If I were a teacher...

I'd play this song to the kids every morning. Trés mushy, but sure puts the boo in bootiful...

Serenity of a Saturday...

This music is conducive to floating...

If Christmas did not exist, would it be necessary to invent it?

Christmas begins at the darkest, coldest time of year. Almost exactly. The 25^th of December is just four days after the winter solstice - the shortest, blackest day of the Roman calendar. It comes to prevent us approaching our wits end, really.

The season for love and understanding breathes dragon’s fire on us, doing its mistletoed best to melt our icicled hearts. It comes with blow-torched fiery kisses to sooth – or startle – people out of bleakness. Without its passion, and without the fire-toned twinkle of red dresses, red nail polish, red cranberries and red fireworks, would we, or would we not, sink into a black hole of despair? Would we not float lifelessly in the deathly dreary doldrums? Would our existence not seem meaningless without it? Or, worse again, pointless?

This wild conjecturing begs the question: if Christmas did not exist, would it be necessary to invent it?

Think about it: it’s a time when man-made sparkling lights battle the dark; a time when we warm ourselves with heart-felt gifts and exchanges of love. Of course it’s necessary that we do this at the darkest time of the year. But… what happens subsequent to our desperate attempt to escape the dark clutches of Jack the Ripper-Frost?*

Well, fires increases pressure (a law of physics) and boy, does Christmas bring its pressure. Stroll around a supermarket on Christmas Eve and notice the stern faces of determined shoppers. “If it takes an elbow to get to that last pack of thyme in time, then so be it,” the more determined out there will say to alleviate themselves of guilt (and criminal responsibility). It’s a time when latent tensions come to the surface; when good old fashioned arguments get belted out across Christmas cracker tables. For others, it’s a time to sit gloomily while staring into a mental abyss.

Of course, this is one side of a double ended phenomenon. If there are no latent tensions or depression, then it truly can be a cracking time of year where muchos fun can be enjoyed. Whichever end of the sword an individual sits on, positive or negative, they can be sure of one thing: Christmas is going to heighten, maximize, blow through the roof, everything that person feels at a milder level throughout the rest of the year.

Christmas comes at a price: for all of its cheer and warmth, it demands that we look into the giant invisible mirror it holds to our face. “Are you really happy?” it asks us on Christmas morning as we look around to see who is or isn’t there to share love with. “Are you achieving your highest possible potential?” it asks us as we meet old friends who ask us to summarise our life story in the five minutes they have to hear it.

Everything gets reflected back to us. It’s a time for excessive behaviour, over-indulgence and unrestricted play, yes. But it’s also time to have a good look down the rabbit hole. What do you want to see down there? What is the stuff of your dreams? What do you want to create in your life?

New Year’s Day. Aha! An opportunity for resolutions. It’s genius, really – the whole operation. The system is carefully built into the structure.  Rather than seeing through all the fanfare and man created frills, I tend to fall under the hypnotic temptation of a fresh start. Every. Single. Year.

In keeping with that going-with-the-tide behavioural pattern of mine, I have a stack of resolutions higher than my wildest fantasies following me around the house. Will I really be so healthy this year that I’ll float to the moon? Who knows. But I’m not done trying yet. I’ve kicked those dirty fags to the curb. Again. This time, I hope it’s for life and not just nine months (I realise that’s the length of a pregnancy and that by saying I gave up for nine months I’m implying I was pregnant, but I wasn’t. It’s merely coincidence that nine months is how long my will-power lasted).*

I’m intent on fulfilling my resolutions this year. To those cynics out there who think New Year’s Resolutions are stupid, I say: what better and more practical time to set resolutions than at the beginning of the year? I also say: Cheer up! If you’re done reinventing yourself then maybe you should be hanging on a wall in the Louvre with all the other completed works of art.

Anywho… to all and sundry: I wish you your best year yet!

*Both Jacks (Ripper and Frost) are related and in cahoots. Jack the Ripper-Frost is a figurative representation of this malicious (if supernatural) axis of evil. Warning: it is possible they may try to take over the world. Explanation: I made this up for the sake of it, and possibly for its humour factor, though dubious. Humans make stuff up all the time, that is the point of this blog. But it’s still fun to play with our creations – holidays, religions, theories, laws, etc. Existence is a game. I digress…

*Maybe nine months is the human limit for will power and that’s why the baby has to come out after that period. Ever seen a woman whose pregnancy goes over by a week or so? They’re not very friendly. 

Why Taste Matters

I entered a portal to the perfect-health dimension last Saturday. As my feet  landed on the other side of bright orange entrance doors, I felt a ticklish current move through my waters. I knew I had been transported someplace really special. I had arrived at Satmya.

Rows of potions and lotions glimmered and shimmered from rustic, wooden shelves; teas and tonics and oils and elixirs beamed vitality; rosehip oil and calendula cream oozed soothing, uplifting scents. Books of wisdom and ancient texts of lore offered the seeds to spiritual enlightenment.

I breathed in a ‘this-is-lovely’ breath and further explored its otherworldly terrain. Once satisfied, I did what I came to do: attend an Ayurvedic winter cooking class. Boy, did I absorb some quality info.

I have already posted  on the basic principle of Ayurvedic Medicine. For a brief summary, view it here: http://audreyshanahan.blogspot.com/2010/10/petals-in-air.html

Anywho, what I learned on Saturday was mostly how the six tastes (sweet, sour, salty, pungent, bitter and astringent) influence our humours or individual constitutions. In Ayurveda there are three humours: Vata, Pitta and Kapha. All of these humours are made up in differing proportions of the five great elements. In turn, the elements are associated with specific tastes. Tastes are our biggest clue when deciding what is best for us individually. For example, a person with a dominant Pitta humour (fire and water) may want to avoid pungent tastes such as raw onions and chillies. Overdosing on such tastes could well light the fires of indignation. Not cool. Choose sweet, earthy tastes to pacify the Pitta bull.

I also learned how choosing seasonally relevant tastes can optimize health. For instance, in early winter, which is the current season, the Kapha (water and earth) principle naturally dominates. Kapha tastes are generally sweet, so individual Kapha types may want to veer away from sweet and earthy root vegetables at this time of year or risk aggravation/overload/heaviness.

There’s much more to discover. Satmya’s website www.satmya.com is chock-full of information. Click on their link below to find out your personal dosha. http://satmya.com/satmya/ayurveda/dosha-quiz/

Ireland Will Rise from the Ashes

This post is going to make a hypocrite of me. Last night I didn’t just watch the news, I watched Prime Time. The sheer scale of the nation’s financial crisis drew me in the way spinach does Popeye. With one exception: the news’s effect on my physical state was more shock than strength-enhancing. Wow, as Harry said to Marv in Home Alone when the ceiling fell through, what a hole.

I won’t go into how the presence of the IMF and the European Central Bank is going to erode our sovereignty. Or how debt forgiveness laws in our country are archaic, or how the next budget will likely reveal a plan that trumpets bleeding money into flailing banks over encouraging economic growth. I won’t go into it because everyone everywhere is going into it more than most of us can stomach. And personally, I feel that economists are really the only people who are qualified to gauge the outcome. Not politicians with dubious credentials or journalists with egos, and certainly not me - however accurate I may think my ill-supported guesstulations are.

Why, oh why, I ask myself, isn’t there a system in place that sees to it that only the most qualified - and not the most charming and manipulative - sit in positions of major importance? Doesn’t it seem like a no-brainer? How did we not see the importance of brainpower? There is a difference - a major one - between intelligence and cunning, the latter being the prized quality of the modern-day politician. The good news: we now clearly see the Emperor is naked.

Anyway, I digress. I’ll give my positive twist; my entirely subjective, if flaky, opinion on how the situation may actually turn in our favour.

For one thing: the truth is about to out. No longer will the Irish people be lured by false promises. No longer will we be hoodwinked by cunning spin. The bamboozling is over. The game is up. There is going to be major systemic change in this country. We may even veer towards total social equality, which was, let us remember, the dream of the patriots who began again our country's journey to independence in 1916. Funny that it was Fianna Fail that quashed their dreams, too.


 How could we not change to socially conscious government now we’ve seen what money-obsessed neo-liberal ideologues are capable of? Possibly, and this is wildly optimistic, we may even change our views on how Government itself is structured. Maybe we'll see through the whole power myth and realize that we alone are our masters. These are exciting times, no doubting it.

We’re at a crossroads. We have decisions to make - even though it may take a few years before we’re totally free to implement them. I believe in evolution and I believe in Ireland. Mostly, though, I believe in the people of Ireland.

We will rise again. We don't need to wear ourselves down with anger or violence or upheaval. We need to get wise. 

Henry Ford said: “Failure is only the opportunity to more intelligently begin again.”

I agree. I am in no way undermining the stress families are under when I say that. Our system has failed us spectacularly and I have nothing but compassion for those who have been forced to bear the brunt of it.

Let us never let it happen to us again.There is no greater teacher than suffering.

The News Today

I walked in on my dad last night. He was doing it again: watching the main evening news. Generally, when I hear the bullet-spray beat of the terrorising intro music, I dive for a safe corner. I dread to see those stern faced harbingers of doom (reporters) sensationalising reality for the worse.

In fact, if I were to take a no-holds-barred shot at expressing my disdain for the news, I’d say this: I abhor it in full awareness of how strong a word abhor actually is.

I just don’t think it helps anyone’s mental health. It provokes, aggravates, shocks and startles – because hat’s what it’s designed to do. I earned a Masters in journalism a couple of years ago. A chief condition of that award was my demonstration of an understanding of the art of news making. Man, was that a slog. I mean, besides a shrink, who wants to understand madness?

I sat pale faced as I listened to lecturers explain to us – as though it were a noble art – how to shock the socks off people.  Points were awarded for adding a ‘shock factor.’ “This is what the people want,” we were told. Our seniors told us, in no uncertain terms, that fear and awe were the most important components of news journalism. They told us to occasionally mix the horror with heart warming animal stories. “People like animals too,” the sages would say. Notice how after subjecting you to war and violence and corruption, reporters will flick to daisy the dolphin in Florida who can flip right through a tiny plastic ring. It’s insulting.

Well, they didn’t persuade me to follow their write-by-numbers approach to news. I couldn’t and still can’t be persuaded to make people miserable, which is why I’m blogging and writing fiction with my time. Thing is, I’d prefer to make my world up as I go along. I figure that if it’s all going to be plucked from the ether, I’d prefer to do the plucking myself rather than have someone else do it for me. That way, I at least get to smile a few times a day instead of passively listening to people tell me the world is ending.

Funny story about my sister Jen:

When Jen was small, mam tells us, she would protest to the news by draping a cloth over the television screen. This would get my news-loving parents up in arms. “Take that down! We’re trying to watch the news.”

Jen’s protest never worked because she was smaller than my parents. But what her elders didn’t understand was that she wasn’t just smaller than them – she was wiser, too; and sensitive to the mood that would wash over the room once the blaring bulletins got in. She probably felt like she had a duty to protect her family since both her parents were hypnotised in their armchairs. Imagine the pressure? Both parents down, infected by the negativity, her - the next most senior person in the room, watching the happiness ship go under. She undoubtedly honoured her duty of care to her younger siblings by reaching for a cloth and, for that, kudos to her – even though her peaceful rebellion was ultimately squashed like a bug. Come hell or high water, we all had to sit and listen to the always well-groomed Ann Doyle elegantly dish the dirt.

It all boils down to this, I think:

Children are super sentient and pick up on negative vibrations more discerningly than adults. Grown ups have long become numbed, and perhaps addicted, to bad news. Children just want to play unperturbed with their toys. They appreciate peace and happiness.

Why can’t we?

Does the fact that I still hide from the news mean I should be playing with alphabet bocks? I hope not, though many would say it does.

I don’t care. I’d rather watch oops TV with Justin Lee Collins than listen to hell’s bells.

School has disappeared...

When I was smaller, around the size of a street bin, I remember walking to school with my older brother and two younger siblings. My brother, head of the litter, would tell us that the school had disappeared; that it had been swallowed up by the mist and fog. This would make our stomachs bubble explosively in the kind of excitement that encouraged the morning’s porridge to erupt out of our mouths. “The school’s disappeared, the school’s disappeared,” we would bounce and shout and scream, our minds insane on freedom. We’d walk through the haze, pirouetting and skipping out of sight of one another. “I can’t see you. Where have you gone? You’ve disappeared!”

The world had been veiled from our eyes in a cloak of ethereal white air. We played with the limitless possibilities it offered; ran and zig-zagged like young pups. We grasped the untouchable cloak of fog in search of one another. “Come back, it’s not funny,” the younger ones might shriek after a minor silence; to which we, the wise elders, would respond before their distress got out of hand. Sometimes.

But, alas, the blazing fires of our passion were put out at the sight of the school building as we approached it. The mist, we then learned, was not as magic as it seemed. My big brother, already versed in the ways of the real world, would look at us apologetically, as though he knew how it felt to have lofty dreams crumble. But his game was worth playing, worth believing in; even if it only lasted a few dewy minutes.

In a child’s life, a few minutes of magic moments live forever. To this day, when I open my curtains and see a heavy mist, I wonder if the real world, with all its responsibilities and chores, has disappeared.

I hope children still play that game.