Yesterday's earthquake off Eastern Russia and the subsequent tsunami alerts brought back memories of similar, if far more devastating events this century.

I can well remember watching in growing horror in my living room in Sanda as waves washed away whole communities in Indonesia and Thailand in December 2004. I had pneumonia at the time so this only compounded my thought about a dreadful tragedy. Seven years later I watched again (this time back in Australia) as in real-time, waves washed away towns and communities in Japan, threatening even the Fukushima nuclear plant. It was horrifying.

Yes, we live on an active world that will give us grief from time to time. But modern technology means that every detail is broadcast, often live, making it, in my estimation, more incomprehensible. There is no time buffer, as of yore. 

It seems that the most recent earthquake and tsunami have not proved to be a dangerous as first thought, which is a blessing indeed. But more will come and with them, great difficulties for many people. It behooves us to be both prepared and generous in out response.

Yesterday would have been my Mother's 96th birthday, but alas, she passed away just before Christmas last year. It is fair to say that the last seven months have been difficult, missing her as we all do. For me, there is a very obvious gap twice every day when I would ordinarily have talked with her on the phone. Sometimes it was more than twice. As she grew frailer, she needed increasing reassurance and often, just a distraction from what she rightly perceived was the 'looming sunset.'

She lies with her mother and father and aunty at the Eastern Suburbs Memorial Garden at Matraville. It's quite a pretty place, with rose gardens and wide lawns and a view across Botany Bay. I'll visit again soon, place some flowers, say a prayer.

 

Hurt no living thing:
Ladybird, nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.

Christina Rossetti wrote far more complex poems than this short one. She is one of my favourite poets and immensely talented to boot. Now and then she turns from sonnets or devotional poems or whatever she has set her mind on to write simple pieces that resonate because of their apparent simplicity. The one above is surely timeless and worthy of our heeding, especially at a time when brutality is on the rise.

 I have been wondering why things seem more chaotic in recent times than of yore. Naturally I question my perception of this apparent phenomena (is it just me?). But truly though, I do things the world is more chaotic than thirty years ago.

Some of this is easily explainable. From 1945 until 1991, the political world was essentially divided by the competing ideologies of East and West, Communism and Capitalism, if you like. So much was locked into these systems that the opportunity for chaos by wayward actors was constrained. Nobody wanted a hot war so most matters were contestations by proxy, all over the globe.

The end of that system has meant that we have reverted in many ways to the 'great power' arrangements of the 19th century. In this system, China, the USA, Russia and other emerging states (such as India) or confederations such as the EU compete for markets and military supremacy, if they so desire. You can see where things might easily go wrong.

Enter the strange post-truth age we seem to live in and the ascent of an indolent, lawless man to the US Presidency and the recipe for more chaos is complete. You might also add climate change in too, another element of unpredictability.

I don't know where it might end - perhaps a reversion to politics in the old way - or a descent into a maelstrom that cannot be described, nor ever desired. I think its a grim picture, though not without hope.

I have recently completed two seasons of my literary radio program, 'Writers from the Vault'. When I conceived of the show two and half years ago, it never entered my head that I would get anywhere near fifty or more episodes. And yet, here I am.

To curate and present a program that essentially dips, over and over, into that old, unfairly discredited canon is a bit of an ask and does take somewhat of a hide. Not long ago, an English head teacher told me in all seriousness that the age of literature was dead. 'Once more into the breech..' I thought to myself. And so the show was born.

It seems to me that there is room today for writing from the past - good writing, of course. Dismissing novels or plays because they don't satisfy a modern mindset, whatever that happens to be, is disenfranchising generations who have not had the opportunity to hear, to read, yes, to study works that have given pleasure because they are good.

A recent program I completed had pieces by Strindberg, Hughes, Plath, Steinbeck and Mansfield. That is relatively modern for me, but it gives you an idea. If I enjoy reading it aloud, then perhaps someone will enjoy listening, and a process of passing on quality that represents the best of human endeavour, continues. 

 July has not been especially cold but nevertheless, we have all got sick. Despite being vaccinated, Ann and I both contracted the flu (though the duration and severity was short). I don't think I've had the flu in 40 years so it was rather a nasty experience and way worse, relatively speaking, than my two of three times at the hands of Covid 19.

It does seem a world away now, that whole descent into a thick grey Covid fog that happened five years ago. At the time the measures taken in Australian and NZ did not seem overly outrageous, but with hindsight, I think there was too much panic and not enough clear thinking. The hit to people's social and working lives continues to be with us and apparently there are still kids too shy or fearful to go to school.

I certainly don't blame public officials - they did their best and doubtless saved lives - but next time (and there will be a next time), perhaps a more nuanced strategy would be best. Protect the vulnerable populations and let the healthy get on with making a living.

Anti-Semitism is a strange and ancient thing. The Old Testament has examples of attempts to wipe out the Jewish people and more recent history is littered with pogroms and discrimination, leading ultimately to the Holocaust. Volumes could be written about it.

I don't think that the recent upsurge in antisemitic activity is solely related to events in the Middle East. It has been there all along, skimming under the surface. I spent the first ten years of my life amongst a majority Jewish population in the Eastern Suburbs. All my friends (yes, literally!) were Jews. I attended birthday parties, hung out with and otherwise fraternised with Jewish kids.

When I moved to the Northern Beaches with my family, apart from my school grades improving markedly (you can work that one out!), I encountered a strange, subtle antisemitic vibe. It found expression in things I had never heard before (such a 'jew jump') or references to certain kinds of negative or selfish behaviour as being 'Jewish', or odd anatomical references to 'big noses.' Later on I met adults who wanted to talk about the Rothschild family, famous bankers from the 19th Century, but in this case, code for antisemitism, since the Rothschilds were Jewish.

I could go on but the sad truth is that antisemitism is deeply embedded in Western Culture and if you scratch the surface, it is there to be found. Israel is not a perfect state nor is its PM a likeable man (one can firmly disagree with a government whilst loving the country itself) but the Jews are the people of the First Covenant, and therefore precious indeed. I hope the Gaza war ends very soon. That should take the sting out of recent events in Australia. But it will not change hearts that are inclined towards anti- Jewish attitudes and rhetoric.

We are in the midst of a few cold, rainy days. The wind is up again and gusting in short, intense bursts that shake this old, jerry-built cottage, sometimes alarmingly. But the ancient ship still sails on.

Here are a few winter haiku by the Japanese master, Matsuo Basho.

Awake at night-

The sound of the water jar

Cracking in the cold

First winter rain-

Even the monkey

Seems to want a raincoat

Tethered horse;

Snow

In both stirrups