Peripheral Ponderings

“In keeping silent about evil, in burying it so deep within us that no sign of it appears on the surface. we are implanting it, and it will rise up a thousand fold in the future.  When we neither punish or reproach evildoers, we are not simply protecting their trivial old age, we are thereby ripping the foundations of justice from beneath new generations.”                                                                                                                                                 Alexandr I. Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago

The appalling discovery of the graves of 215 residential schoolchildren on Tk’emlúps te Secwepemc territory exposes a tragedy that strikes at the very core of our Canadian myth of tolerance.  European culture was systemically imposed by forcibly removing indigenous children from their homes into an education on the white man’s way of life.   The arrogance of assumed superiority is breathtaking.

Peoples and tribes have engaged in combat from the dawn of time.  But the greed, use of weaponry and political trickery to bully natives on to reservations after stealing the land on which they subsisted began a chain of generational trauma.   Financial recompense can only be a beginning.

It’s difficult to determine whether church or government should shoulder more of the blame.  Schools were authoritarian in those days in the best of places.  Many do-gooders did not realize that they were paving the road to hell with their good intentions.  The wisdom that was the birthright of the native tribes was not sought or acknowledged.   The church believed in the Great Commission of making disciples of all nations, but it can hardly have felt like good news to these children who were torn away from their parents.  And then there were those leaders who never had good intentions or had abandoned them for their own selfish agendas.  There had to have been people who turned a blind eye, reports of deaths that were ignored.

My childhood farm was near Caledonia, on the Mohawk and other Six Nations traditional lands.  Child of immigrants, I conjured up images of these original inhabitants as I wandered through the back woods and fields.   We read the poetry of Pauline Johnson in school, and her Brantford home was not far away.

The Neutral tribes had once inhabited the Flamborough farm where we lived when we were first married.  There had been finds of arrowheads and a neighbour even unearthed a peace pipe.   The department of archeology from a nearby university came to investigate a midden, only to find that it had already been disturbed.  At one point, home with small children, I had a piecework job dressing dolls in Indian clothing, to be sold as souvenirs in tourist shops.  An irony – this work done on lands that once were aboriginal lands.

But about the indigenous peoples themselves there was largely silence.  How do we restore their rightful heritage in a country that now has welcomed people from all over the world, sometimes themselves fleeing tyranny?  What would justice even look like?

It is a time to walk in their shoes, a time for respect and listening.  The time for silence is over.

 

 

 

“We may imagine perhaps that creation was finished long ago.  This is not true.  It continues more gloriously than ever. . . and we serve to complete it, even with the humblest work of our hands.”                                          Teilhard du Chardin

Human creativity is a fascinating topic, and the subject of much research.  Where do people get ideas?  Or the curiosity and perseverance that has them working long hours on their craft?   In what kinds of environments does creativity thrive?  How is it supported by others in a community who are perhaps not so obviously creative, as they go about their humble chores in society?  A society has to have the resources to support artists.

In the case of craft, you need to have the tools of the trade available.  Pens and brushes, ink and paint, carving tools and computers, yarn and needles.  We need raw materials from the earth’s resources, designers and manufacturers in factories, marketing and transportation links.  The computer I am writing on is a product of collaboration that goes back many years.

Inspiration itself means breath, which implies that we receive from outside ourselves, and many creative people prepare by being receptive to the Divine.  We acknowledge that our resources are limited.    We allow time so that the unconscious mind incubates and contributes with insights that often appear to come out of the blue.

Creativity appears to increase as we interact with others in art, technology, or science, ideas begetting more ideas exponentially.    In theatre or other group dynamics, iron sharpens iron, and giftedness of one enhances the giftedness of the other.  It’s been noted that often inventions arise simultaneously in different parts of the world, once the building blocks that allow new combinations are discovered and shared.  If, for example, you had a limited number of letter blocks to use for your vocabulary, even the addition of one letter would make possible thousands of new words.  In the same way new theories open up more avenues of exploration.

One generation passes down their knowledge to the next.  When we were children living in rural Ontario, we could attend the local 4H Club (Head/Heart/Hands/Health), which offered both social connection and the opportunity to learn farm skills.  There were volunteers at school who taught knitting and sewing, and I have fond memories of the neighbour who, with painstaking patience, taught me how to crochet.

We need the encouragement of others because often there’s a discrepancy between the genius of our idea and its reality.  There is the fear that the incarnation of your imagination will prove to be insignificant or even paltry once exposed to the real world.

But it’s important not to give up.  The creation of a functioning machine may require many failed attempts, but sometimes these “mistakes” open doors to all kinds of new possibilities.  In small ways and in small steps, we can make a contribution to the wellbeing of the world.

 

“May the favour of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us – yes, establish the work of our hands.”                          Psalm 90:17

 

 

“Now must you cast off sloth,” my master said, “sitting on feather cushions or stretched out under comforters, no one comes to fame.”
Virgil to Dante, Canto 24, Purgatorio (Hollander)

“Nothing epic happens on the couch,” said my cousin’s son, Arie Hoogerbrugge, as he set off to cycle across the continent one bleak November day in 2019.  He has  crossed Canada east to west and is now on his way to the southernmost point of Argentina. See his website at safariarie.ca.

And he’s right.  Computer gaming is a poor imitation of the breathless risk-taking of a real-life quest.  A pilgrim journeying on the Santiago discovers not only the trail, but much about himself and human nature in general.

Still, the unknown frontier may not be purely physical.  As the philosopher Seneca noted, “We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.”  As we explore our own hearts and minds, we encounter many fears and obstacles. We get bogged down on backroads, enter dark chasms of confusion, procrastinate for fear of failure.  We encounter parts of ourselves we would dearly like to disown, but that clearly seem to have the commitment to dog us throughout life.  Some of these shadows have little substance, but others take advantage of our unique vulnerability.

When we plan a journey, it’s important to make provision and also to calculate timing.  Dante’s version of aged Ulysses’ doomed voyage to the Pillars of Hercules, is a stern warning.  There is a “seize the day,” but also the time to recognize different times call for different types of journeys.

Life generally does a pretty good job of making us face reality, but also in revealing true friendship.     As Arie has found along the way, there will be challenges, but there will also be many encouraging and hospitable people.

So  let’s get up off the couch and be on our way!  While our journeys may not be epic, it may need an epic struggle to discipline oneself.   Learn a new language, practice that piano, tour your own town to name a few options that I’ve seen people pursue in lockdown.   You will be richly rewarded both in the journey and in the goal of your quest.

 

“One who puts on his armour should not boast like one who
takes it  off.”                    I Kings 20:21

Generations of our family have played this Rummikub board game, and its box is somewhat dilapidated.  Grandparent and grandchild alike can enjoy manipulating the tiles in strategic ways.    Because of COVID, we’ve recently moved to an online version.  Amazing that, even though we’re hundreds of miles apart, we can play and interact on Facetime at the same time.

Unfortunately, from our standpoint, even though our grandchildren are under ten years old, we are losing more often than we win.   We should be able to take that with a modicum of grace and equilibrium because, after all, these winning grandkids are our progeny.

The other day, however, our little grandson, who turned five only a few months ago, graciously offered Grandma the option for a  little assistance.  “You can let Grandpa help you,” he said to me, kindly.  Ouch!

The writing is on the wall, because from where we are, our mental agility isn’t likely to improve.  However, maybe there are still lessons we could teach them.   For example, how to lose graciously?  How to win humbly?

In many movie scripts, the young characters are tested over the course of an epic journey.  Initially they think they’ve got everything figured out, and clearly feel they know more about the world than their elders do. But eventually this unearned bravado is met by the reality of battle.  It’s a necessary process on the way to seasoned maturity.

Life is a great teacher of real wisdom.   If you are willing to learn, lessons are available from everyone in your life, whether they are “winners” or “losers.” Each of us has something to share from our experience.   Youth naively believes that they can go out and conquer all obstacles.    We understand there has to be something of that attitude even to attempt the challenges, and pray that they will persevere even if there will inevitably be times when they fail.

“If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
. . . . 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!”

From “If,” by Rudyard Kipling

 

 

For his siblings, always aware of the differences that caused the other children to consider Cor’s behaviour strange, of the constant frustration as Cor struggled in school, the family stigma, his anger issues and vulnerability, there remained a constant ache.  Society has little tolerance and much fears around those with mental illness, and they struggle to find a place.

As much as people vow at the outset, over a lifetime this weight does become very heavy.  As Cor grew older, he lapsed into silence, into a place where he couldn’t be reached.  We were painfully aware of our inadequacies as family and that of the medical or spiritual community to draw him out.

Cor passed away suddenly on April 22, 2021.  It was time to let God carry him, when we couldn’t.  We can’t be sad for him, because he’s now free to explore a wonderful new world.  But we can perhaps take his legacy, and make life a little easier for people like him by early intervention, by appreciating their unique gifts to our society, by patiently coming alongside at their pace instead of ours.

And though we ourselves may be slow learners in this regard, we can at least be willing to be taught.