Unguided Blog

Does the world need a new guidance, a fresh perspective, a spiritual uplift? From where I stand, all of our systems, be it economic, political or spiritual, are miserably failing. But what really worries me most is the failure of human intelligence. I unhappily observe billions of people who are attached to beliefs, any belief without exception, without a critical analysis of it. Some are bold, yes bold enough to claim theirs is supreme because… There is no because, as a matter of fact, and that is exactly why it is bold. It is above and beyond judgment and criticism.

Systems, even good ones can fail eventually. It is up to the critical mind to test, constantly evaluate and pass judgment. As Popper said, we progress by falsification. But what if we are so afraid to falsify? What if falsification is out of question? What do we do then?

On this last day of 2008, I wish you all reflect on what went wrong so far, in your life, in your environment, anything really. Without fear and prejudice. Without being bold.

I lived in Romania as an expat for nearly three years. Although I can eat virtually anything (especially if I’m hungry), we used to go to a Turkish restaurant where we can find fish, I mean the ones we like, otherwise local fish (from lakes and rivers, occasionally from Black Sea) were plenty. After a visit or two, the Romanian staff quickly learned our favorites and all we had to was to choose the fish of the day.

One day, or rather night, we learned that the truck bringing the fish had a problem at the Customs. Not very much surprised as ordering anything and everything from the truckers in order avoid the unnecessary customs formalities (futile barriers against free trade, how pathetic) was a long standing Turkish tradition, we simply cursed our luck for that day’s truck was not coming from Greece, the other fish supplying country. The Greek, being law abiding visitors would have brought the fish (You did not believe that, did you? Good!).

Well, this unfortunate incident unfortunately disrupted our usual routine with the staff. While my friend ordered chicken, I took a pause to decide and I heard the waitress say:

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I have always had difficulty reading the writers of the South. Capote, McCullers, Williams… They all managed to reflect human soul so well that it was impossible not to feel depressed; the heat, the dust, and the humid air, hanging and covering you like an invisible veil. Like your own sweat.

Sweat.. Despite the northerly wind it clings to me still. On an ordinary day, I could have liked it. I could have, because it would have marked the beginning of summer, the favorite season of the idle, of Russell, of me.

But I did not. Watched the forests from Serik to Manavgat burn instead, regretting the Forest Love video of the previous post.

That’s why the Southern writers are so good. You hate them, yet they move you. Turning over the next page can be an agony, yet you feel you have to, to face the truth, to look inside you. Did you?

I can never understand what is wrong with the Americans and their obsession with acronyms. My first encounter with them was years ago, in an inter-company board meeting. Dressed casual as previously instructed, we were sitting around a big U-shaped table. At the open edge of the table was a screen on which various slides about development, financials and various stuff would be shown.

The gentleman, well, supposedly higher ranking than the rest of us took the microphone and a parade of acronyms began. One after the other, non-stop, a myriad of acronyms were being shot at us, without showing any sign of mercy or regret: kpi, pnl, bs, pso, tsr, roi, abc, def.. The list was long. Do not get me wrong. I knew what he was talking about, that bs stood for balance sheet, not bullshit for example, but the scene was so surreal that it was like we were orbiting the Earth in a shuttle, and all those acronyms were floating in the cabin at zero gravity. At one point, I almost opened my mouth to catch and swallow one (Now you know what goes on inside those board meetings; making thousands per hour while you are sweating for a few bucks is not so easy). I poured myself a cup of coffee, instead.

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It was Lala who got me in this shopping frenzy. She gave a mouth drooling account of her feelings about watching the storm and enjoying nature’s symphony entitled “Falling Rain” (her words, not mine) in her post Like Mother, Like Son.

After reading the article, I peacefully went to bed. In summer we hardly see thunder storms, let alone tornadoes here. The temperature is hardly below 35 degrees (Celsius, do the math yourselves to convert to Fahrenheit), humidity always high. It has a peculiar kind of appeal, though. And I woke up to a day with dark clouds gathering and a medium northerly wind, reminding me to take two aspirins in order to prevent the expected headache to come whenever there is a sharp drop in the temperature.

I started to prepare the breakfast, and took the plates, glasses, and the tea pot (I do it, the tea I mean, very well by the way) out to the garden like I often do in this time of year. Everything was alright until halfway through the breakfast. Then, a few things started to bother me. The old wooden table, chairs I repaired a hundred times, the fading color of the umbrella on the other side, the window panes crying “Paint me,” even the birds on the now old bench were singing differently. As the wind increased its intensity, so did the itch. There was only one way to stop it.

I got back inside, fired up the PC, started googling for companies offering garden furniture, patio products, etc. Found a good looking one with really good looking patio furniture and garden decor called Patio Preserve, and picked up 5000 dollar worth of their product line for my shopping cart. When I reached the payment page, I learned that they were not shipping to Turkey but only 50 states of USA, and etc, etc. While I was muttering lovely phrases of the Turkish language one after the other (language is important in swearing; imagine doing it in French and you’ll understand. Some languages are simply not fit for the job, but Turkish is) my itch was already over.

The truth is I already knew they were not shipping to Turkey. The first thing I check in on-line shopping is the shipping policy of the company, but it’s a trick I learned from my mother and improvised for the cyber world. She used to go out for shopping whenever she felt depressed or angry, although there was really, I mean really nothing to shop for. She told me “It’s the voyage, not the destination that counts.” Apparently it works!

Garden safely and naturally with the Arbico Organics!