The Lunchtime Observers

The St Pauls camp.

2011-11-03T21:10:00.002Z

It is a sort of passive resistance to“them” – all of them – whoever they are. It reflects ageneral assumption that anyone in authority or who is seen as richis, of necessity, on the make – dipping their hands in the till -and likely to be hostile.

There is, of course, some substance inthis. There is no opposition to the corrupt society they see allaround them. The middle classes are concerned with protecting whatthey have got. The Labour Party, once seen as a friend and ally, isonly concerned with its political advantage – which does notinclude siding with rabble. It remains silent on almost all thethings the protesters talk about.

The Church if it is seen at all is seenas a lot of men dressing up as women and never saying clearly openlyand honestly what they feel about anything.

The Humanist World Congress Oslo 2011 - Free Association

2011-08-16T17:13:00.005+01:00

Talked - walked
Others' eyes
Coffee cups
Shattered lives

Glasses filling
Silent pauses
Speakers' questions
Sudden singing

Roadway flowers
Fading softly
Smiling faces
Boarded windows

Popping bodies
Spin and leap
Pausing thought
Breaking dance

Issues glanced
Facts confronted
Roads unblocked
Seated - listening

Nervous smoke
Poisoned perfume
Calming lungs
Filling streets

Eating - living
Others' eyes
watching - waiting
Concentrating

Oslo focussed
Shaping sense
Humanising
Harmonising

Even - odd
Thinking freely
Touching hands
Minds conceiving

END

Footnote:
I hope the poem works without needing explanation. However, it was a wonderful Congress in a great city. It took place shortly after the horrific attack borne as many have said with great dignity and wisdom. The words of the mayor said it all when he said: "We will punish him with democracy and love"! The city still seems stunned. It was difficult to find words and there were silences. There is a lot of smoking in the streets. The congress was punctuated with entertainment and art, including break dancing and opera and much more please take a look at www.human.no

Recognising a miracle in Bulgaria

2011-08-04T14:59:00.007+01:00

I am sitting here in a Bulgarian dentist's treatment room. My wife is having treatment.
There is a radio playing, music with a beat, with words mainly in English. The dentist chats in Bulgarian, which I don't understand.

So I am sitting and thinking... What am I feeling? Am I uncomfortable... or what? I am here to accompany my wife. It is however just possible that the dentist might take a look at me ( I have a slight ache) but only if she finishes with time to spare. It seems unlikely.

So what do I feel? Slightly dry mouth; aware of the pressure of the chair seat and the inside of my sandals. I sense the first hint of hunger but not of thirst. So I play with my ability to encourage or discourage the sensation of hunger. I prevent myself from imagining myself eating by thinking of something else. I do this because I don't know how long this is going to take.
I am neither hot nor cold. I do not have an itch although, the moment I reflect on this, an itch appears. If I weren't monitoring myself I might just have unconsciously scratched and been none the wiser. I wonder what else I am doing unconsciously? Digesting? I ate something a few hours ago. Is one always digesting even if only one or two molecules? From what I remember of the little bit of biology I studied there is a principle of a balanced flow back and forth creating an illusion of the static, which I think is called stasis. So probably it is also true that I am constantly moving my body to prevent myself from falling off the chair, minutely imperceptibly moving in one direction and then in the other.

The dentist is worried that I might be bored. The assistant brings me some Bulgarian car magazines - how many are the assumptions in this? I am glad though that it isn't a cook book! But I am not bored.

The room is full of things. I have been here for over an hour and there is a lot I have looked at but not seen. On the ceiling above the window is a cornice acting as a pelmet and there is a curtain rail with sliding holders, but there is no curtain. Has there ever been a curtain? There is an illustrated teeth poster on the wall. There is a clock, the face advertising a drug . The name ends in '-exin'. It's Flamexin. I wonder if it's an antibiotic.

The dentist is reconstructing a tooth. False enamel and tooth substitute are being hardened by an ultra-violet wand. The room is old fashioned but filled with the skills and artefacts of one of the greatest of human achievements - dentistry!

How many people in the past cried out in agony with no hope of comfort? How many toothless smiles were borne with anguish when now the gap can be filled and the face rejuvenated? How many old women accused of witchcraft might have escaped if they had a full set of teeth? My thoughts fly to Nigeria, Malawi and Uganda.

Back to the room. The dentist is very busy and the assistant isn't, but if the phone rings the assistant would answer it. It has rung but it is quiet now. Whilst I have been sitting in the treatment room, which in itself is something unusual, it wouldn't happen in London, the door has opened and people have just walked in and greeted the dentist and the assistant and have stayed to chat for a few minutes and then left. A door bell rings and the assistant leaves the room.

An eerie blue glow in the mouth of my wife. The gap is filling . There is considerable pleasure in contemplating the time reversal that is taking place. Adult teeth do not naturally get replaced, but they do here.

What a complex landscape of human achievement sits in this small box of a room.