Touching someone's life

This morning, my grandmother sat me down over tea and told me, very earnestly, that she'd been talking to my aunt about her funeral and what she wanted for it. She told me that she doesn't like speeches at funerals, but that there was something she really wanted instead.

She asked me if I, and if I didn't think I could do it, my mom, was willing to read out a poem I've written. It's a poem I wrote for my mother in which I ask a very fundamental question: What makes a mother?

I nearly teared up then and there and, of course, said yes. I'm still a little shaky just thinking about it.

My grandmother is an incredibly strong, intelligent, beautiful woman who'll be ninety years old next month and, her own words, still has some living to do.

I know that my poetry has touched her deeply. One of the very, very few times I've seen her cry was when I gave her a book with those of my poems she liked most, handwritten inside. To know that something I've written has touched someone this deeply though, this profoundly,  that is something else. And not just someone either, but this woman. This strong, intelligent, wise, beautiful woman whom I've spend my life looking up to and admiring as a role model. That my words, my sentences, my thoughts, touched her so deeply that she would have us remember her by them... That is something incredible and very nearly unbelievable to me.

This is a poem, mind, that I have never published. That I have never emailed to anyone. That I have written down on a card and given to my mother, and that I have written down in a book and given to my grandmother, and that is written down in my personal book of my poetry, but that has never been distributed otherwise. Because this is their poem and their story, and my story, written in my words. And to know that this poem is what my grandmother wants to be remembered by... That is something I have yet to find words for.

Idealism, activism and paying it forward to create a better world.

Imagine three demons gathering in an old cemetery. As they gather, what they do first is recount their evil deeds of the day: Those things they did to accomplish their final goal: gather more souls for hell. It goes something like this:

'Now we art all here,' said Hastur meaningfully, 'we must recount the Deeds of the Day.'
'Yeah. Deeds,' said Crowley, with the slightly guilty look of one who is attending church for the first time in years and has forgotten which bits you stand up for.
Hastur cleared his throat.
'I have tempted a priest,' he said. 'As he walked down the street and saw the pretty girls in the sun, I put Doubt into his mind. He would have been a saint, but within a decade we shall have him.'
'Nice one,' said Crowley, helpfully.
'I have corrupted a politician,' said Ligur. 'I let him think a tiny bribe would not hurt. Within the year we shall have him.'
They both looked expectantly at Crowley, who gave them a big smile.
'You'll like this,' he said.
His smile became even wider and more conspiratorial.
'I tied up every portable telephone system in Central London for forty-five minutes at lunchtime,' he said.
There was silence, except for the distant swishing of cars.
'Yes?' said Hastur. 'And then what?'
'Look, it wasn't easy,' said Crowley.
'That's all?' said Ligur.
'Look, people-'
'And exactly what has that done to secure souls for our master?' said Hastur.
Crowley pulled himself together.
What could he tell them? That twenty thousand people got bloody furious? That you could hear the arteries clanging shut all across the city? And that then they went back and took it out on their secretaries or traffic wardens or whatever, and they took it out on other people? In all kinds of vindictive little ways which, and here was the good bit, they thought up themselves. For the rest of the day. The knock-on effects were incalculable. Thousands and thousands of souls all got a faint patina of tarnish, and you hardly had to lift a finger.

This is an excerpt of a brilliant book called Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. While what it shows is that most demons are horribly tenuous and outdated, and that they're really not half as evil as they like to think, it has a deeper significance for me.

See, this idea of Crowley's, from the first time I picked up that book, has latched on to my mind. It ties in with the way I've looked at and have, indeed, tried to live my life ever since. That is to say: Kindly.

Let's rewind a bit. I've always been one of those activist types. I want to change the world. Make a difference. Leave it a better place than I've entered it. Most activists dedicate themselves to a cause. Either because they think that one cause really, really matters, more than other causes, or because they think their talents are most needed for that particular cause, or simply because fighting every bit of injustice, every bit of wrongdoing in the world is a fools errant and leads to burnout and madness.

They're probably right.

It also makes them a lot like Hastur and Ligur though: Dedicated to changing one small piece of the world and in the process forgetting the rest.

While I do have my causes and I do prioritise some things over others, I can never quite get this particular passage, this idea out of my head. And so, I make it a point to look the bus driver in the eye and greet him every time I enter a bus, and thank him and wish him a good day as sincerely as I can every time I leave it. I leave a street musician a note thanking them for brightening up my day, even if I have no money to give, and look them in the eye while doing so. I say hi to the cleaners and the cafeteria ladies and try and learn their names. I tell a stranger on the train that I love her dress, or his dreadlocks or ask them if they want to sit instead of me. These things cost me very little, or nothing at all. And yet they are rewarding. The startled smile, the surprised look of gratitude, the greeting and acknowledgement I receive in return. But it doesn't end with that.

If I brighten someone else's day, make it a little bit better, maybe they will be nice to someone else in turn, and that person in turn will do so for someone else. I know that doesn't happen every time I'm nice to someone. I might be an idealist, but I'm not that naive. But I figure, every day I brighten the day of at least one other person is a good day. It's a day worth living and a day worth aspiring to.

And if some days, I switch off my computer and never leave my house, just read a book and never interact with the outside world, well, I'll still have brightened someone's day. And that someone is me. And tomorrow, I'll pay it forward.