No Foolin’

I have never, ever appreciated practical jokes. Admittedly, I laugh at those played between characters on a sitcom, but gags unleashed on innocent people for the amusement of others is cruel. I am enraged when my alarm clock goes off; the adrenaline jolt from being the butt of a practical joke might turn me homicidal if it doesn’t give me a heart attack first. I can’t imagine anyone likes being the subject of someone else’s prank—unless the prank turns on the prankster and then who looks the idiot?

So April Fools’ is my least favourite calendar occasion. I hold Valentine’s Day in higher esteem, and how little I feel about February 14 is no secret. I do, however, enjoy the irony of April 1 being the first day of the government’s new fiscal year; it seems appropriate, given the unbridled shenanigans we all endure as public servants and/or good taxpaying citizens.

Personal feelings aside, I recognize some folks have a softer view of April Fools’ Day and might enjoy being duped. They may also expect it, which would negate the tone of a more serious piece should such an individual happen on this blog. Which is why I decided to post my (sort of) Easter-themed Sunday piece tomorrow instead.

Oscar Wilde said that life is too important to be taken seriously. Stephen Hawking said life would be tragic if it wasn’t so funny. I won’t deny that (insert deity here) has a sense of humour since if the Creator of All There Is didn’t have one, neither would we. I’m grateful for my ability to laugh at myself, to laugh at life’s absurdities, and to laugh at other people’s perceptions of same. I hope I have never laughed at someone else’s unsuspecting expense, and the best (or worst) practical joke I can think of it is to forward my work phone to the Premier’s office. I won’t do it, though. After all, the Premier doesn’t answer his own phone. A harried and unsuspecting civil servant does, and would probably not appreciate the joke.

Happy Fiscal New Year, folks.

Get a Heart On

I move that we ban romance from Valentine’s Day. Love comes in many shapes and sizes, but let’s face it, romance is about chemical response and doesn’t go the distance. How many diamonds bestowed today will sparkle for the same lover five or ten or fifty years from now?

Oh, Ru, you’re being cynical.

Okay, maybe so. I may be taking the bait set out by the same big eastern syndicate that made Christmas a crass commercial racket. You know the message: that you’re not a winner if you don’t have a lover to ply you with roses and chocolate and a strand of costly bling.

Pah! I say! Who needs a lover when one has love? And I do. Boy, do I ever! I have a life full of people who love me, and whom I love in return. No love of mine is unrequited... except perhaps the torch I carry for John Taylor. Ah, contrast.

I digress. Love, as I say, comes in all shapes and sizes. Love for a friend. Love for family. Love for a pet. Love for a plant. Love for oneself—and this is no small thing. Too many of us think we’re unworthy of being loved and this is simply not so. Everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone is loved by someone, somewhere.

One of the most beautiful poems I have ever read was written by Ravindra Kumar Karnani. I have no idea what inspired me to post it here, but it seems an appropriate sentiment to help anyone who may feel lost, alone or unloved on this day when love seems more important than on any other (which, by the way, it’s not):

God, Speak to Me

The child whispered, “God, speak to me”
And a meadow lark sang.
The child did not hear.

So the child yelled, “God, speak to me!”
And the thunder rolled across the sky
But the child did not listen.

The child looked around and said,
“God, let me see you” and a star shone brightly.
But the child did not notice.

And the child shouted,
“God, show me a miracle!”
And a life was born but the child did not know.

So, the child cried out in despair.
“Touch me God, and let me know you are here!”
Whereupon God reached down and touched the child.

But the child brushed the butterfly away
And walked away unknowingly.

Rest assured, you are loved.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

“Queen of Hearts”

Look at the size of her heart.

You can’t miss it. She wears it on her sleeve. She couldn’t hide it if she tried.

It’s just too big.

It’s been broken. It’s been stolen. It’s been shattered, double-crossed and stomped on, but it’s still beating.

“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”

She has no idea who Rumi was, but he thought of her.

“The wound is the place where the light enters you.”

She knows this better than anyone. Has it stopped her?

It has not.

She has figured out that the wound is also the place where the light leaves you.

She may be little, but her heart is huge. It is open. It is the portal through which her inner light shines to make the world a kinder, more compassionate place. She offers it freely, without fear, giving and forgiving in equal measure.

She is the bravest soul I know.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

“February 14”

I turn my head, and there he is.

Laughing. Happy. Talking with his hands. Expounding on the infinity of space and the magic in moonbeams.

Oblivious.

He walks with a buddy along a busy pavement, past two lanes of traffic, one parked, and the other standing still. He might see me if he looks. Will he recognize my car, stuck in the jam? And if he does, will I see it in his face?

The truck ahead of me crawls forward. I turn my head once more, and there he is.

Moving on.

All You Need

Following “I Am” is “Happy”, a documentary about the science of happiness punctuated with stories of people following their bliss. Turns out that wealth and status account for a whole 10% of our happiness quota. 50% might be DNA-related, which leaves a full 40% of how to get happy up to the individual.

The most powerfully memorable scene in the film featured a comic addressing a junior high assembly. He asked for volunteers who’d been teased or bullied to come forward and tell the other kids how they felt to be on the receiving end. The braver kids actually stood up and shared; by the end of the session, everyone was in tears and the bullied kids were heroes. The voiceover stated that the best thing we can do is teach our children to love.

I thought, Kids are born loving. We have to stop teaching them not to love.

Because that’s what we do. Intentionally or not, love is taught out of our kids and replaced with judgment, jealousy, anger, and fear. It takes time, but eventually, love becomes a commodity or a condition rather than a freely given right of birth.

Ter related an experience she had at the grocery store on the weekend – she met a toddler in the produce department who was happily offering high-fives to everyone he saw. Most people ignored him. Ter didn’t. She leaned in, smiled at him, and gently smacked her palm to his. He loved it. They shared a moment, then went their separate ways.

At the checkout, she spied the little guy in the lineup two tills over. His dad was paying for the groceries and he was sitting in the cart, looking around. When he saw her at a distance, he broke into a grin and thrust his open hand high in salute. High five, lady! He remembered her. They had connected.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. I usually thumb my nose at it, but that was before I realized that the day is a celebration not only of lovers, but of love itself, in all its many forms. Love, love, love. It’s what we are, what connects us, what surpasses barriers of language and culture and social status. Children don’t care what you’re driving or how many vacation homes you own. They only know the person behind your eyes. Ter connected with the little guy at the grocery store. He won’t remember her in years to come, but he recognized her in that moment.

 

High five!