Two things I love are singing and photography. if you are brave enough to want to experience the combination.. here's a link to my uploaded videos on Youtube.
Enjoy.. hopefully
woensdag 17 maart 2010
maandag 1 maart 2010
On Love and Fear
Lately I have been doing a lot of thinking about a concept I encountered in multiple places. The theory, that every single decision or action we take boils down to being motivated by one of two possibilities: Love, and Fear. Where obviously everything done out of Love is right, and everything based on Fear, is the wrong choice. And I have started to apply this principle to my life, my responses, and the decisions I take.
The second concept I am integrating into my life is known as the 90/10 principle. The theory here is that 10% of our life experience consists of things we have no influence on. They just happen to us. The other 90% is how we respond to those circumstances, which actually makes a huge difference in how we perceive our own life and our levels of stress, or preferably lack thereof.
Combine them, and what you get is a fairly simple rule of thumb to live by. Accept the 10% I have no influence on. And let my actions and responses be solely motivated by Love, making the rest of my life as joyful and stress free as possible. Simple, huh?
Well not quite. Apparently the Power I serve likes to toss me one curved ball after the next, taking the driller sargeant approach in training me. With our financial resources fully depleted and thousands of Euro's left to pay in last years taxes, as well as wanting to get the divorce procedure started and finalized so both of us can go our own way, finding a job is my #1 priority at the moment. I have applied to every single job offer that I even remotely fitted the criteria for, but being 45, not having worked for 8 years.. the job market isn't exactly welcoming me with open arms. Add to that that I can't work fulltime because my kids still heavily depend on my being home at least most of the time they are here and it gets even tougher. And so I was happy I was accepted for a job, working at a callcenter and solving technical issues for a satellite TV provider. It's a low level job, doesn't pay very well, and it is way below my capacities but hey, it's a job. But they did require me to study a thick syllabus then follow a 2 weeks fulltime training before I could start there. And so over the past week I studied the syllabus really well, learning all I could about Megahertzes, transponders, uplinks and azimuths.
This training started today. And I'm not in it. Because over the weekend, my daughter became very ill. When I saw her yesterday, with a high fever, white face with black circles around her eyes, and her throat hurting so badly she could barely swallow, I knew I couldn't leave her home alone all day to go to my training. She needed a doctor, and me to stay with her and take care of her. Ron is not here, he is visiting his girlfriend in Portugal and won't be back until this evening.
I really had no choice. I had to let Love and my responsibilities as a parent prevail over Fear of money problems. And all I could do was accept, call off the training and ask the company to please schedule me for next month's training since I really do want to work there, and phone the doctor first thing in the morning. And I did. With grace, and trying to keep smiling and enjoy the positive sides of it.
I really am trying my very best here. But sometimes I really wonder why the Powers that Be feel such a strong need to keep doing these things to me. I can only hope it is because They have other plans with me that will solve the problems at hand in a different way. And yes, that is a Fear based response. I never said I was perfect, just that I am trying..
The second concept I am integrating into my life is known as the 90/10 principle. The theory here is that 10% of our life experience consists of things we have no influence on. They just happen to us. The other 90% is how we respond to those circumstances, which actually makes a huge difference in how we perceive our own life and our levels of stress, or preferably lack thereof.
Combine them, and what you get is a fairly simple rule of thumb to live by. Accept the 10% I have no influence on. And let my actions and responses be solely motivated by Love, making the rest of my life as joyful and stress free as possible. Simple, huh?
Well not quite. Apparently the Power I serve likes to toss me one curved ball after the next, taking the driller sargeant approach in training me. With our financial resources fully depleted and thousands of Euro's left to pay in last years taxes, as well as wanting to get the divorce procedure started and finalized so both of us can go our own way, finding a job is my #1 priority at the moment. I have applied to every single job offer that I even remotely fitted the criteria for, but being 45, not having worked for 8 years.. the job market isn't exactly welcoming me with open arms. Add to that that I can't work fulltime because my kids still heavily depend on my being home at least most of the time they are here and it gets even tougher. And so I was happy I was accepted for a job, working at a callcenter and solving technical issues for a satellite TV provider. It's a low level job, doesn't pay very well, and it is way below my capacities but hey, it's a job. But they did require me to study a thick syllabus then follow a 2 weeks fulltime training before I could start there. And so over the past week I studied the syllabus really well, learning all I could about Megahertzes, transponders, uplinks and azimuths.
This training started today. And I'm not in it. Because over the weekend, my daughter became very ill. When I saw her yesterday, with a high fever, white face with black circles around her eyes, and her throat hurting so badly she could barely swallow, I knew I couldn't leave her home alone all day to go to my training. She needed a doctor, and me to stay with her and take care of her. Ron is not here, he is visiting his girlfriend in Portugal and won't be back until this evening.
I really had no choice. I had to let Love and my responsibilities as a parent prevail over Fear of money problems. And all I could do was accept, call off the training and ask the company to please schedule me for next month's training since I really do want to work there, and phone the doctor first thing in the morning. And I did. With grace, and trying to keep smiling and enjoy the positive sides of it.
I really am trying my very best here. But sometimes I really wonder why the Powers that Be feel such a strong need to keep doing these things to me. I can only hope it is because They have other plans with me that will solve the problems at hand in a different way. And yes, that is a Fear based response. I never said I was perfect, just that I am trying..
woensdag 17 februari 2010
The Cocoon
A very fundamental piece of writing by Chogyam Trungpa I wanted to share.
"When we hide from the world in this way, we feel secure. We may think we have quieted our fear, but we are actually making ourselves numb with fear. We surround ourselves with our own familiar thoughts, so that nothing sharp or painful can touch us.
When we are constantly recreating our basic patterns of behavior and thought, we never have to leap into fresh air or onto fresh grass. Instead, we wrap ourselves in our own dark environment, where our only companion is the smell of our own sweat. In the cocoon, there is no dance, no walking or breathing. It is comfortable and sleepy, an intense and very familiar home.
In the cocoon, there is no idea of light at all, until we experience some longing for openness, some longing for something other than the smell of our own sweat. When we examine that comfortable darkness - look at it, smell it, feel it - we find it is claustrophobic.
So the first impulse that draws us away from the darkness of the cocoon towards the light is a longing for ventilation. As soon as we begin to sense of the possibility of fresh air, we realize that our arms and legs are being restricted. We want to stretch out and walk, dance, even jump. We realize that there is an alternative to our cocoon: we discover that we could be free from that trap. With that longing for fresh air, for a breeze of delight, we open our eyes. To our surprise, we begin to see the light, even though it may be hazy at first. The tearing of the cocoon takes place at that point.
Then, we realize that the degraded cocoon we have been hiding in is revolting, and we want to turn up the lights as far as we can. In fact, we are not turning up the lights, but we are simply opening our eyes wider. We catch a certain kind of fever.
But again and again, we should reflect back to the darkness of the cocoon. In order to inspire ourselves forward, we must look back to see the contrast with the place we came from. You see, we cannot reject the world of the cocoon - which out which we may create a new cocoon. When we see the suffering that occured in the old cocoon, that inspires us to go forward in our journey of warriorship. It is a journey that is unfolding within us."
Chogyam Trungpa
Source: Shambhala: Sacred Path of the Warrior
"When we hide from the world in this way, we feel secure. We may think we have quieted our fear, but we are actually making ourselves numb with fear. We surround ourselves with our own familiar thoughts, so that nothing sharp or painful can touch us.
When we are constantly recreating our basic patterns of behavior and thought, we never have to leap into fresh air or onto fresh grass. Instead, we wrap ourselves in our own dark environment, where our only companion is the smell of our own sweat. In the cocoon, there is no dance, no walking or breathing. It is comfortable and sleepy, an intense and very familiar home.
In the cocoon, there is no idea of light at all, until we experience some longing for openness, some longing for something other than the smell of our own sweat. When we examine that comfortable darkness - look at it, smell it, feel it - we find it is claustrophobic.
So the first impulse that draws us away from the darkness of the cocoon towards the light is a longing for ventilation. As soon as we begin to sense of the possibility of fresh air, we realize that our arms and legs are being restricted. We want to stretch out and walk, dance, even jump. We realize that there is an alternative to our cocoon: we discover that we could be free from that trap. With that longing for fresh air, for a breeze of delight, we open our eyes. To our surprise, we begin to see the light, even though it may be hazy at first. The tearing of the cocoon takes place at that point.
Then, we realize that the degraded cocoon we have been hiding in is revolting, and we want to turn up the lights as far as we can. In fact, we are not turning up the lights, but we are simply opening our eyes wider. We catch a certain kind of fever.
But again and again, we should reflect back to the darkness of the cocoon. In order to inspire ourselves forward, we must look back to see the contrast with the place we came from. You see, we cannot reject the world of the cocoon - which out which we may create a new cocoon. When we see the suffering that occured in the old cocoon, that inspires us to go forward in our journey of warriorship. It is a journey that is unfolding within us."
Chogyam Trungpa
Source: Shambhala: Sacred Path of the Warrior
vrijdag 22 januari 2010
My baby
All my life, I have had cats. Although I love other types of animals too, there's something about cats that I just can't describe that makes me prefer them above any other animal. I love their independance combined with cuddliness and warmth and how they have this air of total freedom and a "of course I love you, when and if I want to".
Doerak (Rascal in English) was no different. He was 6 weeks old when I got him. A friend fetched him from the farm where he had been born. She stood on my doorstep and this tiny red and white furry head curiously peeked out of her coat and then she handed him to me going "here, I know your last two cats passed away so I thought you would be the perfect new mom for this little rascal". And she was right.
At the time, my daughter was only a very small baby, and she would cry during all her waking moments, until I bought a carrier for her, much like the ones you often see in documentaries about Africa: a warm, soft, cloth wrapper going from my left shoulder to my right hip, letting the baby sleep against the mother's chest and listen to her heartbeat. It worked miracles for my girl and soon, the little red kitten decided it was his favorite sleeping spot as well and he would either join her there or lay there alone when she was in bed. Cuddled up against me, purring deeply.
2 years later my son was born. Both my children loved the, now fully grown, red and white cat, but small as they were they frequently stuck fingers in his eyes or pulled his tail, and he has always been afraid of little children since, as well as very fast in his responses if he as much as suspected someone was going to hurt him. He has bitten and scratched us numerous times, and for this reason my husband never liked him, always stating the animal was "totally unreliable and as crazy as it gets". I suppose he was, but he was also a very friendly, cuddly cat who, even as an adult, still preferred to be held like a baby, against my chest, tummy up and purring loudly. He had his own way of asking to be held that way: he would meow loudly and as soon as I crouched to pet him, stand on his hind legs, wrapping his front paws around my neck, lile a toddler asking to be lifted and carried. During those moments I would go "aww, are you my baby?" and he would purr insanely loud.
When the dog arrived some 2 years ago, Doerak had a hard time dealing. They have never liked each other, primarily because Doerak loved stealing the dog's food and the dog would get majorly upset over it. Which never really stopped Doerak, he would simply withdraw behind a cabinet or in a small corner, munching happily on a mouthful of stolen dog food while growling at the dog, not impressed at all by the dog jumping up and down and barking his head off.
He got older and older and as the years passed by, he was sick a lot, but always made miraculous recoveries. He survived pneumonia several times, always had a snotty nose which was at times less than pleasant, since his favorite sleeping spot was in my bed, on my pillow, his paws in my hair.
Over the past few weeks he quickly deteriorated. He lost weight rapidly, ending up looking very skinny, and then he stopped eating completely. Too weak to stand on his legs (but doing it anyhow) he kept coming to me for hugs and cuddles last night and this morning, then moving away again to find a quiet corner to lay in. It was, as if his body had died already, but his spirit refused to give in. And so we had to take a decision: wait until he dies, which would quite possibly mean several more days of suffering, slowly starving to death or end it, here and now. We took him to the vet, who examined him and agreed there was no hope and that euthanising him was the merciful thing to do. I held him in my arms, wrapped in a cloth, as the syringe that would put him to sleep was inserted, memories of that tiny furball in the baby carrier flashing through my mind. Petted him until after his heart had stopped after we put him on the table for the final injection. Softly talking to him and telling him it was allright, just sleep. And so he slid off, gently, to where there is no more suffering.
Goodbye Doerak. Thank you for almost 15 years of friendship, craziness, making me laugh and being a loyal, warm, purring companion always. My baby. I am so, so going to miss you.
zaterdag 2 januari 2010
The Dung Movie
Rich is a long term friend. We have never met in real life, but our conversations online are often so hilarious I end up laughing until it hurts. Here's just one of them, shared with permission. Just read. And to Rich: You're great.
Rich: This guy is engineering synthetic life to eat CO2 and turn it into fuel.
Kitten: hope he knows what he's doing and doesn't end up creating something that eats oxygen and turns it into cow dung
Rich: *laughing*
Kitten: admit it, that would be a great theme for a scifi horror movie
Rich: *laughs*
It has merit!
Kitten: the tension, the suspense.. will they choke first, or drown in shit?
Rich: Oh dear! No doubt in smell-o-vision.
Kitten: "Revenge of the Turds"
Rich: Eew!
Kitten: Hmm *starts writing* Not so long ago.. in a galaxy actually quite close to home.. one man.. on a mission.. the goal.. to save the planet.. the result.. too gross for words
Rich: laughing
As long as I am not in it!
Kitten: oooh, we will all be.. in it.. up to our necks, and worse..
Rich: Hm, not into that!
Kitten: it's all your fault, you triggered my insanely sadistic mind
Rich: I'm innocent.
Kitten: Hmm.. maybe you are.. you could be the hero trying to save us all by flying into space with a huge bomb and blowing something up....no wait, wrong movie
Rich: *laughs* You're not making a movie about dung.
Kitten: why not? it hasn't been dung before and I think humanity is ready for it. I mean, they've been watching shitty movies for decades, it's time we take this to the next level.
Rich: *laughs* That's qualitative dung rather than content!
Kitten: Why yes, of course. But doesn't it prove there is an actual, and huge, need for it?
Rich: No-absence could imply no demand!
Kitten: *sighs* Look. It's much like people watching documentaries about nudism only because they can't afford the porn channel. Watching shitty movies is simply a case of settling for less, because the real thing is not available.
Rich: But other videos are a commodity and are available at low prices?
Kitten: And if that doesn't convince you, just watch the news. Shit, multiple times a day, all over the planet.
It's even in our language.. how often do we say: shit happens?
Rich: I don't really watch the news-I read it on web sites now. The television news is rather stupid.
Kitten: You even admit it yourself, can't count the times I've heard you say: I feel like shit
Rich: *laughs*
Oh hush!
*spanks a bit*
Kitten: You're just jealous I thought of this brilliant plan first
Rich: Not really-I am perverted and like touching your ass.
Kitten: See? Ass. Even subconsciously, you are expressing a preference for the body part that produces.. exactly!
Rich: I don't want to BEEP your ass, just grope it.
Kitten: You're in denial
Rich: Isn't that a river in Africa?
Kitten: No. That's The Nile. Although those bathing in it are indeed in denial. It's very polluted with.. guess what.
Rich: Arabs?
Kitten: Well that too.
*laughing*
*bites your nose* well.. stay in The Nile if you want to. I'm phoning some movie making friends about my idea.
Hmm.. better make movie making friends, first
Rich: This guy is engineering synthetic life to eat CO2 and turn it into fuel.
Kitten: hope he knows what he's doing and doesn't end up creating something that eats oxygen and turns it into cow dung
Rich: *laughing*
Kitten: admit it, that would be a great theme for a scifi horror movie
Rich: *laughs*
It has merit!
Kitten: the tension, the suspense.. will they choke first, or drown in shit?
Rich: Oh dear! No doubt in smell-o-vision.
Kitten: "Revenge of the Turds"
Rich: Eew!
Kitten: Hmm *starts writing* Not so long ago.. in a galaxy actually quite close to home.. one man.. on a mission.. the goal.. to save the planet.. the result.. too gross for words
Rich: laughing
As long as I am not in it!
Kitten: oooh, we will all be.. in it.. up to our necks, and worse..
Rich: Hm, not into that!
Kitten: it's all your fault, you triggered my insanely sadistic mind
Rich: I'm innocent.
Kitten: Hmm.. maybe you are.. you could be the hero trying to save us all by flying into space with a huge bomb and blowing something up....no wait, wrong movie
Rich: *laughs* You're not making a movie about dung.
Kitten: why not? it hasn't been dung before and I think humanity is ready for it. I mean, they've been watching shitty movies for decades, it's time we take this to the next level.
Rich: *laughs* That's qualitative dung rather than content!
Kitten: Why yes, of course. But doesn't it prove there is an actual, and huge, need for it?
Rich: No-absence could imply no demand!
Kitten: *sighs* Look. It's much like people watching documentaries about nudism only because they can't afford the porn channel. Watching shitty movies is simply a case of settling for less, because the real thing is not available.
Rich: But other videos are a commodity and are available at low prices?
Kitten: And if that doesn't convince you, just watch the news. Shit, multiple times a day, all over the planet.
It's even in our language.. how often do we say: shit happens?
Rich: I don't really watch the news-I read it on web sites now. The television news is rather stupid.
Kitten: You even admit it yourself, can't count the times I've heard you say: I feel like shit
Rich: *laughs*
Oh hush!
*spanks a bit*
Kitten: You're just jealous I thought of this brilliant plan first
Rich: Not really-I am perverted and like touching your ass.
Kitten: See? Ass. Even subconsciously, you are expressing a preference for the body part that produces.. exactly!
Rich: I don't want to BEEP your ass, just grope it.
Kitten: You're in denial
Rich: Isn't that a river in Africa?
Kitten: No. That's The Nile. Although those bathing in it are indeed in denial. It's very polluted with.. guess what.
Rich: Arabs?
Kitten: Well that too.
*laughing*
*bites your nose* well.. stay in The Nile if you want to. I'm phoning some movie making friends about my idea.
Hmm.. better make movie making friends, first
vrijdag 9 oktober 2009
Gall bladder surgery
Two days ago, my gall bladder was removed. It had been causing me almost constant belly aches for some 2 months, and occasional terrible cramp attacks due to being full of gall stones, and so surgery was the only option.
I had to come to the hospital at 7:30 am. Ron dropped me off, I went to the department, reported in and was rounded up with several other people in a room. There was a bit of confusion, apparently several people named "Smits", "Smit" or "Smid" were scheduled for surgery that day and the nurses were having a hard time keeping track of who was who. By 7:40 am I suddenly got told I was scheduled to be at the OR at 7:45 and so I had to change into a lovely blue hospital shirt very quickly, then was rushed there. When we arrived there was people holding clipboards and looking on computer screens all over the place, a whole row of beds with people in it ready to have surgery, and no space for me. The new computer system for the OR planning wasn't working too well, and so it wasn't really my turn yet, and I was brought back to the room I was previously in.
After waiting for another hour it finally was my turn, and so they took me to the OR for the second time that day. This time by volunteer workers from the "patient transportation" department. I told the man pushing my bed this was my second time to the OR today because something went wrong with the planning the first time. He jokingly responded "ah well, that's because the nurses brought you. Just leave it to us from patient transportation, we always make sure no one returns". I'm sure he meant well but at the time, I didn't think it was funny.
This time, I was accepted, the IV needle put in place and within a few minutes, I was under full anaesthesia. The first thing I remember after that is being in the recovery room at noon. I didn't have a lot of pain and apart from a bit dizzy and disoriented I felt quite good, so soon after I was back at the "short stay" department. I called home to let them know I was allright, logged into Yahoo for a moment to let a few other people know I was fine, and dozed off again, spending most of the afternoon dozing off and waking up again. The pain worsened, and I felt dizzier and by the end of the afternoon I got really sick. The nurse gave me two tablets of paracetamol and 5 minutes after taking them, I had to vomit and they came straight out again. Ron and the kids came to visit while I was still feeling terribly, so sick and in so much pain.. they left fairly soon and after they left I kept being sick multiple times, the vomitting worsening the pain from the wounds in my belly, driving it up to level "unbearable". The surgeon came to check on me and said she'd prescribe something against the sickness. For some reason, it took 2 hours for this medication to finally be administered, and so I spent another 2 hours hurting like hell and vomiting myself inside out.
Finally the vomitting stopped but by then the biggest one of my wounds had started to bleed again and using the button to call a nurse remained without a response for 5 minutes. And so I stumbled into the nurse's post, both hands pressed to my chest, blood dripping from my fingers, mumbling "ehm.. something's going wrong here". Later on I laughed about it, I probably looked like someone from a gangster movie at that point. "It was Tony's men.. they got me" or something similar. The nurse bandaged it up and the bleeding stopped, and so I went back to bed.
I asked the nurse to please give me something against the pain but she remained unmovable: I wasn't scheduled for more pain medication until 11 pm. Trying to explain the previous tablets had come straight out as I was being sick had no effect. By 11 I finally got 2 more tablets of paracetamol (effectively my first pain medication after the surgery) but by then I was in so much pain they didn't do much. I tried to sleep but couldn't and ended up sitting up against the pillows, half dozing off occasionally.
By 3 am the night nurse found me half crying and decided to give me a morphine shot. And as painful as the shot itself was.. I swear I was grinning like a total junkie when the godsent liquid entered my bloodstream and the pain lessened, finally.
The next day I was feeling a lot better. Still in a lot of pain but at least it was bearable. Not sick anymore, I even ate some bread for breakfast. The surgeon came to see me again and decided I was to go home.
That was yesterday and I spent it alternating between sleeping and sitting up for a bit. I went to bed early and slept fairly well and today, I am without pain as long as I sit still and breathe slowly. Still a bit drowsy and very weak, but all in all feeling a lot better.
Most of all, I'm just glad it's over. Now, it's just a matter of resting a lot and nursing myself back to full health.
I had to come to the hospital at 7:30 am. Ron dropped me off, I went to the department, reported in and was rounded up with several other people in a room. There was a bit of confusion, apparently several people named "Smits", "Smit" or "Smid" were scheduled for surgery that day and the nurses were having a hard time keeping track of who was who. By 7:40 am I suddenly got told I was scheduled to be at the OR at 7:45 and so I had to change into a lovely blue hospital shirt very quickly, then was rushed there. When we arrived there was people holding clipboards and looking on computer screens all over the place, a whole row of beds with people in it ready to have surgery, and no space for me. The new computer system for the OR planning wasn't working too well, and so it wasn't really my turn yet, and I was brought back to the room I was previously in.
After waiting for another hour it finally was my turn, and so they took me to the OR for the second time that day. This time by volunteer workers from the "patient transportation" department. I told the man pushing my bed this was my second time to the OR today because something went wrong with the planning the first time. He jokingly responded "ah well, that's because the nurses brought you. Just leave it to us from patient transportation, we always make sure no one returns". I'm sure he meant well but at the time, I didn't think it was funny.
This time, I was accepted, the IV needle put in place and within a few minutes, I was under full anaesthesia. The first thing I remember after that is being in the recovery room at noon. I didn't have a lot of pain and apart from a bit dizzy and disoriented I felt quite good, so soon after I was back at the "short stay" department. I called home to let them know I was allright, logged into Yahoo for a moment to let a few other people know I was fine, and dozed off again, spending most of the afternoon dozing off and waking up again. The pain worsened, and I felt dizzier and by the end of the afternoon I got really sick. The nurse gave me two tablets of paracetamol and 5 minutes after taking them, I had to vomit and they came straight out again. Ron and the kids came to visit while I was still feeling terribly, so sick and in so much pain.. they left fairly soon and after they left I kept being sick multiple times, the vomitting worsening the pain from the wounds in my belly, driving it up to level "unbearable". The surgeon came to check on me and said she'd prescribe something against the sickness. For some reason, it took 2 hours for this medication to finally be administered, and so I spent another 2 hours hurting like hell and vomiting myself inside out.
Finally the vomitting stopped but by then the biggest one of my wounds had started to bleed again and using the button to call a nurse remained without a response for 5 minutes. And so I stumbled into the nurse's post, both hands pressed to my chest, blood dripping from my fingers, mumbling "ehm.. something's going wrong here". Later on I laughed about it, I probably looked like someone from a gangster movie at that point. "It was Tony's men.. they got me" or something similar. The nurse bandaged it up and the bleeding stopped, and so I went back to bed.
I asked the nurse to please give me something against the pain but she remained unmovable: I wasn't scheduled for more pain medication until 11 pm. Trying to explain the previous tablets had come straight out as I was being sick had no effect. By 11 I finally got 2 more tablets of paracetamol (effectively my first pain medication after the surgery) but by then I was in so much pain they didn't do much. I tried to sleep but couldn't and ended up sitting up against the pillows, half dozing off occasionally.
By 3 am the night nurse found me half crying and decided to give me a morphine shot. And as painful as the shot itself was.. I swear I was grinning like a total junkie when the godsent liquid entered my bloodstream and the pain lessened, finally.
The next day I was feeling a lot better. Still in a lot of pain but at least it was bearable. Not sick anymore, I even ate some bread for breakfast. The surgeon came to see me again and decided I was to go home.
That was yesterday and I spent it alternating between sleeping and sitting up for a bit. I went to bed early and slept fairly well and today, I am without pain as long as I sit still and breathe slowly. Still a bit drowsy and very weak, but all in all feeling a lot better.
Most of all, I'm just glad it's over. Now, it's just a matter of resting a lot and nursing myself back to full health.
vrijdag 26 juni 2009
The King is dead
The first thing to pop on my screen this morning when I switched my computer on was an offline Yahoo message from a friend, written at 1 AM last night. "Michael Jackson just died. Cardiac Arrest." I grinned, still half asleep, wondering about the punchline to the joke, and then it hit me.
Michael Jackson has really died. The King of Pop is gone. And I cannot help but feel tremendously sad. Throughout my life, I have been a big fan of his music. As an early teenager, I loved songs like "Ben" or "Can you feel it". I had just left home and gone into the big world on my own when his megasalling albums "Off the Wall" and "Thriller" came out. It was his music blasting from the speakers, that drew me and the friend I used to go out with at the time, to what would become our favorite little discotheque in Amsterdam. I'll even admit to having practised then mastered the moonwalk, as well as various other dance moves he made famous. "HiStory" was not as big a hit as his previous albums, yet I loved the depth and the emotion in the songs on it. Moving from easy, danceable, plastic pop Michael Jackson showed he had a heart and soul, and that at times they were bleeding because of all the injustice and pain, both in his personal life and in the world as a whole. His "Earth Song" can make me cry still today. And yes I know it's overcommercialised, but take that away and it's still an incredible song. As is most of his material.
And yet, in spite of all the fame and the millions he made, his life as a whole was one big tragedy. I think we all know the story so I'm not going to repeat it here. Comparisons with Peter Pan come to mind, as well as Heinlein's "Stranger in a strange land". When I think of him, I see an extremely gifted artist, completely lost in a world he didn't understand, and that never really understood him, in return. Wacko Jacko.
And so, the song ringing in my head at the moment, is not by him. It's an old Don McLean song named "Vincent", and it's about Vincent van Gogh, the famous Dutch painter who just like Michael Jackson was a complete misfit.
Part of the lyrics go like this:
"For they could not love you
but still your love was true
and when no hope was left in sight on that starry
starry night.
You took your life
as lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent
this world was never
meant for one
as beautiful as you."
Rest in peace, Michael. You have finally found Neverland, beyond the second star on the right. To me, you will always be beautiful. Thank you, for everything.
Michael Jackson has really died. The King of Pop is gone. And I cannot help but feel tremendously sad. Throughout my life, I have been a big fan of his music. As an early teenager, I loved songs like "Ben" or "Can you feel it". I had just left home and gone into the big world on my own when his megasalling albums "Off the Wall" and "Thriller" came out. It was his music blasting from the speakers, that drew me and the friend I used to go out with at the time, to what would become our favorite little discotheque in Amsterdam. I'll even admit to having practised then mastered the moonwalk, as well as various other dance moves he made famous. "HiStory" was not as big a hit as his previous albums, yet I loved the depth and the emotion in the songs on it. Moving from easy, danceable, plastic pop Michael Jackson showed he had a heart and soul, and that at times they were bleeding because of all the injustice and pain, both in his personal life and in the world as a whole. His "Earth Song" can make me cry still today. And yes I know it's overcommercialised, but take that away and it's still an incredible song. As is most of his material.
And yet, in spite of all the fame and the millions he made, his life as a whole was one big tragedy. I think we all know the story so I'm not going to repeat it here. Comparisons with Peter Pan come to mind, as well as Heinlein's "Stranger in a strange land". When I think of him, I see an extremely gifted artist, completely lost in a world he didn't understand, and that never really understood him, in return. Wacko Jacko.
And so, the song ringing in my head at the moment, is not by him. It's an old Don McLean song named "Vincent", and it's about Vincent van Gogh, the famous Dutch painter who just like Michael Jackson was a complete misfit.
Part of the lyrics go like this:
"For they could not love you
but still your love was true
and when no hope was left in sight on that starry
starry night.
You took your life
as lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent
this world was never
meant for one
as beautiful as you."
Rest in peace, Michael. You have finally found Neverland, beyond the second star on the right. To me, you will always be beautiful. Thank you, for everything.
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