Of course, I wake up the morning after the day before, and the ebb and flow of the disease brings with it regret, remorse, and guilt. I am up and about early for a Sunday because I’m driving to Stradbroke later to co-host a Jubilee Picnic show. Hypocrisy, some will say. Not so. I want to help the team because they’re part of my family. I might be opposed to the principle of this weekend and the amount of public money being spent on public celebrations, but I would never deny other people their right to hold the beliefs they have as long as it doesn’t adversely affect others. I am not the one inciting class and culture wars. And this morning, in the pouring rain, I do feel sorry for those who have organised street parties for today which they will either have to hold under umbrellas and tarpaulins or indoors instead of outdoors in the glorious sunshine. People who will have put their own money, love and commitment into arranging these events. People with a sense of community. Not the sort of people I was writing about yesterday. Like the folk back in Stradbroke. People who care about those around them first and foremost. The English weather, as ever, makes a mockery of all plans. Just imagine how the invading Romans felt.
Last night, M and I watched Cyrano. How this magnificent film was not a box office smash is beyond me, in truth. I have been fascinated by Cyrano de Bergerac since I was young. It’s a story of how love can make us and destroy us, about how how those in positions of power can destroy those they see as threatening their power. It’s a piece which preaches against war (and this latest filmic iteration shows the mess and horror of war all too clearly). And ultimately, it’s about the power of words and the power of love, and the everlasting nature of love. And goodness. The world needs poets, poets to write love songs, poets to open their souls and those of others, poets to speak truth to power. Because every poem is political. To write of love and emotion in the face of warmongers, to speak of goodness and peace in the face of those who wish to perpetrate evil, to believe in equality and generosity of spirit in the face of greed and avarice; all those are political actions.
Go and write your love poems, and make the world a better place.
AGGIE’S ART OF HAPPINESS – CHAPTER 110