I just come back from the Food Feast in the Hub, a weekly meeting of members of The Hub in London (Islington and Kings Cross), in which each of us bring a dish (normally vegetarian, I prepared two Spanish omelettes. They were quite successful), and we socialize around. Today, the theme was Guerrilla Food.
Across London, there are people running underground restaurants, growing things in weird and wonderful places, cooking in unpredictable locations and using food in ways previously not explored.
After dinner, we sung a “pro-vegetarian song” one can title as “You can eat less meat”. Watch the fun (with animal imitations included!):
I don’t know why, but I often can tell instinctively when someone is lying to me. It might be because in my personal life I’ve seen lies being told many times, and kept for long. I’ve seen the destructive power of lies, particularly for the person telling them. Or because I was a very good lier in my childhood and teen years. As I said, I don’t know why, but I sense when someone is lying to me. The thing is that I normally don’t react to it.
I don’t react because it is an instinct. I feel the lie, but I cannot be rationally sure about it.
I don’t react because, strangely enough, I respect the reasons a person may have to use a lie.
I don’t react because if the person who has lied is not related to me in ways in which I feel comfortable to ask certain type of questions, I cannot go beyond her/his initial denial.
We all, sooner or later, lie in our lives. There are many reasons why a lie may be used, some of them darker than others, but not necessarily less justified. I always try to understand the reasons behind the lie, and I tend to forgive very easily, because I highly appreciate the courage of admitting it in the first place. This is particularly true if I am convinced it is not a natural or desired behaviour of the person in question and, especially, if I care about this person.
A lie is particularly dangerous when we are trapped by its unexpected consequences. I believe that when we are in this situation, we are better off confronting directly our lie for our own good. It is always much better to get over the fear of shame, go back to the person we lied to and admit it. If this person really cares for us, he or she will always understand why we did it. And both will benefit from this difficult, but brave action. The alternative is to live with the lie permanently, and being dragged by it against our own interests. Because a lie once forgiven will fade in time, but if we don’t face it directly while it has damaging repercussions, its destructive effects will be with us forever.
These are the type of decisions on which we decide the direction of our lives.
On Sunday, my brother William organized a walk for both of us through the English countryside. We started in Waterloo station, from which we took a train to Farnham. From there we went all the way to Guildford following the North Downs Way, a fantastic walking trail that crosses that area of Surrey. We stopped at noon for a vegetarian lunch (including hummus 🙂 ) in front of an astonishing view. On our way, I took some good pictures, including the one above (click on it for a bigger version). The yellow flowers in the grass remind me of a dream-like walk in a park I did not long time ago…
Gracias Guillermo por un fantástico domingo.
And now that you found it
Now that you feel it
It’s gone forever
— “Nude”, Radiohead
In a small village in the mountains lived a street dog. He was a brown dog of mixed breed. Nobody in the village knew where he came from. he just appeared one day some years ago and never left. The villagers didn’t like much the dog. They saw him as an annoyance, because he barked all the time, often at night, he became quickly aggressive, showing his teeth in anger, and disrupted the peaceful life of hens, rabbits, horses and other animals in the village houses. Some even accused him of killing their chickens. This had never been proved, though.
Whatever they believed about the dog’s actions, everybody in the village treated the dog badly. Children would shout at him, kick him and pull his tail when they had the chance. Every house had a stick to chase him out from their properties. Sometimes, they used the stick on the dog for fun. Every time the dog was hit with the stick, he showed his teeth and barked for hours. Nobody remembered, however, that he’d ever bitten anyone. Some claimed to have seen it, but this had never been proved, either.
One day, a stranger arrived to the town.
Well if you are (what you love)
And you do (what you love)
I will always be the sun and moon to you
And if you share (with your heart)
Yeah, you give (with your heart)
What you share with the world is what it keeps of you
— “Give a little love”, Noah and the Whale
Today, it is going to be a beautiful day in London. I woke up early, and went for a run at around 7 am. I ran for 40 mins (slow, slightly more than 6K). With a shining sun, I took my camera and took some shots of St James’s Park (like the one above), where I always go to run, for it is very close to my flat (blue arrow on the GPS map of my run below).
Two extras for you to “connect” with my run…
A bird family I met on my way (don’t ask me which bird!, I just know it is a bird because it has beak and feathers, but I wouldn’t venture beyond that 😉 )
An one of the songs I listened to while running.
– “Spiralling”, Keane
The legend says that when St George killed the dragon to save the princess of Lydda, a rose tree grew from the blood of the dragon. St George gave the most beautiful of all roses to the princess. On April 23, St George’s day, patron of Catalunya, a tradition started long ago in which Catalan men give a rose to the woman they love. Then during the Renaixença catalana, a XIX century cultural movement to recover the Catalan heritage, the act of offering a book on the same day as a reciprocal gift for the rose was established as part of the “Tradició de Sant Jordi” (St George’s tradition).
La “Diada de Sant Jordi”, April 23, is for most Catalans the most significant and beautiful day of the year. My memories of Sant Jordi are of sunny skies, people everywhere roses in one hand, the hand of their lover in the other and looking at books on the street stands that bookshops put for the occasion. Living outside of my country, it is the one I remember with most fondness as being the most beautiful day to be in Catalunya.
This day also represents a reality I’ve been talking about in some of my latest posts. The continuity and complicity of reason and emotions. The book is the reason and the rose the emotions. They are both inseparable. Today, books and roses are exchanged indistinctly, to lovers, family and friends. The word and the flower become tokens of love expressing our complex nature of logic and feeling. A symbol for the emotional revolution.