To thine own self be true

“Now is life very solid or shifting? I am haunted by the two contradictions. This has gone on for ever; will last for ever; goes down to the bottom of the world–this moment I stand on. Also it is transitory, flying, diaphanous. I shall pass like a cloud on the waves. Perhaps it may be that though we change, one flying after another, so quick, so quick, yet we are somehow successive and continuous we human beings, and show the light through. But what is the light? I am impressed by the transitoriness of human life to such an extent that I am often saying a farewell–after dining with Roger for instance; or reckoning how many more times I shall see Nessa.”
–from A Writer’s Diary by Virginia Woolf

notes:
Roger–Roger Frye–famous art critic and close friend of VW, who died before VW
Nessa–Vanessa, Virginia’s painter-illustrator-sister, who outlived her

are capable of contextualizing, able to perceive distinctions and Truths, able to appreciate beauty, nuances and ironies, and have the imagination to empathize with others.

To die for: the ultimate eclectic Decca 6 CD set of the Strauss family (1805-1916). The perfect soundtrack for any morning.

Music that is beautiful, glorious, lofty, splendid, grand, magnificent, and wonderfully sublime.

except for Alice Munro (the greatest North American woman writer of our time) and Leonard Cohen (who has made a hybrid art of poetry and song).

In the States, the last great writers to recently pass were Arthur Miller, Ray Bradbury, and Allen Ginsberg. No one who has followed or will follow will have the same high-level output and broadly-aesthetic critical vetting except for perhaps Lawrence Ferlinghetti (now in his 90s bridging 7 decades). *And no one has ever matched or will ever match Shakespeare’s output, achievement, influence, and greatness.

ps/(Of Harper Lee–she wrote a great book, but was not in the same league as those continuously working writers who built a significant canon of work.)

There is much so-called inclusivity going on today which is simply exclusivity via my-narrow-agenda-is superior-to-yours. All these agendas are power moves designed to exclude others. (Reverse discrimination.) They are often not across-the-board equal rights in a greater context. They are more about ‘flags’ than about the genuine broad-based brotherhood and sisterhood preached by Martin Luther King. Hear the cries behind the complaints and whines: “Me!” “No, me first!” “I’m right, you’re totally wrong!”

are our Brothers and Sisters. They deserve as much help as we can give. We are all in this together.

in mustering support for people in time of tragedies unlike any other charity (except perhaps the Salvation Army). The money one donates goes directly to people in crisis.

Today a remarkable moment for this iconic organization as they inspired both the provincial and federal governments, on the same day no less, to match donations specifically to the Red Cross. Which only goes to show that money has no value unless it is well-used and coordinated toward humanitarian efforts. (Contrast that with people who want everything for nothing, for free, and selfishly refuse to open their wallets for others. Or those who click their tongues, are glad “it’s not them”, and standardly see themselves as being better than others. Or the non-material-contributing Tweeters who don’t walk the talk.)

We’re all in these calamities together, sink or swim. I think the power of coordination can be powerful, especially when people realize Donne’s “No man is an island” in material terms. My $200 donation became a 600 donation overnight (wow) and inspires me to give more at that rate in that shared, positive context. (Money in and of itself simply means nothing unless you give it away or help others.)

before the Ft. McMurray tragedy. No less negligent were the dithering PCs who obstinately refused to twin the highway between Ft. McMurray and Edmonton, stranding suffering people in the case of a real live emergency like the current one. God save us all from stupid politicians.

Given how much of our life is personal consciousness and fantasy, an exciting imaginary life makes a great deal of sense.

A poem by Raymond Souster
I was reading on the first
28 plus day of May
on the patio
savouring the axe fall
on rocks in stanza 3
when a small ant arrived
on p. 66.

I flicked him
as I had done others
of his ilk toward
the edge but
he smeared brownly
like an Andrew Wyeth
brushstroke
forever spoiling
my book and the purity
of my read.

I tried the white eraser
of hope on the stain
but he was still there
now a perpetual part of
“The World Stopped”.
Souster himself had the last word–
“The world resumed again”
though I have me dou’ts.