Crumbs In Our Wake

Crumbs in Our Wake

As we walk the quiet streets of our cities in the assumed isolation of our seemingly contented spaces, we so easily and unknowingly leave crumbs of who and what we are in our wake.

Others, like pigeons of the air, swoop down and peck away at those crumbs, a meal provided by the divine hand of providence, in whom we can scarcely believe cares enough for us, even when neither bird nor beast worries, for provision does indeed come.

These crumbs tell other stories, the ones we cannot let go of because unanswered questions remain. It is unlikely we would ever get the opportunity to satisfy the curiosity that one strange encounter brings into view, even as we try to mind our own business.

A Chance Encounter

Much earlier today, a lady was coming towards me, pushing a pram. I presumed she was a grandmother, and not a walking miracle of Sarah begetting Isaac after the incredulity of her laughter at the idea that she could still bear a child.

She was adjusting a paper windmill, or pinwheel, and for that alone the expectation was that a child, reclined in the pram, was being entertained or distracted with the novelty of a spinning attraction. Had small talk ensued, it would have been about seeing a pleasantly focused, smiling toddler, whilst commending the grandmother for keeping the child at peace.

The Doll in the Pram

As I walked past, I looked to see a grinning face, teeth showing with the gaiety of the widest smile possible, even legs being thrown up in the air in acknowledgement of the object positioned for their attention. Nothing of the sort; the passenger in the ornate perambulator was a doll, unmistakably the plastic rigidity of a lifeless presence that only a doll could muster.

There was no need for a double take, but one did vacillate between concern and sympathy. Concern that this story was one of mental illness brought into the public sphere; the wish for a child now given over to the taking of a doll for an outing, with all the presence of mind to furnish that doll with the trimmings that might accompany a child.

Sympathy and Grace

Then came sympathy for whatever the tragic story might be, such as the loss of a grandchild remembered daily in this sad display of grief that I had now uncomfortably witnessed. A daily upset for her, and a lingering one for me, for how do you ask the pertinent questions?

There might be another angle, though, beyond concern or sympathy, this being eccentricity, and we all have some of that in us in different measures. Whether this be suffering expressed so vividly, or an expression too quickly misunderstood, the reality of a person's private world is not that private when brought into the public sphere.

A Good Samaritan Nature

Yet even this might not begin to cover the spectrum of life experiences that became that momentary observation, for any person's story is barely told in a brief encounter. Rather, what we know in part might define them too narrowly in comparison to who they really are.

And if we were to ignore the things we see, we could, in that very mindset, miss the moment when someone in distress could do with our Good Samaritan nature and our help.

Yet, in the crumbs that the pigeons do get to feed on, is a complete meal not better than manna, without a care for what tomorrow brings? There, but for the grace of God, go we, so that whatever story we tell might be a blessing to another.

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An AI-generated infographic on the blog content.

Thought Picnic: When Support Becomes Self-Insertion

A Childhood Memory

It was July 1977. My father had lost his great-aunt, the wife of my great-grandmother's younger brother. From letters he and his great-uncle exchanged in the 1960s, I could see this man had been a highly respected mentor and confidante. The funeral would take place in our hometown, and we would all attend.

At the graveside, as the priest finished the oblations of dust to dust and ashes to ashes, we all proceeded to sprinkle earth on her coffin. At that moment, I became inconsolably distraught. I began bawling and weeping, overcome with grief. I literally became a distraction. Even as we left the graveside, people continued to console me.

One thing I noted about that day was that no one else, not even the grandchildren, put up such a performance. I was genuinely affected, but others might have wondered why I was weeping more than the directly bereaved.

Learning to Respond

Understanding how to respond to human misery is essential in ways that may not be easily understood. We often mistake our kind of engagement as sharing in the burden of others' misery when it is not.

This became quite apparent to me after my first encounter with cancer. Before that, I had neither the understanding nor the frame of reference to appreciate what people were going through. I could offer a sense of concern, perhaps a lot of sympathy, and possibly some empathy.

On occasion, I have inserted myself into another's misery by narrating my own tale of woe instead of listening to them and offering both comfort and succour.

Nowadays, my experience of cancer, its mental toll, pain, and other life issues makes me knowledgeable enough. Yet I would never suggest to someone in that situation that I know what they are going through, even when I understand their predicament based on what I have experienced.

Finding the Balance

Fundamentally, what is important is not being more affected than those who are truly affected, more distressed than those genuinely distressed, or becoming too ingrained in a situation to which we have no direct connection or relationship. We need to be aware of the degree of affinity, determined from intimate to acquaintance, and further to belonging, whether in a community or through some other sense of identification.

Then again, there is a place for activism on behalf of others. Causes with which we identify can benefit ourselves and others, addressing issues like disengaged officialdom, injustices, advocacy, and knowledge sharing, as I do when informing others about prostate cancer.

However, my prostate cancer awareness activity does not become one where I begin to bear the prostate cancer risk of others. That is not helpful to anyone, and that is the broader lesson: be conversant without becoming absorbed, be understanding without becoming overbearing, and beware of inserting yourself into an issue so completely that you become the issue through how you express yourself about matters for which you have deep feelings.

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Thought Picnic: Free Your Mind

Opening the mind

It goes without saying with each interaction and posting I see on Social Media it is interesting to read views, opinions, entrenchments and prejudices along with the less bigoted, tolerant, open-minded and pragmatic accommodating stances of others.

I am more attracted to the accommodating types, people who despite who they are, are willing to understand and appreciate that there are others very different, very diverse, very separate, very distant from themselves, but still have a right to not only exist, but should be allowed the pursuit of happiness like any other.

Feeding our ability to sympathise

Our shared humanity when allowed to walk free beyond the little confines of our own experiences opens us up to realities we may never fully understand but still can embrace.

This is what feeds our ability to sympathise, probably empathise or even dare to be compassionate, when we extricate ourselves from the moralistic impositions that give us the licence for unfeeling indifference, judgemental apathy, disinterest, and incitement to hate.

We all are guilty of it one way or the other when we think little of others in comparison to ourselves or the people we hold in high esteem that we are ready to sacrifice them on any altar be it of religion, of belief, of creed, of custom, of tradition, of principle or of the law without any inkling or sense of tender-heartedness or mercy - we find basis and justification for where we stand and with that feel comfortable.

Free your mind

We have the capacity for more if we allow ourselves the frequent opportunities to extend ourselves.

It brings to mind the lines in the lyrics of Free Your Mind by En Vogue which go thus:

Free your mind and the rest will follow
Be color blind, don't be so shallow.

Freeing one’s mind is a journey in our recognition of the global village of great diversity we reside in, a world of over 7 billion people of whom we would find relationships of love and hate, friendship and enmity, fun and boredom, joy and sadness, acceptance and rejection with the challenge to treat others as we would love to be treated.

If we were to walk a mile in another man’s shoes, would we think differently about them and accept them in the brotherhood of our existence?

The beauty of blindness

Be colour blind, be gender blind, be sexuality blind, be religiously blind, be personality blind, be status blind, be blind to every difference that you don’t yet fully understand but exists around you by situation and by circumstance but still harbour a searching, curious, yearning spirit to find unity, affinity, amity and the best of the next and the next and the next until a bridge of humanity is built towards our togetherness and harmony. Free your mind.

"Free Your Mind"

Prejudice, wrote a song about it.
Like to hear it? Here it go.

I wear tight clothing, high heeled shoes
It doesn't mean that I'm a prostitute, no no
I like rap music, wear hip hop clothes
That doesn't mean that I'm out sellin' dope no no
Oh my forgive me for having straight hair, no
It doesn't mean there's another blood in my heir yeah yeah
I might date another race or color
It doesn't mean I don't like my strong black brothers.

Why oh why must it be this way
Before you can read me you gotta learn how to see me, I said
Free your mind and the rest will follow
Be color blind, don't be so shallow.
Free your mind and the rest will follow
Be color blind, don't be so shallow

So I'm a sistah
Buy things with cash
That really doesn't mean that all my credit's bad, oooh
So why dispute me and waste my time
Because you really think the price is high for me
I can't look without being watched, and oh
You rang my buy before I made up my mind, OW!
Oh now attitude, why even bother
I can't change your mind, you can't change my color

Why oh why must it be this way?
Before you can read me you gotta learn how to see me, I said
Free your mind and the rest will follow
Be color blind, don't be so shallow…

Why oh why must it be this way?
Before you can read me you gotta learn how to see me, I said
Free your mind and the rest will follow
Be color blind, don't be so shallow... FREE YOUR MIND!

Denzil Foster, Thomas McElroy

Thought Picnic: It was a Black Valentine

A Black Valentine

In one week, I have written nothing and a lot has happened since I penned the piece about My Funny Valentine in the earnest desire for love, company and companionship.

However, as we woke into the morning of St. Valentine’s Day of the year 2013, 4 shots reverberated round the world as it became an echo chamber of a tragedy that still leaves many in shock but worse still, the irreparable losses, the loss of freedoms to love, to live and to roam – it is all too sad.

She started the night before in the arms of her love and by daybreak she was in the arms of her Lord, the whole episode unfolding like a horrific thriller with both entombed in the ground and in a cell, the former we must never forget for the enduring glory of the latter.

Guns with irrational backbone

One cannot comment on the specifics of the case but one thing is evident, regardless of the status of whoever was caught enclosed and defenceless in that place, that person would have ended up dead, be the person an intruder or a lover and that for me is unacceptable aggression in the face of somewhat irrational fear predicated on the assumed extreme vulnerability of the perpetrator.

Guns appear to give people an unusual sense of bravado and daring where other defence mechanisms to seek help or flee, and I mean flee will kick in.

Four gunshots was four gun shots too many, too determined, too irrational, too demonstrative, too controlling and too self-assured of dealing with a situation. We may never know the mind of the how and why but result is devastating enough that the absence of a sense of great remorse of what was essentially avoidable will never be acceptable.

My sympathies are with the victim, totally

One must not stand to judge, but between the extremes of the benign of the fear of an assumed intruder and it must be clear that this was not fighting off an intruder and the unfortunate pall of spousal abuse resulting in a fatality all too common in many places around the world, my sympathies are squarely with the victim regardless of provocation; no non-aggressive provocation where the other party does not present an existential threat to life should have anyone ending up in the morgue.

The circus of love ended on Valentine’s Day and what we have now for entertainment is the circus of the macabre, it is almost as unwatchable as it is reprehensible as the media feeding frenzy has settled down south on a basic gavel hearing that has now stretched into the fourth day.

For all the accolades, glory and heroic feats of determination and achievement that dogs the principal and masks his attendant foibles, weaknesses and shortcomings, none of which must be discounted with the flippant wave of the hand, my thoughts, my pains and my heartache are with Reeva Steenkamp, her bereaved family, the death of the life force of an amazing dream and the many partners who have by pre-meditation or inadvertently fallen at the hands of the person they chose to love.

Rest well – Reeva Steenkamp.