red

"...the Great Dutchman's severe, subdued study, no longer of nature but of reality."

---Z. Herbert.

"red, as an infinite task."

---Iris M.

~~~

The (f)utility of electronic communication:

Over the last two weeks a number of online conversations(?) have ended abruptly with statements such as:

1. Obviously I thought we only differed over semantics, let's meet over coffee so I can clarify my points.
2. I can explain myself if we meet in person. Let's have lunch.
3. "We" need to define our terms more carefully. I'll do that later. I haven't got time now.
4. I write because I write.

Now, this might be seen in a positive light in that the participants have realized that communication over the net misses out on a lot and that personal, face-to-face conversation is needed. On the other hand, I find it hugely frustrating and really a cop out since in all cases it was more like a get-out clause, a way of not having to explain anything or really engage with the other person. Instead, there is an indefinite and vague deferral to 'some other time', a casual indifference which basically means: "yeah, like, forget it." And that's the way the net works: one can unplug, disconnect, ignore others whenever wants to. A kind of freedom, yes, but something that in real life is not looked upon in a favourable light.

~~~

In front of you, a driver with a dark tanned and leathery face, hours of concentration worn deep into it, a profound sense of being deep in the world and yet also, strangely, free from it. In the grassy island between the two roads an old woman with thick spectacles stands patiently by her paraplygeic son who sits in a wheelchair under a tree. She waits, waits for someone to hand her some money as their cars crawl to a halt before the nauseating red of the traffic lights. I think of that woman's decision to buy those glasses, necessary in order that at least one of them can carve out some space in the world for themselves, which in this case simply means: merely to survive. When you read the words "the noblest function of things is to to be contemplated" you realize how much stupidity there is in the world.

If religion or philosophy teaches us that the highest end of men and women is contemplation then two hurrahs for the death of religion, the death of philosophy.

~~~

For tens of thousands of years human beings have been praying to some Being, some higher spirit, asking for forgiveness or that they and their loved ones be protected from evil, or asking, in desperation, for some kind of help. Is that making good "use" of God? Only someone without a religious sensibility would ask such a meaningless question or think of the divine in such a narrow light. For how can God open a door if we do not knock?

On the other side of the road is a beautiful remnant of old Lahore, a house that seems quiet and peaceful deaspite all the chaos beyond its outer boundaries. There is a beautiful old brick wall, parts of it painted in thick paint, and in the inner courtyard some dusty old trees, filtering the light, creating patterns of light and shade as old as time itself in the inner space.

I think of these old places, soon to be destroyed in the name of progress and development, as the last breathing spaces of the city, like dark wells in a desert, places of imaginings and final memories that will soon be torn up and thrown in the air, like so many fluttering scraps of brightly coloured paper.

Red is the colour of our memory and of our myths.