A visual interlude

My recent postings have all been very (adopt dreary tone) serious and (continue in the same tone) depressing. So, in an effort to intersperse this journey with a few sun-soaked stop-overs, I've decided to make today's post a little more visual and hopefully, a lot more inspiring. These photos were taken on various trips that I made last year and I hope that they brighten up your winter afternoon as much as they do mine.

For those who might be planning a holiday, or just looking for a good book about pulling rabbits from hats, here's where I took each image:

In the top spot is a photo that always makes me smile, it was taken in Sydney Aquarium - I've been twice and if it was not for the distance between me and it and the crowds that throng to this fish-filled kaleidoscope of colour, I'd be there right now.

I captured the next mountain-scape from the balcony of one of the worst hotel rooms that I've ever had the displeasure to stay in. It was an awful room but it very almost made up for that by offering this fantastic view of the Himalayas, as seen from Darjeeling, India. (Did I mention that both myself and my boyfriend had food poisoning while we were trapped in this dark and damp room - at least we had this view to wake up to - thank you Brian for waking me up to see it).

Next in line is a frog in the wishing well in Pokhara, Nepal.

The following two are also taken in Pokhara, Nepal, both by the lakeside.

Then it's the turn of lovely, lazy Laos (oh and yes, those are my feet), where one goes to chill out or to float down the river in an inner tube, as these novice monks have been doing.

The next is of 'confused faces' at the tourist market in Luang Prabang, Laos - they look more like happy faces to me.

This is followed by a picture that I sneaked while perusing a second hand book shop in Wellington, New Zealand. Nowhere else have I seen a section within a book shop dedicated to magic and circuses and it always makes me grin to imagine suited-up ring masters and limber acrobats running their fingers over the spines of the books and murmuring to themselves as they choose between the titles.

From there we go on an African adventure - spying on elephants from the window of a very tiny light aircraft over the Okavango Delta and then poling through the reeds of the Delta.

The elephants below strutted their stuff on the banks of the Chobe River, also in Botswana.

This posting doesn't really fit within the 'search for meaning of life' genre, but it's a dark day here and I've just found out that my fridge is broken and needs to be replaced (at great expense) so I'm feeling in need of a boost. It seems to me that someone out there may also be in need of a little lift. Thus, this reminder of exotic places and warmer weather is dedicated to anyone who is made blue by grey skies and/or shoddy kitchen appliances.

Holocaust Memorial Day

Today is the 65th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp. It is also holocaust memorial day, which marks the loss of life due to genocide in World War II, Cambodia, Bosnia, Rwanda and Darfur.

It is shocking that despite public knowledge of the atrocities that occurred in Nazi Germany, Pol Pot's Cambodia and in Bosnia and Rwanda, we have cause to mark the loss of life in one part of the world where such troubles, such tragedies, are ongoing: Darfur.

Will we ever learn? Unfortunately I think not. It is such very tragedies that breed the menace required to bring about fresh pain.

In an attempt to shed a little positive light upon what could be a day of dark memories, Holocaust Memorial Trust has made its theme for 2010: The Legacy of Hope. This theme aims to bring to the fore the positive contributions to society of survivors. It is a theme that gives us cause to wonder how strong a person must be to have any sort of sense of normality after having lived through what could only be hell.

Today I am going to try to remember that we have a choice.

Of course, it's much easier to choose to be 'good' when you've had positive experiences of life. I know that I have what could only be described as a charmed life and yet I make mistakes all the time. How difficult it must be for those who have witnessed intense cruelty, pain and suffering and who are asked to make the choice to be kind to others, to be fair and honest and sometimes to be selfless. But many people who have suffered greatly do just that.

I am in awe of people who have been personally acquainted with genocide and who put one foot in front of the next and continue, even when there is no longer anything more to run from. I just wish that the survivors who attempt to piece back together their shattered lives could forget the most terrifying moments and those who may perpetrate future crimes would not forget that they can choose and that they can stop the hurt.

I firmly believe that every person has the capacity for great goodness and great harm and that the experiences and people we come into contact with during our lifetime will swing the balance towards one or the other.

It would be a near-perfect world if everybody had a fighting chance from the start, but sadly many set off from damaged beginnings. It takes someone very special to break the cycle and they are the true legacy of hope.

The 'Secret' Vatican Archives

In my efforts to explore the world of religion I decided to send my browser first to Rome and to the website of the Vatican. Imagine my delight when on the home page I discovered a link to the Vatican Secret Archives. Of course, I was immediately alerted to the fact that these archives probably aren't all that secret, given that I could read all about them by clicking on a link on the Vatican home page. This was obvious, but yet for a sliver of a moment I was genuinely disappointed to discover that this was not a misplaced link that would lead me on a Dan Browne-esque adventure of deception and treachery.

Then, I assumed that these archives may have been secret until very recently and that perhaps soon I would be wrapped up in a world of long-robed ghosts, medieval murders and all manner of usurping (a word that screams costume drama). Sadly (for someone who was hoping to gain entry to rarely seen files demonstrating the links between masonry and papal rule) it would appear that the word 'secret' is used in this case not to denote something hidden or known of only by a few individuals, but rather to mean private or close to a prince, in this case the Pope.

The words 'secretum' and 'secretus' were used to denote something private, confidential or personal. The Secret Archives are privately controlled by the Pope, but about 1500 scholars are given access to the archives, its reading rooms and computer labs, every year, according to the Vatican website.

I am sure that amongst the 85 linear kilometres of bookshelves that this immense collection of papal archives encompasses there are many 'secrets' of which I am unaware, but unless one is a scholar of catholic history, I presume that they would be difficult to locate. In an archive this size I would imagine that it is difficult to find anything, even if you do know what you are looking for and where to start looking for it.

The history of the collections the archives contain is interesting in itself. The archive contains documents that go back to the 10th century but the number of documents that were placed in the archive increased significantly from the 15th century onwards.

The collection was on the move for several centuries, finding its first home at Castel S. Angelo, then moving to three rooms next to the (equally enticingly named) Secret Library, then in 1810, by order of Naploean, the archives of the Holy See were taken to Paris. Just six years later the precious papers were on the road again and found their way back to Rome, but in 1870, any archives that were located outside the walls of the Vatican were confiscated and became part of the State Archives of Rome. Such swings and roundabouts!

I am sure that the constituent parts of the Archive are themselves fascinating to those in the know, but unless someone comes up with a very abridged version, or some wonderfully comic cliff notes I do not expect, in this lifetime, to ever attempt to study any part of them.

Don't get me wrong, history offers many a great yarn and I am a fan of everything from tales from renaissance Florence to reports of Soviet era skulduggery, however this blog is about finding meaning and I am amused that the history of the religion within which I was raised is housed in kilometre, after kilometre, after further kilometres of bookshelves - what eager bureaucrats our religious leaders have been! I might find amusement in reading the popular rendition of events that surrounded the great schism or the Council of Trent, but these are stories from history rather than food for the soul.

Perhaps today's blog, instead of inspiring any new faith has made clear another reason why I am suspicious of religions - there is just too much paperwork surrounding what, in my opinion should simply be said as: be nice to each other, respect life in whatever form it takes and try not to fuck up.

Habits of a lifetime

Yesterday, I traveled across Ireland to the wild and, at least over the weekend, mist-covered western coast of the island, to celebrate the life of my friend's mother, who passed away during the week. It was a moving day that was remarkable for the elegance with which her family conducted themselves throughout the day and for the heartfelt remarks made by anyone who knew my friend's mother.

On the journey home, myself and my traveling companions discussed funeral ceremonies and specifically, the fact that it must be much easier to give a eulogy for someone who is universally liked (or almost universally, surely no-one is liked by absolutely everyone that they come in contact with?) than someone who is loved but not liked by many. My friend's mother was clearly very well liked and very much loved, as are the rest of her family.

In the circumstances that someone is well-liked it is not difficult to say 'a few kind words' that will connect to many of those who have come to say goodbye. However, in the case that a person may not have been the most popular, it is still necessary to take the opportunity to celebrate who that person was and their best features. It is not only the person who has gone who we disrespect if we do not, but also our own relationship with them and our experience of their dying.

Our relationships with one another are often extremely complicated and the emotions that we feel about a person are not always clear cut. I can't help but think that the ceremonies that we create around the passing of another person help us to find our way through what are often labyrinthine emotional circumstances.

It is sometimes difficult to know how to feel when we are angry but also sad, perhaps sorry that we did not make peace with someone before they were gone, but still unforgiving. By taking part in the ceremonies that we practice after someone is gone we find a way to say goodbye and to show respect, even if we cannot still, forgive or forget their actions or ours.

Even in the best of situations, where a person is beloved and dies old and happy, it can be comforting to go through the motions of celebrating their life and marking their death. Religion has created ceremonies that punctuate our lives and that form rites of passage that can help us to navigate our way across the oceans of noise that surround us as we travel this journey.

As I said, I am not a religious person but I can see the value in the Catholic ceremonies, in the practice of habits around the most joyful and the most tragic moments. I am of the belief that there are stages of grief and if in the first few days after we loose someone we are forced to put on a brave face, greet friends and concerned strangers and listen to the same prayers said for someone we love that we have previously heard said for those we were not so very close to, maybe this helps us not only to come to terms with the reality of what has happened but also to accept that we must continue on, surrounded by people who care about us but for whom we must sometimes smile when we don't feel up to it, until we want to smile again.

And again, yesterday, I was reminded of the community aspect of religion. There is great support in the coming together of a group of people, each of whom says: 'this is OUR way to say goodbye and thank you for this person we love'. This is not to exclude anyone else who does not share out traditions, but to find collective expression at a time when many people feel similar feelings (of varying severity) about one person and the loss of them.

In conclusion, religion is 'not my thing', but I am glad that I can fall back upon the habits that were ingrained in childhood and the ceremonies that help in times when otherwise we might not know what to do or how to move forward.

My friend's mother was laid to rest in an idyllic location, looking over water and in the shadow of mist-covered Irish hills. Yesterday it was mystical in the cold, damp weather and I imagined it in summer time, blue and green and fresh and peaceful. I am sure that anyone would be happy there, but particularly someone who feels that this is where they belong.

A first word (no wincing) on religion and meaning

I've come to the realisation that it is time to take a peak into what religion can tell me about the meaning of life. This thought leaves a strange, sour and cynical taste in my mouth.

I am not a person without faith, I have faith in bucket loads however, I'm not exactly sure what it is that I have faith in. Certainly, I do not have faith in the Catholic church, and Catholicism being the religion within which I was raised, this has led to a natural suspicion of all organised religions.

Religion is, in my mind, not far removed from politics, but at least politics is open about the influence of political motivation upon those who operate within the scope of its influence (wait, in a democracy shouldn't that apply to all of us?). Most of my problems with the Catholic church (aside from the abuse of children that occurred at the hands of members of this organisation) stem from its operation as an organisation that resembles both a business and a pressure group.

However, I am a great believer in a good yarn and I think of religion as being the story within which we frame our faith. I'm interested in marketing and media, as well as writing off the top of my head and am always fascinated by the creation of narratives to communicate ideas. People love a story that they can sink their teeth into and religions, of whatever flavour you partake of, provide just that - a tale complete with characters, plot, beginnings, middles and ends.

Best of all, religions provide us with a role in the very centre of the fray - they explain our position within this narrative and how we interact with the central characters. Who wouldn't love a story that they star in? However, this is one bed-time story that comes with a rule book. Oh I am all for freedom, free thinking and free markets, but let's face it, we do like a bit of structure. Like newborn babies, most of us crave a little routine, a few guidelines to tell us how to live our lives in accordance with best practice. Religions provide this playbook and in most cases, they also provide for the human contact and community that most (non-nut-type-forest-hermits: see yesterdays post) of us crave. And they give us hope - the true secret of life?

As I said, I have faith and I do believe that it is entirely possible that Jesus walked the earth and even that he may have been a messenger from God, I also believe that aspects of other religious tales may have some basis in truth. It doesn't seem to matter who we believe in or where we believe we are going when we leave this planet, what matters is to have a story, to find a way to interpret what we see, touch and feel around us and, more importantly, where we fit into it all.

I've studied quite a lot about the early modern period, when people read the world as a complex sign system and did not believe that anything was as it was, but rather that it was a representation or symbol of something else that was deeper and closer to God. I don't believe that this is an accurate understanding of our world and I'm all for seeing a table as a table, a bird as a bird, a milkshake as a dense and sugar-filled drink, but if I lived in a world where food was limited, sanitation pretty much non-existant and where, if I gave birth or cut my leg badly I would probably die, I might also find solace in believing that THIS was not IT.

In my opinion, religion is a means of understanding our own place in time and space and for investing meaning and hope into a life that can sometimes seem so difficult that we don't know how to go on without believing that there is something more and better beyond, and a life that can sometimes be so spectacularly beautiful that we cannot fully enjoy it without finding someone and some way to say thank you.

As I take a first peak at some of the religions of the world I will attempt to keep this in mind and to try to be respectful, because I will be dealing in other peoples' language of life and of hope.

Even Mowgli made friends

My inclination is to try to accept the possibility that any form of existence can be worthwhile. However, this morning (don't ask me why) my mind turned to Rudyard Kipling's Mowgli, the boy who was separated from his parents when they were attacked by a tiger and who was then raised by wolves.

It's all very well to suggest that anybody can forge a meaningful life in any circumstances and, as I have previously written, I'd like to believe that a life can be meaningful even if one does not have the faculty to be aware of its purpose, BUT I for one would loose my mind after just a few weeks without human contact and I don't think that this is an unusual symptom of isolation.

According to secular humanists, we are social creatures who find meaning in personal relations. I agree with this. When I hear that someone is actually attempting to discover the nature of existence by sitting alone in the middle of a forest, I generally consider them to be crazy. The major reason why I think that anyone who does choose to live in isolation is a bit of a nut is because I assume that prolonged loneliness will send even the most sane individual around the bend.

You could tell me until you were blue in the face that to find the meaning of life I must venture into the forest/desert/middle of the sea and remain still and silent until the true nature of my inner self is revealed to me. I'll never believe you. For a start, it sounds to me like this true nature that I would discover might be a hallucination and given that previous hallucinations I have had have taken the form of antelopes and cartoon characters, I'm not sure that I would be any the wiser if I listened to what this 'true self' told me.

Secondly, and more importantly, we are animals who need community, conversation and physical contact. Although Maslow's theories regarding the hierarchy of human needs suggest that those who achieve self-actualisation require less contact with others, in my opinion this detachment seems cold.

And herein lies one of the challenges that I imagine must be faced by great geniuses - if a person chooses to find meaning in one sliver of the realm of experience and to become truly dedicated to this very specialised search for meaning, other aspect of life must often be chopped off at the root and discarded, in order that the flow of energies be directed entirely into whatever the person has made the pet-project of his or her existence. Those who choose to focus their energies in this way are often responsible for the great leaps forward that society can thank for movements in art, masterful music and cures for common diseases.

However, the sacrifice that these people make is immense and in some way I wonder whether those who cannot achieve balance between their work and the softer aspects of human life, sacrifice too much, given that they only get one chance to dance, so to speak.

I'm conscious that it sounds as if I am belittling the contribution of people with focused minds, which I don't want to do. What I do want to draw attention to is this: I believe that the measure of a life may be made in a variety of ways. Some people make one spectacular contribution that positively influences the lives of many. Others quietly go about their quiet lives, supporting the people around them through lifetimes. Some people create meaning from their own actions but other people stand at the intersection of many positive networks of friends and family and support an entire tree and branch system of good feeling. There is no way to attribute a greater value to one, over the other.

Plus, while not all of us enjoy loud mouthed debate or sharing gossip over coffee, every one of us must benefit enormously from tiny interactions with others, which we might not even recall afterwards. Even Mowgli made friends with the animals that Kipling portrayed as having human characteristics. Solemn contemplation is all very good in small doses but there's nothing like a good laugh with great friends, or even strangers. Interactions give meaning that is shared and even if they distract me from considering my true, free, essence of self, I'm pretty sure that I'll be better for them.

And with that I am going to turn off the computer and go out.

Finding meaning in ketchup and air travel

A good friend's mother is unwell and save for a miracle, it is unlikely that she will get any better. I don't know what to say. 'I'm sorry' doesn't seem to be very helpful and I can't imagine that I have any great insights to pass on that will make the situation any more bearable for my friend.

It may be difficult to ascertain why we are here but it is harder to explain the meaning of death than that of life, save that death is the finish line of this crazy race. In a manner, it makes sense to think of the one who breaks through the finishing ribbon as the winner because it is the people who are left behind, still running, who loose the most.

In ordinary circumstances, even when we flag with exhaustion, there is an exhilaration to be found in sprinting onwards, the wind in our hair, legs pumping, heart beating, passing through an ever-changing landscape. But when someone we love turns that final bend and opens up for the finish line there can seem little joy in continuing on with our own race.

So far, this search for meaning has inspired many (quite random) musings, but one message that is prominent amongst the thoughts that it has drawn up is this: be grateful for the life you have and enjoy it.

To be grateful is easier said than done because we fast forget to be thankful for what we accept as the norm. Today I'm going to write a few words about the things that I am grateful for. Of course, I am grateful to have a wonderful family and friends, I'm grateful for my education, that I have a roof over my head and for the great fortune that I had to be born somewhere that has a reasonable standard of sanitation and where I do not (yet, anyway) have to walk 6 km every day to fetch a pail of water. These things are always somewhere in my mind, but today I'd like to say thank you for fifteen other things that I take for granted, in the hope that this will go some way to expressing my gratitude to the universe, God, whatever or whoever it is that I should be thanking for this great gift of life. And so...

1. I am grateful for ketchup, which has made many a bland meal taste better
2. I am thankful that I have the use of all my limbs, without which I would not be able to do the hokey cokey, amongst other things.
3. I am thankful for sellotape, because my step-granny used to stick my and my cousin's birthday presents with sticky plasters and we thought this was weird.
4. I am thankful that I enjoy writing, my own version of Freud's talking cure.
5. I am grateful for green tea, which wakes me up without making me feel like a drug-crazed insomniac, as coffee does.
6. I am grateful to Apple for making computing pleasant.
7. I am grateful for apples, which often successfully fill a gap between lunch and dinner.
8. I am grateful for strawberries because they taste of sunshine and happiness.
9. I am thankful for doorbells, because knocking hurts my knuckles.
10. I am thankful for The Simpsons, which has probably taught me as much about life and relationships as did my formal education.
11. I am grateful for shoes.
12. I am thankful that someone invented the mattress and that I don't have to sleep on a hard board.
13. I am grateful for toasters, which make bread taste so much more delicious (and warm on a cold day).
14. I am grateful that my boyfriend doesn't snore as often or as loudly as he used to.
15. I am thankful for air travel, which is bad for the environment but often leads to experiences that are good for the soul.

It's a start.

Every leopard can change its spots

In the spirit of writing about a single subject each day I am considering today whether it is ridiculous to search for a meaning of life, or ridiculous not to.

Albert Camus said that the absurdity of the human condition is that people search for external values and meanings in a world that has none and is indifferent to them. (Way to put a damper on the spirits Al.)

What I find absurd is the idea that searching for meaning is ridiculous, when it has been found that the people who live the longest are very often those who believe that their life has some essential purpose, however small that may be.

Camus was not so hot in finding meaning in the every day. Rather he said to hell with the external world, what we think about where we are and who we are is mostly irrational and bizarre. In fact, he probably would have considered that this attempt to infuse my life with meaning by searching for it in the tangible world was a waste of time.

Asked who we are most of us will respond with a name, a nationality and perhaps an occupation, (or previous occupation) however, Camus pointed out that we would not be any less ourself if we had a different name, or occupation and that the true essence of self is separate from our worldy ties. According to this existential thinker, to focus on the physical understanding of ourselves is to elude ourselves from discovering who we truly are.

To a point I agree that one can become caught up in trying to seek a recognisable, communicable sense of identity. Although we might not like others to label us, it is often easier to be able to label ourselves - I am a mother, a father, a lawyer, a train driver, a football fan, an activist, a cross-country runner, a vegetarian, a person who does not break the law. But what sort of person am I, what is in my soul?

Well that's terribly deep stuff and quite frankly, I am not sure that I feel it necessary to go messing about in the dark down there with my very essence of self - who knows what I might turn up, or whether I would like what I found.

It can be argued that if we judge ourself on who we are in the deepest sense that there is no standard against which we should measure our behaviour. The beauty of self-assessment should be that there are no absolutes that we must live up to. However, I am clearly not as detached as Mr. Camus would have advised that I become; my moral compass has been set since childhood, with few adjustments and I am very disappointed in myself when I fail to follow the course that I see fit, even when little actual harm is done.

I cannot help but think that we are creatures who like to receive gold stars and to know where we lie on the league table. We crave limitations as much as we rebel against them and most of us, no matter who we think we are, or where we came from, have some sense of how we believe we fare on the barometer of 'giving life a shot'.

However, often where we believe that we have fallen down we accept this and chalk up this mistake as a flaw or weakness in our character, a class in which we will never achieve a grade higher than a D+.

If I am to learn any lesson from Camus perhaps it should be that when it comes to the inner self, there is no score card or permanent record and that there is no point living in the shadow of some self-registered failure. Any sense of failure is all in the mind and if I can move on and leave it behind, it may be possible to reestablish a new sense of who I am and what I am worth.

So you want to be that strong, brave, self-assured, kind of spirit and generous person? It sounds to me like Camus is saying that any of us can wake up and be that person. If it's all in the head, surely any leopard can change their spots? Which means that life can mean whatever you want it to mean. There's no greater freedom than that.

Who knew freedom would seem so easy but yet be so tremendously difficult to achieve? And here was I slithering out from under the duvet every morning and thinking it was enough just to be up and myself, even if that was a sometimes pissed off, often confused individual. And now I find out that I can't even blame my culture or my upbringing for who I am? This meaning of life thing gets tougher and tougher the closer it gets to home and no less ridiculous.

Still, I'm convinced that to keep looking is something in itself and even if it is just another label, to search for a purpose is purpose enough for today. So, I'm a blogger, a person who questions why she is here, a messy eater, a lover of literature, a pale-face in the winter time and a person who is always late. It's a good start to know that I can change (the constant tardiness) and probably not a bad thing that I wouldn't change quite everything (I'll keep my literature and my blogging for now thank you).

On remembering and forgetting Haiti

It's Friday and I have yet to make any mention of the devastation that has occurred in the wake of Tuesday's earthquake in Haiti. I've been shopping and job-hunting and getting along with my usual, mundane life.

Tens of thousands are feared dead in the aftermath of this horrifying seismic event. Still further thousands remain buried under the rubble of buildings. Reports state that where moans and groans were once heard, silence now reigns. The New York Times website includes a feature that allows you to slide a rule across an aerial view of Port-au-Prince, watching a view of the city before the earthquake hit become grey, flattened and peopled by many ant-like bodies as the destruction of Tuesday's terrible events are revealed. It is a scene from the worst war zone.

The images that I found to be the most emotionally devastating are those of the car park outside the central morgue where bodies lie tangled, limb over and under limb, heads rolled into necks, bodies heavy and still.

Reports of the all-pervading stench of death are ubiquitous.

There is too much death to identify any single tragedy until one is presented with the images of the traumatised survivors. Again in The New York Times, I found an image by Damian Winter, of Lionel Michaud after having discovered his ten-month old daughter among the bodies. His wife was also killed.

On Guardian.co.uk today stories about the following subjects all rank higher in terms of reader numbers than do reports from or about Haiti: the South Africa V England cricket game; the death of Zimbabwean tourist, Lloyd Skinner who was attacked by a 'dinosaur huge' shark just 100m off a beach in Cape Town, South Africa; the 20 best moments in 20 years of the Simpsons; Rafael Benitez's prospects at Liverpool football club.

It is a sad fact that we quickly forget, sad but also a matter of psychological survival. It is a pity that in a few weeks we may not have cause to remember that Lionel Michaud is grieving the loss of his child and his wife and spurred on by this memory, either give something of ourselves to help another person, or simply feel more thankful than we normally might for any health or happiness that we enjoy.

There is a reason that we are made this way and that is that if we did not have the power to push to the back of our minds the suffering of others, we would not continue. If we did not have this power to forget we would be overcome by everyday tragedy and it is not our business to let life's most horrendous incidents bring us to our knees, one weight around our necks, by one weight of tragedy around our necks.

Devastation hits without rhyme, reason and often without warning. To accept that, to prepare for it, or to do something to prevent it all seem sensible, but to try to understand it is impossible.

Why me? and, Why not me? are as difficult questions as is Why are we here? Thank God and all the lucky stars for the people who find meaning in saying: I'll help, this is what I'm here for. I admire their dedication and the spirit of selflessness that keeps them going when their job involves experiencing the devastation first hand and living through its aftermath day after day. To all those suffering in Haiti, and elsewhere, my heart goes out.

While life goes on, on it goes and if it is good all we can do is be grateful and enjoy it. Yesterday's post about shopping seems frivolous in comparison with the subject of today's posting, but I think that, essentially, that is what life is made of - patchwork pieces of fluff and frivolity and laughter, plus shards of moments so awful that they take the breath from your body.

Shopping philosophy (one for the girls)

I haven't had the opportunity to write until this evening as I have (oh joy of joys) been shopping. As is the case for most women, my understanding of the verb 'to shop' encompasses not only the purchase of items (preferably dresses and shoes, but I am open to persuasion) but also the act of nosing around the shops, trying for size pretty bits of expensive nothingness that I have no intentions of buying and pretending, for a few hours, that I have a lifestyle quite different to that which I currently 'enjoy'.

I am a great believer in shopping. I agree that blatant consumerism and greed have been at the root of much of the trouble that the global economy now faces and yet, still, I am not unconvinced that the perfect dress will change my life. And this hope sustains me, even when I am perfectly satisfied with the life that I live.

The perfect dress may only be perfect for one glittering, wonderful moment and then, the elation will pass and life will continue as it was before. BUT for that one moment I will feel confident and beautiful and elegant and pleased to be myself. And by God that is one helluva high, a high that, from the moment it passes, I will thirst to enjoy again. Thus, the shopping addiction is manifest.

Safe in the knowledge that the moment passes and that the starlight magic of a dress's fifteen minutes lasts just that (or sometimes a few hours), and knowing that funds are currently not as healthy as one might hope, today I thoroughly enjoyed tasting the wares without feeling under pressure to give them a home for life.

And it's still wonderful to escape for those moments and pretend to be all sorts of elegant people with elegant lives. The power of imagination with which we as creatures of nature have been gifted is immense and it is this power that lights the darkest moments or simply keeps us company when we need it (I suspect that it is also that power that fills us with a wonderful glow of excitement when we wear what we believe to be 'the perfect dress').

Today my imagination went window shopping, tomorrow it might put bread on the table - who knows. The imagination is mystical and gives us reasons to laugh about things and events that don't even exist. Who's to say that what is real is the matter, the tangible things and surfaces that we can see and touch? It is as much the fleeting ideas and the daydreams that pass through our minds as we peruse the sale rails, it is the ridiculous conversations that we have with close friends and the private jokes we share. It is also forgetting to buy the milk and only realising after you've made a cup of tea and it is washing a navy sock with the whites wash.

Today the meaning of life was shopping and when it's all a great pretense and an act of creativity (in this case, one that never leaves the fitting room), what harm, what fun, what a way to pass a happy day. As long as it is not every day, in which case it would become a chore and with that, a bore.

Thank the lord and all the lucky stars for 70% off sale rails is what I say. Why not? What doesn't break us, or make us broke, will make us, if not stronger, then full of fun and laughs and maybe even a little more fashionable to boot.

Philosophy 101, part III - down with maths

Based on the experiences that I have gleaned from my long (one week + one day) career in blogging, I have come to the conclusion that the long posts in which I attempt to convey many ideas (other peoples' ideas at that) often fail to captivate.

Thus, today I sought one single idea from which I might gain a little inspiration.

I couldn't resist 'the greatest happiness principle', which 19th century philosopher Jeremy Bentham believed explained the meaning of our existence. I imagined that this greatest happiness principle would have something to do with strawberries, champagne, sunshine and many, many Oscar de la Renta dresses. Sadly it does not.

Very much unhappily, the greatest happiness principle or, felicus calculus is (in true post-enlightenment style) an algorithm for calculating just how much joy would result from any specific action.

In my book, the use of an algorithm to do any calculation is a sure fire way to pass an afternoon with very little joy of any kind. When I began this search I thought that I might be capable of being sufficiently open minded to accept differing spiritual views of life's meaning. Asking me to perform mathematical calculations is going a step further than I had hoped I would be asked to venture.

To measure pure, heartfelt, uninhibited, soulful, natural, face-stretching-grin, belly-sore-from-laughing joy, Bentham instructed us to ask 6 questions:

1. how strong is the joy?

2. how long will it last?

3. how likely is it that the pleasure will occur?

4. how soon will this happiness occur?

5. how likely is it that the action will be followed by sensations of the same kind?

6. what is the probability that it will not be followed by sensations of the opposite kind?

and John Stuart Mill made the addition of a 7th question:

7. how many people will be affected?

Following mathematical manipulation, the answers to these questions would supposed tell us just how moral was the act that we were considering.

Something tells me that if 19th century women had asked themselves these supposedly rational questions before deciding to chance a roll in the hay, few of us would be here today to question our existence.

Thankfully, obviously not too many a milking maid stopped in the throws of passion to make a quick back-of-an-envelope calculation to ascertain whether it would all be worth the fuss of getting undressed, and the human race lived to fight another day.

I am all in favour of looking before I leap and of trying to remember to consider the impact of my actions upon others, but I'll be damned if the meaning of my life will be calculated to be 42.

If I will make one rule for this search it will be this: the meaning of life may be messy and possibly undefined, but it will not be found through an utterly unpoetic mathematical calculation.

The happiness of different people is impossible to quantify. We are not beads on an abacus but complex, mystifying, flawed, beautiful possibilities.

If you wish to seek the meaning of life by means of long division I encourage you to do so, but you won't find that here.

Philosophy 101, part II - Kitchen philosophy

Kitchen philosophy is a branch of philosophy that is, as its name would suggest, often practiced in the kitchen. It is an invention of my mother's, not that I think she and her offspring are the only people who follow this line of thought, but we may be the only people who call it this.

To engage in kitchen philosophy you don't have to actually involve yourself in any cooking, or indeed, eat and I think that you could probably kitchen-philosophise in other rooms of the house or even outdoors, but it is ordinarily undertaken in the kitchen because the kitchen is the heart of the house.

In essence, kitchen philosophy is the philosophy of your family, or your friends and is a group of thoughts and discussions by means of which you form your central views and positions on life.

In our house we talked about what was important to us, love or money? love, much more love, but if it's going, enough money that you don't go mad or end up fighting with the one you love; logical thinking or fuzzy thinking? fuzzy thinking often takes into account the context and any solution is illogical if conceived out of context; take what's coming to you or fight back? our family motto - on my maternal side - is 'with endurance we shall conquer', we're big into staying strong and making the best life (ie. one with lots of love and as little stress as possible) rather than accepting a bad deal; 'successful' career or creative career? whatever makes you happy, but if you have a strong desire to be creative you probably won't be happy until you satisfy this, this does not necessarily have to be satisfied by your career, which may simply pay for your creative practice, nor necessarily must a career be essentially uncreative because you work with numbers or for a company that uses the word 'corporation' in its official title. Oh and words have colours - some people get this and to others it seems illogical and beyond stupid, but I defy anyone to tell me that the word 'scooter' is anything other than red.

Central to our brand of kitchen philosophy is the idea of living and let live - but this rarely applies to each other. We can agree that we believe in being kind and of always trying to put ourselves in other people's shoes before we jump to conclusions about them or their lifestyles, but we do not always succeed in this. On most things we disagree on some level with each other. Specifically we do not succeed in agreeing, or even empathising with each other because we refuse to concede that in our mother or brother or sister's shoes we would conclude what they do. We each think that we're smarter than that.

Kitchen philosophy is very simply, talking about ideas and I believe that it has been enormously beneficial to my development as a person. Due to the fact that my family and I disagree about almost everything, while sharing similar fundamental ideals, I am perfectly content with the idea that not everyone will agree with me all of the time and I still won't stop harping on about whatever it is that I believe in (on second thoughts this may actually be a major flaw of mine, in fact I'm pretty sure it is but yet I'm strangely proud of this flaw - with endurance and all that). Plus, I enjoy a good, serious, fairly fought argument, it is enormously stimulating, but after all views have been presented I prefer to forget all about any disagreement, make another cup of tea and move on to discussion of something else, often something entirely mundane.

More importantly, kitchen philosophy has convinced me that conversation and sometimes silent togetherness are some of the most important elements of life. The moments of greatest meaning to me have not been those moments when I received degrees or promotions at work, they've been small moments sitting around a kitchen table, or a restaurant table, or sometimes standing or walking, when someone has shared ideas with me and I shared my ideas with them and what we made in the middle meant something and moved one or both of us. Sometimes it was not the words that mattered, it was something else. I suspect that sometimes, there are no words to describe the 'meaning of life' just a feeling, a sense of belonging and being and learning from someone else and being happy that you're where you are and they're there with you.

Tomorrow I'll get back to the 'book-learning' version of philosophy and find out what else there is to be learned outside of the kitchen.

Philosophy 101

Dipping a first toe into the deep, dark pool of philosophical thought leads me to believe that the meaning of life according to many a philosopher might be able to be summed up as - commit yourself to a life of goodness and of studying to be good and eventually you will become one with the goodness and no longer be a slave to your emotions or human appetites, thus attaining freedom from suffering. Only it seems that they couldn't agree as to the actual meaning or definition of this 'good'.

Plato and his followers taught that the meaning of life was to be found in attainment of the highest form of knowledge, or good, this higher good being the source of all things worthy and of value. Furthermore, they argued that this 'good' could not be found unless the seeker involved themselves in philosophical reasoning.

Aristotle was a man of action and favoured practice in addition to study, as a path to 'goodness'. In other words, Plato said that if you went to the library every day and studied your 'good' books you would be qualified to fill a well paying job in that area. Aristotle on the other hand took a more modern approach and would have suggested that you spend your final semester working in an office down town where you would make the tea, collect the post, arrange couriers to bring packages to low-level clients and correct the spelling of your superior's email correspondence, prior to graduating to a path of virtuosity.

But Aristotle argued that each and every one of these actions must have a goal with good as its object (subtract 'support of the brand' or 'increase in overall revenues' for good and one will note the similarity between Aristotle's thinking and the teachings of latter-day marketing consultants). The problem is that if each action must have a goal, then that goal too must have a goal and so on and so forth and where does that leave us? ie. if one consistently places the company logo in the same position on each and every communication from the company to clients and the public, those people know where to find the company logo and will not be confused, the company logo tells them something about the company's brand, that brand communicates what the company stands for...

Aristotle's answer to this eternal question was summon bonum, or the highest good. This highest good was thought to be the most important and ultimate aim of human existence and was considered to be an end that explained our existence.

This idea of a highest good is present in both western and eastern traditions. In the west, Christian tradition associated the idea of highest good with a righteous life, lived in accordance with the teachings of God. In this tradition, happiness and virtue are often presented as being mutually exclusive, but it is understood that happiness is found in the knowledge that one is working for the higher good.

In eastern traditions the idea of highest good is expressed in a variety of ways and understood by means of varied interpretations. For example, dharma is the idea of one's own virtuous duty or path, by which one should live to achieve the state of bliss. Tao, which translates as 'way' or 'path' is considered to be the source of the universe, while also being in every physical manifestation of that universe. In taoism it is believed that one cannot control the tao, but that one should be good and true in order to follow the tao. Moksha or mukti refers to the liberation from the cycle of reincarnation (the cycle of life, death and re-birth known as samsara) after the atman (soul or true self, other than how we understand it through its physical manifestation) becomes one with parataman (the supreme spirit). Moksha has a similar meaning to nirvana, which is a state of freedom achieved by quenching all greed, hatred and delusion.

Self-realization is understood as liberation from samsara but is also an important idea within western psychology, specifically within psychosynthesis. Psychosynthesis is a branch of psychology that diverged from Freud's focus upon the ego and our fantasies about having sex with our parents and encompassed the idea of transpersonal development. Transpersonal development is similar to self-actualisation and its importance within psychosynthesis means that this branch of psychology focuses on allowing us to develop into not just functioning human beings, but good old self-realised souls who follow whatever calling we feel we have and live up to our greatest potential.

I have not even begun to discuss the cynics who taught that we should all be self sufficient and become happy by living a natural life (yes more of that you-will-find-peace-in-the-trees-my-son philosophy, but this time from some people who've clearly given it a lot of thought). Or to get into Cyrenaicism, which was all about indulgence and abandoning oneself to the joys of immediate gratification and short-term pleasures.

As it turns out, much to our detriment, we lived the hedonistic life all through the naughty nouties and have found out the hard way that short term pleasures often cost more in the longer term and lead to unemployment, disenchantment and large mortgages.

Epicurus had an answer to this, which was that stalwart of successful dieting - moderation. He taught that we would attain happiness by enjoyment of modest pleasure, friendship and virtuous living. According to him, the meaning of life was to take joy in the little things and not to allow stressful and negative thoughts to overcome the soul. Good for Epicurus.

Stoics were all about accepting one's lot, living a rational, reasonable life and achieving 'goodness' by living in harmony with the divine order of the universe. They suggested that one should seek meaning through rational contemplation and diligently practiced logic.

Essentially, although they cannot agree upon the essence of goodness, most philosophers suggest that to achieve it, and happiness, much study and concentrated effort are required and this, I fear, is why we are often tempted the way of cyrenaicism and hedonism.

If you're young, commitment to the study of virtue may seem like an enormous risk - forgo all the fun and games that abound, on the off chance that the ramblings of some old guy/lady with a beard will lead to eternal happiness? What if he/she is wrong and we only realise this after many years of goodness and study? By that point we may no longer have the will or the energy to enjoy whatever fun times are to be had. Thus, it can seem much more sensible to have our fun now and study virtue later. Only sometimes, as we recently learnt, the fun takes all the good out of it and we're left with an awfully big mess to clean up. In such cases some of us may be so bored by our joblessness and the fact that we can no longer afford to have much fun that we might even turn to seeking the meaning of life to get us through, end up reading about philosophy and, damn... those philosophers and their diligent-pursuit-of-knowledge thing will get you in the end, whether you like it or not.

Cream of chicken is not the only soup or, is the idea that life has a meaning a hoax?

It's the end of the week and although I don't have a job, I'm tired so this will probably be either a short post or a long, rambling and nonsensical entry. I will try to keep it short.

Before I launch into the area of philosophy and what it has to say about the meaning of life (quite a lot I would imagine), I'd like to diverge today onto the subject of soup. Yesterday, I read a posting at Thoroughly Modern Medusa entitled just this: soup. The posting began: You know what's better than chicken soup on a bitterly cold day? Matzo Ball Soup. (And if you'd like to read a recipe for Matzo Ball Soup please click on this link.)

This got me thinking (as I've hinted before, if you have a job, you'd be amazed by how the unemployed mind works). There are some days when there is nothing in the world that one would want more than a big bowl of steaming soup and if asked, one might request, for example, cream of chicken. However, if cream of chicken was not available and instead we had to make do with our second favourite soup flavour, for arguments sake let's just say that that is tomato and basil, tomato and basil would probably do just as well. While I agree that tomato and basil has none of the particular poultry goodness of cream of chicken it is a tasty, nutritious and warm dish that might successfully be accompanied by bread and although initially we might have been put out to have been forced to choose what we consider second best, two hours later we'd probably feel just as good and healthy as if we'd eaten cream of chicken.

Add this to the fact that my favourite soup is pappa al pomodoro, which is a traditional Tuscan tomato and bread soup, but that I would rarely choose to eat this heavy dish during the summer months and the nugget of an idea starts to form. What I am getting at is that there is no one perfect soup. One particular soup might seem to be perfect in a given situation, or if we think about its choice and become involved in the act of choosing, but the simple fact is that if you like soup you probably enjoy eating more than one type of soup.

I'm starting to suspect that the meaning of life may be somewhat similar. Perhaps there is no single meaning of life, no template or playbook. The idea that we might search for meaning and conclude with one definitive answer is, let's face it, a big, fat, philosophical hoax.

Instead, I suspect that it might be more useful to think of meaningful life as being the genus, to which a variety of different, varied meanings belong. In other words, you may think that your life would be meaningful if you gave more to charity; met the man/woman of your dreams; became more spiritual; or worked as a doctor in A&E and saved car crash victims from an early grave. However, you may never achieve what it is that you think will infuse your life with meaning and yet that life may be purposeful and satisfying and good.

Which brings me neatly onto the subject of philosophy, which has attempted through varied cultural understandings to explore the meaning of life. It may take me quite some time to get a handle on what philosophy has to say about the meaning of life because human kind has attempted to provide an answer to the question: why are we here? since we were advanced enough to have that luxury, and we've chosen to discuss this from very different points of view throughout time and within diverse cultures.

I'm beginning to think that there is no meaning of life, only meanings, in the same way that there is not only cream of chicken soup, but many different flavours and consistencies of soup to be relished. It is with this in mind that I will venture onwards.

What Wikipedia tells us about what science tells us about the meaning of life

I've never thought of myself as being much of a devotee of science. When met with the larger of life's questions I tend to search for answers in philosophy, art, or creative writing before I will turn to the theories provided by white-coated people in labs. However, discussion of subjects like 'the meaning of life' can become a little dreamy and the answers insubstantial unless one starts with a good, solid footing and for this, science is your only man.

Let us be clear though, when I write 'science' I mean POPULAR science. I'm not going to even attempt to delve into the world of real science, which might require me to know something about test tubes, the periodic table of the elements and patience.

And so to Wikipedia, the lazy girl's library. A quick aside on Wikipedia - I know it's sometimes incorrect and that people who think they are awfully clever have gotten away with inserting false entries, which went undetected for months, but when you have neither the vocabulary nor the mental framework necessary to begin researching a new subject, in my opinion, Wikipedia is a fantastic place to start.

I've been finding it hard to separate in my mind the idea of searching for the purpose of existence and that of searching for the secret to happiness. Wikipedia confirms that I am not alone in having difficulties with this by beginning the science section within the meaning of life, with a discussion of the work of positive psychologists and humanist psychologists. Both groups have studied the behaviours that lead to life satisfaction.

It is certainly tempting to assume that a happy life is a meaningful life and perhaps this is the case, but is it not also possible that one could lead a miserable, disgruntled, thoroughly unsatisfactory but ultimately meaningful life? And I know that this probably isn't very 'science' of me, but who declares a life meaningful? Do you have to be aware of your life's 'meaningfulness' yourself, or is the purpose evident in the impact of your life upon others?

A guy who goes and sits under a tree for seven years contemplating the meaning of existence may have climbed to the top of Maslow's hierarchy, but what about a woman who is grumpy when she has PMS, spends far too much money on shoes, doesn't make much effort to make friends within her local community but paints a masterpiece that brings joy and previously undreamt of enlightenment to following generations? Or who sends money to an orphanage and puts six kids through college who would otherwise not have had this opportunity? Or who brings up two children of her own? Surely her efforts count for something, even if she is a nasty piece of work when someone else gets the last pair of Bertie strappy sandals that are on sale.

However, there is something to be learnt from the idea that engaging in activities, utilizing our strengths or investing in something larger than ourselves may give us a greater sense of satisfaction with our lives. Our lives may be very meaningful to someone else and we might never know, but if we only get one shot at this thing called life, doesn't it make sense that we should enjoy ourselves and feel good about ourselves while we're here? I think so, and if making certain changes might help that along I don't see anything wrong with going about making those changes in an active, deliberate fashion.

Let's now get down to some more sciencey science: neuroscience gives us an incredible insight into how our behaviours may be influenced by the pursuit of pleasure. Neuroscientists have taught us that if life is all about the search for rewards, our actions can be predicted quite accurately. We might each think that we know our own minds but those minds react very similarly to certain stimuli in particular situations. Is that all it's about? Are we here to look for the next chocolate biscuit and sunshine holiday? I'd like to think that we're more complex beings than that.

The problem of consciousness has stumped scientists for generations. Some neuroscientists believe that consciousness can be explained by studying the neurons within the brain. Other researchers have suggested that consciousness is a more difficult problem than this. Andrei Linde has suggested that consciousness may have its own intrinsic degrees of freedom, which would mean that our perceptions may be as real as (or even more real than) our microwave. (There is no spoon?)

Biologists focus on the need of humans to procreate in order to guarantee the survival of our genes. Certainly, the drive to have sex is strong and its impact upon many of the decisions that we make throughout our lives cannot be underestimated BUT (there's always a but) flaws on genes are passed on to the next generation along with all the best characteristics and some people are created in such a way that they cannot procreate, ie. there's got to be more to this one shot at existence than the popping of sprogs.

The biological explanation is one see-saw that has swung acutely in favour of nature over nurture. I'm more willing to accept that our primary function may be to pass on our genes and/or skills and knowledge. Progress is a product of collective knowledge and collective understanding rather than evolution alone. Unless useful skills are passed on (including the ability to socialise and care for one and other) life may continue, but in what form?

I am somewhat suprised to discover by means of this Wikipedia entry that defining life remains a challenge. This seems like something so basic that we should all know it, but I did not know that the essence of life remains undefined. There is something wonderful in knowing that science cannot come to agreement in defining even this most basic understanding of being - who's to say what life is?

It is next the turn of the physicists, who still can't agree how it all began. Despite all the experiments that threatened to open a black hole under Geneva, they can only describe the universe from 10-43 after the big bang. Thinking about the big bang has always made me feel a bit nauseous when I begin to consider this: there was a big bang and since then all matter has been expanding outwards - but what is it expanding into? I try to visualise this, taking into account that what I think of as 'nothing' is in fact 'something' and then, oww my head hurts! And the pain only intensifies when I read that it has been suggested that we are living in just one portion of a multiverse. And I've only just got over the idea that Pluto is no longer considered a planet.

I will leave you today with a quote from Wikipedia that made me realise that although they may be very meaningful and wonderful, our short lives are tiny pin prick holes on a giant map of eternity, and that makes me want to speak in a deep and booming voice alla the intro to Star Wars, or Star Trek (or was it Space Balls?): biological life will eventually become unsustainable, be it through a Big Freeze, Big Rip, or Big Crunch. It would seem that the only way to survive indefinitely would be by directing the flow of energy on a cosmic scale and altering the fate of the universe.

(Wow, altering the fate of the universe, that sounds great. I want to do that.)