Showing posts with label dust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dust. Show all posts

Monday, 21 December 2015

Comet Tails and Coal Dust

Day 22 (Tuesday 22nd December 2015)


22 is referred to as "two little ducks" in Bingo. Bingo's roots can be traced back to Lo Giuoco del Lotto d'Italia - the lottery established in 1530 in Florence after the long Siege,
as a means of raising funds for the state. The game spread across Europe. It was called 
Le Lotto in France and consisted of a square of card marked out in 3 rows and 9 columns with
numbers from 1-90 arranged at random in the boxes. A caller announced numbers as they were drawn.
The game travelled to North America in the 1920's and was called 
Beano (due to dried beans being used
to cover numbers once called and also being shouted when the first horizontal row was filled).
Legend has it that the name Bingo came about through an over-excited mispronunciation of Beano.
100 million people play bingo today.
Today's blog has been written by Trevor Black. Trevor was born and raised in South Africa, but now he lives in the UK. His parents had a passion for learning and creativity (both traits Trevor has inherited). Being academically accomplished and highly intelligent, Trevor commenced his career by qualifying as an actuary and working within Investment Management. He is rare in that he is both highly analytical but also is charismatic and curious - Trevor enjoys stimulating conversation and challenge, so it is no surprise that he subsequently transferred into a direct client-facing role. In autumn 2014 Trevor decided to go it alone and pursue his own passions - he blogs daily, you can read him on http://www.swartdonkey.blogspot.co.uk/, is always up for a challenge, is a talented artist and entertaining and thought-provoking companion. You can follow him on Twitter (his handle is @trevorblack


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When you look at the Pale Blue Dot picture of earth, we are less than a pixel. We are all the same pixel. It is difficult not to feel insignificant when the comet passing the earth, and the ‘large’ rock we call home melt into one, from far enough away. And yet, as that comet passes by and it continues on its journey, it is the only thing that matters. Each time we do something, it is the only thing that matters. Each time we think something, it is the only thought we have. Each time we look at someone, they are the only person in that moment with us.
Our lives are composed of stories and patterns. We connect things. Nothing exists in isolation and so we constantly look for reasons why they do. 



To help us predict what will happen next. To give us a sense of control. But hidden in the tails can be events that define everything. That change everything. The thought that we had put such importance on previous specific choices brings a wry smile. Each thing we do doesn’t matter in the broader context of everything that matters to us. And yet each thing we do is the only thing that matters.



The patterns that define our lives may turn out to be noise. They may turn out to have contained grand directional meaning that withers into nothing. The thing that cannot ever wither into nothing is the AND. The individual connections between things are eternal in time and space. 



Life may not have meaning. Life is given meaning. The meaning is what a thing is connected to. Parent AND child. Mentor AND mentee. The relationship between two things is far more important than the direction. Moment AND meaning.



From those connections, we can find the energy to drive us toward the things that matter. The warmth of a glowing coal, whose energy is released. Whose energy is transformed. 



Those connections are the coals. They are the glow. Even as they may pass, or break, they lead onto something else. We are only partially in control of the pattern of life. What we are control of is how we respond. What we are in control of is the current moment. Even if real control is just the ability to focus. To savour the moments and connections with which we are presented.



So that when those moments become dust, and they will, they will have been worth it. When those moments become dust, we will not have been so obsessed with them that we didn’t have perspective. Yet their dust will be part of the fabric that makes us up. We will have been half-hearted fanatics. Saving energy. Keeping our fire burning. Looking after ourselves. Looking after those we love. Looking at the stars. Creating and appreciating a world and a universe to which we are deeply, and intimately connected.



Tuesday, 15 December 2015

Down in the Dirt

Day 16 (Wednesday 16th December 2015)
16 of this year's "Forbes Celebrity 100: The World's Highest-Paid Superstars of 2015" were women. 
The boxers, Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao, topped the list - Mayweather made $300 million 
(the highest annual amount ever earned by an athlete), 
$250 million of his earnings were winnings from his fight against Pacquiao in May. 
Katy Perry was #3, due to income related to her world tour.
According to the World Economic Forum the gender pay gap may take 
another 118 years to close.

It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to Paul Clarkethe author of today's piece - given the time of year and prevalence of office parties, the publication is timely. Paul had a high flying career in management consulting (advising public sector organisations on their IT strategies), prior to seeing the light and following his passion to become, in the space of less than 5 years, one of the UK's most respected "real time image creation" and event photographers. In 2013 he was listed, by Professional Photographer magazine, as one of the Top 100 Photography Heroes; in 2014 he won the Professional category in the Event Photography Awards and judged the event this year. Paul is inspirational on many levels - perceptive, creative, fiercely bright (he studied Engineering, Economic and Management, Information Management at Oriel College, Oxford), aware of his own weaknesses and always prepared to question and challenge. I first met Paul via Twitter, and have subsequently become a client - he took some brilliant photos of family and friends at my eldest son's 21st - and he is also a friend. He introduced one of our new blogging voices via the Adnet Blogs series last year and I am delighted to have him with us in 2015. Chatting with Paul is always a pleasure, so long as you don't mind surprises and debate. He is a fine wordsmith - try out his photography blog - or else enjoy his company on Twitter (his handle is @paul_clarke).


NB Paul had no involvement in the photographs used to illustrate his post.



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It's just after midnight, on a train outside Purley. Not quite the last train – now that would be a special hell – but pretty rough all the same. It's mid-December; most of the people around me have been hitting it hard today. The signs are everywhere. 



The grey-haired guy in the camel coat slumped down over his bag, drool running from the corner of his mouth on to the crumpled Standard beneath. The pale, sweaty woman by the door, fingers playing nervously with her big handbag. The puker-to-be.


It's not overt violence that hangs in the air so much as sadness. Ten big lads have taken over First Class and are noisily stuffing down burgers and beers. Anyone mug enough even to approach the door will be washed back on a wave of Stella Bantois. A young woman is asleep in the space by the doors – everyone who passes her looks nervous, then guilty, as they're not sure whether to wake her and tell her which stop it is. But you know, these days, can't be too careful...


The office parties, the quick drink after work, the we-said-we-must-catch-up-and-it's-nearly-2016. The unwrapped Secret Santas, the soggy party-hat, the quarter-full bottle of Prosecco under the table. The champagne and the shame and the pain.


The train's been stopped for a while, and my thoughts travel back seven Christmases. That was me – guy slumped over the bag. Or sometimes the red-faced and shouty one. Or the one looking for cabs at Horley having slept right through my stop. Sad and sick. Drinking problem, you see. Call it what you will – call it alcoholism, call it wrong-life-wrong-job – the problem bit would always show up at that time of night in one particular way.


I could not – whatever had been happening earlier in the day or evening – I COULD NOT get past the Whistlestop at Victoria without dipping in for a quick bag of “travellers”. Four tins (at least) of the strongest beer they had. They didn't stock the super-strengths. (Pro-alkie-tip: neither do Waitrose, but they DO stock the Belgian Trippel stuff – it's pretty much the same, and the neighbours won't be shocked. Middle-Class-Special-Brew.)



So that was a drinking problem all right. The first would be empty by the time the train pulled out. The second not looking so healthy by Balham. And neither would I. Three was reserved for the delays around Selhurst, and four would be dispatched just before home. Wouldn't want to come in the door clutching booze, would I? Now how bad would THAT look?


I was down in the dirt. Covered in the grubby coal-dust of modern London life. Stuck down a mine of my own design. I remember one similar train journey, a few years ago, when someone had left a copy of The Sun on the table. The front page was some screaming headline about the Budget, and proposals for higher booze pricing. “CHANCELLOR TO PUT A TAX ON FUN” or something like that. Fun. All that fun. I've never seen that particular F-word in the same way since then, if I'm honest.


How could I cope without all that fun? I'd be ostracised, apart, ridiculed. “The Other” at all those parties. What if Secret Santa wasn't actually funny, sober? Imagine that. In time it turned out that none of those fears were real (apart from the Secret Santa one). But that's for another story.


Anyway, back to dust and dirt and darkness. Thing about even the most insignificant and blackest dust is that you can turn it around and see it in a new light, and it will show you glories unimagined.


Take the comet: thousands of years lost in space, dark, scared, alone – frankly a bit of a mess. If Carlsberg did alcoholic space objects… But put it in the right place, look at it in the right way, and that dust streams out into the most vivid and striking tail. All that darkness, let go, and reimagined. Even bright enough, I'm told, to be seen through the rain-streaked windows of a signal-limping commuter train in south London.





I was lucky. I found the sun, and set my face to it. The dust streams, and now I blaze.

Comet ISON, 2013

Good luck finding yours, wherever it may be hiding.


Comet Donati 1851

Monday, 7 December 2015

It's Behind You....

Day 8 (Tuesday 8th December 2015)
 
The Eight Immortals of Chinese Mythology are:
Li TieGuai 李鐵拐 , Zhongli Quan 鐘離權, Lan CaiHe 藍采和 , Zhang GuoLao 張果老 ,
He XianGu 何仙姑 , Lu DongBin 呂洞賓 , Han XiangZi 韓湘子 , Cao GuoJiu 曹國舅
They are viewed as signs of prosperity and longevity. Each immortal has a tool
through which his/her powers can be used to bestow life or destroy evil.

Today we have a wonderful, poetic piece written by Amanda Arrowsmith. I first met Amanda via Twitter, her handle is @Pontecarloblue, and then we met IRL (in real life) at a tweet-up. Amanda is great company and an inspirational and knowledgeable HR generalist, with a flair for enabling change, supporting significant M&A activities and enabling outsourcing. Although a London lass, she is currently working as part of the HR Bid team for Caledonian MacBrayne ferries, based in Glasgow, Scotland. Amanda's poem is powerful and can be interpreted on many levels, as a result I have provided only simple illustrations at the start and end.


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‘Comets are lumps of frozen water ice, gas and dust. As a comet approaches the Sun, it starts to heat up. The ice transforms directly from a solid to a vapor, releasing the dust particles embedded inside. Sunlight and the stream of charged particles flowing from the Sun – the solar wind – sweeps the evaporated material and dust back in a long tail. The comet's ingredients determine the types and number of tails.’

Definition of ‘Why do comets have tails?” from Hubblesite.org





My comet tale…..


As I got closer to you,
I felt myself thaw, felt
the sunlight from you warm
my bones


Parts of me that were
held, frozen in time and space,
started to release
To open
To thaw


And so with simple heat
from your virtual smiles I,
with a joy unfelt for some time,
was able to leave a tail of
memories
pain
experience


Now, when I feel the
cold coming
I know that there is light
I can release the dust and
it can be beautiful


Look, you can see behind me
the mix of my past and
the energy of your joy.
This is my present – my future


Comet Lovejoy