It's beginning to look a lot like…

Christmas always comes as a surprise to me.

Probably because the year is always roaring, kind of like a fire or train or truck or runaway ball in an Indiana Jones movie—it's hard to keep up with time and how quickly it passes. Sometimes you're so busy moving, keeping ahead of the Busy, you don't think of anything but just Getting Through. Or maybe, you're so happily running alongside that train, watching the fire, dancing on that ball, that you just don't notice time doing its thing, moving right along.

And now, it's 4 days until Christmas and, wait… how did that happen?

Christmas…the massive holiday that businesses and advertisers plan for, for months, the one that brings in money for shops big and small, the one that involves a lot of buying and thinking about giving… the holiday where everyone wants you to be Happy! Everyone's wishing you a Merry one, in the shops, at the end of term classes, over the phone to each other, strangers and friends alike. It's this thing we're all united by, and stressed out by, and maybe a bit confused about, sometimes. It's like the word that doesn't look weird until you write it a dozen times.

Christmas. What's it about?

What are we getting "ready" for?

Why do we cherish it?

Who says we should even celebrate it?

I'm getting these questions from my kids; I'm thinking them myself.

My family and I live outside the box in so many ways. So why do we "Do" Christmas?

I think the reason so many of us "Do" it, is because that's how it's always been, at least in my collective, European/Australian/American culture. Millions and millions of us join the hustle, do the bustle. We get the presents, make the food, prepare the parties, play the music, decorate. We fret, we argue, we spend. We sit together one day a year beside a tree that people say we should get, opening presents people say we should buy, scarfing down food people say we should eat. We do it, often joyfully, often begrudgingly, often stressfully, often lovingly.

And then we do it all over again the next year.

Why?

Well, it can be fun. Like, a lot of fun.

Stockings alone. I mean, stockings rock. Seeing that great lumpy thing at the end of your bed at dawn—I'll never forget how excited I used to be. What's not to love about a giant sock full of stuff? The crackle of the paper as you open the tiny Thing and then the next tiny Thing and the next? Sharing what you've found with your brother, your sister, your parents. So much smiling! Then the presents under the tree. The pile of them, literally singing to you, wanting you to shake them, hold them, open them, hug the person who gave them to you. And the giving. Well, that's pretty awesome too. Seeing the look of delight on peoples' faces when they've unwrapped just the thing they wanted. That moment can be so lovely.

Being together is beautiful too. Families often rock. There's all that love, for one. Then there's the hugging, the laughter, the shared history. The smiling, and of course all the singing. Those Christmas songs! Something about them, it just makes you want to do something jolly, doesn't it? Right there, on the spot.

And of course—and for many this comes top of the list of why we "Do" Christmas—well, there's Jesus. For millions of people, this day is a celebration of a life devoted to bringing people to God. I'm not religious…but at the same time I am not not religious, if that makes any sense. I'd call myself spiritual, a person of faith, but I don't know how to explain the depths or intricacies of it to anyone except, sort of, to me. And I think Jesus was pretty awesome—in the same way I also see Buddha, and Ghandi as awesome, and all people who devote their lives to love, peace, and compassion. Jesus saw humanity as all worthy of being saved; he saw all people as deserving of love. He was the turn-the-other-cheek guy, the forgiveness guy, the rebel, the new-path taker, the one who walked with everyone, spoke to everyone, believed in all people. Who wouldn't want to celebrate the birth of a guy like that?

And if you go to church on Christmas, and sit with others celebrating a life built on love, faith, and kindness? Well that can be beautiful, too. There's so much smiling in church on Christmas—I've been to church twice on a Christmas day, and it felt like a truly happy place to be.

But Christmas, the Thing, the constructed reality that we are expected to follow without questioning, I feel a bit full of that. I feel like we're at the edge of reinventing our Christmas, at a turning point where we might start choosing Something Different, something Else.

Our tree for a start.

The things we would like to give and get.

My kids and their wants.

I have asked my two what they want for Christmas, and repeatedly they've said, "Nothing." My son is saving for juggling clubs…all he'd like is maybe $5 towards those. My girl, well, she literally has asked for nothing at all. We aren't even doing stockings this year. I have bought one shared thing for them, and it's something I would have bought anyway, something they already know about and have seen. They want to give money to Animals Australia, to other charities that support compassion. They don't want any stuff at all. And…this is the most interesting part perhaps… we don't have anything for our extended family yet. Nothing!

It's that kind of Christmas we seem to be having. Already re-inventing, I suppose!

We'll see my family—my mum and sister and nieces and partners—and we'll eat food and we'll be really happy to hang out together. I know we will sing silly songs and my kids and husband and I will give our mostly home-made gifts (if we can make them in time?). And there might be moments we misunderstand each other or worry about something, and we mightn't have a perfect time.

And we will do it again, next year, because that's what we do. Because being together and singing Christmas songs and opening thoughtful gifts is a dance that can bring a whole lot of joy.

But one year… one day… ?

One day, I'd like my Christmas to be silent. Well, not silent… but quieter. Just shush, Christmas, please, just for a moment? Let me sit with you and look around.

I'd like the noise of the shops and the people asking me to Buy stuff to settle down.

I want to not be urged to buy things I don't need or want. I want to not buy stuff just because society tells me to.

I want to give when the giving makes sense, when the giving helps, when the giving isn't about material stuff, but about something Bigger.

I'd like all the junk to be replaced with food or shelter or medicine or books.

I'd like to sit on a beach, or an empty church, or walk in a field of snow, and I'd like to stop, and feel thankful.

I would like to sit and feel grateful to life. To the Universe. To god—whoever or whatever that might be. To the energy pulsing around, making the earth spin and my molecules knit, and my breath go in, go out, go in.

I'd like to spend a morning watching waves.

I'd like to hold hands with my family and tell each person why I love them.

I want to eat only plants, and talk about real things.

I want to listen and make a difference.

I'd like to do something of value.

I want to laugh.

I want to give.

Perhaps we already are? Beginning to have the Christmas I dream of? I think we might be.

This year, just yesterday, my kids, husband, niece and I made this tree. We had such a beautiful time doing it. I adore it, and everything it represents.

I think we will have a truly lovely time this Christmas day. I hope you all do, whatever you do—whether you are alone or with families—celebrating, working, living, giving… I hope you find joy.

Which is the same hope I have for you all the days! The ones before and after, every day that rolls out from you, roaring.




note:
the elf with the santa hat and the reindeer were created by my beautiful niece. Juggler and Santa by my boy, cat by my girl. Star by the five of us. Fox by me :)

peace to all

Hasn't it been a strange and imperfect week?

You look at the newspaper and it's heartbreaking—ranging from difficult to impossible—all around, in country after country.

And you sit with your boy as he struggles through pain and you feel it as though it's your pain.

And you're tired and you'd like life to be simple, but it isn't.

And the laundry pile is huge.



I was sitting on the edge of my bed this morning, thinking, "Today isn't going to be easy."

Once upon a time, I would lie down on days like these, and let the hard take over.

I looked at the sky and the trees and heard the birds. Sky was a cloudless blue. Trees were green and wild. Birds were talking, telling each other stories.

And I got up.


Today I got up and took some laundry downstairs and that was a small, good thing.

Today, my son, who just got braces yesterday morning and was up all night in pain, just put on some Miles Davis. I'm writing to the music that makes my son happy.

Today I read a blog post where the person suggested we focus on being kind. Being patient. Breathing deeply. Yes, I thought.



I've had some strange times this week, interacting and, for the first time, debating/respectfully disagreeing with people online. I am usually very agreeable on social media, so this felt new for me: kind of fiery and peaceful at the same time. The people I have "debated" with I respect hugely, and I have not wanted to seem argumentative. But I have wanted to share an alternative view: my view, my truth.

I am finding that I'd like to speak, and speak, and speak my truth more. And, of course, let people speak theirs in turn.

Already I write about animal suffering a little on this blog, but not often. I "like" things that relate to animal rights on Facebook, and every now and then, I share information I feel is important to read. But there are more things I care about. Things I am quiet about because I don't want to push an "agenda" or have this blog become political or be about "causes." But what I care about, and the change I want to see in the world, really matters to me. People are making huge changes happen in the world by speaking out. Why don't I, more?

For some reason I've been thinking about Gandhi a lot recently. What would he do? What would he say in the face of the NRA's agenda, and bombings in the US and drone attacks in Pakistan, in the face of factory farming, hunting in National Parks, of people living lives of judgement and hate… all things I find difficult to bear?

I believe he would speak, and speak, and speak, his truth.

He would BE the change he wished to see in the world.


So this is the change I wish to see in the world. The change I try to live daily:


People putting kindness and compassion above all.

People living in, and accepting, equality.

People prioritising peace, and the lives of others, over "centuries-old rights" and "this is how things have always been."

People seeking non-violent solutions for conflict.

People protecting the voiceless.


It's not how a lot of the world is right now, but I keep hoping. And getting up in spite of things. I keep choosing kindness, compassion, positivity. And writing my truth.


Here I sit, on this day that's turning out to be not so hard after all…with a cat on my lap, listening to jazz. It's just started to rain and I can hear it pick-pocking the verandah roof outside.

I will write words I care about. I will feel sadness and confusion for the people of Boston. I will feel joy that marriage equality has been recognised in New Zealand. I will mourn another bombing in Iraq in the days leading up to their election. I will be baffled and deeply disappointed by the Senate choosing not to change gun laws in the US. I will march against live export when Animals Australia brings the rally to the city of Sydney. I will hug my children.

I will get up in a minute and put the laundry on. Give my son some more pain relief. Make him some more soup. Listen to the rain.

And send, as always, love and peace, to all.

People in the public gallery of the New Zealand Parliament, 

singing the Maori love song "Pokarekare Ana" 

moments after same-sex marriage legislation was passed. 

Beautiful. 

if music be the food of love…

My husband had a really big concert on the weekend.

Every year, he puts together a big band of young people to play with a famous jazz musician (or two, three, or more!). I've written about this band before, here, but that was almost three years ago! Time for a retell, I think. :) Every year, these kids and young adults get together on the day of the performance (for their one and only rehearsal!), get given sheet music they haven't seen before, plus a t-shirt to wear on the night, and get shown where to sit. They rehearse, hard, for 6 hours, then come back that night to perform. It's incredibly exciting for a lot of these kids—there's nothing like it in the area. I suspect there might be nothing like it in the country.

Now, when I say a big band, I mean, a really really REALLY big band. It is made up of 150 people. 150! Yes. All those young people work together to create a concert, led by a man with huge vision and energy (my amazing husband, who is helped by lovely, tireless colleagues), all of them running on sheer exuberance, talent, and courage. Some kids have only been playing for a year, and they sit beside people who are in their last year of highschool (even early university), and somehow, it works.

The only things they're asked to do? To have fun. To either play (or look like they're playing!). And to go for it.

My husband came up with this idea about 7 years ago, and his wonderful Conservatorium of Music has put on six Megaband shows so far. I've designed the t-shirt for every concert, and my son has played four times. We've had jazz, funk, and latin greats all come to play as guest artists, and on Friday night, we had 900 people come to watch. It's a thing now. Like, a real THING, something you might imagine kids remembering when they grow up…like, how maybe they got their guitar or music or drum sticks signed by this awesome musician, or how maybe that was the first time they ever properly performed and they were so nervous but they did it, and this maybe was the beginning of them realising they wanted to be a musician.

This lovely night has become part of our mutual history now, part of my family's and my town's story. It makes up some of the colours, the woven pattern of our place here. What a beautiful thing for people to be part (and proud) of.

For me, however, my favourite part of the night was a small and perfect thing. Something that felt so personal, but was shared with over a thousand other people. And afterwards, I felt all weepy with pride.

You see, my husband directed the band wearing Converse sneakers.

Second-hand ones, at that.

He wore a gorgeous black suit, crisp white shirt, grey tie, and these grey canvas "classic" Chuck Taylors. He bought them from the op-shop the other day, scrubbed them clean, and wore them to this "big deal" event. And the lack of black leather 'dress shoes' was noticeable—so much so that one of our two famous guest artists called my husband on it.

The guest who is a friend of my husband's, made a joke about my husband's tennis shoes. He suggested maybe my husband forgot to change shoes, and perhaps my husband needed to borrow his again, like that time four years ago (when my husband actually forgot to bring his own).

That got a good laugh, and then my husband good-humouredly went to the microphone and said something to this effect:

"These aren't just tennis shoes, man. These are Converse all-stars. These were made with no animal products."

Applause rippled through the audience, rose like a quiet wave through the theatre.

"So don't be givin' me grief 'bout my shoes no mo'."

And he grinned at the famous jazz man, who grinned back, and my husband turned to the band and began conducting the next piece, and the famous jazz man began to play something beautiful.

And while the night wasn't—at all—about animals or about ethics or choices or beliefs, the night, for me, became in that moment about something bigger than music, bigger than us sitting here, bigger than 150 kids having the time of their lives. It became about standing up for, reaching up towards, something that is as big as spirit, and as deep.

When my husband could have said nothing, he spoke for living things that do not sing or play or have a voice as we do, but feel as we do. He spoke for creatures who might have loved to listen to the music as we did, and been lifted by that music into joy.

growing Compassion

When I was a girl, about 12, I remember standing at the bus stop, waiting for the school bus with my sister, and stamping on the ants.

"Stop!" she said. "What did those ants do to you?"

Of course the ants had done nothing, but there was a quiet thrill in me, to have so much power. Tiny ants; what was the point of them?

A couple of years later, a friend of mine at his birthday party put a ring of some kind of gasoline around a group of ants on the sidewalk. Then he lit it on fire. It was a small fire, but all his friends and I crowded around to see the ants in a panic, feeling the wall of heat, with nowhere to go, no protection, no possibility of escape.

I don't remember feeling anything much other than perhaps this wasn't a fair fight. This was a step up from stamping. I don't remember watching for long. I think, at some point, I walked away. At least, my 40-plus-year-old self hopes I did.

Then my sister became vegetarian. I was fourteen. Being vegetarian in the 80's was very different to today. We would go out to dinner and the waiter would be stumped, totally unable to fathom what my sister could eat. My relatives would have big family dinners and serve ham salad, telling my sister she could just pick out the meat. As a university student, I would eat big t-bone steaks in front of her at family get togethers.

I ate meat without a thought. I killed spiders without a thought. I felt distant from other animals, and to be perfectly honest, I think I felt better than them. I remember thinking, "It's okay to eat chickens, because they are stupid." (Not actually true, it turns out). I felt the same about fish. I was a bit wobblier thinking about cows as they were so gentle and placid-looking. As for pigs, rumour had it they were smart, but I put that out of my mind to eat them.

My sister, in the meantime, remained vegetarian, never wavering, raising her kids as vegetarians, and quietly, slowly influencing me with her steadfast refusal to eat meat.

Some years ago, we had a problem with some mice. It was an infestation; a bunch of mice had found our house and decided to move in. We could hear them, scrabbling about contentedly in the walls, and sometimes popping, darting, dashing into our house to look for grub. We were told to bait them, so that's what we did. One day soon after, I remember finding a sick, scared mouse in our house. It could hardly move. I can't write or describe what I did to dispose of that mouse, but I will never forget it. That mouse was terrified. It felt shocking to kill it.

By this time, I was the mother of two kids as well as the carer of a dog, a cat, chickens, fish, birds. I cuddled my cat, walked and talked with my dog, watched as our two birds tried to have babies. The chickens would run to us when we dug in the garden, looking for worms. The hens shouted to let us, anyone, know they'd just! laid! an egg! My kids and I adored our pets.

Then about four years ago, I saw a friend's cat get run over.

I saw the whole thing from beginning to end. And I thought: I can't do this any more. Separate myself.

I went vegetarian then. I lasted about nine months. But no-one else went with me, and I'd just been diagnosed as wheat intolerant, and I couldn't think of what to eat. It seemed suddenly so hard. So I returned to eating meat, but I had to consciously switch off my mind when I went to buy steak or sausages or chicken at the shops, when I faced the shelves and fridges filled with meat. Switch off, don't think, don't think. Once it was at home, it became just another food, in its packet. It was easier to eat when it was just stuff in a packet. Nothing more.

Three years ago, around February, we went on a camping trip, to sand fly territory. Those sand flies were crazy. They'd bite you the minute they saw you, no introductions, no hovering about just to say hello. My son was really, really scared of them. On our last day, we were driving away from the camp site, and a sand fly came in through the window. There was shouting and panic.

We pulled over the car and I grabbed a tissue box and thwack! I got that fly. Job done. I turned back to face the front. My husband began to drive. I heard a sound and looked over to see my son and he was crying so hard. Face collapsed, weeping.

Why? I asked.

Because, because…

Oh, sweetheart. Because I killed the sand fly?

Yes, Mum. Yes.


That's when I realised how deep compassion could go.


Four months later we became vegetarian. A year and a half after that, we became vegan.

And our compassion, our "sympathetic concern for the suffering of others," has grown and grown and grown.

We have read, seen, discussed, learned so much. We are more aware these days, not just of animal welfare issues, but of global and environmental, political and human rights issues. We talk about everything, and our eyes are wide, wide open.

It's like we opened some door, and in came this sense of the World, all around. Our "Selves" stopped mattering so much. Now we talk of giving more, not needing as much, of wanting to speak out about the things we care about, making a difference, small or large. We talk of being the change we want to see in the world. We try, daily, to BE the change.

This might all have happened whether we became vegan or not. I know some extraordinarily compassionate people who eat animal products. I know people who are mindful and seeking to make positive changes in the world who also hold barbeques and eat chicken curry.

For us though, our choice to become a vegetarian family, and then vegans, was our door to compassion, opening.

And it's so bright and clear in here!

Sometimes it's a bit too bright, too clear. Sometimes there's too much knowledge, because once you look…you see that real suffering is all around.


But for us, whatever sadness that knowledge brings,

is countered with hopeful, positive acts.

Like my husband removing, the other night (and over the course of two more nights) more than 30 teeny tiny baby spiders from our house.

Spider by spider by spider…!

And my son learning to cook tofu scramble this week, making breakfast for himself and his dad…

And my husband (not a pet lover) speaking to the dog and cats with a whole new voice, a whole new language…

And all of us sitting and smiling over dinners that taste so very, very Good.

Peace and love and hope coming out to you all! 

I hope you feel it, because it's big and growing,

and there's so much to share.