Masochistic Perceptions, Trials and Truths

These are my cyberfied cerebral synapses ricocheting off reality as I perceive it: thoughts, opinions, passions, rants, art and poetry...

Monday, November 30, 2009

I've Missed My Yoga!


As I sit looking at the falling snow, as it skids along the glass of my front window, I am strengthening my resolve to slow down a bit... though I have to scoot in an hour to Chair the Parent Council meeting at my daughter's school tonight (I think that I'm turning into a soccer mom)! This past month has been ridiculously silly. As a Teacher, this is perhaps the roughest time of year as the weather renders itself the spoiler of summer's dreams, forcing cabin fever into the being of my adolescent students, already gone nuts from hormones and puberty. On top of this, particularly as a Special Needs Teacher, there is an abundance of bureaucratic smegma to wade through, with Individualised Programme and progress reports being due (I love teaching but loathe paperwork). The time has leaped back in fear of the forthcoming winter, causing my commutes to and from work to be enveloped in darkness as the moonlight glares from the polish on the ice clad roads (hence the lament for my bicycle in my previous post). Finally, there are few breaks between September and December.

...and for good measure, don't forget, colds, flus, H1N1 which tend to flourish in the bacterial and viral playgrounds of our educational institution.

That is my professional life. Beyond that, those remaining fragments of my days are consumed with family, efforts to stay in shape and trying to get my band, PLAID FLAG, gig ready. These latter parts, definitely self-imposed, serve more as stress relievers, but can also add stress simply by taking away from pure down time.

The result of this way of life has left me with the sensation of a hatchet in my skull headache, nausea, chest pains, a racing mind and overall sense of exhaustion. I have no one to blame but myself as the cornerstone to my sanity - my Yoga and Meditation practice - as been allowed to lapse into virtual non-existence. I'm eating well, hitting the gym hard and whatnot, but I am missing that quiet time that allows me to unwind. Thus, I am really trying to return to my much neglected practice, and, with this, comes reflection.

It's interesting to see how I allow my Yoga to slide from time to time, given that it has been the most centering thing in a life that has seen its share of tumultuous times. I've been practicing for a decade now, and my first two years were spent going to intense Iyengar classes which formulated the basis of my Yoga. Since then, while going to classes sporadically and reading volume upon volume of Eastern Philosophy, Psychology, etc., my practice has been primarily at home. I don't know why I find it so difficult to motivate myself to take in a few classes at the many studios around town. I have no problem going to the gym, for example. I think my reluctance lies more so in being at a class for a scheduled time and the lack of solitude within a group setting. Many will say that the energy one receives doing asanas within a group can be powerful (that's the whole philosophy behind sangha's or spiritual communities), but I am, at heart, an introvert. I must say, from the 5-10 classes that I do take in over a year, I add new things to my routine and learn a thing or two. But, like so many things in life, we don't always do what it best for us. We are strange creatures indeed.

In the end, I recognise the negative effects of not doing Yoga, meditation and writing in my gratitude journal on a daily basis. In addition to the physiological affects described above, and, ironically through the tone of my words, it sets me in a negative mindset - a psychological state one really does not want to embrace with the onset of the Canadian winter! So, I'm glad that I have resolved to take a few deep Yoga breaths to give myself a kick in the arse, and bring Spring into my mind, if not my environment!

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Lamenting Bicycle


I am going through bicycling withdrawl. Though the weather is markedly mild for late November in Edmonton, it's still pretty chilly and the paths and roadways are all glazed with a film of ice. If I truly wanted to be hardcore, I'd still be sitting in my saddle beaneath multiple layers - as many hardy folks do and I tip my hat to them - but I just don't enjoy riding as much in these conditions. Cycling in -40c with blowing snow seems a bit too masochistic even for me! Alas, my cycling is relegated to the pages of various magazines that I leaf through on the bog, and the stationary bike at the gym.

I don't do winter well. Those of you who have never spent a winter in Canada (and British Columbia doesn't count), you truly have no idea. As I enter my 41st year next month, I still grapple with living in a climate that can hit +40C in the summer and -60C in the winter. I've tried to find an outdoor passion, but, when the mercury dips too low or there's no snow, things like XC skiing and snowshoeing simply don't seem reasonable. I'm a wimp - I admit it. Sure, there's a lot of indoor activities one might pursue. I do a lot of indoor rock climbing, go to the gym, etc., but I am not an indoor creature.

In the end, I think I'm definitely cut out for a more temperate climate. While I wilt in the heat, I love that feeling... to a degree... up until the nausea and dizziness fell me like a large conifer... But that being said, the Canadian outdoors is amazing, so I suppose that's what keeps me here - living for those 4-5 blissful months when produce is cheap and the trails beckon me lightly layered!

Still, if you are reading this in a warmer climate, enjoy... but I'm jealous.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Contented

O the sun is setting
now on my youth
it's ideal dreams
and it's search for truth
leaving it all
to where I'm now found
on the pivotal point
between womb and the ground
pray my days are still plenty
before my time is done
and by God I'll live each
as if it were my last one

Don't know where I'm going
but I've made it this far
so to love, peace and pleasure
I'll hoist up my jar
no longer pining or regrets
for that life not chose
through the kicks in the bollocks
and the smells of the rose
to be here is sweet
with music and friends
and when toe taps the bucket
I hope that how it ends
may the road rise to meet us
while we're on our way
and always seize the day

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Justice, Rehabilitation and the Canadian Correctional System

There were two stories that caught my attention in today's Edmonton Journal. The first was on the front page about a Sudanese immigrant who was convicted of rape and is now being deported because he is deemed too dangerous to be released back into society. The second piece, on page A11, is titled "Federal system fails aboriginals in prison" and goes on about how more needs to be done to assist in the rehabilitation of First Nation's inmates who make up a disproportional amount of our prison population.

I spent half a decade working in a Canadian federal maximum security prison as a teacher and as a Correctional Officer. I witnessed idealism, political correctness and benevolent naivety, fuelled by noble compassion. I myself struggled with my feelings as I got to know inmates and their stories, seeing them as human beings rather than by race or newspaper headlines, against their atrocious and unforgivable acts. I am a compassionate person, and, while this may be a difficult concept to understand by many, that compassion has lead me to support of the death penalty as a means to first and foremost, protect society, but also to end the suffering that has lead so many career inmates to their present situation. Unless you have spent a lot of time in jail and witnessed the things that I have seen, I'm certain you will find this statement as being incomprehensible.

In today's articles, more is being demanded to assist Aboriginal inmates, while an African inmate is deported. I respect the compassion for First Nations inmates, but the public needs to be made aware that they host pow wows in the Edmonton Max where families and friends come in to celebrate and eat take-out food which has been ordered in. There is a Native Brotherhood centre in the prison, as well as a sweat lodge. If making these cultural things available to these inmates help, then I am all for it, but I am skeptical. During my time at the Max, many elders were dismissed for smuggling in contraband, perpetuated negative attitudes towards Officers, as well a racist attitudes toward non-Aboriginals. The Aboriginal gangs were given their own living units, and it was on these units that many of the riots, assaults and drug deals were schemed.

In contrast to this, the immigrant population is also on the rise in our prisons, particularly from the troubled regions of Africa. What steps are being taken to assist these inmates? There is no denying the difficulties in Canada's Aboriginal communities, but what are we doing for and what is our expectation of a Sudanese refugee who comes from a place where human life had no value, where they witnessed genocide, starvation and displacement? And while I support the deportment of the rapist, Samuel Luin, I ask how we can justify releasing inmates deemed too dangerous to re-enter society? If this had been any other offender, than that person would be back in society and most likely seeking out their next victim.

Demographics aside, every inmate has a story. In seeking to rehabilitate these individuals, we should not be seeking to do so according to race, any more than a doctor would seek to cure a room full of sick people with different ailments according to race. Going further, no inmate should be released if they are still deemed dangerous. Period. I believe a country is judged by the way they treat their prisoners and I embrace the compassion that we Canadians have. What we need to do is reflect on what being truly compassionate means.

Submitted to the Edmonton Journal on Nov. 14th, 2009

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

For Me Ma




My name it is Gloria

And my life’s a troubled thing

My husband, he would smack me round

But I still wear his ring

Despite his infidelities, his drink

And shite and lies,

For though long ago he left me

I must consider gossiping eyes

You see, to be a single mother

In these conservative constricted days

Is not a very kindly state

And I must respect our ways

While three of my four babies

To misfortunate death I’ve lost

I can’t afford this shame you see

So I’ll conceal at any cost

Motherhood is trying

And oftentimes I don’t feel well

The resentment, depression and anxiety

In my mind and heart does swell

And when I feel I can take no more

To the point that I might crack

My son suffers the brunt of my pain

With wicked words and with a smack

Sometimes I can not control myself,

The sting in my flailing hand

It falls and falls as if on it’s own and why,

I can not understand

My self-esteem is all but gone

To a guise of dignity

That’s why I cling to my “Mrs.” Name

Though that I’ll never be

By God it’s such a torturous task

To face yet another living day

Resentment murdered all my dreams

And it’s driving my son away

My words are harsh and hurtful

Thinking not of their future price

For all the tolls that time is taking

A baby, another then thrice

And though my pride is all I have

In the only surviving one

I fear that he’ll turn out like me

Never to become someone

I push him hard in his school

Though I, myself, can’t read,

And every time I beat him blue

It’s of want for him to succeed

I know that this is all fucked up

But I’ve nowhere else left to go

It’s so hard to wake each day

And put on this pathetic show

So this is my existence

And my gracious lot

To accept the little that I have

With hopes others don’t talk

All I pray is in the end,

Some God will wait for me

To give me something beyond this bullshit

For the rest of eternity

For my name is Gloria

I’m old, and now I stay

In the house where I was raised,

My son a nation away

I pray now for forgiveness,

And still live with my shame

And still I wear my husband’s ring,

It’s band near worn away.

Edmonton, AB, Canada

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Sunday, November 08, 2009

The Peaceful Process


Gerry Adams, the leader of the Irish Republican Party, Sinn Fein, is in Canada this week, and I just finished listening to an extended interview with him on the CBC radio programme "The Sunday Edition" with Michael Enwright. I must profess that I have been a supporter of a united Ireland for my entire life, and, in my younger years, even had a reluctant sympathy for the tactics of the IRA. In my early 20's my passion for Ireland was fostered by my studies of Irish history, Dubliners songs and the fact that my Grandmother had to leave her home in County Down on account of the Troubles. In 1991 I moved to Ireland, where I lived in Dublin for a while. The woman living in the flat above me was a lawyer for Sinn Fein, and through her I met loads of folks in the Republican movement, but I also met a lot of other Irish people as I traveled through the North and the Republic.

Gerry Adams and the Sinn Fein message has changed substantially since the Good Friday Peace Accord from one of violence to one of peaceful reconciliation. I was so impressed with Adam's words today, his tolerant tone, what appeared to be a sincere desire to accommodate Unionist ideas in a untied Ireland, and even his respectful words for his arch nemisis, Ian Paisley. When he spoke of the orange and green being united by a strip of white which represents peace on the Irish flag, it truly seemed that he believed these words, acknowledging that Irish history and culture are a grand mosaic and has its place. Adams cited the Orange parade held annually in Donnegal, which is never marred by the violence of the Orange marches in Ulster. When the Orange Lodge master was ask why this was, he replied that it was because they don't threaten anybody. This makes sense: fear causes a fight or flight reaction in our psyche.

By my mid 20's, I realised that violence never begets peace, and, while remaining empathetic towards the Irish cause, I could no longer condone the tactics pursued in realising their political end by the IRA. While it is easy to get caught up in romantic ideals in our youth, the thought of freedom fighters, etc., one must become aware what affect certain tactics have in achieving or not achieving one's goal. Perhaps it's even ironic that I ended up being married to a fantastic English woman, and that my sister-in-law is in the British Army, having done a couple tours in Northern Ireland. Life is a captivating sojourn.

In the end, Gerry Adams message is one that has proven potential here in Canada. This nation has a fragmented past. Cultural clashes and a number of issues that could clearly left us as a nation in the tumult of violence, hate and intolerance, has become a country that, while somewhat fragmented, exists in peace . In our early days as a nation, the impacts of Imperialism on the First Nations peoples was brutal, wars were waged between the French and English, and the vast majority of Europeans who arrived here came as political or economic refugees. Prejudice against Natives, Irish and Blacks, cruel treatment of the Chinese, Germans, Japanese and Italians, and a strong sense of French nationalism have all left black marks on our history. While still struggling with Quebec Separatist and First Nations issues, we are a nation that allows people to live according to their culture.

No nation is perfect, nor free of historical blemishes. If the people of a nation reflect on what has caused the scars and bruises on their collective past, they will see that a future of violence and hatred will only result in a deepening of these wounds. Our world has witnessed war, migration, ideological changes and horrendous happenings. We can not alter the past, and we find ourselves standing in the place that we are presently at. Where we move is up to us as the future is all we have, and we are in it together.

So here's to peace for the people in Ireland, Iraq, Afghanistan, Congo, Palestine and all of the other troubled parts of the world! May all people "be the change they wish to see in the world" as Gandhi demonstrated it, ending bigotry, bombs and bullets.

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

To My Art Class Students...


"The artistic process is the transformation of the ordinary into the amazing - where the world meets mind, dances with your personality and is re-born into something of beauty... this is the heart and soul of what Art is all about."