Butterfly
Fly on the butter
magic carpets abound
always travelling.
Cobbles
Brighton Beach,
disappointed expectations
always waiting to be broken
Ice cream on the pier,
vinegary chips for lunch
couples cuddling in the cold wind
Where are the children playing in the sand?
Bandage the trees
The chainsaw hurts
rudely and crudely assaulting my branches
yet healthily removing dead tissue
Bandage my wounds
protect me from harm
be my friend.
Posted in Daily pages, Poetry
For some time now I have talked to myself about writing a manifesto for the work I do. This morning’s prompt was “What do I really want or need to write about?” Perhaps the manifesto is forming already.
A Manifesto of Possibilities – Set your people free
The answers are out there, the people need to be free. One would think that organisations are there solely for the benefit of some ethereal entity ‘the company’, but the company is there for the benefit of its many stakeholders and without the engagement of those stakeholders it can and will only survive in the short-term.
Mindless, thinking-less, managers believe that if they only set SMART stretch targets that all will be well, without really understanding the individual motivations of the people who work for them but should be working with them. Yes, money does matter in a way, but only in the societal ecosystem we have allowed to be created for ourselves; how much more inspiring is the possibility of an autonomous response to great leadership challenge. “Set your people free” applies not only in its original context but also to those within organisations. Allow them to master their science, there art, their whatever… and in the process they will develop beautiful systems capable of spectacular outputs. We only need management, especially old-style Plan/Organise/Control management, when we feel the need to control other people. Well, I ask, do you Mr Manager want to be controlled or would you rather develop your practice in pursuit of some greater good? Inspired by Bill Clinton “It’s the people stupid, not the stupid people”.
So set your people free – ask a good question, and answer is out there somewhere, let us go and find it. The search is not aided by plans and timescales but by the passionate search of somebody doing what they can, where they can, when they.
Posted in Change, Daily pages, Empowerment, Leadership, Manifesto
The detail matters
Tiny stitches of red, black and white, multicoloured stripes. The smells – leather reminiscent of a buzzing bazaar in Bahrain, of camels, of a warehouse full of books, lovely books. A zigzag road of white and black crisscrossing the desert, going who knows where but followed for the adventure, for the pleasure and titillation of not knowing. Coins inside from different countries, writings reminders of thoughts and deeds in foreign lands; yet all leading home in the end.
We talked about “Where is home?”, well for now it is here and there, wherever I happen to be yet always anchored to a pile of neatly arranged millstone grit in West Yorkshire. The love of travel, of adventure, of new discoveries, always tempered by the love of home and all it contains and represents. A purse, a book – both beautiful objects in their own way, both anchoring here and there, both public yet personal.
The detail does matter, each was chosen for some intangible desire to have that specific object, a purse or a book that cried out to me and now sings in so many ways of so many lands.
Grit in the oyster.
Posted in Daily pages
I’m not supposed to be here – at least in the sense that this is not where I set off for. A clear and compelling image of a mediaeval marketplace has somehow attached itself to the wrong place name in my head. Yet fate deals what it deals and here I am in the wrong place/the only place I could be. I am in a bastide town – isn’t it the same as all the others or is it different? The wrong question – how is it both the same and different? The jumbled rocks, golden in their glory glow in this watery spring sun. The tricoleur, hangs limp, blown occasionally by a stray wisp of breeze, reminding me that although Aquitaine was for centuries owned by the English, and in a different way is in the process of being reclaimed, we are indeed here in La France Profonde. We live with the seasons, eating what nature provides, we wait patiently yet anxiously for the return of the beautiful yellow. She shines now, breathing life into trees eager to renew their acquaintance with the life-giving sun. Their leaves turning in just days from mere ideas into greening hands reaching into the air for sustenance. The shading planes behind, ragged stunted fingers pointing upwards, waiting yet ever seeking the trigger that will make it grow so fast and huge that once again, and as it is resting in the dark depths of winter, all new growth will be removed. The arms and fingers look tortured yet the trunk renews them from year to year, as if knowing and understanding the relief it brings to tired and overcooked humans in the dog days of August. The summer is over, her magnificent bounty (p)reserved for days to come, when evenings cool and sky is grey, when snow glistens and rain falls gently renewing the deepest thirst of the land.
I should be here, it feeds me and I feed it. Next time I will visit Monpazier!
Posted in Daily pages, Travel
Now I am no fan of bloody revolutions – their history too often leave rivers of blood, carnage of bodies and the survivors disenfranchised only in a different way to that for which their brothers, sisters, parents, lovers and friends have been mowed down on the liberation fields.
Yet sitting in this currently drab concourse outside the Hotel De Ville, a concourse drab only because of the recent rain and unseasonal closing of the sun hardened locals both French and English, and whose magnificence will shortly blossom as the spring sun returns to warm and enlighten the creamy yellow stonework, I am reminded of the success of the French Revolution. If nothing else it forced the chefs onto the streets and kickstarted the restaurant trade so delivered of the gastronauts. But more, the power remains with both people and the politicians. The lowliest commune has its Mairie, elected in cases by only large handfuls of locals keen to ensure that their voices are heard and they get more than their fair share of the Euros coursing through the corridors of Paris. The farmers, perhaps still the peasant class and proud of it, exercise their power to close the local supermarché, the shoppers patiently waiting to be allowed into the Glass Palace this is a harbinger of mortality to the way of life lived for so long.
Liberté – not to be controlled
Fraternité – all in this together
Égalité – we are all humans
I don’t know if it is worth fighting for, is anything, but it is certainly worth having.
Posted in Change, Daily pages, Leadership, Manifesto
We were looking for a prompt, I opened the Tao and read this piece on Multitude, leading to this possible second part of my manifesto.
Leading by following
The leader knows when to emerge from the pack. Be it wolves who, trotting along aimlessly, suddenly find a prey and must (self-) organise for attack; or perhaps the cranes croakingly winging their way like serried arrows across the southern sky needing a new leader every few minutes; or the partygoers somehow deciding when to move on and which club pub or club to go to next.
There are no rules for this, except perhaps the one “Make your suggestion and see what happens”. Often times the suggestion will be rejected or ignored, it is not you who will be set aside, just an idea and ideas are plentiful, there is a multitude in everyone’s head. We follow the will of the crowd, yes we can do also influence and guide that will. Ignore judgement as that is as someone else’s baggage and you have enough of your own without accumulating yet more from them. The time to lead is felt not thought – feeling leads (to) thinking. One minute a follower, sensing the needs of the pack, the next a leader showing the way bringing your own particular skills to the situation.
Posted in Change, Daily pages, Leadership, Manifesto
An exercise for which the brief was to write about what matters to me, knowing that there was no intention of sharing it with others in the group. Well, I am happy to share it with the world. This is the first piece that has been edited – only very slightly.
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“What is it that matters to me?”
Where to start – people, places, things, experiences? All of these and yet none of these, for love can attach itself to any or all of them; and love of myself rises above them all. For unless I can love myself, then how can I truly love anyone or anything else?
Love is not blind, love comes from knowing that I am meeting my own inner needs, even when that need is to please or care for or support another. For love is not unitary – there lies narcissism – love is of the universe and involves and affects the universe. Love stands both alone and accompanied above all material things; providing inspiration and support and the way to find a route through the most difficult times. “I love you” provides both hope and reassurance, it offers both the giver and the receiver the prospect of a bright and thrilling future. Between lovers, friends, colleagues, acquaintances and even enemies it can lay a platform on which to build, a basis for co-operation and a safe and touching closure when times have been tough.
It matters that I am loved, yet that can only happen if I am able to love others. It is a gift that need never expire, unlike that gift voucher or bunch of flowers. The words seem to carry more meaning when spoken than when written or embodied in some artefact, yet even those can still be touching reminders – the photo of a loved one in the wallet, a faded wedding bouquet, the coffee cup bought in a tiny village in Cuba, the painting of irises hanging above the fireplace. They carry love, but the are not love itself, for love itself resides only in my heart and in your. A touch, a glimpse, an overheard word, all reminders of your presence and my inner comfort.
John Lennon was right.
Posted in Daily pages, Love
This piece was prompted by my choosing the word “chocolate” from a word hoard we created – in itself an interesting exercise in eliminating the ‘editor’ that so usually moderates the connection between our first thought and what we choose to communicate. For some reason the exercise reminded me of Wittgenstein’s concept of ‘underthought’.
Chocolate
She won’t be thinking of chocolate right now, far too many other pressures and demands. It turns out to have been a greater present than I could have ever thought, bringing so many people (as well as so few) together in a melee of warm, moist, smelly, edible fun. The tables draped for protection, the carpeted floor covered, everyone provided with their own protective cocoon against the delightful mess. It started well, they worked together – mother and daughter finally in symbiosis; each knowing their roles yet helping each other. Brought together by a singular love.
The life intervened. What could have been a luscious future was torn apart in a single short conversation – he wasn’t bothered about customers, only to make money. Trust broken, relationship ended, thankfulness or thoughtfulness absent.
What’s to learn? Don’t rely on others, they risk letting you down? Look after your own needs yet be both in dependent and inter-dependent? It starts with love, then work follows on, then love wins out in the end.
So here is to chocolate making, life’s lessons enrobed in a crisp, dark, sensuous skin. Look beneath the skin, there is always something interesting once you break the surface. Break your own skin, encourage others to break theirs – you cannot find their fillings for them but you can help them. Sweet or spicy, coffee or crisp, milk or plain, we are all different.
Posted in Daily pages, Food
The yellow bicycle, standing out glowing amongst the drabness of the grey and blue Raleighs; a daffodil brightening up the winter mud, showing the way to a spring and summer that we know will come sometime, that we know will blossom in ways unknown, that we hope will bring a bright yellow sun day after day after glistening soft rain. Where has it been, where will it go? Does it spend life shackled to this place through lack of adventurous spirit, or has it ridden the rugged mountain paths, the smooth village roads? Has it seen the ocean, the mountain tops, the clouds from above; has it heard the tickle of the crickets on a warm Greek evening as well as the croak of the frogs in this corner of 24?
The sun, the rain , the frost, the snow – all bringing their own unique and ever-changing experience for the yellow bicycle and her rider. I see them now, yellow bicycle and sun-reddened tourist, trying for harmony, unused muscles eventually complaining before being soothed by the wine, cheese, pate, bread… so thoughtfully prepared for lunch.
Then, on we go, a new adventure this afternoon. Perhaps not the Alps, but an adventure nonetheless. Yellow bicycle and rider experiencing it in their own unique ways.
Posted in Daily pages, Travel
This was the first piece I wrote on Sean and Mufida’s course – the prompt was simply to write for 10 minutes ‘introducing yourself’. I really want to edit it, but I won’t because this IS what I wrote.
Accidental, tumbleweed, synchronous, serendipitous – how to describe my presence today? My scientific and regulatory background predisposes me to write formally, succinctly and objectively (whatever that is!), yet I have learned through my journey of personal and others’ development that the intellect is a weak guide compared to the affect. If I am going to lead, end educate, others towards ‘being more of themselves’ then I need to become more of myself – exploring the desires and fears, trying new things, approaching old ones fomr a different perspective, challenging myself. I do this becasue i want to , not because someone else has told me I need to – I left that Controlling Parent behind over 20 years ago.
While I am here writing whatever, my wife Suzanne is at home writing her stuff, exploring her desire for academic recognition. She needs space for her studies, I need the warmth of the sun on my back – the cold, lazy winter challenged me for the first time ever this winter.
So, serendipity bumped into desire and here I am.
Posted in Daily pages
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