Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & softcover book anthologies. Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian. The Smithsonian selected her photo to represent all teens from a specific decade. a ladder is to climbThe softcover book, given to me at age thirteen, was called "Ten Rungs" by Martin Buber. The philosophical sayings were different from the philosophy books my dad used to read to me many evenings, yet meaningful as well. "In every man there is something precious, which is in no one else." I just knew that was totally true even at my very young age. Also, in this same paperback, it said: "For if someone like him had already been, there would be no reason for him to be in this world." I still find, decades and decades later, these two comments to be almost opposite. Not being self-absorbed, I did and still do feel unique. I could easily use biology to defend that no one else alive has my fingerprints or DNA. My personality, experiences, environment, health, emotional growth, as examples, sets me apart and giving has always been more ‘comfortable’ than receiving. But many of these traits are universal. How I’ve used them may define ‘me’. "For if someone like him had already been, there would be no reason for him to be in this world." There was no one like my dad, and that isn't because he was only in his forties when he died. But there is always a reason for someone like him to actually be in this world because he displayed sensitivity and caring for others, had a remarkable work ethic, and so forth. Shouldn’t there be justification for humankind, in general, to have the traits he had with his ability to love unconditionally, encourage others, and be an example of virtue? My notes in margins of “Ten Rungs” showed I questioned this comment. One of my granddaughters is taking a course on the human predicament. I mentioned that I had a predicament regarding humanism, and gave her these two quotes to think about. If there’s one intelligent, compassionate, generous, selfless, and so forth, shouldn’t the quote about not having another like him be totally disregarded? Shouldn’t we want him cloned? He (or she) would’t lose the precious-uniqueness since we come to our values from many routes, but I see more circumstances that call for the special substance of quiet greatness than only individuality. The book my dad read to me was "Little Journeys to the Homes of the Great" the volume called "Philosophers". Elbert Hubbard put that together. I liked, by Socrates, "Knowing the man, we know what he would do; and knowing what he did, we know the man." And "Life to him was a precious privilege, and what were regarded at unpleasant experiences were as much a part of life as the pleasant ones..". And this: "You know yourself by watching yourself to see what you do when you are thwarted, crossed, contradicted, or deprived of certain things supposed to be desirable." Oh how valuable it is to actually notice our personal responses when we are contradicted and deprived! There’s an invisible mirror beginning in childhood. Yet it takes getting old to know that life is a privilege. The young and healthy see time as unlimited and expect vigor and happiness to extend the proverbial ‘forever’. Why shouldn’t they? It makes those quick-passing years special. Accepting that sadness and loss is as much a part of life as joy and gain also takes maturing. So when does our ‘precious, which-is-in-no-one else’ actually hit us as a truism? I guess the fact that it evolves makes it possible to deal with Buber’s ‘no reason for him to be in this world’ and any acceptance of this is individual. Couldn’t it be wonderful if the planet had another Albert Einstein to pen simple statements like these: “That we are here for the sake of other men —above all for those upon whose smile and well-being our own happiness depends...” “Everyone should be respected as an individual, but no one idolized.” ? My grandchild’s school assignment allowed me to continue to expand my knowledge, and also dig into beliefs and agree or challenge what I assumed was automatic. Life is a privilege. Yes, Socrates, it still is. ©2017 The American Humanist Association
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Roaring Into Bulawayo’s Royal TreatIt was an inspiringly cool August afternoon when the Boeing 767 carrying Ahmed landed majestically in the center of the Joshua Mqabuko Nkomo International Airport runway, 25 km to the north of Bulawayo. That Friday I was glad that Ahmed, my former student from Kuwait, had finally arrived in Bulawayo. After exchanging some warm and excited greetings, he remarked,” “Beautiful airport. I like it!” I smiled, “Though small in size, it is our gateway to such amazing world heritage sites as the Khami Ruins and the Matobo Hills”.
When we arrived home, I gave him a bit of background information about Bulawayo. “This city was founded by none other Lobengula, the Ndebele king who was a son to King Mzilikazi. Born of Matshobana, he settled in contemporary Zimbabwe around the 1840s after the Ndebeles` great march from Nguniland. As the second largest city in Zimbabwe, Bulawayo has more than two nicknames. One famous one is ‘Ntuthuziyathunqa’ — which is a Ndebele phrase for ‘a place where smoke guts out ’. Historically, Bulawayo was the country`s massive industrial base, and even today one can see gigantic cooling towers of the coal-powered electricity generating plant in the city centre. In the olden days these towers used to emit steam and smoke all over the place. Bulawayo is affectionately known as the City of Kings and Queens.” Ahmed interjected with a joke, “I`d like to be an heir to the throne too. This royal city has good quality tap water.” I disclosed to him that not only does Bulawayo boast of pumping and maintaining the healthiest and tastiest quality tap water in the country, furthermore, it has been widely acknowledged as the cleanest and best-managed city in Zimbabwe. With one of the friendliest and humblest African citizens on the continent, the respect for visitors and all is a cultural protocol and pleasure for the locals. There are no major security concerns as the street crime levels are largely low and isolated. In spite of the country-wide economic challenges, the metropolitan’s cultural richness and service delivery to the generality of the residents and tourists is second to none. “It hardly recycles waste water. It uses treated waste water for irrigation purposes. As an integral, industrial, cultural and logistical hub, the city was known to provide rail links between Botswana, South Africa, and Zambia”. Knowing that he loves soccer and cricket, I decided to give him a dose of sport update. I touched on local soccer teams and the current log standings, including the best-performing local cricketers in particular and the level and spirit of national cricket in general. “By the way, Bulawayo is home to the Queens Sports Club and Bulawayo Athletic Club, just two of the three pitches in Zimbabwe where test match cricket has been played. Additionally, it is home to Hartsfield on which a number of Southern Africa's prominent rugby players have participated. It is home to one of Zimbabwe’s greatest sportspersons of all time: international soccer prodigy Peter “Nsukuzonke” Ndlovu. The city has an undeniable unstoppable history and pedigree of unleashing greatness upon greatness on the arena of leisure and entertainment. Big names like those of Heath Streak and Henry Khaaba Olonga easily come to the fore, just to name but a few-- and there is no pun intended here! Henry Olonga was the first black cricket player and the youngest-ever player to represent Zimbabwe at international level”. On Saturday morning we cruised all the way to the Natural Museum of Zimbabwe which is situated in the Centenary Park in Bulawayo. Built in 1962, with its spectacular exhibitions and precious research collections, it is the finest arts center in Southern Africa and rated fourth in magnitude among the museums of Africa. I watched Ahmed as his eyes were fixed on the public display galleries, the beauty of the lecture hall, the study collections, the artifacts, the well-preserved animals in the displays. “Your eyes are fixed on the displays”, I said. He chuckled,” Fixed…actually my eyes are feasting on these attractive and informative displays here. I`m awed by the magnificence and abundance of one of the best natural history museums in the world”. Ahmed`s itinerary glimmered with mouth-watering names like the Khami Ruins, Bulawayo Railway Museum, Chipangali Wildlife Orphanage and Research Centre, Bulawayo National Gallery of Zimbabwe, The Hillside Dams Conservancy, Tshabalala Game Sanctuary, Old Bulawayo and Mzilikazi Art and the Craft center. I admired his travel programme. However, I thought it lacked one three-word ingredient to consummate a regal experience: Matobo National Park! I did not have to convince him because on Monday we drove toward the black eagles, the black and white rhinos and the scenic balancing rock formations in the heart of Matobo National Park. Ahmed was speechless. John Chizoba Vincent is a poet, film maker and Cinematographer. His works have being published in many online magazines and journals. He has three books published to his credit. He lives in Lagos where he writes from. WRITERS: STOP COPYING CHIMAMANDA ADICHIE'S WRITING STYLE!One of the major problems or issues that some contemporary Nigerian writers have today is that they want to write and sound like Chimamanda Adichie, Wole Soyinka, Chinua Achebe, Christopher Okigbo, Habila Helon and Many others to be accepted by the society. They want to echo from the voices of these people rather than their own voices and this, is killing creativity in them and sagging voices are knitting together to birth shallow fictions and non fiction everyday. This makes them the other copy of themselves rather than the person they are meant to be. They don't know they can create their own voices and feelings, characters and give them lives just like the way they want it. But the truth remains that you can do better than these people. You can create your own voice louder and more entertaining and thrilling than theirs. Stop copying their writing style, you may never get to understand how good and powerful your words are until you start using them.
Moreover, you can write better than these people! You can create more engaging characters from your synthesis. Art is freedom and freedom is art and, this freedom is lost when you give yourself the doubts of yourself. Art is engaging yourself into yourself inwardly through the passion resonating to life. You can develop yourself in a style that will beat off their legacy. You must not sound jlike or write like Chimamanda Adichie to be a great writer. Stop writing like Chimamanda Adichie or Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka with the hope to be accepted by publishers, be you! That is the first law of creativity! Write like you and don't try to be like them. Chimamanda groomed herself to be who she is today, she has been in closed doors for a very long time ago carving and uniting her words together to make sense just like you've read them. she has embarked on rough and tough journey researching on how to be better than her former self. Hence, taking a competing step over the use of her prowess and wit makes her who she is. You can't be her and she can't be you but you can study her works to be a better writer. Understand what dexterity and bravery is, adroitness and brevity among all is very key. A writer is not just someone who writes. In his head, are words all day long. The conflicting ones and the peaceful ones; the good, the bad and the ugly!. He holds battle within, battles between his characters, battles between tenses intended, battles between his wit and prowess; wearing the mind of his readers and his. He strikes a balance between his thoughts and imaginations. He sees the world not as a place made up of things but of words about those things. He knows more meaning is contained in a phrase like "Poisons enemies” than a paragraph-long attempt at comparing emotional pain to a stab wound. That is who you are to defend as yourself, as a writer. A writer will divine a metaphor from a pattern on a dress, a lurking demonstration, or a gesture, and eyes movement because sunsets have been done before. A writer understands the capacity for words to embolden, to eviscerate, to cut a man in half and arrange him again and embrace his wetness and calmness. That is the person you should train your self to be, that is one you should know better than. Chimamanda may be better in her own way but that does not mean that her style will also favour you as a writer. Your own awaesomeness is your ability to discover what works for you. A writer’s words have texture and an aesthetic – they mean one thing on paper and another in your mouth when you chew them and vomit them back like a cud. A writer knows the word “perfume” has a scent, and “savory,” a flavor. He also knows that the technical way for making you taste his words is synesthesia, but he’d rather show you through his lines than tell you how it is through his words. A writer’s mind is sticky, cavernous. It is a locus of constant invention and generation, but also of deconstruction and warfare and sword towards it behold. Its very synapses fire bullets between semicolons and periods and comas housing the fancy of muse and, that is why you must be afraid sometimes and the other time, braver dealing with what is at stake. Chimamanda knows about this and you don't know about it. In the infancy of the day, or as it’s expelling its final breath towards East, an errant phrase will show up there unannounced and become lodged in some furrow that deepen your imagination. It will keep the writer up at night, until he’s built a temple or a cave or a palace to house you, or at the very least, a sand castle, around it. Someone who writes writes as himself or herself but not from the dying echoes of another writer. Be you not her! A writer believes in truth but understands the utility of a lie. Someone who writes will think about a lie in terms of its anatomy: he’ll see it as something with dead legs, flayed on a cold steel table, reeking of that stuff we use now instead of formaldehyde, because formaldehyde will kill you, too. But a writer believes in a lie’s biology and knows it is still alive, animated by some preternatural aspiration, an amorphous mass of amorphous cells, dividing and multiplying and taking on some new architecture every time you look at it. A writer knows a lie doesn’t want to die but to live again through your mind and spirit. Try to be you and not them. Art is freedom. There are many African tales waiting for you to tell them. A native of North Dakota, Julie Henderson has been writing since childhood. Her other interests include backpacking, reading, and the Enneagram. Acceptable Abandonment: Knowing When to Quit |