A Very Long Monologue About Spring
There's winter. And there's spring. And right now some of us are experiencing both at the same time.
Snow and flowers. 'Love, like the yellow daffodil, is coming through the snow,' wrote Sydney Carter. Snow and flowers. Death and life. Hate and love.
It's everywhere.
Children dead. Children abused. Children kidnapped into other countries. Children told they can't be who they are. That the world has no place for them. Cities levelled by hate. Children left alone.
We are all children of the same universe. We belong together. We need more room, not less.
I just read something by a thoughtful person on Twitter. That person pointed out that dishonest politicians have spent decades trying to get the majority of us to blame someone else for our problems so that we won't figure out the real solutions. He listed a number of these groups: Jews, Blacks, gays, transgender people… I noticed something about that.
The reason the hatemongers moved on was that the majority stopped responding to the call to hate. We stood up for the minority. Oh, sure, maybe I'm not 100% comfortable with 'those people', but I'm not going to let you mistreat them! They have a right to be here, to live next door, to go about their business. Guess what? I met one the other day. Nice person. Maybe not so bad. Anyway, I'll bet God loves them, too.
Will love, like the yellow daffodil, keep coming through the snow? Will Sydney Carter and Julian of Norwich be proven right – that all will be well again? What can we do to encourage this outcome? Protest? Riot? Set fire to something? Become rich and famous, so you 'have a platform', and lay down the law? Go into politics? Write a book, make art, become a photojournalist?
There may be room for any – even all – of these activities. What about us? What can a Field Researcher for the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition do to keep the planet we live on from becoming a worse den of misery than it already is? To save its people from themselves?
I would argue that we can do just exactly what we're doing: keep our eyes and ears and minds open. Share what we see and hear and think about. Share boldly, but with respect: respect for who and what we're describing and for who we're describing it for. Share fun, people. Share joy. Share laughter and satire and petty annoyance. Share your innermost and outermost thoughts. (Please stick to the subject, though, and don't insult the writers.)
'What will this do?' I hear you muttering over your coffee. 'We don't have any power. And it's all about power, isn't it?' Yes and no.
The internet has reminded people that there's power in numbers. And there's power in the way humans think. How they look at a situation can be affected by things they see and read on a regular basis – and those things have to start somewhere. Somebody has to have those ideas and present them first. So yes, we can 'make a difference', especially if we don't engage in magical thinking and don't think we know everything. How do we do it?
We start by looking around. We 'seek the good and praise it.' We train ourselves to be alert to what's good, and bad, and funny. We think about other people, not just ourselves. And then we click our cameras. And put fingers to keys. Something happens: we see hobbits in snowy fields, and triffids in the bushes, and vampires on the Isle of Wight. We film sunsets and sunrises and early flowers. We follow dogs around and scare ducks away. We commission a plate with an inspiring octopus, or wake up at 3 am shouting, 'I know how to get my character out of that mess! Won't they laugh!' We stop in the middle of a coughing fit to catch a bluejay fussing out the window.
That's what we've done this week. Just like every other week. We'll keep doing it and you can't convince me it's not worth the effort to be like the daffodil. Or that crocus up there.
Have the best of all possible weeks out there. Brothers and sisters in Paris and Jerusalem and Kyiv: mind how you go. Brothers and sisters in Grimsby and on the Wirral and driving around the Vienna Woods: you take care, too. And keep your cameras ready.
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Quote of the Week: My kids asked me what 'Puff the Magic Dragon' is about.
I’m a professional literature analyzer, so I figured I'd take a look.
Turns out it’s about a dragon.
Samuel Spinner
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