A week in parallel lives

Story-teller Julie Perrin*, who is a dear friend of mine, recently returned from a six-week course in Cape Town, South Africa. There she worked alongside a man who had been a political prisoner in Robben Island Prison for 20 years. She had worked out the parallel time-lines of their lives. She was starting primary school; he was incarcerated in Robben Island. She finished school, went to university and traveled the world; he was still there. She fell in love, got married, traveled around Australia; he was still in goal.

Thinking like this is salutary and humbling, and it is the way my mind has been working this week, as shocking images of murdered children in Syria have dominated the world’s media.

You’d expect it to be would be impossible to think about anything else. But of course, I have. Here in suburban Melbourne my life continues on its pleasant course and I barely know what to do with the juxtaposition of the joys, petty irritations and indulgent quandaries that fill my days, with the shattering grief, anger and bewilderment that so many parents in Houla must be experiencing.

This week for me included the following things:

My husband has been in Arnhem Land, discussing theology with the Indigenous people there.

I’ve been getting excited about the overseas trip we have planned for later in the year.

I have spoken to my kids, who live all over Victoria and the world, but none of them are likely to be murdered by paramilitaries.

I had a lovely, long skype conversation with my Dad and step-mum.

I learnt that a friend with cancer has found a bone marrow donor that matches perfectly; this may well save his life.

I have sat in near silence with another friend who has a potentially serious health concern.

Things at work have been weirdly quiet, and I have alternated between panic that I have forgotten to do something really important, guilt, boredom and madly organizing and tidying every file – hard copy and electronic – to within an inch of its life.

I bought the softest, coziest new dressing gown to replace the one I blogged about a while back here. When I put it on, I feel as if I am wrapped in a big, cream teddy bear. I reflected that if this one lasts as long as its predecessor, I will be 74 by the time it hits the rag bag.

I went to Rock the Ballet with my younger daughter and her boyfriend’s mum and laughed, gasped and clapped my hands sore at the pumping music and wild acrobatic antics of six guys and one girl – perfect specimens of athletic humanity. (How can I become completely absorbed in two hours of dance when children in Syria are being slaughtered?)

I had two excellent coffees out and great home cooked food in.

I went to a great discussion group at my church.

I had myotherapy that helped ease my chronic back and neck pain considerably.

I had meals, laughs and soulful conversation with two of my three closest girlfriends.

I curled up in bed with a hot water bottle and read delicious books.

My husband flew back from Arnhem Land weary but safe, and I am anticipating the rare pleasure of having him home for a few days. 

It’s not the first time I have blogged about this strange thing that happens most weeks for people who are aware of some of the carnage that is going on in the world and are simultaneously cognizant of their own good fortune. I wrote on this topic just after the tsunami in Japan, in March of last year here.

I wrote back then of the ways in which we can respond.  But really, I am no closer to knowing what to do with this awareness that is painful and yet, inevitably, helpless and with a guilty undercurrent of gratitude these unspeakable things are not happening here.  Some weeks, all you can say is that, despite so much beauty, creativity and love, it is an unjust world, with a lot of brutal people in it. For many, life is as nasty, brutish and short as when Thomas Hobbes first coined the phrase to describe human life in 1651. 

*Julie’s website is www.tellingwords.com.au  

Comments

[Geoffrey]

Clare, you remind us of the things we can treasure in life, and of the need to take time to think about and see all the benefits of our lives in this blessed country. Your comments continue to raise the question of whether we have a right to happiness.

[Rod]

I too struggle with this matter of conscience Clare. I have come to the conclusion that one response we can make is to live in thankfulness and with generosity. Take no gift for granted and try and share what you receive as a blessing with those who lack them. One does not add to the world's gladness by beating up on oneself - that only adds to its misery. Appropos of your last blog, this is worth bearing in mind:
“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.”