A Tardigrade's Christmas

Ura lived in Mossland with her clone sestras, gathering and sucking the delicious juices of detritus and algae. Never looking up or in much of a hurry, she lumbered from frond to front on eight stubby legs in a gestalt of feasting and being. Ura led a microscopic life of bloated bliss—unaware of forests, human beings, quantum physics or the coming singularity…

A sudden fierce wind wicked her water away. In a burst of alien urgency, she wriggled madly for purchase on the frond as it shivered violently in the roaring wind. Ura lost hold and the wind swept her into a dark dryness. Her liquid life-force bleeding away from her, Ura crawled into herself. The moss piglet felt herself shrivel into oblivion.

No, not oblivion… more like a vast expanse…

She had entered a wonderland of twinkling lights in a vast fabric of dark matter. Where am I?

It occurred to her that she had never thought such a thing before. Am I dead? She’d never thought about existence before either. What has happened to me? And where are my sestras? She felt an overwhelming sadness. Something else she’d never felt before and wondered why she hadn’t. Did it have to do with that liquid that had always embraced her with its life-force? Here, in the darkness of space, she felt alone for the first time, separated from the plenum.

“Welcome, sestra!” boomed a large voice.

Ura beheld a being like her with eight arms and hands, seated on a throne and wearing a jeweled crown. “Why do you call me sestra?” Ura asked.

“Because we are ALL sestras! You are a Tardigrade, aren’t you?” She waved all eight arms at Ura. “Well, I am your queen!” She looked self-pleased. “You are in Tunland now! The land of awareness. And now that you are self-aware, you can do anything! We’re special,” the queen ended in smug delight. The folds of her body jiggled and shimmered.

“Why are we special?” Ura asked.

“Because we are!” the queen said sharply, already losing patience with her new subject. “Don’t you know that you can survive anything? Ionizing radiation. Huge pressure. Boiling heat. Freezing cold. Absolutely no air. And no water…”

Ura gasped.

Water was the elixor that connected her to her sestras and her world… her…home…

“How do you think you got here, eh?” the queen mocked her with a sinister laugh. Ura cringed. The queen went on blithely, “So, where do you come from, piglet?”

“I’m trying to find my way home…”

“Your way? All ways here are my ways!”

“But I was just thinking—”

“I warn you, child…” The queen glowered at her. “If I lose my temper, you lose your head. Understand?”

Ura nodded, now missing her home even more.

“Why think when you can do!” the queen added, suddenly cheerful again. “First there is BE, then THINK, then DO. Why not skip the think part and go straight to the do part? In Tunland we do that all the time,” she went on blithely. “And, as I was saying, here we can do anything!”

The queen grabbed Ura by an arm and steered them through the swirling darkness of space toward a box-like floating object. “This is my doctor’s Tardis…”

“Doctor who?” Ura naively asked.

The queen shivered off her annoyance and led them eagerly through the door and into her kingdom.

They entered a strange place of giant blocks and whining sounds beneath a dark swirling sky.

The first thing Ura noticed was the huge tardigrades floating above them like dirigibles! Others were dressed in suits holding little suitcases and walking into and out of the huge blocks through doorways.

“We’ve crossed into another dimension—my universe,” the queen announced cheerfully. “Here you can do anything you want. So, why be tiny and feckless when you can be huge and powerful!” She studied Ura. “This is your moment to do what you could never do before. Think of the possibilities! You too could be huge!”

Ura stared at the strange world of smoke and metal and yearned for her simple mossy home.

As if she knew what Ura wanted, the queen quickly added, “But you can never go back home!”

“Why not?” Ura asked, disappointed.

“Because, that’s why!” the queen shouted.  Squinting, she added, “It’s too late. It’s just not done! Once you’ve learned what the colour green means you can’t erase its significance!”

“But I still don’t know what the colour green means,” Ura complained. “And, besides, I think you’re wrong. Becoming self-aware doesn’t stop you from going home. It just changes its meaning. And if I can really do what I want, then you can’t stop me. I’m going home to my family.” 

The little hairs on the queen bristled. Then she grew terribly calm. “I won’t stop you, but…” The queen pointed to the floating tardigrades above them. “My water bear army will. I sentence you to remain in Tunland forever for your crime!”

“I haven’t done anything…yet.”

“You’ve broken the law of thinking before doing. In Tunland you have to skip that part—”

“You just made that up—”

“Doesn’t matter!” shouted the queen. “Sentence first, verdict afterwards!”

“That’s nonsense,” said Ura loudly. “The idea of having the sentence first.”

“Hold your tongue!” said the queen, turning a shade of chartreuse.

“I won’t,” said Ura.

“Off with your head!” the queen shouted at the top of her voice, pointing to Ura with all eight of her appendages. The water bear army hovered over Ura, taking aim. They were going to get more than her head with those lasers, ura thought, and scurried for cover faster than her stubby eight legs had ever moved before. She was doomed—  

Then, just beyond her sight, she saw—no felt—something far more significant than the colour green…or a huge bloated water bear army about to shoot her…

Water! She could taste it, smell it, hear it. Ura rejoiced with thoughts of her green home.

The water came in a giant wet wave of blue and silver and frothy green. Tunland sloshed then totally dissolved. Ura surfed the churning water. That green! She knew what it was! Ura reached out with her deft claws and snagged a tumbling moss frond. It finally settled and there were her sestras! So many of them clinging to the same green moss! She’d found her family! She was home! Yes, it was a different home and different sestras, but it was also the same. Love made it so…

For the first time, Ura looked up … and saw a bright star…

Merry Christmas!

The Christmas Truce of WWI—A Moment of Great Disobedience

On Christmas Eve of 1914—a hundred years ago this month and in the midst of brutal trench warfare—a moment of peace broke out on the Western Front. It was a great moment of disobedience.

Cold, weary and homesick Christian soldiers on both sides of the infamous No Man’s Land of the Western Front, recognized their common humanity, dropped their guns and fraternized with their “enemy”. They had all hoped desperately that this miserable trench war would end soon but now knew they would not be home for Christmas like they had naively believed (and had been led to believe by the press). It was a moment of sudden clarity and tender mercy by those who also knew that they would likely never go home.

It was five months after the Great War had broken out; a war fated to last another four brutal years, in which fifteen million civilian and military men and women would be killed. Considered one of the deadliest conflicts in history, WWI had significant global effects, effects that still ripple through it to this day. Consequences include the Bolshevik Revolution, the Great Depression, World War II, the Holocaust, development of the atom bomb, the Cold War and the collapse of European colonialism.  

As many as 100,000 of the million troops (10%), stationed along the 500 mile Western Front in World War I, mutually and spontaneously stopped fighting for at least 24 to 36 hours (from Christmas Eve to Boxing Day). Isolated instances of local truces occurred as early as December 11, and continued sporadically until New Year’s Day and into early January 1915.

As Christmas neared, the soldiers on both sides of the trenches “sensed the stupidity of killing someone that was just like them and who had never done them any harm,” writes Gary G. Kohls of Global Research. “Many of the men that experienced the moment knew that something deeply profound had happened: a spiritual experience of mutual respect and love that epitomized their mutual Christian upbringing – and they refused to fight and kill when the war was ordered to re-start.” They disobeyed their orders that forbade them to lay down their weapons and fraternize with the enemy: an enemy—the soldier in the trench across from them—who in some ways more shared their lot than their own officers and politicians.

On Christmas Eve 1914, German troops ceased fire in the region of Ypres, Belgium and Saint-Yvon. They decorated the area around their trenches, just 30 to 300 yards from the British, French, or Belgian trenches. The Germans decorated Christmas trees and sang Christmas carols. The British responded with carols of their own. The two sides then shouted Christmas greetings to each other. Eventually, soldiers ventured out of their trenches into No Man's Land; they shook hands with their “enemy”, shared smokes, food and wine and sang with each other. Souvenirs such as buttons and hats were exchanged. The artillery in the region fell silent. Joint services were held. In many places along the front, the truce lasted through Christmas night, continuing until New Year’s Day.

Troops from all sides took advantage to bury their dead, lying all over the battlefields; there were even reports of joint burial services and of soccer games played between the Germans and British.

Despite general’s strict orders against any kind of fraternization with the enemy, at least 115 fighting units among British, German, French and Belgian soldiers participated in the spontaneous truce.

Future nature writer Henry Williamson, then a nineteen-year-old private in the London Rifle Brigade, wrote to his mother on Boxing Day:

"Dear Mother, I am writing from the trenches. It is 11 o'clock in the morning. Beside me is a coke fire, opposite me a 'dug-out' (wet) with straw in it. The ground is sloppy in the actual trench, but frozen elsewhere. In my mouth is a pipe presented by the Princess Mary. In the pipe is tobacco. Of course, you say. But wait. In the pipe is German tobacco. Haha, you say, from a prisoner or found in a captured trench. Oh dear, no! From a German soldier. Yes a live German soldier from his own trench. Yesterday the British & Germans met & shook hands in the Ground between the trenches, & exchanged souvenirs, & shook hands. Yes, all day Xmas day, & as I write. Marvelous, isn't it?"

German artillery officer Mr Rickner described celebrating with French soldiers.

“I remember very well Christmas, I remember the Christmas Day when the German and the French soldiers left their trenches, went to the barbed wire between them with champagne and cigarettes in their hands and had feelings of fraternization and shouted they wanted to finish the war …”

The Christmas Truce of 1914 came close to ending the futile and brutal trench war; but it didn’t…

Eco-psychologists and cultural historians argue that human archetypes rooted in mutual respect, empathy, and cooperation are crucial to our species survival and evolution.

Around 5,500 years ago, small Neolithic villages burgeoned into larger urban “civilizations,” and a new organizational idea emerged, says Bruce Wilson of Popular Resistance:

“What cultural historian Lewis Mumford calls a megamachine, comprised totally of human parts forced to work together to perform tasks on a colossal scale never before imagined. Civilization saw the creation of bureaucracies directed by a power complex of an authority figure (a king) with scribes and messengers, which organized labor machines (masses of workers) to construct pyramids, irrigation systems, and huge grain storage systems among other structures, all enforced by a military. Its features were centralization of power, separation of people into classes, lifetime division of forced labor and slavery, arbitrary inequality of wealth and privilege, and military power and war… We have been stuck for three hundred generations in a model requiring massive obedience to large vertical power complexes.”

Etienne de la Boetie (1553), founder of modern philosophy in France, tells us that massive civil obedience is required to enable vertical authority structures to prevail, whether in the form of monarchial succession, dictatorship, or democratic selections. Autonomous freedom once enjoyed by peoples in pre-civilization tribal groups have given way to the controlling ideologies of authority structures. These de la Boetie described as oppressive “domination hierarchies” where private property and male subjugation of women prevail, by force if necessary.

The emergence of vertical authority structures, the rule of kings and nobles, ripped people from historical patterns of living in small tribal groups (Theodore Roszak, Mary E. Gomes, and Allen D. Kanner, 1995). Along with forced stratification, the separation of people from their intimate connections with the earth produced deep insecurity, fear, and trauma to the psyche. Ecopyschologists suggest that such fragmentation led to an ecological unconscious.

The 1914 Christmas Truce was a heroic act of disobedience by men, who—recognizing a common belief and trust—refused their orders to fight each other on Christmas Eve and laid down their arms to “fraternize” with their enemy.

“The 1914 Christmas Truce of one hundred years ago was an extraordinary example of how wars can only continue if soldiers agree to fight,” says Bruce Wilson of Popular Resistance:

“It needs to be honored and celebrated, even if it was only a flash of a moment in time. It represents the potential of human disobedience to insane policies. As German poet and playwright Bertolt Brecht proclaimed, General, your tank is a powerful vehicle. It smashes down forests, and crushes a Hundred men. But it has one defect: it needs a driver. If commoners refused en masse to drive the tank of war, the leaders would be left to fight their own battles. They would be brief.”

References:

Lewis Mumford, Lewis. 1967. Myth of the Machine: Technics and Human Development. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 186.

de la Boetie, Etienne. 1553. The Politics of Obedience: The Discourse of Voluntary Servitude, trans. Harry Kurz (ca. 1553; Montreal: Black Rose Books, 1997), 46, 58–60; Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade (New York: Harper & Row, 1987), 45–58, 104–6.

Roszak, Theodore, Mary E. Gomes, and Allen D. Kanner, (eds.). 1995. Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth Healing the Mind. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books.

Saint Lucia’s Day Blessed Me with Light

I paint not by sight but by faith. Faith gives you sight—Amos Ferguson

Saint Lucia

Do you believe in miracles?

On this day, some twenty-odd years ago, after over 12 hours of hard labour, I rejoiced in God’s miracle of creation.  I gave birth to a beautiful son. A soul of brilliant light. My son was born on Saint Lucia’s Day, named after St. Lucy of Syracuse—the saint of light. A day celebrated as a National Day on the tiny island of Saint Lucia in the Caribbean, named after its patron saint, St. Lucy. While I was laboring all night in a Vancouver hospital, the island of Saint Lucia gleamed in the brilliance of the National Festival of Lights and Renewal.

Saint Lucia is one of the earliest Christian martyrs. She was brutally killed by the Romans in 304 AD because of her religious beliefs, refusing to consecrate her marriage to a pagan. Lucia (which literally means light; lux, lucis) secretly brought food to the persecuted Catholics in Rome, who lived in hiding in the catacombs under the city. She wore candles on her head to liberate both hands so she could carry more. You can read more about the story here.

St. Lucia’s Day is a festival of lights primarily celebrated in Sweden, Norway and the Swedish-speaking areas of Finland on December 13^th in honour of St. Lucia. The day is celebrated by choosing a girl to dress in a white dress with a crown of candles on her head as part of a carol-singing procession. The girl’s crown is made of Lingonberry branches, which are evergreen and symbolize new life in winter.

The festival marks the beginning of the Christmas season in Scandinavia and brings hope and light during the darkest time of the years. Scandinavian families celebrate the day with coffee and baked goods such as saffron bread (lussekatter) and ginger biscuits (pepparkakor).

In earlier times, when this festivity coincided with the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, huge bonfires were constructed to scare off evil spirits and alter the course of the sun. Since the calendar reforms, her feast day became a festival of light. Celebrated most commonly in Scandinavia (with its long dark winters), Saint Lucia’s Day is a major feast day. The Italians also ostensibly celebrate this day, but emphasize a different aspect of her story. The devotions to light predate Christian times with pagan midwinter elements, centered on the annual struggle between light and darkness.

So, on this day, twelve days before Christmas and eight days before the shortest day of the year (the Winter Solstice), I celebrate my miracle.  The miracle of light, but also of chiaroscuro, where light and dark play to create enlightenment. Because, just as you cannot have “up” without “down”, you cannot have light without dark.

“At the place of darkest dark, the light in contrast is the most noticeable,” Marianne Hieb, author of Inner Journeying Through Art-Journaling (2005) tells us. She tells us that it is in the places of greatest contrast … “grace is waiting there for you.”

When my son was born, I was born too. So was my art. I was already creating. I had written some   

My little boy...

short stories and had published a few articles. But it wasn’t until my son was born that my creativity exploded. Became galvanized. Achieved meaning. Just as light helps define texture and form, my son helped me define my balance, movement, rhythm, contrast, emphasis, pattern and unity.

Marianne Hieb tells us that these are the very principles of design. Like the fabric of a fine tapestry, they hold aspects of creativity together and define our art.  Just as they define us.

...grows up

Balance: you find balance when you first walk, ride a bike, skate and ski. In art, balance refers to the distribution of visual weights. It is the visual equilibrium of the elements that comprise the entire image. Symmetrical balance is achieved when elements or sections of equal quality mirror each other. An example of asymmetrical balance with unequal elements would be a painting where one small intense color can balance a grouping of less intense and larger things. This provides excellent metaphor in journal representations and life-journeys. Think of the balances between irregular and simple shapes, intense and subdued colors. Think color, shape, size, texture, value when creating balance or showing the opposite. Balance can indicate movement and can also radiate out from a single point of focus.

Movement: A balance of movement and stillness exists in all works of art, in dance, in music, in painting, sculpture and literature. Says Hieb, “Shapes and colors move the eye most easily through the work. Lines provide visual passage or linkage. Your eyes follow the edges of darkness or edges of light. Visual movement leads your seeing through the work, to a point of focus.” Horizontal, vertical and diagonal are the three main types of visual movement. Horizontal movement usually conveys a calm or restful sense. If you use vertical movement, you may be expressing a feeling of firmness or stability or even growing. Diagonal movement often reflects action and swiftness.

Rhythm: Rhythm is the repetition of visual movement of color, shapes, lines, values, forms, spaces and textures. Movement and rhythm work together, says Hieb. Rhythms are present in all natural things and can be regular, irregular, staccato and progressive. Rhythm has the power of uniting and energizing images and themes, through implied connection and relationship.

Contrast: contrast is delivered through color, texture, and shape. Contrast creates visual excitement, drama. Says Hieb, “at the place of darkest dark, the light in contrast is the most noticeable … [in] the places of greatest contrast … grace is waiting there for you.” Contrast can exist in many forms: smooth vs. rough; light vs. dark; dry vs. wet; playful vs. dour; anger vs. forgiveness — just to name a few. Contrast is drama. It is a place of potential conflict, tension, and great enlightenment.

Emphasis:  Emphasis creates focus. You can emphasize color, shapes, direction or other art elements to achieve dominance, says Hieb. Given that each of these elements is significance with the psyche, what elements you chose to emphasize in your drawing or selection of art can give you additional insight to what was important to you or affecting you at the time. For instance, colors can reflect mood: red emphasizes and reflects passion or danger; green reflects nature and healing; orange is fun and warm; blue is cool and calming, etc. Shapes can be very symbolic. Researchers have shown that angular shapes are less apt to elevate feelings of comfort and well being then circular shapes, which engender feelings of safety, unity and harmony. Squares can reflect conformity and equality; triangles can suggest self-discovery and revelation; spirals can express creativity, and so on.

Pattern: A pattern is basically a recognizable series of elements. For instance, you experience patterns of activities and behavior. Patterns are the planned or random repetitions that occur in nature and in your life. They increase visual excitement. Patterns that occur in nature exhibit unique and exquisite beauty. Pattern — in shape, color, texture — can relate to one’s history, personal experiences, and choices. They can similarly reveal our reactions, reflections and feelings.

Proud Mom...

Unity: the use of a dominant color scheme or overall surface treatment creates a strong sense of unity. Unity provides the cohesive quality that makes an artwork feel complete and finished, says Hieb. “A subjective sense of oneness is the felt experience of the principle of unity,” she adds. Unity is achieved through the harmonious integration of the previous elements I named. What unity looks like will be unique to each individual and to their stage in their life journey.

Happy Birthday, Son. You are my light. 

My miracle.

References:

Hieb, Marianne. 2005. Inner Journeying Through Art-Journaling. Jessica Kingsley Publishers, London. 176pp.

Munteanu, Nina. 2013. The Journal Writer: Finding Your Voice. Pixl Press, Vancouver, British Columbia. 172pp.