- The Ancient Hippie
- Retired from 10 years in the Canadian Navy, and 28 years in the Canadian Diplomatic Service, with postings in Beijing, Mexico City, Sri Lanka, Romania, Abu Dhabi, Guyana, Ireland, Trinidad, and, last but not least, India.
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Jim's Guide to Enlightenment
Jim’s Guide to Enlightenment
Note: This Guide is a work in progress, and should be checked regularly for reality updates. The Guru may, at times, speak in riddles: this does not mean that the truth is more distant, merely that the illusion has changed. The Seeking of the Truth is a Quest, and that quest is Dharma.
Sutra 1: Good works or contemplation should not be indulged for their own sakes: the Universe reveals what is required in your Now.
Sutra 2: Reflection is not solely that which we see in the mirror of Now, but is also the contemplation of why that image is.
Sutra 3: See your reality for what it is, not for what you think it is: this is the first step to making your reality what you wish it to be.
Sutra 4: Do not expect your Path to be smooth. It will have rocks, slippery portions, and parts that are washed away completely. Persevere.
Sutra 5: Public self-criticism does not brighten one’s Spark of Brahman: it merely feeds one’s narcissism.
Sutra 6: If your Path seems to be sprinkled with shards of glass, you should examine each shard to ensure it is not a diamond.
Sutra 7: Authority is granted by the people, and is meant to be constantly questioned by those people.Sutra 8: Faith is not an alternative to thought: the one excludes the other.
Sutra 9: To proclaim Righteousness is to be Unworthy.
Sutra 10: Karma is not a consumer item to be bought and sold.
Sutra 11: To understand our purpose in the context of the Whole, we must focus on our Atman...our connection with Brahman.
Sutra 12: A focus on Now strengthens the Fulcrum upon which rests the Universal Balance.
Sutra 13: The Children of the Guru are the true reflection of his Teachings.
Sutra 14: The greater the complexity of a problem, the more obvious the correct solution becomes.
Sutra 15: One’s Dharma may be obscured by believing in Its exclusivity.
Sutra 16: The true Guru will guide, not preach.
Sutra 17: Do not waste your life seeking to understand the Divine: Brahman lives within you.
Sutra 18: Listen to the vibration of the Universe through the Chakra of your heart and you will resonate with Truth.
Sutra 19: To truly hear and resonate with the Universal Vibration, one must be fully in the Now.
Sutra 20: Sympathy and Compassion should never be about oneself.
Sutra 21: Words of Truth are always illuminated by that inner Light (Shanti) your Spark will recognise.
Sutra 22: Anger directed at you is not necessarily about you: always consider the Source.
Sutra 23: In seeking direction, it is often necessary to stop seeking and Be with the moment: your spark of Brahman will provide.
Sutra 24: Unnecessary baggage obscures the Path: unclutter your mind.
Sutra 25: Remember that a pile of ordure is simply that: Seek not to give it meaning.
Sutra 26: Disdain lessens your Karmic profile: sympathy enhances it.
Sutra 27: Value judgements should be made from within the context of that Value’s singular reality.
Sutra 28: There are times when inaction is the only correct course of action, and understanding the reason for that inaction is more important than any possible outcome.
Sutra 29: To begin to understand the Universal Vibration, one must first still the echoes of Chaos within.
Sutra 30: Language reflects the Truth of one’s Reality: listen carefully when others speak.
Sutra 31: Negative thought multiplies: Positive thought must be nurtured, as it is fragile and ethereal.
Sutra 32: Part of Wisdom is knowing when acceptance is more important than understanding.
Sutra 33: Do not follow those who would interpret the divine for you: your spark of Brahman will lead you to the Path.
Sutra 34: In meditation Inner Clarity can adjust the Illusion of one’s Present Reality.
Sutra 35: Seek not to assign blame: accept it and blossom.
Sutra 36: When spiritual guides speak like fanatics, they are.
Sutra 37: Discard humility that is unwarranted, as it may cloud your perception.
Sutra 38: The Circle of Natraj is not about destruction, but signifies rebirth and renewal.
Sutra 39: The Universal Vibration resonates with the body Chakras: feel the Vibration.
Sutra 40: Stop talking long enough to hear your inner voice.
Sutra 41: In a Universe of Order struggling to balance Chaos, logic must at times be suspended to enable a vision of the Truth.
Sutra 42: Prayer and hope seek to influence tomorrow: experience instead the joy of the Now in which all things are possible.
Sutra 43: Fear destroys logical thought: it is extraneous to your personal Now and cannot dwell there.
Sutra 44: Love is a microcosm of the Universal Balance, and one must be vigilant against the intrusion of Chaos.
Sutra 45: Always be mindful that Truth is approachable by many different paths (Dharma), and is our ultimate destination.
Sutra 46: Aum. To clearly see Dharma one must understand that Brahman is Truth as it is the Path, as it is.
Sutra 47: Fable is often easier to accept than Truth: examine content through the lens of Dharma.
Sutra 48: Do not permit a difficult problem to affect your feelings adversely. Either nothing can be done about it, or a solution or alternative can be found. That solution will not be found through lamenting, but through thought. Let it go by accepting it, or solve it through clear thought.
Sutra 49: Right thought is food for the Atman, which cannot overindulge.
Sutra 50: Take care not to assume that your Dharma is catholic: Dharma varies with individual realities.
Sutra 51: Mindfulness permits contemplation of various levels of the Now. Explore.
Sutra 52: Multiple realities are a fact. A different reality exists for each of us. I am not the same in your reality as I am in mine.
Sutra 53: Aum. Clear your mind to enable right thought: Chaos seeks confusion.
Sutra 54: Recognise Illusion, but embrace Truth.
Sutra 55: Multitasking diminishes each component: it is a reactive function, not contemplative.
Sutra 56: Understanding is not an epiphany: it is a form of mental focus that is receptive to the Universal harmonic.
Sutra 57: Reality is not always what it seems: look at Reality obliquely to avoid being overwhelmed.
Sutra 58: Positive thought attracts positive results: tap into the Flow.
Sutra 59: Never seek to impose your Reality upon others: Reality to you may be Illusion to them.
Sutra 60: Your opinions are, to others, the street map of a different reality.
Sutra 61: What is said is often different from what is heard: communicate your thoughts clearly, and seek clarification of the words of others.
Sutra 62: It is not always necessary to follow: often quiet contemplation will provide the Way.
Sutra 63: Seek to find the Wonder in all tasks: Brahman in all things.
Sutra 64: A stumble is simply a fortuitous reminder to focus on the Path, not the horizon.
Sutra 65: Treasure each breath as a means of being in the Moment.
Sutra 66: Total immersion in the Now results in macro adjustments to the normal Time/Space parameters.
Sutra 67: Life is like photography: we must use the negative to develop.
Sutra 68: If Peace is the default setting for the Human Condition, the time has come to press Reset.
Sutra 69: One must first understand oneself to truly understand others.
Sutra 70: One’s Dharma must not consist of a series of waves of the Sea of Life: it must be a constant reflection on the tranquil surface of Reality.
Sutra 71: You should never discard your dreams until they become a part of your reality.
Sutra 72: A whisper often seizes the attention more effectively than does a thunderclap.
Sutra 73: The simpler a thing seems, the more complex it really is.
Sutra 74: The Path is our Home, and Now is the beacon that leads us there.
Sutra 75: Seek to make your Life the perfect Koan: Let it answer the Question it asks.
Sutra 76: Martyrdom is not a desired State: Understanding is.
Sutra 77: Life is but one position on the Dharmic wheel: that position is Now. Experience it fully: be aware.
Sutra 78: Understand that, at times, Dharma requires serendipity, but that such travel must, by definition, be in This Moment.
Sutra 79: Truth requires no embellishment: be concise in Word and Thought.
Sutra 80: Hatred lessens the Light of your spirit: Love amplifies that Light.
Sutra 81: Tolerance clarifies the same Dharma that anger obscures.
Sutra 82: Truth may be as easily recognised by its absence as by its Presence.
Sutra 83: Do not think with your heart: your mind could atrophy. Thus, do not love with your mind, as your heart knows itself best.
Sutra 84: Dharma is a journey: choose your travelling companions carefully.
Sutra 85: Those who seek to assign Name and Visage to Brahman do not understand the Universal Balance.
Sutra 86: The Rough is as valid as the Polished: Truth is recognised by Content, not Packaging.
Sutra 87: The language of religion is fractious by nature: Reformation to one is Heresy to another, and Infidel to one is Believer to another.
Sutra 88: The Dance of Natraj is real: listen to the music.
Sutra 89: One cannot conceive the inconceivable through faith, or the suspension of intellect: one can only follow the Path, which is the Quest for Truth and Knowledge.
Sutra 90: The “Mountain” Sutras
Sutra 90i: Aum. A man climbed a mountain to see where he was: he was nowhere.
Sutra 90ii: Aum. A man lived his life beside a mountain: the mountain was a part of his life.
Sutra 90iii: Aum. A man believed a Mountain was God. He was right.
Sutra 90iv: Aum. A man believed that God lived on a Mountain. He was both right and wrong.
Sutra 90v: Aum. A man did not believe in God: he was right. Another man believed in God: he was not wrong.
Sutra 90vi: Aum. Mountains are mountains: you may interpret your Dharma to view them as obstacles, or as an Illusion reflecting your Reality.
Sutra 90vii: Aum. To a man standing on his head, the Mountain is a granite hole in the Sky.
Sutra 90viii: Aum. For a man with his head in the clouds, the Mountain is invisible.
Sutra 90ix: Aum. For a mountain it is sufficient to be a mountain: for a Man it is never sufficient to see the mountain for what it is.
Sutra 91: The “Grounding Chakra” echoes the Universal Harmonic to achieve Balance.
Sutra 92: What is this talk of Past and Future? They are simply aspects of the Now with different temporal loci.
Sutra 93: Do not speak to me of Reality: it is a personal concept that varies with the Observer.
Sutra 94: Do not simply observe the changes: live the changes.
Sutra 95: Law should not be used as a moral bludgeon, but as a Tool to facilitate understanding.
Sutra 96: The Politics of Fear is not a method of social Control, but a Mirror of Intent.
Sutra 97: A moralistic and punitive society seeks Control, not Truth, thus obscuring the Path.
Sutra 98: The more garish a signpost is the less likely it points to the Path.
Sutra 99: Lesson outcomes may be far different than the Intent of the Teacher.
Sutra 100: The “Lotus” Sutras
(Note: These pay homage to the ancient Buddhist White Lotus Sutra of the Devine Dharma)
Sutra 100i: Past and Future enfold the Now as the Lotus petals enfold its stamens.
Sutra 100ii: The Lotus is a parable that illustrates the Harmony of the Aesthetic with the Functional.
Sutra 100iii: The Lotus symbolises the Universal Third Eye: contemplation opens the Gateway.
Sutra 100iv: Meditate upon the Lotus: its form symbolises the Flame of Brahman, as well as the flames in Natraj’s Circle of Destruction.
Sutra 100v: While the life of the Lotus is transitory, the concept is Eternal.
Sutra 100vi: By virtue of the existence of the Lotus, that existence is validated: that is our lesson.
Sutra 100vii: The Lotus represents a Cosmic Nexus through which we may glimpse the Truth.
Sutra 100viii: The perfection of the Lotus illuminates meditation as the Spark of Brahman illuminates the Atman.
Sutra 100ix: Those who see only God in the Lotus are short-sighted.
Sutra 100x: The Lotus conceptualises the Now.
Sutra 101: Seek not an external Answer: it lies Within.
Sutra 102: Dwell not on Yesterday’s mistakes, focus instead on what you can accomplish Now.
Sutra 103: Sometimes the only beauty to be found in transitions is the fact of their transitory nature.
Go well, and in peace,
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
The Rat and Mouse Chronicles: Chapter Five In Which Friendly Helps a Witch
Chapter Five: Friendly Helps a Witch
Lightning flashed over the hills surrounding the town of Orflea while Sergeant Gallagher sipped coffee at his desk. His thoughts were concerned with how peculiar the weather had been ever since that evening in early summer when he and Sergeant Smith had to run the strange man in the long black cloak out of town. He smiled to himself as his thoughts strayed to his friends Rat and Mouse, and how happy they were with the new home Beaver had found for them. He was a little puzzled by their strange pale new friend. Friendly, they called her, and she certainly seemed that way.
The ringing of the phone snapped the good sergeant back to the present. The voice on the other end, Farmer Buckstone, was very agitated.
“You’ve got to come quickly,” he yelled, “before the entire forest is blasted to smithereens!”
Gallagher finally got the man calmed down enough to tell his story. In the forest behind his farmhouse, Farmer Buckstone, had earlier seen bright flashes, accompanied by loud crashes. When he went to investigate, he discovered that his neighbour, Hazel Grimly, who lived in a beautiful little rustic cottage in the wood, was in a vicious battle with a strange man in black.
“They are just standing there, throwing fireballs and bolts of lightning at each other,” explained the excited farmer. “I’ve never seen anything like it in all my born days! You’ve got to do something quickly. They’re scaring my cows.”
Sergeant Gallagher reassured the farmer that he and Sergeant Smith would get onto it immediately. Putting down the phone, he dialled his partner and quickly outlined the situation. Both of the sergeants knew from previous experience that when anything weird happened, Rat and Mouse were almost always able to resolve the problem.
Mouse answered the phone on the first ring, and explained that Friendly had just been saying that she felt something strange was going to happen. He promised that the trio would meet the policemen at the Buckstone farm as soon as possible.
On their way to the farm, Rat, Mouse, and Friendly Ghost could see the strange blue lights flashing in the distance. As they pulled into the farmyard and got out of the car, they could hear loud crashes in the near distance. The police had just arrived, and soon the five of them were hurrying through the dark forest towards Hazel Grimly’s cottage.
The sight that met their eyes was reminded Mouse a little of the sequence in Disney’s “Fantasia” called “A Night on Bald Mountain.” A tall man with flowing black robes stood at the edge of the clearing hurling great blue fireballs at the beautiful tall woman who stood near the cottage door. Hazel would hold up her hand, as if to catch the fireballs, and they would burst into brilliant blue fireworks before reaching her. She, in turn, would wave her hand, point at the man in black, and release a brilliant white lightning bolt, which the man blocked with a wave of a wand he held in his hand.
She smiled tensely as she saw the approaching group, and asked them--very politely, considering the circumstances--if they would please stand back out of the way. As she was saying this, the man in black let loose the most vivid fireball yet. Although Hazel tried to block it, the bolt sizzled by her and demolished her beautiful little cottage in an explosion of blue light and thunder.
A piece of wood from the explosion hit Hazel on the shoulder and knocked her to the ground. She lay dazed, while the man in black gathered his cloak around him and started chanting in a strange language. With every word, the night got blacker, and above the man’s head a ball of fierce blue energy grew larger and larger.
Rat and Mouse, forgetting their fear and very concerned for the fallen woman, rushed to her side. Friendly, however, was growling deep in her throat, looking toward the man in black. It seemed to the startled policemen that she was growing larger and paler before their eyes. Suddenly she leapt into the air, changing into a screaming skeleton head as she flew towards the man at the edge of the wood.
The man looked up at the screaming apparition that was rapidly approaching him, and stumbled backwards. As the man fell to the ground, Hazel pulled herself to her feet with the assistance of Rat and Mouse, and pointed her finger in the man’s direction. A bolt of white fire flashed briefly as it hit the man, causing an explosion of glowing white smoke.
When the smoke had cleared, Friendly, now back in her normal form, was unable to find any trace of the man. He had completely disappeared!
Shortly after, when all of them except Farmer Buckstone (who had excused himself saying that he didn’t want to hear about any of these weird goings-on!) were seated in the farmer’s kitchen drinking hot tea, Hazel recounted her strange story.
“As you may have guessed, I am a witch,” she said. “Not a bad witch, but a white witch, who does only good magic. I have been working on a special project for the Queen Witch, who lives far to the north. The Queen has suspected for quite some time now that the forces of evil are gathering for a great assault on the forces of good. I have been using my special powers to try to discover anything that I can about the leader of the dark forces.”
“This evening,” she continued, “just as I thought I was approaching the truth, my crystal ball was shattered by a bolt of blue fire that came through the open window. When I got to the door I saw the man in black at the edge of the forest. I recognized him from long ago. His name is Lazarul, and when he was a good white wizard he was called Lazarul the White. That was long ago however, and it now appears that he has been corrupted by a force much stronger than he.”
“But Hazel,” interrupted Mouse, “isn’t he gone now? Didn’t you vaporize him?”
“I’m afraid not, Mouse,” replied the good witch. “It would take a power much stronger than mine to remove such scum from this level of existence. If it was not for the bravery and quick thinking of Friendly Ghost here, I am afraid that I might have fared much worse in the contest. I suspect that Lazarul has returned to his master.”
“Just now,” she continued, “I am more concerned with resting for a few days to regain my strength. I must then report to the Queen Witch with news of this event, and then continue in my attempts to foresee the evil that is gathering.”
“Officer,” she said, turning to Sergeant Smith, “could you recommend a good hotel in Orflea where one very tired witch could rest for a few days?”
Before Sergeant Smith could answer, Rat, after a quick look at both Rat and Friendly Ghost in which much was said, but not aloud, stood to his feet, bowed graciously and said, “fair lady, my friends and I would be most pleased if you would stay with us at Waterfall Cave for as long as you may wish.”
Hazel, visibly moved by this offer, bend down and kissed Rat on his forehead.
“It has been many long years,” Hazel stated, “since I have received such a welcome offer, and never one so graciously put. I accept with very great pleasure.”
“Well then,” replied Rat, with a nod to his friends, “shall we go home? I believe that the exciting events of this evening can only be put into the proper perspective by the drinking of at least two cups of cappuccino and, perhaps, a small slice of Mouse’s most excellent cake.”
This then, was how the good Witch Hazel (as she came to be called) took up residence at Waterfall Cave.
Lightning flashed over the hills surrounding the town of Orflea while Sergeant Gallagher sipped coffee at his desk. His thoughts were concerned with how peculiar the weather had been ever since that evening in early summer when he and Sergeant Smith had to run the strange man in the long black cloak out of town. He smiled to himself as his thoughts strayed to his friends Rat and Mouse, and how happy they were with the new home Beaver had found for them. He was a little puzzled by their strange pale new friend. Friendly, they called her, and she certainly seemed that way.
The ringing of the phone snapped the good sergeant back to the present. The voice on the other end, Farmer Buckstone, was very agitated.
“You’ve got to come quickly,” he yelled, “before the entire forest is blasted to smithereens!”
Gallagher finally got the man calmed down enough to tell his story. In the forest behind his farmhouse, Farmer Buckstone, had earlier seen bright flashes, accompanied by loud crashes. When he went to investigate, he discovered that his neighbour, Hazel Grimly, who lived in a beautiful little rustic cottage in the wood, was in a vicious battle with a strange man in black.
“They are just standing there, throwing fireballs and bolts of lightning at each other,” explained the excited farmer. “I’ve never seen anything like it in all my born days! You’ve got to do something quickly. They’re scaring my cows.”
Sergeant Gallagher reassured the farmer that he and Sergeant Smith would get onto it immediately. Putting down the phone, he dialled his partner and quickly outlined the situation. Both of the sergeants knew from previous experience that when anything weird happened, Rat and Mouse were almost always able to resolve the problem.
Mouse answered the phone on the first ring, and explained that Friendly had just been saying that she felt something strange was going to happen. He promised that the trio would meet the policemen at the Buckstone farm as soon as possible.
On their way to the farm, Rat, Mouse, and Friendly Ghost could see the strange blue lights flashing in the distance. As they pulled into the farmyard and got out of the car, they could hear loud crashes in the near distance. The police had just arrived, and soon the five of them were hurrying through the dark forest towards Hazel Grimly’s cottage.
The sight that met their eyes was reminded Mouse a little of the sequence in Disney’s “Fantasia” called “A Night on Bald Mountain.” A tall man with flowing black robes stood at the edge of the clearing hurling great blue fireballs at the beautiful tall woman who stood near the cottage door. Hazel would hold up her hand, as if to catch the fireballs, and they would burst into brilliant blue fireworks before reaching her. She, in turn, would wave her hand, point at the man in black, and release a brilliant white lightning bolt, which the man blocked with a wave of a wand he held in his hand.
She smiled tensely as she saw the approaching group, and asked them--very politely, considering the circumstances--if they would please stand back out of the way. As she was saying this, the man in black let loose the most vivid fireball yet. Although Hazel tried to block it, the bolt sizzled by her and demolished her beautiful little cottage in an explosion of blue light and thunder.
A piece of wood from the explosion hit Hazel on the shoulder and knocked her to the ground. She lay dazed, while the man in black gathered his cloak around him and started chanting in a strange language. With every word, the night got blacker, and above the man’s head a ball of fierce blue energy grew larger and larger.
Rat and Mouse, forgetting their fear and very concerned for the fallen woman, rushed to her side. Friendly, however, was growling deep in her throat, looking toward the man in black. It seemed to the startled policemen that she was growing larger and paler before their eyes. Suddenly she leapt into the air, changing into a screaming skeleton head as she flew towards the man at the edge of the wood.
The man looked up at the screaming apparition that was rapidly approaching him, and stumbled backwards. As the man fell to the ground, Hazel pulled herself to her feet with the assistance of Rat and Mouse, and pointed her finger in the man’s direction. A bolt of white fire flashed briefly as it hit the man, causing an explosion of glowing white smoke.
When the smoke had cleared, Friendly, now back in her normal form, was unable to find any trace of the man. He had completely disappeared!
Shortly after, when all of them except Farmer Buckstone (who had excused himself saying that he didn’t want to hear about any of these weird goings-on!) were seated in the farmer’s kitchen drinking hot tea, Hazel recounted her strange story.
“As you may have guessed, I am a witch,” she said. “Not a bad witch, but a white witch, who does only good magic. I have been working on a special project for the Queen Witch, who lives far to the north. The Queen has suspected for quite some time now that the forces of evil are gathering for a great assault on the forces of good. I have been using my special powers to try to discover anything that I can about the leader of the dark forces.”
“This evening,” she continued, “just as I thought I was approaching the truth, my crystal ball was shattered by a bolt of blue fire that came through the open window. When I got to the door I saw the man in black at the edge of the forest. I recognized him from long ago. His name is Lazarul, and when he was a good white wizard he was called Lazarul the White. That was long ago however, and it now appears that he has been corrupted by a force much stronger than he.”
“But Hazel,” interrupted Mouse, “isn’t he gone now? Didn’t you vaporize him?”
“I’m afraid not, Mouse,” replied the good witch. “It would take a power much stronger than mine to remove such scum from this level of existence. If it was not for the bravery and quick thinking of Friendly Ghost here, I am afraid that I might have fared much worse in the contest. I suspect that Lazarul has returned to his master.”
“Just now,” she continued, “I am more concerned with resting for a few days to regain my strength. I must then report to the Queen Witch with news of this event, and then continue in my attempts to foresee the evil that is gathering.”
“Officer,” she said, turning to Sergeant Smith, “could you recommend a good hotel in Orflea where one very tired witch could rest for a few days?”
Before Sergeant Smith could answer, Rat, after a quick look at both Rat and Friendly Ghost in which much was said, but not aloud, stood to his feet, bowed graciously and said, “fair lady, my friends and I would be most pleased if you would stay with us at Waterfall Cave for as long as you may wish.”
Hazel, visibly moved by this offer, bend down and kissed Rat on his forehead.
“It has been many long years,” Hazel stated, “since I have received such a welcome offer, and never one so graciously put. I accept with very great pleasure.”
“Well then,” replied Rat, with a nod to his friends, “shall we go home? I believe that the exciting events of this evening can only be put into the proper perspective by the drinking of at least two cups of cappuccino and, perhaps, a small slice of Mouse’s most excellent cake.”
This then, was how the good Witch Hazel (as she came to be called) took up residence at Waterfall Cave.
The Rat and Mouse Chronicles: Chapter Four: A Friendly Ghost
Chapter Four: A Friendly Ghost
The friends had planned their visit to the island at the far end of Long Lake for quite some time. Today was the day that it was actually happening! Rat and Mouse had prepared the picnic basket before they went to bed for the evening, and now it sat, full of tasty promise, in the bow of their small sailboat.
It was a perfect day for exploring, with a gentle breeze to propel the good ship “Water Witch” through the uncharted waters at the southern end of Long Lake. Mouse joined Rat in a verse or two of “The Bay of Mexico,” followed by “The Sloop John B.” The island grew steadily closer as the water gurgled happily under the small boat’s bow.
As they approached the island, Rat and Mouse could see the gables and chimneys of a large house lifting its timeworn shoulders above the surrounding trees. The ruins of an old wharf and boathouse presented the perfect spot for a landing, and the friends soon had their little craft securely moored.
An overgrown path through the trees led up a slight hill towards the abandoned house. Rat and Mouse lugged the lunch basket and oversized flask of cappuccino through the path’s leafy tunnel under the trees, many of which were hung with Spanish moss. Occasionally a bird would call in the distance, but the feeling was very quiet and solemn....almost like being in church. Rat found himself looking over his shoulder quite often, and Mouse’s whiskers twitched nervously as the path opened into a clearing that surrounded the old, and obviously deserted, house.
Some windows were broken, and had shutters hanging at crazy angles from rusted hinges. The three chimneys had gaps where bricks had fallen from them. The front door, across a rickety verandah, seemed solid in its frame, but hung open just a bit, as if daring the friends to enter.
“Let’s leave the basket and coffee on the verandah, Mouse,” said Rat. “I’m not going to feel comfortable having lunch until we have explored this place thoroughly. I feel like I am in the middle of some evil witch’s nightmare!”
Mouse agreed, and soon the pair had pushed their way through the front door and were standing in the middle of a fully-furnished living room that had collected surprising little dust over the years. A stairway curved upwards to the second floor hall, and at the back of the living room, beside an open door that lead to what seemed to be the kitchen, was a wonderful large stone fireplace.
“Hey, Rat,” said Mouse, “if we get a fire going, it will make me feel a lot more comfortable with this spooky place, and will give us a cozy place to have lunch.”
The two soon had enough fallen branches and broken pieces of verandah collected to start a roaring (and comforting!) fire, and were enjoying sandwiches and cappuccino. Their comfort, however, was soon disturbed by a strange moaning sound coming from the second floor.
“A g-g-ghost!” said Mouse, as he sprang to his feet, spilling his coffee.
“Let’s go,” said Rat, running toward the stairs.
Mouse soon followed closely as the pair rushed up the stairs and into the dark hall at the top. The moaning seemed to be coming from an opened door at the end of the hall. As Rat ran into the room, he came to an abrupt halt, and Mouse ran into his back. Sitting in front of them, with its back against a wall, was a pale, and obviously very sad, figure. This ghostly figure slowly raised its head and looked sadly at the two.
“Aren’t you going to run away?” it asked mournfully. “Anyone who comes here always does.”
“Why should we run away?” said Mouse, “we’ve only just got here, and there is still some cappuccino left from our lunch, so why don’t you join us and tell us why you are so sad.”
Soon the three were settled, cappuccinos in hand, in front of the fire, and the pale figure told her story.
She had no idea who she was, she told them, or why she was a ghost, but she knew in her heart that she could not leave the island until someone befriended her and invited her home with them. Many people had visited the island over the long years, but upon seeing her, they would return to their boats in a great hurry, and never return.
“That’s why I was crying just now,” she said. “I just knew that as soon as you saw me, you’d run off too.”
“Well we didn’t.” said Mouse. “It’s not like you are a scary ghost, rattling chains and doing all that frightening stuff.”
“Oh, I can do that too,” said the ghostly figure, “but I don’t really like to. I’d much rather be friends with someone than scare them.”
“A friendly ghost!” cried Mouse. “What a wonderful idea!”
“What a wonderful name,” exclaimed Rat. “That is what we shall call you from now on. Friendly Ghost, or just Friendly for short.”
Friendly lifted her head and smiled for the very first time in many years.
“I like it,” she said. “Friendly Ghost has a good friendly ring to it.”
Rat asked Friendly to excuse them for a minute as they had something they had to discuss in private. He and Mouse went outside and walked slowly through the field while they talked about what they should do about their new-found friend.
It did not take them long to decide, and soon they were back inside explaining their decision to Friendly.
“Friendly,” said Mouse, “if you would like to, Rat and I would be glad to have you come and live with us. We have just moved into a wonderful new home--a cave under a waterfall--and we’ve more than enough room for all of us.”
At this good news, Friendly started sobbing again, but soon the three were sailing back up Long Lake. Their new friend seemed much less pale now that she was away from her island, and she delighted in showing them ghostly tricks she could do. A quick change into a howling sheet-covered figure; a shift into a pale dragon breathing flickering blue fire; a sudden transformation into a grey wolf-like creature that slavered over shining sharp teeth; her ghostly skills were as fascinating to Rat and Mouse as they were frightening.
As the little boat rounded the headland into the river, Mouse pointed out where their cottages used to be before the flood. Ahead, just around the next bend in the river, they could hear the noise of the waterfall. Soon they were moored at the tiny jetty just down from the falls, and escorting their new friend toward the high bank beside the falls. Into the bank had been set the two circular windows that made the dwelling look as if it belonged to Bilbo Baggins rather than Rat and Mouse.
“Friendly,” said Mouse, “welcome home!”
The friends had planned their visit to the island at the far end of Long Lake for quite some time. Today was the day that it was actually happening! Rat and Mouse had prepared the picnic basket before they went to bed for the evening, and now it sat, full of tasty promise, in the bow of their small sailboat.
It was a perfect day for exploring, with a gentle breeze to propel the good ship “Water Witch” through the uncharted waters at the southern end of Long Lake. Mouse joined Rat in a verse or two of “The Bay of Mexico,” followed by “The Sloop John B.” The island grew steadily closer as the water gurgled happily under the small boat’s bow.
As they approached the island, Rat and Mouse could see the gables and chimneys of a large house lifting its timeworn shoulders above the surrounding trees. The ruins of an old wharf and boathouse presented the perfect spot for a landing, and the friends soon had their little craft securely moored.
An overgrown path through the trees led up a slight hill towards the abandoned house. Rat and Mouse lugged the lunch basket and oversized flask of cappuccino through the path’s leafy tunnel under the trees, many of which were hung with Spanish moss. Occasionally a bird would call in the distance, but the feeling was very quiet and solemn....almost like being in church. Rat found himself looking over his shoulder quite often, and Mouse’s whiskers twitched nervously as the path opened into a clearing that surrounded the old, and obviously deserted, house.
Some windows were broken, and had shutters hanging at crazy angles from rusted hinges. The three chimneys had gaps where bricks had fallen from them. The front door, across a rickety verandah, seemed solid in its frame, but hung open just a bit, as if daring the friends to enter.
“Let’s leave the basket and coffee on the verandah, Mouse,” said Rat. “I’m not going to feel comfortable having lunch until we have explored this place thoroughly. I feel like I am in the middle of some evil witch’s nightmare!”
Mouse agreed, and soon the pair had pushed their way through the front door and were standing in the middle of a fully-furnished living room that had collected surprising little dust over the years. A stairway curved upwards to the second floor hall, and at the back of the living room, beside an open door that lead to what seemed to be the kitchen, was a wonderful large stone fireplace.
“Hey, Rat,” said Mouse, “if we get a fire going, it will make me feel a lot more comfortable with this spooky place, and will give us a cozy place to have lunch.”
The two soon had enough fallen branches and broken pieces of verandah collected to start a roaring (and comforting!) fire, and were enjoying sandwiches and cappuccino. Their comfort, however, was soon disturbed by a strange moaning sound coming from the second floor.
“A g-g-ghost!” said Mouse, as he sprang to his feet, spilling his coffee.
“Let’s go,” said Rat, running toward the stairs.
Mouse soon followed closely as the pair rushed up the stairs and into the dark hall at the top. The moaning seemed to be coming from an opened door at the end of the hall. As Rat ran into the room, he came to an abrupt halt, and Mouse ran into his back. Sitting in front of them, with its back against a wall, was a pale, and obviously very sad, figure. This ghostly figure slowly raised its head and looked sadly at the two.
“Aren’t you going to run away?” it asked mournfully. “Anyone who comes here always does.”
“Why should we run away?” said Mouse, “we’ve only just got here, and there is still some cappuccino left from our lunch, so why don’t you join us and tell us why you are so sad.”
Soon the three were settled, cappuccinos in hand, in front of the fire, and the pale figure told her story.
She had no idea who she was, she told them, or why she was a ghost, but she knew in her heart that she could not leave the island until someone befriended her and invited her home with them. Many people had visited the island over the long years, but upon seeing her, they would return to their boats in a great hurry, and never return.
“That’s why I was crying just now,” she said. “I just knew that as soon as you saw me, you’d run off too.”
“Well we didn’t.” said Mouse. “It’s not like you are a scary ghost, rattling chains and doing all that frightening stuff.”
“Oh, I can do that too,” said the ghostly figure, “but I don’t really like to. I’d much rather be friends with someone than scare them.”
“A friendly ghost!” cried Mouse. “What a wonderful idea!”
“What a wonderful name,” exclaimed Rat. “That is what we shall call you from now on. Friendly Ghost, or just Friendly for short.”
Friendly lifted her head and smiled for the very first time in many years.
“I like it,” she said. “Friendly Ghost has a good friendly ring to it.”
Rat asked Friendly to excuse them for a minute as they had something they had to discuss in private. He and Mouse went outside and walked slowly through the field while they talked about what they should do about their new-found friend.
It did not take them long to decide, and soon they were back inside explaining their decision to Friendly.
“Friendly,” said Mouse, “if you would like to, Rat and I would be glad to have you come and live with us. We have just moved into a wonderful new home--a cave under a waterfall--and we’ve more than enough room for all of us.”
At this good news, Friendly started sobbing again, but soon the three were sailing back up Long Lake. Their new friend seemed much less pale now that she was away from her island, and she delighted in showing them ghostly tricks she could do. A quick change into a howling sheet-covered figure; a shift into a pale dragon breathing flickering blue fire; a sudden transformation into a grey wolf-like creature that slavered over shining sharp teeth; her ghostly skills were as fascinating to Rat and Mouse as they were frightening.
As the little boat rounded the headland into the river, Mouse pointed out where their cottages used to be before the flood. Ahead, just around the next bend in the river, they could hear the noise of the waterfall. Soon they were moored at the tiny jetty just down from the falls, and escorting their new friend toward the high bank beside the falls. Into the bank had been set the two circular windows that made the dwelling look as if it belonged to Bilbo Baggins rather than Rat and Mouse.
“Friendly,” said Mouse, “welcome home!”
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
The Rat and Mouse Chronicles: Chapter Two
Chapter Two: The Flood
In the morning the first thing Rat heard as he awoke was the continuing sound of the rain. Mouse joined him as he was soft-boiling some eggs and making the toast for breakfast. The friends were both experiencing a strong feeling of uneasiness that kept their normally vibrant conversation from becoming anything more than minimal.
A pair of sharp explosive sounds from the direction of the river made them hastily don their raincoats and head for the Mouse’s small jetty. Beaver’s rather pudgy form could be seen dragging himself from the river onto the jetty. The sharp cracks had been Beaver’s way of announcing his arrival.
“Beaver,” said Mouse, “what brings you out in weather like this?”
“Weather like this,” responded Beaver, “means very little to a beaver, but bringing a warning to friends would take more than a little rain to turn me back!”
Beaver went on to explain that his magnificent new dam, about a mile up the river, just beyond the waterfall, was about to burst. The unseasonable rain had placed a strain on it that even Beaver’s most capable engineering skills could not relieve.
“I would say,” continued Beaver, “that you have perhaps four hours before the dam goes. That should cause a rise in the river level by about four feet or so. And if the rain continues for another ten hours I would imagine that both of your houses will have the river flowing through the doors.”
Rat and Mouse had always responded well to crises, and after they had thanked their friend Beaver for his kind warning, they started to plan the evacuation of their beloved cottages.
Fortunately the phone lines were still up and working, and Rat called the Orflea Police Station. When Bill answered Rat explained what was happening and Bill promised that help would arrive shortly. Rat suggested that several tarpaulins should be brought under which he and Mouse could store their belonging in case the flood should destroy their homes.
While the friends were awaiting the arrival of help from the town, they organized their belongings into piles, having a pile for things that they really needed, a pile for things they thought they needed, and another pile for things that they did not really need, but would like to keep anyway. By the time they heard the Police car siren in the distance, they had everything in as good order as was possible under the circumstances.
Bill, Sergeants Smith and Gallagher, as well as several more of the townspeople arrived with large canvas tarpaulins, and started immediately to carry the contents of the two houses to higher ground. Fortunately there was a high grassy hill alongside the road behind Rat’s house. Soon the hill was looking very much like an army encampment as the good townsfolk lugged and carried and dragged and pulled everything from the cottages except the kitchen sinks (and the local plumber even volunteered to unhook these!). The houses were soon empty, and the labourers rested and sipped piping hot cappuccino which Bill had been thoughtful enough to bring along in large vacuum flasks.
A sudden gathering roaring, rushing sound from upriver caused everyone’s head to turn towards the river. A massive grey wall of water hit Mouse’s jetty, and caused it to disappear in a cauldron of swirling water. The wave rushed on, to dispel itself in the reaches of Long Lake, but it left behind it a water level that was washing over Mouse’s verandah, and flowing through Rat’s open door. Beaver’s dam had held almost exactly the four hours he had promised.
Rat and Mouse looked at each other, each realizing that their wonderful cottages would soon be no more. They were homeless, and had no idea at all as to what they would do next. And the rain continued.
In the morning the first thing Rat heard as he awoke was the continuing sound of the rain. Mouse joined him as he was soft-boiling some eggs and making the toast for breakfast. The friends were both experiencing a strong feeling of uneasiness that kept their normally vibrant conversation from becoming anything more than minimal.
A pair of sharp explosive sounds from the direction of the river made them hastily don their raincoats and head for the Mouse’s small jetty. Beaver’s rather pudgy form could be seen dragging himself from the river onto the jetty. The sharp cracks had been Beaver’s way of announcing his arrival.
“Beaver,” said Mouse, “what brings you out in weather like this?”
“Weather like this,” responded Beaver, “means very little to a beaver, but bringing a warning to friends would take more than a little rain to turn me back!”
Beaver went on to explain that his magnificent new dam, about a mile up the river, just beyond the waterfall, was about to burst. The unseasonable rain had placed a strain on it that even Beaver’s most capable engineering skills could not relieve.
“I would say,” continued Beaver, “that you have perhaps four hours before the dam goes. That should cause a rise in the river level by about four feet or so. And if the rain continues for another ten hours I would imagine that both of your houses will have the river flowing through the doors.”
Rat and Mouse had always responded well to crises, and after they had thanked their friend Beaver for his kind warning, they started to plan the evacuation of their beloved cottages.
Fortunately the phone lines were still up and working, and Rat called the Orflea Police Station. When Bill answered Rat explained what was happening and Bill promised that help would arrive shortly. Rat suggested that several tarpaulins should be brought under which he and Mouse could store their belonging in case the flood should destroy their homes.
While the friends were awaiting the arrival of help from the town, they organized their belongings into piles, having a pile for things that they really needed, a pile for things they thought they needed, and another pile for things that they did not really need, but would like to keep anyway. By the time they heard the Police car siren in the distance, they had everything in as good order as was possible under the circumstances.
Bill, Sergeants Smith and Gallagher, as well as several more of the townspeople arrived with large canvas tarpaulins, and started immediately to carry the contents of the two houses to higher ground. Fortunately there was a high grassy hill alongside the road behind Rat’s house. Soon the hill was looking very much like an army encampment as the good townsfolk lugged and carried and dragged and pulled everything from the cottages except the kitchen sinks (and the local plumber even volunteered to unhook these!). The houses were soon empty, and the labourers rested and sipped piping hot cappuccino which Bill had been thoughtful enough to bring along in large vacuum flasks.
A sudden gathering roaring, rushing sound from upriver caused everyone’s head to turn towards the river. A massive grey wall of water hit Mouse’s jetty, and caused it to disappear in a cauldron of swirling water. The wave rushed on, to dispel itself in the reaches of Long Lake, but it left behind it a water level that was washing over Mouse’s verandah, and flowing through Rat’s open door. Beaver’s dam had held almost exactly the four hours he had promised.
Rat and Mouse looked at each other, each realizing that their wonderful cottages would soon be no more. They were homeless, and had no idea at all as to what they would do next. And the rain continued.
The Rat and Mouse Chronicles: An Unfinished Work
The Rat and Mouse Chronicles is based upon bedtime stories that I used to tell to Geoff when we lived in Trinidad. They, in turn, were based upon two characters in one of his favourite children's books, Scary Story Night. I had started to put the series down on paper during our New Delhi posting, but, as often happens, life got in the way. Geoff told me the other night that he does not remember anything about the Rat and Mouse stories, so I decided to put the unfinished saga on my Blog...tada! Here is Chapter One.
Chapter One: Rat and Mouse
From his home beside the riverbank Mouse could look back down the road and see the cozy cottage of his friend Rat. The two shared many common interests, such as scary stories, a love of travel, and an interest in magic. Perhaps one of the most complimentary things about their friendship was that Mouse could make a most excellent chocolate layer cake, while Rat excelled at making the tastiest cappuccino outside of Italy.
Many interesting evenings were spent sitting on Mouse’s verandah, sipping a frothy cappuccino while exchanging stories with which each tried to frighten the other. Mouse tended towards an R. L. Stine sort of scary story, while Rat enjoyed telling s Stephen King type of tale. Their days were pleasant, with Rat pursuing his passion for philosophical study, and Mouse researching his family tree and playing each and every new computer game that came out.
One evening the friends were sitting on Mouse’s verandah watching a storm that was rapidly approaching over Long Lake, the lake that was located at the mouth of the river that ran by Mouse’s home. The thunder clouds had been thick over the Green Mountains all day, and now, at last, Mother Nature decided to give them a taste of some of her most exciting fireworks!
Although Rat enjoyed storms, they always made him a little uneasy. He thought that this might be because his father, Cornelius Rat (who had been a great explorer and adventurer), was lost at sea during an autumn storm. He was grateful when Mouse suggested that he spend the night. As the rain started and quickly became a violent downpour, marked by loud claps of thunder and explosions of vivid lightning, Rat suggested a tad more cappuccino.
The friends awoke in the morning with the storm still raging outside the windows. After some discussion over a breakfast of French toast with maple syrup, a glass of fresh orange juice and several cups of cappuccino, they decided that, considering the bad weather, they should take Rat’s car into town to pick up some supplies in case the rain should continue for several days and make the roads impassable.
A quick twenty-minute brought them to the town of Orflea. Mouse was very fond of saying that it was “an Orflea small town,” but Rat refused to laugh at this oft repeated pun. Orflea consisted of a large green park-like common in the centre of the town, flanked on one side by Main Street, with its twenty or so shops and boutiques. On the southern side of the common was a large parking lot and the town’s one cinema, presently showing “Raiders of the Lost Ark” for the third time. The western side held a few pretty, brightly painted houses, and two churches. The garage, supermarket, school and synagogue completed the square that encircled the park.
Rat and Mouse never came to town without stopping at the Police Station to visit with their friends, Sergeants Smith and Gallagher, and Constable Williams, whom they called Bill. In the past Rat and Mouse had assisted the town Police with several extremely strange and mysterious cases that had occurred in and around the town. Rat was fond of teasing the policemen about the poor quality of cappuccino that was available at the Station, while in fact it was quite an acceptable brew.
Today the discussion was centred around the unusual weather that the town was experiencing. Rat commented that he thought the unseasonal weather pattern was caused by the cyclical appearance in the Pacific Ocean of the current called el Nino. Bill, however, felt sure that it was part of an evil spell that had been placed on the town.
“What makes you so sure, Bill?” asked Mouse.
Bill replied, “The strange old wizard that we had to run out of town last week said that he’d get even with us, and I believe that this is his way of doing it!”
Sergeants Smith and Gallagher enlarged on Bill’s story by telling about a strange man in a long black cloak who had been wandering about the town, muttering to himself and frightening children. When strange lights started flashing in the man’s hotel room one evening, the policemen had been compelled to ask him to move on. The man’s parting curse still rang in their ears.
“Strange forces are on the prowl, and your pitiful little town of Orflea will be sorry that it ever crossed Mournfrug of Marivog,” said the dark figure as he walked off down the road to the south with his cloak flapping about his gangly legs.
Rat and Mouse thought about this tale with great interest as they completed their shopping and drove back to the river bank through the pelting rain and the oncoming night. The rain had continued unabated during their visit to the town, and certainly showed no indication of stopping. If anything, it seemed to be raining harder with louder thunder and more frequent lightning than last night. The friends decided to spend the night at Rat’s house, and were soon relaxed in front of a roaring fireplace, discussing what the strange man in black could have meant by his parting words.
Chapter One: Rat and Mouse
From his home beside the riverbank Mouse could look back down the road and see the cozy cottage of his friend Rat. The two shared many common interests, such as scary stories, a love of travel, and an interest in magic. Perhaps one of the most complimentary things about their friendship was that Mouse could make a most excellent chocolate layer cake, while Rat excelled at making the tastiest cappuccino outside of Italy.
Many interesting evenings were spent sitting on Mouse’s verandah, sipping a frothy cappuccino while exchanging stories with which each tried to frighten the other. Mouse tended towards an R. L. Stine sort of scary story, while Rat enjoyed telling s Stephen King type of tale. Their days were pleasant, with Rat pursuing his passion for philosophical study, and Mouse researching his family tree and playing each and every new computer game that came out.
One evening the friends were sitting on Mouse’s verandah watching a storm that was rapidly approaching over Long Lake, the lake that was located at the mouth of the river that ran by Mouse’s home. The thunder clouds had been thick over the Green Mountains all day, and now, at last, Mother Nature decided to give them a taste of some of her most exciting fireworks!
Although Rat enjoyed storms, they always made him a little uneasy. He thought that this might be because his father, Cornelius Rat (who had been a great explorer and adventurer), was lost at sea during an autumn storm. He was grateful when Mouse suggested that he spend the night. As the rain started and quickly became a violent downpour, marked by loud claps of thunder and explosions of vivid lightning, Rat suggested a tad more cappuccino.
The friends awoke in the morning with the storm still raging outside the windows. After some discussion over a breakfast of French toast with maple syrup, a glass of fresh orange juice and several cups of cappuccino, they decided that, considering the bad weather, they should take Rat’s car into town to pick up some supplies in case the rain should continue for several days and make the roads impassable.
A quick twenty-minute brought them to the town of Orflea. Mouse was very fond of saying that it was “an Orflea small town,” but Rat refused to laugh at this oft repeated pun. Orflea consisted of a large green park-like common in the centre of the town, flanked on one side by Main Street, with its twenty or so shops and boutiques. On the southern side of the common was a large parking lot and the town’s one cinema, presently showing “Raiders of the Lost Ark” for the third time. The western side held a few pretty, brightly painted houses, and two churches. The garage, supermarket, school and synagogue completed the square that encircled the park.
Rat and Mouse never came to town without stopping at the Police Station to visit with their friends, Sergeants Smith and Gallagher, and Constable Williams, whom they called Bill. In the past Rat and Mouse had assisted the town Police with several extremely strange and mysterious cases that had occurred in and around the town. Rat was fond of teasing the policemen about the poor quality of cappuccino that was available at the Station, while in fact it was quite an acceptable brew.
Today the discussion was centred around the unusual weather that the town was experiencing. Rat commented that he thought the unseasonal weather pattern was caused by the cyclical appearance in the Pacific Ocean of the current called el Nino. Bill, however, felt sure that it was part of an evil spell that had been placed on the town.
“What makes you so sure, Bill?” asked Mouse.
Bill replied, “The strange old wizard that we had to run out of town last week said that he’d get even with us, and I believe that this is his way of doing it!”
Sergeants Smith and Gallagher enlarged on Bill’s story by telling about a strange man in a long black cloak who had been wandering about the town, muttering to himself and frightening children. When strange lights started flashing in the man’s hotel room one evening, the policemen had been compelled to ask him to move on. The man’s parting curse still rang in their ears.
“Strange forces are on the prowl, and your pitiful little town of Orflea will be sorry that it ever crossed Mournfrug of Marivog,” said the dark figure as he walked off down the road to the south with his cloak flapping about his gangly legs.
Rat and Mouse thought about this tale with great interest as they completed their shopping and drove back to the river bank through the pelting rain and the oncoming night. The rain had continued unabated during their visit to the town, and certainly showed no indication of stopping. If anything, it seemed to be raining harder with louder thunder and more frequent lightning than last night. The friends decided to spend the night at Rat’s house, and were soon relaxed in front of a roaring fireplace, discussing what the strange man in black could have meant by his parting words.
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
Essay on John Stuart Mill's On Liberty
This paper, authored by my son, Geoff, underlines what must be done before we can ascend to a New Renaissance of freedom and thought, unsullied by the vested interests of the religious/military/industrial establishment who only aspire to keep us focussed on consuming, and being controlled by a propaganda machine that would make Joseph Goebbels die of envy.
"Genius can only breathe freely in an atmosphere of freedom" (John Stuart Mill, On Liberty)
While the major theme of John Mill’s On Liberty is undoubtedly the role of freedom in society and the harm principle (that gives citizens in a society the right to do anything unless it harms another), Mills gives many smaller examples that, when enlarged upon, are almost as vital to his thesis as the rest of the work. One of these examples is that of genius in a liberal society; Mills states that “[g]enius can only breathe freely in an atmosphere of freedom” (Mill, On Liberty, 62). This point is true beyond a reasonable doubt. For one, in a society where the harm principle is in practice, an intellectual is not limited in any way by laws designed to stifle his mind or conform him to the masses. He will be allowed to express his ideas freely and without fear of persecution, and, finally, in a society where debate is downtrodden and a single opinion on most subjects prevails, a genius will have no use for his intelligence.
In an authoritarian society, or even merely a society where the freedom of the individual is not sacred, individual freedom can be stifled for what is seen as the good of the society. For example, if individuality is seen as affecting the society’s cohesion, ideas will be suppressed for the so-called greater good. If an intellectual has an idea that challenges the views supported by the government, the idea will be forcibly removed from the society so that none of its bad influence is felt. In a free-thinking, liberal society, on the other hand, thought will not be a crime. The genius will be able to flourish, as it will not be seen as a threat to the society, but rather as a gift that bolsters the society as a whole. There is no reason to suppress something, such as an idea, that is the result of one’s own society’s mindset. In short, if there are no laws to serve as a rooftop to genius, it can reach up to improve the society without hindrance.
Without freedom of expression, genius would be in a similarly poor situation. Even if there is no authoritarian government in place that actively puts down all opposing viewpoints, conservative societies can do this all on their own. If it is not a social norm to express one’s own opinions, and people view opinions that are radically different from their own, the genius will be unlikely to share his thoughts and beliefs. Locked up, his ideas are of no use to anyone. In a liberal society, the exchange of ideas is encouraged, even if the expressed views may seem radical or strange at the time. If the genius is not ridiculed when he expresses his beliefs, then he is far more likely to continue to share them to the benefit of everyone. This aspect of the society is far harder to change than the government, however. Governments can rise and fall in revolutions and rebellions, but societies themselves only change gradually. Even if the government has become liberal, its citizens may still have conservative tendencies, and may still ridicule and even threaten those that have foreign ideas. Only education and time will change the society into one that is accepting of genius.
On a similar note, more radically conservative societies will not only be hostile to radically different ideas, but merely the thought of debate as well. Debate is an intellectual’s sustenance, and his genius will not flourish without it. If a single opinion on most subjects prevails, and debate is stifled by the very nature of the society, it is possible that the genius will never realise his own gift. He will be so used to the concept of a society-wide opinion that it will be hard, if not impossible, to conceive of it any other way. What use is there coming up with an effective alternative to coal as fuel if one has no idea that coal is harmful? What reason is there to invent a plane when a car is widely seen as the one and best means of transport? While genius is capable of growing in a society like this, and will eventually plant the seeds of revolution, it is unlikely the flourish. It takes a society where a free and liberal exchange of ideas is commonplace for genius to truly prosper.
The truth is that the less liberal a society is, the harder it is for genius to flourish. Without free exchange of ideas, an accepting mindset, and a liberal government, intellectuals will be looked down upon, ignored, or forced to become equal. It is only natural that ideas would be bolstered by liberty; with liberty, genius can properly reach up to touch all that it can with the ideas and beliefs that it nurtures. This is, after all, the very goal of a free society: a constantly-adapting, ever-accepting canvas for those who have the conviction to hold the paintbrush and draw forth their vision. This is as vital to Mill’s point as any of his other arguments; with the harm principle in practice, not only is the society benevolent and free, it also has the ability to change with time when a particularly great idea emerges from its culture of acceptance. In the end, genius can only breathe freely in an atmosphere of freedom.
WORKS CITED
Mill, John Stuart. On Liberty. Ed. Elizabeth Rapaport. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing
Company, 1978.
"Genius can only breathe freely in an atmosphere of freedom" (John Stuart Mill, On Liberty)
While the major theme of John Mill’s On Liberty is undoubtedly the role of freedom in society and the harm principle (that gives citizens in a society the right to do anything unless it harms another), Mills gives many smaller examples that, when enlarged upon, are almost as vital to his thesis as the rest of the work. One of these examples is that of genius in a liberal society; Mills states that “[g]enius can only breathe freely in an atmosphere of freedom” (Mill, On Liberty, 62). This point is true beyond a reasonable doubt. For one, in a society where the harm principle is in practice, an intellectual is not limited in any way by laws designed to stifle his mind or conform him to the masses. He will be allowed to express his ideas freely and without fear of persecution, and, finally, in a society where debate is downtrodden and a single opinion on most subjects prevails, a genius will have no use for his intelligence.
In an authoritarian society, or even merely a society where the freedom of the individual is not sacred, individual freedom can be stifled for what is seen as the good of the society. For example, if individuality is seen as affecting the society’s cohesion, ideas will be suppressed for the so-called greater good. If an intellectual has an idea that challenges the views supported by the government, the idea will be forcibly removed from the society so that none of its bad influence is felt. In a free-thinking, liberal society, on the other hand, thought will not be a crime. The genius will be able to flourish, as it will not be seen as a threat to the society, but rather as a gift that bolsters the society as a whole. There is no reason to suppress something, such as an idea, that is the result of one’s own society’s mindset. In short, if there are no laws to serve as a rooftop to genius, it can reach up to improve the society without hindrance.
Without freedom of expression, genius would be in a similarly poor situation. Even if there is no authoritarian government in place that actively puts down all opposing viewpoints, conservative societies can do this all on their own. If it is not a social norm to express one’s own opinions, and people view opinions that are radically different from their own, the genius will be unlikely to share his thoughts and beliefs. Locked up, his ideas are of no use to anyone. In a liberal society, the exchange of ideas is encouraged, even if the expressed views may seem radical or strange at the time. If the genius is not ridiculed when he expresses his beliefs, then he is far more likely to continue to share them to the benefit of everyone. This aspect of the society is far harder to change than the government, however. Governments can rise and fall in revolutions and rebellions, but societies themselves only change gradually. Even if the government has become liberal, its citizens may still have conservative tendencies, and may still ridicule and even threaten those that have foreign ideas. Only education and time will change the society into one that is accepting of genius.
On a similar note, more radically conservative societies will not only be hostile to radically different ideas, but merely the thought of debate as well. Debate is an intellectual’s sustenance, and his genius will not flourish without it. If a single opinion on most subjects prevails, and debate is stifled by the very nature of the society, it is possible that the genius will never realise his own gift. He will be so used to the concept of a society-wide opinion that it will be hard, if not impossible, to conceive of it any other way. What use is there coming up with an effective alternative to coal as fuel if one has no idea that coal is harmful? What reason is there to invent a plane when a car is widely seen as the one and best means of transport? While genius is capable of growing in a society like this, and will eventually plant the seeds of revolution, it is unlikely the flourish. It takes a society where a free and liberal exchange of ideas is commonplace for genius to truly prosper.
The truth is that the less liberal a society is, the harder it is for genius to flourish. Without free exchange of ideas, an accepting mindset, and a liberal government, intellectuals will be looked down upon, ignored, or forced to become equal. It is only natural that ideas would be bolstered by liberty; with liberty, genius can properly reach up to touch all that it can with the ideas and beliefs that it nurtures. This is, after all, the very goal of a free society: a constantly-adapting, ever-accepting canvas for those who have the conviction to hold the paintbrush and draw forth their vision. This is as vital to Mill’s point as any of his other arguments; with the harm principle in practice, not only is the society benevolent and free, it also has the ability to change with time when a particularly great idea emerges from its culture of acceptance. In the end, genius can only breathe freely in an atmosphere of freedom.
WORKS CITED
Mill, John Stuart. On Liberty. Ed. Elizabeth Rapaport. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing
Company, 1978.
Monday, 11 February 2008
Cosmic Viewpoint
Cosmic Viewpoint
From the nexus
of multiple realities
each of us surveys
our own unique universe.
Compassion softens intersections,
while ignorance crystalises
fault lines
that shatter Cosmic balance.
The Grown-up
It wasn’t a magical star
granting a childish wish
that made me grown up,
nor was it an evil wizard’s
vengeful spell
that made me old.
She looked at me,
secure there on my lap,
Pooh flannel ‘jammies’
wrapping her in the security
of being young, and safe
In Daddy’s arms.
I used to fly with Wendy and the boys,
run from pirates with young Jim Hawkins,
that was the boy I was!
It seems only a few minutes ago
Gordon and I fought the Dervishes
at far-away Khartoum.
It wasn’t cosmic stardust,
falling one mystic night,
that wrought this change
from the carefree boy I was,
the discovering, exploring, querying
consumer of countless books.
It was the knowledge, my child,
the sure and wondrous certainty
that you awaited,
with your brother and sisters,
that made me run, singing,
to be here with you today.
granting a childish wish
that made me grown up,
nor was it an evil wizard’s
vengeful spell
that made me old.
She looked at me,
secure there on my lap,
Pooh flannel ‘jammies’
wrapping her in the security
of being young, and safe
In Daddy’s arms.
I used to fly with Wendy and the boys,
run from pirates with young Jim Hawkins,
that was the boy I was!
It seems only a few minutes ago
Gordon and I fought the Dervishes
at far-away Khartoum.
It wasn’t cosmic stardust,
falling one mystic night,
that wrought this change
from the carefree boy I was,
the discovering, exploring, querying
consumer of countless books.
It was the knowledge, my child,
the sure and wondrous certainty
that you awaited,
with your brother and sisters,
that made me run, singing,
to be here with you today.
Thursday, 31 January 2008
Jim's Retro Village Coffeehouse: Nine
The Retro Village Coffeehouse was muted tonight. Although the usual clientele were present, the decibel level of the background conversation, which often was more than a tad acrimonious, tonight was subdued. It could, perhaps, have been due in part to the fact that the Folksinger had left the stage for a break and, in her absence, had put on a CD of Jane Siberry singing the traditional “The Water is Wide.” Siberry’s voice was, as usual, thought-provoking, but her treatment of the song enhanced the inherent melancholy to the point where the Coffeehouse habitués were almost spellbound by the song’s bittersweet refrain.
The Resident Radical carried through the boat image, and was thoughtfully haranguing the Capitalist Establishment for using the proletariat as gallery slaves to power the ship of state. The English Literature major thought that, as a traditional work of poetry, the words of Siberry’s piece were sadly simplistic.
The Older Bald Guy sipped a cup of black Guatemala Antiqua, flavoured solely by one spoon of demerara sugar and a shake of cinnamon. On the battered steno pad upon which his pen rested, he had jotted down some thoughts based on the boat analogy.
As a Sail on the Horizon
The boy looked out to sea:
past scrub spruce on rocky tors,
his gaze skipped over gravel shingle
whispering an ageless sough to the sea.
There! Across the reach,
beyond the island!
The tiny sail touching the horizon
would stay with the boy for hours,
traversing his lilliputian world.
Later, as an economic refugee
"going down the road,"
the boy was reminded of the sail
as he watched through the night
on the "Maritime Express."
Small pools of light would appear
in the Stygian darkness
of a New Brunswick night:
promises of comfort and home.
On the horizon of my life
I have seen many sails.
Some have docked, sojourned,
become part of my life for a time.
Others passed, unknown,
into the vortex of Time.
I only wish, at this late date,
that I had tried harder,
made more effort,
to make the journeys of others
as joyous as my own.
©Copyright James D. Fanning
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
The Ancient Hippie
Natraj dances with us all.