“no one is better for being bigger”

“David el Gnomo” was one of our family’s favourite shows when my children were kids, and we were living in Spain.

The full intro is at the end of this post, but I’ve cut to a scene about half the way through below.  At the top it says, in Spanish (castellano): “Nadie es mejor por ser más grande.”

This kinda translates as: “No one is better for being bigger.”

I was reminded of this wisdom today.  I am reminded more and more of the intelligence, innate curiosity, kindness and thoughtfulness of practically all the young people I have ever met.

In a world where adults fail constantly to understand each other – where certainly my ability to properly live with others, and understand their desires in relation to me, is more and more to be found distressingly wanting – it is to children I think we must look in order that we might recapture our certainties about human relations, living together, research and investigation, the purpose of science and learning, and many other issues of modern life.

Such young people have an unerring sense of where things are at.  My own diagnosis of mental ill-health which dates from 2003, meanwhile, has defined for over a decade a skillset which I firmly believe I have to be more an illness in need of being rigorously drugged out of action.

My ability to sense where reality lies has taken many knocks; is doing so even now.

I am sad about this; sometimes, even angry.

I hope no child or young person will ever have to go through what I have gone through – indeed, what I still am having to attempt to comprehend.

The full version of the title song from “David el Gnomo” can be seen in the second excerpt.  If you understand the language it’s sung in, it’s an entirely inspiring blast from pure childhood.

And if you don’t understand it, just believe me.  OK?

[cry-(sieze] up) / (tough) love / freedom

Families are good for many things.

At their best, they support and liberate at the same time.  And they are at their best when our definition of what they are is at its best, also.  I mentioned the other day how I had begun to describe and think of those members of my family who I actually like being with not as my family but as my friends.  Conversely, those people I meet and fall in love with, and whose bloodline bears no connection with mine, become what I consider my true family.

I think that’s the best definition of family we can have.  Not blood relations: love relations.

I’m slowly, gradually, soundly, strongly emerging from a long depression which lasted about eleven years.  It was triggered by events which I have gone into recently, but do not need now to repeat: it’s enough to say they hurt me a lot, and I in turn hurt many others too – of multiple generations.

But things are beginning to seem very different.  I can sense, smell, touch and watch it happening.  I am beginning to regain – or maybe that’s gain for the first time – the courage to have the convictions I always believed in.

Family cry-sieze still seize me up a bit, mind: but today – with two fairly minor but whackily dramatised ones, unreasonably and just a tad violently sandwiching a peaceful middle of the afternoon of taking photos on my part – I resisted the temptation to allow such events to drive me into temporary blacknesses.  My brain does weird things usually when moments of familial anguish are pushed my way: my body posture changes; my feelings become very low; a maelstrom of memories – of things I was not allowed to do all my life – crowd into my very being, and my very self, and that very moment.

But today it didn’t happen.

And I am getting much better at preventing it from doing so.

And I know what I need: I need to be free of toxic blood – whether relations or friendships, it’s love I actually need.  And this love may even be fairly tough: yes, I realise that a lot of what’s been happening around my being the last year or so may have constituted that kind of love, offered up by friends and family (ie bloodships and loveships) who perhaps did, after all, know better.

So anyhow.  It’s true.  I am finally getting there.  It’s been a hard ride for us all.

But one day, one very good day, we’ll all have the opportunity to understand freedom.  And I want it for us all.  But mostly, I want it for me.


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be-a-u-tiful, not a dutiful

Duty is necessary but too often it is used as a stick – a lever, a machine almost! – to spanner the soul of a man or woman from becoming the soul each should be.

And those who demand perfection over mess, the stain-free shirt over the crumpled, and the well-folded undies over brash and breezy tops … well … they enjoy their duty not as an adjunct to good living but more as a curse to command that another may not fly.

And that is wrong.




tiful lifenot a dutiful dead.

And yes, do live this rock as if there were no tomorrow, because indeed it never is.