Instead of studying what’s wrong with us to eradicate it, study what is right to emulate it!
The stoic philosopher Epictetus believed that: ‘It’s not things that upset us, it’s our view of things.’
We all have inherent tendencies to certain negative thoughts that evoke unhappiness and disturbance. Once we accept that fact, we can learn to spot these negative thoughts as they arise and then challenge and re-think them.
Or just stop thinking negatively:Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
Cognitive therapy is all about learning about how our thoughts create our moods; I can recommend it.
It teaches one to test one’s negative thoughts, which become beliefs which become thunderstorms.
Looking at them closely discloses their falseness, so they can be discarded.
Having grown up in  Africa with its history of different loyalties, ethnicities, languages and monarchs, it is refreshing to experience the casual pride and almost universal pleasure of Australians on the national holiday.
The weather is invariably hot, so outdoor visits to bodies of water are mandatory. Beaches, rivers and pools are soon surrounded by near naked flesh and flimsy gazebos.
Children frolic and squirm away from suncream lotions and sun hats; adults expose their tattoos and drink beer from as soon as the tent is up.
Even the roads are relaxed and festive with a number of cars festooned with national flags, fluttering in the slipstream.
XXXX, Jimmy Barnes and iced prawns are the iconic choices of the majority.
Personally I think he’s a pig: big, orange, clever and dangerous.
But he has generated thoughts and movement and stirred outrage – which I am glad to see.
My first thought is: why do so many find solace in his offerings?
My second thought relates to the stridency of the relatively newly anointed disadvantaged groups, particularly black people and women – that’s what I want to take a dab at.
As historical barriers are removed and cultural confines lifted, black people and women have stepped forward and taken the lead in many enterprises.
Numbering their advances and expecting some sort of parity with historically more numerous white males in leadership roles is not a justifiable measure, it’s a political club to be wielded by the strident.
This very stridency may explain some of the support for Trump: people who feel threatened by the increasing anti-discrimination actions, which frequently enshrine the premise that if a person feels unfairly discriminated against, then that feeling is de facto discrimination.
What has happened of course, is that the stridency of those recently empowered groups has increased and there has been a new cohesion and legitimacy attached to their causes.
Protests in such large numbers such as the women’s anti-Trump marches have thrown up some bitter antagonism seen in blog- attacks on the lack of harassment experienced by the mainly white women marchers compared to past protests by black people.
Talk about losing the plot!
The orange Donald will relish the in-fighting between the two biggest discrimination claimant groups.
… I would decree that all homeowners would be required to have rainwater tanks, solar energy, grow vegetables and fruit in their garden and keep chickens.
In this little garden, we have a few basic herbs: parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme (I feel a song coming on)Â Â as well as chives, lavender, garlic and turmeric.
We will soon have a sufficiency of lemons and the yellow guava tree has a score of fruit. I cut down my first paw-paws for not producing enough fruit, but one has re-sprouted and the sprout has two fruit. Hopefully, it will be a lesson for my two new-fangled, self-pollinating red papayas, which are really shooting up. Our fig tree should bear next summer and our solitary pineapple is nearing fruition.
Our raised-from-seed granadillas gave us a score of fruit in their first year; if we are lucky we will get a second harvest.
The chubby maroon cherry guava looks like it’s perfect for harvest. Sadly, it’s too late – it is already over-ripe and will have a rotten, fermented fruit taste and smell and likely a number of lively fat grubs.
I have never seen such a bountiful crop. I munch one or two green-yellow skin ones which are at the safely edible stage of ripeness; I don’t see any worms, but then I don’t look.
The rainbow lorikeets add their greens, reds and yellows to the tree and at night the flying foxes squabble over them. I bet they can smell the fruit from a mile away.
I think of my grandmother, who we called Gogo (pr: gawkaw) in the Swazi way. She would boil them up and strain them through muslin to make guava jelly – the perfect accompaniment for the impala roasts of the winter to come. We got to lick the wooden spoon and the bowl.
Now that I have become old and fat, I have become an anti-sugar Nazi, so can’t make the jelly which requires pounds of the sweet poison. But it saddens me. I am happy when my friend Grant comes and noshes a few of the fruit, recalling his childhood too.
Would you like some tree tomatoes! Called tamarillos here, they are bountiful on my tree and I can’t eat them all. Flying foxes and possums find their smooth waxy skin too difficult, so I have to dispose of the whole crop. Lots of giveaways, to protect me from gout, caused by too much tomato. (Definitely not beer!). What will I do when the second tree comes into fruit? – I may have to go commercial!
Our bountiful garden gives me great joy. A hydroponic system is under consideration but may be too finicky; chickens have been vetoed. I am not yet King of Australia.
Some people (mostly rich) believe numbers tell you all you need to know.
Well, the buck stops here, with me!
I reject the tyranny of numbers. I reject their posture as the only truth and sole ownership of reality.
Numbers don’t count when you talk about the real things in life:
Do you know how much I love you?
How hungry are you?
Are we happy enough?
Numbers are man-made symbols and thus controllable, changeable and malleable; they are powerful propaganda and eminently susceptible to corruption. Despite this, they are used to predict the future and define the past.
Numbers dominate our lives and rule what, when, where and how we live: the budget, the speed limit, age, school grades, wage levels, taxes, social benefits, account numbers, pin numbers, street numbers, profit and loss…
The problem is that numberspeople extend number logic to dealing with people, but people never add up.
They look elsewhere and jump on different horses that pass by; they get bored and seek variety. The main thing about people is that they are wired to take shortcuts. Even though most shortcuts end up in thorn patches and the way back seems different… so they take time (another domineering number) to get home.
But getting lost is an adventure with new experiences, trials and people – horizons are broadened; America could be discovered – ask Columbus!
Do everyday people really need to know how many miles it is to Pluto? Or how long it would take to get there?
Can we not survive on:
very far (the number of miles to Pluto)
quite a while (how long it will take to get there)
more than I can imagine or more and more each day (that’s how much I love you)
Let us practice the avoidance of numbers:
describe goals and ideals without recourse to numbers;
use words that are meaningful and emotive, passionate and powerful
break away from the sterility and bondage of exactness!
So try a little absence of exactitude, bask in a bit of vagueness.
This is a form of corruption whereby people in office unfairly enable favourable access to state resources for their benefactors and abandon their duty to protect the state’s interests.
I follow the news of the sub-continent of my birth and read with interest the reports on “state capture” in South Africa. This is supposedly secret corruption which loots the government revenue intended for all citizens, inflates project costs and denies fair competition.
Government ministries, processes and security services have been corrupted by the appointment of corrupt and pliant associates, apparently at the direction of a wealthy  family that has spread its tentacles wherever government money is to be had.
In Australia, the curse of the resources boom blunted governments’ abilities to ensure institutions sufficiently robust to withstand the end of the boom.
The Labor party, dazzled by the riches of the boom and driven by Unions, embedded industrial relations structures that cemented employment costs at unsustainable levels. This has stifled enterprise and competitiveness, crippled essential services and generally hamstrung the political ability to change. Looks like state capture to me.
The recent squirms of the  Labor Party Transport Minister while being skewered over the recent train driver debacle in Queensland are interesting. Not surprisingly the whole issue had been engineered by union demands leading to a shortage of drivers. The union went on to talk about stop work meetings over the new arrangements …Talk about wielding the whip hand.
Then there is the ongoing kerfuffle with the construction union and its bunch of standover artists, holding up project schedules and threatening managers, which started over two years ago; surprisingly unresolved by the Labor government.
One wonders who is pulling the strings and for what purpose? Are the unions aware of the groundswell of opinion swaying to the right? Is the government allowing these infrastructure breakdowns to stimulate electorate outrage and thus justify smothering the unions?
The plot sickens.
When will the pain to the electorate drive government to break the power of the unions to enable economic and social reform to re-open pathways to growth and stability? Something has to happen.
The neo-liberalism of the 1970’s was essentially a swing to the right by western democracies to roll back the structures that socialism was building into society and the economy. Australia missed that bus, which was hidden by the rich dust of the resources boom.
We are now seeing another swing to the right, this time emanating from the electorate, who seem to be rejecting the status quo and the increasing faceless and ineffectual bureaucracies which are resulting in the abandonment of the middle and lower sections of society. Maybe Australia can catch this bus?
It strikes me that what government is all about is control of government revenue, expenditure and the benefits to be derived from the awarding government contracts, (read “backhanders”).
Reading about the patronage in the American Presidential election, makes me wonder if the South African politicians are just clumsy.
It certainly puts a new perspective on the need for changes.
I could see the high treble voice soar up to the vaulted cathedral roof, so agonisingly sweet the tears stung my eyes and I looked around for my brother or my Dad, knowing their voices would have caught in their throats too…
In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone…
Of course, they are not here, one in Heaven and the other in the Swaziland bushveld, (which is near there). But they sent a butterfly angel which floated by as if listening…
Hark the herald angels sing…
More angelic trebles. I think I will be alright; so long as someone doesn’t sing Danny Boy – fortunately, it’s not quite the season. That maudlin, sentimental ditty catches me every time: such a simple declaration of love.
Just to top it off, here is a recording of Away in a manger, which really seized me up and dampened my cheeks. Somehow this child’s prayer has always signified much of God’s love to me.
Away in a manger No crib for His bed The little Lord Jesus Laid down His sweet head
The stars in the bright sky Looked down where He lay The little Lord Jesus Asleep on the hay
The cattle are lowing The Baby awakes A little Lord Jesus No crying He makes
I love Thee, Lord Jesus Look down from the sky And stay by my side, ‘Til morning is nigh.
Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay Close by me forever And love me I pray
Bless all the dear children In Thy tender care And take us to heaven To live with Thee there
Then there was the saintly King Wenceslas and his devoted page:
Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger,
Fails my heart I know not how, I can go no longer…
Mark my footsteps good my page, treads’t thou in them boldly
Thee shall find the winter’s rage freeze thy blood less coldly
There’s a message there.
May you all be blessed by the love of loved ones and happy memories of Christmastime.