Tag: shame


Now I’m not a big fan of shame. Shame shuts us down and disconnects us. It strangles the loving living breathing energy out of beautiful things. So saying that I am still tempted to call this post “we should be ashamed” I haven’t yet but I probably will because I feel disappointed that on a global scale we act in such a way that I am ashamed of us. Maybe it is disappointed. Maybe I can do with away with shame it won’t bloody help. Let me explain.

I have been listening to LBC a lot recently. I know I know it’s such a BAAaaAad habit because it is designed to escalate, as my wonderful wise psychosynthesis therapist Viv explained today. It bloody escalates me at times, shouting at the radio lol. In general though I have it on when I am designing jewellery for clients, I do this by hand quite painstakingly measured using graph paper and tracing paper and I find it good to have some noise in the background, enter LBC. Most of the time I can laugh, it is funny how opinionated we all are, me included. We are a funny bunch. But there is something painful for me, I have to laugh or otherwise I may well cry. Really.

What the bloody hell am I on. Well I would hope to be on the side of love and good living. These new narratives about Russia and it’s mad, dangerous gangster el presidentay. Yes that nutter who annexes innocent countries we must stop him before he is unstoppable. What do I hear? Fear mongering. Isis oooo people are getting whipped up into a frenzy by monsters hacking heads off, masked animals. This rhetoric just doesn’t feel right to me. Why are we being whipped up again? Call me a paranoid conspirisist if you must but I just see and hear another way for some folk to go ahead and also carry out acts that none us sane and happy and loved up would allow on our watch.

I don’t know who Isis are but I sure as hell don’t buy this strange one sided story we are being force fed. Ok ok I could obviously turn off the radio but I can’t I am transfixed. Again. Again we are called to arms by dubious wierd and slightly mad stories. Weapons of mass destruction hoho we all know that one, don’t get me started. I am started. And i am still way back ten steps behind waving my hands in the air, looking around. who is with me? I am here thinking who the hell are we to say who can and can’t have these bloody weapons? How bloody dare we declare that certain countries can and certain countries can’t! So bloody what if he does? if you put Tony, Sadam and George in a room i am not sure who would appear the most nuts. In bloody furiating. The devastating arrogance. Point your finger and point three back at yourself – never a truer word spoken. Where is the basic self awareness? What the hell are we thinking? Until we stop, really take responsibility for some stupid horrifying choices we have made towards others in the world there will be hatred. Distrust and disgust, I don’t bloody blame them. I would be fucking scared too if I lived in these countries. War on terror! i know who I was more bloody terrified of, pah the whole bloody lot of us were complicit in this one. We are not doing enough to stop these oiled greasy ugly and terrifying machines of words infect us. Not in my name. What a great name for the campaign. Right back in the beginning not in my name. Right back to the know it all arrogance of Europe and the US, the United Nations of arrogance.

Do not get me wrong this nutcase hacking people’s heads off is literally unbearable. Why is he doing it? What does he want and why does he want it? Do I trust the story that this crazy frenzied Islamic army just whirlwinded in from nowhere to threaten us specifically and rampage through the Middle East? That British Muslims, women and children living amongst us are leaving in droves to hack the infidels up? They are monsters, animals, sheer terror to wage war on. They will return blood thirsty. FEAR. I don’t believe in making fear based decisions. There will be no love involved and more generations of us will live the consequences… Fear breeds fear. Let us not respond to this nasty guy beheading people, he is high off the fame andpower we have given him.

Let us not let him, this incomprehensible figure set the global agenda.

Precious Identity

This was the title of my MA in jewellery design. Yes ok an MA in jewellery design is not exactly rocket science but I really enjoyed doing it and it was actually pleasantly important for me to find deeper levels to my chosen profession. So back to our precious identity, a topic close to my heart.

I am thinking a lot about identity again today. I’ve been listening to Israelis and Palestinians justifying their actions on radio phone ins (i know i should just listen to bloody pharell or something fun) and reading blogs by adult autistics and parents of autistic children for the last hour or two. I read an amazing very thought provoking blog here..
And I got to thinking about myself and how I grew up. I relate to so many of the feelings adult autistics express, the shame, the trying to be normal, a feeling of just not being ok, of being good enough. All these things shaped me but when I read them expressed so eloquently by adult ‘autistics’ I suddenly can’t quite grasp the prism of reality that i feel familiar with and again its not simple for me where autism begins and ends. Great that I can relate, empathise and connect. A gift. But it leaves me feeling unsettled. Much better and more comfortable to have a probleM to solve than to be with the sticky mess of a life to live out. To deal with my own feelings in all this is hard. So enticing to stick to the “warrior mom” “advocating” and “fighting” than sticky messy mum bumbling along. Trying to hash out a good life for the imperfect family now steadily careering towards adulthood.
Bloody yikes.

Anyway back to identity (again ) it is the psychosynthesis model that has helped me to see clearly that with which I identify and that with which I form my identity. Through my identifications. Now if I had been given a label – autistic, Israeli, Palestinian, Muslim, (just my topics of interest today mind) from a young age I too would feel all that I have heard or read today. I would be identified. And through the nature of identifying I would dis identify with something else – in this case – a-typical, normal, Palestinian, Israeli etc
Again possibly not rocket science but to me quite simply profound.

When we make the conscious or unconscious choices to identify as or with something we are just as surely closing the door to the other. Over identification always pisses me off, in so many forms. No no no no no no. When i think of all the gorgeous young men I’ve met who act completely gay in every damn stereotype of the word arghhh I want to just sit them down with a nice cup of tea and tell them I think there is more, so much more to the story. Not many people reallt give a shit what you do in your sexlife. Anyway I shouldnt rant, should not judge, none of my damn business. Except pain seems to just tug on my sleeve and I just can’t seem to pass it by. And that is what it seems to me that over identification and not consciously exploring what you believe and hold so close as to shut others out causes – pain. I was lucky I believe not not be bought up in a religion, it has been an interesting journey exploring religion from the outside looking in. I see the beauty but I see the pain in not belonging or agreeing.

But where on earth does it leave you when you try to identify with everyone? When you don’t want to make choices that shut the door in someone’s face? Not sure. It’s probably impossible or highly disfunctional or maybe just very Buddhist lol to have no identifications however subtle, but to just be prepared to let them go for a little while and see how it feels to walk another path. That’s the order of today. I will not judge but i do just wish I could sit a few of those Israelis and Palestinians down for a nice cup of tea.

“The truth you believe and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.”
Pema Chodron

I will try an remember this in every way as I raise my sons, especially the one who could become a word. Autism.