remember

the fragrance of jasmine seeped
into my senses, jasmine molecules
through the vapour of this tea.
and it reminded me of the time
we found the tea. i remember it like
it was yesterday. the cool summer breeze
as we walked into kensington. or perhaps
it was scarborough town and a cool
winter breeze. the tea’s available everywhere
now, even walmart carries it.

but this cup, this vapour, this smell.
every cup of this tea will remind me
of you – every sip of it. well, not
every sip. that seems a bit much. but
certainly many sips. and probably not
every cup of tea. let’s be real here.
time will pass and my senses will be
distracted. who knows what they
will remember. who knows what they
will forget.

who knows where a memory may lead.

point of indifference.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but there is no big lie. There is no system. The universe is indifferent.

Don Draper from Mad Men

I took note of this when it was said during the show and was reminded of it recently when this Oatmeal comic surfaced upon the internet.

An indifferent universe – a comforting thought. But it isn’t quite true.

It is only in our hubris that we should say such a thing. It is not the prerogative of a rock to be indifferent. It is indifferent by default. However, the universe is diverse – as much as a rock is a part of the universe, so is all that is conscious. We are not simply in a foreign universe, we are a part of it. We are made of the same stuff. We are it.

I was also reminded of this by one of my favourite poets:

A man said to the universe:
“Sir I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”

– Stephen Crane

So yes, perhaps the universe is indifferent, but it is not always so. Ever cared for someone or something? Ever have someone care for you?

Hardly indifferent.

hope.

I don’t think you understand what the word hope means. It is not belief, it is not conviction, and it certainly is not a guarantee. I do not believe, I am not convinced, and I certainly do not make any guarantees. To hope is to wish, it is to dream. I wish and I dream, and so I am hopeful.

I am not a believer, I am a dreamer.

I dream therefore I desire – I desire, therefore I am.

your eyes.

if i could take away
that glimmer from your
eyes for a moment
and show you your
life again. what moments
would you revise? what
steps would turn their
tide? would you leave
yourself some element of
surprise? some unspoken sign?
some cryptic advice? given
a chance, are we not
all revisionists? odd defective
perfectionists? trying to better
all that matters to
us at the time.
what would you do
if i took away that
glimmer from your eyes?

a field of dreams.

I was flying over a city. Not in an airplane or any other mechanical device. I was flying over a city like a bird. I was in a dream. This dream is over three years old.

The city I was flying over was very clean and pristine. It was like freshly polished silver. I could feel the clarity in the air. The buildings were well built and pretty. I do make light use of the word pretty here, these buildings were pretty.

But this wasn’t all there was to the city. There was another part, one not so clean. It seemed like it was still under construction, or perhaps post-destruction. There was rubble all around and on-going construction. Flying over this part I could feel the difference in the air. It was part of the same city, but the atmosphere was different.

And in the midst of all this rubble and construction was a field of oranges. From a birds-eye view this field stood out so strongly, more than any other part of the entire city. One part of the field was filled with boxes of oranges.

I wanted to get closer to this field and had made the intention to land near it.

But this is all I can remember of this dream.

will somebody think about the children!

I was waiting near a bus shelter for a street car to appear, on my way to a Good Evidence meeting, headphones in my ear listening to some Rafi song. This woman approaches me and starts to say something. My first assumption is that she’s going to ask for directions or something. I often have people ask me for directions (huge mistake on their part, but what do they know).

“Hi, how are you?” she says.

This startles me somewhat, I’m not used to having random people ask me how I am. I just say hello waiting for her to continue to the real matter of her appearance. But she waits for me to answer her question. “I’m doing fine, how are you?” I offer in return. I remove my headphones assuming that this conversation will actually happen.

“I’m doing well. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you like children?”

And at this point my mind is racing through different scenarios. Who is this person? Why is she asking me this question? Is she a cop? Is this an appropriate question to ask a lone man on the streets? Am I in trouble if I say yes? And am I an asshole if I say no?

“Yeah, I like children,” my final answer.

“If you had a chance to save a child’s life, would you do it?”

Aaaah, this is where this is going.

“Maybe,” I say.

This startles her. What seems like a morally straightforward question should lead itself to a positive answer. But not tonight.

“Maybe?” she repeats, half offended.

“Yeah, maybe. It depends.”

Now she starts her pitch, pulling out a folder from what seems like thin air. The World Vision logo on the cover. A few sentences in, I stop her.

“Listen, I’m going to save you some time,” I say, like I’m doing her a favour, “I’m getting on this next street car and you’re going to have better luck with someone else.”

In hindsight I should have asked her, “Do you like kittens? If you had a chance to save a kitten, would you do it?” and then pulled out a folder of my own.