Living by the beach, for me, is a very zen component to the quality of life we all chase. Every time I step on the frothy granules of sand, hear the gulls squawk with curious authority and feel the sun breathe life on my skin, I'm part of the world again. When there's a ripple in that balance, it's felt all through the community, even if we shrug and pretend it's nothing to worry about. We don't live directly on the beach, no matter how frequently we visit. That's what we assimilate to as Americans, let alone Surf City-ians.
The recent earthquake in Haiti (and the massive rainstorms we endured thereafter as a result), created a marked disturbance in the carefree day at the beach notion. There's been telethons and informative commercials raising funds to aid the ravaged Haitians, urgency in the collective plea.
I got a FWD text (those are always dubiously received for practical time saving reasons) in which Americans were shamed for having such an interest in Haiti, when we here in the U.S of A have the same issues being overlooked by those lobbying for other nations. I raised a quizzical eyebrow reading it, it seemed a little harsh. Even if I have felt the tugs of poverty, medical bill strain, or daunting insecurity in our "leaders" I wouldn't want anyone else to feel that no matter the semantics involved.
Yesterday I stood on suddenly foreign feeling sands, that political text message popped into mind. I watched the ocean angrily slam into the beach, chopping vengefully at the birds looking for food, hinting at frazzled sea life trying to settle back into routine. The banks themselves stood riddled with debris from boats/structures torn asunder in recent waterlogged weeks. It was faintly frightening. The vibe was listless, the waters S.O.S. message being telegraphed was eerily ignored by the native animal inhabitants, as they were more concerned with keeping up enough to find normalcy.
In all my memories by the water, I've yet to encounter a scene so oppositional from my haven of connectedness. Yet still, how do I feel remotely saddened when I'm still free to retreat to the safety of my home, intact and healthy?
Politics are like math: I deal with it as necessary, but don't go scaring up Algebra for the sake of it. I'd rather use a calculator, focus on the answer and move on (mixing metaphors I know, hear me out). Those in America, as flawed and spoiled as we may be, know what it's like to struggle if we let ourselves remember and ultimately feel thankful for the absence. Ironically, the powers that be seem to be doing to the common man of today what the ancestors fled to this country to escape. In the end, it's not what we talk/think about a situation, but how we live within that knowledge, what we choose to fight for.
The gulls, sandpipers and starfish don't care about the oceanic thundering. They know that it will calm, instinctively. All they want is food, obtaining shelter and fixing the damage, as it's all connected. In that light, all those asking for help are serving humanity well. Passing on good might kick start the stilted circle and we could get some of that attention to our own stranded dwellers, maybe. Minus the aquatic blustering.
Here's hoping.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Tipping The Scales
Laurell K Hamilton is one of my all time favorite writers. Not only is her writing intelligently vivid, tender and candid throughout the multitude of delicious pages, the Anita Blake series is completely compelling, sexy, heartrendingly fun, humorous, and poignantly dark. I jumped into the series around the tenth novel, six years ago at the insistence of a friend. For some strange reason, I decided to read just two of them initially (then read the next three chronologically after those sporadically over the years) and didn't go back to the first book until around October of last year. Life was hectic, or I forgot how much I enjoyed them. Something lame like that.
For the same reason Memento is one of my fave movies, revealing all that lead up to the intro I had to the series is one of my mainstays of escape and relaxation lately, and forever more. Anita isn't a fragile little dandelion concerned with the shallow selfishness that being young yields (which is all too common in feminine prose, no offense), she's a vampire hunting necromancer that struggles continually with the right/wrong human/monster side of her life and those in it. She's justified in most all her extreme actions, striving to maintain the strict, yet ever evolving moral code she adheres to while still struggling to accept joy and normalcy outside her job. People who have the moxie to endear typically terrifying creatures, thoughts and occurrences to this satisfying degree are rare.
I was recently in a courthouse (to support a friend in a gnarly child custody case) and the term "justice" seemed awkwardly vacant within those walls, where it should presumably feel the most prevalent. People shuffling to and fro with tense bemusement at the snail's pace of proceedings, stress beleaguering them as plainly as the business casual attire. There was no buzzing of anticipation louder than a dull hum of ebbing legality, no sense of fairness beyond determining the lesser of two evils. I'm not trying to knock the system, I can't imagine having to delegate people's fate on a daily basis. I'm just relating the experience as it seemed to me, I had some time to ponder. Maybe it was the fantasy/reality contrast of that was so jarring.
The group of people on the opposite bench were trying to bully everyone on our side, quite openly (which is what brought them there to begin with, to put it mildly). They lost the case ultimately, with good reason and the victory was celebrated most by the child trapped in the violent storm, so it was a good day. In that moment of dirty looks and side glances, I summoned my inner Anita, as silly as it sounds. I could have spat in their faces, sinking to their level and below. I could have been a braggart when we won, could have held anger in my heart.
Justice is served best when the actions of retribution are confident in what will be. To be and cause more drama, feeds the fires of chaos. Perhaps when the victim in question is satisfied with their daily life after the crime committed, it's a good day for vindication.
The correlation may be far reaching for some, but in my mind, that's the essence of why the novels are so enthralling and resonating, and I didn't realize it until that day. Instead of chucking all humanity in the face of adversity, meld with it. Let the universe sort out retributions fine print, don't write it yourself.
I eagerly wait to see what Anita does in the awaiting chapters I've yet to enjoy...and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, it will be just what I need.
For the same reason Memento is one of my fave movies, revealing all that lead up to the intro I had to the series is one of my mainstays of escape and relaxation lately, and forever more. Anita isn't a fragile little dandelion concerned with the shallow selfishness that being young yields (which is all too common in feminine prose, no offense), she's a vampire hunting necromancer that struggles continually with the right/wrong human/monster side of her life and those in it. She's justified in most all her extreme actions, striving to maintain the strict, yet ever evolving moral code she adheres to while still struggling to accept joy and normalcy outside her job. People who have the moxie to endear typically terrifying creatures, thoughts and occurrences to this satisfying degree are rare.
I was recently in a courthouse (to support a friend in a gnarly child custody case) and the term "justice" seemed awkwardly vacant within those walls, where it should presumably feel the most prevalent. People shuffling to and fro with tense bemusement at the snail's pace of proceedings, stress beleaguering them as plainly as the business casual attire. There was no buzzing of anticipation louder than a dull hum of ebbing legality, no sense of fairness beyond determining the lesser of two evils. I'm not trying to knock the system, I can't imagine having to delegate people's fate on a daily basis. I'm just relating the experience as it seemed to me, I had some time to ponder. Maybe it was the fantasy/reality contrast of that was so jarring.
The group of people on the opposite bench were trying to bully everyone on our side, quite openly (which is what brought them there to begin with, to put it mildly). They lost the case ultimately, with good reason and the victory was celebrated most by the child trapped in the violent storm, so it was a good day. In that moment of dirty looks and side glances, I summoned my inner Anita, as silly as it sounds. I could have spat in their faces, sinking to their level and below. I could have been a braggart when we won, could have held anger in my heart.
Justice is served best when the actions of retribution are confident in what will be. To be and cause more drama, feeds the fires of chaos. Perhaps when the victim in question is satisfied with their daily life after the crime committed, it's a good day for vindication.
The correlation may be far reaching for some, but in my mind, that's the essence of why the novels are so enthralling and resonating, and I didn't realize it until that day. Instead of chucking all humanity in the face of adversity, meld with it. Let the universe sort out retributions fine print, don't write it yourself.
I eagerly wait to see what Anita does in the awaiting chapters I've yet to enjoy...and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, it will be just what I need.
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