Ephemeron – Page 7

Fall 2008. Castellfollit

Death row, life row

Every year by All Saints Day we remember the deceased and perhaps, just for an instant, think about death. A great deal all philosophy and religion is a meditation on death. In literature there is the recent Nothing to be frightened of by Julian Barnes.

I remember some news about a book written by a Texas Death Row Chef. In the USA those going to be executed have the right to see their spiritual adviser, choose a last meal (a site with some examples: deadmaneating.blogspot.com and prepare a last statement to be released (a list by the Texas department of criminal Justice).

I confess that I couldn’t resist the curiosity, whatever morbid, of taking a look at them. I feel justified when I realise that, as I’m not going to escape death, somehow I’m in the Death Row too. Last meal and statement are a good opportunity to think about one’s own attitude towards death.

Most of last meal requests are not elaborate cooking, just fast food, for instance “a bacon cheeseburger with jalapeños, french fries, two slices of apple pie with vanilla ice cream and sweetened iced tea” or “One whole fried chicken (extra crispy), salad with Thousand Island dressing, French toast, two diet Cokes, one apple pie, and French fries“ (Why diet coke?)

The problem of choosing one’s last menu is a reduced version of the question “What makes me happy?” after a “Carpe Diem” invitation. An extended version would include the possibility of choosing a last view or scene, listening to a particular music, perhaps a last trip to some place. I’m not sure what my elections would be. From the point of view of the last opportunity, everything seems precious, a sophisticated menu or just an apple, may be red wine and cheese; a last trip to a lake in the Pyrennees or contemplating the faces of people commuting to work in the morning.

Many of the last statements I’ve read express regret to the families of the victims killed, and love to their own. Often they have found comfort in religion. Some of them address too the other fellows on the Row and the wardens. Some declined the opportunity of making a statement and a few can’t help a profanity.

Yes I do. To my family, to my friends, and people who have accepted me for being the person that I am. To the Sullivan and Hayden families, I do not come here with the intention to make myself out to be a person that I am not. I never claimed to be the best person. I am not the best father, the best son, or the best friend in the world. I did the best I could with what I had. I come with no hate in my heart or bitterness. To my family and to you people, I can only apologize for all the pain I caused you. May God forgive us on this day. I am ready when you are.

Yes. I just want to let you all know that I appreciate the love and support over the years. I will see you when you get there. Keep your heads up. To all the fellows on the Row, the same thing. Keep your head up and continue to fight. Same thing to all my pen friends and other friends, I love you all. I can taste it.

Uh, I don’t know, Um, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know. (pauses) I didn’t know anybody was there. Howdy.

The reading is devastating, particularly for the frequent “I’m ready, Warden” at the end. This statement allows the condemned to release a balance, an account of life, ask forgiveness for the evil done and express affection. While it’s unlikely that most of us are going to make explicit such a balance, I guess that sometime we will think about people we did harm, whether intentionally or not, or people we would have liked to express affection, and did not. When I think what I would say it is not an easy exercise.

For those who really would like to do it, there is what is called a “legacy letter”, or “ethical will” where people express love, or regret and try to transmit their values. This can be particularly important in case of parents terminally ill that want to leave a guidance message for their children.

I said that somehow, as we cannot escape it, we too are living in the Death Row. It’s just the execution date is not fixed and, of course, our cell can be quite comfortable, perhaps a couch and TV set, some books and even a nice view. We can attend visitors or share the cell with whoever. We can cook the meals we want or even go out to a restaurant. No wardens are watching us, we can go out, wander, explore neighbourhoods, cities, mountains, rivers and go back only if we want to. There are so many differences that it reminds me of an old joke: “Waiter, please, cafè latte, but no milk, and instead of coffee, I’d like whisky”. Well that’s a whisky, not cafè latte. This is not Death Row, but Life Row!

The track of Life, emotional geographies

A life long GPS track would provide information about where we have been every minute, the geographical coordinates of the places we have been living in, places we have travelled to. But we wouldn’t know whether, at that particular time we were in a creative mood, or on the contrary, crossing spaces of routine following the crowd, enjoying leisure or enduring hard work, interested in projects or bored, happy or depressed. Those would be coordinates to locate in a vital or emotional geography. It could be something like this:

1. Following the crowd

2.Doped with entertainment

3.the plain of boredom

4.a deep hole of depression

5.carrying a heavy load up a steep hill, like Sisyphus

6.moving the waterwheel of routine

7.the delightful garden of love

8.the room of arts, science and literature

9.the creativity workshop, building projects

10.exploring wonders, landscapes, cultures

11.the yard of leisure, play and relax

12.on the cloud of ecstasy

Those poor scribbles have illustre precedents, most of them can be seen at the superb site strangemaps.

The german map of the Empire of Love (Reich der Liebe) de 1777, depicts trips from the Land of Youth, where there are the forest of love or the river of Wish, to other territories such as the Land of Rest, the Land of Mourning Love, with the Flood of Tears and Whim Mountain; the Land of Lust with Illness Valley, the wonderful Land of Happy Love where we can find “Pleasant View” or the fountain of Joy; Bachelor Country or the dangerous Land of Obsessions with the City of Dreams. Who can deny having visited some of those lands?

There is also the french “Carte de Tendre”, with the geography of love, measured in “lieues d’amitié” (love miles). We follow the course of “Inclination River” from the “New Friendship” village to the city of Tendre-sur-Reconnaissance, crossing the towns of “Petits soins” or “Great Favours”, avoiding other places like the fortress of Pride, or the Village of Oblivion that could lead us to the Sea of Enmity or the Lac of Indifferance. Don’t you know someone that lost his way because of orientation difficulties?

And more recently, in 2004, by Grayson Perry, “Every englishman is an island” a geography of mind depicted as an island with the seas of mental disorders around. There regions such as Posh (where we find Classic FM, Chardonnay, Ioga), Sex, Romance and Love, Cliche, Dreams (motorbikes, sixties), Wishes or Fear. How would our map look like?

The history of my feet. GPS track

I have purchased a GPS so that I don’t get lost when I go trekking on my own. Now I could actually record the history of my feet. I imagine what would be if I had been recording it since I was born. I would have the track of all the places I have ever been: on my way to school, the playgrounds, visits to grandpa’s,

the places where we went on holidays,

the mountains I climbed.

On the whole, the track of life is like a big game of Goose where we progress from one space to the next one, sometimes slowly, sometimes a hard penalty, or a nice unexpected gift.

Ballard. I believe in the story of my feet.

Soon after posting about my shoes I visited the exhibit about Ballard at CCCB in Barcelona, open until November 2nd, . Among many fascinating things there is the text “I believe” published in 1984 in the “Interzone” magazine. While reading it, I realized that I coincided with many items. When I reached “I believe in the story of my feet” I was about to shout “Me too!”. Somehow we are the story of where our feet have lead us.

If you go to see the exhibition, don’t miss the video installation ofAnn Lislegaard, just before leaving at right.

Here some excerpts; the highlights are mine.

I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen.
I believe in my own obsessions, in the beauty of the car crash, in the peace of the submerged forest, in the excitements of the deserted holiday beach, in the elegance of automobile graveyards, in the mystery of multi-storey car parks, in the poetry of abandoned hotels.
[…]
I believe in nothing.
[…]
I believe in Max Ernst, Delvaux, Dali, Titian, Goya, Leonardo, Vermeer, Chirico, Magritte, Redon, Duerer, Tanguy, the Facteur Cheval, the Watts Towers, Boecklin, Francis Bacon, and all the invisible artists within the psychiatric institutions of the planet.
[…]
I believe in the impossibility of existence, in the humor of mountains, in the absurdity of electromagnetism, in the farce of geometry, in the cruelty of arithmetic, in the murderous intent of logic.
[…]
I believe in the non-existence of the past, in the death of the future, and the infinite possibilities of the present.
I believe in the derangement of the senses: in Rimbaud, William Burroughs, Huysmans, Genet, Celine, Swift, Defoe, Carroll, Coleridge, Kafka.
[…]
I believe in the next five minutes.
I believe in the history of my feet.
I believe in migraines, the boredom of afternoons, the fear of calendars, the treachery of clocks.
I believe in anxiety, psychosis and despair.
[…]
I believe in Tokyo, Benidorm, La Grande Motte, Wake Island, Eniwetok, Dealey Plaza.
I believe in alcoholism, venereal disease, fever and exhaustion. I believe in pain. I believe in despair. I believe in all children.
[…]
I believe all mythologies, memories, lies, fantasies, evasions.
I believe in the mystery and melancholy of a hand, in the kindness of trees, in the wisdom of light.

New runners


I’ve bought a pair of new runners. The old ones, although they look ok, have the sole broken. I think about all the steps they have run, often along Poblenou beaches, in Barcelona, but also in London, Paris, Stockholm, Prague, Washington, Vienna. I’ve been very happy jogging with them. I wonder which new runs are waiting for me with those brand new. I think also in all the steps my feet have done since I was born.

First without shoes, or just bed socks, when I couldn’t stand up alone and depended on my parents or grandfathers arms to kick on a table or a stroller..

But soon I started walking and exploring the world around! I still have a great deal of that curiosity. With “Can Segarra” boots I went to school. Sometimes I would climb over the fence of a uninhabited garden trying to find insects. And I grew up. Other pairs of shoes took me to the university, marriage, the first trips, becoming father of two daughters and assisting them to their first steps also.

Now, if I do an inventory of my shoes, I realize they draw a portrait of the life I lead. Those worn out at the left take me every day at work, riding a bike. Back home, a pair of Chinese slippers from Beijing welcome me.

Dear mountain boots! 12 years old, their first time was at Pica d’Estats. They have walked countless treks; done the Tour of Montblanc and climbed the Kilimanjaro. On the right, newer and just 4 years old, my companions in travels, from Japan to Neckar valley.

Those are supposed to be my elegant shoes and they have done just a few km. They have been on opera house carpets; on the right for more informal occasions.

In summer, “abarques” for promenades and sandals for walking.

Those have never been very far away from home, just to the sea to paddle with my kayak; dry shoes in winter, flip flops in summer.

The merriest: on the left the ones I use when dancing lindy hop; on the right the noisiest. When I wear them I know that I’m going to feel happy.

My collection shoes! Real “chiruques” still in use and coloured “espardenyes”.
?
I wonder how many more shoes I’m going to wear in the years to come and where they are going to take me. What if I would buy them now and put all them in a row? I would look at the end of the row and think that when I would put on that pair, death will be near, although my shoes usually last for some years. What if when we were born we would have already prepared all the shoes we were going to wear in all our life? Strange feeling. I’d rather think that my last steps would be naked feet on the sand on soon erased by a wave.

Magnolia

For the first time, the magnolia in the terrace has blossomed. The flowers don’t last long. When not totally open they have the shape of a tulip in very pure white that contrasts with the shiny green of the leaves.

Soon the petals open and in a few days become brown and fall. Every day I went to watch the tree to see how they changed, like some lights that appear out of the blue, emitting a white light and fragrance for some days and then vanish. Egoist as I am, I cut he last one that blossomed to have it near me. Now I’ll have to wait until next year hoping that the tree will blossom again.

Pictures can give an idea about this white. But how could I describe the scent? A mix of floral fragrance, a touch of lemon and an echo of green grass and forest.
There is a famous story about an indian prince that ordered a pavilion to be built in the middle of a forest of magnolia trees in the huge garden of his father the maharaja, so that he would move to live there when the blossom season would arrive. He was about to die of starvation because, when servants brought him the most delicate food he could not stand any other smell than the fragrance of magnolia flowers. Fortunately, the blossom season didn’t last long and he could survive with just water and hazelnuts. And so he went on, every year, moving to the magnolia pavilion and refusing food while he would have those white flowers around.
There is also the story of a noble russian lady that became blind and, to avoid depression requested a new fresh petal of magnolia flower every day. So, during the blossom season, gardeners would cut the flowers just after they opened, wrapped the 9 petals of each one in silk cloths and stored them in ice.

PD: I’ve just made up those stories but they could have been true.

Sometimes, when I’m about to fall asleep …

… I imagine that instead of lying on the bed I’m on a carpet, flying over the streets and squares of my city. A moment later I can see the whole earth while still perceiving the details of the mountains and rivers, roads and railways, the sea and the beach. I even can see the little private lives of different people. One is reading a newspaper on a beach. A couple is dancing in a terrace. Some kids are playing in the sand. Workers and a crane. A young boy can be seen studying behind a window. In Kyoto people are waking up and preparing breakfast while in Varanasi they are profoundly sleep. In Rio children are coming back from school in the afternoon while in Los Angeles people are having lunch. I can see all of them at the same time, like watching small wonderful bugs wandering on a ball. And I am one of them!

Spiritual needs (2)? An Acorn, lentils, a nap, flying swallows

Airport chapels raised the issue of spiritual needs unrelated to any particular religion. According Maslow, once basic needs are fulfilled, the need for self-actualization appears: “What a man can be, he must be” (A Theory of human motivation, 1943). In a list of traits that self-actualization people exhibit (Motivation and personality, 1970) there are interesting tips such as “philosophical, unhostile sense of humor”, “mystic and peak experiences”, “feelings of limitless horizons opening up to the vision, the feeling of being. Simultaneously more powerful and also more helpless than one ever was before, the feeling of great ecstasy and wonder and awe, the loss of placing in time and space”.

If there are spiritual needs, can they be formulated as a right?
In the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, most of the articles point to very basic issues. Those that go a bit beyond are article (24): “Everyone has the right torest and leisure, including reasonable limitation of working hours and periodicholidays with pay”. An also article (27): “Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.”
This is very similar to what we can find in theConvention on the rights of the Child, article 31: “1. States Parties recognize the right of the child to rest and leisure, to engage in play and recreational activities appropriate to the age of the child and to participate freely in cultural life and the arts. 2. States Parties shall respect and promote the right of the child to participate fully in cultural and artistic life and shall encourage the provision of appropriate and equal opportunities for cultural, artistic, recreational and leisure activity.” In the first part of article 29 there is an eco of Maslow ideas: “States parties States Parties agree that the education of the child shall be directed to the development of the child’s personality, talents and mental and physical abilities to their fullest potential”.

I remember a paper about children’s spiritual rights/needs from Fundació Jaume Bofill (can’t get the reference) where the following features where suggested as belonging to spiritual life:

(1) Wonder and awe
(2) personal experience of joy
(3) experience a feeling of inner serenity
(4) to be aware of the relations and links with other beings and things

Lately I’ve been fortunate enough to fulfil all the aspects of spiritual life:

(1) On Sunday morning I was in wonder and awe when I discovered that out of an acorn, apparently inactive during a whole year, a little cork tree had sprouted.

(2) I had lentils for lunch and, so they were so tasty that I had a rapture of intensejoy. Ah! how can life be so enjoyable?

(3) Lentils were responsible not only for the state of intense joy, but they led me to a nice easy nap. When I woke up, I stayed in bed, breathing slowly, looking at the blue rectangle of sky limited by the window. I experienced a profound inner serenity.

(4) While looking at this blue rectangle, I saw swallows crossing, flying happily. Shrieking. I thought of all the springs I’ve seen them come back, the place where they spend winter in, how would look Barcelona seen from above, all the other people in the world that in this precise moment where staring at flying swallows. I remembered the picture “Bird in space” by Joan Miró at the Reina Sofia Museum which captures in two perfect strokes the fly of a bird in space. And all this together made me feel aware of the connections with all kind of beings.

Spring with water restrictions

Drought imposes restrictions on water consumption and I have suspended automatic watering in the terrace. My emergency plan consists in:

mop the floor without detergents and use the dirty water for the garden.
Fill a bucket with the water that we let flow in the shower while waiting to reach the appropriate temperature.

I hope this will be enough to keep alive wonders like:

new shoots in a rose