A Very Personal Bowie. What's Your Life Song?

Hiya. Good of you to pop in!
Okay. First of all, if you hate David Bowie, you should skip this post! But: if you have an open mind, perhaps you should read it after all.

Long, long ago, when I was thirteen and living in the middle of nowhere, and cycling to school every day (took me thirty minutes there against the Westerly wind, and back again, more often than not again against the wind), and hating every minute of my life (I was a troubled kid), one of my classmates who was heavily into music pointed the following out to me: "There is a guy who makes music for people like you".
Oh?
The next day he was so kind to bring his cherished David Bowie album to school; 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust'. He promised me I could take it home for exactly one evening, in return for a grope and a kiss.
The grope he never got, but the kiss...I was a good bargainer even then.

That evening I put on the album, watched over by my dog Bello and one of my three cats, Bobby. I sat down cross-legged on my second-hand afghan carpet, surrounded by incense fumes, and staring at a candle (told you...), and prepared to be enlightened.

At first I was bewildered.
Then I was intrigued.
When I put it on for the third time, I was tapping along and anticipating the best songs.
The fourth time running (it was way past my bedtime by then and my room was misty blue and foggy from all the fumes, and Bello and Bobby had colonised my bed) I listened to 'Rock 'N' Roll Suicide' five times in a row and cried my eyes out.
There I was. I recently had had the most shitty time of my life, and here was a man who knew exactly - but exactly - what I was going through. And he didn't even know me! But he knew what words I needed so desperately.

Right. Long story short. I hung on. Became a life-long David Bowie fan. Even now, I struggle to play his songs on the guitar.

So, Hans, mate, haven't a clue where you are these days, but you were right. And I don't begrudge you that kiss for a second.
Rock 'N' Roll Suicide

Swami-Time: Tenacity. Always a good thing?

Hello again.
The first thing that leapt to mind when I thought about this 12th "Ity" was that you can translate tenacity into bullheadedness. And is that a good thing?

To keep it personal: I am nothing if not tenacious. But that could prove to be my achilles heel as well. When does tenacity turn into a stubborn refusal to face facts and let go of a bad situation?

(Right. Before all of you start merrily guessing about what on earth I am talking about, I will not lift up a tip of the veil. Ha!

Sorry. Some things are better kept private.)

Back on track: tenacity. It can be a very good thing. It means you do not give up very easily, that you hold on, that you are determined. You are prepared to make a stand, even.

And it can apply to all sorts of things. Your work. Your health. A skill. Your life.

Kate Bush (with big hair) and Peter Gabriel - Don't Give Up.

Which again leads to a leap of the mind:

I've had a notification of someone's suicide four times in my life now. 

The first thing that jagged through my head every time like a bolt of lightning was the question why?

Of these four, three persons were not terminally ill. They had loving people around them. All three had not reached their 50's yet. 

One did have a terminal stage of cancer. He clung to life with a tenacity and a zest that was great to behold. But when the cancer returned, after a respite of 7 years, he decided to take the matters into his own hands. He was as determined in this as he had been in living life to the max. The same day he was told the terrible news that the cancer had returned, he ended his life.

I do not judge.

I question. What triggers one person to hang on to life with tenacity, and the other to want to end it just as tenaciously? 

A little compassion goes a long way...Why people need to recover tenderness.

A little song, sang by Simon Oak

Good morning to you, on this first day of February.
I am in a sad mood, and I'll tell you why.
I opened my FB, to browse the comments of my FB friends along with my first cup of coffee of the day, and what do I see?

- A photo of a badly beaten young man in Stuttgart - his face thrashed, no other word for it, and the appeal by his dad to find who has done this (and ran away).
- A photo of the leg of a horse, completely ripped to shreds, and the appeal of its owner to find the car driver who did this (and didn't stop).
- A photo of two dogs being boiled alive in a tub of boiling water, and the appeal for people to stop these practices (which are allowed in some parts of the world)
- A song (the link is above this post) about a young girl who was abused and died, along with her baby.
- A beautiful little story about a young man who was stopped from killing himself on Waterloo Bridge (London) by a complete stranger (and who, 6 years later, appealed to the public to find his rescuer, and did)

I stopped browsing there and then, and - with my second cup of coffee - thought about a little song I used to play over and over again when I was 17 and living by myself in Amsterdam, totally and utterly alone. It was the kindness of strangers which helped me cope, then. And it is the kindness of strangers which is, in my opinion, the only rescue remedy for this world we live in.

The song goes like this (lyrics by Herman van Veen and translated from Dutch, so cut me some slack):

Ik heb dat tedere gevoel 
voor elke vrouw, voor elke man 
die in volkomen weerloosheid

 een ander mens beminnen kan.

I have that feeling of tenderness
for every woman, for every man
who is with utter defenselessness
able to love another human being

Dat tedere gevoel - Herman van Veen (guitar Harry Sacksioni)

The last example above, a story I got from the BBC, is an example of hope. Sure, there are people in this world who, with no thought for themselves, stop to help another person.

And sure, set off against all the violence in Central Africa, in Syria, in the Ukraine, what is one guy in Stuttgart, or one horse, or a dog?

But I am deeply convinced that ordinary people, you and me, can make a difference in this world we occupy. By showing that tenderness towards all people, and animals, that need our compassion.

So. I'll forgive that blockhead in school who called me a cunt the day before yesterday, and when I see him on Monday, I'll give him another chance. If I can find it in my heart, so can you, I'm certain.

And now you may call me an old silly Hippy, I don't care. The ideals from the sixties and seventies weren't that bad!