Between Now and Zen

We Three Things

EJ Denning — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 14:00:01 +0000

Does everything come in threes?

I read a while ago that guys have three critical things they need to be recognised for from their Significant Others (SO). I don’t know how this would work in gay relationships and I suspect it’s not far from the truth there either (though I stand to be corrected).

Two of these items men require from their SO are universal (apparently).

The first is to be their partner’s hero. Now, while I’m not willing to don a cape and blue tights with a big “He-Man” crest on my chest, I am willing to agree that I would like to be my lady’s hero. Quite frankly, I still believe I’m Superman at the tender age of forty-nine and I have been known to look a bit Clark Kent-ish with certain glasses on. Okay… you can stop laughing now.

I’d rather be Aquaman anyway.

The second requisite is for our partner to believe we are the greatest lover since Don Juan Demarco. The only problem with Don was he couldn’t stick with one partner. Me? I’m a serial monogamist. One is plenty, thank you very much. How these dudes in the Middle East handle harems is beyond me. That’s a topic for another day, I think.

Anyway, I also agree that being noted by my partner as the most magnificent, awe-inspiring, bravura lover since the materialization of one celled critters is important. I know it makes me feel pretty damned exceptional. To be recognised as such is absolutely a boost to my ego and makes me want to continue to be…well… her Don Juan Demarco.

Of course, I knew this about myself anyway. *grin*

Then, there’s the third thing. As “fun” as the first two are (and still vital) the third is a deal breaker. For each of us it’s different. It could be respect or being honoured or simply being noted for the little things… like putting the damned toilet seat down after each use (which is something that would be included in something larger). It’s truly up to each male to figure out what the third thing is for each of us.

And, by the way, it’s not for our partner to guess.

It’s not easy trying to figure out the third need. More often than not there are combinations of emotional needs that are rolled into one big honkin’ need. That’s where the difficulty appears. Naming that need takes effort, thought and some trial and error. Personally, I’ve been working on this for a while.

For me, what that third need is remains between my partner and myself. She’s the important person in this scenario and the only one who “needs to know”. It matters significantly if my partner fills these needs. When I receive these three things from my Significant Other, I feel connected, loved, honoured and appreciated.

When I receive these three things from her, I feel alive.

Expecting?

EJ Denning — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 22:50:55 +0000

So… I’m contemplating my finger.

That is, the index finger on my left hand which I decided to gouge a chunk out of yesterday. Honestly, I’m not even sure how I did it and the first real indicator was blood getting everywhere it shouldn’t be. Ow, ow, rats, ow!

Okay… that’s the Family Channel version.

While I had my finger in my mouth trying to recycle my escaping life-force, I went looking for a bandage. Since I’m currently working on repairing columns at a counsellor’s office, I thought it reasonable to expect some form of medical paraphernalia. A counsellor is almost a doctor, no? It turns out medical supplies for self inflicted wounds would be nasal tissues.

It’s my finger, not my nose!

It did get me to thinking though. How prepared are we for emergencies or things that go awry? Every morning when I wake up, I presume I’m going to have a great day. The sun will shine, the birds will sing, I’ll find a clean pair of underwear and I won’t burn my breakfast… again. I also presume that the universe and the multitude of energy units wandering around will play nicely as well.

Then I take a chunk out of my finger.

In my preparedness for each day, I really do think it’s a brand new start and everything that happened yesterday is done. Little reminders lurk about like the diminishing ache in my finger or the memory of the thing that guy in the grocery said about me and, by and large, they aren’t enough to dissuade me from being the best that I can be. (Gomer Pyle?)

Over time, I have found that expecting the best actually attracts the best. Preparing each day for the best and knowing I can handle whatever comes has become an important start to my mornings.

Expect the best (treatment from others, service at the coffee shop, etc) and odds are pretty good you’ll attract the best. For example, many of you know I drive a truck. It’s difficult to park in almost any parking lot space and yet I almost always find a convenient space where I can get in and out easily. Why? Because I expect it.

Say what you will, like energy attracts like energy.

Maybe the universe was simply reminding me to pay attention when I whacked my finger. On the other hand it was the end of the day; I was tired and not paying particular attention. It’s more likely the universe saying I had had enough. Go home, Duffus! Why it had to pick on my poor finger, I don’t know. It was my index finger. Perhaps it was simply trying to tell me it’s impolite to point. Fortunately, it was indeed the end of my day.

Tomorrow, none of this will matter and I can begin by expecting the best.

Power Broker?

EJ Denning — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 20:22:09 +0000

I’ve been approached to be the “caretaker” of an apartment building. Visions jump to mind of Dwayne Schneider (Pat Harrington) on the sitcom One Day at a Time rapping on the door in dirty bell-bottom jeans, work boots, a tool belt, cheesy moustache and a stained white t-shirt.

Umm… not.

Cheryl was consulting with someone the other day who came up with something brilliant and we have both been doing our best to try out. The discussion was around how to stay in balance. How do I manage to keep myself upright when the strings of attachment to everyone around me are tugging and pulling me over?

Sometimes it feels like, “Oh my God! Would you please just leave me alone!?”

At that point when I feel like I’m being pulled hither and yon like used toilet paper in a cyclone because half the damned world wants my attention, I’m likely at my wits end. It’s then when all I want to do is hide in the corner like Little Jack Horner and suck my thumb in wide eyed bewilderment?”

It’s just not fun.

The trick is to stay balanced all of the time or, at the very least, as often as possible. More often than not, we grow up being trained to ask, “What do they want from me?” Our parents have rules and we are to follow those rules or risk facing their ire. The problem with this question is we end up invariably focussed on the other person (our parents, our boss, our spouse, our kids, our half dead gold fish, etcetera). What can I do for you? This focus on outside influences sucks the energy from me. Meeting the demands of others is often (not always) contrary to my own ability to give and often is much more than I’m really capable of donating.

What should I be asking?

The real question I should be asking myself is, “What do I have to offer?” That is… in this red hot minute of my current state, what am I willing to give to this person who is asking for my attention and input? Maybe it’s nothing. By asking what I am willing to offer, it keeps the power in my hands and I expend only that energy which I am willing to dole out. Sometimes what I am offering is simply a smile, a kind word, a brilliant piece of advice or a cup of coffee. Other times it might be assisting in recreating the Sistine Chapel in Cousin Norm’s basement. (Don’t get any ideas, Norm!)

I have to believe that what I am offering is enough for the other person.

This does not only extend to those in the outside world. Sometimes our closest relationships have demands attached to them without our realising. Someone may say to me “I want blah, blah, blah.” My question at that point is two fold. Am I willing to offer what they are asking for and, if not, what do I have to offer? Taking into consideration who that person is to me is important too.

The power is in my hands. It’s very empowering… and balancing… to know that I have the ability to choose how much I can offer rather than trying to “please” others by trying to figure out what they want.

Back to the question of whether I wish to become the caretaker of the apartment building, the real question becomes “What have I got to offer?” Since the time the question has been asked of me, my phone has rung several times a day every day (I’m temporarily covering for the person who left the position). I already know it’s more than I’m willing to give. What I am offering now is plenty, thank you very much. The power is in my hands to respectfully decline.

I did wonder briefly how I would look in a Dwayne Schneider get-up. Ewww! Maybe my kimono while cooking dinner is more apropos.

Artefacts

EJ Denning — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 20:20:18 +0000

I was looking at my truck the other day. Well, I look at it every day so that’s not so remarkable. I wasn’t actually looking at my truck but rather what is in my truck.

I have an extended cab with the ability to fit no-one normal into the contemptible fold down seats unless your name is Twiggy or you have “Euro-Skinny Runway Model” listed as your occupation of choice. In truth, runway models tend to be reeaaalllly tall and likely wouldn’t fit lengthwise anyway. Perhaps I could stack them like firewood. Then again, what to do about the big hair?

Ah yes… chainsaw!

Instead of stuffing in people, I have various and sundry tools, travel coffee mugs, a pair of sneakers I might never wear again, tie down straps, a seventy-five foot extension cord in case I want to surreptitiously recharge my iPod from a Seven-Eleven, my iPod, a camera in case I might actually choose to take a photo and assorted other items not worth mentioning in the will I would like to prepare… someday… maybe… kinda. I’m not even certain the Salvation Army wouldn’t turn its nose up at the donation of the contents.

Anyway… I was looking behind my seat.

Mostly I haul around all of these things because as a contractor, I may need the four pair of needle-nose pliers to use with my two very dextrous hands. I forget what’s at the bottom. I think there’s a raccoon in there somewhere. My cinnamon bagels keep disappearing. I began to wonder about the things we carry around from place to place without really thinking about the load on our minds, hearts and souls.

Not just the physical things.

There are days when I feel like I am carrying enough baggage from the past to bring me crashing to my knees. If I were to equate that to my truck, the more “stuff” I carry, the more gas it takes to get to where I am going. It doesn’t take long before I have to refuel to get back on the road. Further, the extra load requires more frequent upkeep and repair as the mechanisms are under increased strain ad infinitum.

The truck and I are workin’ too friggin’ hard man!

Carrying emotional baggage from the past is like that. The baggage I carry throughout my life sucks the gas right out of me. If I had just consumed copious amounts of my cousin Don’s “Infamous Moose Meat Fishing Trip Chili” and was sitting bloated and sluggish on a mossy log beside a mosquito infested northern Ontario lake with the button and belt undone on my campfire smoked jeans, off-gasing might not be such a bad thing (and wasn’t uncommon). I promise to leave the campsite first.

However, the baggage from my past sucking the gas out of me isn’t a good thing. It means I have to make frequent pit stops for fuel and the repair bills to my psyche become emotionally costly.

Over time I have learned to reduce the emotional bill.

Still, while I’m digging up the artefacts of my life (which always continues), I need to be mindful that they are just that… artefacts. Yes, they have shaped my life and they have certainly led me to the place I am now. Good or bad, it doesn’t mean those objet d’art have to define me in the present. They are simply memories to be dug up, turned over and over, inspected, labelled, honoured and stored in a room on a shelf in the museum of my mind. Whether I ever choose to visit that room in the museum again is entirely up to me.

Occasionally I’ll pass by those rooms and remember. It doesn’t mean I have to live there.

Some rooms, like the Room of Accomplishments, I will revisit as often as possible and make certain I remember to point, smile and exclaim “I did that!” Hell… I’ll even point them out to you if you’re willing to put up with the dreamy smile, relentless prattle and trance-like gaze! Hmm… in the meantime, it’s time to clean out the truck again.

I wonder how many super-models fit into the back of my pick-up. And, am I allowed to fold them in half and stack them up.

Airborne

EJ Denning — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 19:06:08 +0000

After the jack hammering a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take on something a little different… again.

I seem to have an contrasting gene that seeks out something new pretty much all of the time. It can be a detriment at times since one runs the risk of being a jack of all trades and master of none. On the other hand, the litany of things I have done (and continue to do) is becoming a laundry list of accomplishments. Of course, there are those things I return to time and again because I consistently like doing them. (Like eating, sleeping and… err… never mind.)

This week, I took a job painting an apartment building exterior. What’s new about that? Scaffolding. While I’ve used the Tubular Tallness Tools before, it was always with a group of folks as a team. Doing it on one’s own on uneven ground and with a can of paint in my hand is new. It’s quite entertaining setting up the scaffold, painting six feet, taking down the scaffold, moving the scaffold… ad nauseum.

Yeah, okay… kinda boring. The excitement though is being on the scaffold relying on my balance to avoid crashing on the neighbour’s forest green Canadian Tire gazebo.

While I was up there where the air is thinner, I started wondering why I do some of things I do. Why do I paint a building thirty feet high on a scaffold by myself with nothing to hold onto except a dripping paint roller and my sweat soaked shorts? Particularly, why would I take on such a job considering I have a fear of heights!?

Perhaps I’m marginally suicidal.

There are a few things at play here. Firstly, I get a bit of a rush being able to stand back, look at the job that’s done and know that I did something most people wouldn’t attempt. Diving with sharks the first time was like that. Riding my bike 5000 kilometres two summers ago was like that. It’s the sense of accomplishing something the average Joe wouldn’t consider or simply talks about without following through.

The second thing going on in my head is I believe I am capable of doing anything. Having that basis of thought drives me to prove I am still able to do things most fifty year old men wouldn’t consider.

Finally, any time I do something I’ve never done before, I build my confidence. Facing my fears is like that. Any time I can face a fear, it’s a confidence builder. That brings me back to the previous point where building my confidence furthers my belief that I can do anything.

I may never overcome the fear of height though I am learning how to deal with it.

Over the years, I’ve learned these things on my own. Certainly I’ve had some “formal training” where I’ve been encouraged to believe, however until one ventures out, the confidence seldom appears.

I, like many others had parents who warned me of the dangers of certain activities. Eventually, as children, we can come to believe there is little we can do that’s new and become “stuck”. For me, it was many years before I began to believe I could accomplish virtually anything.

And so, it follows that I will be on scaffolding again on Monday. Hmm… I wonder what comes next.

No, I still won’t skydive or bungee jump. Get over it. Flying an F-18 isn’t out of the question though. *grin*

Rattled

EJ Denning — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 16:47:33 +0000

Having a small contracting company means a lot of things. We do almost anything. In summer, I work as hard as possible because winter can be slow at best. That means I’ll take jobs I normally wouldn’t to keep the cash flow coming through.

And I’ve had a few odd ones.

Yesterday I took a job removing concrete. While that’s not normally an issue, it turns out the “little concrete pad” was four feet by twelve feet by twelve inches thick. The length and width are irrelevant. The thickness however… umm… yeah.

I rented a jack-hammer, hereafter known as Bosch Brute.

Bosch Brute and I never really became friends over the next seven and half hours despite working so closely together. For the most part, it’s because he had the infuriating habit of rattling just about everything I keep in my skin suit.

Having never used a jackhammer before, it was a new experience for the first half hour or so. Keeping the thing from rattling off the concrete platform was a bit of a trick. I glanced around occasionally to see if there was anyone with a video camera. I had no inclination to appear on “Funniest Home Videos” looking like a Loonie Tunes character skipping across the driveway.

I wonder when we stop trying new things. When do we stop trying because we don’t wish to look silly? Is this an adult trait or a societal one? If it is, I don’t wish to be adult in that regard. I have always tried new things long enough to become proficient and then try something else. I stick with the things I really like. I’ll try anything from learning a new computer language to learning to SCUBA dive at forty to white water kayak, again when I was forty. Even trying new forms of business are not out of the question.

Daffy Duck be damned!

Sometimes looking foolish is part of the learning curve. Whether I can get past this societal stigma or not usually determines how much fun I have participating in the new activity. Recently I tried Dragon Boat Racing and had a great time… primarily because I didn’t care what I looked like. More so, I cared what I felt like.

Fear of looking bad is an adult stigma. Kids don’t care and have a lot less self-consciousness than those of us who have been pounded by “acceptability” for far too long. Being child-like is not the same as being childish. Child-like is a positive attribute in my opinion. Childish is not.

Back to Bosch Brute: he was an animal all day. The ache today is a direct result of his insolence and my inability to give up. By the end of the day, I was becoming proficient at the destruction of concrete which was obviously created by the Universe to provide hours of entertainment for a forty-nine year old child-like adventurer.

As it turns out, Bosch Brute and I will be reacquainted on Monday. I’m sure he’s looking forward to rattling my cage again. I’m looking forward to taming the wee beasty…

Right after I ingest massive quantities of Tylenol Fourteen.

Green Eggs and Ham

EJ Denning — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 23:14:18 +0000

Moved!

Whew! Finally got all the stuff into the new place and I have just enough room to get from the bed to the shower to the coffee maker to the computer to the front door.

I wonder where the walls and windows went. Huh.

While it’s not quite that bad, business has been decent and I’ve been distracted by “other pursuits” so the new place has been patiently waiting. I was there for an extended period this past week though and thought I might have eggs and ham for dinner. Breakfast for dinner is one of my favourite things.

Whatever happened to Count Chocula?

I trundled to the fridge and found the eggs and… umm… err… where’s the ham? Now, a side of pork wrapped lovingly in tinfoil and dumped unceremoniously into a box doesn’t go missing every day. And I know it wasn’t green and fuzzy enough to walk off on its own so… where’s the dam ham, ma’am?

I tend to lose something every time I move.

One move I lost a camera. That is, I know it was in the moving van. Even to this day I know where I put it. It’s the same with the ham. I know it was in a box marked “Fridge – unpack this first Doofus”. The only thing I can think of is someone else needed a ham more than I did. Why do people insist on shopping out of other people’s trucks? Either that or Porky showed up to reclaim his thigh.

Do they reconnect limbs on swine? He’s gonna have a severe limp!

It got me to thinking about what we need. Whatever we need in life shows up and whatever we don’t need will disappear… or sit in the garage becoming a housing project for mice and spiders until we move again. This is one of the reasons I spent so much time downsizing my life this spring. I didn’t need half of the stuff I had and the other half is still under suspicion.

And for the record, I turfed the TV too. I haven’t watched TV in over a month. No sports, no movies… nothing. If it isn’t on a DVD, it’s not worth watching and I can do that on my computer. Suddenly I have my brain back.

One of the things I’ve noticed since reclaiming my sanity is attitude. The better mine is the better are the attitudes of the people I meet. I don’t mean that everyone shows up without problems. That’s not the case at all. However, as my energy level has risen, those who have lower energy levels don’t seem to be attracted into my life any longer. And… as I meet more people with higher energy (happy, joyous, brilliant, jubilant, etc), my energy rises still more. Even how they deal with problems is at a higher level.

Take away the suffocating heat and all would be fine.

Oops… complained. Sorry.

Anyway, in order to get out of the rut I was in, I raised my energy level and, wonder of wonders, things began to happen that I had wanted all along. Having a dream is fine. Getting in tune with it is what brings it about. Yeah… I know. It’s all about “The Secret” and shit like that. Sure, that does work and they forgot to tell everyone one vitally critical component. You still have to do something about it! Get off your ass and dream while you create! It just doesn’t appear while you’re watching Friends reruns.

Err… yeah. Deep breathes.

While more cool stuff and people enter my realm, I’m realising that they are what I need and arrived at the right time. I may or may not need them for long and they showed up anyway. Ain’t the Universe a hoot!?

That which I don’t need, by the way, is being dropped at the Salvation Army.

As for the ham, I hope whoever ended up with that box does enjoy it (which included two containers of parmesan, a block of cheddar cheese, salad dressing and Lord knows what else). I’m sure they needed it more than I and I’m also sure it arrived just in time for them.

I still wish I had my camera though.

Ever Wonder?

EJ Denning — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 18:29:07 +0000

I just have to get this out.

Have you ever wondered what you would do?

I remember the scene from Crash where Matt Dillon pulls Thandie Newton from a car with leaking gas, fire closing in and he says something to the effect of, “I’m not leaving you here. You have to trust me. I’m all you’ve got.” It’s all very Hollywood dramatic with menacing music… bom, bom, bom.

I’ve spent a lot of time training for such things (without the gas leak and conflagration please) from First Aid through work to Rescue Training while becoming a Dive Master SCUBA diver. Even while doing the training, I understood it was all simulated and how we react in a real world incident can be quite different.

I was on my way to a meeting and as I was coming around the on-ramp to the highway, I saw an overturned semi and trailer (transport). Normally I might check to see if there was anything I could do and keep going as there are often other people on scene. Another interfering human is often a hindrance rather than a help.

I was the second to come upon this scene.

The truck had turned over a few seconds before I arrived. The guy ahead of me and I jumped out of our cars and ran to the truck. The driver was still in the cab. I handed my cell phone to the other guy, told him to call 911 and ducked through the broken front windshield.

What the fuck was I thinking!? I wasn’t, I suppose.

The driver’s name was Amad. He was pinned in by his elbow in the door window and his legs by the steering wheel. Thankfully he was wearing his seat belt because it was holding him up in a position that both prevented him from falling down injuring himself further and provided me with clear view of his elbow.

The fear in his eyes said everything.

Following a quick check to see if anything was broken and find out if he had smacked the steering wheel (for internal bleeding), I set on extracting the elbow. After about five minutes of struggling with the rear view mirror that had bent back and pinned his elbow, we both managed to work his arm free (when all else fails, destroy the mirror). Then it was the legs, which were much easier once the elbow was free.

I managed to get Amad standing (he’s a big guy and I am not) and walked him out. There was an off duty fireman waiting when we came out and the two of us half carried a limping extracted truck driver to the curb. EMS showed up about that time. Fortunately Amad was shaken but okay.

Afterward, my emotional rollercoaster began running.

I was elated that I was able to help someone else in a time of need. What ifs starting running through my head. The sudden drop of adrenaline was worse than a candy bar crash. I wondered if a stranger would do the same for me under the circumstances. What if there had been a fuel leak.

As I drove to the meeting, I wondered about my sanity.

Two people deserve recognition from me; my friend at Hospice who, when I related what had happened, gave me a wonderful hug and made sure I was okay to drive. I’ve determined that hugs are the best medicine in the world. Then, I spent the evening with a wonderful woman who played some soothing music and pulled me back from where ever my spirit had decided to exorcise itself. With people like them in my life I will never have want for support… or anything else.

Bless them both for taking the time.

Ultimately, my question to you dear readers… have you ever been in such a situation?

There’s no dramatic bom,bom,bom in real life. Just drama.

CP Swing Time

EJ Denning — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 16:33:54 +0000

About a week ago I went to visit a friend. She seems to operate on CP time, so I was hanging out waiting for her to come home. Close to her house is a playground and, since it was empty, I decided to plop my ass/arse/butt on a swing.

First, I should explain CP time. Specifically, it’s “Coloured People Time” which anyone who uses the term will tell you means they are virtually always a few minutes late. I have grown to adore CP time. White folk are too frigging uptight about time anyway. I learned this term recently (thanks S) and if you have ever been to the Caribbean, you know about it first hand. Everything slooowwwws waaayyy dooowwwnnn.

Eyrie, you in Jamaica now, mon. We be takin’ it slow. Got some great ganja to get you in island rythum, mon.

As it turns out, I tend to attract folks who operate on CP time and, for that matter, I also seem to have become an enthusiastic punter of said timing myself. It’s amazing what we can learn and enjoy by meeting new people from different cultures. Cool shit like CP time! Don’t get uptight… get down-loose, mon.

Right… back to the swing.

So, I climbed aboard the hunk of conveyor belt hung on chains and kind of moved my feet like I was on a rocking chair. You know… just gently moving back and forth listening to the birds fornicating in the trees, hearing a dog barking… probably at a squirrel, watching the clouds turn into lobsters, dragons and roasted chicken… just hanging out.

Then the kid in me decided to materialize.

I started swinging a bit more. No-one could see me easily from the road and there were bushes behind me. It wasn’t long before my feet left the ground and I was swinging higher and higher.

A huge smile broke out on my face.

The higher I went, the more I remembered being a kid and how the simpler things in life were so exciting. Childhood things like swimming in the lake, climbing a tree to the crown and having the entire top of the tree snap off, riding your bike over a ramp like Evel Knievel ultimately using your face skidding in the dirt for brakes. Stuff like that. Higher I swung, my view of the world changing each moment from sand and grass to sky and clouds and back.

Then, I got the bright idea to close my eyes.

Holy crap! The sensation was superb, scary and heady! It reminded me of so many things that excited me through life; diving with sharks, standing on a mountain top seeing lush valley below and heaven above, holding a newborn baby (my nephew), the Parthenon, my first roller coaster ride, holding hands, seeing someone’s soul through their eyes… unconditional love. It reminded me how we cannot live life unless we seek out extraordinary moments and there are extraordinary moments in everything we see.

Life is lived through a soaring heart with angel’s wings.

I could see the road from where I played. My friend showed up shortly after my exhilarating ride and I made my way to meet. My heart was light, my mind was clear and I was meeting a dear friend. I know of nothing better. I must remember to thank her for being a bit late and allowing me to be a CP time swinger. Hmm… perhaps, she’ll join me next time.

Life is so much better shared.

Holocaust Hoax

EJ Denning — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 21:00:11 +0000

In April of 2007, there was a rumour circulating that history of the Holocaust was being dropped from school curriculum in the United Kingdom.

It was refuted then yet the emails are circulating still. I received such an email yesterday and, I know the person who sent it has their heart in the right place. For that I can only show appreciation.

Having said that, some of these rumours become damning and they are certainly never ending in the electronic universe of bits and bytes. The United Kingdom, from anything I can discern, has no intention of ever removing the Holocaust from its history lessons and, in fact, this bitter saga in our history is mandatory in the curriculum.

The rumour goes on the state that individual schools have dropped the Holocaust from their history lessons. While this may have been true, it was soon corrected in 2007/2008. The reasoning given then for dropping the instruction was to not offend Muslim students who have the belief that the Holocaust never happened.

I’ve been there.

That is, I have been inside the fenced walls of Dachau. I’ve been in the buildings that were designed to house 400 inmates and where there were 1600 men crammed into each. I’ve seen the photos in the public archive under the wary eye of German caretakers. I’ve stood at the ovens, on the railway lines and honoured those buried in mass graves mere metres from those ovens and rail lines.

I know the debilitating emotion of being surrounded by death… aching voices from a malevolent past drumming in my ears… images of piles of masticated men blistering my eyes… goose bumps as ghosts slipped along side me while I made my way around a place of death… indefinable despair and horror.

While the Muslim belief may well be that the Holocaust was a hoax (and they are entitled to believe what they wish), we also need to remind ourselves that there is an ulterior motive with regard to Jews.

There is nothing anyone can say to sway my belief.

I do not suppose for a moment the governments of the United Kingdom, the United States, Canada, Russia and France, all of whom liberated concentration camps throughout Europe, will ever be swayed . Nor will those Germans who to this day turn away with shame in their forlorn eyes from that awful time.

To my friend who sent me the email, thank you. Awareness must continue not only for this unforgiven event but for all atrosities against people the world over.

Fortunately, this is a hoax and she is right… we must indeed never forget.