Tirando la hueva un día antes de la romería...

Can A Pakistani 7-year-old Say ‘Hindu Kutta’ (Hindu Dog)? Yes, Alleges Anjan Sengupta

Mr. Sengupta alleges that a Pakistani National Security official and his wife raised a 7-year-old who said ‘Hindu Kutta’ to an Indian counterpart invited to dinner in 2002. He uses this example to conclude that Pakistani officials, political and military, have an inbuilt ‘Hindu hatred’ instilled in them at school.

My answer is this: Oh really? Says who? India, the first country of the 21^st century to have a genocide that went unpunished?

Read the accusation and the response, both posted on the Web site:

Anjan Sengupta’s Comment

ARTICLE ID: 71
ARTICLE TITLE: Why Mr. Zardari Is Ignoring China?
BY: ANJAN SENGUPTA (goethe.kolkata@gmail.com)

COMMENTS
Dear Ahmed, I just recalled two incidents that happened in 2002 - that I thought will share with you. It's got nothing to do with the topic in hand, but deals with perception amongst the very top level in both military and bureaucrats in Pakistan. In April 2002, the then Chairman of Pakistan Ordnance Factories very clearly claimed (to a journalist and not reported or printed) that the 9/11 attacks and alleged their links with Pakistan were all disinformation and that in reality it was the Jews & Hindus that were responsible for this global conspiracy. In the same year, a top NSC Indian official met his Pakistani counterpart at his home on a private dinner where he was warmly welcomed by this fine gentleman and his equally lovely wife. During dinner time, one of the children (around 7 yrs or so) comes in and is introduced to the house guest. On hearing that he is an Indian, the child asks if he was a Hindu? The Indian diplomat replied that he was and immediately the child whooped up in joy and danced around the room shouting, "Hindu Kutta, Hindu Kutta.” The hosts were very embarrassed. The larger point is the Hindu hatred or hatred for Jews is not only been disseminated from the madrassas but in very cultured families too. Wonder how deep rooted is this malaise, because at least in my heart, I have no hatred for the average Pakistani or indeed a Muslim.

Ahmed Quraishi’s Reply

ARTICLE ID: 71
ARTICLE TITLE: Why Mr. Zardari Is Ignoring China?
BY: Ahmed Quraishi (aq@ahmedquraishi.com)

COMMENTS
Mr. Gupta, the link with China is not a question of self-reliance or the lack thereof. It is about counterbalance. As for the hatred of Hindus, I have not heard anyone in any circle - from a taxi driver to the clergy to ordinary people - anyone in Pakistan calling Hindus 'Kutta'. This doesn't mean Pakistanis love or hate the Hindus. It's just a firsthand experience. And remember this: For all the real and imaginary 'Hindu hatred' in Pakistan, there has been no genocide of Hindus on Pakistani soil in recent times. At all. Compare this with the 21st century's biggest genocide: over 2,000 Indians burned alive, butchered, raped, bellies of pregnant women ripped open and fetuses burned in public (all documented by brave Indian rights activists). The only crime of these Indians was that they were Muslims. This didn't happen in 1947. But in 2002. The killers were not trained 'Hindu zealots from Hindu Madrassas', but ordinary Indian Hindus. Hundreds of them. The fact they could commit this act speaks volumes of the innate hatred and prejudice within Indian Hindus. Don't also forget how the same ordinary Indian Hindus butchered and burned alive hundreds of innocent Indian Sikhs in the streets of the capital of the world's largest democracy in 1984. And now, these very moments as I write this, Indian Christian leaders are sending S.O.S. messages to anyone who would listen all over the world about a genocide against Indian Christians underway by these very 'ordinary Indian Hindus’, citizens of the globe's biggest democracy. Of course, the Anglo-American media is silent since this news disturbs the ongoing plan of feeding and bloating the Indian elephant so that they could push it in the future to work against Pakistan, China and Russia. So before you worry about that seven year old Pakistani boy who allegedly said 'Hindu Kutta' to a guest (I doubt very much this story since it is unheard of here in Pakistan to say such things), you should worry more about the propensity of the peaceful ordinary Indian Hindus to commit two major genocides in a matter of a decade at the start of the 21st century.

And now as I am posting this today, a Muslim family was burnt alive today in India:

India: Hindu rioters burn six Muslims to death

HYDERABAD, India: Rioters in southern India killed six members of a Muslim family by setting fire to their home after earlier clashes between Hindus and Muslims left four others dead and 15 injured in the same village, officials said Sunday.

Detail News

It is a pleasure to watch the pair of them circling the space at the front of the house, swooping and dodging, talking as they go. Every now and then I surprise them by the front door next to the open door of the garage. A quick whistle and they’re away into the air. Strong, streamlined, fast and accurate hunters. Beautiful nature. I am pleased they are living next to me.

*

A big fly got in to the house with the cat, the big buzzing kind of fly. I can’t have such creatures living and laying in the house and I can’t leave the door open for it to exit since more, or something else, would probably enter. After following it around for a while I was able to swat it down and it lay there unconscious for long enough for me to shoot it, with the camera. Then it started moving again, got up on its feet and wandered in circles for a few seconds. I put it outside before it started flying again. Tough little fellows.

*

The Damselfly is smaller than the Dragonfly. Accordingly it appears to patrol a smaller territory. It doesn’t seem to have a favoured perch but easily moves to and from the available vantage points.

I watched one today as it moved around and saw it chase a few possibilities from one particular perch. I was quick enough of eye to see at least two small moths rise from the grass below the occupied perch and pass within reach of the Damsel. But the damsel was not quick or relentless enough to catch them. Realising, perhaps, it was a waste of valuable energy.

It returned to this perch four or five times, probably because the opportunities for feeding presented themselves here and not somewhere else. And then it was away to another perch, an opportunist rather than a hunter like the Dragonfly

*

The Bugs Are Back in strength. At the light outside that I have on to attract them away from the lights of the house they are spinning around. Orbiting the light as the planets orbit the sun. I’m not going out to see what they are yet. I know there will be mozzies and probably other delightful creatures – when I get close enough with the camera.

The little black biters are swarming in the Billinudgel NR. Midges I think they are. They have a very sharp bite, or whatever it is. It has been suggested they are actually inserting an egg or some such beneath the surface of the skin that some days later hatches and causes a terrible itch.

They are too small to see if it is so but some days later there is a terrible itch. It’s an odd thing but the itching seems to reach a crescendo when I go back into the bush, as if the newly hatched can tell when they are home and it’s time to jump ship.

The mozzies are back too with the warmer weather and the abundant wet of the nearby forest, but they’re not a problem yet. As long as I stay out of the darker places it’s ok. They don’t go out on the trails before the sun gets low either. So, from an hour after sunrise and an hour before sunset it is relatively mozzie free. As long as the sun shines.

*

I was driving to the shop and I saw a python crossing the road in broad daylight. It was about five foot long. I stopped to get a closer look and it was unmoved by my presence. Unhurried, quietly, gracefully making its way up the hillside and into the trees. Seeking its way through the foliage, reaching out from a sturdy branch to the wisps of new growth that looked too flexible to give the long heavy snake any traction. A crossing requiring consummate balance, a clearly focused presence.

*

When I was taking pictures in the NR the other day, standing waiting for the Dragonfly to land, I felt something on my leg. I looked immediately – such things can’t be ignored when there are so many creatures with mechanical and chemical weaponry – and invasive reproductive systems. It was a jumping ant with its long and threatening jaws or mandibles - long pointy defensive and offensive tools at the front of the head.

I haven’t been bitten by one yet but have been told it is painful. This one was carrying a packet of something yellow which, when cropped, looks like a tiny caterpillar. This jumping ant wasn’t doing any jumping. In fact it was having great difficulty navigating over the hairs on my leg – its struggles getting it nowhere fast. So I knocked it off, back to traversable territory.

*

Another fly got into the house, and got whacked like the first one. This one got up again too.

Instinctive life, it just never gives up.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

Writing is core to everything we do. Yet good writing is becoming a lost art, and a lost value. I am looking forward to watching Michigan invest in what it takes to create the best writing program in the country.
                                                                                  Helen Zell 
                                                                                                 

As I've said many times before Screenwriting from Iowa is not limited to screenwriting or Iowa -- but it represents movies and people coming from a place beyond Los Angeles. Today we're going to take a look at talent from another Midwest state as I turn the spotlight on Michigan.

It was no mistake that the great New York born writer Arthur Miller got his college education at the University of Michigan. Even in the 1930s UM was already know for its high literary output and in the 1920s playwright Avery Hopwood created an endowment for UM writers. Miller was an early recipient of the Avery Hopwood Award award in 1937. It was just the first step of recognition for the writer that would go on and write Death of Salesman and The Crucible as well as many other plays, screenplays, short stories and novels in a career that would span 70 years until his death in 2005.

He is considered one of the greatest American dramatists and supported the University of Michigan his entire life. Last year the Arthur Miller Theater opened on the UM campus keeping his wishes as being the only theater bearing his name. That was a tribute to the education he recieved in Ann Arbor.

But even before Miller became famous the University of Michigan had tradition in Hollywood. Dudley Nichols, a UM alumni  wrote the 1939 John Ford and John Wayne classic Stagecoach. The long train that followed include:
Valentine Davies (Miracle on 34th Street)
John Briley's (Ghandi)
David Newman's (Superman, Bonnie & Clyde)
Kurt Luedtke (Absence of Malice, Out of Africa),
Richard Friedenberg (A River Runs Through It)
Adam Herz (American Pie)
Josh Greenfield, (Harry and Tonto) 
Roger Lowenstein (TV's L.A. Law)
Judith Guest (Ordinary People)
Lawrence Kasden (Raiders of the Lost Ark, Grand Canyon, Body Heat)
Laura Kaisischke (The Life Before Her Eyes) 
Jim Burnstein (D3: The Mighty Ducks) 

Burnstein who also wrote Ruffian starring Sam Shepherd has taught at the University of Michigan gave a presentation this year titled "Wolverines in Hollywood."    

I'm not sure where this Michigan writing legacy started but chances are famed Hollywood screenwriting teacher (and Detroit native) Robert McKee does know. He also attended the University of Michigan where he earned his undergraduate, masters and Ph.D. degrees.  Studying under Kenneth Thorpe Rowe where he learned a good deal about story structure that he promotes in his famed three day screenwriting seminar and book Story.

Rowe wrote Write that Play and also hooked former student Arthur Miller up in New York that helped Miller start his career.

And though not a writer where would Hollywood be without the talent of former UM pre-med student James Earl Jones? A big voice (Luke, I am your father) who was born in a small town of Arkabutla, Mississippi, raised in a couple small towns in Michigan where he overcame a stuttering problem that caused him to be a functionally mute from grade school until high school.

In an interview with Michael J. Bandler Jones mentions Donald Crouch as the teacher that helped him overcome stuttering and find his voice. "I credit him with being the father of my voice. He said, 'You have a man's voice now, an impressive bass, but don't let that impress you. If you start listening to your voice, no one else will.' It was a good lesson in general. I [try] to be devoid of self-consciousness."

According to Wikipedia his career in theater began at the Ramsdell Theatre in Manistee, Michigan where he was a stage carpenter before his role in Shakespeare's Othello. Again to quote to old expression; "Do what you can, with what you have, where you are." (And no, I won't pass up the opportunity to mention that Jones brought his booming voice to Iowa in Field of Dreams.)

And just so we don't leave out UM rival Michigan St. -- that's where Top Gun screenwrtiers Jack Epps Jr. and Jim Cash first teamed up. The academy-award nominated screenwriter of Finding Neverland and 48 hr director Walter Hill also graduated from Michigan State. Spiderman director Sam Raimi also attended the school in East Lansing.

Grand Rapids is where Paul Schrader was raised and attended Calvin College to become a minister before eventually writing Taxi Driver and having a long career in Hollywood.

Flint, Michigan native and current resident of Traverse City, Michigan is Academy-Award winning filmmaker Michael Moore who has made three of the top five grossing documentaries of all time. In 2005 he started the annual Traverse City Film Festival.   

Michigan native Mike Binder was the writer/director of The Upside of Anger. In a talk he gave in Ann Arbor Binder told students, "If you're looking for respect don't become a screenwriter."

And batting clean-up is a writer who has been called "the Dickens of Detroit" - Elmore Leonard. His novels and short stories often find their way to the big screen with big talent: Get Shorty (John Travolta), Jackie Brown (Robert De Niro) 3:10 to Yuma (Russell Crowe), Hombre (Paul Newman), and the upcoming Killshot starring Diane Lane. He graduated from University of Detroit Jesuit High School and the University of Detroit. 

Back in 2001 Leonard had an essay published in The New York Times called Writers on Writing where he offered ten rules for writing. It's well worth a read. Though geared toward writing novels most apply to screenwriting such as rule number 9: "Don't go into great detail describing places and things."

"Oh, I love Elmore Leonard. In fact, to me True Romance is basically like an Elmore Leonard movie... I actually owe a big debt to like kind of figuring out my style from Elmore Leonard because, you know, he was the first writer I'd ever read."
                                                                        Quentin Tarantino (Pulp Fiction)
                                                                        The Charlie Rose Show 1994 

Leonard lives in Michigan these days, and though in his 80s has a website (www.elmoreleonard.com) complete with a blog and podcasts. From the man who inspired Tarantino, here's Leonard's advice on how to get an agent: "My advice is to learn how to write and the agent will find you."

Of course, Michigan also has a long history of real life characters who were interesting enough to have movies made about their lives (Ty Cobb, Jimmy Hoffa and most recently Eminem).  Then there is the storytelling history through music from Michigan which is way too long to list but covers probably every form of American music; Jazz, blues, soul, gospel, rock, country, hip hop, rap, punk, techno.)  

The rock and roll hall of fame has a little space taken up with artists from Michigan including Aretha Franklin, Bill Haley, Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder, Glenn Frey, and Bob Seger.

I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to connect Michigan's creative success to one man -- Henry Ford. With his cars and factory line he brought prosperity to the area. Some of the people coming to Detroit were from the Mississippi Delta and they brought their music with them. That's the short history of the Model T to Motown. But again you can't ignore the part economics plays in its connection to the arts.

These days are lean times for those in Detroit. (Heck, these days they are even lean times for Toyota and Honda.) As the Michigan prophet Kid Rock sings; "Now nothing seems as strange as when leaves began to change, or how we thought those days would never end." (All Summer Long)

One thing Michigan has recently done to rejuvenate the area economically is to pass one of the largest tax incentives for the film industry. Late this past spring I did some location scouting for Mandate Pictures for Whip It!, Drew Barrymore's directorial debut. But Iowa lost out to Michigan and I'm sure the incentives played a part. The roller derby film staring Ellen Page and Juliette Lewis began shooting in Southeast Michigan in July. 

The WNEM TV station reported this on their website: In April, Gov. Jennifer Granholm signed legislation aimed at giving Michigan a bigger role in the film industry. The key bill in the package gave film studios a refundable credit of up to 42 percent on production expenses in the state. The bills also cover commercials, TV shows, documentaries, video games and other film work.

Landing the Barrymore film is a nice start out of the gate for Michigan and there is talk of three film studios being built. It would seem like a good time to be writing Michigan-centered screenplays. If you don't have any ideas you can start here: A popular mayor in Detroit has an affair...

P.S. If you are interesting in shooting in Michigan or in learning more about their incentives contact Janet Lockwood at the Film in Michigan office.

Copyright 2008 Scott W. Smith  

"This is an hour of opportunity for me to release my fears over the chaos on Wall Street, and to place them into His hands, the God of order.  He is the only One who can cause order to come from chaos.  We are ordinary people in extraordinary times, and we serve an extraordinary God.

El Roi, The God Who Sees, is the One whose eye is upon you and me, the ones who live on Main Street.   With His eye upon you and me....we can take comfort in knowing that He will instruct, direct, and He will counsel.  I have learned that His Word is true and that I can trust in Him, and follow His ways.  He sees my heart and my response to all situations.  You and I have the freedom to choose...will we obey with faith or react in fear?

The chaos on Wall Street ought not to instruct or inform my faith.  Instead, I am to continue in the path of obedience to His Word:  My steps need to come into alignment with the truth of my financial circumstances, this is practical wisdom.  I need to adjust my living, and not my giving. My living.. my spending, in particular. Giving to my local church ministry is part of kingdom living.  That is an investment with eternal rewards, benefitting millions in the Body of Christ.

The shortage on Wall Street does not define the treasures and the abundance available on Main Street's way of kingdom living.  Throughout the Scriptures I've noted: "if you will obey my command....then I will bless you."  I call it the "If-Then" Principle of Kingdom living.  If we follow His ways, His blessings remain upon us.

God's provision is limitless, He is Jehovah Jireh, the Lord our Provider.  Nothing is too difficult for Him.  Therefore, when I am afraid, I will put my trust in Him.  I will not act on fear, but I will obey with faith.  My steps are ordered by God, not by man.  I will not bow to my fears, I will bow to the Name of Jesus, the Author and Finisher of my faith.  Like Paul, I am pressing on, I am reaching forward for the prize. He is teaching me that in order to live as Paul suggests in Philippians 4:12,

to be content in all circumstances,

In other words, that I must adjust my thinking and my living to conform to my present circumstances. 

Oh Lord, give me, give all my brothers and sisters, the faith and the courage to run the race well, the wisdom to discern how to manage what you've blessed us with.  Help us to be good stewards, faithful and cheerful givers.

This is how I choose to continue in my faith walk.   Kingdom Living in this hour, at this moment.

Shalom to all my brothers and sisters in Christ,

Yours truly,

Carrie

It is an analogy of how difficult living can be at times. And of the untold and often untellable story of those in the trenches and the cockpits of daily living doing their best to get through, and of those that get through. The ordinary people doing it right and getting back up after the inevitable fall.

We all have a tyrant in us. Some more than others. And in different forms of expression but always first through thought and emotion. Nobody can deny it.

If the world is ever to be rid of tyrants it has to start where I find it first, in the tyranny of emotion and thinking, in me - whoever I may be.

This post is for those that recognise it, as is this site, so read it to the end if you will.

*

FBTSOMP, it’s the acronym for ‘flying by the seat of my pants’. It's a euphemism for how close to the ground pilots sometimes had to fly in order to see anything - maybe even feel it, on the seat of their pants. It probably comes from the First World War – the second one too, when there was no radar or none reliable. Often the pilots of crippled English fighter planes from the famous dogfights (aerial battles) with the Germans over the English Channel, especially in the historic Battle of Britain, were trying to find their way home to land.

No radar, the plane was probably damaged from battle and that infamous English fog effectively blinded the pilot. With the occasional encouragement from a distant radio operator - if the radio was still working, and maybe some chance sighting of a landmark in a break in the fog, the pilots often made it home.

Then, when they were fit enough – or even when they weren’t - out they went again. More often than not to die in battle. And the pilots were not only British, they were from all over the world. They didn’t feel heroic or noble, they knew fear until the moment of engagement with the enemy, and exhaustion. They knew loss, suffering of another kind. And no doubt they were always glad to get back home, those that did.

I have seen the movies and I don’t think it was all propaganda. The war was thrust upon the British people by a tyrant with a will to conquer his neighbours, who had at his command a far superior, ready and highly disciplined military machine. And though many battles were lost I believe the British were able to endure because they were ‘right’.

The time was right. The cause was right. And the right man to lead was available for the duration. I was never a student of history but Winston Churchill made some great speeches. One in particular comes to mind. “We shall fight on the beaches..We shall never surrender”. Inspiring stuff.

*

However.

Walking down a track today through a stand of paperbark trees rising out of a field of reeds, I came to an opening in the woods where a creek ran through. The creek was broad and shallow and the reeds that grew from it were much smaller than in the surrounding field.

Standing there in the shadow of a tree, looking out into the bright sunlit glade that formed about the creek, I could see the shiny threads of silk left by the spiders at the tops of the tall reeds to either side waving freely in the breeze. There was much traffic up to head height, much too-ing and fro-ing of various small flying insects, this way and that at different speeds, patterns and shades of colour. Indications of a certain character.

The occasional dry leaves falling from the treetops, twisting, spiralling, tumbling, flopping and plumb straight down. A large Dragonfly entered my view at speed and so easily took one of these fallings on the wing then, in an instant, released it as he flew, finding nothing of sustenance there. And on his way he went.

I watched him patrolling the clear space above the creek of reeds, to and fro, hovering here and there. Only six feet from me I saw him skim the calm surface of the clear water and leave a wake in it where he took a sup, or a bite.

Then I saw a second Dragonfly enter the stage and join the first in a high speed aerial duet that was dazzling to the eye. It lasted a few seconds before they gracefully parted to go about their solitary Dragonfly business.

A wonderful place. Inside.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

it was dad-gum embarrassing to hear clips of sarah palin's "goshdarnit this" and "doggonit that" during the american veep debate last week. do her handlers truly think america wants/needs elly-may clampett a heartbeat away from the oval office? the whole point of electing leaders is that they have demonstrated AN ABILITY TO LEAD. i do not want a "regular" "average" "ordinary" "joe sixpack" or "joe lunchbucket" anywhere near the white house, or as PM of canada for that matter.

forgive me, but i want important political decisions that are going to affect my future -- and the future of this seriously troubled planet -- to be made by intelligent, articulate, well-educated people with an understanding of foreign affairs, economics, climate change and social issues; people who get that freedom of religion includes freedom FROM religion. i would be really impressed if the candidates knew MORE about all of these issues than i do. yet, strangely, intelligence in a candidate has somewhere along the way become a negative thing. intellectual = elitist = too hoity-toity for The Average Voter to understand or appreciate. in canada, some people seem to think that wearing a sweater makes you look more like a warm-and-fuzzy "ordinary" citizen and therefore deserving of a majority government. i have nothing against sweaters, in fact i own quite a few of them, but if i ever run for office i sincerely hope that people don't vote for me merely because i shop at eddie bauer.

i recently heard somebody theorizing that american voters liked george w. bush because they felt he was someone they could sit down and have a beer with. that "ordinary joe" thing. i don't know how true that is -- but it did seem to work for ralph klein here in severely normal alberta. up in good ol' snow white alaska, just this side of russia, ms. palin -- she of all those doggone main-street yankee values like moose-hunting, book-banning and revenge-firing -- seems to genuinely believe that she's qualified for the vice-presidency of the united states of america because, gee whiz, she is able to find a soccer field with an SUV! and there are people who applaud her for this.

sorry, but i don't think being a soccer mom or a hockey dad demonstrates that you are qualified for anything except maybe capable doing a lot of laundry and treating a dozen rug rats to an occasional post-tournament pizza.

and should you really cast your vote for someone on the basis of how much of a "regular joe" they are; regular as in they are fun to have a drink with because they drink coors and not cab sav? i know a lot of people who are really fun to drink with, but i wouldn't want any of them near the red phone when the planet is invaded by aliens; or having the power to decide whether i should be allowed to have an abortion or marry a same-sex partner. why? because they're ordinary. and being the leader of a nation and making those kinds of decisions is not ordinary work. it takes brains, and integrity, and a sense of fairness, and justice, and tolerance, and enthusiasm and a special kind of energy and vision and passion and compassion ... and that is why most of us are not qualified to do it. most of us, thankfully, recognize this, and that is why we are so glad and grateful when that rare someone comes along who IS qualified to do it.

one of the recurring side themes on the now-defunct West Wing television show involved the fear that u.s. president jed bartlet was "too smart," and the concern (from within his own party) that his intelligence might be held against him on election day -- people don't want a smarty-pants in the white house, after all.

frankly, i'll take a smarty-pants over an "ordinary joe" any day.

it is not unreasonable to expect some measure of the extraordinary, of the exceptional, from the people who want to lead your country into the future. from the people who are asking for your vote.

your plain, old, ordinary vote.

remember this on october 14.
spare us the ordinary.
vote smart.

I think when ordinary working people come home, turn on the TV and see … a bunch of people … at a rich gala all subsidized by taxpayers claiming their subsidies aren't high enough when they know those subsidies have actually gone up, I'm not sure that's something that resonates with ordinary people.

So let's see, ordinary people. Hmm, he's saying artists aren't ordinary. So who is: police, cashiers, neurosurgeons, unemployed street people? Just, who, Mr. Harper, is ordinary and who isn't? We "artists," writers, musicians, dancers, painters, sculptors, singers, actors, etc. aren't ordinary. Hell, we float down from the clouds, perform our works and then go back to gilded halls of champions. We don't need to buy food, pay rent, sleep or socialize. We're aliens I guess, living in our special niches high on the rocks.

He even mentioned taxpayers. No body told me, that as an extraordinary artist person that I can actually not pay taxes. I'll apply for that right away since I'm a taxpayer and an artist but I therefore can't be ordinary. Oh and I go to galas every week, in my head maybe. Galas, puhleeze, Mr. Harper, get your facts straight and stop making sweeping generalizations. As a taxpayer, an ordinary person I very much want to see the culture of my country and not a carbon copy of the US's culture. I want to have Canadian individuality.

The only "galas" I've ever gone to have been those I've paid for and usually at conventions. Granted I'm a small peas writer and not a big name singer or actor but all of those people have worked hard and long to get where they're going. Should we never have a gala to recognize the best in their fields? Is this is what Harper is suggesting? Just how many galas are there? I bet there are fewer than the ones the politicians attend especially when they're doing fundraising for their campaigns.

Art and culture consists of far more than watching TV, Mr. Harper. It involves plays, concerts, art for walls and halls and front lawns of government buildings. It involves things to read and things to look at, a break for the "ordinary person" from the dreariness or just plain hard work of a job. It provides entertainment and humor, and a release of tension. It provokes joy and sorrow with deeper thoughts and discourse into our everyday life. The pen is mightier than the sword for a reason.

Speaking of swords and other sports, if you subsidize athletes, artists of the body as much as dancers are, then why not subsidize the arts? It all falls under entertainment.  Many regimes through history have tried to muzzle their artists. The governments fear what the art may point fingers at. China is an example of some of the muzzling being done. But I'd say that Harper's gang is trying to muzzle any arts they disapprove of and doesn't represent the views they want put forward.

I have to go now and put on my subsidized ball gown so I can go to another subsidized artists' gala that all those ordinary people are going to watch on TV but not care about. But one last point to Stephen Harper: perhaps if you didn't slash funding to the arts and censor it, then you might have got a truly original speech all those years ago as opposed to having to use the Australian prime minister's recycled speech. plagiarized

The ants are busy patrolling the passion fruit plant and they are not interested in honey. I tried a bit to see if one would stand still long enough to get a shot with the strongest lens – shortest depth of field/focus. Not interested.

A greying mantis was out exploring, yes greying – he looked aged to me, making his way slowly through the forest of greenery that is the passion plant.

The neon fly is back in numbers, a beautifully coloured creature that flits around the greenery with its mates. Impossible to shoot on the wing but it often stops still for a while, especially in the shade.

The sun has the effect of enlivening the little forms of life, no surprise there – the sun is the symbol of the source of life, inner and outer. It’s the same with the dragonflies and the damselflies, the ants, the mantis and the snakes.

And people, more noticeably in the colder northern hemisphere.

*

I suspect the name passion fruit comes from the abundance of growth and the delicious sweetness of the fruit. But mostly from the exotic looking flower that is testament to the magnificent beauty that is its nature, its instinctive nature. And the spiritual impulse behind that makes it manifest.

I see it inside as a soft singing, a multi-coloured note in the song of life, a passionate one. Not at all insignificant.

*

Saw a snake today, slowly and silently making its graceful way across the trail. A brown snake, about three foot long. It’s the first I’ve seen in the Billinudgel NR in over a year walking there. There is nothing like the appearance of a venomous snake to instantly raise the body's intelligence to high alert, telling in a quickening of the eye to focus and a heightened awareness of the surrounds. Though in this case there was no cause to action. Hello snake, goodbye.

As I walk the trail I am aware of any sudden movement to either side, good peripheral vision. Noticeable movement usually means something for me to investigate. I take note of where the movement starts and stops and after a few moments of looking I approach carefully, slowly.

Sometimes it doesn’t stop but eventually returns to where it moved from. This is a habit of dragonflies. They have particular places where they often sit and watch from.

*

Standing there on the trail, one I haven’t been on for a while because of all the rain, waiting for the dragonfly to return to her perch, I was delighted when she landed on my walking stick instead.

She didn’t stay long. I turned the stick slowly so the dragonfly was visible in the sun and she just edged back to the shady side. There was no way I could get a picture of her at the time but she did go back to her perch very soon after. She had two perches near me where she would stand in the sunshine keeping an eye out for any passing food.

It is necessary to be patient with the little creatures, especially in the wild places where they don’t know people at all. Their instinct knows to run from danger but it can also tell harmless when it is demonstrated.

Harmless is demonstrated by slow deliberate non-threatening movement on my part. Inside it is best to take no thought other than the aim of being there in that moment, which is just to get in position to capture an image. Which, when you know what you are doing, is an action more of the body than the mind.

Accept no emotion such as disappointment when she flies away, and no anxious stalking. An inner gratitude to the creature for allowing its picture to be taken is not a bad idea either.

Thank you little one, for giving a little of thy magnificent beauty. Why not? It goes back to the source.

*

And then there was the Damselfly in the late afternoon sun. The sun was going down and I knew, or thought, if I was to see any creatures it would be near water. So I went towards the old sand mine which is now a small lake.

She was the only creature moving that was big enough to photograph. A real beauty with her wings shining in the rapidly fading sunlight, and the colours. She moved from place to place and each time I had to work to get in position until she perched above me on a branch and I just couldn’t hold the camera still enough anymore.

She made me earn my crust then but she, life, was just teasing me. Trying to tease some reaction out of me. But I had none, just physical strain. Life does that sometimes doesn’t it, teases the reactive self into the light for me to see and give up? Or give in?

*

When there are no creatures to investigate I give my attention to what is present. The sensation inside, the green leaves of the bushes, the ever present sound of the ocean beating in waves on the shore, and of the birds before they settle down for the night. The wind on my body, the varying textured material of the meandering trail and the smells of the place. In short, I give my attention to the Earth.

In so doing I often find myself resonating inside to the nature outside, in my body/mind. The one strikes the chord of the other. It is not unlike a musical note that carries on the wind, a never ending spiritual wind, inside. A singing of life that appears in 'outer' space as colour and form, sound and touch and smell – sense – the acknowledgment of which re-touches a place inside that is trouble free.

And when I get home and if I sit in the darkness, looking inside, the nature I have acknowledged often reverberates in my inner space. Not as thought or feeling – emotion, but deeper than that, as itself – the beauty it is, the simple peace it is. Peace of mind.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

"What sort of country do we want to live in?" asks Margaret Atwood in the Globe and Mail today.

She makes an eloquent argument for supporting the arts in all their forms, and takes Harper to task for characterizing "ordinary people" as cultural Scrooges. Everyone consumes art - not necessarily free-verse poetry but concerts, plays, television, books and anything else creative you care to name. We are the artists too: People photograph, draw, whittle, sing, whatever.

And then she does more damage on the Hidden Agenda front than any Liberal attack ad in years. "Every budding dictatorship," Atwood goes on, "begins by muzzling the artists, because they're a mouthy lot and they don't line up and salute very easily." The last third of her article is dedicated to turning around the "ordinary people" claim and framing Harper as the dangerously out-of-touch one.

Luckily for the Tories, Atwood works in print and not television. If the opposition parties were smart they'd get this thesis on the air.

Read the article before it goes behind the Globe's pay wall.

Painting: Red Maple by A.Y. Jackson

Dragonflies are beautiful creatures, their colours and sleek air travelling design are appealing to me. And magnificent hunters, apparently masters in their domain - the air to some feet above the ground in this case.

I love to watch them seemingly defy any common sense of what a flying creature its size can do, darting this way and that, flashing colour as they go, turning right angles at speed with ease and taking their prey on the wing. Their manoeuverability is really impressive.

Their shape is not dissimilar to the helicopter that is also such a successful predator in mans wars. I wouldn’t be surprised if some clever fellow got the idea from watching these little fellows, probably in a moment of silence – when he or she stopped trying to figure the design.

That’s often when the solution to an apparent problem arrives, in silence of mind.
 

The sky was filled with Dragonflies. Tens of them in the air above the trail to a height of about fifteen feet. One occasionally chasing the other as I watched from the ground against the background of the sky. They were easy to see.

When I got to the trail I noticed one dragonfly was holding position two to three feet above the trail against a strong cross wind. Then every now and again patrolling up and down a sunny stretch about ten metres long. Chasing off any other dragonflies that came along, apparently.

Every now and then a small brown butterfly would come down the trail, across the wind, and the dragonfly would chase it in a quick circle before it went into evasive flutter mode and the dragonfly gave up on it. Intelligent butterflies.

Once I saw a larger brown butterfly come down the trail chased by the dragonfly, then turn on it and chase the dragonfly. The dragonfly did a quick retreat and went about its business.

Made me laugh that, the prey turning on the predator. So much for masters in their domain, maybe he was a learner?
 

There’s always someone bigger and stronger until you get to the end of the line. Always a greater power just around the corner.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

See? (& I hate that song)

But!

Someone's not afraid to 'Rock The Mic' (wink, wink)

& to prove it, John Legend's new song w/ Kanye West is completely off the hook. I can't stop listening to it.

Sucky quality, I know, but you get the idea.

Say what you want about him, but he's ill. I'm team Kanye.

Thanks man.

I love this one too

& A ¡Bonus! for ur listening pleasure:

The original soulful white boy everyone thought was Puerto Rican then mad when they found out he was Italian then embraced him anyway, Jon B. (Accompanied by a Mr. Paul Wall on the track).

Who cares, that song is hot & Jon B. knows how to make a good record:

Whooaaa

& Don't forget

aaaaaoooowww (that also goes quite nicely with Koffee Brown's After Party if ur DJ'ing)

ah, white soul.

Love,

*Ms. Officer

Around the garage they went first, just one circuit, then out the door two feet above my head making small soft whistles as they went. Talking to each other.

Then they sat on the power line outside and watched. I am careful not to do anything that may be threatening to them, or the nest. They are a sweetness in the place, in me, and I am pleased they came.
 
The weather is warming to Aussie spring and the insects are coming out too. Walking down the track to Billinudgel NR I noticed movement, just a flicker of shadow on the light sandy ground. And it stopped, then started, then stopped again on the ground to the side of the trail.

I stood still, waiting to see what it was. It was bigger than a bee and smaller than a dragonfly but until I got close I couldn’t know. When it stopped I had to keep my eye on the spot so as not to lose it in the debris of the forest floor, such is its camouflage.

I approached the spot slowly and fluidly, no sharp movement. As I got to it I could see it was a Damselfly, probably so named because they are pretty creatures in their colour and form, who knows. But they are pretty creatures.

Three different spots, it was not easily spooked.
 
There are many buds on the passion fruit plant at the back of the house and if I am lucky there will be many flowers too, soon enough. When I was looking I saw the neon flies are coming back too, what a work they are to capture.

I didn’t have the time to chase one of them around for a picture but one fiery eyed tiger fly stood still long enough for me to capture his image.

An interesting creature with a face in his face, as it were. If you look close enough you might see your self.

‘Here’s lookin at you babe!’ 'Old friend.'
 
Later in the afternoon I was out back of the house where there is a big bucket that catches rainwater from the roof. I noticed movement on the water and saw it was a honey bee when I got close enough. It was drowning.

Its movement was slight as if it was exhausted from its struggle so I put a large leaf under it and lifted it out. It didn’t have much energy left and it was wet and the night was coming with its cold. Cold to a bee that is used to spending the night tucked up with its mates in the warm hive.

So I did what I could for it. I put it on a piece of wood and covered it from the last light of the day and the coming night with some shells from the table. When I put a square of tissue in with it the bee climbed onto it and settled down.

It needed to dry off and the tissue would wick the water from its furry body, or else it would surely die that night.

It did, die. It makes non sense to be attached to anything, it dies.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

John Legend does a dope live set at a Sony BMG event in Hong Kong. Above he performs two new joints (Good Morning, This Time) off his upcoming album, Evolver. Hit the jump for a few of his previous hits. Shouts to Josh on the heads up!

Save Room

Used to Love You

Ordinary People

I love when God blesses "what we would consider" a ordinary person or even handicapped person and equips them with extraordinary gifts.

What is the extraordinary in you? Are you finding the extraordinary in others? Don't just pass up the normal...the everyday...Live Well/Be Well.

Beautiful shades of golden yellow and orange silk petals spread to the afternoon sun soaking up its light as the knowledge, from behind, of ‘flower’ – this flower. Radiating its colour, form and texture. Taking from the ground the matter necessary to hold the form, however fleeting, to converge at the centre to transmit its message up the totem into the world of passing insect sense. Love me! It cries.

To people too, deep inside.
 
[caption id="attachment_758" align="alignnone" width="710" caption="This Flower"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_757" align="alignnone" width="709" caption="And This One"][/caption]
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

Knowing the dark side of human nature there is a certain wariness when meeting a stranger in the bush. A certain openness usually allows space to gauge the other.
 
The sun was warm on my straw hat and the cool breeze blew through the vents in its side. I was aware of the easy gait of my body, the pleasure it is to walk, the sensation in my hips and down my legs as they took the weight. The ease with which the body balances when it isn’t misaligned.

The rough silky grain of the wooden walking stick, cut from a tree a long time ago, was apparent in my hand, the colour light to my eye. I don’t use it much walking in a straight line on a relatively flat surface so it was balanced on my shoulder some of the time, and in my hand. Nicely balanced.
 
Around noon the sun is high on the N to S trail and very quickly I felt it hot on my back, no shade yet. As I walked the cool wind rustled the light spring leaves in the treetops and caused the bigger branches to groan and squeak against each other as they swayed.

Every now and then, though it is always now, I heard the call of one bird or another in the distance through the bush. And sometimes not so distant. Birds talk a lot. If you listen without minding what might be said you can hear deep inside and the body smiles.

The truth of what bird says is in the sound of it. Some sounds go deeper than others and touch different places, as the notes of a piano only much vaster in scale, some are solemn and some may cause you to laugh. Some are stony grim and some are whispers of lightness in the shade of the bush. Some a warning and some an invite.

None are negative. All will take you inside. And it doesn’t serve to name them.
 
A dragonfly greeted me on the path, circled me a few times, and then darted up the trail zig-zagging ahead of me. This one was of the wood, its colour and patterning wouldn’t be seen against the bark of the trees that grow here. I was pleased to see him, or her.

The damselfly’s are out as well, lightly coloured blue, gossamer wings glistening in the sunlight. Beautiful little things.

And one grey grasshopper bouncing around the dusty, sandy, stony trail. Seemingly lost in that desert six feet wide.
 
I went down a side trail that is rarely used and is overgrown with fern and bushes and small trees hung with lichen and creepers in places. Occasionally speckled with yellow petals from the bush flower endings. Here and there a fallen tree closed the trail to form another going around it.

This is a very old forest, you can feel it, you can see it now and again in the rotting three foot diameter trunks lying on the earth, host to a host of plants and creatures. A forest in themselves, shades of green and brown riven with ancient tracks.

A startled wallaby bounded through the bush to my right. Off down a trail I know only leads to swamp, where I can’t go. A flash of light brown as it disappeared into the shadowed bush. There are a lot of them around here, usually seen crossing the trail at dusk.
 
When I got back to the car the other fellow was making a cup of tea and we talked for a few minutes. I could see his car was chock-a-block with stuff. He also has some automatic night photography equipment he uses in an attempt to capture an image of the local mythical wildlife, the marsupial dingo.

I hadn’t heard of this before but he was serious in his quest.
 
I think the rarest animal is the man content in his being.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

Pict diatas adalah pictnya Bunga Zainal. Aktris yang meranin suci. Masih ingatkan dengan grup arisanku??.
Nah...Nama lengkapnya Bunga Nurlaila Martha Sari Zainal Fazri panggilannya  Bunga  zainal. Dalam berperan Bunga aktris yang oke punya menurutku. Dia bisa menjiwai setiap karakter yang diperankannya. Sebelum suci, Bunga dulu main di Pacar Pilihan juga Perawan Desa. Duhh, aku lupa apa aja ya judul-judulnya. Yang aku ingat dan aku lihat cuman suci. Di suci Bunga bermain apik dengan Rezky Aditya.

Teman-teman arisanku sering membicarakan mereka. Andaikan mereka "jadian", duh...senangnya......
Hmmm, kita-kita aja yang nggak ngejalani bisa merasa bahagia, apalagi yang menjalaninya ya...hehehhe

Kata Jeng Sintia Bunga orangnya lucu dan manja. Jeng Betty lain lagi, katanya Bunga orangnya kalem dan percaya diri. Kalau menurut aku sih, Bunga orangnya cantik alami. Kecantikannya khas Indonesia asli, tanpa blasteran. Ya iyalah...Bapak ibunya kan asli Indonesia, jadi Bunga cantiknya Indonesia banget...Aku suka dengan wajah-wajah seperti ini. Wajah tak berdusta...heheheh

Moga-moga Bunga nggak salah pergaulan seperti artis-artis lain ya...tiba-tiba Jeng Sum, tetanggaku yang tradisional habis , berkata. "Pergaulan di kota megapolitan (hmmm, Jakarta termasuk megapolitan, cosmopolitan, atau masih metropolitan yah?) harus sangat berhati-hati. Apalagi di kalangan selebriti yang mudah sekali aksesnya baik di dunia "kegelapan","remang-remang" atau dunia "terang"," Jeng Sum melanjutkan. Wah, meski tradisional abis jeng Sum ternyata gaul juga ya. Aku sempat berpikir, oohh...pantas aja jeng Sum gaul abis...dia kan langganan internet juga. Unlimited malah koneksinya. Hmm, aku masih perlu belajar banyak dari orang-orang seperti Jeng Sum ini....

And the boy was delighted, he loved digging holes, and he loved to help. So he set about digging the best hole he could with his boy’s tools.

The boy enjoyed his work and every now and again he would call out over his shoulder; “Is this a good hole?”

He enjoyed digging his hole so much he didn’t even notice the years go by and the boy grew into a man, at least on the outside.

Over time he stopped asking if the hole was any good because he never got an answer. He just focused on the hole.

And through the years he found bigger and better tools to dig his hole with until he had the biggest hole on Earth. And the biggest piles of rock and dirt.

Still he kept on digging, because he just loved digging holes.
 
When he couldn’t make the first hole any bigger he would just start another one somewhere else. And a third, the fourth and on and on he dug.

Before he knew it the man was old and grey and eventually he even forgot why he started digging the hole in the first place.

Along the way he had even invented this ginormous hole digging machine that was selling so well he could never want for anything should he live a thousand years.

Still he went on digging.
 
One day as the old man was sitting down after a hard days digging and wondering, not for the first time, “why the hell am I digging this damn hole?” God came up to him and asked him; “Have you had enough of digging holes yet son?”
 
Just then there was a mighty crash of mechanical force as the garbage man did his rounds outside the window and the young boy woke from his nap with a start. “Uh!”

He got up, dimly recollecting a dream of digging holes, and went to his mum who was preparing food in the kitchen and hugged her around the knees.

“M’goin owt back t’play ma”, he said. She smiled at her little boy. “Don’t ya go diggin no holes f'me t'fall'n owt dere, will ya?”

Just then a light flashed in his head. “N'way ma.” He said as he ran out into the garden.
 
Little Angels
 

 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

Right now I can’t hear anything but water hitting the roof of the house. It’s pouring down. Thunder rattling through the house.

God is pouring down the water of life to thunderous applause, how else could it be? Whatever dies is life to something.

And whatever lives dies. There’s only life left, or is it death.

The more one is inside the more whole the outside looks, inside.
 
Outside it all looks the same to the uninitiated, work is work, weather is weather, people are people.

But, really, one is the other. When I am less than two inside.

The passage is sometimes a deluge and you have to be careful not to get flooded or washed away.

Just stay out of the flow if you can. To the high ground where little lives. A hazardous climb. A slippery slope.

It’s where the sun shines first. Inside.
 
If you get to the top and the water keeps rising stand on your toes, look to the stars, breathe carefully and pray for help.

And if it still keeps rising? "Swim laddie!"
 
[caption id="attachment_688" align="aligncenter" width="658" caption="A Little Fire"][/caption]
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

Makes me wonder about the ordinary people living in nations that are "demonized" by Western media and politicians.  Or the reverse as well. How do Westerners feel when their countries are badmouthed or threatened by other nations?

Does living in a "terrorist state" or "the axis of evil" make you feel as if the West considers all who live in Iran or Afghanistan or North Korea or Sudan as evil terrorists?  Does it make you want to rise up against your government in order to wipe out the evil that the Western politicians have identified? Or do those descriptions make you angry enough that you feel defensive for your country .... even if you really don't "believe in it"?

Countries often impose sanctions upon "disobedient" nations in order to get the leaders to obey the will of The Powerful.  I believe The Powerful have high hopes that the ordinary people will get so tired of being denied useful items that they will rise up and throw out their corrupt governments.  Iraq was under heavy sanctions for years yet that never happened.  Are there examples where sanctions have worked out as planned?  We say we don't want to hurt the ordinary people, but that's exactly what happens.  Do you think Saddam Hussein and his boys suffered along with the ordinary Iraqis?

Just something on my mind lately especially when I learned recently that a friend was denied downloading a web browser simply because he lived in Syria. Here is an ordinary, peaceful, kindhearted human being unable to download Google Chrome because he was unable to check that "I certify that I do not live in Iran, Afghanistan, North Korea or Syria."

Give me a break!   Thoughts?