CONDUCT OF A CONDUCTOR

Have you ever attended a concert hall with a full orchestra either in London, New York or Bangkok, after anticipating what seemingly felt like thirty minutes, but in reality only ten,  the conductor finally walks on stage, everybody acknowledges him with loud astounding applause, but he has yet to show his expertise, of  what?  Dare I show my ignorance  and expose my weak knowledge, defining me as a music lover, yet ignorance pervades my understanding of the simple law of synchronizing movements to make beautiful classics.

Dressed in the prescribed exquisitely tailored dinner jacket,  he assumes the role to start music, he turns his back to the audience and his skill as a musician begins in full force.  Hundreds of past concerts in my lifetime, the waving arms, the body movement was not unusual, however old or young, there was a sexuality attached to the arm and swaying hips.

 

The chance is rare, to catch an unprepared conductor, for back-and-forth intense conversation.  Captivating his weak moments, even as our discussion progresses, the creativity that runs through his veins lights up and showed his ability was in-born.  Character intensity leaves energy on to everything he brushes against.  Dopamine is in full flow with every concert  and along with it comes trouble.  Dopamine is a pleasure-seeking neurotransmitter.  It’s addictive.

 

Dopamine impacts many neurological and behaviour functions within the body.  It produces arousal, necessary to conduct classical music, movement in tune with conducting re-enforces production of dopamine in huge quantities.  I have the unique ability to smell dopamine  since my health declining requires dopamine in huge quantity that flows with sweat in large quantities. It has a captivating musk mixed with a uric acid whiff which is unmistakable.   I know of no-one else possessing such olfactory uniqueness to dopamine.

 

The complexities of knowing the music notes by heart, and everyone else’s on every note bar, exhilarates the tempo of dopamine.  The precise execution he directs on to the Orchestra is in watching the conductor’s excellence in mastering every single note of every musician. His leadership judged first by the orchestra; his personal body movement and hands, creates his unique conducting so all will follow him with just a quick look.  Judged by the audience, unless you are a musician, the conductor just moves his arms elegantly signifying total control.  That’s all the indication the audience is allowed privy.  

 

I was fortunate to have a sharp and witty incitive conversation that left me overwhelmed with inside knowledge that was privy to what this particular conductor and his group of musician friends, and family musician members who know of his magic component.

 

I tried a psychological approach to find the true emotions of the man, the violinist, the teacher and the conductor, all in one person.  The conversation showed me that large  quantities of dopamine is released, a neurotransmitter that  encourages pleasure; required to make such a presentation.  Whether he is on stage, or not, his daily production encapsulates the whole person and is in large quantities.   That extra component translates into a sexual ingredient that overflows in colossal amounts.   That signifies that out of concert halls, there lies a story of conducting the body to let go of those pleasurable feelings the dopamine produces.

 

His physical stature is not of a large alpha male, yet the grey/white hair over a darker skin tone, with bulging biceps from conducting and body training, pushes sensuality and sexuality like squeezing pomegranates made into an elixir,  There is such an elixir mixed with spices, from the depth of Babylonian times, originating from Iraq, that is taken in shots to provide testosterone much like  Viagra, as any Iraqi would swear on its merits.

 

 It holds a fathom of secrets that should be explored on what happens before and after a concert.  He agreed that after the concert, he is completely shattered by the energy used.   Giving me nothing to go on, but I pushed the limit, he was not angry but amused at my  level of intrusive questioning, back and forth with quick repertoire    I suggested that the arms and fingers that relate to musical instructions , some on hold, were like holding back orgasm for the lady to be fully depleted, before he could produce the lasting chorus.

 

His eyes twinkled this acknowledged unashamed knowing look, was all that I needed to title this blog “Conduct of a Conductor.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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FACING FEARS

CONQUERING  MY  PHOBIAS

Longevity Hub by Clinique La Prairie

Allow me to take you through the doors of fear to the doors of freedom.

 

Immediately when Hyperbolic Oxygen Therapy  (HBOT) was

 mentioned, the small twinge of panic attack arises, as a sufferer of

 claustrophobia, pretending enthusiasm was one of 

my many 

Oscar performances. 

 

Packed lifts, small cars, stalled traffic, the London tube, or Bangkok’s Skytrain at peak hours, have been places to avoid as much as possible.  Sometimes unavoidable service repair days at the condo has only 2 lifts out of 4 in working order.  I use the service lift together with astonished window cleaners.  The end of their days precariously held by a belt attached to a rope vs the end of my days holding my breath under stress, compliments of today's IT life.

 

Apparently Oxygen cures a lot ails caused by stress. So how am I going to even try HBOT.  My only option was to use the psychology tricks that I teach my clients, to teach myself.  Now truth will tell if I’m as good as I think I am.  It’s very leveling and humbling to self-evaluate. 

Living life to its max  - no regret.

 

Health goals are challenged, like everyone else, by age.   As each birthday repeats, we are at the front of new innovations to repair and keep the illusion of youth and strength.  How the human mind can mislead the reality of the life-span process is incredibly self-deceiving.

 

My theory is while my body ages, I challenge my mind to learn anything from neuro-psychology  (which I fulfilled this difficult course a few weeks's ago) to achieving a chef’s faultless poached  eggs (took years to perfect) Testing my abilities; ask any chef or neuro-scientist how difficult those two far-fetching tasks were to accomplish.  The most demanding is keeping-up with the changes of time.  I judge that by my ability to use the phone apps that upgrade their technology every two weeks. If I can match their speed, then all’s well. 

Simple, the body ages but the mind should be intellectually sharp, savvy with retort, and hilariously funny.  Never go the easy route, always the most difficult and that is why I feel engaged with reality – no pretenses, in writing or anything that is critically judged.

 

The trick to defusing fear requires 100 percent self-discipline.  The hardest to achieve.

 

When faced with fear,  breathing exercises alleviates symptoms of short breaths, that does not  bring enough oxygen, so that the flight or fight response becomes rigid, then with less and less oxygen, comes panic attacks, anxiety and eventually losing control.

 

Face your Fears and embrace your failings

 

As I stepped into the metallic steel chamber, intently listening to instructions, my breathing was short and shallow.  Claustrophobia coming out of its hiding in full force as the chamber reminded me of Titan submersible that imploded touring the Titanic in June 2023, killing all five passengers.  How the mind recalls such a frightening thought process as the fear takes a higher gear  at each step .

 

Inside the chamber, on the left was a phone I could use to call if I needed assistance. It was reassuring but it was, also considered by me, a failing, if I had to use it.

 

The moment the latch automatically closed; oxygen pressurization started. Anxiety leapt from 7/10 instantly became 10/10.  The famous iceman,Wim Hoff’s 11 minute breathing exercise came to the rescue.  The chamber was filling with oxygen  at the same time.  My ears started to pop as   when in  a pressurized  aircraft .  I was able to look at my disabilities squarely in the eyes and accept them as part of the makeup of me.

 

The shock of the level of calmness was electrifying because my brain was intellectually sharpened and  gave answers to many problems that was hanging.  I was amazed by the brainpower imploding, whatever else the oxygen was doing within the body, I wasn't so interested, because the brain was just an exceptional machine that moved at great speed absorbing new ideas as fast as ten minutes in the chamber.  It was obvious my whole body was lacking the required amount of oxygen through neurological deficiency, and this was food for the starving brain.

 

Epiphany after epiphany I was beginning to think, did they inject magic mushrooms to enhance this ride, but of course not.  I was just picking up as I left off when my dopamine deficiency was diagnosed.  Not to make a discovery that HBOT cures all neurological disorders, it just dramatically helped alleviate the lack of oxygen that should have been there, had my substantia nigra worked as it should have done.

 

The peace that came with the oxygen was equal to an end of life. The peace achieved is a acceptance of a life-force that is strong and decisive, and there is an end that is equally forceful that should be celebrated. Not to be given prayers to deities, that cannot prove the existence of the almighty to take you to heaven or hell.

 

Oxygen - the most beautiful essence of life/death taken for granted and should be learned and practiced, however early the end comes, or in any circumstances, peacefully or not. 

 

So I urge my readers to try it with an open mindset.

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However this comes across, it’s the most genuine account  of what the amount of oxygen did for my brain.  For that I am with gratitude to the people that had the vision and implemented this concept, including the owner, who brought Clinique La Praire to Bangkok, the world's most respected wellness clinic, a science-backed holistic solutions since 1931.

The reason that my blog is never used for monetary requirements, or have advertisements is clear. Neither do I glorify nor criticize others.  This is not a review but but an account of real, unadulterated description   of where my mind intellectualized with the extended oxygen. 

The claustophobic fears  that have haunted my whole life has since left me, wirh subsequent HBOT therapies, I have had the priviledge  of the calmness of the mind and spirit.  Challenging myself on all crowded areas within the city, I attribute the cure  of Claustophobia to the worst possible confined space, the HBOT steel chamber, with oxygen being the silver lining.

The value it added to my life if only for a short period, on the flip side, how it showed that my body had disintegrated to a certain level through the failings of certain organs, a normal process of living the life.

 

But what a life I’ve led.    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  t

THE BALCONY LADY

The Balcony Lady

 

 The dark strands of hair intentionally fell forward hiding her face, she was at her last thread of survival.  The tone of voice audible through the balcony door left ajar suggested relief. This was her first Covid quarantine of 14 days, our fourth of 56 days .

 

Sharing jokes with my British husband was the first brush of interaction, glimpsed between two strangers comforting each other in their national bonding, facing the utter unknown.  Comforting the uncomfortable situation developed into a gift only given, when the vulnerable is desperately reaching out.

  

A trust so incomprehensible to anyone, even family members, guarding her blind spot, accompanied her to be mentally healed at The Dawn in Chiangmai.  Catching the memory of those  intense moments in quarantine at the Nai Lert Hotel is the story of self-faith.

 

 Our quarantine sanction was once the ‘in’ place for ladies’ who lunch, or Embassy receptions.   The marbled floor lobby, plush carpets, staff greeting us, always as we alighted from the car.  My silk outfit, perquisite crocodile clutch and matching 5” high-heels with my powerful-business husband, hand-in-hand in his custom-made black-tie.  We were strutting our stuff.  One of the few bi-racial couples, to have lasted, condoned by advanced society yet, some believed, ingrained from biblical times, stay within your tribe.

 

The bi-polar effect :

 

Covid at its highest peak, we flew in from Singapore. This time, we were driven from the airport in what prisoners are driven to jail.  The window separating the driver was glass-divided. Entering the same hotel, we were warmly greeted, both hands clasped together like a prayer, called  a ‘wai’ by an unidentifiable masked staff in green plastic overalls.  Their job was to cover our shoes with look-alike shower caps.   Like a jail sentence, we were accompanied by two plastic enclosed humans or an alien,  (my vivid imagination) by the arm, as if we were taken to their waiting UFO’s.   Up the lift and rushed to our room, the darkened hallway, reminded me of  a nasty event here in 2009 .   A famous American Kung Foo / Hollywood film-star hanged himself in Room 352 on the same floor.  A result of  AEA  (auto-erotic-asphyxiation)   His room overlooked the pool, reported by the widely read local newspaper, with no journalistic integrity.   Our room was in the opposite direction, overlooking the carpark. The change of adding another figure to room numbers was meant to confuse any curious guests; instead failed with the likes of me.

 

The bi-polar effect was one of life’s gift, the greatest humbling turnaround.  It  brings out the inner soul that sanctions the body it lives in.  Maybe I shouldn’t chastise the Chinese outrageously for Covid.  Instead with gratitude, through this quarantine I met the Balcony Lady.

 

Quarantine, soft words to define a pandemic solitary confinement in once a 5 star hotel was no less than a prison. Choice meals delivered with a door knock, wait until the steps are distant, then possible to open the door.   At the beginning whether it was breakfast, lunch or dinner, voracious appetite saw us gobbling down as if this was our last meal.  A behavior of solitary confinement emerged; any left-over carefully packed for hunger before the next meal.  We collected stacks of butter for if   ?  when   ?  rather sad, anything to save normal remnants of before. This time I got to see, engage in and found faith towards humanity, its lowest ebb and its highest. 

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Every morning, without fail, coffee time became the focus, the pull of genuine care was growing without even trying.  The respect of her needs and problems was left to dignity.  The deep friendship had only one ingredient: trust.  The relief when she told us her son was two floors above with only a wave, and a quiet shout to re-assure each other’s heartbeats were still beating.  My quiet thoughts:

 

Was this a deliberate ‘ineptitude workings’ of the hotel staff hired during Covid?

 

Sharing the connection between balconies, the unusual  kind of setting allowed free flow of subjects. The Lady’s destination was Chiengmai’s The Dawn.  Considered one of the best medical wellness and rehab center in Asia, well known as one of the top centers to help drug and alcohol addictions, and mental issues. Only just aware of its existence, pride of my tribe had money, foresight and the care to address a problem with the correct methods. 

 

That moment an enormous respect for her and family and the empathy overflowed.  Just under 6,000 miles travelling all the way to the unknown, in the middle of Covid, in the trust of the Dawn’s capabilities, in the trust of Thailand as a country, was an immense risk.   On top of which an endurance of 14 days in quarantine, before she could get the help she needed.

 

The power she possessed, the courage she never lost.  A fighter in everything.   At the time I had little faith in my own country, little knowledge of The Dawn, little faith in Covid…..to deliver what could be an oversell.   To my astonishment, they did deliver and after a few months returned home.  Throughout the three plus years, we continue to text, video chats.  The friendship has grown and under the love of her family, her strength is to be admired.  My Balcony Lady.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ASTROLOGY

 

Astrology is not Science

 

It is a pseudoscientific divinity practice that tries to discern information on human affairs by studying different placing of celestial planets to the sun’s position, calculated on a mythical system of the time of birth to denote the character, the future, and the fortune or upending misery of that particular human.  It projects a controlling effort by boxing people in their personality and life journey.  And in turn, we fall for it, hook, line and sinker. 

 In my corner of the world, the field of astrologers range from insignificant taro card readers with everything in between, to foreboding psychic mediums, both mumbling jumbo, choosing fancy vocabulary to form sentences that nobody understands, classifying themselves a higher order than ordinary humans. 

    

For years, a 5 star prominent hotel, in the city-center opposite the famous Patpong road that housed a go-go bars of old, where drinks drown the sorrows while enjoying xxx-rated fun, producing more dopamine under the same roof.  This road now occupies Japanese sushi delicacies for weary Japanese tourists, after hot temple tours.  The hotel for many years had the whole of their Mezzanine floor scattered with every kind of fortune teller available.  The choice was mesmerizing, leaving the desire to return to check other divinations.  Palm reading and star chart astrology dominated approximately 20 tables, the rest were tea leaves, crystal balls, numerology and many more.  The only divination left out were spirit mediums. The open Mezzanine floor would not be conducive to foreign hotel guests witnessing such disturbing activity.

At the beginning of each New Year, my countrymen rush to search for the latest, most accurate predictor of the day, to forecast the coming year.  Life’s journey has many transition points.  For instance, a new business best opening launch day is calculated via a star chart.  The wedding date is not chosen out of convenience but calculated by birth-date, birth-time of bride and groom, to bring wedded bliss. More modern couples go to some lengths for caesarian births stretched to make the best human within a slice of calibrated time determined by the guru of the day.  Notice there is never an astrological measured time of death.

 

When we fall for the fortune teller’s prophesy, most of us avail ourselves with the positive, easily forgetting the negative.   Or if the negative is dire; the solution is to make merit, lessening the blow.  Oh, how we fall into and pay high prices to meander through the obstacles of life, often of our own instigation.

Does the power of tomorrow scare us so much that we want to peak over the horizon to be ahead of the challenges.  Apparently it affects us all - from the supreme chief to the homeless vagabond.

 

Let me take you on my journey of being fortune-told  and the psychobabble I swallowed for years, until the last spiritual medium I went along with a group of believers as part of my evening’s entertainment

 

My first introduction was at 12 yrs old on a train journey with my mother from Tehran to the port of Bandar-e Shapur by the Caspian Sea, now re-named Port of Imam Khomeni.  We shared our coach with a middle aged ‘western’ Iranian lady wrapped in a distinctive blue-shawl interwoven with gold silk that sparkled in my eye when the train caught the sun as we passed.   All I remembered from that encounter was my dislike of her prediction after much fanfare of card shuffling, that I will marry young and be divorced soon after marriage. She must have seen the beginnings of my defiant character, used whatever psycho-analytical deduction she had, which made the right impact.

 

Throughout the years, whenever opportunity presented itself – I was there, too many to recount but always ready and willing to believe.   Even my western educated well-known engineer Uncle, known for his scientific mind; (his hobbies included yacht sailing and the non-scientific astrological chart configuration) was asked by my parents that he should find the best date for my wedding.  He came up with the date and time to marry plus the time of consummation.  On every year of our anniversaries, which amounted to almost 50 yrs, we would giggle at the perceived vision, looking at our watch, timing it to fit with the stars.

 

The last encounter was of a spirit medium, engineered by a desire to prove to myself that my countrymen are easily duped.  The society is controlled through celestial belief, mixed with religion, using unquestioning deity that includes all classes of the populace from top to bottom.

 

Bear with me as I relate every sensory perception stimulated, as if you were there with me, to feel the dominant power crossover, finding my trigger but failed.

 

Late into the night, after a party event, I was driven to this spiritual medium situated by the river, near a well-known riverside restaurant. Traversing by foot on narrow single file lanes, resembling slums, where houses were almost on top of each other, turning left and right, left again until lost, impeded by overgrown garbage ready for pickup, loitering dogs, and the odd drunken human.  We arrived at a  heavy glass door, left our shoes outside, and entered a huge colorful room of divine energy.  Dark red walls dictated the mood in this vast room, contrasted with the bright pink laminated vinyl flooring.  Yellow strips on the floor indicating where to sit to queue up.   The ceiling decorated with crisscrossing yellow marigolds resembling draping curtains.  Such color psychology used to alert the spirits hiding behind hundreds of deities, small and large Indian Gods,Thai Buddhas in all shapes and sizes. All revered and worshipped with candles and lighted joss sticks, incense clawing the room and now our clothes.

The spiritual medium dressed in white sitting on a raised podium was deeply in trance with a husband-and-wife team. Her ability to converse with Lakshami the Goddess of wealth, fortune and power, together with Goddess Kali, associated with time, change, creation, destruction and death in tongue, resembling neither Hindu or Urdu, although India does have over 15,800 dialects to detect, it was, nevertheless, an Oscar performance. 

I allowed myself to be mesmerized by the atmosphere, the striking colors,  the sound, the aroma of incense, the incantation, all very addictive and hypnotizing.   While waiting our turn watching and listening, I sense that the fortune teller enjoyed her own voice, the incantation grew louder as I moved to admire an aquarium with two fish swimming in a controlled space much like we were, absorbing the hold she had over everyone in the room.

The room was messily filled with golden trays offering garlands to gold buddha images, standing, lying, seated in all sizes, and varieties of Indian gods and goddesses seemingly staring down, watching.  Face masks of elephants, monkeys, garuda’s and scary unrecognizable dolls that supposedly would terrify anyone if the electricity cut out.

 

Finally, my turn came. I asked to sit opposite her in a chair, instead of the floor, as my weary body was not in its best condition. This gave me the same level – eye to eye.  Just that alone changed everything. (1)  

She went into Indian prayer mode, unrecognizable and mystical enough, no one would refute; came back, with a voice of professionalism, what would I like to know.(2)  

Upon receiving my question, she went back to prayers, this time, harder, longer and louder.  Her judgement of people was at its peak, even at this late into the night, commented that I am not afraid of anything or anyone. I agreed. She said with amazement, not even afraid of the mystical spirits nestling in all the figures.  She said she had never met anyone like me before. (3) 

My immediate unsaid thought; this is a job, your small world keeps you afloat higher from those around you, these dolls and figurines are your protection, so that’s why you have never met someone like me for I am normal, not easily persuaded. Only I allowed my eyes to reveal my thoughts. (4)   

And sensing she lost the control she thought she had of me, went into another spell of prayers, this time with a forebodng tone and wished me well, as she said I will die within the year from bad health (5).  

She thinks “game, set and match”.  Me thinks, “you used your last straw thinking you can finish me off for I was a lost cause, but scare my friends into submission”. (6)

 

We all die, sooner or later, or even today, for no psychobabble can predict what normally happens.  

 My reaction to the five minutes of interplay after a 90 minute wait.  

 

(1)    I won

(2)    She regained her positioning

(3)    Praise first before the impending fall

(4)    I’m in control through my eyes

(5)    Oscar performance much like in a movie

(6)    Ensuring the friends, this is your fate too, if you have little faith.

 

STEM CELLS. - 120 YEARS

 

    WRINKLES

 

Every wrinkle tells a story.  Each story seemingly multiplies more wrinkles.  The facial line acts as a weighing scale, measuring each moral compass, together with the gravitational pull that drops a mark of how we reconcile the hurt, escape the drama and accept the sentence.  That one wrinkle betrays a compelling slice of the person.

 

Beauty, skin deep, illuminates with piercing eyes, combined with beauty pageant smile beams great dental work and pretend emotion. Beauty, soul deep, demands resilience emerging from loss, breakdowns, disappointments, that radiates from the empathetic pupils. That smile comes from acceptance with no blame; risen from the depth of despair to one of hope.

 

Unfortunately, we are conditioned to despise wrinkles for it reminds us that the aging process has begun.   The skin dries, the elasticity drops and the wrinkle spread and increases through time and our pressured lifestyle, resulting in stress, confirms that the narrowing of life’s corridor is fast approaching.  Whoever set the standard that there are “no wrinkles in beauty” and whoever claims that  “cosmetic surgery tightness – the botox face with plumping lips” gets the penultimate prize, the claim of beauty is so skin deep as is the admirer of its emptiness. 

 

Seoul has become the plastic surgery capital of the world.   Imagine the disappointment of each generation of South Koreans born from parental engineered looks, yet produce the definitive Kim Jong Ung replica.  Shock horror, nothing like their pointed nose mommy or their high cheekbone daddy or even capturing the pristine Caucasian tone.  Travelers from Indonesia, Thailand, Singapore, the Philippines seem to head north, especially those investing in the celluloid world, even those moving towards their third decade, or those having to start anew from breakups and divorces.

 

Cosmetic surgery known as face-lift is now holding second to a higher discovery.  It is in preserving human life for 120 Birthdays in using the latest discovery of Stem Cells.

 

Let’s tell it like it is :

 

While some decapitate babies, die for strips of the promised land -  others pursue the extension of life to 120 years. Such Bi-Pola extremes should be the study of human psychology of greed and destruction that all religions have taught and miserably failed.

 

 

The discovery of Mesenchymal Stem Cells has changed everything.  An embryonic tissue that develops connective and skeletal tissues, to correct and re-define failed organs to top-functioning conditions.  Equipped for future malfunctioning, these stem cells can also be kept frozen until needed.  

 

If this is true, be it at my 40^th birthday party, the thought of 80 more years in front would drown me in despair.  How many more round the world trips, climb the highest, dive the deepest, and suddenly the vows “to love the one and only till death do us part…” ridiculous in its new reality.  This Mesenchymal Stem Cell would change all our primary values.

 

The old way of transplantation always had donor shortage problem. Stem cell’s bio-longevity is by constructing spare human organs from bone marrow for future transplantations. Magic happens by extracting hematopoietic stem cells from blood samples. At present Singapore’s laboratory together with Thailand’s talent are making history.  Stem cells’ wide range of possibilities can be frozen to be used when organs fail, for instance the blind patient can have their own corneal tissue through stem cells replaced without the fear of rejection.  As usual in this unequal world only those with unlimited funds could even ponder the idea.

 

The list is endless on stem cell life resurrection:  osteoarthritis, cancer using NK cells, rare blood type available through bone marrow, Parkinson’s disease, Alzheimer, diabetes, it goes on and on, too much to contemplate.

 

My  creative imagination runs wild fantasizing such impossibilities become possible:  

 

The first 40 yrs  as a woman – secure the position of producing the required children, the second 40 yrs as a man, feel the balls between your legs and the kill in your soul. The last 40 years, using duality of both in improving or engineering new ideas on achieving more life skills. 

 

Then the fantasy ends.

 

What species will we evolve to become?  I bow my head to those truly invested in making this happen but living longer changes values, ideologies, family values, marriage, population decrease…..the list is just an endless renewal of the same with confusion predominant.

 

To this conclusion I think I will volunteer as part of the human trials of space travels, Earth life will consist of hapless humans, might as well find the real Aliens.

 

Join me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ON CHILDREN

 

On Children

Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

 

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

 

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,

and He bends you with His might

that His arrows may go swift and far.

 

Family dynamics in pursuing the wisdom of Gibran can be observed in all class divisions. All time scale, All nationalities.    So here goes my fairytale story.

 

Once a upon a time, in the city of the haves and the have-nots, the adornments to carry the man’s achievements, rested in the sparkles radiated from his wife.  As the goal post stretched further, the sparkles dimmed against his long-awaited membership into society’s pinnacle association, belonging to a prestigious Club, for his wife and growing family.  They have arrived.

 

From nappy onwards, the son treats the club like a second home, competed and befriended his generation’s playmates.  Joining-in as his age allowed, from swim team to tennis, gym room to the golf course, along the way, his membership was not his fight, as was his father’s, and his acceptance in society unquestioned.  

 

This was just one slice of the man that his father groomed.  The family business grows as the son takes over, his choice of life partner, if smart, was picked during his leisure time at the club uniting his empire with another.  The other slice was the morals he picked up along the way; his golf bets, hidden business deals, horse racing wins. Or the eye-candy, put there for his weakness to unveil.

 

Fast forward time and the next generation takes over.  The grandson now elbows his way into an international arena of global aspirations. With three linguistic skills, he realizes the torment of wanting his own choices, was far from the family’s successful business, yet constantly reminded of family loyalty and the continuation of grandfather’s empire. In the beginning, the fight wrestled softly, and as it grew into a ringside match; the make or break was how to win the monetary gain.

 

 

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams

 

 

This is where Gibran shows how the human species, in their collective persona from the days of Adam & Eve, desperately wanted the mini-me at all costs to continue their own dreams and success. Yet the mini-me, disdainful at the explanation of what was given up for his benefit, chose to enlighten them that his birth was not a heavenly bequeathment from God but of his parents’ rare moments of sexual activity hit the proverbial target; 40 million to one that produced him.

 

 

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts, 

For they have their own thoughts 

 

 

This fairy story has many different endings to choose, from a collection of present and past history, picked at random, The Biden’s, the Kennedy’s, and the Trump's; or  the Pahlavi’s, the Windsor’s and they all had to contend to the Archer’s pull.

 

“They always say the first generation makes it,

  the second consolidates,

 and the third loses”

 

 

The remedy to this continuous circle?  Fairytale answers that cover overall parental inadequacies.

 

For your boy:

If he's naturally left-handed, keep him that way.  Let him cope with the difficulties of a left-handed life in a right-handed world. It's nature’s gift and his to correct – or not.    

 

For your girl:

Let her boisterousness command stage presence, instead of lady like manners required of little girls, be her mark of excellence.

 

For the confused: 

Allow the gender preference when it is evident and accepted by everyone.

 

As fairytale goes:  it ends with grandmothers, whose wisdom shines above all others, seen lunching and gossiping at a fancy restaurant, discussing their unsaid disapproval of today’s child rearing through IG ‘influencers’.  If only snippets of the grandmother’s conversation were overheard, humorous sketches could be sold to stand-up comedians thus generating funds for their continued luxurious luncheons forever.  A befitting end to the fairytale.

 

Generational gaps widen even more through advancement in IT technology and values created from it. Perhaps it is the hardest job, the worry ends only when life stops. We can only hope to guide, to make sure that the arrow goes to where the target was planned, but then parental guidance has its timeline and limitations.

 

As I sit in my imaginary rocking chair, contemplating mistakes made, the pride that overcomes it all, is LOVE, and with a tiny chuckle:

 

Been there, done that.

Salute with a cold Chardonnay 

Gibran would approve.