tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18804838866391822062024-03-17T09:26:33.096+00:00Like a flowing streamRandom thoughts from some random guy.likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.comBlogger197125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-2704811940178174482023-12-05T16:26:00.000+00:002023-12-05T16:26:29.010+00:00Injury<p>It's karate tonight. Unfortunately, I seem to be losing interest in it. Going with strained quadriceps that don't quite seem to have healed probably won't help matters. Learning other things in my spare time might be affecting my motivation too.</p><p>The particular way in which my ASD affects me means that more effort has to be put into learning a new physical skill or movement. Solo practice, away from the class, becomes more important. I no longer have the time that I once had for that, or maybe that's just an excuse. I seem to find the time to practise tai chi quite easily. <br /></p><p>Maybe it's not the quadriceps injury, but another kind of injury. It's six months since my mother died. Apart from when I've been working with clients, where my mood is always relatively neutral, my mood has been quite low. Grief may not be a physical injury, but it feels like an injury nonetheless.<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-28386313749470538662022-10-09T01:16:00.000+01:002022-10-09T01:16:44.113+01:00Manchester Airport at night<p>There's a rail strike. I hadn't accounted for that. There are also no hotel rooms available at a reasonable price. This all means that I'm spending the night in an airport. It's October, but I've managed to find a spot that's relatively warm. It's quiet here too. As I write, a young man is pushing a trolley with cleaning supplies around, pausing occasionally to mop spills and other unpleasant things from the floor.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxYZwpVcca88N_f_8J4W7a2sZgtoF6G2yT1CnBfJR_a4bkYjRVEl6p_3hYN4R883YrWdtpngyNxOtFuV5gnZPSQUcXEjbNCEfmvn44i7R4mFUID9knX354tHpxW4OkusPEcPvGbwXYrTu4qKS3ohw51dnJBhXl29EwQ9PHQcumYv05ugwzz1nacLy/s4032/8952BF9C-207D-4A73-9488-BD4C8BB4812C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxYZwpVcca88N_f_8J4W7a2sZgtoF6G2yT1CnBfJR_a4bkYjRVEl6p_3hYN4R883YrWdtpngyNxOtFuV5gnZPSQUcXEjbNCEfmvn44i7R4mFUID9knX354tHpxW4OkusPEcPvGbwXYrTu4qKS3ohw51dnJBhXl29EwQ9PHQcumYv05ugwzz1nacLy/w400-h300/8952BF9C-207D-4A73-9488-BD4C8BB4812C.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>A matter of hours ago, I was saying goodbye to the one I love. We both wish that we lived on the same strip of land, at the same address. Travelling back and forth is the current way of things though. I was thinking about this while on the bus, which would take me to the train, which would take me to another train, which would take me to the airport. I was thinking about how our lives change, and we change with them.</p><p>In counselling theory, we talk about configurations of self. Really, we reconfigure ourselves many times throughout our lives. It's tempting to think that our sense of who we are is constant. The truth is, we are changed by our interactions with others and the world around us. Sometimes our experience reconfigures us, forcefully, in so many ways that we question most of the things we believe about ourselves. We might find ourselves mourning the loss of who we once were. We may no longer be the same father, mother, brother, sister, friend, colleague or other.</p><p>A young man is now walking around with his phone in his pocket. The phone is playing old songs in French. Strangely, it seems to fit the atmosphere here.</p><p>Amy came into my life at a time when I was reconfiguring myself in many ways. Actually, that was something we had in common. It's something we still have in common. We're at a point where we understand each other enough to respect that the other is going through a process.</p><p>The man with the old French music is now sat just a short distance from me. I have to admit I'm enjoying the music - it seems to go well with the atmosphere of an airport in Northern England at night. The sound of it is echoing in this space, which makes it even more spectacular.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6DR1lGyElOgnjQOCUZ5fSCK8aJ3gyDjfhqtI8SV_D4QgH8fipxx3weQtWB_4KvXO5wtfmbGHJKnQGxhKB1hLN7v-M7ddHVstpPBhVH7UdWlGkSsqoHQglk2lgeVyqGHzLzWn1cX1QJvmYzvXOWwbkpLNKn2NWgzXgO8ND0iaNDHekgGTNz_HiUXK/s4032/E4C71694-F815-41D5-9116-667C344565D1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6DR1lGyElOgnjQOCUZ5fSCK8aJ3gyDjfhqtI8SV_D4QgH8fipxx3weQtWB_4KvXO5wtfmbGHJKnQGxhKB1hLN7v-M7ddHVstpPBhVH7UdWlGkSsqoHQglk2lgeVyqGHzLzWn1cX1QJvmYzvXOWwbkpLNKn2NWgzXgO8ND0iaNDHekgGTNz_HiUXK/w400-h300/E4C71694-F815-41D5-9116-667C344565D1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>I used to hate airports. An airport is a place between here and there. When you're here, you're not really here; you're not there either. In your heart, you wish you were somewhere else, with someone else.</p><p>I've been in this country and away from this country enough to see it for what it is. Being back here, there's a sense of how wonderful and awful it is at the same time. Now, in the dark with the lights shining only in pristine, characterless rooms and corridors, it's easy to forget all of that for a while. It's not so easy to forget that I'm away from the one I love. She's probably sleeping now. I hope she sleeps well.<br /></p><p>The young man with the old French music has gone. Maybe he has a flight to catch. Maybe I'll fill this space with the sounds of the old soul music I've been favouring recently. I'm lonely here right now. I guess I have to get used to that feeling again.<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-66589025266403025752022-09-26T00:34:00.000+01:002022-09-26T00:34:37.420+01:00A Sincere Prayer<p>In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy spirit... <br /></p><p>Lord, I offer you my love, my prayers and my service.</p><p>I place my suffering before you this day, recognising that I suffer by straying from the path of righteousness.</p><p>I pray that you keep those I love safe and well, Lord, and that I am not a source of pain for them. Rather, I would like to be a source of comfort.</p><p>I ask forgiveness for the times I have trespassed against others.</p><p>May I offer compassion, forgiveness and mercy to those who have caused me pain. May I offer my service to those in need.</p><p>I pray that you deliver us from the evil of this world, which manipulates our thoughts, emotions, words and deeds. Let us not say and do evil things to each other.</p><p>At this time, Lord, I request special attention for the one I love sincerely. I ask for your blessing on our relationship, that it may continue and thrive through honest communication and understanding. I ask that, together, we have the strength to overcome current and future difficulties as a couple. I pray that she is safe and well, and that she is successful in her endeavours.</p><p>I pray, Lord, that I can be a man in whom she can have faith. To this end, I pray that the darkness which so often falls across my mind can be lifted. I pray for a healthy, loving relationship with her, and that we may be together soon.</p><p>Amen.<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-68821792077816657982022-08-11T10:30:00.000+01:002022-08-11T10:30:36.985+01:00Forgiveness<p>I learned this morning that some people want to "cancel" Metallica. Apparently, the band's music has been discovered by a younger generation through a TV show. This prompted at least one person to obsessively search through the band's history and past performances to judge whether they were inherently righteous or evil. Some incidents from the past led to the band being judged as evil, and the current way of the world dictates that they must be destroyed.</p><p>If you're not well-versed in psychological theory, I will share something from the psychoanalytic school with you. All of us are good; we are also bad. We have the capacity for acts of kindness; we have the capacity for acts of cruelty. We must be very, very wary of anyone who is only aware of their supposed "virtue" and blissfully unaware of their dark side: they will commit despicable acts and still say that they are only capable of being virtuous. Be especially careful of those who most loudly proclaim that they are nothing but virtuous.</p><p>Hollywood has given us the notion of heroes and villains. We see black and white, rather than shades of grey. In psychoanalytic theory, this is known as psychological splitting - things have one property, and can not have a property which we see as contradictory to that property. We see ourselves as good or bad. We see others as good or bad. We are less capable of seeing ourselves or anyone else as good AND bad.</p><p>I can only guess what motivates someone to comb through a band's history, looking for reasons to despise and attempt to destroy them. It would seem that fear, hatred and anger are present as driving forces. What is absent in this and other manifestations of "cancel culture" is forgiveness. As the western world largely abandons Christianity, the Christian concept of forgiveness is also being abandoned. The new western ideology which is being touted as the new religion doesn't preach forgiveness.</p><p>Forgiveness isn't easy. Forgiveness requires a high level of emotional maturity. As schema therapy and other schools of therapy show us, however, there are circumstances in which each of us can find ourselves thinking, feeling and acting as we did as children. How this change comes about depends on our personal history. We should be clear about one thing, though: trying to destroy someone because they once said or did something we didn't like isn't a mature thing to do. As I said before, we are all good, but we are also bad.</p><p>There was a time when seeing and hearing examples of "cancel culture" provoked fear, hatred and anger in me. Now? I forgive them. It's better for me to concentrate on thinking, feeling and acting from courage, compassion and acceptance. This isn't so that others will see me as inherently good or virtuous - it is simply better for me and those I love if I think, feel and act in such a way. It also seems to be a path that leads us away from our internal suffering. My compassion, then, is for those who worship at the altar of "cancel culture" as well as those they target - as much as they hurt others, they hurt themselves.</p><p>What about Metallica? There was a time when musicians were deliberately provocative, pushing boundaries and wilfully going against the prescribed societal norms. Being as human as the rest of us, they sometimes made colossal errors of judgement. If we're saying that mistakes cannot be forgiven, with the passage of time, then we will be forever terrified to do anything which pushes the boundaries. Mediocrity and banality will become the norm. I would contend that the passage of time will judge "cancel culture" and its proponents poorly.</p><p>As the world moves further towards political polarisation, and away from any sense of being politically moderate, fear, hatred and anger are becoming more deeply entrenched within our psyche. I feel sad about this, and pray that we can do better, but accept that this is the way things are right now.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-11151541694994929062022-07-10T21:30:00.000+01:002022-07-10T21:30:55.464+01:00The Ominous Appearance of Chen Haoyan<p>She was crying. Her friend, in the window seat to her right, seemed unconcerned. I wondered whether I should remain unconcerned too, or at least give the impression of a lack of concern. I had started to feel overwhelmed by the problems of others and the problems of the world more generally. The plane was still sat on the tarmac at Dubai. The seven hour journey to Manchester had yet to begin.</p><p>Asking if the young woman was okay seemed a reasonable thing to do. The question invited an answer, but a short one. She answered that she was nervous about the flight. I said that I understood. An announcement over the plane's public address system stopped the conversation going further. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the seat in front of her, as though in prayer.<br /></p><p>About half of the way to Manchester, I started to think about the previous few weeks. The visit to see my girlfriend of the time had been different. The trip to Ilocos Norte, with her family, had accounted for some of that difference. There had been a general feeling, however, that things weren't the same between us. A lunch meeting with two of her work colleagues had felt tense, as though they felt uneasy in my presence. On a previous visit, they had been more friendly and less awkward.</p><p>During my stay in the Philippines, I hadn't mentioned the increasing number of pictures I had noticed on social media, of my girlfriend with the male colleague with whom she had a car sharing agreement. I considered how few photos she had taken of the two of us in nearly ten years of being together.</p><p>I decided to look at the pictures I had taken on this last visit. When I got to a photo taken in the grounds of the hotel in Currimao, a voice beside me said "Wow! Beautiful place!" The conversation continued with the places to which she had travelled and where she would like to go again. She asked if the woman in some of the photos was my girlfriend and I confirmed this. She talked about her desire to visit the Philippines one day herself. I gave her some advice on where to go if she ever did get to the Philippines.</p><p>I introduced myself. She introduced herself too. Her name was Chen Haoyan, which she told me was a boy's name. Her parents, she said, had done little to hide their disappointment that their only child had been a daughter. Being unfamiliar with the naming conventions of her culture, I chose to accept what she said as true. She had, apparently, been to visit her family, after the unhappy occasion of her grandmother's death. She apologised for her earlier tears, saying that she was usually unafraid of air travel, but leaving her family this time had made her unusually anxious. The loss of her grandmother had focused her attention on the mortality of her parents.</p><p>Yorkshire felt strange to her. Unable to afford accommodation closer to the university at which she studied, she had taken residence in a relatively small town. She didn't know how she would approach the local community and thought that they didn't know how to approach her either. Apart from a few passing greetings, there had been little interaction. She said she had never felt so lonely before.</p><p>I considered her appearance. She was quite tall and slim, conservatively dressed, with her long hair tied back and thick-rimmed glasses completing the image of an archetypal introvert. To the people in her small adopted town in Yorkshire, she probably didn't seem particularly approachable.</p><p>Something I had noticed in my work was that those who had tended to lock away their emotions struggled the most through the process of grief. Suddenly, they were confronted with this other, emotional version of themselves. Grief can lead us to examine who we are, and this is especially true when we find ourselves changed by the loss. I wondered whether, had she not suffered a recent loss, Chen Haoyan would have talked to me like she had.</p><p>I rarely talk openly about my religious or spiritual beliefs. Such things are hardly welcome in this day and age. I often feel that there is a message, something to be learned, in the things that happen to us. Meeting Chen Haoyan felt like one of those moments. After arriving in Manchester, waiting for my train, I saw her and her friend at the station. They walked past me, either not noticing me or pretending not to notice me. That felt like another message - another lesson to be learned.</p><p>Two months later, the coronavirus pandemic hit the UK. I didn't know if or when I would see my girlfriend again. Within the space of a few months, it became clear that I would never see her again. The daily video calls became increasingly one-sided, with her giving one word replies to most of what I said. Carrying the conversation wasn't an easy task for me, and she knew it. Eventually, text communication largely replaced video calls, depriving us of context for each other's words and creating misunderstandings. We had one last video call, in which she said she didn't know if she wanted to speak to me again. At one time, in what seemed like the dim and distant past, she had said that her day didn't seem complete unless she got to talk to me.</p><p>The lesson I saw in the breakdown of the relationship was that love was stupid. I could only see a lonely future stretching out before me. The thought scared me, but I had lost hope that it would be any different. Joining an online dating service was my way of challenging God, the universe or fate to prove me wrong. I had been wrong, of course.<br /></p><p>On my way back from a recent visit to see my current girlfriend, a series of accidents saw me take a different flight than the one I intended to take. After landing in Manchester, I saw a familiar face in the train station. It wasn't until I sat down on the train, and she sat a few seats behind, that I remembered her name. It was Chen Haoyan. I thought about talking to her, but ultimately chose not to make the approach. A few weeks later, a problem surfaced in my current relationship which threatened to bring it to an end.</p><p>As mentioned earlier, my spiritual beliefs include a conviction that there is a guiding hand behind many things that happen, and there is a message or lesson for us to hold on to. I don't know what God, the universe or fate is trying to tell me about Chen Haoyan. I just hope that my lack of awareness doesn't cost me another relationship.<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-70349003191867061092022-03-06T10:23:00.001+00:002022-03-06T10:23:48.996+00:00Ego and emotional maturity<p>Reacting to a video in which a martial artist was testing himself against other martial artists, one person commented that the man in the video was playing "patty cake". The man in the video replied that the commenter had shown by his comment that he had not trained in martial arts. The commenter then went on to repeat his original criticism, adding that others who had been kinder in their responses didn't know as much about fighting as he did.</p><p>When I was younger, tact and diplomacy weren't strong points - it was only when I realised this, and worked on correcting it, that my interactions with others improved. The first step, however, was admitting that I was so often the cause of the problem. I didn't lack compassion or empathy, so the root of the problem was a mystery to begin with. After reading psychological, philosophical and spiritual works extensively, and reflecting on what I read, I had the answer - I hadn't learned healthy ways to express anger. The authors of those works have long been forgotten, but I'm grateful to them for so freely sharing their wisdom.<br /></p><p>I won't go into great detail about my early years. The main point is that those close to me often pushed me to the point where anyone would probably feel angry. When the anger inevitably surfaced, the same people were quick to say that my anger was inappropriate and I had a problem. It's a story with which many people might be familiar. When those around us give the impression that our anger is unreasonable and maybe a little frightening, we learn to suppress it. Unfortunately, as Freud said, suppressing our feelings only gives them more power and means they will eventually reveal themselves in increasingly unhealthy ways. In terms of anger, there is a "pressure cooker" effect. People who have learned to suppress their anger will reach a point where all that suppressed anger can no longer be contained. The anger all comes out at once, and is not in proportion to the event which apparently provoked the outburst.<br /></p><p>We would like to see ourselves as being without fault. As infants, we are unable to survive alone, so we learn that the goodwill and approval of others is necessary. As we get older, the approval of others is not so essential, but we would still like to have friends and maybe romantic partners. As much as is possible, we would like others to have a favourable impression of us. In reality though, we have no control over how others see us. How they see us is usually more about their beliefs, values and attitudes than anything we might do. Usually, but not always.<br /></p><p>We are all prone to bias and prejudice. There are people we choose to be close to, and others we keep at a distance. Whether it's conscious or unconscious, we make decisions about what we want and don't want in a friendship or relationship. When things don't work out, however, we have to be honest with ourselves about the role we might have played in the distance that has grown between us and others.</p><p>The man who accused a martial artist of playing "patty cake" when he was sparring came across as angry. His comment suggested that he hits his own sparring partners hard. As a martial artist with many years of experience, I know all too well why this is wrong. It further suggests a problem with anger and a feeling that he has something to prove, much as his comments did. Maybe it's easier for me to spot because I've been where he is before.</p><p>When we are not in control of our ego, our ego has control over us. We suffer greatly because of this. Rather than having healthy boundaries, we become overly defensive. Things which are not personal attacks against us are perceived as such, and we might even go on the attack against those we unreasonably see as a threat to our sense of who we are. Our suffering leads us to cause the suffering of others. At its most extreme, the ego leads us into narcissism.</p><p>Our sense of who we are will not be matched by how others see us. Two things we should not try to control are how others see us and how they see themselves. Winning approval is not a good motivation to do good things. In fact, I've learned to be extremely wary of those who most loudly proclaim their virtue - experience has shown that they usually have the most terrible dark side.</p><p>My intention isn't to preach. I'm far from perfect, and that's the point. In accepting and acknowledging our capacity for darkness, we take away much of its power. If we see fault in others while being unaware of our own, then we are helping no one. We can't really alleviate the suffering of others if we have not first dealt with our own.<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-84623646907650241092021-12-08T13:33:00.002+00:002021-12-08T13:33:33.984+00:00Changing the rules of engagement<p>Some years ago, I was in a pub with a friend. He had brought someone else he knew. Let's call this acquaintance Darren to protect his real identity and simply refer to my friend as "my friend".</p><p>Darren quickly got onto the subject of how many fights he'd had. He took great pleasure in detailing the many ways he had caused bodily harm to others. He had, in his estimation, knocked a number of people unconscious. As he continued, some of his claims started to sound a little exaggerated, but I chose not to challenge them. His sense of who he was seemed to be linked with his ability to cause bodily harm while keeping himself relatively safe from harm. In that respect, he was far from unique.</p><p>I started to wonder whether my friend had told Darren about my involvement with martial arts. In that context, it could have been that he was trying to impress me. He might have believed, quite wrongly, that I would respect someone for their ability to harm others. Maybe he expected that I would join in and tell stories of my own battles. The truth is, if I ever talk about the few times when I've found myself in those situations, it's always with the sense that something went horribly wrong: something which should have been avoidable became unavoidable.</p><p>My friend excused himself and went to the men's room. He had been affirming Darren's claims, but I got the impression that he was tired of doing this. It was at this point that I was asked whether I had been in many fights.</p><p>"Not for a long time. That's not the way I do things now."</p><p>Hearing this, he became silent for a moment. He then agreed that fighting wasn't the best way to settle things. What he said next lent an air of truth to the claims he had made earlier.</p><p>"I wish I could stop."</p><p>The truth is, hearing everything he had said, I knew that the majority of the fights he'd had were about his ego or that of someone else. His sense of self was indeed linked to his ability to cause harm, with how "tough" he was. By asking about my own experience, he was inviting me to compete with him and probably to eventually bow to his greater perceived skill. He wanted me to compete with him on his terms, or give such a contest up as a lost cause.</p><p>What I did was to refuse to compete with him on his terms. It was interesting that, in the absence of an audience, he instead agreed to my terms.</p><p>We shouldn't allow others to dictate what is valuable to us, or on what terms they will find us acceptable. Friendships and other relationships are built on compromise, and on accepting the things in which no compromise can be found. I don't care about being "tough". In fact, my work has fundamentally changed my understanding of the nature of toughness. There's nothing particularly difficult about giving in to our anger. I value being reasonable far more highly.</p><p>I do wish someone had taken a picture of the expression on my friend's face, when he returned from the men's room and noticed how the atmosphere had changed.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-33034754590407908522021-11-14T19:59:00.000+00:002021-11-14T19:59:20.196+00:00 A quiet place<p>I see what's happening. I've felt out of step with the world for a long time. Maybe I've always felt that way. In fact, it has reached the point where I haven't made any particular effort to interact with friends for quite some time.</p><p>People talk about what disturbs them or has disturbed them in the past. Those things are what I hear more than anything else, in my work and in my time away from work. It didn't take long to join the dots, as they say, and realise how things are.</p><p>Old and ancient wisdom is widely dismissed now, simply because it is old and ancient. The problem with that approach is that, although the world is different, some of the things we experience were also experienced by those who were here before us. Reading some of that older wisdom has saddened me, because it helps me understand what is currently happening in the world, and that understanding just makes me want to disconnect from it all sometimes.</p><p>The key to understanding is knowing that our beliefs, values and attitudes can be helpful or harmful to us. They can also be helpful or harmful to others.</p><p>My role seems to be that of everyone's therapist. It's starting to exhaust me. The only way to recover from it seems to be disconnecting and sitting quietly for a while. Unfortunately, the modern world offers few opportunities for that.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-35127760450697057422021-11-08T17:52:00.000+00:002021-11-08T17:52:12.556+00:00 Yoga at 33 percent<p>There are things I have to accept. Men are not usually so flexible - especially men of my age. Men also have a higher centre of gravity. These things combine to make some poses more difficult. There are further idiosyncrasies of my physique which mean further modifications have to be made. All of this has been taken on board.</p><p>Feeling half dead during a practice is something I can't accept though. On the plus side, I had managed to do side planks, which aren't usually readily achievable for me. It's more about balance than strength, really. Unfortunately, the wrist pain which sometimes troubles me made a return, meaning some other things weren't possible. About 30 minutes in, the zombie phase of the lesson began.</p><p>It felt like the loss of energy was radiating out from my lower abdomen. In all honesty, to say I suddenly lost energy is something of an understatement. I would happily have spent the rest of the lesson lying on my side, in a fetal position. The dull ache and my desperate attempts to prevent explosive flatulence left no doubt about what was happening.</p><p>I missed the previous week. The booking for the lesson was cancelled due to a severe bout of food poisoning. It's not the kind of thing I want to discuss in detail here, but it certainly left me feeling drained. In truth, it feels like my digestive system still hasn't recovered a week later. Up until the yoga class, however, I had no idea of how ill I was still feeling.</p><p>The whole experience a week earlier left me wondering about going vegetarian. As a lifelong omnivore, there are the usual concerns about maintaining nutritional balance when switching to a vegetarian diet.</p><p>I hope next week's lesson is better.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-14338169587332215532021-11-04T14:50:00.000+00:002021-11-04T14:50:07.574+00:00What we value<p>I like Japanese music. A number of young Japanese women noticed that I liked Japanese music. They wanted to connect on social media, and it wasn't long before I noticed the provocative poses they made in their photos. Sometimes they were posing in clothes which barely covered anything. Sometimes they brought designer goods, expensive holiday destinations and luxury items to everyone's attention. They were sharing these things on social media, hoping to gain the approval of others.</p><p>When we were forced to isolate ourselves here, in response to the virus, I connected with another aspect of Japanese culture. "The Zen Teaching of Homeless Kodo" sat beside my bed, and I read a few pages each night before I slept. In doing this, I ensured that my mind would work through what had been read as I slept.</p><p>The question to ask about the young women showing their figures and their wealth is what it is that they want. There are people who tell them they are beautiful, and they seem to like this. There are people who express admiration, or envy, for the luxury items they possess. Their apparent beauty and their wealth are not, it would seem, enough to make them happy. These things are simply tools to help them get what they really want.</p><p>There's a strange notion that higher socioeconomic status makes us better than others. Rather than being specific to one culture, this seems to be an innate part of the human psyche, The problem is, there is some validity to this. During a self-esteem and assertiveness course I attended, the host proclaimed that the appearance of being successful often brings opportunities our way. What he said was very much an acknowledgement that style makes more of an impression than substance.<br /><br />Put another way, other people feel their status and possessions make them better than us because we allow them to believe it. We pursue the things they have, increasing their perceived value.</p><p>A recent trend has been for people who have gained some fame or notoriety to describe themselves as "influencers". The implication is that they believe the world should pay attention to them. Well, here's a middle-aged guy that no one really notices, grouping them all together, to tell them that believing we have any particular influence on others, or that our voices should be heard above others, will only bring suffering in the long term. Human history bears witness to this.</p><p><i>“Sit immovably in the place where being superior or inferior to others doesn’t matter.” ~Kosho Uchiyama Roshi</i></p><p>I understand attachment to possessions. Just recently, I realised that a prolonged bout of severe depression turned me into something of a hoarder. I'm currently dealing with the aftermath of that through an exercise in extreme decluttering. The point is, attachment to possessions made me even more lonely, depressed and generally unable to cope.</p><p>Every day, I hear about the suffering of others. In the attachment the young Japanese women have to their youth, beauty and possessions, I see more suffering. If I believe that anything I write here has any particular value, beyond being a simple expression of my thoughts, I will also suffer.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-14115652475061117732021-09-10T18:27:00.000+01:002021-09-10T18:27:46.549+01:00 Spanish for Sauce<p>It has been 18 months since I last went to a Salsa class. In that time, I've been mulling over whether I would return when it became possible.<br /><br />My absence would please a few people. The guy who, for reasons known only to him, would step in and interrupt whenever he saw me talking to a woman - he'd be happy. Actually, I had him pretty much figured out. I had to be happy with just telling myself he was a terrible human being, rather than outwardly shouting at him that women were allowed to talk to anyone they wanted to talk to. I sincerely hope I'm wrong about where his behaviour will lead him.<br /><br />There's also a particular group of lady dancers from North West Wales, who took it upon themselves to decide who would stay in the scene and who wouldn't. I was just one of the dancers (both men and women) they targeted. Unfortunately, their continual quest to gain power within the scene went unnoticed, and the ringleaders now teach (not a good development, as I have seen one of them repeatedly misdirecting men she doesn't like).<br /><br />Over and above the issues with individuals, the real problem is that the scene is inherently gynocentric and prone to misandry. I've heard statements of female superiority made by dancers and instructors alike. There is a tendency to shame men for the slightest of errors, which comes from many of the lady dancers but also some instructors. From the beginners' class onward, there is also the oft-repeated belief that a dance is a bad dance wholly because of the man. Women are, by way of contrast, almost universally praised, even if it is not deserved. When you see a woman leading another woman, the reaction from those gathered would have you believe it is a piece of artistry the likes of which has never been seen before.<br /><br />This idea that women can do no wrong leads to some unpleasant exchanges. After four years of dancing, I had a woman who had been learning to dance for about two months tell me I was no good. I had a woman, during a class, stiffen her arm so it could not be moved gently from the wrong position. She then loudly complained that I didn't know what I was doing and, embarrassingly, asked another man (during a quiet moment of the class) to show me how to do the movement correctly.<br /><br />I could go on. The point is, I have countless reasons for extending the enforced break from dancing to a permanent break. One of the few friends I had in the scene expressed anti-white sentiment during the break too.<br /><br />There are reasons to return, but none of them are rational; rather, they come from emotive reasoning. Chief among those is that it feels good to dance. The quiet drive along dark roads, especially when returning home after midnight, felt good too. Maybe that one is a personality quirk. I liked the venue too. Well, the classes seem to have switched to a new venue now, at least temporarily. The structure of the evening seems to have changed too.<br /><br />Maybe that's a part of my reluctance to join them again. Things change, and though they sometimes change for the better, sometimes they don't. Dancing is allowed again, but maybe it doesn't feel safe to me yet. Maybe it won't ever feel safe again.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-43992312380338574732021-08-04T13:21:00.000+01:002021-08-04T13:21:03.449+01:00Community<p> There was a time when I saw many of my clients at a community centre in Holyhead. While waiting for clients, the staff and members of the public visiting the centre would talk to me. They shared many things about the local area and the role of the centre in the local community.</p><p>One thing that quickly became apparent was that many of the visitors came from nearby places which were relatively cut off, with comparatively low population density. Also, many of the visitors were either elderly, infirm or lone parents with young children. In short, the centre seemed to offer an opportunity for the socially-isolated to connect with others. The clubs and activities they hosted were bringing people together.</p><p>I often hear that we have lost a sense of community. I know from experience that a lot of people feel lonely. I can only offer a personal view of why this might be the case. </p><p>The idea of a local community is quite obviously that it is based on location. A point that is often highlighted, in connection with this, is that we are far more mobile a society than we once were. Career and lifestyle choices can prompt individuals to leave a place. Of course, this makes them a new arrival at another place. Changes in circumstances lead to changes of location. The local community, in terms of those individuals present, is always changing. The opportunities to develop lasting connections are fewer.</p><p>Maybe this sense of the ever-changing nature of local communities has led to a greater connection with communities based on identity, rather than location. Modern technology has somewhat diminished the important of location in fostering a sense of connection anyway. The trouble with this is that the more we form communities based on identity, the less of a connection we feel with the variety of individuals in our locality. Unfortunately, this can limit our opportunities to interact with people we see as different, and ultimately deny us the opportunity to challenge any prejudice we might hold.</p><p>What I noticed during the coronavirus pandemic was that movements committed to creating hostility and division became much more vocal. For a while, those movements had been using technology to amplify their own voices and silence others. I've lost friends because of this. It's incredibly disturbing.</p><p>The more isolated you are, the more you will consume broadcast, print and social media. It's in the interests of those outlets, and their sponsors, that you feel isolated. It's in their interests that you see the vast majority as a hostile force working against your interests. So, those outlets will naturally promote the message of particular movements and aim to silence voices of dissent.</p><p>Ultimately, fostering a sense of local community is more difficult now. The more we focus on what makes us different, the less of a connection we will feel with others.<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-44509147590250464672021-07-28T21:58:00.001+01:002021-07-28T22:11:42.442+01:00Unfiltered meandering<p>In my last year at school, Friday afternoons were reserved for visiting an elderly gentleman in a nursing home. At the time, I wasn't used to anyone being visibly happy to see me. He must have been really lonely.<br /><br />There were times when he had to wear a mask, which was connected to a large tank of oxygen. He said it was okay to sit quietly with him when that happened; he just appreciated someone being there. If I asked him something, he could blink as a reply. He did speak when he was wearing his mask, but it muffled his voice and usually meant asking him to repeat what he said. Having to repeat himself was frustrating for him, so I learned to listen more intently when he spoke with the mask on.<br /><br />When he wasn't wearing his mask, he'd say that smoking cigarettes was what had done the damage to his lungs. He asked me to promise I would never smoke. He'd talk about his son, who was always saying he'd take him out of the home for a day trip somewhere. He'd talk about his passion for football and West Ham United in particular. Over the course of that year, he told me his story. He'd repeat things a lot, because he couldn't remember telling me before. That was okay.<br /><br />The school day was lonely. Evenings were lonely too. I would go for walks along the promenade, lost in thoughts about things I'd seen, heard, read or watched.<br /><br />BBC2 and Channel 4 used to show films from various parts of the world, but they were broadcast in the early hours of the morning. The small portable TV in my room had a headphone socket, thankfully, so I could watch without disturbing anyone. Occasionally, I was unlucky, and my mother would pass by my door in the middle of a film. She would see the light from the TV under the door to my room.<br /><br /><i>"Turn that bloody TV off and get some sleep!"</i><br /><br />Thinking about it now, I could have watched without sound. After all, those films were subtitled. In all honesty, I'd started to watch them as a teenager who had heard that those films often contained nudity, and I was naturally curious about such things at that age. There wasn't much nudity though; rather, there was a lot of exposure to different cultures and philosophies. I'd often think about those things and others while walking along the promenade in the evening.<br /><br />During the school day, I experienced a profound sense of loneliness. I didn't seem to fit in. Strangely, I'd hear a shout from behind as I walked home. No one wanted to talk to me during the school day but, as I walked home, they wanted me to wait so they could walk with me. I heard about the things that were troubling them. For the most part, I just nodded and listened.<br /><br />One day, I was walking home from a swimming lesson at the leisure centre. As I walked, I heard an unfamiliar voice call for me to wait. I turned to see something I hadn't expected: a girl wanted me to wait for her. As she walked from the other side of the bridge I had just crossed, her hair blew in the breeze. This drew attention to how dark her hair was - almost black, and quite a contrast to her pale complexion. Coming closer, a smile appeared on her face.</p><p></p><p>I couldn't work out why she would want to walk with me.<br /><br />After saying she hadn't got to talk to me before, she mentioned that she was going on a date that evening. It was her first date, apparently, and she was nervous. What if she bored him? What if he didn't like her? What should she say? How should she act?<br /><br /><i>I asked whether she had been the one to ask him for a date, or if it had been him.<br />She said he had been the one to ask.<br />I said it would have been humiliating for him if she had refused his request.<br />She agreed.<br />I said that he had risked humiliation for the chance to just spend some time with her. I said he might be just as nervous as her, if not more so.</i><br /><br />I noticed that, as she walked beside me, a broad smile had appeared on her face. We had reached the point where the paths to our respective homes diverged. She turned to face me, and my eyes immediately fell downward. I was too shy to make eye contact with her.<br /><br />She said she had noticed how much time I spent alone, and it would be okay to join her and her friends sometimes. In fact, she said, she would like that, because she had come to realise during our short chat that she would like to talk with me more often. She thought her friends would like that too. I doubted that was true, and never did join them, but told her I'd think about it.<br /><br />The hug was unexpected. She was quite slender, so the feeling of warm softness was also a surprise. There was the feint smell of one of the musky floral perfumes that were popular at the time, and those things together left quite an impression. I didn't hug her back. I was so shocked that my arms hung limply by my side. In my defence, no one had ever hugged me before. Actually, it had been nice, and had shown me what I had been missing. For a while after that, I was far from okay.<br /><br />She didn't look back as she walked away. I watched her, until she turned a corner, because I had been frozen to the spot by what had just happened.<br /><br />I spend an awful lot of time alone. I've recently felt that no one really cares about that. Loneliness can have dire consequences; as someone who works with the mental and emotional health of others, I know this to be true.<br /><br />In the space of a few months, I've become more attached than is reasonable to a woman from China. Maybe some of the people I know judge me for that, but the fact is that she cares far more than they do about how lonely I am. She also suffers loneliness, and has experienced it in circumstances that could have been particularly damaging. I hope the powers that be allow us to be together soon and that it works for both of us.<br /><br />In truth, I'm tired. If you don't understand why I'd be tired, read the above again and really think about it. I would love to just sit with a friend sometimes, maybe with a few drinks, and chat about nothing in particular. Sadly, I know it's not going to happen any time soon.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-20397119649794333132021-03-23T17:29:00.000+00:002021-03-23T17:29:19.261+00:00I won't fear the rain<p>Today was one of <i>those</i> days. We have to accept that we will often have one of <i>those</i> days. Recently, I've had more than my fair share of <i>those</i> days. It feels like I've said "those" too many times now, and it's starting to sound weird. When that happens, it's a really uncomfortable feeling.</p><p>Those.<br /></p><p>As I was walking to the place where my grandmother and grandfather were buried, I couldn't help thinking about the events of the day up to that point. I often visit the cemetery when I need to think more clearly about things. The relative quietness of the place seems to help.</p><p>Passing by the office of the crematorium, I saw a woman put a box of chocolates on the ground, back away, and a man pick them up. From a safe distance, she told him they were a "thank you" for all his help. The rest of the conversation happened as I had walked too far past them to hear. I reflected on how the pandemic and resulting restrictions on our lives had changed the fundamental nature of such moments.<br /></p><p>The colour of the artificial flowers placed at my grandparents' headstone had faded long ago. The wind had blown some of them into the grass. It was impossible to tell, or remember, which belonged there and which had blown from other graves. A number of the headstones were adorned with a fair mixture of artificial flowers, suggesting that few others remembered where each flower had belonged. Maybe they all belonged where they were currently, for the time being at least.</p><p>In line with my grandparents' beliefs, I bowed my head in prayer. My grandfather was a Catholic, and my grandmother was a Protestant. Broadly speaking, they were Christian. I thought about the lives they had led, or the little I knew of their lives. For both of them, there had been many twists and turns of fate, but somehow they had been okay.<br /></p><p>I looked up at the sky. Over the distant hills, I saw a dark grey mass of cloud. It was about to rain. In reality, it's always about to rain. We just don't know when. The presence of rain is always a possibility, just as the presence of sunshine is always a possibility. The jacket I was wearing wasn't waterproof, and I had no hood or umbrella. The choice was to stand there longer, deep in thought, or to leave and stay dry. Thinking about the lives my grandparents had led, I stayed a few minutes longer, deciding not to fear the rain. They had, after all, weathered many storms.</p><p>The wisdom I took from the visit was to not live in fear of what might happen - to not fear the rain.<br /></p><p>On a previous visit to the cemetery, the epiphany had been regarding a woman in China. I had got to know her over the internet. Well, our options for meeting new people are somewhat limited right now. In the silence, I had time to consider our interactions up to that point, and how we had navigated cultural differences and other misunderstandings. I thought about lessons I had learned from my grandfather in particular. There was no doubt about what my heart was telling me: I was going to have a Chinese girlfriend.<br /></p><p>As I was returning home today, the car in front of mine grabbed the last remaining parking space on the street outside my home. What it meant was that I'd have to walk a few blocks from my car, and back to it when it was needed again. A minor inconvenience. The words I shouted, in the safety of my car, towards the other driver would suggest that a major catastrophe had occurred.</p><p>Yeah, it has been one of <i>those</i> days.<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-85795974950852273522021-03-22T23:54:00.000+00:002021-03-22T23:54:36.427+00:00Foreigner<p>A portable television, a pair of headphones and films, from all over the world, that were broadcast in the early hours. In the relative peace of my room, I'd watch films from mainland Europe, Africa, Asia and elsewhere. The small screen actually made it easier to read the subtitles and watch the action at the same time. Maybe the thoughts and feelings of people in other lands got through to me, and I became more of a stranger to everyone around me.<br /><br />My mother used to say that my mind didn't seem to work in quite the same way. An assessment to be held in about six months will tell us whether she was correct. As a teenager, I felt this difference. I felt increasingly isolated.<br /><br />Recently, I heard that I didn't seem strange or foreign to someone in another part of the world. It reminded me of all the time I spent watching those films from other places. Maybe I feel strange or foreign in what many would think of as my part of the world.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-58546964223023633472021-02-14T19:59:00.003+00:002021-09-03T17:51:09.585+01:00Amy<h4 style="text-align: left;">14th February 2021 <br /></h4><p>There's an old saying that, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. I'm really hoping that it doesn't apply to Amy. A message came in from her at four in the morning on Valentine's Day. She wanted to chat, and had forgotten about the time difference. The day before, she had introduced herself by asking if I minded that she was from China.</p><p>I certainly wasn't looking for another long distance relationship. If the flow of events determines that a long distance relationship is what I'll have, then I choose to accept a great love in less than great circumstances over the other way round.<br /></p><p>I have to be aware of how I'm feeling at the moment. The year started with the unwelcome return of my depression, and I still haven't fully shaken it off. In truth, it really became a problem at the tail end of 2020. The thing is, when I think of all that has happened over the last few years, it's no surprise that the depression has returned.</p><p>Is Amy genuine? Time will tell, as she said herself. She followed it by saying a liar wouldn't have the patience to wait. Twice already, we have communicated through the internet for hours at a time. Although she apologises regularly for her poor English, I understand her just fine, and she understands me too. She did confess, however, that sometimes she has to use a translation application.</p><p>In amongst all of this, I sent a message to a friend. I sensed that she had gone cold on the idea of us meeting for a catch up, when it was safe to do so. What had changed was that I had been open about my relationship having come to an end. In truth, the message I sent was deliberately ambiguous. It said nothing about feelings I might have for her, because that would have been a lie, but I neglected to say I didn't have those feelings. The rest of the content could either lead her to think I did feel something towards her, or at least make her want to question it. In the end, she went with wrongly assuming I was attracted to her, and the way she responded angered me for a short while.</p><p>At this point, it's a friendship I wouldn't be sad to lose. The whole incident has also made me wary of how I interact with female friends. It seems that when a man is unattached, there are plenty of assumptions about what he might want or how he might behave. A distance that previously wasn't there has now opened up. I'm not proud of myself for testing a friendship in such a way, but I'd rather be aware of misunderstandings or assumptions that might bite me where it hurts later on.<br /></p><p>It could turn out that Amy isn't genuine. That's always a possibility. Even so, I will have no regrets. At the moment, I desperately need a reason to keep hoping. Talking to her feels good. To be fair to her, she doesn't seem to want anything from me, except for us to get to know each other and see how it goes. So, to answer her question, I don't mind at all that she comes from China.</p><br />likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-77343605267344790312021-02-04T10:40:00.000+00:002021-02-04T10:40:07.291+00:00The Black Belt Mentality<p> To this day, I don't fully understand why he did it. We were waiting - the whole class - in the assembly hall for our PE teacher to arrive. From there, we'd be going to the local swimming pool. Maybe he was bored, sitting there. He decided to relieve his boredom by launching himself at me and trying to wrestle me to the ground. It didn't go quite how he had imagined it would.</p><p>I was always the quiet one. Consequently, I was always mistaken for an easy target. Later, with a puzzled look on his face, he asked how I'd been able to pin him to the ground. Stephen had a reputation in the school, you see, and may have been concerned about how being pinned in front of so many witnesses might affect that reputation. I've learned in the years since that such reputations are often built on willingness to fight, rather than ability. When I replied that I had been learning judo for a while, he asked what belt I had. The answer caused him to feel even more confused because, as he said, he had a belt of a colour which suggested he had been training for maybe a year longer in judo.</p><p>Some time after this, I had just walked out of the door at the end of the school day, and heard my name called from behind me. I turned to see a punch heading in my direction. It was only after I'd applied a standing arm bar that I realised who owned the fist that had nearly connected with my face. Rory? As far as I was aware, we didn't have a problem with each other. As we shuffled around - him trying to escape a standing arm bar, and me determined to keep it locked on - I asked what was going on.<br /></p><p>Apparently, hearing of my interest in a girl on whom he also had a crush had enraged him. Having been dissuaded from further attempts at aggression, he decided we'd walk part of the way home together and talk about it instead. At one point, he asked for another demonstration of the lock that had been applied on him. I obliged, knowing he would have little or no opportunity to practise and perfect the technique, and would probably soon forget it.</p><p>The thing is, I never wanted to achieve a black belt in judo. It may sound strange to some, but it's the truth. At that time, a black belt represented at least seven years of judo training; for most people, it took around ten years to earn that belt.</p><p>There was a practical aspect to all of this. My father insisted that my brother and I missed some of the gradings for the next belts. His stated reasoning was that we would both be much more experienced than those of the same apparent grade. The real motivation was that we weren't particularly well off financially as a family, and he was starting to think of judo as an expensive hobby for his sons.</p><p>When I started doing judo, it wasn't with the wish to gain a black belt. As a novice, I wanted to earn a white belt. As a white belt, I wanted to earn a yellow belt. As a yellow belt, I wanted to earn an orange belt. If I had concentrated on the black belt, my motivation would have been something that seemed far in the future. The satisfaction of gaining a white belt, a yellow belt, an orange belt and so on would have been lost. It was better to learn appreciation for what I had, rather than become dissatisfied because there were things I didn't have.</p><p>"I'm doing judo to earn a black belt" is a poor motivation anyway. We should do judo to do judo. If I hadn't enjoyed the process of learning, and hadn't felt that each belt earned was valuable in its own right, it would have affected my practice. The incident with Stephen, and his insistence that a coloured belt should have been a reason for him to have escaped the hold in which he had found himself, suggested that he didn't really get it. His training wasn't the problem. The incident with Rory showed me that convincing others not to cause harm was a great motivation.</p><p>When it becomes possible to attend martial arts classes again, I'm going to join a new class as a novice. It may happen that I gain a black belt eventually. It might not happen. All that matters, really, are those hours I may spend each week practising a martial art, for no other purpose than practising a martial art.</p><p>I hope you understand.<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-58852634139286771912020-12-16T14:23:00.000+00:002020-12-16T14:23:33.452+00:002020<div><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc e5nlhep0 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_6x"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql gk29lw5a a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb hrzyx87i jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We're coming to the end of a year that has tested most, if not all, of us. For some, it may feel like 2020 has been all about loss. For me, it has been about acceptance.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The work I currently do is very much concerned with how we come to accept the existence of suffering. One thing that often comes up is a potential disparity between how we deal with our own suffering and the suffering of others. If we focus on one of those, at the expense of the other, it will eventually take its toll.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The extra time that many of us have spent alone this year has afforded us an opportunity. It has been an opportunity for something we often neglect. Whether we have done so consciously or not, it has been a chance to reflect, to think about where we are in our lives, what's important to us, and other things. In their absence, the way we relate to others may have been on our minds. It seems that many had the time to learn or practise things they had wanted to learn or practise for some time.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Unfortunately, there have been those who have tried to deepen divisions between people. Tragedy has been used as a catalyst to shame individuals, based on their group identity, in a misguided attempt to change behaviour through an apparently socially-accepted form of bullying. At a time when the focus might have been very much on a feeling of "us", the media and certain organisations fostered a sense of "them".</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Here in the UK, the new year will bring a particularly uncertain future. If we believe that the result of the referendum in 2016 was accurate, then a slim majority of those who voted chose an uncertain future. I dare say that, no matter how anyone voted, they had reasons that made sense to them. The fallout from the whole thing, however, deepened any existing sense of "them". Sadly, a lot of the sentiments shared via social media were xenophobic or showed similar intolerance of perceived difference. Little doubt was left that a feeling of "them and us" was pervasive within our society.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Was the opportunity for reflection squandered? Maybe. It could also be that many chose to develop aspects of themselves which were all about a separation from others. Alternatively, a desire for greater connection may have led to a reinforcing of group identity, leading to the somewhat ironic outcome of social exclusion and disconnection from other groups of people.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I don't pretend to possess any great wisdom or insight. These are just thoughts that have come to me. Your mileage may vary, as they say. Coming to terms with our response to such things is very much about understanding who we are and, hopefully, being able accept it. If we recoil from and shut away the things we judge to be our darkness, they will only show themselves in other ways. It's my belief that we've seen a lot of darkness in 2020, but those whose inner darkness most visibly came to the surface tried to tell us they were the only ones to see the light.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-77291912645344522722020-11-01T20:35:00.002+00:002020-11-01T20:35:47.004+00:00Judo<p>When I was seven years old, I started to learn judo. My mother has claimed that it was her idea. The reasoning she gave was that she was worried my brother and I would be a target for bullies.<br /><br />What actually happened was that one of the teachers at our primary school mentioned the judo classes. They were to begin that evening in the older building of the school. My parents were taken aback by the quieter of their two sons being the one to mention it. My father was thrilled that I had shown some interest in an activity that could be seen as manly; my mother's reaction would be best described as ambivalence.<br /><br />After a while, we moved to a new home. The same instructor was teaching at a nearby community centre. It didn't take long for us to work out that, if we stayed on the mat after the children's class, he didn't mind if we took part in the adult class too. Our parents judged this as getting good value for money. Essentially, it meant that the seven years I was to spend learning judo had more learning packed into them.<br /><br />The purpose of this post isn't to tell you that I was a great judoka. Even if that were the case, I have retained little of what I learned. No, there was something else about the adult class that had a more profound effect, even if I didn't realise it at the time.<br /><br />At the end of the adult class, something happened which made it different from the children's class. As my brother and I (the only children present) knelt at the edge of the mat, we were fully expecting to bow and be dismissed as usual. Instead, the instructor told everyone to close their eyes and imagine the stress of the day running out of them into the floor below.<br /><br />The area in which we lived was recently identified as one of the most deprived areas of the UK. Perhaps things got worse since we moved away, or else most of it escaped our attention as children. Judo felt like a break from all of that, for just a few hours a week. Years later, jujitsu lessons would serve the same purpose, but would be a break from something else entirely.</p><p>A few months ago, I lost a friend. She was the person with whom I felt most able to discuss spiritual matters. Others might have the impression that I'm not at all spiritual. It's something that's not easy to convey, and an aspect of ourselves that is all too easy to neglect. In counselling theory, it might be described as one of our "configurations of self". For me, martial arts practice is a part of my spiritual configuration of self. There are other components though.<br /></p><p>Before the pandemic hit, I used to go to salsa classes once a week. The long drive to Chester was somewhat reminiscent of the long drive I used to take to Enniskillen, for jujitsu lessons. It was always dark on the way home and, at certain times of the year, dark on the way there too. Sometimes it rained. It always felt restorative. There's no better way to describe the feeling, unfortunately.</p><p>As I write this, it's dark and it's raining. Maybe it's time to go for a drive...<br /></p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-10422437594335167572020-10-12T00:18:00.000+01:002020-10-12T00:18:41.757+01:00The inner conflict<p>When my father left home, I was in the final years of junior school. It's hard to be more precise about these things, because he kept coming back and leaving again. He didn't know what he wanted to do, it seemed. It's difficult to put memories of that time in any kind of order.<br /><br />I had no interest in the school youth club, but my brother wanted to try it out, or our parents needed to talk without us there. To be honest, I don't remember the reason why I had to go, but there was no sense that it was something avoidable.<br /><br />There was a snooker (or maybe pool?) table in a side room. As that was one of my brother's interests, it was natural that he'd spend his time there. Me? I was incredibly socially anxious at that age, so the time there was mostly spent wandering aimlessly. At the far end of the club was a small indoor play area - the kind with lines painted onto a wooden floor. A game of football was in progress. There were loose footballs at the side, so I decided to just kick a ball back and forth at the side of the playing area.<br /><br />Mark Charlton had never given me any trouble before. It's likely that we'd had no interaction at all, really. Him marching up to where I was, asking if he'd given permission for me to kick a ball around, came as something of a surprise. Him becoming increasingly aggressive and trying to push me around came as even more of a surprise. I'd been taking judo lessons from the age of seven, so had already been doing that for a few years at the time of this night at the youth club. I knew how to maintain my own balance, and how to disturb someone else's. By the time a "responsible adult" was able to intervene, Mark was on his back, and I was sitting atop him, letting a rain of punches fall on his face.<br /><br />My first time at the school youth club would also be my last.<br /><br />Sometimes, when we leave our home, we go back to check that we have locked the door or to check something else. We can tell ourselves we've had a blank moment, that we are becoming forgetful. We could also say that we've done something so many times that it requires little conscious thought. Perhaps it requires no conscious thought at all.<br /><br />What does any of that have to do with judo? Well, experience is a great teacher, and experience taught me a very valuable lesson. If you practise, practise and practise some more, you reach the point where little conscious thought is needed for the performance of a skill. In fact, conscious thought can get in the way. Forget you even learned a martial art or combat sport and just act. The people of Japan have a word for this - <i>mushin</i>.<br /><br />It wasn't that I wanted to fight. In truth, a day where I didn't have to fight would have been very welcome. Unfortunately, my brother didn't think I should be allowed such a luxury. No one taught me how to throw a punch, but I learned. The first few years of secondary school were also pretty rough. Some would talk about this with pride for their own sense of toughness. I can't do that.<br /><br />Will the constant fear of sudden, unprovoked physical attack ever go away? I don't know. I was never in control, you see. I was never the one who decided a violent encounter would happen. Nothing in my demeanour had ever suggested that I wanted to fight - it happened against my will.</p><p>On one occasion, I'd had enough. As he marched forward with his hands raised into a boxing guard (he loved the Rocky films), I kicked his thigh with as much force as I could muster. He dropped to the floor, appearing to be in agony. Panic set in. I knew from experience, if my brother did anything wrong, we were "both as bad as each other"; if there was any sense that I'd done something wrong, it was for me alone to be shamed to the point of submission, and any perceived transgression was talked about as if it was the worst act any human had ever committed. I ran to my sister's house, where my mother was visiting, and told her what had happened. When we got back, my brother said he was going to kill me.</p><p><i>"Honestly, I can't leave you two alone for five minutes. You're both as bad as each other."</i><br /><br />For a while, I lived in Northern Ireland, and the atmosphere of the area in which I lived felt so threatening that an obsession with martial arts practice took over. With the lockdown in place, as a response to the pandemic, there's a real danger of that obsession taking over again.<br /><br />At the moment, I'm limiting myself to practising tai chi and eskrima.</p>likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-52897224473989980612020-09-22T12:39:00.000+01:002020-09-22T12:39:25.316+01:00Actions, not words<p>One of the professional bodies for counsellors in the UK recently published motions that are being considered in the run up to their AGM. Actually, a part of the document was a resolution that they would tackle institutional racism, as highlighted by the Black Lives Matter movement.<br /><br />Maybe most of us are familiar with the term "virtue signalling" by now. For those unfamiliar, it is about wanting to be seen to do do good things, but not really doing anything of value. In the worst case scenario, harm is being caused, but the person or organisation signalling virtue only cares that they have stated their intention to do good things. In short, it's a form of denial: an all too visible sign that an organisation or person is, in some way, out of touch with reality.<br /><br />Unfortunately, virtue signalling seems to be a symptom of the modern age. Social media has made most of us aware of our "brand" - how we are perceived by others and the value they may assign to us, based on that perception. If, in our quest to be seen as virtuous, we make assumptions about the needs of others ("I know what's good for them"), without actually checking this with them, then I'd suggest that we are somewhat devoid of real virtue.<br /><br />When an organisation makes a promise to "tackle institutional racism", I have to question whether they will make changes, or whether they believe making such a statement is enough. In terms of counselling, it was already written into our ethical guidelines that we treat clients and each other with equal respect, regardless of perceived race or other protected categorisation. If we are failing to meet our existing ethical standards, then there are deeper issues that a decree from on high is unlikely to fix.<br /><br />Barriers to entry into the profession might be one place where we could do more to be inclusive. One of the motions passed, however, suggests that the work counsellors may be permitted to do should be limited. Unless the counsellor has trained at post-graduate level (therefore, a degree in counselling, psychology or a related subject is assumed), the work we are permitted to do may be limited.<br /><br />When we qualify as counsellors, that is not the point where our training comes to an end. In fact, as long as we are practising, our training doesn't come to an end. Continuing professional development (CPD) is mandatory, and expensive in terms of time, money or both. Let's also not underestimate the value of the time we have spent doing the work, or the effect this has on our skills as practitioners.<br /><br />Earning a degree is expensive, and beyond the reach of many. The counselling diploma itself represents a significant expenditure of time, money and energy. Essentially, the motion in question is proposing a barrier to entry. That barrier will mostly affect those from low income households. It's also an insult to many counsellors who have gained a lot of experience from CPD and the work they have done. An organisation that is supposedly tasked with working in the interests of their members seems to be doing the opposite.<br /><br />The resolution to tackle institutional racism seems to be, amongst other things, an attempt to make the profession appear more representative of society. How can that happen when a motion with the effect of potentially limiting career progression and social mobility is contained within the same document? How many of those from ethnic minorities would be affected by the motion to exclude those without a degree from taking part in some types of therapeutic work? Well, maybe that is representative of our society, but do we really want to mirror and model prejudice or reinforce existing inequalities?<br /><br />All too often those who talk about inclusivity actually mean "you're included, as long as you meet certain conditions". That's <i>exclusivity</i>; let's not get our clusivities mixed up.<br /><br />Every one of us is unique. The various strands of our being determine the things of which we are capable, and the individual ways in which we show our capability. To judge any of us by one aspect of our knowledge and experience, and to make assumptions about our competence based on only that, seems to me somewhat contrary to the principles of counselling.<br /><br />I'm not the expert on anyone else's condition. As a mentor once said, we have not lived one day of another person's life. I still maintain that listening, and checking our understanding, is the cornerstone of our work. Would a degree help me with that?<br /></p><p><style type="text/css">
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<br />
I accept my current condition, and feel compassion for the lower back muscles I have mistreated, which now refuse to cooperate.<br /><br />
All of us right now are having to practice acceptance, to some degree. From what I see, some seem to be struggling with this. There have been attempts to blame and shame others, not just for the spread of the virus, but for many other things too.<br /><br />Certain movements have stepped up their campaigns to blame the oppression of one group on the members of another, and individuals are clinging to specific aspects of their identity, wielding them as weapons against those who don't share the pigeon hole. It all serves to separate us from each other, and create conflict where it need not exist.<br /><br />In relative terms, an injury to my back doesn't make me feel depressed. I can't say the same for how this crisis is being used to further the agenda of those who use fear, hatred and anger to achieve their desired outcome. That's wholly depressing. It's a clear reminder that it's impossible to make peace with those who aren't at peace with themselves.<br /><br />I try to adhere to my commitment to acceptance and compassion. Admittedly, I'm not always successful in that. It's starting to feel like a lonely place, to be honest. I suppose I have to accept that people project their inner conflict onto others. It's likely that I'm also guilty of this - actually, I'm acutely aware that I have been guilty of this. If we accept this projection of inner conflict as a sign of suffering, it's much easier to offer compassion to those we might otherwise supply with another perceived enemy.likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-75501431862340454282020-04-07T12:24:00.000+01:002020-04-07T12:24:49.070+01:00Fear and judgementHas your behaviour changed? Has the way you feel changed? You might
find that you're short-tempered, confrontational and just different from
how you usually are. It doesn't help that others seem to be behaving
irresponsibly, potentially putting us and those we love at risk.<br />
<br />
People are experiencing a sense of loss right now. It could be a loss of
freedom, a loss of income, a loss of their way of life or even the loss
of someone they love. On top of all this, there's a loss of <span class="text_exposed_show">connection
with others, in the way we'd usually connect with each other. We're
facing a great deal of uncertainty, and it's understandable that we may
feel afraid, whether we acknowledge the feeling or not.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
It helps to separate the actions of others from who they are. We may
not like the behaviour, but we have no idea what is behind the
behaviour. You may notice that condemning others, feeling animosity
towards them, doesn't bring us peace. Quite the opposite, in fact. We
may start to lose our faith in humanity. This is all the more pronounced
when the positive aspects of humanity - warmth, affection, connection -
aren't so readily available to us.<br />
<br />
What we have left is
compassion. If we recognise that behaviours we find difficult to
tolerate are almost always a manifestation of inner suffering, we are
more able to separate the behaviour from the person. This is also
showing compassion for ourselves, because we reduce the damage that
fear, hatred and anger may inflict upon our mental and emotional health.</div>
likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1880483886639182206.post-51239111075204018152020-04-06T12:15:00.000+01:002020-04-06T12:15:18.789+01:00When this is overIn real terms, little will change. The virus has already taken a number of lives, and a number of people have lost their livelihood. In the grand scheme of things, however, little will change.<br />
<br />
In <a href="https://www.spreaker.com/user/9404101/heretics-47-make-xing-yi-wild-again" target="_blank">an episode of a martial arts podcast</a>, the discussion took many turns, but at one point touched on the fortunes of Asian economies in comparison to those in Europe and the United States. A point was made that economies largely built on the exploitation of other nations' people and resources were now significantly weaker.<br />
<br />
Up to a point, the governments of the world's largest economic powers were very much in favour of the process of globalisation. One possible outcome of the process, however, was a decentralisation of political and economic power. How a government responds to such a situation says much about their perception of where they stand, or believe they should stand, on the international stage.<br />
<br />
The European Union is, in theory, an example of a cooperative form of governance. To some extent, this is true in practice, but it's also true that international competition exists within the union. Something interesting happened, though. Competing concerns within the union led to decisions being made cooperatively as compromises were reached. Depending on your political stance, this led to decisions being made in the interests of everybody or nobody in particular.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, some members of the union believed they should have more power; some members believed that others had too much power. The decisions became less important in the minds of many than how the decisions had been reached. Here in the United Kingdom, the media picked up on this dissatisfaction, and it became a tool for those who were fearful of the implications of some rulings, to convince the rest of us that leaving the union would be in our interests too.<br />
<br />
Whether all of the above was a good or bad thing depends very much on your frame of reference. It does, however, highlight how our sense of separateness is linked to competitive behaviour, even when the environment in which we find ourselves calls for cooperation.<br />
<br />
The current crisis has led to many of us feeling this sense of separateness on an individual level. The sense of threat connected to the crisis has, on an individual level, amplified the sense of competition with others. This was most visible in the panic buying which exemplified and reinforced existing inequalities.<br />
<br />
Now that so many of us are living in enforced isolation, we might miss the company of friends, family, acquaintances and colleagues. There will, of course, be exceptions. Isolation will be a relief to some. The question is, will the physical absence of others at this time lead to us valuing their presence in the future?<br />
<br />
Loneliness can have a profound effect on our mental health. When coupled with a sense of threat and uncertainty, the effect is more pronounced. Those who are unable to be with elderly or terminally ill loved ones may experience anticipatory grief, and those who lose loved ones at this time may feel the effects of complicated grief. Many other forms of loss will be felt - loss of income, loss of liberty, the loss of a way of life, etc. Isolation gives us more time and space to ruminate.<br />
<br />
We are faced with the choice of looking inward, to our own experience and suffering, or outward to the experience and suffering of others. This isn't an entirely selfless act. In his book, <i>Man's Search for Meaning</i>, Viktor Frankl wrote that, during his time as a prisoner at a Nazi concentration camp, he noticed that those who were concerned for the welfare of others were more likely to survive longer. It's difficult to imagine how we, placed in such a situation, might be affected by the horrors we witnessed.<br />
<br />
Modern writings on the subject note that compassion for self is a necessary component of compassion. Indeed, we may be of service to others, but it would be irresponsible to neglect ourselves. Acceptance and commitment therapy, for example, works with an acknowledgement that to be human is to feel emotions. Compassion focused therapy highlights how these emotions are often in conflict. When we give little attention to this aspect of ourselves, we are not exercising compassion for the one who looks back at us in the mirror, instead allowing feelings to gather strength and potentially overwhelm us.<br />
<br />
"I feel... and how it affects me is..." It can be difficult to say this to someone else, if we lack trust in those around us or have reason to be uncertain of their response. To simply acknowledge it to ourselves is enough. There's a visualisation where we imagine reaching in to the feeling, and pulling it out, making it separate from us. Then, we reach out and bring the feeling back into us. It's a way of seeing the feeling as a part of us, but not the entirety of our being. Other visualisations involve seeing ourselves as an ocean, and our feelings as waves on the surface of the ocean, or variations on this theme. The waves come and go, but the ocean is constant.<br />
<br />
In all of this, our thoughts about our situation and how we feel play a part. The words we use, whether spoken or in our internal processes, to describe what is happening, affect our experience. <br />
<br />
I seem to have digressed, as I often do, but it is always linked in some way. Many discussions have started with "When this is over..." What I hoped to communicate was that how things are, when this is over, is fundamentally linked to how we use this time.<br />
<br />
When I happened to see a good instructional video on Ba Duan Jin, I shared it with friends.<br />
<br />
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<br />
There has, so far, been no response. It doesn't matter. I know that performing this sequence, especially if we are otherwise immobile, has a positive effect on physical and mental health. I offered it in the spirit of helping others, but at the same time accept that others may choose not to accept it as such. It only matters that I offered it - that my focus was on others. I was thinking cooperatively, rather than competitively.<br />
<br />
In the end, I don't know whether individually, nationally or internationally, a spirit of competition or cooperation will prevail. Most likely, the two will co-exist uneasily, as they have before. One or the other will be dominant at various points in time. Yin and Yang. Maybe we will use this time to come to some form of acceptance of the need for balance. Maybe we will just learn acceptance. Maybe that's enough.likeastreamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02086318588457342510noreply@blogger.com0