Archive for the ‘relationships’ Category

What Surrounds Passion?

Posted: January 13, 2019 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, literature, meaning, Musing, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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Wise Friend,

Travelling around the world for a few years was vital. Now I know, what I mostly miss: having close friends, with whom I don’t have to censure what I say. I had a friend like this in LA. Lately, I’ve been living in a friendship hiatus.

Yes, I can call anybody around the world, but a close encounter (face-to-face) weighs a lot in gold.

A beautiful relationship would answer this void, but it seems I don’t get any help here. I’m so surprised, and I’m asking myself: how do I appear to a good, intelligent woman, what do my manners, looks, face convey? I have no answer. So I’m not concentrating on women now. One day, I caught myself praying.

Wandering Friend,

I think you brought it as close to God as you could.

Wise Friend,

It is time to let it go.
I’m now concentrating on just being relaxed, always, which I’m not, on being warm, always, which I’m not. I scare myself when my tone is too blunt and frustrated when I feel heavy because I have no other reason to be like this besides of this internal garbage I still seem to carry.

Wandering Friend,

You are a passionate person in any area, in the art you love, books you read, museums you visit, in friendships, and love.

Wise Friend,

I blame my current isolation on being a passionate person. I’ve become more and more aware that this passion I have isn’t surrounded by clean feelings, it doesn’t live in a background of serenity.

It comes surrounded by garbage, by losing sight of the other person, and the uneasiness this other person might feel, by a momentarily strong willingness to have my ideas accepted and acknowledged and, importantly, bought-in.

It’s almost as if I enjoy a subject too much and expressing it ends up hurting me, not because of the impression others have, but because it manifests itself with a self-destructive attitude.

How to continue, how to relax, detach, be conversational, charming without passion and without apathy?

In fact, how to separate the passion from the garbage that wraps it? How to bring it first wrapped in serenity, and if possible lightness and happiness around it?

I don’t have a solution, besides ensuring I have to feel the serenity for long spells, choose this state, talk detached, and not let anger touch me–only in exceptional cases, but even then I don’t want it ever.

I don’t mind sadness, but anger is my biggest enemy.

Wandering Friend,

Serenity with no passion? Who will you become?

Wise Friend,

The real me.

How Clueless Am I?

Posted: January 6, 2019 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, meaning, Musing, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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Wise Friend.

I have a highly educated friend working in garden maintenance.  He asked me to join him for two weeks. I wanted to do some physical work. I accepted.

We joke with quizzing customers about both us having masters and somehow having become blue-collar workers.

Wow Friend,

How do you cope with the physical work?

Wise Friend,

Gosh! It is hot and hard! At the end of each day, I’m tired and euphoric, intoxicated with feeling great. I love being outside, and I love hard physical work.

Wow Friend,

Shall I envy you?

Wise Friend,

Yes, please do!

We chitchat a lot. My friend mentioned that one little conversation back at home becomes the obsession for a man if he works alone and nobody distracts him. This is the risk of men doing manual work by themselves. He returns home emotionally worked up. Sensitive to extreme he demands assurance to rebuild his trust. The wife resents it.

I attended a book club today. Mainly women. I repeated to them what he told me. You should have heard them. This is what they said:

“Women are extremely good at making an elephant out of a fly inside their heads.”

“It’s a myth that women don’t obsess on small comments and gestures.”

“They speak with all their girlfriends, and they expect full support for the ‘seriousness’ of the issue. If the friend tried to shake them up, to check their priorities, the anger would be endless.”

“Back home, she lashes out emotionally.”

I was speechless. Did you know that? How clueless am I?

Wow Friend,

Somehow, yes. How is it in your home?

Wis Friend,

Sometimes, we both lash out. We take turns. Probably, it depends on who obsessed that very day. You don’t want to be a witness. Thank God, we love each other.

What’s Love Without Trust?

Posted: January 2, 2019 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, meaning, Musing, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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Wise Friend,

I’m looking back at conversations, emails, and turmoils people shared. So much pain due to broken trust.

I elevate trust about love. What’s love without trust?

Good Friend,

It’s NOTHING. No trust, no love.

Is It Indeed a Lose-Lose Situation?

Posted: December 31, 2018 in author, book; books, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, meaning, Musing, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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Wise Friend,

My heart and soul are healing I think, but it’s very slow. I found out that Michael has had another woman for a long time (don’t know how long) and my kids have known too. Lana was sworn to secrecy. Alex made the judgement–wrong in my opinion–to not tell me because he thought I was under enough stress. I’m still recovering from the duplicity and humiliation of it.

Lovely Friend,

I can imagine how you and Lana feel. And I’m sure that Michael is smiling along and sees it as nothing or as life. “You, those within my close family around me, take on all my rubbish because I know how to smile.”
I’m sure that he plays down Lana’s feelings, would she try to talk with him.

Wise Friend,

I don’t think she tries to talk to him. She rather tries to be grown up and cool about it all. It’s with me that she shows all her emotions and contradictions and anxieties. Some recent comments: “I’ve lost my father, I can’t lose another parent. I hate the fact that I wasn’t given a choice of whether to like Beth (the new woman). I just had her presented to me, and it was assumed I had to like her. I hate the way she just assumes I’ll be coming to the wedding and doesn’t understand why it’s so hard.”

Lovely Friend,

He seems to think, “The experience is going to toughen you, kid. I’m too weak to plan it differently to spare you the pain.”

Wise Friend,

He might think “They are my children, and I’m polite to invite them to my wedding.” They have to learn how to socialise, and they have to learn that and that.

Lovely Friend,

This just shows he didn’t change. How out of touch he is with those closest to him. He has no idea how to sacrifice some social requirements for the wholeness of Lana’s emotions. Though, which ones?

Wise Friend,

It’s a bit like some many things happening around the world. If you deny that something specific exists, then there’s no related consequential problem, is there? So, if he denies that any of this is a problem, then he doesn’t have to cater to the complexities. I’m so tempted to see a teenage counsellor, but no. It’ s hard, opening the wounds again (not that they were ever really closed)

Lovely Friend,

When my son was a teen, the primary drive was my love for him and the correctness of the situation. Until they are 18, you are not supposed to let them take all their decisions. They need your protection much of the time, and they don’t always know how to protect themselves.

You might not look cool, and you might bring on another crisis with Michael. Lana doesn’t want to create any waves. She would feel guilty. Parents re-marrying messes up children as young as Lana.

Deep down they didn’t solve the issues of their parents’ separation. Deep down they still hope for reconciliation. Look at TV shows and movies exploiting these feelings depicting parents getting back together. Only adult children, not even all, can take re-marrying easily.

If you feel that this is a betrayal, I promise you they know that. I don’t think their decision not to tell you is an act of betrayal or duplicity. It’s a tough decision between protecting you and delivering the hurtful message to you. A lose-lose situation, any one of us (including yourself) has found oneself in. Not only once. Children of divorced parents have no way out of many such incidents.

Lana is still a child. She must be shown consideration and basic care and willingness to deal with her. I’m not ignoring Alex here, but Alex is at an age where he has to put up with rubbish. He might choose not to. In a way even Lana has to. All kids of all age have to put up with conflicts. Sometimes, we must protect them, though it would be not healthy for them to protect them each time.

Wise Friend,

Yeah, I think Lana wants me to give her kind of moral permission to attend the wedding. I can’t do this in an honest way, because I think that Michael has behaved atrociously through all of this. Attending the wedding means accepting all the rubbish has passed. I don’t know how to do what she wants and still be true to myself. The counsellor, I am going to, says that I only began to progress through all this dirt when I started to be honest about my own feelings. E.g. by telling Michael not to come here any more and cutting off all contact with him. This really hurt Lana, but it’s the only way I can function – with him completely out of my life.
God, I want to have a day when the thought of him does not cloud my mind.

On the personal level, Michael’s wedding invitations are out and apparently, Lana and Alex are going to be invited. Lana is torn in half. Alex, I don’t know. I feel like a dog that has been whipped and now is having its head kicked in. I’m supposed to allow them to make their own choices; I imagine that’s what all the good books say. Why then does it feel like such a betrayal if they attend? Lana said ‘other kids have their parents break up and they are happy with the remarriage’ or ‘break-ups are painful for everyone.’ I wish it would all just go away.

Lovely Friend,

It’s painful, and you have to take care of yourself to be able to take care of them. What a cliché, I’ve just written!. Yet, you’re the adult and sometimes, you need to bite your pain and do what is right for Lana and even for Alex. About Michael coming to your place, tell Lana you have a right to privacy and to your home. That, she needs to swallow.

Addiction to Latin and “Mea Culpa”?

Posted: December 30, 2018 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, meaning, Musing, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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Lovely Friend,

Your ache is your way to doubt yourself and still attack yourself; knowing that aches me. Right now and for a while you’ll continue to be unfair to yourself, but this is such a complicated pattern to break.

OK, OK, you still want to turn this pain on its many sides. I promise you it will go away.

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You seem to refer a lot to the physical part of you: to your looks and weight. I can only tell myself you have an unusual sweet smile. Your voice! Your voice is so pleasant one can drown in it. You are caring, intelligent, giving, with a great sense of humour. You brought so much to my life and to many others who crossed your path. Consider your children and your relationship with them.

Michael didn’t appreciate these in you, and he never had the skills to lavish himself in this generosity. You were the best thing that happened to him, and he didn’t know how to handle it, so he chipped at you and proceeded to destroy you. I know you know all that and the pain drags you down.

Each one of us, man or woman, has deep needs one wants the other to fulfil them, even without being aware. It goes both ways, though in many marriages or liaisons, one may give, while the other not.

I don’t understand why partners, who don’t give, destroy. But right now, each time you feel the pain you are hurting yourself. This is tough to unlearn.

Wise Friend,

If I hang my head in shame, what will you think?

Lovely Friend,

I was sure you’ve concocted enough shame. I didn’t imagine there is more room. It seems the container is made of live skin, and it expands.

Take a little plastic bowl and for each shame and anger drop a small pebble inside.

I will continue and risk repeating myself. The way you use the English makes it a song in itself. I always wanted to hear more and more of it. When you called the Offen(s), they both remarked the voice, and they mentioned that. Lana inherited hers from you.

Wise Friend,

This is such a beautiful letter like an arm around me offering love.

By the way, I love getting little musings notes from you. There is so much nice energy, despite your addiction to Latin and “mea culpa.”

In one note you wrote, “Despite his perfect words, Elvis was a bastard.” I like this. Why didn’t I think of this? I would have written “in spite of” instead of “despite”. What’s the difference? It’s “in spite of” and there’s no difference in meaning or use, I suspect. I find “despite” neater.

Going to bed now; I send you my best thoughts and loving fond wishes.

Lovely Friend,

Latin and “Mea culpa”?


(image “Glass Tears” by Man Ray 1932)

    Who, Besides the British Uses the Word “Acquaintances?”

    Posted: December 23, 2018 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, meaning, Musing, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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    Wise Friend,

    I went to Houston to meet some new acquaintances. I was there for a week.

    Sensitive Friend,

    “Acquaintances?” Who, besides the British uses that word? I find people expect me to call them “friends” since calling them “acquaintances” hurts their feelings.

    Wise Friend,

    I experienced the same. I can afford to be precise with you. Such a relief!

     

    I

    I toured Houston in stages.

    On my way to meeting them at their office, by the tollway, all areas are flat. I lost my way, and I didn’t like the neighbourhood. I knew I was close, but how close?

    I was driving back and forth under the tollways/freeways, faced with concrete strips and poles sustaining those strips. It was a dry image from a movie of cities without souls. I imagined myself living in Houston, and I already felt trapped for years in an unattractive city.

    On my way back I drove again by concrete sustaining concrete, concrete running by concrete, concrete running under and above concrete. It wasn’t for me!

    Also, I could not find even one classical music radio station or even one with political commentaries.

    Sensitive Friend,

    I don’t remember Houston being so dreary. Hmmm!

    Wise Friend,

    Next evening, Jeff, one of the guys, hired a 15-seat van and took us around, showing us Houston’s beautiful suburbs. The city has a lovely downtown, alive in the evenings. A stadium built downtown years ago revived the nightlife.

    Its medical centre is humongous, a city inside a city. Hospital near hospital, a place to get lost and treated if needed. “If you want to be sick Houston is the city. It’s at the same level with Boston” (I hope we never would need that.)

    Houston has beautiful architecture and stunning mansions on charming streets with wonderful gardens.

    Some of their high risers have a very delicate design. The Transco Tower, near the Galleria, is tall and slim with vertical lines created by its relief and attracted me the most. It’s the tallest skyscraper in the USA outside of a downtown area. Whatever this means!

    Jeff took us around golf courses, and parks, along jogging allays and walking paths.

    I asked Jeff about classical music radio stations. He pressed a button and Voila! 92.1. He pressed another button—political commentaries!

    It rains frequently, and therefore Houston is lush. Next day, I looked out of the windows their office. This was my fourth day in that room. This time I saw the greenery of this city—a sea of treetops from grey-green to bottle green and in the distance the elegant skyline of Houston downtown. The things our mind filters based on wants, fears and again those so self-limiting assumptions!!

    By now, I warmed towards this city.

    Many questions welled up. I concluded that I don’t know how to visit a place, that I need to return again and again, force myself to open my mind and with it, my eyes would open beyond my assumptions.

    Sensitive Friend,

    The same goes for some books. When I joined the Proust club in my city, I repeatedly remarked I had not read it correctly. I had read it differently. Indeed, I had noticed and interpreted things in a novel way from the others, but we all missed on parts, depending on our interests and background.

    When I miss on details, guilt overwhelms me for at least 30 seconds.

    Travelling, like fine arts, antiques, and music, requires experience continuous drilling, keeping in touch, and probably some talent.

    It can’t be done from home, books or libraries.

    (Photo – pixabay)

    Noticing Beauty – Is It a Taught, Imbued, and Educated Love?

    Posted: December 20, 2018 in author, book; books, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, meaning, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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    Wise Friend,

    Parents need to show children what is beautiful around them, while very young.

    Sensitive Friend,

    What happened?DXTE34-1024x682

    Wise Friend

    I’ve become more and more aware of walking by beautiful objects, be it art, flora, buildings and not noticing them. Always focused on the final destination. I remember how families in the neighbourhood went camping, hiking. Not us. We had extraordinary parents. They were not nature people. Their focus was on art, books, and literature.

    Sensitive Friend,

    That focus (art, literature, music) is about beauty.

    Wise Friend,

    Yes, but it was not about the beauty in nature. I love what they offered us and how much all that has enriched our lives forever. However, we missed on learning how to look around. It’s not a reproach about them, it’s an observation. Each family with its own quirks.

    Sensitive Friend,

    What brought these thoughts to mind?

    Wise Friend,

    Last night I was walking along my street. For some reason, I was slow and looked around at flower beds, at buildings, their hedges and gates. I looked at views between buildings of valleys and mountains. I noticed details I missed for months. I said to myself: “Those first seven years at home!”

    When I was an adolescent, and during my university years I went frequently hiking. Long gruelling hikes. I used to be very effective in reaching the destination of the day. The mountains were steep and impressive.

    I didn’t know I didn’t see them. I loved hiking, though. During one such hike, a close friend told me, quite annoyed, we have to stop and look around and we can’t just push ourselves to reach the final target. I didn’t like what he told me. I stopped in my tracks to accommodate him. I forced myself to look at nature. I loved it, but my body wanted to start moving. I decided on the spot to let my friend decide the pace.

    In time, I admitted I lived in an incredibly beautiful country, and I never saw it, although I hiked all around. I didn’t know how to see. Friends would talk about a place or another, describing them, describing their magnificence and I remembered nothing. I knew something was strange, but I didn’t know what.

    Sensitive Friend,

    The capacity to identify and discern subtleties requires love, passion and persistence.
    This is true of any type of art and true for hiking or mere walking as well. A taught, imbued, and educated love.

    Wise Friend,

    I started to see (notice the surroundings) only in my twenties. What was the trigger? Maybe, because I lived for a few years in a place quite arid and anything green was a shock to my senses.

    Later I moved to a city as green as one can imagine and want. Initially, it amazed me. I never got tired of its beauty.

    I remember a street, named Ocean Avenue. Arriving from that arid place, somebody took us to Ocean Ave. The trees took my breath away. They had tall and wide trunks with so many ridges, so rich colours and leaves I could not take my eyes away from them. I went back many times. Then I lost touch with Ocean Ave. Years later, I went there in search of the same feeling of awe. The trees were not so thick any longer. They were still stunning, but they seemed to have shrunk. I was wondering if I was on the same street. And suddenly, I understood that initially, after the young trees in the previous place with not enough water, these trees seemed so full and big. With time, living in this lush green city, I got spoiled with lush trees so when I went back, the trees “shrunk.”

    Sensitive Friend,

    I went once to visit Australia and friends drove to show me the Blue Mountains. I was beyond disappointed. After the New Zealand mountains or the European Alps! Were these people serious to call them mountains?

    I turned my back, and I didn’t return for years during my frequent visits. Five years later, I was curious again, and I went to see the Blue Mountains by myself. I strolled, was quiet, and discovered a splendour I didn’t know it was there. During that walk, I learned how to notice the flowers whose exquisiteness is so subtle, and you better stop to look attentively at details and thus learn to see. Then your soul changes. I was sitting here, and I realised that the first time, I walked by the music and lyrics.

    Wise Friend,

    That what I meant.

     

    (photo http://www.sydneywildernesstours.com.au)

    Anybody In a Tuxedo at the Casino?

    Posted: December 19, 2018 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, meaning, Musing, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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    Sweet Friend,

    For the first time, I’m going to Nevada. I dislike gambling, but I’m looking forward to seeing the opulence of the casino. I wonder what changed since those old Hollywood movies and now. How is luxury displayed? How are women or men dressed? I’m looking for my tuxedo.

    Wise Friend,

    I flew once to Reno Nevada for a conference. During the flight, I sat next to a beautiful American woman from Reno, who told me the Hilton hotel has a great shopping centre under the hotel, a grand casino at the entrance and a great night bar ‘The Garage’ in the lobby. I was so excited! While passing through Los Angeles, I had time to buy a gorgeous blood red woollen dress with a turtleneck.

    I entered the hotel, and in the lobby, I saw tens of poker machine, an image I distaste, and I forgot what she told me.

    I went to a party of the conference. Those attending were aged hippie-computer-geeks with body postures affected by sitting twenty-three hours a day in front of their computers, and not enough hours dedicated to fitness—movements and behaviours frozen in the sixties, looking sad, trying to catch up with times. I watched them dancing.

    There was something so grotesque about their sense of dress and dance. Everybody was keen to pick somebody up for a night of “romance.” I didn’t want to see any of them undressed. Among them, there was one dancer who knew how to move. He looked better and fitter. I watched him and with my passion for dance, I enjoyed the only graceful person on the dancing floor.

    Sweet Friend,

    Anybody in a tuxedo?

    Wise Friend,

    No.

    By the evening, I understood that the poker machines were the casino (duh!).

    Nevertheless, I put my red dress on and was ready to walk through the casino. I was looking very well, but I expected to be the most modestly dressed woman. I expected glamorous women with gorgeous evening dresses, with naked backs, great low cut fronts, and men in tuxedos. Everybody was dressed in jeans, sweatshirts and pants. Some colleagues, who liked me, told me I was looking like a model. The ones who never liked me asked why I dressed up. From modesty, though in red, I was the glamorous one. Disappointed but flattered.

    I gave in and gambled $20.00. I won a bit in between, lost it all by the end – my tributes to this world of strange fun.

    The next day I visited the shopping centre—a lousy array of cheap shops.

    Later, I decided to go the ‘The Garage’, I in red, they in jeans. A colleague of mine joined me. I ordered a virgin Marguerite (which I found out means without alcohol, duh!) and then I had a great time watching the locals. They came in couples and danced ‘western dancing’. I’m not crazy about non-couple dancing such as line dancing. I watched only the couples, and I had such a good time. The western swing is so gracious and requires great skills. I loved it. My colleague left. I didn’t want to go to bed. Imagine, being alone, watching couples dance and being happy. Not bad!

    Take your jeans and a t-shirt. Leave the tuxedo at home.

    Sweet Friend,

    Ruined it for me.

    Interesting Transitions, Aren’t They?

    Posted: December 18, 2018 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, Musings, networking, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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    Sweet Friend,

    Lately, I thought about my son a lot. About the sheer experience of bringing up a child. About him, only a few days old, looking so beautiful. About his first night at home after his birth when suddenly I heard him hiccupping and when I looked at him. He kicked away his nappy, and he was naked. We took him out of his bed unto ours. I stared at him amazed by his beauty and his happy eyes wondering around with a sparkling twinkle and the unique calm of Caesarean born babies.

    Then as always, my thoughts drifted to the time when he was two. At that age of my son, I was aware daily how much I loved him and liked him and how amazed I was every day by every little change. It was the age of what I’d call qualitative jumps.

    I thought back to the last events during the previous two years before I went to work across the oceans. To the night when we had a fight, he left the kitchen and then came back and with a strangled voice told me: “I love you so much!” He stopped touching and hugging us when he turned thirteen. For the first time in six years, he approached me very timidly and hugged me.

    Wise Friend,

    I remember well when my son turned nineteen. He didn’t yet develop into a grown-up man. His friends did. When they visited or called on the phone, they had those bedroom looks and voices and talked in a flirty manner with me. I felt like laughing at them and ignored that. It meant nothing. They were playing their games.

    When they gathered four-five of them in our little apartment, I always went out for a walk, as I didn’t want my son to notice his friends’ game.

    Sweet Friend,

    I’m reflecting more and more on what my son is becoming. He is maturing, and I even can seriously consider his opinions about some areas in my life.

    He tells me about his decisions. I try so carefully to let him free, to let him take chances afraid he might hurt himself, so willing to let him try while he is young and with no family to support yet.

    I so much don’t want to cut his wings, and so much I’d like him to be wise and measure everything.

    There is nothing like this experience of bringing up children and wanting to learn from them and through them learn what dignity, life, and healthy freedom are about.

    As they grow and become our friends, we forget that at their age we had our maturity and in the process of accumulating years, we might have thought arrogantly we took the wisdom with us, and we left nothing for the generations after us.

    Wise Friend,

    I’m also discovering that people close to my son’s age are becoming serious conversation partners, so I guess they are growing up.

    Lately, when these young people (older, however, than my son) show to be wise and in their ways, mature and charming, I’m taken by surprise. Their talk shows wisdom and kindness, and I am relating to them like to equal minds and souls. I have to remind myself, and I have to remind them I could be their mum.

    They enjoy talking with me, and they ask me to forget my age. I can’t and I shouldn’t and I won’t. Some things are not right if one crosses the boundaries.

    Sweet Friend,

    Exactly, these young men enjoy conversing with us, and I love it!

    Wise Friend,

    Currently, I’m at a stage when much younger men court me. I rule them out for a serious involvement.

    It is much better than before when I was attracting men at least 70 years old. No way!

    However, I ruled out a charming twenty-nine year old, as it feels too funny. Pity, though.

    There is another man, thirty-six years old, who wouldn’t need ruling out, hadn’t he been such a bore. I’m just slightly older than he. He is reasonably well read with a so-so sense of humour.

    However, when he talks he sounds like a schoolboy doing his homework and trying to impress the teacher. I tried a kiss, which was so bad that the rest wasn’t worthwhile trying further, anyway. He also has no children, and he would wake up in a few years he wants to father. By then I would close shop, and I don’t need these aggravations.

    Sweet Friend,

    Interesting transitions, aren’t they? How would we sense them this way without having the experience of bringing up our own children?

    Wise Friend,

    No way!
    Meanwhile, I enjoy my dance lessons, and I’m passionate about them. It’s fun, romance in a bottle, but they do an excellent job for me.

    Does Life Take Over One’s Life Relentlessly?

    Posted: December 16, 2018 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, meaning, Musing, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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    Wise Friend,

    I met a few people today, and we talked about how we felt at the turn of the millennium. By now it’s such a non-event. It saddens me a bit.

    Sensitive Friend,

    Before the turn of the millennium, I met a guy who used to lead regular millennium-related get-togethers. The Millennial Café.

    They analysed similarities between theories or conspiracies developed before years 2,000 and 1,000.

    I joined that group once, if I remember well. It was what I wanted and was looking for in my peregrinations around the world: interactions with intelligent and fun people and a great theme. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to beep or to be quiet.

    Wise Friend,

    Yes, there are many such groups in US universities. Are they challenging? Fun, too? Is there a lot of interaction? I wonder.

    Sensitive Friend,

    It quite surprised me when I entered the small room. I expected a large group of people where I could get lost and listen. I love watching people interact. I took a while to accept that such an eclectic small group can be in the position to influence policy.

    Wise Friend,

    The strange world of political decisions in a super-power!

    Sensitive Friend,

    I raised that question, and the group leader told me that at that moment, their impact on policy was fairly circumspect.

    How many such amazing little groups sprout in these great universities as ‘secret organisations?’

    Wise Friend,

    I don’t know, but all those strange voluntary organisations are one of the marvels of the modern world.

    I hope you didn’t keep quiet. That would have been a waste of your intelligence as far as I’m concerned. In such groups, you speak when you have something to say or ask. It’s a free for all.

    Sensitive Friend,

    They wanted to replace the word ‘superstition.’

    I was thinking about the tendency of superstitious people to ‘collect’ additional superstitions as their ‘knowledge’ gets richer.  Something like ‘globalisation or integrating the faiths, rites or traditions’.  I became obsessed with finding a word.

    I told him. Ouch! “Integrating the faiths” was hardly one of his “superstitions.” Quite the contrary, he didn’t think there was a real tolerance if you can’t accept that the “other” really is “other.” He wanted to take upon the task, to present the group “with an irreducible other, which would drive control freaks crazy.”

    Wise Friend,

    When you talked about the “integration of faith or ritual”, did you refer to the willingness of people, whose religions are based on many superstitions, to adopt Western habits or rites as part of their superstitious makeup?

    Sensitive Friend,

    Yes. Had I conveyed it any other way? If yes, Ouch!

    I asked a dear friend who had a PhD in linguistics. Clearly, I wanted to impress. She jokingly suggested – “routinised premonitional intuition” – or RPI !!! Quite a mouthful! How are you going to explain such a mouthful expression to non-English speaking superstitious whoever? The intention was not to offend them. This group leader had to use the term in the media and in his communication with people involved in cults or religions.

    To my astonishment, he liked the expression. He replied quickly “Why premonitional? Apocalyptic beliefs — the cosmic transformation is happening now — is a condition of heightened (hyperactive) and improvisational premonitional intuition.”

    Somehow, I never followed up. What a pity! Life took over my life.

    Relentlessly.

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