Balance

Listened to someone talking about work-life balance this morning, then fell short by two items of completing my to-do list for the day. Is this why some might consider me unbalanced?

That Shrinking Feeling

I took a holiday from all forms of fiction over the duration of our recent trip. And I've not had much of a chance to read a lot since we got back as things, especially work 'things', have been so busy. I've made a bit of progress though in Richard Matheson's The Shrinking Man, the last of the four novels that comprise American Science Fiction, Four Classic Novels, 1953 - 1956.

To be honest, I'm not sure this is genuine sci-fi, though I can understand why it's seen as a bit of a classic (along with the film The Incredible Shrinking Man, of which Matheson wrote the screenplay.) I see it, rather, as fantasy, very much in the vein of Stephen King's Bachman novels. It reminds me particularly of Thinner, the premise being very similar, though Shrinking Man entirely lacks the gothic apparatus of King's intense meditation on losing one's body. What it certainly has got is a similar intensity, pursuing without any let-up the single-minded, and actually quite inexplicable notion of the protagonist's body remorselessly reducing in size.

Normally I try and avoid cleverly metaphorical readings of this kind of fiction, the kind in which the critic tells you what the novel is really about. But in this case it seems to me obvious that Matheson is obsessed with the notion of the loss of masculinity and the various humiliations involved, and, in the context of the hyper-masculine culture of 1950s America beginning to feel threatened by the stirrings of feminist awareness, understandably so. It's striking just how unlikeable he's prepared to make his protagonist.

Now Listening

Now listening, as I write, to White Willow's Ignis Fatuus, the recently issued expanded version, and most slappily happily so. Wondering whatever happened to the flute as a instrument central to the sound of (some, usually excellent) rock bands. Sorely missed, by me anyway. And isn't that a crumhorn I hear there? Goodness me, riches indeed.

More Patience

Forgot to mention yesterday that patience and its various meanings are a dominating idea in King Lear. I think a reasonable case can be made that being patient in adversity is the only positive answer suggested in the play to how we might deal with the suffering inevitable in our existence. Off hand I can think of how Lear movingly recommends it to the blind Gloucester, as does Edgar: Bear free and patient thoughts (when his dad is understandably suicidal.) The need for patience is surely intimately entwined with the strange and haunting line: Ripeness is all.

The problem is, of course, that Edgar's powerful advice is immediately undercut by the arrival of the mad king, taking the weight of adversity to yet a new level. And Lear's sage advice is undercut by the fact that he's off his tree as he gives it. Shakespeare shows an awareness of Blake's insights into the abuse of preaching of the virtue before Blake got to so memorably articulate them.

(The play's been on my mind since I get to teach it again soon (Yay!) and my drama guys got to perform a line or two from it today. Lucky them, say I.)

Patience

The virtues get a bad press these days; or, rather, they get little if any press at all. When was the last time you saw an ad extolling the virtues of Temperance? And of all the virtues I'd guess that Patience is near the bottom of the list for most advertising agencies.

Indeed, in many quarters it's positively distrusted as a mewlingly passive sort of quality possessed only of those who are not prepared to Just Do It! And perhaps some of this distrust is valid. Patience as a camouflage for the lack of courage to get on with the business of really living has been a common ailment of some societies in the past, and Blake's great lines remain valid to this day: It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted, / To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer...

But the kind of patience that al Ghazzali speaks of in The Alchemy of Happiness (my reading over our recent umrah) is very different from this bloodless version. The notion of sabr in Islamic thought is a powerfully positive, active force, something akin to Job's determined acceptance of oppression as a way of resisting that oppression. It isn't something you recommend just to the less fortunate, because they've probably got it; it's something you know you need most of all in prosperity when, as the great philosopher astutely points out, you are least likely to have it.

I knew I was going to need plenty of it simply at the level of dealing with the crowds, especially those in Makkah. And, I'm happy to say, I found a depth of it, or was fortunately led to find that depth through the dictates of the experience on offer. It is curiously empowering to force oneself to deal with unreasonable crowds in a reasoning manner. If this sounds suspiciously like complacent boasting on my part, I'm trying hard for it not to be. After all, keeping cool in that situation is not exactly difficult and to some would come wholly naturally. Not to me, I'm afraid. I was embarrassingly aware all the time that a real effort was required on my part not to become foolishly irritated at the most trivial things, and came to understand that a condition of mild irritation over the inability of other people to behave exactly as I want them to is pretty much my default state - except when I choose to alter the setting. I've come to believe that can be done, you can alter some of your seemingly basic characteristics. But it's not easy, not at all.

Real Politics

For reasons a bit too complicated to go into here, Noi and I found ourselves for a couple of hours this evening at the constituency clinic of one of the MPs in this Far Place. I'm not exactly sure of all that was going on but it was fascinating. The speed at which the MP dealt with the various constituents was remarkable - and necessary, since there were so many. Did they go away satisfied? From the looks of things, most got something worthwhile out of the experience.

Most striking of all was the good humour of the several 'assistants' who were making the whole thing work. It wasn't just a matter of giving out queue numbers, either. I got the impression that most of those in attendance to see the MP had already had their problems settled before they got there through the various interviews being conducted outside. I suppose it would be easy to question the motives of the helpers for offering their time, but I suspect the majority were there out of a genuine sense of duty towards and caring for others.

When societies work successfully this is how it's done.

Rested

I'm not entirely sure why but I've been sleeping extremely well and at what might be seen as extreme length since we got back from Saudi Arabia. On four days I've enjoyed long lie-ins followed by naps during the day: Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and, today, Sunday. The only exception has been Friday when I went into work and even then I snoozed in the car as we drove here to Melaka. This has been most welcome - I'm one of those who regard time spent asleep as time well spent - but a tad unexpected since I didn't feel particularly tired when in Medinah and Makkah.

Mind you, we did get up everyday at 4.00 am there for Dawn Prayers in the masjid, and although we sometimes napped on brief tours on the coach generally there wasn't much time for snoozing. I suppose the whole meditative experience of prayers in the two mosques felt restful in a different way. I never really felt short of sleep there, except for the morning after we completed our first umrah in the middle of the night. The Imam selected some ultra-lengthy readings for Swubuh and I wondered if I might actually keel over in the middle, I felt so sleepy. But that was the exception. I guess the last few days have involved making up for lost sleep I didn't even realise I'd lost. Or perhaps I'm just getting old.

Glancing Back

I miss the crowds in Medinah and Makkah. It isn't that I enjoy being jostled everywhere I go, and it's not a lot of fun needing a good fifteen minutes to cross a square you could manage in about forty-five seconds if it were uncluttered, but excitement involved in the sheer diversity of human beings pressing against you at any given time is hard to beat. Back in our usual far place the streets look just a little drab in comparison.

Take headgear, for example. The diversity of hijab worn by the womenfolk out in the Middle East gave the lie to any notion of drab conformity The variety amongst the black versions alone was remarkable. And the number of different head coverings for the guys seemed, if not infinite, then pretty darned enormous. Most of all I found myself fascinated observing the various ways in which the Arabs - I assume it was them generally - wore their head scarves. Somehow each individual contrived to make their version look good and solid somehow, when I've got a strong suspicion that if I'd had tried to put one one I would have been carrying around an unstable mess.

I recall watching a group of some ten guys wearing those red and white checked scarves that are so popular in the masjid at Medinah. Each one seemed to have tied theirs differently and each one looked super comfortable and, well, dignified. But then amongst them, and I assume he was one of their number because he seemed perfectly at ease, was a youngster of about fifteen, with much darker skin than the others (essentially black, whilst the others would never have been classified as such) who was wearing an entirely white head covering. This scarf fell down his back in a series of gorgeous folds, seemingly calculated to drop exactly as they did. I couldn't figure if this had been achieved randomly, or had been carefully set in place. It needed a Rembrandt to paint those folds they were just so organically right.

Bearing Gifts

We're making the big journey north this afternoon to the neighbouring nation - well, not really so big, just as far as Melaka. Noi bought an abundance of gifts back in Medinah & Makkah to disperse among the troops. And rightfully so: our journey was about community and sharing and this is all part of it. Hope the Missus is up to sharing a bit of the driving duty - this cracker is truly creamed.

Keeping My Ears Open

My resolution for the year ahead: to become a better listener - more focused, more alert to nuances. I mean this primarily in relation to music, but it applies to other aspects of what comes in through the ears.

Made a start by shoving on the ear-phones and blasting out Papa Haydn's Symphony 104 - the London. Since this encompasses just about everything what makes music worth listening to I thought it appropriate for the occasion.

But I'm also aware of the need to seek out pastures new in the year ahead, especially getting a bit more in touch with what might be seen as current. Not that Haydn isn't, of course.