Born Running

I was born running – almost literally.
Nine months later, I was already able to walk.

I was born in late-November, a true Sagittarian, in the year of the tiger.

I was born probably under grey skies, in the middle of the 20th century.

I was born in the middle of a place that had, 10 autumns earlier, suffered the brunt of the Nazi bombing storm on my native city and country.

I was born 5 years after peace returned to Europe; so, in a place and a time that was, most surely unwittingly to my family or any of those around me, to prove in the years to come akin to winning a lottery jackpot.

I was born into a family deeply scarred by tragedy, more of which was also to attempt to assert its total dominance on us in such a short time ahead.

I failed to die as I was expected to when I was only 20 months old, unlike my preceding brother, who succumbed to meningitis in the war-year spring of 1943, only 14 days after the birth of my sister, so that I became widely known as the ‘Miracle Child’, who had clung to life in the immediate aftermath of an appalling kitchen accident, when a young intern doctor, late into the first night in hospital, replied to my father’s tortured plea to know what were my chances of survival, since having lost their first son, they would not be able to stand losing the second:
“Well, there isn’t very much of him, is there?”
He then asked my father as the two of them stood in the silence, looking down at my terribly scalded body, me face down and tied like a political prisoner in a police state by wrists and ankles to the 4 corners of my cot, as if it were a jail cell:
“Mr Scott, do you have faith?”

Poor, wretched, desperate Mr Scott answered “Somehow, still, I think so. Why?”
“Because I’m going to ask you to go home now and pray. Stewart is no longer in our hands, there is nothing more we can do to help him pull through, only monitor. He may survive, but it will not be because of any miracles that we have”.

And wretched, wracked Mr Scott did just as the young doctor bade him.

6 months later, I went home. A miracle? Here I still am. However, no journey is that simple.

There is a long road between that distant, unremembered “then” and today. It is all – in so many ways – explained by that flashing instant of “then”……….

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The deaf can hear
the trees singing among themselves;
The blind can see
into the souls of the flowers;
The dumb can speak
the purest poetry to the birds.

And what can we, perfect, do?

Hear unanswered pleas for help;
See blood flowing on streets of shame;
Speak obscenities.

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Les sourds savent entendre
se chanter les arbres;
Les aveugles savent voir
dans l’âme des fleurs;
Les muets savent parler
la poésie la plus pure aux oiseaux.

Et nous, parfaits, que savons-nous faire ?

Entendre les supplications ignorées au secours;
Voir s’écouler le sang dans les rues de honte;
Parler des obscénités.


_______________________________________



That child wrote this:


“I am living in the only place I belong…………In my head.
It is dark, cold, lonely, desolate.
The walls are too thick for anyone outside to hear me or see me.
They are not thick enough to keep out either the sounds and sights of a cruel and stupid world, or the knowledge of everything that I couldn’t find, do or be.
This is where I belong, alone in here with all my failures”.

The Pavão de São João

This is the Peacock of St John, which I created from a firewqork pic and a peacock pic for the friends in Porto in June, as a present for their city's saint's day.
It is what I want to come back here with.

It is so great to have you old friends all near at this time. How amazing, the way in the space of 6 days, there were mails and woophy comments - Ani & Ruth within an hour of each other last week, Auds a few days before, but also watchful words from Terry, Jenny, Ana-Pequete, Mimi, going back through the summer. And I couldn't respond.
It is also great to have the "new" friends of woophy there too.
Ruth, your news......I am so proud of you! And what timing to announce it! Tomorrow marks 2 years since my mother-in-law, Leonor died. The reason I came to this town, my mission completed, then the one that followed as a result.
Ruth, this was an uplift and if I helped in any way to put you on that roiad, then I can be happy. But it has been your long walk, that only you can make, like any of us. I want to know how you got there, but for now, it is to feel some joy and to wish you all the best in the world with the next step up in your studies. It sounds more like a giant leap. Go there!!!!!

Today has been strange. People are sending me messages of encouragement, offering prayers, strength, solidarity. They are concerned. Some have done more than send words since this situation broke the surface on July 29 and gave me a month of tests, specialist consultations, scans and a 3-day hospital stay 2 weeks ago for more tests.
It is the "Curse of the Scott Boys". it is my turn, but I am the youngest it has picked on. I have an already-large abdominal aortic aneurysm - known in the trade as a Triple A, but it's no impeccable credit rating.
I will have to explain more, but not now. I have tried for over a week to write this and I find it hard, after these 2 years of being softened up, made more vulnerable and fragile simply by trying to battle and live in this terrribly negative place, in these conditions that give me nothing that I need.
And after all that, this has to happen. Can you understand that I am not prepared - emotionally, spiritually or materially - to face what the specialist wants me to do by the middle of this month? Go in for major surgery then 2 months in limbo in the worst place possible? I have refused to go to tomorrow's booked myocardial test. How can they hope to understand? This is nowhere near a 'normal' life, whatever that may be.

I'll try to explain more next time. For now, the Pavão de São João for all my friends everywhere.

StewXXXXXXXX