palestinian schools. You care about playing the victim. But it’s an old game. And you’ll lose.”

Once again, I need to make something crystal clear. So listen up. \

Palestinians do not hate Jews. They hate the Israeli government. Not Israelis, not Jews, the Israeli government, because that is the body that is responsible for Palestinian suffering.

Since I was in elementary school, any time someone found out I had Palestinian parents, they immediately made quips or even stated directly that I must hate Jewish people. I had someone say “oh, so you’re anti-Semitic.” I’ve had people ask me if myself or my parents are terrorists (and I used to be Christian, now I don’t practice anything, my point being that I can’t imagine how hard it is for any Muslims). This misconception is so widespread that it’s toxic, killing any reasonable discourse on the subject by people stamping me with the anti-Semite sticker. So, I’m sorry, I haven’t had the chance to play the victim. Let me know how that goes for you.

What I said earlier, about all religions coexisting? Let me elaborate.

For the thousands of years that Palestine has existed, Christians, Muslims, Jews, ~whatever~ lived side by side, happily and comfortably. Another misconception is that the Israeli movement came from within Palestine, which is just plain misinformation. This is a very, very reductive explanation of what actually happened, forgive me for not being more detailed:

When the second World War ended, there were thousands upon thousands of displaced European Jews (mostly German as you might imagine, but elsewhere as well). When Europe (and America) tried to figure out where to help these people relocate, no one wanted to take them in, deciding it would be too difficult to reintegrate. Palestine had the room and the kind heart needed to take them in, so that’s where many were relocated, en masse. But it was a finite time that Palestine agreed to host these refugees as refugees, they would eventually need to either integrate with the Palestinian people (gain citizenship, etc), or decide where they would want to move, if not stay there. But the relationship began to change, as some began to perpetuate the idea that they belonged there all along, and that the Palestinians were the ones that needed to leave or integrate elsewhere. As with most conflict, religion took a match and set it to kerosene, as suddenly Jerusalem was the center of the occupier’s claims to the land. While I won’t try to argue about it as I’m not informed enough on religious history, I will say that it is entirely possible to create a religious homeland without literally invading the country and creating a religious state. Church and state are separate for a reason, and have to cooperate, not override one another.

So there are plenty of Palestinian Jews that understand and are outraged at the Israeli government, though they have been left out of intentional eviction, arrests, torture, and killings.

COMIC RELIEF BREAK that is actually somewhat related but I promise it’s funny:

One time my mom was telling me about something that happened over in Palestine to friends of our family so word made it back to us. Like I said, the three major religions were living pretty happily together, especially where these friends lived. The IDF was evicting all the Palestinians from a neighborhood to allow Israeli settlers to take over. Our friends were one of the families kicked out, and they were best friends with the Jewish family next door! So when the IDF came knocking on the Jewish family’s door to offer them the keys to their best friends’ house, (they were Jews so they were allowed to stay with the new Israelis coming in), the husband of the family was FURIOUS. He started to back-talk, offended at the very thought, but his wife (the really clever one in this story) shut him up and took the keys. The husband couldn’t believe his wife would betray their best friends like that, but she just rolled her eyes in a “you idiot” fashion. They had the keys now, and they promptly gave them back to their best friends so they could reclaim their property! I always thought that story was hilarious :D

While I am disgusted at the thought that you could somehow compare this entire subject to a game, if that’s the only way you can comprehend such a vast discourse, I’m happy to oblige the metaphor: The only “loser” here is the one who can’t think for themselves and hasn’t done a little goddamn research, you soggy walnut.

Speaking of research! Here are a couple of resources for those who have been following along! I honestly can’t say that the second is an unbiased source, however if you’re looking for straight statistics and numbers, check out the first link! It’s where I got the exact numbers I used above. If you want the international law/human rights perspective, check out the third link. Thanks y’all!

http://ifamericaknew.org

http://www.globalresearch.ca/israels-genocide-towards-palestinian-arabs/5591341 (thanks canada)

https://ccrjustice.org/genocide-palestinian-people-international-law-and-human-rights-perspective (really good source explaining the international law and human rights perspective on the issue)

#palestine #israel #palestinian #palestinian genocide #israeli occupation #international law #human rights #anon #swawesome is pissed right off

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nickyhemmick · 4 years ago

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Hi, be careful what information you post on the conflict as it’s not as one sided as you’re making it out to be. Israel is being attacked as well. I’m not saying everything Israel is doing is correct, by no means is that true. But innocent people are getting hurt on both sides and that’s not okay. A lot of the posts I’ve seen have just been thinly valid antisemitism, so be careful the ones you reblog as well. You can be anti Israel without being vitriolic to the innocent people who live there. Palestine is not as innocent as everyone claims they are, but they don’t deserve to be kicked out of there homes either. Israel is complicated but innocents don’t deserve to be killed either. A lot of people post about Palestine blindly, I just encourage you to look into both sides a bit more and not make it out to be a situation with one right answer. If it was then this problem would have been solved a long time ago.

~ A Very Stressed American Jew

blah blah blah both sides blah blah blah Palestine isn’t innocent blah blah.

For the stuff about anti-semitism: yeah I agree. People can be posting things that are anti Semitic while pretending to be anti-Israel. I’ve reblogged stuff abt that fact, too. And I always try to make sure what I’m reblogging is talking abt Israel’s cruelty and doesn’t mention anything anti-Semitic. If you see something that I’ve reblogged and you feel it’s anti-Semitic, then let me know.

Second of all: the only 2 sides there are is the oppressor and the oppressed. Palestinians are the fucking oppressed, and I say this as a Palestinian (and an American!) If you want to see how “complicated” this problem is then go onto Twitter and watch the videos Palestinians are sharing and THEN tell me we aren’t innocent. Like bro, throwing rocks or rockets in SELF DEFENSE is 1000000% justified and something I will always defend. Don’t go to Israeli media (which, anyway, doesn’t mind showing you the gang beat-ups of Palestinians lol)

Also, while you are saying there are Israeli citizens that are innocent (which yes, 100% true) you seem to ignore the Israeli citizens out in the streets calling for lynching of Palestinians, entering homes to kill fathers in front of their children, raping the women, forcing themselves into Palestinian homes, and calling for the death of all Arabs, all with the help of the IDF and police. Don’t fucking tell me the citizens are all innocent, many of them are part of this and have been for generations. They are just as complicit as their government in this. I don’t care if they were brainwashed into all the hate they feel, they still are out there adding more fire to the problems. (And NO, I am not referring to IDF soldiers who are forced into duty in this).

The US has brainwashed you into thinking that Palestinians are horrible, that there are two equal sides, that it is a very complicated mind-boggling situation that can’t be solved! That’s all false. I implore you to look at Palestinan sources, both videos, pictures and websites like decolonizepalestine dot com. You already have some awareness of the reality from your ask, but you telling me there’s “both sides” is telling me you have some more work to do. This has been a 73 year old war. Simple. Israel, when attacked, has the Iron Dome, their citizens have bomb shelters, they have a million other protections Palestinians don’t. Palestinians, when attacked, have none of that. They suffer. They die. They get raped. We always pay the larger cost in whatever rocket fire is expelled. Netanyahu said he will bomb Gaza until there is silence. Yeah, that totally sounds like a complicated situation!

No. That simply won’t do. And if you do want to do your readings, do not read Zionist powered publications like the New York Times and the New York post and the like. I repeat that I agree that there is a lot of anti-Semitism in anti-Israel posts, but none of my posts have reflected that, and if they have let me know and I will take them down. This isn’t a religious matter and I understand that, there are Palestinian Jewish ppl as well! They are also suffering under this racist colonial rule

But Palestinians are innocent. We are. We one MILLION percent are. Just because we are fighting back after generations of colonialism, abuse, murder and rape doesn’t make us any less innocent. It makes us fucking fighters for our rights, because a lot of people don’t give a fuck about us and haven’t for 7 decades. Don’t forget that Israel is the instigator of the violence, all the way from 1948. Israel is being attacked because we’re fed up, and it’s not like we’re making much damage anyway, so don’t try to make it out to be that there are both sides that are equal here. Because that isn’t true.

#tala gets asks #anon #palestine tag #plus theres a lot of islamophobia in both pro israel posts & israeli propaganda #also read articles from previous idf soldiers that are now palestinian activits #activists* i have a few if u want them #and also i have BEEN to palestine a handful of times #ive BEEN to jerusalem #ive seen some of this crap with my own eyes #so dont u dare come here and tell me we arent innocent #we are #i have family in the middle of this conflict rn #my aunt who is a doctor is sheikh jarrah who is seeing all this horror #i know how one sided it is #do u?#free. palestine.

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the-record-columns · 5 years ago

Text

Oct. 30, 2019: Columns

Watching TV with Sgt. Valentine

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

When I was a small boy living with my parents in an apartment on Hinshaw Street in North Wilkesboro, there was an older couple living upstairs who had become very close to my mom and dad.

Their names were Stella and Isaac Valentine, Sergeant Valentine, to be exact; who had been through the Spanish American War, World War 1 and World War II. To say he was a career soldier was an understatement—he got angry when he was told he couldn't go to Korea.

Stella was like a grandmother to me, telling me often that, when I was a baby, she pulled me around in a little red wagon, and, like my mother, Cary, Stella would often remind me that she named me Kenneth and that I was a perfectly darling child.

I grew up on Hinshaw Street in the 1950's, and the Roy Cashion family, who lived in the house just below our apartment, and the Valentines upstairs, both had televisions. I would often watch cartoons on Saturday mornings with the Cashion girls, but most evening television I saw was when we would go upstairs to see “...The Sarge,” as Pa would say.

It was on these evening visits that I saw and came to love such shows as “I love Lucy,” “The Jack Benny Show,” “The Ed Sullivan Show,” “The Red Skelton Show,” and “The Jackie Gleason Show,” all for just pure fun. For action and drama, we had James Arness (and Miss Kitty) in “Gunsmoke” and Broderick Crawford in “The Highway Patrol.” An aside to Broderick Crawford; in 1949, he starred in the movie about he life of Huey Long, “The Kingfish” of Louisiana politics. The movie was called “All the Kings Men,” and it was a classic, and actually makes me thing a bit about the bitterness in politics today.

Moving right along, a couple of the shows were the most memorable to me “The Jack Benny Show,” starring the oldest 39-year-old man on the planet was some of the best dry-wit humor I have ever seen. Benny, along with his gravel-voiced sidekick Rochester, dealt with Benny's vanity and legendary penny-pinching-miserly ways through some wonderfully hilarious routines.

However, I suppose it was “The Jackie Gleason Show,” that I liked the best of all, and that was because of the classic skits Gleason and Art Carney produced called “The Honeymooners.” While I rarely ever admit that a computer has any use— except to stress people out who are writing on a deadline—if you take time to look up those old Honeymooner episodes, you will truly be entertained and amazed. Gleason played a hard-luck blowhard New York bus driver named Ralph Kramden, and Carney was the perfect straight man—along with Audrey Meadows as Kramden's long-suffering wife, Alice. Week after week Kramden got into one scrape or another while usually trying to get by with one scam or another by pulling the wool over Alice's eyes, only to ultimately be busted and looking foolish. No matter the circumstance or the plot of these skits, however, they always wound up well with Ralph holding Alice in his arms and ending with his trademarked line, 'Baby, you're the greatest!”

Now, for the thing that brought me to this column to begin with—the late Muhammad Ali. This may seem like a stretch, but switch gears in your mind to anytime you have seen Ali in the news in the past several years—a shaking shell of what he used to be.

When I would go to the Valentines apartment with Dad on Friday nights to watch television, there was a weekly program called the Gillete Cavalcade of Sports—the Friday Night Fights.

Boxing.

The old Sarge loved to watch boxing, and it was his TV, so we all watched with him. Even back in those days, long before medical issues were ever being raised, my daddy The Preacher wondered aloud about the point of boxing matches. I cannot honestly remember exactly how he would put it, but it was to the effect of; “If the object of the game is to injure the other player to the point of being unconscious, what is sporting about it.”

On the news during the coverage of Muhammad Ali's death in June of 2016, I heard it noted several times that he had taken 29,000 blows to the head during his boxing career.

Yes, 29,000.

Palestinian leader sentences 7-year-old Palestinian boy to death

By AMBASSADOR EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

It seems paying salaries to terrorists is more important to the Palestinian Authority (PA) than continuing to pay for the highly successful, though incomplete, leukemia treatment for a 7-year-old Palestinian boy in Israel’s Ichilov Hospital.

Since his diagnosis in 2015, Majed has been receiving cutting edge treatment in Israel by Israeli specialists but the heartless PA recently ended his treatment. The family of Majed Muhammad Majed Ah-Sha'er has appealed to PA President Mahmoud Abbas, also known as Abu Mazen, to change his decision but as of today, it remains the same. Young Majed is being used as a political weapon against Israel. In keeping with their “victimhood” narrative, the PA is claiming that young Majed could die and they are blaming it on Israel!

The Palestinian Authority is currently facing a dire, but self inflicted, financial crisis due to a decision by PA Chairman Mahmoud Abbas to drag the Palestinian economy into an abyss. Rather than use the revenue in their coffers to pay for much needed medical care for Palestinians like Majed, the PA would rather direct their financial resources to preserving the PA's policy of encouraging terror by rewarding terrorists and their families with generous salaries.

Israel put an end to the Palestinian “Pay for Slay” program by withholding the amount ($138,000,000) the PA admitted to using from the tax revenues collected by Israel on its behalf, to pay salaries to terrorists. The PA views terrorists as their soldiers and therefore they claim to have a responsibility to pay terrorists and their families who are acting on behalf of the Palestinian Authority by fighting the enemy - Israel. So, in order to make up for the shortfall in revenue needed to pay the terrorists, the PA has decided to cut medical payments to Israel for the treatment of those Palestinians who need medical care beyond that which is available in Gaza or the West Bank.

Israel has collected more than $138,000,000 in tax revenue on behalf of the Palestinian Authority but the PA is refusing to receive the remaining tax money. They want it all or nothing without regard to the hardships this creates for Palestinian people like Majed and his family. Such decisions have little impact on Palestinian leaders, such as Jibril Rajoub, who recently received medical care at the same Israeli hospital where young (though poor) Majed was receiving treatment.

Abbas' decision to refuse the tax revenues from Israel is based on the PA's basic principle that the terrorists - all of them, without distinction between stone throwers and murderers, between members of Fatah or Hamas or Palestinian Islamic Jihad or the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, and so on - did not carry out acts of terror but only did what the PA "ordered them to do" therefore they are soldiers and deserving to be paid.

Israel is willing to give to the PA the funds it is withholding if the PA will agree to stop their “Pay for Slay,” or “murder for hire,” program. Thus far they have refused.

The Palestinians would rather send young Majed and others like him to early graves rather than stop paying murderers to kill Jews. This is pure evil.

Banjos, Gold and a few Ghost Stories

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

The room was filled with visual displays of history and the sounds of Bluegrass music. I found myself in the midst of the long running weekly Friday night Bluegrass gathering with an audience of enthusiastic toe tapping fans.

I’m also a big a fan of Bluegrass music and the culture that defines it. A few years back, during an on location production trip to Leatherwood Mountains in the Blue Ridge, I had a long conversation with Jared Shumate. I had been considering producing a program about the culture of Bluegrass music for some time. I wanted to hear Jared’s thoughts because of his work as an associate producer on Life In The Carolinas. More than that we had the common experience of growing up in the foothills of North Carolina where great Bluegrass music is common place. It was during that conversation that the decision was made to launch The Bluegrass People, which can best be described as a living organic documentary project; it has a growing national and international following.

Over the years I have made several trips to Gold Hill NC for different stories, including the Friday night bluegrass event at the Montgomery General Store, run by Vivian and Hoppy. Vivian Hopkins is a business owner, an author, musician, road scholar and the President of the NC Bluegrass Music Association. Most important, she has become a wonderful friend and has worked with me on many projects, including The Bluegrass People.

Gold Hill is a charming historic destination with a definite place in history. It was once said by the mayor of Charlotte that he hoped that one day Charlotte would become as prosperous as Gold Hill. It is noteworthy that his wish did come true. The reason for the area's great wealth was due to the fact that Gold Hill was a successful gold mining community that predated the great California Gold Rush. Nearby Reed Gold Mine, established in 1799, has the prestige of being the first gold mine in America.

The dirt streets from the past have been paved. However, a wooden boardwalk on each side of the street gives you a sense of days gone by. It looks a bit like a movie set, but the buildings and the people are real.

I discovered that there are many ghost stories relating to the time when Gold Hill was thriving. The area was home to thousands of miners, hotels, salons, brothels and a few churches. There are stories of fits of rage with love gone wrong, business dealings gone afoul and just plain horrific accidents that cost the lives of many. So if there were to be a place with a good offering of ghost stores, Gold Hill certainly has a past that fosters that notion.

I had the opportunity to produce a TV special on the subject of the Gold Hill’s history and ghost stories, and there were things that happened that I have no answer for. I did not feel fear or threatened in any way, but I do understand why these ghost stories have survived the passage of time.

I love discovering places that have many sides to them. You know, the kind of place where every time you visit you find something new.

Gold Hill has given me several gifts. I have enjoyed music and the family-like spirit that represents an important part of the wonderful culture of this region. I have learned more about American history and how gold was a game changer for so many.

I have walked where some of our ancestors walked and where some say they still do.

Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its eleventh year of syndication. For more on the show visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com and join the free weekly email list. It’s a great way to keep up with the show and things going on in the Carolinas. You can email Carl White at [email protected].

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