Here's my first piece of writing from this new more truthful place. I don't know what I think of it. It's not in line with my professed values, but it's more truthful than pretending. It's starting from where I am.
If anyone has any comments, I would love to hear them (not that anyone ever does :p). (Jared - you constructively criticise mine and I'll constructively criticise yours *nudge nudge* [if you give me the url that is]).
Goodnight!



Jenna Carlyle


There was war even here. The tiny vessels of single men who could not stand, they made their way in undetected to the home front itself. If you don’t go to the war, it will come and meet you where you are, my grandmother used to say. She was there on the day the city way down under was filled with the sounds of that creeping battle. A shell went right by her head, she said. How surreal, when you think you’re so far from the perils of that elsewhere battle, safely tucked away in an unimportant continent, but the war comes to you. Meets you on your own turf.
My grandmother was always talking about war as though we were still in the middle of one. I remember when she lived with us. Even the house was a battle zone to her. Nothing was safe from the war, she said. She spoke as if The Enemy could come in any second and slaughter us all. When we were on the phone, she would stand there, staring, monitoring what we said, to make sure we didn’t let slip any details that might betray us – address, name, plans for what we would do tomorrow. The moment we uttered the first syllable of some vital detail she would snatch the phone from our hands and slam it down, cutting off the call, then look about wildly and tell us we were mad.
The first time I brought a friend over, Tamryn, I think her name was, she grabbed her by the shoulders and started interrogating her. Who are you? What do you want? Tamryn looked so afraid, I wondered what my grandmother saw in her. I could not see anything but a shocked little girl with tears in her wide eyes. What was it that my grandmother saw there?
She was afraid of shadows. She insisted we take her bed away and leave only a mattress – that way there could be nothing hidden, waiting to get her as she slept. Sometimes at night I thought her fantasies had come true, and I ran to her room to find…just her. Just her, shouting, crying out for help. Midday was the only time of calm. I remember standing with her on our quiet street, straight underneath the sun, feeling so relieved that the shadows had disappeared, while she held my hand and looked down at me, not as though I was about to die or about to betray her, but as though I was her granddaughter.

I don’t imagine her in heaven. Even when she died, when I was eight, someone told me she was smiling down from a better place, but I couldn’t see that. I imagine her as an angel of the world. A shadow angel over my shoulder. Her body died, so she took up sentry duty in my life. Once when I went for a job interview, I heard this inaudible voice in my ear, and I just froze up and couldn’t answer any of the questions they asked me. Then a few months later the company went bankrupt, and the CEO was caught for fraud and sexual harassment of an emplyee. And one night, this unspeaking voice came again suddenly, and I tripped and my shoe fell off, and I had to stop to put it back on. When I got to the bus stop, the bus had just pulled away from the curb, so I got a taxi. Near home, we passed by the bus – T-boned by another as it came up the hill.

Last night an angel hovered over my bed. A different angel. An angel made of light, who was before me, not behind. I looked at her through slits of sleeping eyes, and she whispered secrets into my heart. At midday the next day the voiceless tone, a very different angel, sounded in my head again – and I ignored it and kept walking, out to the middle of an empty football field. I waited. Silent, poised. Slowly, the shadows began to reappear as the sun descended through the sky. They grew longer and longer, and I just stood there, stood in a world of shadows, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around, and there was my grandmother, smiling.

Poverty Level Decreases Globally
(read on and it's not just other people's writings ;)

By Steve Radelet

Steve Radelet is a development expert that has lived for many years in Africa and Asia, taught at Harvard, and worked at the US Treasury. He is currently a Senior Fellow at the Center for Global Development in Washington and economic advisor for President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf of Liberia.


Unicef announced this week that the world reached a remarkable milestone in 2006: for the first time since records have been kept, the number of deaths of children under five years old has fallen below 10 million a year, less than half of the 20 million that died in 1960. The percentage of young children dying has fallen even more dramatically, from about 184 per thousand in 1960 to about 72 per thousand today. That means that out of every 1,000 children around the world, an additional 112 who would have died in 1960 are now living beyond age five.

This terrific news is the latest indicator of the dramatic fall in world poverty over the past few decades. While the percentage of people in the world living with incomes less than $1/day has fallen steadily for several hundred years, world population has grown faster; so the absolute number of people in poverty continued to rise – until it reached around 1.4 billion in 1980. Then one of the most important changes in world history occurred: for the first time ever, the number of people living in absolute poverty started to fall. Actually it started to fall in the 1960s, then it spiked up again during the commodity price shocks of the 1970s, before falling permanently in the 1980s. Since then it has fallen very rapidly to less than 1 billion today.

That’s right: after rising steadily since the beginning of time, the number of people in the world living in absolute poverty has fallen by nearly one-third in less than three decades. Amazing.

Of course, much (but not all) of the reduction in poverty is centered in Asia. But one of the most remarkable things about the fall in child morality rates reported by Unicef is the fact that it occurred in every region of the world. Even in sub-Saharan Africa, under-five mortality has fallen from 277 per thousand in 1960 to 160 per thousand today...

--see the rest of the article at http://files.tikkun.org/current/article.php?story=2007091611512481


Isn't that amazing? I mean, amongst all the doom and gloom that dominates our talkings of the world in terms of cultural criticism, there is real, quantitative data that would tell us we need to consider the true complexity of the situation and think 'hey, maybs this idea is more based on the way I perceive things than how the world actually is'. Cultural studies, i'm talking to you!
The thing with cultural studies is that it ignores everything else but 'well, i reckon it's this way becuase I do' - yes, there could be things to support it, but then there's also things that don't support it, that support something entirely different. Which makes me think that of postmodernists, poststructuralists, cultural constructivists etc. By looking at the world and saying 'oh look, heaps of people see things in heaps of different ways; therefore there is no such thing as anything innate or true' and yet people disagree with this position based on their own experience, so it really contradicts itself...
Anyway, I'm just trying to explore an approach that is not common in cultural studies and against which there is a definite bias (although I am studying a field that's all about 'power relations' and how those dominant meanos are oppressing everyone else, so perhaps the answer is that I'm in the wrong field...).
I'm on a break now (well, not officially until Friday, but all I have to do before that is a 600 word story, which is not like an essay) - such a relief. (The lovely sounds of mum's crime show are coming in from the other room...don't you love hearing terrified people screaming for their lives to some psychopathic murderer? music goes on...ah, much better). This essay I handed in today was horrible. I just couldn't get words out, so that something that could have taken me a couple of hours ended up keeping me up until 2:30 this morning and then stressing to finish it in the break between my lecture and tutorial. Not to mention yesterday I forgot my wallet (thankfully did not get fined - the nice station guard man let me off with a warning [honesty pays in these situations]), left my usb lid at the library (not a biggie, but part of the picture), finished an assignment right when it had ot be handed in and ran around trying to print it, drove a few hundred metres with the handbreak on, got half way to the podiatrist and realised I forgot my orthotics so had to turn around and go home....A crazy day, was yesterday (although it is nice to realise that i was a bit stressed, but not really so stressed, and if this is the hardest part of my life, then I'm pretty freaking blessed, ay).
And after all this crazyness and many things coming together in my life, I spent a little while last night (in a break from not writing my essay) experiencing something that I never have before - truth, or the inklings of. You see, everything's culminated in the realisation that I'm trying to walk before I've even learnt to crawl. So I'm really back tracking, or so it seems, although it's really more like going 'back' in order to go forward, which isn't really back but it's so very forward. Back tracking to real basics.
It's really nice.


"Do not accept anything simply because it has been said by your teacher, or because it has been written in your sacred book, or because it has been believed by many, or because it has been handed down by your ancestors. Accept and live only according to what will enable you to see truth face to face."
- Buddha, as quoted in *Peace Is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life* by Thich Nhat Hanh


A dedication to knowing the truth
Rather than knowing about it.

It's simple really -
simply a step,
like a toddler
just learning to walk
who has to really stretch themselves
to climb that big person's stairway.

It helps when the load is lighter
The hike becomes easier
When you look through your pack
And sort out all that stuff,
When you put it down for a moment
And assess the situation -
Where you are,
Where you want to go,
What you need to get there,
And what you don't.