Your house shall not be an anchor but a mast - Khalil Gibran

When does politeness become dishonesty?

I was talking about this with a friend the other day. We both incline naturally towards dissembling. Towards softening tough words so much they become meaningless. Even towards taking upon ourselves the blame in certain situations to make the other person feel better.

In fact the late and very great Mr Quentin Crisp positively encourages this latter tactic. In Manners From Heaven (his unique take on etiquette), he has this to say:

In refusing a sexual invitation, one should never take the high road of self-righteousness. Manners demand that we appear to be less than others. ‘I may be very old-fashioned…’ is always a good line to use. One practically apologises for having to say ‘no’.

The wheels of society are greased by politeness. If we all said what we really thought all the time, it would certainly be satisfying and fun in many ways, but it would end in tears.

Politeness and friendship

So how do we reconcile good manners with friendship, truth and real closeness? For example:

You have a friend who’s gone and married a man so dire you would rather clean the toilet bowl with your own toothbrush than spend five minutes in his company. An obvious tactic is to invite your friend to meet up à deux. But sooner or later will come the inevitable invitation to a jolly supper party at their house, and there are only so many excuses to avoid this sort of thing. So you go, and grit your teeth. But now there’s a wall of dishonesty between you and your friend. And your own view of your friend has changed subtly anyway: you think less of her for her slavish devotion to this fool.*

I don’t know if there’s a constructive and honest way through this sort of situation.

At what point are compassion and kindness actually dishonest?

Politeness and Christianity

I think we’ve become a society in which there’s a lot of papering over the cracks in the interests of politeness and a sort of hippy-happy, sunny-bunny Christianity. A lot of ’supposed-to’. We are supposed to be ‘grateful’ and ‘thankful’ all the time. And indeed it seems like the height of impoliteness not to be.

At the moment I’m going through my annual phase of being severely pissed off with everything, because it’s summer and it’s hot, and I’m one of those strange people that loathe hot weather. But shouldn’t I be grateful for this wonderful creation I’m part of? There are people out there with terrible problems, and I don’t have any real problems. Doesn’t stop me being pissed off though, and even hugging the feeling to me, because it’s very energising.

Politeness and blogging

Like so many people, women especially, I was brought up in an atmosphere which encouraged a kind of toxic niceness. Neither the church nor the school at which I was educated would stand for any honest questioning or subversive behaviour.

I tend to post here only when I have something positive to say, and I’m coming to realise that’s actually a form of selective dishonesty. And it can make writing here boring (for me and probably for you!).

I’m going to see where this line of thinking takes me over the next few weeks. Perhaps you’ll start to see glimpses of the judgemental, irritable, critical, contemptuous, and self-involved sides of me. Enjoy!

Meanwhile, what do you think - at what point does politeness become active dishonesty?

*Not a current situation

Image by allaboutgeorge

Elsewhere:

One of many excellent articles marking the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots is in Religion Dispatches, which I found via Towanda. Rachel writes both compassionately and passionately as part of a synchroblog, here. And Ian McKellen, writing in The Times, reminds us of some of our own queer political history here in the UK.

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What better way to welcome Midsummer Day than with music? I’m responding to Magpie Girl’s 8 Things invitation in which she asks:

What eight songs connect you to the Divine? Songs that aren’t classically “religious” or “church music” but create a harmonic bridge to all things holy. Songs that soothe the soul. Songs that encourage and shore you up. Songs that connect you to something bigger and beyond, or more deeply and truly to the here/now. What songs are just Good Medicine?

I’m so lucky to be the age I am. I turned 16 in 1969. The year I dropped out of school. The year I saw The Stones play their massive free concert in Hyde Park just days after Brian Jones died. The year of Woodstock (no, that one I didn’t make!).

I’m so lucky to have been brought up on the great rock acts of the ’60s. Those of you young chickies out there who never had the chance, as I did, to see Pink Floyd when Syd Barrett was still a member of the band, The Who at the peak of their powers, Joe Cocker riding the wave of his first success, Cream playing one of their last gigs, with Ginger Baker’s legendary 20-minute drum solos eclipsing even Clapton’s guitar… well you really don’t know what you missed!

The best? Jimi Hendrix at the Roundhouse in 1968. I’ll never forget it.

So I’m starting my selection with Joni Mitchell singing her own composition, Woodstock. There’s something about this song that takes me right back to the hopefulness and brightness of those times, and reminds me that we really are, all of us, stardust.

We’ll stay in 1969 for the extraordinary Janis Joplin singing Little Girl Blue. This is definitely in the “shore you up” category. No matter how bad it gets, you can get through it.

(Yes indeed, wasn’t Tom Jones YOUNG!?)

There’s one very simple, short and slightly whimsical song that I loved when it was first released. I think it has even more depth now. Here’s Yusuf Islam singing The Wind:

The beautiful Bob Marley offers us all Redemption:

Slightly more recent stuff now, with Green Day who (together with Foo Fighters) are my favourite contemporary rock band. Their 1997 album Nimrod gave us the song Good Riddance (Time of Your Life). Its beautiful, strange lyrics make me think about what my life is and could be:

So take the photographs
And still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf of
Good health and good time
Tattoos of memories
And dead skin on trial
For what it’s worth
It was worth all the while

It’s something unpredictable
But in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life

I was at their amazing Bullet in a Bible concert at the UK Bowl three or four years ago, where they ended with a storming, unforgettable version of Good Riddance, but I can’t find it on YouTube, so here’s the official video:

And of course there has to be a Leonard Cohen song in this list. Such richness of choice. In the end I’ve gone for If It Be Your Will.

If it be your will
That a voice be true
From this broken hill
I will sing to you
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it will be your will
To let me sing

There are two versions of this I love. One is by the wonderful Antony Hegarty, which you can find here. The second is this one from Cohen’s current concert tour, with the sublime Webb Sisters.

The only song here that I knew from the start would have to make the final cut (I had a long-list of nearly 50 songs…) is George Harrison’s Here Comes the Sun.

I was at a party years ago. I felt desperately sad and alone. I thought my life was barren. Then someone put this song on to play and I realised what I was experiencing was true then, but it was not the only truth. It made me feel less desolate.

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it’s all right
It’s all right

Harrison’s own version is great, and I’ve always thought the song suits perfectly Nina Simone’s voice. Here’s a more recent version, a tender collaboration between Yo-Yo Ma and James Taylor:

And finally a jubilant version of an old song I found just yesterday at Towanda’s Window. I’ve already sworn eternal gratitude to Towanda for introducing me to Patty Griffin, and now I’m so glad to know the story of Playing For Change, with street musicians from around the world.  I love the introduction to this Ben E King classic:

No matter who you are, no matter where you go in your life, at some point you’re gonna need somebody to stand by you…

Happy Solstice everyone. What are your Eight Songs?

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I’ve had little connection with yoga in my life, so it may seem strange that I’ve joined Blisschick and others in reading The Wisdom of Yoga by Stephen Cope. But it seems this isn’t just physical (hatha) yoga, it’s a whole philosophy and way of life.

This post looks at the Introduction through to the end of Chapter One in Stephen Cope’s book.

The very first thing that struck me is how much I could see in what I read of the Enneagram system of personal and spiritual development that I teach. And Cope incorporates ideas from Christian and Buddhist thought into his explanations. This is hardly surprising, wisdom is wisdom, wherever you find it, and the underlying tenets are the same even if expressed differently.

In Enneagram spirituality, we talk a lot about awareness. Once you know the compulsions of your personality, try to remain in a state of awareness so you recognise patterns as they arise; you can then sometimes let go of your compulsive reactions. There is a mudra (a symbolic yoga posture or gesture) to represent each of the Enneagram personality types.  Lots of connections.

The first chapters of Cope’s book talk a lot about stillness. One of the characters, Jake, is going through a period of crisis, leading to a state described in yogi terms as samvega:

a kind of disllusionment with mundane life, and a wholehearted longing for a deeper investigation into the inner workings of the mind and self.

Of contemplative living:

The impulse towards stillness is the central movement of the contemplative life… one intuits some precious new interior self. One sneaks off into the woods like an animal, builds a nest for the birth. Guards it ferociously. And waits in silence.

Actually ‘waiting in silence’ is so difficult for me, I feel much more comfortable just talking about it, and boy did I resist! Here are just a few of the things I did as distractions so I wouldn’t have to keep reading:

• Searched for and downloaded a video from iTunes
• Read and commented on some blog posts
• Played a computer game (I’ve recently succumbed to Sims3 - big mistake, feeding my addiction…)
• Twittered
• Facebooked
• Even did some housework

So many of us hope for “time off”, for the chance to unwind and live more simply. I have that opportunity. But I find I’m often still longing for some future time when everything will be better, and using distractions rather than taking the time to look deeply, now.

What are you doing to avoid stillness?

Image by nflorence

Elsewhere:

Do read Blisschick’s and her commenters’ posts on this book. I haven’t done yet, because I didn’t want them to influence what I had to say, but off I go to do so.

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It’s been a strange break from writing here. Strange in that I haven’t missed it. I’m considering whether to continue, or whether this blog has run its course. I’m sure I’ll always be blogging somewhere, and involved in the online community, but I’m not sure about here. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, Magpie Girl wrote a post recently that I can’t get out of my mind. About anger. Yes, ANGER. Grrrrr…

Here’s an excerpt:

Anger, like pain, is a helpful thing. Just as pain signals that something is wrong within our bodies, anger signals that something is amiss in our souls. When I talk to my children about anger we often refer to it as “a cover-up emotion.” I ask them what the anger is hiding, and they can usually come up with an answer. Women who have grown up in the church are not so skilled at this … The next time you feel a surge of anger, ask yourself, “What is underneath this?” You might even try visualizing the anger as a stone. Then imagine yourself lifting up the stone, and see what is underneath. See if you can address that root issue. I bet you’ll be surprised at how skillful you are!

I love the photograph above, which I found at Flickr and which gave me the title of this post. I’m afraid of conflict and I find it almost impossible to express anger; it just leaks out, sometimes self-destructively, sometimes in unspoken contempt for others. Even writing these words, I want to go and stuff the feelings: with food, with alcohol, with distraction of some kind.

It’s like putting your hand over your mouth after swearing. “Oops! Gosh, sorry about all that jolly inappropriate anger there, hope no-one spotted it, wouldn’t like to embarrass anybody.” (Smiles ingratiatingly. Maybe giggles a little.)

Of course there are some kinds of anger that are acceptable even in the most conventional Christian circles. Righteous anger that thirsts for justice and effects change is an obvious example. But you’re not allowed to thump anyone. Although overturning a few tables and chucking money on the floor is probably OK.

God knows (I’m sure she does, actually) there are many things terribly wrong in the Catholic church. What a secretive temple to homophobic, misogynistic, hierarchical, narrow-mindedness I belong to. So far I’ve subscribed to the school of thought that bears witness for change and tries to work from the inside. For weeks on and off now, I’ve been drafting a post provisionally titled “Why I’m Still a Catholic”. I’m having trouble caring about it. Seems pointless.

(And even writing that pissed me off, because it will give ammunition to those who have no comprehension why I’m Catholic, or even Christian, and would be delighted if I “saw sense”. By which, of course, they mean come round to their way of thinking.)

There are times when I don’t want to be grown-up and analytical. I don’t want to put forward reasoned arguments about my beliefs or calmly “own” my emotions. I want to rend and tear and scratch and bite. Or at least stamp my feet a little bit.

And that brings me to something Rowena said in the comments to Magpie’s post:

Sometimes I think the creative and spiritual blog world wants everything to be shiny and pretty, too. It has to be all positive and supportive, without realizing that being pissy a little, that being critical can be more supportive than just saying that everything is wonderful. A debate might serve more purpose than fawning over how wonderful a blogger is. Authenticity over Perfection. Perfection is so destructive, in my opinion.

What do you think? Are we too shiny and pretty?

Image by switch 1010

Elsewhere:

Danielle at White Hot Truth has been having a monastic experience you can read about here. And I thought this little piece from Killing the Buddha was appropriate: Margaret Speaks Her Mind.

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When I was a kid, I always saved the best part of a meal until last.

This was sometimes a risky proposition: Mum cooked a lovely roast lunch, but her potatoes (my favourite) were variable. There was always the danger of slogging through the boiled vegetables, enjoying the tender lamb, then finally sliding a hopeful knife into the roast potatoes only to find that rather than crispy outside and melting inside, they were rubbery. But if she’d hit it right… mmmm, those potatoes were simply gorgeous.

Morning pages - dumping the rubbish

And so it’s proving with the morning pages I’m writing for Blisschick’s 100-day challenge. First thing every morning, I churn out three hand-written stream-of-consciousness pages. Usually, the first two and a half sides are the most awful crap, full of self-centred moaning and groaning. That’s the point of the pages, of course: you dump all that stuff out of your head to leave space for creative truth. (I mean creative truth in the fullest sense of how we live our lives, not only in the sense of artistic expression.)

Insights

And then often, in that last half page, some real insights start to emerge, even if it’s right in the very last line. Sometimes the last few lines are still soggy and disappointing. But sometimes they are deliciously helpful and worth waiting for.

Now I’m sorry if I’ve built up your expectations, but sadly I don’t yet have the meaning of life all nicely packaged up and ready to share!

Taking a break

What I have realised is this:  those last lines have become insistent that I need to go deeper into some reflections without an audience.

And the ‘audience’ means you, dear reader, because that stream-of-consciousness has made me understand I am in some strange way adapting my thoughts and experiences to what I write in this blog. It’s turning into the wrong way about, it’s making me less honest in both directions. I can’t find the words to explain why.

So I’m taking a couple of weeks’ break from writing here to do some more navel-gazing.

I’ll be around online and look forward to reading my favourite blogs. I’ll also be posting on my other blog, Pilgrim’s Moon.

I’ll be back here in early June. See you then.

Image by D’Arcy Norman

Elsewhere:

I mostly choose images for my posts from the Creative Commons stock at Flickr. It happens that the story behind the image above is really interesting. Go check it out at the photographer’s Flickr page. It centres around a book called Teaching as a Subversive Activity.

And as an adult, I’ve actually cracked the skill of perfect roast potatoes every time. I use the Delia Smith method explained here. It really works!

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