All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances; ¹

Shakespeare famously said that “all the world’s a stage.” I sat near the front of the theatre today and watched as players made their appearances and spoke their lines. I made a few observations about the actors and the audience.

A high school strings ensemble visited the health care facility in which I regularly volunteer. They came and performed for the patients, most of whom are seriously ill and have limited mobility. Sitting among the wheelchairs, I thought about my experience as a performer as music vibrated countless air molecules around me. Although even my untrained ears could tell that the group had much room to improve, I found their reactions to their own errors quite interesting. Take one instance, for example. The group became less than cohesive towards the end of a piece and finished with an unintended staggered ending. Had they not looked at one another and chuckled self-consciously, most of the audience would have accepted and appreciated the piece’s musical ending.

Sitting beside me was an elderly woman whom I spoke with before the musical performance. Since all residents have severe neurological disease, it is often difficult to verbally communicate with them. Although I had no difficultly understanding what this woman said, I had a difficult time distinguishing the real from the imaginary, separating the factual from the delusional. When she told me about realistic-sounding plans for the future followed by the great tragedy of being the last survivor of the Titanic, only silence and a nod of acknowledgement seemed appropriate.

It’s one thing learning about memory loss from a course, but when a human being repeatedly responds to the same question with “I don’t know” and a blank expression, it somehow feels very different. Or when you picture these people as mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sons, daughters… they become more than sites of biological pathology. Every time after finishing my shift at this facility, I emerge outside, pause for a second on my very own legs, and feel the cold air rushing through my nostrils, thinking… I’m so fortunate to walk, to breathe on my own, to interact with this world, and to remember, and possibly even share, these stories.

Of late, I’ve had meaningful conversations with friends and strangers, alike, about the meaning of happiness. So far, being happy includes making points of connections with others, treating others with love and as we would like to be treated, seeing the growth of our loved ones, spending time with people who are important to us, and making others happy through helping them for nothing in return.

Earlier tonight, I had the privilege of hearing another person’s perspective on what happiness means to him, a historian-turned-custodian. Happiness to him means being free and having the freedom, the human right, of living without persecution. Being exactly half a century young, he reflects on death as humanity’s great equaliser and the intangible aspects of himself which he can keep forever. I asked him what his advice would be for young persons who face life ahead of them in a sometimes uncertain world. His answer: recognising that we are all one; finding the middle ground; being well-read on all perspectives; and using knowledge for good. He also told me this:

Don’t ever stop running. Always keep going. Then, you might become knowledgeable of something.

Ultimately, life is a theatrical negotiation. Perhaps it is through finding the middle ground that we arrive at an agreeable destination. And the audience and actors are not always dichotomies. Maybe they are one.

“I stayed because of my son. I want him to study in Canada one day and I want to give him a better future. Some people had worked on that crew for five years or more. They told me that I will never find a proper job in Canada, let alone be a nurse again.”

“But I refuse to believe them. Now, I am cleaning apartment buildings by day and sweeping classrooms by night. It is hard work. With flexibility, persistence, and diligence, nothing will stop you from reaching your goal.”

“We all need to work in a field that is right for us. It is a good feeling when we are able to do that. I want to become a nurse in Canada. I am improving my English now, and hope to begin my training in two years.”

“Keep up the good job and continue to study hard, okay?” And with those departing words, he left me and went to brighten other places. For a moment, I felt unworthy of such encouragement, undeserving of such clean, bright facilities.

The above was the wisdom of a building service worker as he swept the floor and wiped the tables and uplifted the spirit of an empty classroom. True philosophers in life are ordinary people who share their stories. Those who listen carefully find them easily.

Sometimes, small points of connection between ordinary people can turn a minute into an experience which lasts a lifetime. And maybe this is what happiness is about: creating points of connection with others, whether with a smile, with seeing oneself from the perspective of the other, or with wanting to learn about another human being.

“I shall pass this way but once; any good, therefore, that I can do or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.” ¹

Take last Wednesday, for example. After a day on campus, I rushed home in the afternoon to pick up my saxophone and music before flying out the door to attend band rehearsal on time. Even before my door was fully closed, I heard the characteristic 52 kilometres-per-hour whistle of a trolleybus as it left without me.

An infinite wait at the bus stop ensued, during which I replied to a half-dozen emails and indulged in reading the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. When the bus arrived, night had fallen. After a short journey, just as I stepped off the trolley, the traffic light changed, my connecting bus fled, and I was left, momentarily, disappointed. Life is humorous sometimes, isn’t it?

When one door closes, another often opens.

A fellow passenger from the first bus also waited for the second one with me. This elderly gentleman had a thin layer of silver beard and hair. Together with his metallic, delicately framed glasses, he almost carried an Oliver Sacks look.

He spoke, I listened, and for some reason, our conversation drifted onto the topic of religion and medicine. Let’s call our friend Mr. Sacks. Specifically, Mr. Sacks talked about how Buddhism and medicine share a common pathway of witnessing a problem, defining the nature of the program, seeking a solution, and solving the problem. Unavoidably, this led to a discussion on the soteriological nature of both medicine and religion, which pertains to suffering and salvation, and the moral and redemptive nature of all health care.

Mr. Sacks shared the following parable with me:

“Suppose someone was hit by a poisoned arrow and his friends and relatives found a doctor able to remove the arrow. If this man were to say, ‘I will not have this arrow taken out until I know whether the person who had shot it was a priest, a prince or a merchant, his name and his family. I will not have it taken out until I know what kind of bow was used and whether the arrowhead was an ordinary one or an iron one.’ That person would die before all these things are ever known to him.”

“The Buddha did not answer these questions because they are not relevant to the problems of suffering, nor do they lead to happiness, peace and Enlightenment. Whether one believes that the world is eternal or not, or that it is infinite or not, one has to face the reality of birth, old age, sickness, death and suffering. The Buddha explained suffering, the cause of suffering, the end of suffering and the path leading to the end of suffering here and now. The Buddha taught the Four Noble Truths because He knew that they lead to happiness, peace and Enlightenment.” ¹

Soon, I found myself mesmerised as I sat next to him on the bus. We talked about healing the person and seeing the patient as a site for stories in the context of Buddhism in ancient times. It turned out that Mr. Sacks had worked for many years, before retirement, as a research professor in Psychiatry, and had spoken from his first-hand experience in working with patients.

Shortly before arriving at his stop, Mr. Sacks told me that treating an individual with unconditional love is a source of healing, which equates, as he put it, to a form of energy and a path to revitalisation for those afflicted by illness.

As soon as Mr. Sacks got off the bus, the woman who sat to my left asked me whether Mr. Sacks is a professor and said that she liked his ideas. She told me about her brother’s Schizophrenia, how his condition seemed to improve when she and her family surrounds him with love, and how she saw his symptoms deteriorate in love’s absence.

This reminds me of a passage by Sherwin Nuland from The Art of Aging ²:

“The single word that best incorporates what I am trying to communicate here is ‘caring.’ Caring arises from an inner sense of relatedness to one or more individuals and to all humankind, and the recognition that humankind’s ultimate good is bound up with one’s own. Caring has about it something of the nature of wonder, that one’s own strivings can be transcended in the name of a greater principle, one that ultimately benefits everyone.”

“This is precisely what Saint Paul must have meant by the ringing words of chapter 13 in I Corinthians, when he said that agapé, in the original Greek, is greater even than faith and hope. Agapé refers to a kind of wondrous love, which the authors of the Vulgate properly translated into the Latin caritas, best defined as a ‘caring love’ that puts aside petty self-interest. Saint Paul’s magnificent words epitomize much of what has already appeared in the present and earlier chapters of this book: ‘And now abideth faith, hope and caritas, these three; but the greatest of these is caritas.’”

I missed the bus and found caritas.

In just six hours from now, the Supreme Court of Canada will make its final and unexpectly early ruling on the legality of Insite, the only safe-injection site in North America.

Based on two arguments, the continued presence of Insite has previously been ruled in favour by the British Columbia Provicial Court:

1. The provincial jurisdiction argument: that the federal government does not have a say in the way in which health care is provided by the provinces. I may be mistaken here, but I think this argument was not ruled in favour.

2. The human rights argument was, however, ruled in favour (which surprised those representing Insite, including my Medical Anthropology professor): that, when effective means of harm-reduction are available and provided through the health care system, the inaction (or termination of Insite) would result in the harm of individuals with addictions and would violate their human right. For example, in a similar light, if care were withheld from those who live a lifestyle which results in their own heart disease, the human right of these individuals would be violated.

Fundamentally, this ruling will decide, once and for all (since there are no appeals remaining), whether 1) Insite will remain open, 2) whether Insite would pave the way for more safe-injection sites in North America, 3) whether addictions in Canada will be treated as a health care responsibility, or one for the legal-justice system (which is the case in the United States).

The above is my novice understanding of the situation based on a short introduction from a lecture. My interpretation could be entirely wrong, especially since this post is written on my phone at a rather late hour. Feel free to share your thoughts on this issue.

I’m hopeful that the numerous peer-reviewed papers will convince the Supreme Court judges about the true nature and efficacy of Insite. I’m hopeful that evidence will triumph ideology.

A dispute arose between the North Wind and the Sun, each claiming that he was stronger than the other. At last they agreed to try their powers upon a traveller, to see which could soonest strip him of his cloak.

The North Wind had the first try; and, gathering up all his force for the attack, he came whirling furiously down upon the man, and caught up his cloak as though he would wrest it from him by one single effort: but the harder he blew, the more closely the man wrapped it round himself.

Then came the turn of the Sun. At first he beamed gently upon the traveller, who soon unclasped his cloak and walked on with it hanging loosely about his shoulders: then he shone forth in his full strength, and the man, before he had gone many steps, was glad to throw his cloak right off and complete his journey more lightly clad.

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.

There are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave yourface merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, “Goodbye, Daddy!” and I frowned, and said in reply, “Hold your shoulders back!”

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There wereholes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive – and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!

Do you remember, later,when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. “What is it you want?” I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding – this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bed-side in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: “He is nothing but a boy – a little boy!”

I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.

August 20, 2011

Toronto, Ontario

Dear Friends,

Tens of thousands of Canadians have written to me in recent weeks to wish me well. I want to thank each and every one of you for your thoughtful, inspiring and often beautiful notes, cards and gifts. Your spirit and love have lit up my home, my spirit, and my determination.

Unfortunately my treatment has not worked out as I hoped. So I am giving this letter to my partner Olivia to share with you in the circumstance in which I cannot continue.

I recommend that Hull-Aylmer MP Nycole Turmel continue her work as our interim leader until a permanent successor is elected.

I recommend the party hold a leadership vote as early as possible in the New Year, on approximately the same timelines as in 2003, so that our new leader has ample time to reconsolidate our team, renew our party and our program, and move forward towards the next election.

A few additional thoughts:

To other Canadians who are on journeys to defeat cancer and to live their lives, I say this: please don’t be discouraged that my own journey hasn’t gone as well as I had hoped. You must not lose your own hope. Treatments and therapies have never been better in the face of this disease. You have every reason to be optimistic, determined, and focused on the future. My only other advice is to cherish every moment with those you love at every stage of your journey, as I have done this summer.

To the members of my party: we’ve done remarkable things together in the past eight years. It has been a privilege to lead the New Democratic Party and I am most grateful for your confidence, your support, and the endless hours of volunteer commitment you have devoted to our cause. There will be those who will try to persuade you to give up our cause. But that cause is much bigger than any one leader. Answer them by recommitting with energy and determination to our work. Remember our proud history of social justice, universal health care, public pensions and making sure no one is left behind. Let’s continue to move forward. Let’s demonstrate in everything we do in the four years before us that we are ready to serve our beloved Canada as its next government.

To the members of our parliamentary caucus: I have been privileged to work with each and every one of you. Our caucus meetings were always the highlight of my week. It has been my role to ask a great deal from you. And now I am going to do so again. Canadians will be closely watching you in the months to come. Colleagues, I know you will make the tens of thousands of members of our party proud of you by demonstrating the same seamless teamwork and solidarity that has earned us the confidence of millions of Canadians in the recent election.

To my fellow Quebecers: On May 2nd, you made an historic decision. You decided that the way to replace Canada’s Conservative federal government with something better was by working together in partnership with progressive-minded Canadians across the country. You made the right decision then; it is still the right decision today; and it will be the right decision right through to the next election, when we will succeed, together. You have elected a superb team of New Democrats to Parliament. They are going to be doing remarkable things in the years to come to make this country better for us all.

To young Canadians: All my life I have worked to make things better. Hope and optimism have defined my political career, and I continue to be hopeful and optimistic about Canada. Young people have been a great source of inspiration for me. I have met and talked with so many of you about your dreams, your frustrations, and your ideas for change. More and more, you are engaging in politics because you want to change things for the better. Many of you have placed your trust in our party. As my time in political life draws to a close I want to share with you my belief in your power to change this country and this world. There are great challenges before you, from the overwhelming nature of climate change to the unfairness of an economy that excludes so many from our collective wealth, and the changes necessary to build a more inclusive and generous Canada. I believe in you. Your energy, your vision, your passion for justice are exactly what this country needs today. You need to be at the heart of our economy, our political life, and our plans for the present and the future.

And finally, to all Canadians: Canada is a great country, one of the hopes of the world. We can be a better one – a country of greater equality, justice, and opportunity. We can build a prosperous economy and a society that shares its benefits more fairly. We can look after our seniors. We can offer better futures for our children. We can do our part to save the world’s environment. We can restore our good name in the world. We can do all of these things because we finally have a party system at the national level where there are real choices; where your vote matters; where working for change can actually bring about change. In the months and years to come, New Democrats will put a compelling new alternative to you. My colleagues in our party are an impressive, committed team. Give them a careful hearing; consider the alternatives; and consider that we can be a better, fairer, more equal country by working together. Don’t let them tell you it can’t be done.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.

All my very best,

Jack Layton

Source: http://www.ndp.ca/letter-to-canadians-from-jack-layton

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn’t make any sense.

Jelaluddin Rumi

More inspiration from Better by Atul Gawande:

The antistarvation program, run by Tufts University nutritionist Jerry Sternin and his wife, Monique, had given up on bringing outside solutions to villages with malnourished children. Over and over, that strategy had failed… The Sternins therefore focused on finding solutions from insiders. They asked small groups of poor villagers to identify who among them had the best-nourished children — who among them had demonstrated what the Sternins termed a “positive deviance” from the norm. The villagers then visited those mothers at home to see exactly what they were doing.

How does one become a positive deviant when:

Most of us, most of the time, are far removed from planning a polio mop-up for 4.2 million children in southern India or inventing new ways to save the lives of frontline soldiers. Our enterprise is more modest.

Regardless  of our age, gender, and occupation, below are “five suggestions for how one might make a worthy difference, for how one might become… a positive deviant”:

1. Ask an unscripted question.
   Ask an unscripted question which allows us to make a human connection, for example, “Where did you grow up?” Then, listen and make note of what we learn. We just might discover something new.
2. Don’t complain.
   Although we may face numerous pointless, frustrating problems in our lives, Dr. Gawande argues that we ought not to complain because of the “difficulties of having to work with other human beings under circumstances only partly in one’s control” and that complaining leaves us feeling “angry and sorry for ourselves.” I agree, though I’d like to distinguish complaining from critically examining or questioning an issue. At this point, I need to further reflect before clearly articulating the difference between the former and latter. I do believe, however, that it is important to point out, if not challenge, the problems to which we become witness. Only then can these issues be addressed in a systemic and systematic manner.
3. Count something.
   We should be scientists in this world. “If you count something you find interesting, you will learn something interesting.”
4. Write something.
   Make small observations about our world. Although it is easy to lose our “larger sense of purpose,” writing allows us to “step back and think through a problem.” After all, even the “angriest rant forces the writer to achieve a degree of thoughtfulness.”

Most of all, by offering your reflections to an audience, even a small one, you make yourself part of a larger world. An audience is a community. The published word is a declaration of membership in that community and also of a willingness to contribute something meaningful to it.

I am in total agreement with this statement, which captures my thoughts precisely. I enjoy reflecting on various aspects of life. Putting these reflections into writing achieves three purposes: my thought process is better streamlined; my current state of thinking, maturity, or even prefrontal cortex development, is stored for future reference; these ideas are shared with others and consumed, challenged, or even expanded upon.

5. Change.
   According to Dr. Gawande, there are three ways in which people respond to new ideas: “a few becomes early adopters; most becomes late adopters; some remain persistent skeptics who never stop resisting.”

Nonetheless, make yourself an early adopter. Look for the opportunity to change. I am not saying you should embrace every new trend that comes along. But be willing to recognised the inadequacies in what you do and to seek out out solutions.

I frequently demand change in certain things while remaining a persistent sceptic in others. For example, I take a highly critical approach to numerous social issues. I must admit, on the other hand, that I have never owned an iPod or a Facebook account. What a bag of paradox. Or, maybe not. Perhaps I desire for change so strongly that my never-ending resistance of the likes of Facebook is considered “change” in itself.

On a concluding note, it is Saturday, March 26, 2011. In two hours, I will be on campus to take part in training as a volunteer for the Orientations programme. I remember waking up in 2010 on this same Saturday with a dreadful upper-respiratory tract infection and scrambling to reach campus in a semi-medicated state to attend the same event, with the exception that I was offering the training then. In 2009, I woke up to the torturous noise of an alarm clock on the same Saturday at the Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre, taking part in a weekend-long Biology field trip. I know, without a doubt, where I would really like to be on this day next year. What a difference four years make.

So find something new to try, something to change. Count how often you succeed and how often you fail. Write about it. Ask people what they think. See if you can keep the conversation going.