Time in Ashes :- the plaint of a tool-less bloke

Robert Bly, one of my favorite American poets, wrote a book that influenced me greatly: Its title was 'Iron John: A book about men'. It was a cornerstone of the mythopoetic men's movement, which sought to liberate men from the constraints of the modern world, and re-acquaint them with their true masculine nature.

Support act for the Mentals.

These guy's played wonderfully original instrumental guitar music.

One of the central images of the book is how men seek the heights. In this conceit, the feminine gender (not women per se) are of the earth, rooted in the matrix of connectedness and blood, childbirth and community. Male gendering,  in contrast, is condemned to heaven, to make the aspirational climb, to become something. He paints a picture of the dis-embodied male competing to climb the mountain of his own ambition. This is a clear reference to the career driven modern male, spending long hours at his work, donning that symbol of aspiration, the suit, seeking to be the master of destiny.

Mental as Anything, live in Woodburn.

New guitarist for the Mentals

Bly then describes the 'time in ashes', when the aspirant male, having reached the pinnacle of his ambition, senses the taste of ashes in his mouth. All that striving; the BMW's, the Rolex watches, the beautiful silicone-enhanced girlfriend, all of it suddenly seems worthless, pointless, meaningless. The man is then forced to consider his life and values, to re-create meaning for himself in the more essential and fundamental things of life.

Martin Plaza, one of the original members.

Martin Plaza, looking rather aged.

Well, I've been feeling a bit like we've been doing our 'time in ashes'. The first blow was the loss of Sophie's child, at 24 weeks. Megan and I had been feeling a re-newed sense of purpose, with the thought of becoming grandparents, and the hope of establishing family connections with Megan's children. Shockingly, suddenly, this was gone, and our hearts went out to Sophie for her loss.

Support act for The Black Sorrows

Joe Camilari and 'The Black Sorrows'

Joe channelling Van Morrison.

We also started to finish up our old life in Lismore. We put our house on the market, and that meant that I had to process the contents of my shed. Now, my shed is a true blokes refuge. It was bigger than the house, and full of potent tools. I had BIG TOOLS, I mean, industrial size tools. There was a metal lathe, a gear head mill, bandsaws and drill presses. Well, I had to sell the lot, which I did with great alacrity. But it was not without some grief, and a sense of loss. Lismore represented our working life, we loved living there while we were both working, lately at teaching. But the tools also represented that male sense of potency, the ability to make things, to fashion raw material into useful objects.

My beautiful lathe

Can you sense the potent power in my mill?

Now, retirement is hard enough for a lot of us blokes, we lose that ability to provide for others, and to establish ourselves in the social pecking order. But the loss of all my tools was a particularly low blow (pun intended). There went my sense of agency, of usefulness with my hands. I had loved being able to spend time in my shed, fashioning beautiful things out of raw elemental stuff like wood, metal and fibreglass. Now, I have to seek new ways to define myself. Got to love the challenges of getting older (NOT!).

One partially finished product of my shed, an ocean-going kayak.

Another shot of the kayak, only needing the two halves to be joined.

You might notice from the photo's that we've been seeing a few local bands. It's great to see acts that we grew up with, still out there performing. In fact, it seems that it was our generation that went out to live music. In the clubs and pubs circuits that we frequented, all the audience were our age or older. The musicians were as well. In fact, I went to high school with Andy Smith (who is now Greedy Smith, frontman for 'Mental as Anything'. We really loved seeing some live Australian music again.

So, even old farts can rock out!

 Its been great to have a break from house cleaning/selling, medical procedures and family meetings about wills and powers of attorney, to catch up on Aussie Rock. We're keen to start extending our musical vocabulary to include some of those distinctive Australian sounds. Australian rock music has always been a bit raw, but throbbing with power and excitement. In fact, Megan is currently doing a great job rocking Billy Thorpe's 'Its Almost Summer'; so maybe we are finding new directions and passions in older life. Maybe I can survive being a tool-less bloke!

Plans of mice and men .....

"O.K. Someday—we're gonna get the jack together and we're gonna have a little house and a couple of acres an' a cow and some pigs and—"

"An' live off the fatta the lan'," Lennie shouted. "An' have rabbits. Go on, George! Tell about what we're gonna have in the garden and about the rabbits in the cages and about the rain in the winter and the stove, and how thick the cream is on the milk like you can hardly cut it. Tell about that George."

"Why'n't you do it yourself? You know all of it."

"No…you tell it. It ain't the same if I tell it. Go on…George. How I get to tend the rabbits." (1.119-123)

I loved Steinbeck's " Of Mice and Men" when I was at school. And later I encouraged students to read this slim novella.

Our return to Australia could have easily been part of such a novel. Themes like redemption, appreciation, hopes for the future and love of family all apply to this journey home after two years away. The reality has been more akin to the novel than I could ever have imagined.

In November my daughter told me amazing news. I was to be a grandma. My baby was to have her first child in April 2016. I went into grandma frenzy. Everywhere I went I saw baby shops. She confided in me that she was expecting a baby boy. How marvellous! So naturally baby clothes, a musical merry go round were bought, wrapped and packed. 

I rang weekly, as prearranged by me, to keep up with the news, and ensure I knew how she was going. Teaching had become our meeting place, now a baby would help, I hoped, for us to reconnect: my constant desire.

Steve and I had begun to plan our return home to Australia. Trying to get closer to my children was the plan. Domain, a property website, became my favourite internet addiction. But reality said we could not return to Sydney. It was too expensive. So Brisbane Waters became our place of choice: near water and a train line. Even rethinking our next years sailing had begun. Where would we leave Pavlov for 6 months as we made our move south?

However as in the novel, plans often go awry even when it seems like nothing can happen to alter such wonderful times.

Sydney is always a shock to us on our return from Europe. Hectic, crowded and expensive. Great to catch up with my family. Michael my son met us at the airport and immediately he took us to meet his partner Jason. It was wonderful to see my boy happy. 

Sophie was well. I gave her my gifts and we planned a dinner on the following Monday. On Sunday morning I received the worse text I could ever have . Her baby had died that night. I was devastated for him and for Sophie and her husband. But what could I do? 

As the days past and I didn't see her the reality of this loss took hold. I felt helpless. 

We left for Ballina and it felt like our life and plans for our future had changed again, as radically as the change I had felt were needed in the November. A message from "somewhere " miraculously enabled my flowers to arrive in time for Sophie to take them to the funeral. Thanks mum and dad.

We both miss Pavlov and the security and freedom she offers. In a life that really is so tenuous the familiarity and enjoyment of our cruising life is sorely missed. 

Life has served us all a massive sledge, from which I don't know how long it will take to recover. My hopes for a better future and resolution seem dashed. Will we cruise forever?

However as the sea beats against the rocks and gradually alters the shape of the coastline, I know things will change. Though I am generally a pessimist, about my children I am always optimistic.

Megan 

Homecoming

It's been two years since we last visited Australia, so with some trepidation, we packed up ship and headed for (?? home ??). Both Megan and I are no longer sure where home is. We've both moved on from Bexhill, our previous house, which is now rented to tenants. My mum offers us refuge, and we certainly feel wanted there, so Ballina may be a contender. As for Sydney, that's pretty much now in the 'too hard' category. Truth is, Pavlov is now home, so we'll have to re-invent something for when we want to define a new home off ship.

Main cathedral in Catania

Christmas fair in Catania

I love to see street music

Fountain flair in Catania

So, we hopped on the early morning bus from Licata to Catania, and spent a day hanging out in that city. Then we caught the train to Rome. Interestingly, the train is wheeled holus-bolus onto a ferry to cross the Straits of Messina. The ferry can swallow two 5-carriage trains whole. Quite a feat! The train travels up the western coast of Italy, so its a very scenic trip.

Messina from the train ferry

Port of Messina 

Trains inside the ferry

So, we're having to look closely at the idea of 'home' and what would help us establish a sense of belonging back in Australia. Megan's children live in Sydney, and we have always had the agreement that we would move back to the Sydney area when grandchildren enter the scene. However, Sydney has become unbelievably expensive and real-estate of any form would be impossible for us to buy. Also, Sophie has not been at all welcoming, and seems to be set on denying us any form of relationship. Ties with other family members in the Sydney area are tenuous at best. Anyway, back to Rome. We'd spent 10 days in Rome a year ago, so we just did a little shopping, and I went to see the Henry Moore exhibition in the Diocletian baths. We couldn't resist the odd church or two. Rome was, as usual, over the top.

Just another unbelievably gorgeous church

Ceiling detail

Roman ruins, in well, Rome.

Doors fit for an emperor 

Truely spectacular

Convenient mirror for ceiling viewing

Ceiling detail

Inside the cupola: are we in heaven yet?

Speechless beauty

That's an organ for you.

We're hoping to come up with a six month on, six month off solution to living on the boat. Next winter, we plan to put the boat on the hard for six months, perhaps in Port Napoleon in the south of France. But then the question is, how to spend time with our Sydney based family? Best solution to date is to stay up in Ballina, and buy a camper van to live in while we are down in Sydney. Who knows? Any other possibilities will be gladly entertained.

Diocletian Baths, which housed the Henry Moore exhibition

One of Moore's reclining figures

My guess is that this one is female.

Piece commissioned for a nuclear reactor

Studies for a reclining figure

Love the drawings for his works

Another reclining figure

Several Moore's

So in the end, we ceased our deliberations, hopped onto the horrendously long flight with Cathy Pacific via Hong Kong to Sydney. I hope that real life will sort it all out. We are staying with our great friends Carmel and Warrewrk in Oyster Bay for about a week, then we head up to Ballina for Christmas with my family. Merries to all!

Learning to Learn

Erik Erikson, a developmental psychologist, formulated a model for individual growth over the entire lifespan; unlike Freud, for whom development stopped with the discovery of genitally oriented sex! Erikson believed that the final development stage, which he termed 'Ego Integrity versus Despair', came around retirement age as we slowed down our productivity and contemplated the accomplishments of our lifetime. From this enquiry, we develop integrity if we see ourselves leading a successful life. However if we believe that our life is unproductive or feel unresolved guilt about our past, or that we did not achieve our life goals, we can become dissatisfied with life and develop despair and hopelessness. Successful resolution of this developmental stage leads to the virtue of wisdom, enabling us to look back on our life with a sense of closure and completeness, and to be able to accept death without fear.

Bridge spanning the gulf of Patras.

Megan and I had to travel to Athens last week. Megan had developed 'trigger finger' and an inflamed ganglion in her right hand and required some minor surgery to correct the problem. We think that this problem was exacerbated by Megan's enthusiastic winching during our last season, one of the hazards of being the only crew on Pavlov!

So, long periods of idle sitting in post-op waiting rooms led me to consider Erikson's final life stage and my contribution to it. I started pondering just what my life might have been about. I can't provide the easy and traditional response of naming my career, as I've had several. I've done stints as an acupuncturist, cognitive research scientist, mental health worker, juvenile justice supervisor, data analyst and computing officer, radio technical producer, gliding flight instructor, yoga teacher, secondary school mathematics teacher, university tutor, railway roustabout and several other jobs less salubrious. Career-wise, I've been a jack of all trades but master of none.

Megan resplendent in her hospital gowns.

However, I do feel that I've focused my life around one major goal: I've learned how to learn. I can remember making a pact with myself when I was a young adult, to never work in a job unless I was learning something. My life really has been about learning; not only have I completed eight or nine formal degree's, but I have mastered multiple new jobs and diverse skills sets. I'm a competent teacher, an okay seamstress, woodworker and boat repairer. I can work with fibreglass and metal, can construct electronic projects, build radio-controlled model aircraft, operate a metal lathe and mill. I can play guitar reasonably well, can program a computer and understand advanced engineering and mathematical topics. I'm not trying to inflate my ego by displaying a diverse skill set,  but to illustrate the point that the one thing that I've been good at in my life is learning how to do new things.

Post Op Salute from the Patras ferry.

Megan recovered from her surgery, and after 3 days, we drove home from Athens. We were shocked at the 14 Euro toll just to cross one bridge spanning the Gulf of Patras, so on the return journey, we detoured and crossed via ferry that cost us only 6 Euro.

A major learning opportunity came by late in my working live. At 50 years of age, I gave up a senior psychology position to retrain as a secondary school teacher. I completed a 2 year graduate diploma of teaching qualification, began teaching mathematics at a rural high school, and put myself through a  master's degree in education while completing a major sequence of study in Pure Mathematics. That was a new experience; for the first year of teaching, I felt like a bunny rabbit caught in the headlights of a Mack truck!

Boat harbour in Messalongi

We took a break from driving and explored Messalongi, a small town on the Gulf of Corinth that we had always wanted to sail to,  but hadn't found the opportunity.


So, I feel that I've been very successful at learning how to learn. I've mastered a skill set that makes the acquisition of new skills relatively easy. Its allowed me to excel at university study, winning a university medal, first class honours and several research scholarships. Its interesting how this theme of learning has played out: my PhD thesis was on learning (specifically the computer modelling of the acquisition of multi-column arithmetic skills in young children). Even more so, our boat (which we did not name) is called Pavlov, after the Russian psychologist who was the first to systematically study learning.

Messalongi  bay

So even though I may not have excelled in any one particular area, I feel as if I've obtained some meta-skills about learning at allows me to feel a sense of integrity (in the Eriksonian sense) about achieving my life goals. Its interesting that I'm now attempting to pass on some of those meta-skills. I'm teaching a guitar theory and blues class for expatriates at the local marina. Observing this class, I desperately want to pass on some idea's about how to learn. Here's a short list:

* Don't practice mistakes - you only learn to play the wrong thing better.

* Break down big things into little things - learn achievable sub-skills then put them together.

* Use your practice time strategically - play the bits you're bad at, not the good bits.

* Learn to listen - both to instructions and yourself.

* Separate practice from playing - and make sure you enjoy yourself and just play when playing.

* Play with others, share skills, and teach what you know.

* Have fun.

Megan in Messalongi main street

Whew, thank some higher entity that I passed Erikon's last stage, achieved Ego Integrity and can bask in my newly acquired wisdom! I was worried there for a bit.

We are back on the boat, and Megan is recuperating well. Winter has been wet, windy and cold, and we are starting to look forward to the frantic activity of the sailing season. Albania, here we come.

Imagination and Belief - A Psychobabble Rant

Panorama over Prague

I hope you'll excuse my abuse of this site, which is primarily a travelogue of our journeys in Pavlov. Occasionally however, I deviate from this goal and include some smattering of the contents of my own thinking and philosophising. Okay, you've been warned!

I have two ideas about some cognitive mechanisms that I find a little contradictory, and so I wanted to air them, expose them to the fresh drafts of other's opinion, if only to clarify my own thinking. The first idea is about the function of imagination in our thinking, and the second is about the function of belief.

Firstly, to consider the imagination. I consider that the function of consciousness is to render the imagination in reality. I'll try to unpack that sentence. In a trivial way, we imagine actions before we carry them out. Sometimes this takes conscious effort, as when I imagine two numbers in my mind, add them together and output the result. Sometimes, its automatic, as when I want to walk to the door, and just carry it out. However, it's clear that we have the idea of an action before we perform the action.

By extension, I think that the same thing occurs for creating things as well as actions. I imagine a flower before I draw it: I see in my mind the shape of the piece of furniture that I'm carving, and so on. The artist, the inventor, the composer; all see 'in their mind's eye' the thing they are making before  creating it in reality.

Prague astrological clock

I notice that when I hold the idea of what I want to make in my imagination, my mind starts to plan and create the steps necessary to bring this about. Often this process goes on outside of my awareness. I see that shape I want in a piece of wood, and my hands start automatically carrying out the steps to realise it. So, in this sense, consciousness translates the imagination into reality, creating what we see internally.

I think there's a deeper sense to this that just the above trivial examples. I used to say to my students: 'You become what you think about'. The contents of our cognition have a way of translating themselves into the reality that we surround ourselves with. Think of the creative artist whose 'channels' are wide open, pouring the ideas in their minds out into creations in the world. However, for many of us, our imaginations are not under our control or wise guidance. I wonder what the impact may be for young men who spend hours each day watching the torrent of pornography available on the internet. What reality does their imagination translate itself into?

A lot of new-age pseudo-religion just amplifies this idea. Concepts like 'The Secret' and training programs like EST focus on how we create our world in this fashion. I know that this concept has worked for us. Megan and I had the idea of seeing Europe by boat, cruising the Mediterranean. We clearly imagined our life doing this, and lo and behold, it came about. Not without a lot of effort, training, painful mistakes and errors, but it did come about. I do think that we can do whatever we can think about.

As an aside, I want to describe briefly some experimental work that I did for my uncompleted doctoral dissertation. I was interested in the role of imagery (the output of the imagination) in attentional processes. I projected a 3 x 3 grid onto a computer screen. In some cases, some of the grid squares were shaded in to form a letter. For example, you can imagine a grid with the letter 'H' shaded in. In other cases, I asked subjects to imagine the letter 'H' in the grid. The secondary task was for subjects to respond with a button push to a probe (a flashing point of light) that could appear anywhere in the grid. Not surprisingly, subjects responded faster to the probe when it occurred on a part of the letter. In line with my predictions, responses were also faster when subject were imagining the letter, as when they were perceiving the letter.

I interpreted these results to imply that imagination is a kind of perception. We can imagine (sic) that perception 'paints' the percept on some kind of spatial representation in the brain. I tend to think of the 'paint' as a kind of attentional process. We attend to the fore-ground of the letter by an increased activation level, and ignore the background by a lesser activation. Therefore, the probe dots are perceived faster on the letter, due to the increased activation level. Similarly, imagination paints with a kind of attention. We draw the letter on our spatial representation with our imagination. Subsequent probes are perceived faster due to the same facilitation mechanism as with perception. In this case, contrarily, 'Believing is seeing'! Imagination is an active process that is similar to perceptual processes.

So in summary, imagination is a creative principle, whereby the conscious mind seeks to realise the contents of the imagination in the real world. In contrast to this principle, I also wanted to explore the idea of 'Belief'.

Prague church window

The most striking example of what I'm calling Belief is given by the idea of 'Faith' in religion. The idea of faith is that I should hold certain tenants (such as 'Jesus died for my sins') irrespective and regardless of my actual experience. I take the idea of Faith as meaning that I am given some ideas from an external source that I will hold to be true, regardless of my own experience. I have faith that 'God is love', even though the world is full of misery. I believe that I will go to heaven as a reward for my good acts, even though science tells me that there is no immortal soul.

I must declare here that I see Belief as a negative process, in that it denies our own experience. But how then do I differentiate it from Imagination, which I see as a positive and creative process. Both are things that we hold assiduously in our mind's eye, and attach a kind of fervour to. Perhaps a hint on how to differentiate the two ideas comes from my own research above. Imagination is a process closely allied to our own perceptual process. It uses the 'perceptual machinery' to paint in the mind's eye. Belief, on the other hand, seems unrelated to our own perceptual process, indeed, it wants to deny that process and have you believe, regardless of the evidence.

Inside St Vitus cathedral in Prague.

By relying on the testimony of others, and forcing adherence to ideas from the 'outside', I see Belief as a process that confounds the imagination, and stops the free flowing creativity that comes from an active imagination. But, as the photo's above show, Belief has given rise to some of the most gorgeous architecture on the planet, and inspired all sorts of creative acts. So, perhaps my argument is flawed. Perhaps one can imagine inside the container of belief. Like all distinctions, it seems to break down at the periphery.

Well, I feel better now, having gotten that out of me. Not so sure you'll feel the same way! All comments and reflections will be gratefully received. Pavlov out.