Personal Blogs

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I’m a bit of a Swedophile. Back in the mid nineties my family were invited to have a holiday with Swedish friends. Since then, I have travelled to Sweden several times. As a reader and writer, I keep my eye on Swedish authors that may deepen my understanding of the culture.

In 2014, I read Henning Mankell’s nonfiction work Quicksand: What it Means to be a Human Being. It was a watershed moment for me; I had a deep desire to write about my life, but I harboured mixed feelings about how interesting it would be. These essays planted in me ideas of a different way of writing memoir.

Quicksand, Mankell’s final work before he died, covered the months after a terminal cancer diagnosis. My first impression was the essay titles. Themes such as “The Raft of Death” and “Turning Time in a Different Direction” were captivating. He filled the 67 personal essays with fascinating facts, philosophy, environmental issues, and cavernous musings. The intimacy of his first-person, active sentence structure made me feel he granted me the honour of sitting beside him like a child as his wisdom and literary prowess unfolded.

In all his essays, there is conspicuous lucidity and efficient syntax as a stylistic default. The language is spare but riveting in its beauty. Like a seasoned poet, words are carefully selected. Adjectives and adverbs are minimal. Strong verbs are relegated to the rear of the sentence, and passive sentence structure is sparse. He has this ability to crystallise deep concepts. These factors were all important to me. As an academic essayist in Social Psychology and English literature, I failed to produce encouraging results due to a lack of clarity. “Too much verbosity,” a tutor kindly pointed out. Mankell was influential in giving me the confidence to enter creative writing with faith in my ability to overcome past error and write clear work, but at the same time, keep the reader captivated.

The person projected, or the persons that Mankell has chosen to project throughout the sixty-seven essays are those of whose tone John Burnside of The Guardian described as “serious” (Burnside, 2014). Mankell writes, “Your identity is formed when you decide your attitude towards serious questions. That is something known to everyone who has not forgotten all about their childhood” (2014, p.14). This earnest tone has merit, as it best portrays Mankel’s subject matter. However, seriousness is not to be confused with gloomy or depressing. Essays that deal with a fatal cancer diagnosis, nuclear waste disposal, premature death, and wider issues concerning man’s irrational choices could by all intents and purposes gravitate to the negative, but this work is by no means an author driven by a Cassandra Syndrome, rather, amidst a debilitating, or what would be for many, a debilitating diagnosis, Mankell maintains a positive, uplifting literary decorum.

“I’m in the middle of something” he writes (2014, p. 8). This suspended state that he finds himself in is crucial in the development as an organising principle in his book. Quicksand, the title essay sets the motif that structures the entire work. I recall a reflective question on my MA Creative Writing module posed to the reader to choose three essays and explain what makes them essayistic? Interesting. I looked at Quicksand’s title essay. I broke it down to its components and scenes:

The shrinking realisation that cancer encroaches on life.

The first realisation from a childhood memory that death is a serious business.

Another childhood memory of seeing a village girl falling and dying through ice.

The reaction of parents of the girl and the community at large.

The author’s worst fear, the fear of falling into quicksand.

The myth of quicksand challenged (2014, pp.14-17).

These essayistic digressive forays come at all angles as he appears to move in a seemingly discursive way, but masterly calculated as he brings them to a conclusion. Additionally, his choice of narrative framing and structure, including flashbacks and flash forwards to his childhood self and present self, work to create arcs and control pace and tension and ultimately surprises the reader.

Part Two Tomorrow.

Do you have a favourite spring song? Let me know. My one is Runrig's Maymorning. Living 59% North, the first signs of spring brings joy. 

I'm alive once more  on this spring  morning

*****

Runrig

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOr-8zyTD-g

Okay, it's not quite may, but early signs are appearing Lat weekend, my wife and I got the hacking books polished and set of to Inveraray and Corran for the weekend. Here are a few images:

"If God lived on the earth, people would break his windows."

                                                                                                           ------------ Sholem Aleichem

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There’s a story told about two birds toiling every day as they prepared their nest for their forthcoming chicks. 

On seeing this, the farmer came out and knocked the nest down. Looking puzzled at their return, the birds carried on in their rebuilding. But the next day, the farmer returned and knocked the nest down once more.

This process went on for some days until one person came out and scolded the farmer for his cruelty. It was then that the farmer explained that the tree was diseased and in the forthcoming storm, it would collapse, taking the chicks with it.

Sometimes we can judge a matter without knowing the motives of the person involved. As for God, we do not fully know why he permits suffering. However, there are hints in Geneses chapter 1, Job chapter 1 and the following verse.

“For the creation was subjected to futility, not by its own will, but because of the One who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.”

Romans 8:20,21 (BSB).

The Holy Bible, Berean Standard Bible, BSB is produced in cooperation with Bible Hub, Discovery Bible, OpenBible.com, and the Berean Bible Translation Committee. This text of God's Word has been dedicated to the public domain.

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One weekend, I drove to Wemyss Bay and boarded a ferry to the Island of Bute. I walked from the town, up the Serpentine, stopping to take a picture of the iconic ‘VR’ post-box, a relic of bygone days. I passed Eastland Farm and arrived at Canada Hill.

I settled in a secluded spot; a place where, in my youth, I often sought solace on lonely evenings. I frequently grappled with a deep sense of loneliness that overwhelmed me. At times, preferring solitude rather than being with unkind humans — a choice I felt compelled to make. The familiarity of the place caused me to wander back into a special moment in those days.

It was the seventies, and I must have been thirteen. Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival was in the charts. Seated there with the majestic Firth of Clyde to the left and Loch Ascog on my right and the celestial firmament above. I witnessed a shooting star streak across the skyline, and I felt it was meant for me. I became spiritually aware as I was enveloped by some sort of celestial wonder. An extreme sense of contentment, of joy, of happiness overwhelmed me. I no longer felt alone.

C.S. Lewis described these spiritual moments using the German word Sehnsucht — a deep, intense longing linked to joy that passes momentarily like the particles in a snow globe but leaves one with an insatiable longing. I had a glimpse of joy in the full sense of what the creator meant it to be for the human family.

I’m convinced it was a longing that can only be satisfied in a future life. In other words, the momentary joy is a snapshot of a future perfect and indefinite joy that can only be fulfilled in the future paradise Jesus spoke of in Luke 13:43. No other experience can deliver the full impact of what Sehnsucht gives us a glimpse of.

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Trying to get to the bottom of this Thai word is like herding frogs. There are so many angles of understanding linked to it. My wife and I have friends, the wife being Thai, so, the next time we see her, I will discuss this paradoxical word.

It’s a word that’s close to my heart. Like most of us, I don’t cope too well with tension in all its forms, including passive aggressiveness, toxic language, harsh words, and the like. I usually excuse myself. As I get older, that feeling has become more intense.

Empathy is a quality that is deeply lacking in society as narcissism, self-interest and selfishness have made inroads into this broken society.

My wife and I were reading the Bible this morning and afterwards, she asked, ‘What is your favourite Bible verse?’ This is our joy—the wandering musings of the mind.

‘Psalm15,’ I said. We read it. It’s all about being human. To be more specific, it is God’s message to humans regarding moral values towards God and our fellow man.

It speaks about being blameless. Speaking truth from the heart. Words that utter no slander. Who does no wrong to their neighbour. Who keeps promises. Who cannot be bribed, and so on.

This brings me back to that Thai word. Deeply embedded in Thai society’s consciousness is empathy for neighbour. I like that, it’s the way we all should live.

You can read more about Psalm 15 in the following link:

Psalm 15 (biblehub.com)

Have a good day.

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When I was in my late teens, I became interested in learning Scottish Gaelic. And like any language, you learn of the culture and history of the people.

I became fascinated by a story centred around the Gaelic speaking islanders on the Island of Lewis on Scotland’s west coast. I read a book about HMY Iolaire. This was a vessel that was returning to the island on January 1, 1919.

On board were no ordinary group of passengers, but 283 men who were returning from WW1. They looked forward to making up on the lost years of absence; the simple pleasures of sitting by a warm fire and catching up with their loved one. But this was not to be, the waters were hostile that day and the captain struggled to negotiate a safe passage. Suddenly, the ship struck rocks and 201 of the 283 men perished.

What makes this more tragic is the fact that they spent many years dodging bullets, not to mention deprivation and suffering, and yet, when home seemed a few minutes away, their dreams were shattered.

When the bodies were recovered, a very human story emerged. In their pockets were toys. Yes, toys. Toys for their children whom they had dearly missed. Gifts that would re-establish the lost years with their little ones. Similar sad episodes have been repeated worldwide, from the cold Atlantic to the China Sea and from the Artic Ocean to the Indian Ocean. These oceans have claimed untold multitudes. I’m comforted by the hope that’s expressed in Revelation 12:12,13

"And there were open books. One of them was the Book of Life…The sea gave up its dead, and Death and the grave gave up their dead, and each one was judged according to his deeds."

In this great historical epoch, humanity will witness the joy of being reunited with friends, loved ones and faithful ones of old. And, of course, those lost in all the treacherous sea voyages. If I was to choose a word that captures this period, it would be the Chinese word Fùhuó for resurrection (复活). Carries with it is the thought of renaissances; a rebirth into the full realisation of these words promised by Jesus to the criminal: "Truly I tell you this day, you will be with me in paradise."

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As a child, I recall a strange ornament an old lady had on her mantle. It was three monkeys. One with his hands over his mouth, the other with his hands over his eyes, the other with his hands over his ears.

It wasn’t the fact that they were monkey I thought strange. It was the puzzling gestures; I couldn’t understand what it all meant despite the caption being “Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.”

It was some years later that I discovered the wisdom intended. Now, more than ever, there is a desperate need for young and old to counteract the tendency to gossip or slander. Many have taken their lives or fallen into depression because of spread rumours. In my case, I left the religious organisation I was affiliated with for this very reason. Not only because I found it hurtful, but because I found it a toxic environment.

Now why do people gossip? Sometimes it’s innocent, it may be curiosity. Some gossip to raise their self-esteem. After all, by putting others down, you raise yourself due to pride. Some gossip to be accepted by the group. Some gossip because of hatred or malicious intent.

James 1:26 reads, “If anyone thinks he is religious without controlling his tongue, his religious is useless, and he deceives himself.” (CSB see footnote).

If you find yourself in such a toxic environment, turn around and walk away. It’s not so easy if it’s the family, the congregation or the workplace, friends or the internet, but make every effort to avoid being drawn in or being hurt by such ones. Additionally, search yourself and ask, “Have I hurt my neighbour by gossiping?” If so, correct it. James showed that your relationship with God is otherwise hindered.

(Scripture quotations marked CSB have been taken from the Christian Standard Bible®, Copyright © 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Christian Standard Bible® and CSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers.)

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A Letter to My Younger Self

What advice would I give to my younger self and this younger generation? There’s the French proverb,

Si jeunesse savait, si vieillesse pouvait Meaning that it’s better to have an older head on younger shoulders, but life doesn’t work out that way; we learn wisdom by experience and looking back; I have a key points to offer my younger self and the youth of today:

Wait for the two marshmallows

You probably have heard of the famous psychology experiment were children were offered a marshmallow now, but if they waited, they'd get two marshmallows. Well, in the course of time, the children who postponed self-gratification and waited for the two mallows faired better in life. Postponing pleasure for some greater purpose is advantageous.

I never made it at school. I took the best part of the last year off and when I was there; the class was disruptive and not conducive to learning. 3G at St Gerard in Govan was my high school. Clydeside kids of working-class fathers who, for the most part, would never get their names up on the Dux board in the foyer. We would look at the names and say “Boffins” with a bit of contempt.

However, when I was nineteen, I began attending night school at Cardonald College studying English, Maths and Physics. To be honest, I struggled with maths and physics, but English caught my attention. I loved the books: Animal Farm, Brave new World and other books that were on the curriculum.

The idea of studying English literature got a grip on me. However, with average Standard Grades, the idea was slipping, and I continued with my night shift job at Safeway on Paisley Road West, Glasgow.

It was there that I would watch workmates reading during the lunch break. Jimmy was reading The Moon’s a Ballon and Marty was reading The Lord of the Rings for the third time. I admired their stick-to-itiveness and the pleasure they derived from reading. Additionally, we had some students in on a Friday evening. Some were studying architecture and similar subjects. But there was one workmate who was studying English literature and would often talk about the Thomas Hardy books he was reading. His enthusiasm was contagious; he was getting quite a kick out of this material.

In the course of events, I put any hope of studying at university level on the back burner. I got married and university was dipping over the horizon..

Later, though, I studied English literature, social science and creative writing part time at The Open University and eventually got a BA Creative Writing and English Literature.

When COVID struck, I thought, there’s nothing else for it, I’m not going to waste more time. I did the MA and in 2022; I got a Master of Arts in Creative Writing.

Now why do I mention this? Am I proud of the achievement? No, it only confirmed what I could have achieved in my youth if I had postponed self-gratification and went for the two marshmallows.

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Nostalgia

It’s summer ‘59, Billie Holiday has put her death mask on and she’s now Trav’lin light, and somewhere, near the banks of the River Clyde, an infant peers at mighty iron gates from a safe distance, curious about what lies behind. He hears the rhythmic banging of hammers, the neurotic sizzle of welding torches and the stench of red-hot pop-rivets as the snapping, thundering sounds and reeks ricochet and resonate throughout the town.  Then… then, a deafening horn brings the cacophony to an end. The metal gates ascend, and the concealed society emerge. They push out shoulder-to-shoulder; they splinter into groups down roads, streets, and lanes. Dressed like characters from a Lowry painting, they go thundering along like the snorting bulls of Pamplona. The child scampers up the stairs screaming for his mother and lays in her arms sobbing like it was a bad dream.

             Childhood memories like this visit often, sometimes as welcome guests and occasionally like a nocturnal burglar that enters my vaults and robs me of tranquillity. There’s the thoughtful passage in Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities where Sydney Carton in conversation with Mr Lorry poses the following question:

            ‘Does your childhood seem far off? Do the days when you sat on your mother’s knee seem days of Long ago?’ 

           ‘Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in a circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be of the kind smoothing of the way.’ Mr Lorry replies.

           Much as I respect Dickens’ insight into human nature, I’m not sure I’m with Dickens on this ‘smoothing of the way.’  Truth be told, nostalgia is spurned by all generations. We have ABBA revivals. In China they have 80’s cafes where Generation Y can moonwalk the decade away to Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean. It’s even been reported that Generation Z are affected by early-onset nostalgia

The Incongruity of Self-Awareness

I was six years old. You had this routine. Every Sunday at 11am you would come round the back of my tenement building and stand on a soapbox. Wearing your bowtie and Donkey Jacket, you looked like a music hall artist. You took a swig of wine and sang Mario Lanza’s Be My Love, a favourite song of my grandfathers. And every week, when you finished, my mother would open her purse, throw out some coins, close her purse and say, ‘why doesn’t that bloody man not sing something new?’ Whilst wiping her eyes.

NASA, the North American Space Administration has rolled out billions of dollars developing technology to detect Extra-Terrestrial life. To what end, I wonder.

If there was extra-terrestrial life, what would they think of us? Consider: we have a planet producing food in abundance, and yet, we see images of emaciated figures in other continents malnourished with flies around their eyes. 19,000 children a year in sub-Saharan Africa are born with cataracts. Many dying before they become five years old. People are dying for the want of antibiotics. Our streets are filled with homeless people despite an abundance of land for building. Drugs are destroying societies. Poverty is rising in developed countries whilst the top ten per-cent amas more wealth. An unprecedented number of resources go towards arms and war. Resources that could be channelled towards mankind’s good. We see families crossing mighty seas in small crafts to find peace and security. What a helluva race we call mankind.

And what would we think of the Extra Terrestrials? What if they asked us to love our neighbours as ourselves? To be loyal; not looking at another with desire? To be honest in word and deed? To consider the poor, the window, the aged and the fatherless boy?  What if they asked us to respect life, to treat animals humanely? To lend without interest and not exploit the hired hand. To resist the temptation to be jealous, greedy, gossip, slander or bear false testimony. Would we buy into that? Apparently not.

What if these Extra Terrestrials were observing us now and assessing us?

“For the eyes of God is watching all the earth, and gives strength to those who with a pure heart and trust in him” 2 Chronicles 6:9

“God’s will is that they would seek Him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, although He is not far from each one of us.” Acts 17: 27

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Primo Levi in his book The Drowned and the Saved wrote of the “grey zone” in Auschwitz. It would seem that the prison camp life could easily be divided into two blocs: the persecuted and the enemy.

But not so. He wrote, “At least for the solidarity of one’s companions in misfortune” would offer some relief. But no, the camp was divided by multiple divisions and the enemy was everywhere. “The enemy were all around but inside as well,” he wrote. 

Isn't it disturbing that in the street, school, workplace, prison camps or anywhere for that matter, that humans have the inclination to divide, create hatred and divisions? Yet, we all share the same DNA. Where does such evil come from I wonder?

To combat man's inhumanity to man, we build walls around us. Walls that create loneliness, insecurity and apathy. And yet, there are many trustworthy people out there if you look.

Psalm 15:2 reads "The one who walks faultlessly, who does what is right, who utters truth from his heart."