Thursday, December 3, 2015

Dissolution - A Poem Based on Marcus Aurelius


As a stream so are all things belonging to the body
 as a dream so are all that belong unto the soul
  Our life is a warfare 
  and a mere pilgrimage

Only one thing preserves:


 never to do anything either
   or feignedly 
   or hypocritically
 depend on yourself
   your own proper actions
 all things embrace

 and above all
 expect death, 
   the resolution of those Elements
    of which every creature is composed
   that dissolution
    and alteration
   which is so common unto all
   why should it be feared by any? 

Is not this according to nature?

 Nothing that is 
 according to Nature 
 can be evil.

             Meditations II, 17(/15).
             M. Casaubon, Trans. 1635
             W.M.D Rouse, Trans. 1906

Sunday, November 1, 2015

Living with Less - A 30 Day Decluttering Exercise - Day1

November 1st Count: 

Donation: 2 boxes of kitchen equipment and one bag of clothes
Storage: 3 boxes of dishes, 1 box with kitchen equipment

We hear a lot about the simple life in Stoic circles. The idea is that the most important things in life aren't things. We get that. The Minimalist movement has come and gone and come again, in various guises. Have we cease to hear its call to rational acquisition, to sparing consumption, to a clampdown on personal waste?

Pam and I have decided that November this year will be our month of Living with Less. Less waste, less buying, and most of all, less clutter.

Food & Stuff

To that end, we are going to work our way through our deep pantries and eat mostly from what we have, until we have established a cycle of food purchase and consumption that doesn't leave anything standing 'just in case' for long. Once we have worked through our food clutter, we can start building out a pantry to cover us over a longer period, but all of it used.

We are putting a moratorium on junk purchases. There are a few bits of furniture we need, but they are replacing broken or unusable pieces. Other than that, no new bits and bobs for November.


We have always been semi-concious of recycling and composting in our home, but not exactly rigid about it. This month, we are going to try to reduce our garbage to the smallest amount possible. This means a little extra work to make sure things go where they can do the most good.


We are also going to be sorting through all of the clutter in every room. The goal is at least one box a day, either to donation or to storage. The point is to get it out from underfoot. If we find that we have packed something that we are going to need sooner rather than later, then we can get that box out of storage again. In the spring, we will revisit the boxes and see what we actually need or want.

This is day one, and it is well started.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

In Praise of the Quiet Life - or, It is OK not to be seeking.

I am basically a quiet man.

This will come a surprise to many who have met me. I get along well with most people, and can easily strike up a conversation with a total stranger. I have, on occasion, shared philosophical perspectives in a grocery lines. And the people I talk to share right back.

My job (which I love, by the way) is VERY public. I make new connections with people on an almost daily basis. Most of those people, far more than you would think, are amazing and interesting. I like talking to them, getting to know them, sharing stories with them.

But then I come home. And once again, I am me.

I like quiet. I like order. I like the times of silent contemplation over a well-turned phrase, a particularly poignant strain of music, a deeply rich rendering of an art piece.

Yet over the years I have foolishly tried to 'fill' my life with meaning and purpose. To find 'the point of it all.' To make a difference, create an impression, "Leave this world a little better than [I] found it."

So I have pursued religion, philosophy, the arts. I have read and learned and taught. I have run from event to event, group to group, gathering to gathering, in search of a plan, a program, a framework on which to hang my life.

But then I come home. And once again, I am merely me.

And so I create. I used to draw, once upon a time. I wrote poetry, challenging myself and creating acrostic sonnets for my wife and my fathers. And lately, I have finally written the novel I have been promising myself I would write. It still requires editing, but it is written. I find it funny that I am not as driven to publish as I was to create.

Yet as I wander the bookstores, I see stacks of books on the sale racks at 70% off. The light from their writing may have only flickered briefly before being swallowed in the general cacophony of published works. How is my voice any different from theirs? Clearly, if I am seeking impact, it won't be in the bookstores, though I will likely keep writing.

And so I come home. And once more, I am only me.

Any yet, I am home. I am in the house my grandfather built over 50 years ago. Here is my wife, whose love and friendship over the last 30 years have more than sustained me, they have formed me into the man I am. My children grew up here, and return frequently to recharge us. They bring with them more family, my wonderful children-in-law/love. My mother, my brothers, their families, come to us as often as they can. My house is full, brimming and overflowing with love.

Not only here. Home is where my family lives and sometimes that is hundreds, or thousands, of kilometers away. But there is my heart also.

On this day, I think especially of my father. He left behind him a legacy of knowledge, acceptance and a character that has indelibly impressed itself upon my soul.

My few friends round out the cast of characters, those who have stayed while I have walked through the valleys of the shadow of death. Those who have given without hesitation, and have taken without embarrassment. I know that I am never abandoned.

I have stopped seeking, given up the quest, turned away from the mystery.

Because here, in my home, I am finally me. And it is enough.

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

On Tempering Grief - or Learning to Sing the Blues

The thing with Social Media is that it allows us to share everything almost instantaneously. Venting of one's spleen is a regular occurrence, which is interesting considering how most of the actual emotion is stripped from text, emoticons notwithstanding. These posts, even if for information only, invite scorn, support and inevitably, some well meaning soul's idea of advice.

One sure way to get people on your side though is to 'share' your grief at some personal tragedy. The grief is real, the quotes around 'share' are because the word implies a reduction by distribution, but this isn't true. My grief isn't made less because you are aware of it, or even that you empathize. Sharing isn't quite the right word. Perhaps 'notification' or 'grief-telling' would be more appropriate.

The thing about grief is that most of the advice offered under the banner of genuine concern ring hollow in the ears of the griever. 'This will pass' and 'I'm sorry' and 'I've been there' don't offer much comfort.

Now before we get onto the old 'the deeper your grief, the greater your love,' there is no deeper grief than the one driven by regret, not love. The depth of grief is not a measure (nor proof) of devotion. Only devotion is the proof of devotion. (Tautologies for $500, Alex). Love is its own proof. Grief is a mark of two thing, which too often get blended together. An acknowledgement of irrevocable loss, and a refusal to acknowledge the inevitability of change.

Seneca says as much: "For to be afflicted with endless sorrow at the loss of someone very dear is foolish self-indulgence, and to feel none is inhuman callousness. The best compromise between love and good sense is both to feel longing and to conquer it."

You would think that in 7000+ years of recorded history, with griefs in the billions, that someone would have come up a way of actually allowing grief to happen naturally while providing a help of some kind to reduce its intensity.

And of course, many did. But here is probably the most striking piece of advice I have read.
Expose and reopen all the wounds which have already healed. Someone will object: ‘What kind of consolation is this, to bring back forgotten ills and to set the mind in view of all its sorrows when it can scarcely endure one?’ ... Offer to the mind all its sorrows, all its mourning garments: this will not be a gentle prescription for healing, but cautery and the knife. What shall I achieve? That a soul which has conquered so many miseries will be ashamed to worry about one more wound in a body which already has so many scars.
It is surprising, because it sounds like the very opposite of comfort. But think about it, really think about it. This is the kind of conversation that Seneca advises us to have with ourselves:
Your mother died? I am sorry for it, and I know it feels bad, but remember, that your father died not that long ago, and you have survived and gone on to honour his memory. So shall you do with this.
You have lost love/job/something that you valued? Feel the grief, but remember, you have been here, or somewhere like here, and you have come through, wiser, stronger, more experienced. This shall add to that. 
This requires something that seems counter-intuitive. We are often told to remember the good times, but here we are told to remember the bad times as well, and to treasure those memories equally. The first are a source of joy, the second a source of strength.

There is an entire musical genre dedicated to this practice. Signing the Blues is exactly about this perspective: remember when things were hard. You'll get by. You'll move on. You will continue to live and love and grow. Just learn to sing your own blues, from time to time.

Monday, May 25, 2015

On the Illusion of Controlling Emotions - Or - Get Your Own Roller-Coaster

You don't get to pick which Roller-Coaster I ride on.

Pam and I were driving down to Peterborough for a birthday, and took the opportunity to read/listen to some Stoic articles. I had picked up an old article titled "The Stoic Way" by Dr. Peter H. Samson, Sunrise magazine, February 1975.

It started out promisingly, quoting one of our favourite Stoic authors Gilbert Murray, that Stoicism was... "the greatest system of organized thought which the mind of man had built up for itself in the Graeco-Roman world before the coming of Christianity... Stoicism may be called either a philosophy or a religion.... I believe that it represents a way of looking at the world and the practical problems of life which possesses still a permanent interest for the human race, and a permanent power of inspiration."

However, it wasn't too long until we heard the old saw,
"There seemed to be something in the Stoic way of life and thought that diminished the drive for effective living. It may be that these good and wise people so resigned themselves to the evils of life that they became apathetic and indifferent toward the root causes of these evils, unable to act to remove them. Possibly their stress on universal reason made them cold to the emotional flow and pulse of life, so that human sympathy finds relatively little place in their way of living." 

And so here we are again, time to set the record straight.

Stoics are NOT resigned to the evils of life. We are NOT apathetic and indifferent. We are NOT cold to the  emotional flow of life. No.

Today's Words of the Ancient Wise brought it home again for me.
"Still we do keep an eye on him, not indeed as an enemy, or from suspicion of him, but with good-humoured avoidance. Act much in the same way in all the other parts of life. Let us make many allowances for our fellow-athletes as it were. Avoidance is always possible, as I have said, without suspicion or hatred."
I have already talked about Stoic Emotion and Stoic Engagement. We are loving, feeling, human beings, who laugh and sorrow with our loved ones and our friends. We are caring and involved in humanity, seeking to give all a chance to live the best life. And so there is one more thing.

You don't get to pick which Roller-Coaster I ride on.

You are free to act in any way you choose. You are NOT free to choose the consequences of those actions. As night follows day, the effects tied to the cause you put into motion will inevitably find their way home. But hear me well. I am not an effect.

Once again, I am NOT forced into any action or emotion by your choices. You see, between cause and effect there is my one precious gift. My power of choice. I choose how to react to your actions.

Now please understand, as Stoics we embrace emotions, we don't try to control them. By the time we are experiencing emotions, that ship has sailed, that bird has flown, that roller-coaster has started its wild ride. No, controlling or suppressing emotions is by all current understanding unhealthy. But here is the catch.

You don't get to pick which Roller-Coaster I ride on.

So you say or do something. You try to nudge me, cajole me, or throw me into an emotional response of your choosing. You pick trigger words, touch on personal or private subjects, abuse those I care about. You WANT to get a rise out of me. This is how you know you are in control. But you aren't.

You never were. I control my own choices, my own responses. If I get on an emotional Roller-Coaster it isn't because of what you did or said, it is because of what I believed about what you did or said. Don't like my hair, my face, my life? Think I am a waste, a failure, a burden? You can think that. I don't have to agree with you though. And I don't.

You don't get to pick which Roller-Coaster I ride on.

That doesn't mean that I won't go for an emotional ride from time to time. When I can, I will choose my own emotional rides. Soft ones, smooth ones. The rides that have my true friends and family along on them. The things that are important to me for their own sake, for my own sake. I choose, everyday, to whom I will open my heart and mind.

When (not if) the inevitable happens, I will grieve as all humans do. But I choose this grief, because I chose that love. I choose this disappointment, because I chose that trust. I choose this disillusionment, because I chose that faith. But. In. Every. Case. I. Choose.

You don't get to pick which Roller-Coaster I ride on.

I do.