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faith

You Gotta Have Faith

April 17, 2009 · 26 comments

Artwork & Content Copyright 2009 Jean Burman

Cartoon Pen & Watercolour 8″ x 12″ 

It takes a person with a big open heart to live a carefree life these days. These are troubled times.  No-one is sure of anything.  We look at our lives and all that has changed… and wonder when it will stop… and if we will ever be the same again. When the answer comes back with a resounding “no”… our confidence in everything we knew to be true up to this point is shattered.  

For so many people around the world who are losing their jobs and their homes… their businesses and sometimes the relationships which underpinned them all… life will be undeniably different in the future.  But different doesn’t have to be a bad thing does it?  Sure… different will be strange at first… it always is.  But whatever the change… we know from past experience that we will soon grow used to it.  It’s all relative.  Because something is different does not (automatically) signal the end of the world.  

Besides… on the up side… “different” can open up a whole new world of possibilities.  Sure… it’s hard to be out of the comfort zone… but funnily enough that’s where some of the best stuff in life gets done.  

Moving on with it requires a large degree of faith… (and I don’t mean the religious kind either – although that can help if you’re so inclined – a bit of fervent prayer never hurt anyone – grin)

It’s faith… that quiet inner knowing… that allows us to step away from what we knew and take the necessary risk to move ahead in our lives… not knowing what shape or form that life may ultimately take.  It is the essential element in “loving life” despite the setbacks.  

In life…

Change is the one sure thing

Loss is all pervasive

and Faith is the only antidote.

It’s a beautiful thing… there should be more of it!  

 

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A Crisis of Faith

October 9, 2007 · 16 comments

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cartoon Copyright Jean Burman 2007

I was saddened this week by the sensationalised revelations of Mother Teresa’s longstanding crisis of faith. Don’t get me wrong… I was not saddened because she had experienced a crisis of faith… (and had long believed she had been abandoned by her God)… but saddened because the world got to know about it!

It is an unfortunate fact that people… being what they are… will now more than likely put whatever self serving spin on it they like and as is often the case… the truth may be the first and ultimate casualty.

One overlooked truth of course is… there are certain things that should remain sacrosanct between a human soul and her God… (which is how she had wanted it)… but this sentiment was apparently not shared by her church!

But now that the cat is out of the bag… the atheists and agnostics alike will no doubt take the opportunity to see her revelations as confirmation that God does not exist. The deeply religious will see it as proof that God does indeed exist… arguing “how else could this amazing woman “hold out” for so long in her good works… without losing her deep faith in a God she was (apparently) unable to reach?”

Perhaps the truth can be found somewhere in the middle. Or perhaps it can never be found at all… as the true intimacy of her tormented thoughts have passed on with her… (it would be hoped) into the “fulfillment” of eternal life.

Whilst I think it is contemptible that her confessions have been exposed against her wishes to the misinterpretation of the masses… I find it strangely intriguing that I am unable to resist the urge to examine some of the questions her confessions raised for me. (So as you will see… I am as guilty as the rest! LOL)

Whilst most of us haven’t (and more than possibly could not have) lived a life so totally devoted and dedicated to humanity as Mother Theresa’s was… I suspect that many of us may understand (even if only slightly) how she might have felt… and may even have experienced some small degree of parallel in our own dealings with God… (whomever we perceive the entity to be).

Bizarre as it may seem… I see a parallel here for artists too! And I guess… for every vocation where someone invests their heart into their work… this may well be the case. But in particular for the creative artist… the road is long… and the rewards can seem “thin on the ground”.

Not only are artists attempting to attract the attention of a fickle (sometimes) uninformed audience… but even if the audience does notice the work… rarely is it able to acknowledge the “artistic voice” in a language it can understand.

Monetary reward is one thing for the working artist… but always… always there is the deep intangible yearning for something more. It’s that something more that has sometimes driven artists throughout millenia to desperation and despair. Artists are often their own harshest critics… playing the game by a set of rules that others find difficult to interpret. The bar is high… and becoming ever higher… the vocal critics have the majority… and an apathetic voiceless (and dare I say it “artless”) audience can often appear to be sitting it out on the fence without an opinion (okay… a little harsh maybe! *wink* LOL)

Don’t get me wrong… I am not for a moment suggesting that the plight of the struggling artist can be compared to the selfless struggle that Mother Thesesa faced over a lifetime of saving the poor of Calcutta. On the contrary… I am simply observing the parallel in order to better understand her torment… and hopefully find some common ground for the rest of us.

I am wondering then… if Mother Theresa’s deep spiritual longing could have been… in essence… the unquenched thirst for (not only affirmation that she was on the right track)… but also… the ultimate recognition for a job well done? She certainly didn’t need this recognition (in her case… spiritual fulfillment) to carry on… but perhaps a positive spiritual endorsement from an “available” God could have made the journey far easier to bear.

But maybe that was not God’s intention. Maybe he trusted her more than anyone else to never give up… no matter how hard it got… and despite the perceived withdrawal of “spiritual” recognition and perhaps even because of it… she did even more good works!

Call me way too simplistic… but could it be that somewhere in this small parallel… there is a God-sent lesson for us all?

Just thinking… :-)

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Beyond blue…

October 1, 2007 · 12 comments

beyond-blue.jpg
watercolour sketch 8″ x 10″
Copyright 2007 Jean Burman

 

I am caged in this corner

full of melancholy and sorrow

my wings are closed and I cannot fly

I am an Afghan woman and I must wail…

- Nadia Anjuman 1980 – 2005

 

The young woman who wrote these words is now dead. She died at the age of 25 by her husband’s hand. He believed she had brought shame on her family for publishing a book of her poetry entitled “Dark Red Flower” in 2005. She left behind her 6 month old child.

Nadia Anjuman was one of a group of brave young women who… during the reign of the Taliban… met secretly under the guise of sewing lessons at the Golden Needle Sewing School to study literature under a professor from the local University in Herat. After the fall of the Taliban… she attended the university… and in 2005 she published her first book. Her beautiful and heartfelt work reached the hearts and minds of enthusiastic audiences across Afghanistan and Iran and traversed issues of love… emotion… religion… and the continuing plight of women in Afghanistan. That plight continues today.

In her recently released documentary “Lifting the veil/Afghanistan Unveiled”… documentary film maker Sharmeen Obaid returns to Afghanistan five years after the invasion (and the fall of the Taliban) to see how things have improved. What she finds… despite protestations to the contrary from the west… is a country where women are still beset by incredible hardship and deprivation of the most basic human rights.

From Kabul (the showcase for women’s rights and western progress in Afghanistan) right across the country to Herat on the Iranian border… the story for women is one of abject despair.

In the backstreets of Kabul… just a couple of streets back from the building sites, the western style shopping malls and warlords palaces… homeless women shrouded in burqas… are begging in the street… and selling whatever they have (even themselves) to feed their children. Many are widows whose husbands were killed during the conflict. There are an estimated 2 million war widows in Afghanistan. In a country where women are still denied the very basics of human rights… and are completely dependent upon men… many are starving while they beg on the streets… as second class citizens… waiting for someone to take pity on them and help them.

Women and girls as young as 7 are still being sold into marriage and many are attempting suicide as their only potential form of escape from the burgeoning crisis of domestic violence. Women mostly “burn” themselves in an attempt to not only end their despair… but also to draw attention to their plight in the most obvious way possible… in the hope that someone somewhere may notice them.

Women require their male guardian’s written permission for admission to hospital and many are being denied this right… and consequently die along with their babies… from the complications of childbirth.

An excerpt from the documentary film maker’s website describes the current situation thus…

“Throughout her journey, Sharmeen finds little evidence of Western aid making a difference to the lives of women. The streets of Kabul are full of aid workers in flash ‘four by fours’ but the lives of ordinary people have hardly changed.

Sharmeen concludes that the liberation of Afghan women is mostly theoretical: it was naïve to think that the country could be transformed quickly, when the oppression of women was the consequence of centuries of tribal and cultural practice – not the sole invention of the Taliban. The West should be asking hard questions about where all the millions of aid money has gone, with so little to show”

Sign the Violation of Women’s and Human Rights in Afghanistan Petition

Comments always welcome…

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The Magic of Starfish

July 6, 2007 · 17 comments

It was a particularly sparkly July morning. The sleepy red sun had risen earlier over a languid blue sea… and by mid morning… I found myself standing knee deep in the cool, clear shallows of the lagoon which had formed along the beach. The lagoon had not been there long… perhaps only a few short weeks or months. I marvelled at the changes since my last visit.

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Botticelli Sea Garden – Copyright Jean Burman 2007

The beach changes frequently here… the sand shifting in response to the tide. With it’s incessant swirling and circling… the sea forms the sand into bars and creates pools along the beach where once there was none… and where all manner of marine creatures now exist. How they know when to come… and (more importantly) when to go… I have no idea… but I suppose there will always be those who are lost in the ever changing transition between the sea and the shore

As I stood knee deep in silent contemplation…scanning the horizon and breathing in the fresh beginnings of the day… I felt a rather strange sensation beneath my feet. I looked down… standing perfectly still so as not to disturb the water in order to see… and was all at once amazed and horrified at what I saw. Beneath my feet… and beyond… for as far as the eye could see… were millions and millions of tiny starfish! No bigger than the palm of a child’s hand… they lay scattered like precious jewels flung into the sea… stretching far and away across the sandy bottom.

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As I stood there unable to move a muscle… and fearing to take a step should I inadvertently step on one… I marvelled at the fact that I had not noticed them upon entering the pool… as their small, flat, half buried shapes lay silently on the sandy bottom in perfect camouflage with their surroundings.

What to do… should I go… or should I stay? Common sense finally dictated that I couldn’t stay there forever… so with great trepidation and by placing my feet with very great care… I picked my way out of the pool as carefully as I could. It occurred to me afterward that perhaps I needn’t have been quite so concerned as, on occasion, when my foot inadvertently encountered one buried deep in the sand… the starfish slipped effortlessly to safety from beneath the weight. Nature has it’s way.

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Back on the beach… the warm sand between my toes… I contemplated the miracle of what I had just seen. From this distance the lagoon pool was motionless… and gave no hint at the tiny miracles that lay beneath. From here… it appeared to be just another day in paradise… but for me… I knew there would never be another day like it.

The Starfish – [attributed to Loren Eisley]
Once upon a time there was an old man who used to go to the ocean to write. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began work. One day he was walking along the shore. As he looked down the beach… he saw a man dancing on the sand. He smiled to himself to think someone would dance on the beach… so he began to walk faster to catch up. As he got closer… he saw that he was only a young man… and he wasn’t dancing. Instead… he was reaching down and picking something up… and gently throwing it into the ocean. As he got closer he called out “Good morning… what are you doing?”
The young man paused… looked up and replied “Throwing starfish into the ocean…the sun is up and the tide is going out. And if I don’t throw them in they’ll die.”
The old man then remarked “But young man don’t you realise that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it. You can’t possibly make a difference!” The young man listened politely… then bent down and picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea.

“It made a difference to that one” he said.

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