POEM: Success Can Be Trying

She was not a success
Nor was she even a failure
For failure has a prerequisite
Trying
Not reaching
The successful cobble
The stones of failure
So becoming
The rode integral
Too success
Finding that success can be trying

The people who fail the most are usually also those who are also the most successful.  Exceedingly few people succeed on their first try.  First comes trying.  Then, comes practicing, or trying something different.  As my daughter was growing up, I remember us watching Olympic figure skating, and she asked, “How do they do that?!”  I answered, “Lots of practice.”  I repeated, practiced, this response with her over the years.  When she was about ten years old, she talked about wanting to play the guitar.  Her Grandma got her a junior-sized guitar for her birthday.  She picked it up and held it in a similar fashion as she had seen the folks she had admired play it.  She immediately exclaimed, “It doesn’t work!?”  The guitar didn’t play.  She had thought that somehow just holding the guitar would somehow draw music out of her.  I don’t think she even tried after that.  Not to worry, my daughter has tried many other things since then, and persistence is one of her strongest traits.

In trying, there is great wisdom in knowing the difference between when to hunker down and keep practicing the same thing and when to move onto something different.  Some of this depends on balancing our desires to be a virtuoso at something and our desires to experience many different things, being a proverbial jack-of-all-trades.  Being a virtuoso opens up new possibilities by being able to perform at a level that few, if any, can match.  Taking a more liberal arts approach, you can learn at little bit of everything, though perhaps not be an expert in any particular field.  This may strike some as indecisive, unfocused, or even lazy, but it takes advantage of a foundational principle of learning: we learn much more at the beginning of the learning curve than later in the learning curve.  For many things in life, there are diminishing returns, less output per unit of effort, by doing/practicing the same thing over and over.  By moving to areas with less mastery, we can harness the “first fruits” effect.  By harvesting the low hanging fruits in many different fields, we can learn accelerate the total amount we learn.  Plus, cross-fertilization of ideas and experiences is at the core of creativity: combining two or more things in a way to produce something new.  Higher level learning is about making robust connections in the brain.  Virtuosos achieve deep grooves in their brain and mastery of a particular skill at about 10,000 hours of practice.  Of course, devoting 10,000 hours to a greater variety of activities may not produce similarly deep grooves in specific areas of the brain, but perhaps more robust, complex connections.  Perhaps the connection between these two different approaches is persisting in a level of challenge that develops and strengthens brain connections.  The virtuoso is challenged by a necessarily greater singularity of focus.  The jack-of-all-trades is challenged by the awkwardness of regularly venturing into new fields and having to make sense of much new information.  Both require patience, which I consider the mother of all virtues.

In Western civilization, great value is placed on specialization, so that you have easily identifiable, easily marketable skills to navigate “successful” careers.  I think that shifting our balance toward trying things new would produce greater returns in quality of life, perhaps be challenging what is meant by “success.”  Of course, much is perspective.  Thomas Edison tried 10,000 materials to perfect a light bulb filament.  When asked whether he thought that represented a waste of time, he declared that he had learned 9,999 ways not to make a light bulb filament.  I am with good old Tom, that in if we approach life with a positive attitude toward the trying task of learning, nothing will be wasted.  And even then, if you enjoy time wasted, it’s not time wasted.  This I have learned — and keep trying to remember…

POEM: Fringe Benefits

Living on the fringe
Has benefits

I thought that this short poem would have been the seed for a larger poem, but the more I thought about it, I didn’t want to mess with the simple elegance of it.

Since I quit my “regular” job to run my own business full-time, I have learned that time is way more valuable than money.  This has been confirmed along my journey with much less money and much more time.  Research confirms that once we have enough money to meet our basic needs, additional money offers little increase in happiness.  Apparently, the proverb, “you can’t buy happiness” is largely true.  On the other hand, having additional free time, to do what we really want to do, does not seem to be limited by the principle of diminishing returns as money is, that is, after meeting our basic needs.  I would say that trading money for time would be a good deal for most Americans.  Of course, my approach is not to purchase time through vacations or hiring help, but rather to free up time by not selling myself pay any more than I have to.  Living simply and frugally is part of my vocation.  Such a vocation allows my life to better resemble a vacation.  Every dollar I don’t spend is a dollar I don’t have to earn in the not-so-free market.  If you are fortunate to have significant assets available to you, I would highly recommend transitioning to a much simpler life, by ransoming your life with whatever assets you have available.

A transition to a simpler life requires letting go of certain things.  For instance, I am living on the fringe, in the fact that I have been without health insurance for almost a decade.  Though I might add, our health care system is neither healthy, caring, nor a system, and now is as good of a time as any to be on the fringe of this non-system.  Fortunately, I am healthier than most of my peers.  I eat nutritiously.  I get plenty of rest.  I have much, much less stress than most.  I get a decent amount of physical activity.  I have something that the finest doctors in the world are unable to give their patients.

So, what are some other benefits of living on the fringe?  In recent months, I have written a poem a day, and a blog commentary to boot!  Just yesterday, I broke my record for length of a blog commentary.  I can’t remember the last time I set my alarm to get up in the morning — this is something that the richest and most powerful people in the world cannot claim!  One of my greatest hopes is for people to have morning without mourning!

I recently spent a couple of hours most days for a couple of months with a friend dying in hospice care.

I have spent most of my life on a quest for simple living.  I contemplated and calculated quite thoroughly the costs and “affordability” of quitting my regular job.  Perhaps the greatest single epiphany in my life has been how grossly I underestimated the benefits of working for myself, relaxing my security reflex, and living fully into the serendipitous benefits of simple living.  I feel like I have won the lottery!  Only without the money…

Like a former pastor of mine says, “If you aren’t living on the fringe, then you are taking up to much room.”  May you find the space and time in your life to discover fringe benefits beyond your dreams!

POEM: Lovers of Dirt

Lovers of Dirt

Wile in cathedrals
The atheist
Dares claim
The title
Of mass debater
As little comes
From behind the veil
That doesn’t exist
In the slightest
Hint elect
To believe
Methods to their madness
Seemingly beyond approach
However rue derangement
Identifying any genus
By its feces
So commonly specious
In its origins
By means
Naturally selective
Preserving favored races
In the struggle
For life
As fashioned
From flights of fancy
For the birds
In plain English
Triggering an evolution
Of rapacious masculinity
Vanquishing femininity
As it sees fit
Too survive
And nothing more
As awe is derived
As so much
Ground Chuck
No longer
A yin without a yang
A homme with only half a story
In tell gents design
New ways of poker
Without reason
Fueling themselves
With fantasies
Of being porn again
Any come hither looks
Reduced to contrivance
Goddesses none
Any go whither looks
Annunciating to the world
A piece of class
A coy that must be played with
Bastards and bitches all
Wed to nothing but progeny
Incesting that the best demands it
Endless reproductions
Preying for deviant genes
To a god of chance
Just for the novelty of it
Tails you win
Heads you lose
Either way
Stuck only
By wieners and losers
How fare
Abet
Between fancy pants
And the un-gaudy
Next to uncleanliness
Soully lovers of dirt
However complicated

This poem is a commentary on atheism, evolution, and gender.  Of any belief group in America, those unaffiliated with religion are the most male, 60%.  As much as religion may be a problem for women, it seems that lack of religion is even less attractive.  If reproduction is the key to human evolution, then perhaps unbelieving men should pay attention to the keyholes.  Both atheism and evolution often strike me as dominated by male pattern balledness.  Reducing human evolution to sexual reproduction strikes me as some form of porn, a way to partner sterile abstract thinking with screwing, an unproductive mating of reductionistic thought and base sexual impulses.

I find the conundrums of atheism well captured in this poem’s title: Lovers of Dirt.  Atheism may be the most poorly equipped belief, or disbelief, system to deal with love.  Perhaps because God is love.  For whatever reason, atheists cannot bring themselves to believe in God, fortunately, I have met many who quest for love.  This poem is partly inspired by a conversation I had with a fellow protester outside the Toledo federal courthouse, when we were protesting corporate personhood, as promoted and reinforced by the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling in Citizens United.  This man was clearly offended by considering corporations on the same level as humans, and willing to hit the street to make that point.  In the course of our conversation, it became clear that he was an atheist.  He could clearly tell the difference between the legal fiction of corporate personhood and actual human personhood.  However, he could not articulate the difference between people and dirt.  A parently, people are simply complicated dirt. This claim to be able to make higher level distinctions while being unable to make lower level distinctions seems to strike at the ultimate heartlessness of atheism.

Maybe there are other forms of atheism, but I have found this creep of distinctionless infecting virtually every atheist with which I have ever had a conversation.  Now don’t get me wrong, while I don’t believe in atheism, I do believe in atheists, certainly inasmuch as they embody love.  Plus, I am a big fan of distinctionlessness.  However, I view distinctionlessness as a spiritual aspect of reality, by definition outside the realm of science which only deals with distinctions.  Distinctionlessness might be cited as unity consciousness, the oneness of all reality (which includes consciousness).  Now, to give props to John Paul Sartre, the great atheist existentialist, and author of Being and Nothingness, he might consider distinctionlessness to be represented by nothing.  Sartre dealt in-depth trying to explain the structure of consciousness which necessitated a relationship with nothingness, a perilous journey where we are reduced to alternating between subject and object.  I am a subject and you are an object of my subjectivity.  Then, you are a subject and I am an object of your subjectivity.  And never the twain shall meet. Ad inifinitum!  Perhaps not surprisingly, Sartre was famous for saying, “Hell is other people.” (see No Exit, a one-act play). According to Sartre, other people, in the experience of subjectivity, must reduce others to objects.  Sartre believed that there can only be NO connection between subjects, no underlying unity.  I am at a loss how Sartre can even claim that other subjects exist, if he can only experience them as objects!?  Of course, this self-contradictory assertion is the basis for his atheism.  In this case, God would be Subject with a capital S.  The logic goes like this: if God existed, we would experience God as an object, and since there is no convincing evidence that such an object exists, then God does not exist.  Of course, this same logic, applied to other humans, would necessitate concluding that other people (if you can call them that) don’t exist as subjects.  These are the foolish places that highly rational and completely unreasonable men end up.  Except Sartre was not a fool.  He acknowledged that other subjects existed — only that these subjects existed outside his experience!  He could only experience their objectively ghostly apparitions masquerading as subjects, and occasional buyers of his books.  By beginning with an assumption of nothingness, he ends up with much, much, much, much, much less than if he had begun with an assumption of somethingness.  Both are assumptions, mere propositions or assertions.

Descartes launched modern Western philosophy off with “I think therefore I am,” taking existence as evidence against nonexistent.  Simple but compelling.  Sartre breaks this tradition in a striking way, he appears compelled by nothingness, nonexistence, perhaps quite appropriately, for no apparent reason.  By Sarte’s same logic and assumptions critiquing God’s Subjective existence, Sartre could just as easily made a profoundly good theist had he only explored the logical sequence of knowledge unveiled by allowing that just another subject may exist, another Subject may exist.  This seems a great leap of faith to some.  How could you equate little old me, a subject with a lowercase s, on the same par as God, a Subject with a capital S?!  Yet, this is exactly what Sartre did with his chosen path.  By Sartre’s own logic and apparent experience, he is the only subject that exists!  If there is only one subject, then this is the closest to God one can expect.  Sartre had no basis for distinguishing between a subject with a lowercase s and a Subject with an uppercase S.  Sartre was God!  And God is dead!!  Case closed — and it was a very cold case!  This should come as little surprise, that God was so little.  When being must have a relationship with nothing in order to generate consciousness, subjectivity is necessarily imprisoned: condemned to be free; with nothing to ground its being.  Now, to be fair, Sartre has nothing to stand upon.  By claiming that it was the relationship to nothing that generated consciousness, the breath of subjectivity, he allowed other subjects to exist (spookily as God allows).  All you have to do is believe in nothing.  How hard could that be?  Except that the other ethereal pillar holding up Sartre’s world is that nothing can be the ground of our being.  So, our being comes from nothingness.  Is this magic less objectionable than our being coming from somethingness?  I would agree that God is a no thing, in that the fullness of God, what God IS, cannot be ascertained from studying objective things, anymore than the fullness of human subjects can be understood by simply studying their junk.

In my book, Sartre should have devoted his keen intellect to a masterpiece call Being and Somethingness. In studying Sartre’s Being and Nothingness in my college existentialism class, what I most keenly remember is a footnote, and perhaps the only ultimate foothold in my book.  This footnote stated that his arguments did not preclude the possibility of hope, but that his purpose was not to explore that possibility.  This existential choice on his part left his work despairing.  John Paul Sartre was intellectually clever and outside of his formal philosophy, in real life, fought to be compassionate to others, though chronically despairing and doubting that he could ever really connect with them as fully human.  Perhaps Sartre’s greatest distinction is how well his worldview resonated with those cynical enough to be satisfied with studying the nooks, crannies, and shadows of this deeply pessimistic, foundationless-yet-sold-as-foundational worldview.  He created a lifetime of available preoccupation in his self-proclaimed hell.  And if there truly is no exit from this deadly state of affairs, aspiring to screw some less cruelly than others; then, being right will have to serve as a poor substitute for happiness.  Religion will be reduced to self-fulfilling prophets.  Humanity will never graduate from preoccupation to the much harder vocation of bringing hope to an obviously hurting world.  Hope requires the study of human nature, of which Sartre is so absolutely skeptical, even of its existence.  Such absolute skepticism begs for a different perspective, in that it worships subjectivity, our apparent ability to will one thing over another, either assenting to or rejecting preconditions.  Sartre aspired to build the slimmest possible precipice from which to perch looming subjectivity, a philosophy with as few assumptions as possible, resting on as narrow an objectivity as possible.  But rather than finding a holy grail, he found himself, and apparently the whole world, on a throne of spears. This creates perhaps the largest overreach possible in underestimating both objective reality and subjective reality.  Unity consciousness is the oneness of all reality, which includes consciousness.  Sartre’s arena was human consciousness, and declining to leave that arena, shortchanged the fullness of reality.  His reality lifts human consciousness beyond its ken.  Though he was perhaps within grasp of an occasional barbie — no offense to Simone de Beauvoir, his lifelong lover, to whom one day while they were sitting on a bench outside the Louvre, said, “Let’s sign a two-year lease.”  They never married.  Near the end of her life, de Beauvoir said, “Marriage was impossible. I had no dowry.”  In fact, there was no dowry that could cover the deficit in Sartre’s worldview.  Sartre’s reality became, through his own volition, human consciousness married to nothing, and no divorce laws.  His denial is nearly unfathomable.  His consciousness only unifies with reality in some zombie apocalypse fashion — which seems enduringly fashionable for some reason.  Sartre strips objective reality of any subjectivity but his own, except for those ghostly apparitions (that would be you) who are condemned to walk the earth, a living hell, negating his subjectivity with a moments notice.  His justice: he returns the favor, jousting with lifelike windmills.  This farcical, impossible dream, leaves Sartre riding his knight mare in a one horse town.  His reward: he is the grand marshal and sole entrant in this ludicrous parade.  Though quite miraculously, Sartre ends up joining an elite pantheon of self-fulfilling prophets of epic disproportions.

I can see how many people are deeply reluctant to believe in God.  What I find much more difficult to understand is people’s deep commitment to disallowing for even the possibility of God. In other words, agnosticism seems justified (though a bit indecisive), whereas atheists must take on a mantle of hubris unbecoming to open minds and open hearts.  Sartre proclaims that there is no exit in a house that he built with no doors!  In the end, using Sartre’s arguments against God, the Subject with a capital S, one must argue against subjectivity itself, all subjectivity.  It is to this that I object!  Sartre built an inhospitable house, a testament to his objectivity (or testament to his lack of subjectivity), and he has nothing to blame.  By leveling subjectivity, he finds, least of all, himself.  Not by humility, but by hubris.  And from nowhere comes a call, “Philosopher heal thyself!”  Yet, the great metaphysician, Jesus also begged the question of the physician healing thyself.  Jesus is recounted to have said in Luke 4:18-28 (NIV), in launching his public ministry, by quoting the prophet Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”  Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him.  He began by saying to them, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”  All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his lips. “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” they asked.  Jesus said to them, “Surely you will quote this proverb to me: ‘Physician, heal yourself!’ And you will tell me, ‘Do here in your hometown what we have heard that you did in Capernaum.’”  “Truly I tell you,” he continued, “no prophet is accepted in his hometown.  I assure you that there were many widows in Israel in Elijah’s time, when the sky was shut for three and a half years and there was a severe famine throughout the land. Yet Elijah was not sent to any of them, but to a widow in Zarephath in the region of Sidon. And there were many in Israel with leprosy in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed — only Naaman the Syrian.”  All the people in the synagogue were furious when they heard this.

People are lazy enough to want miracles.  Some just want to be entertained enough to provide a break in their existential ennui.  A rarer few are happy being unhappy.  Jesus’ hometown crowd called for him to reproduce for them the miraculous events that they had heard transpired elsewhere.  Surely he would put on an even better show for the hometown crowd, they thought.  When Jesus implied that his prophetic acts would not get any traction amongst this hometown crowd, accurately citing history, the crowd got pissed.  They bypassed the good news and didn’t even get a good carny show out of it!

Interestingly, the crowd was incredulous even when the heard good news — “All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his lips” — asking “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?”  You remember, that snot-nosed kid who used to run around here some years back.  And we all know about Joseph, don’t we?  They just couldn’t believe that such good news and authority could be present in one from such humble and ordinary beginnings.  Jesus made it clear that enlightenment or salvation cannot just be handed to someone like an everyday object, miraculous relic, or even apprehended through the world’s best philosophy.  In Jesus’ story of the rich man and Lazarus, where the condemned rich man upon his death and agony wants a heavenly message sent to his sons on earth, so that they might be saved, he is told: “If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” (Luke 16:21)  The good news that Jesus proclaimed was to the poor, not the “successful” in society who have mastered the conventional wisdom.  Jesus proclaimed that freedom for the prisoners is possible, and that recovery of sight for the blind is possible, that setting the oppressed free is possible.  The miraculous is not concerned with overturning the impossible, but with the possible not yet manifest.  This is the realm of faith and hope.  This is the realm that Jesus calls us into.  Some hear this and are deeply moved.  Some hear this as a carnival barker.  Some more recalcitrant few hear this as a carnival barker who never even existed!  There are few problems that denial won’t solve, eh?

I think that Sartre’s cynicism ultimately lies in this fact that you can’t force people to be enlightened.  Jesus understood this.  Sartre knew that our choices literally create meaning by placing value behind some actions and not others, all within the realm of the possible.  Jesus understood this.  Unfortunately, Sartre neutered himself when it came to the realm of the possible, the worst form of self emasculation, with militant atheism — which ironically seems much more popular among men.  The attraction to overt force and militancy seems more hegemonic among men.  Though please note that I don’t think that spirituality is better suited or more fully manifest according to gender.  Nonetheless, I do think that there are specific forms of foolishness that are predominantly occupied by men.  The same goes for women; but that’s another story…

I commend Sartre for trying to tackle the immeasurable perplexity of the relationship of objectivity and subjectivity.  Such a task should vex even the greatest minds, of which I consider Sartre among.

Atheists typically claim to be concerned solely with science.  Fair enough.  Science is about understanding and manipulating the outside “objective” world, the visible, measurable world which makes the world more conducive to usefulness, or better means to some end. Spirituality is about understanding and experiencing the subjective world, the oft invisible, oft immeasurable, typically elusive world conducive to elucidating what are good ends and worthy states of being.  What unkind of world could we possibly expect if we studied only the ways to get places but refused to ponder the full range of places or states of being which are better to move toward?

The study of subjectivity includes understanding ourselves, others, and at least offering a shot at discovering or understanding God, if such a present manifests at any time.  The legitimate existence of metaphysics, the area of study beyond the physical world measurable by reductionistic science, surprisingly to some, is not really controversial amongst professional philosophers.  Of course, in the ever-changing, heated climate of rampant spirituality, there are always some climate change deniers in the crowd.  In the end, reducing the transcendent or spiritual nature of subjective existence to mere objectivity — i.e., humans are complicated dirt, nothing more — is amputating half of one’s existence, and the only half that can ascertain which is the “better” half (which is the one that can make us whole).

To advance metaphysics we must ponder other subjects – you, me, and even God.  Harkening back to the discussion of distinctionlessness, atheists with which I have conversed, seem to be pulled back to distinctionlessness.  I would like to draw a distinction between two forms of distinctionlessness.  There is the ground zero of distinctionlessness that atheists default to, apparently in the face of nothingness, the abyss.  This casts a pall over any ability to discern good from evil, or to carve out any solid ground for our subjective being, even going so far as to doubt whether others or oneself even exist (as a subject), let alone whether God exists!  I contrast this with unity consciousness which is present in the oneness of all reality, which happens to encompass consciousness.  I think that this distinctionlessness of unity consciousness is a fuller representation of reality than the atheist existentialism a la Sartre.  Oneness can only be present with consciousness because if consciousness was not encompassed, then consciousness would be separate, and there would be two disconnected realities, not one.  If these two disconnected realities seem familiar, it might be because they are eerily parallel to Sartre’s alienating description of alternating subject-object, object-subject relationships between so-called subjects — more like objects masquerading as subjects.  Sartre cleverly avoids the problem of two separate realities by defining nothingness as one of the two disconnected realities.  Many people might be willing to agree that nothing is not separate from our one reality, which seems somewhat different than saying nothing is separate from our one reality.  This clever configuration jury-rigs the vexing question of something coming from nothing.  Recall that Sartre views consciousness, a necessary aspect of subjectiveness, as arising from nothingness.  Or put somewhat differently, subjects are dependent on nothing. So which makes more sense: subjects are dependent on nothing OR subjects are dependent on something?  If subjects are dependent on nothing, then they should have no constrains on their freedom.  Deeply ironic, if Sartre is correct that a subject is dependent on nothing, then he has accurately described God!  Further, he has described a monotheistic God, because there could not be two absolutely free God’s operating in the same reality without clashing and limiting each other’s freedom.  Back to human-scale experience, I don’t think that any sane person would claim that their freedom is dependent on nothing.  Clearly, any coherent account of human experience testifies that human freedom is bounded, dependent on something.  If subjects are dependent on something, then an accurate account of reality must include a description of Being and Something, not simply Being and Nothingness.  Of course, existentialist thinkers following Sartre claimed that subjects could actually meet, dare I say, without distinction.  So, the limitations on our freedoms could arise from other subjects (as well as from objects).

But could Sartre be correct?  Yes, if you expect to learn the full truth from an incomplete truth that is factually accurate.  No, if you consider half a picture the full picture.  I think that Sartre is a freaking genius, and that his facts are correct.  Of course, I take some of this on faith, since he was wicked smart, perhaps too smart for his own good!  After all my critical analysis and occasional mocking, I will say that Sartre had all his facts right, he just didn’t have all the facts, or the full truth.

Like I enjoy saying, “Truth lies in the neighborhood of paradox.”  There is a persistently perplexing dualism present in human contemplations of reality.  I think that Sartre nailed down half of this dualism.  On one hand, the nailing down of hard facts was old-school, meaning it was completely consistent with the 400-plus year tradition of the enlightenment and the chain of progress that is Western civilization (as distinct from the contributions of the ancients).  On the other hand, his intellectual work was cutting edge and timely, even before its time.  Seriously, he was working with NOTHING!  This anchored the accomplishments of the enlightenment in a new way.  Of course, for those ultimately not happy with his militant focus, it could be viewed as the last nail in the coffin that is postmodernism. I think that the answer illuminating the full truth involves pursuing both-and answers rather than only either-or answers.  In this light, I would slightly restate an earlier proposition: I don’t think that any sane person would claim that their freedom is ONLY dependent on nothing.  Sartre was ahead of his time, and prescient of modern quantum physics, which has shed light on nothingness.  In quantum physics, particles arise out of nothing, seemingly independent, though subject to probabilistic behavior when viewed as waves.  And the best answer we have about which state of affairs is true is: both.  Subatomic physical behavior is best described as both waves and particles.  This answer, which is as perplexing as the original question, rests on the fact that it depends on how you look at it.  Literally, observing something changes it.  Conscious awareness affects reality in predictable ways (that is, probabilistic).  Translating this into our larger discussion, the freedom present in human consciousness arises from BOTH nothing AND something.  Possibilities collapse into specific actualities based on our observation and intent.

To be fair to Sartre, I’d like to think that had he lived much longer (he died in 1980), he may have been able to incorporate some insights from modern physics into his worldview.  However, the wisdom of the ancients was available to him.  As Jesus pointed out, witnessing miracles won’t necessarily make someone a better, more whole human being.  The power of skepticism and cynicism is strong.

Sartre was correct: Hell is other people.  But, Sartre was only half correct, for: Heaven is other people.  If you can relax your skepticism and cynicism enough, you may just find that others are both your curse AND salvation, which is way better than being mirrorly a curse.  Jesus was a teacher of all subjects.  When Jesus was asked, “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:36-40, NIV)  Attention all self-fulfilling prophets: seek and you shall find — but, if at first you don’t find, keep seeking…many subjects await you…and perhaps only one…

POEM: Same Old Hope

He said, “Wow, you’re the same old hopeful person.”
I said “Yes, and somewhat dyslexic.
I’m a Samo Hopien”

This short poem doubles as a bad joke.  Appropriately so, my dyslexia is in tandem with the double vision of punning.  I did not fully realize my dyslexic tendencies, until my son was diagnosed with mild dyslexia.  Looking back over my life, I realized that I had the same tendencies.  I had substantial difficulty learning to read.  I found scholastic mathematics vexing, but I could calculate numbers nimbly in my head. I still can’t look at a phone number, walk five feet to a phone and reliably dial the number.  This insight into a perceptual askewness explains a lot.  I think that I literally see things differently than most others.  I think that this jumbling of perceptions extends beyond the mere intake of data into my thought processes.  I have successfully learned to cope with this mild disability.  However, along the way, I think that I have developed a great gift: creativity in general, and punning specifically.  Creativity is most fundamentally combining a wide range of configurations of stuff and ideas.  My mind has little choice but to cope with this jumbled process of fumbling, sorting and making sense, finding meaning(s).  This has developed and honed my punning abilities over decades of practice.  Also in tandem with my punning is a terminal hopefulness.  This hope may also spring more robustly from an involuntary exposure to an abundance of possibilities catalyzed by mildly dyslexic tendencies. We are not stuck in chaos or cruelty.  As Gandhi revealed so simply and so elegantly, “Peace is possible.”  This hope, which energizes my work for justice, is the capstone of my persona as Top Pun.  Out of apparent chaos rises a deeply hopeful integrity and a semantic jujitsu rarely matched in the service of social justice. Take that you disability so miled!

POEM: Divine Vagrancy

God is a vagrant
Outside the skeptics’ court
Only present
When manacled
And without
Proper ID
Over looked
By EGOS and SUPER-EGOS

This poem offers an image of God quite different from a traditional “God the Father” who oversees His creation as a judge perched up on a bench, the highest point in a courtroom.  This vision of God accents the myopia of humans.  Like adjudicators are apt to say: the courtroom doesn’t care what the truth is, only what can be proved within it. Amidst our all-too-common attempts to harness the power of God for our own devices, God is like a homeless person who is palpably in our midst but mysteriously invisible.  Whether the legalist or extreme skeptic (sometimes the same person), God escapes our view because we are looking for love in all the wrong places — or doubt that love exists at all — both taking too narrow of a view.  I suspect that God has little compunction to shatter the skeptic’s cramped formulas or pose for the legalist’s paint-by-number portraits.  Who would want to worship such a manacled God?  More likely God feels free to roam such infinitely vast creation, where the E on the eye chart is SO BIG that we can’t see it.  Maybe God rocks out on a scale like the Planck scale which entails tiny distances and huge energies.  Whatever the veil that underlies our myopia, the courtroom is a poor venue to plumb God’s depths and heights.  And without even a bad driver’s license photo, God is reduced to a vagrant, outside the usefulness of society’s proprietors. Our well-developed egos and superegos ignore inconvenient truths, settling for some lesser truth, so we can manage our own affairs.  This can seem much easier, settling for the burden of proof, rather than trading up to the burden of truth.  But, alas, pondering such things may lead to following in your Father’s footsteps, as apparent vagrancy.

POEM: BUCKET BRIGADE – Owed to Karen Krause

BUCKET BRIGADE

Owed to Karen Krause

While some pine
That faith
The size of a mustard seed
Can move mountains
Like magic
Perhaps with a wrinkle of their knows
Wiser women know
How mountains move
Bucket by bucket
By outstretched hands
And sturdy hearts
In awe ways
Moving
Forward
Crossing generations
And races
Not to the swiftest
But the truest
Seeking won peace
In couraging
When injustice seems beyond the pale
And hate appears justified
A brigade appears
As well
And in the shadow
Of a rising calvary
Appears victory and solace
Beyond belief
For what death cannot touch
We have firmly held
The mountaintop
In portions made human
Sizing us up
Long the weigh
Only making us stronger
Such trails and tribulations
Are now more plainly marked
And the eternal answer echoes more clearly
Be more
Karen
Be won for all
Not bewitched
By fancy
As some go before us
Surely, we must follow
And may we all be carried away
In the arms of friends
And when such days we face
The un-Karen powers that be
May we hear the call to arms
And just bucket

I wrote this poem, this ode, as a tribute to my friend and my public health mentor, Karen Krause.  Karen died Monday, October 21, 2013, at the age of 73.  [You can see her obituary and local news story for a small outline of her life.]  I shared this poem with her when she was healthy enough to take it in.  I would like to live in a world where everyone has poems written about them and for them.  This poem takes us one step closer to that world.  The idea for the poem was inspired by a conversation I had with Karen and a couple other friends.  I spoke of the commonly misunderstood scripture quote from Matthew 17:20 where Jesus says, “I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” Of course, most people mistakenly refer to this as if faith were some magical spell, cast successfully if only you believe hard enough.  Karen’s life emulated its true meaning: that spending a lifetime, even generations, moving a bucket at a time, can move mountains.  [Check out one of my other blog entries for more background on the historical context of this scripture.]  I knighted Karen as “Leader of the Bucket Brigade” and this poem soon followed.

You can download a printer-friendly PDF version of this poem here: Bucket-Brigade-Owed-to-Karen-Krause

I was deeply honored when Karen asked me to write a letter for her, her last letter, to be distributed upon her death.  Karen and I, from our years working together in public health, drafted many letters and such, spending hours editing and re-drafting.  Perhaps as a fitting culmination and closure of our relationship as friends and colleagues, Karen, defying precedent, accepted the letter with virtually no editing. Here is that letter:

Karen Krause asked me to write this letter.  Karen died peacefully on Monday October 21, 2013.  She wanted to give thanks, especially for her friendships and experiences in her final months. She was in hospice care since July.  Karen decided to forgo treatment to maintain her quality of life in her remaining time.  She and her doctor were content with this decision.  She lived and died as a nurse and a patient, without regrets.  She was tremendously thankful to be able to stay home and maintain her independence for most of her hospice experience.

Karen was deeply grateful for her friends and colleagues — and Karen had a way of making friends colleagues and colleagues friends.  Karen continued to bring people together until the very end, just as she had brought people together her whole life.  She was heartened by the outpouring of visitation, food, medical help, pastoral counseling, assistance of all kinds, and abundant words of encouragement.

Her last months were invaluable for Karen recognizing her own humility.  Her often unsung work was just her way: “that’s Karen.”  Karen’s dedication and perseverance inspired countless others, yet, she was faithfully, even doggedly, focused on higher purposes than herself.  Many friends shared what she meant to them, the positive contribution that she made to who they are.  This enabled Karen to better see and more fully appreciate how important her life has been to others.   Hopefully, such realizations helped serve as just wages for decades of work serving others.

As in her life, her dying wish was for social justice.  Among other things, Karen was the moving force for Toledo Area Jobs with Justice/Interfaith Worker Justice Coalition (JwJ/IWJ).  She knew this work needs to go on.  Toledo JwJ/IWJ is reorganizing.  Karen made clear that her preferred way to be honored is to assure that Toledo JwJ/IWJ is able to continue its vital work.  Please contact Bob Lynn, Jr. to see how you can help out jwj@jwjtoledo.org ; PO Box 13048, Toledo, OH, 43613; or 419-787-5245.

Karen succeeded in making the world a better place for all.  Her life, and death, is a call to all of us to do the same.  Karen accepted the gift of gratitude for her life, and she asked that you accept her gratitude as her final gift to you.

Please see Karen’s obituary in the Toledo Blade Obituary, Foth Dorfmeyer Funeral Home and Toledo Blade Featured Article for more about Karen’s life.

Her legacy lives on, but we will miss her…

Peace,

Dan Rutt

POEM: Past, Present, Future

Past, Present, Future

The past is the foundation from which we build
The shoulders we stand upon
The inventory of experience stored for our convenience
The pool of wisdom in which we bathe
The present is the current electrifying our wishes
The happening place nearest to everything
Insight of the timeless center of our hearts
A crossroad of acquiring and letting go
The crucible
Of known and unknown
Of fear and hope
Forging things to come
The future is a mountaintop perspective
An end of a long road we wish to travel
A tomorrow yearning to be a present
A dream that knows not sleep
And keeps us waking

Finding a healthy relationship with the past, present, and future can be tricky.  The past can be a place where we are stuck to hurts and disappointments or get lost in nostalgia.  The past can be a rich mine of experience and wisdom to enrich our present and launch our future.  The present is at the very heart of our quality of life, the nexus of both change, through volition, and simple, pure experience through awareness.  Like they say: there is no gift like the present!  Of course, a myriad of distractions, from the past, present, and/or future can degrade the quality of our awareness, and stunt full consciousness.  The future can lure us into our fondest dreams and countless possibilities.  The future can paralyze us with a cauldron of fears.  May you experience a nurturing and joyful relationship with your past, present and future.

POEM: Ounce of Prevention

An ounce of prevention
Is worth a pound of cure
Unfortunately, stuff is sold
By the pound and dollar

Virtually everyone knows that prevention is preferable to cure.  As Ben Franklin put it, “A stitch in time saves nine.”  Much of prevention takes relatively little knowledge but a good dose of long-term thinking and patience/persistence.  So why is prevention often poorly practiced?  First, as this short poem says, “stuff is sold,” meaning that tangible goods and more-easily defined services are easier to sell than intangible goods and complex, difficult-to-define services.  For example, in health-related fields, it is easier to sell a pill or distinct procedure than a whole lifestyle that offers healthy eating, regular physical activity, lower stress and adequate sleep.  Such healthy lifestyles are not achievable with a small number of simple, easy-to-define products or services.  Moreover, overall, the desire in Western civilization to monetize everything possible plays into our more base instincts that favor the concrete, the simple, and the immediate.  This profoundly affects what we make and do in our careers.  Those vocations which may advance human progress but are not easily monetized are at-risk for atrophying in modern, capitalistic culture.  Human creativity is relegated to a too-narrow focus to come up with solutions adequate for our problems.  We end up focusing on solutions that create as many or more problems.  If Western civilization where a pharmaceutical cure being advertised, the list of side-effects would literally take us to our death beds!  If we cannot together create a culture where the organizing principle is more than buying and selling, then our lives will continue to be bought and sold to the highest bidder, down to the last pound of flesh.  May we live our lives in such a way that we treasure and guard our ounces of prevention as it reigns pounds of easy cures and silver bullets; and may the fruit of our labor enrich us all.

POEM: Farcical Optimism

He said to me
“Your optimism is farcical.”
I said
“You may be right.”
Of course
Wisdom may just be
Realizing that
Farcical optimism
Is ever so slightly preferable
To farcical pessimism

If you gathered all of the information together to make a determination of whether or not it is justified to be an optimist, it may very well be a close call.  There is plenty in this world to be pessimistic about.  The more edgy, less centered pessimists may even consider all a farce.  If this seemingly even-matching of evidence to justify optimism or pessimism, throws you off-balance, then consider balance.  Just because Pollyannishness exists does not negate optimism or hope.  Just as because nihilistic thoughts and behavior exists doesn’t mean that all is lost.  Walking this seemingly fine line between optimism and pessimism sets up one’s own basic attitude about life: which side of reality do you want to face, live into?  While the line may be fine, this most fundamental existential choice of attitude, direction, is the profound difference between good and evil.  This is how freedom plows meaning into reality and how our spirits are incarnate into the world.  Some with nihilistic orientations would prefer less meaning full terms — good and bad, useful and not useful, painful and pleasurable.  I find a deep irony in folks who are too nihilistic to even drum up a belief in evil!  This is what I would call farcical pessimism.  Unfortunately, you can’t escape this existential choice, conundrum if you will, by not answering the question.  Amorality falls solidly into the immoral category.  Amorality amounts to bad faith.  If you don’t like free will, maybe you don’t deserve to wield it.  If you don’t think that the world is about deserving and undeserving, then welcome to the world of grace…

POEM: Secrets Lie

Secrets lie
At the heart of US
The endless wore
On tear
Never skipping
A beating
As time passes
US over
Looking like patients ignored
Collapsing under our own wait
For loving our animus
Is too much
To bare
The truth
Be herd
Our soul declaration
Creed is good
As we give ourselves
An invisible hand
That perplexing clap
For doing everything
That moves
US including
Our shadow
Double dealing
In securities
Trading
Peeps
As seen a phobia
Forges
Code wars
As truth is
Strangers are friction
As per jury of peers
Courting unequaled dispositions
Bring a bout
Foreboden fruit
Of the loom weave cobbled
A two-legged stool
Chock-full of deification
Portending wee are not
Number two
Preying only
There are no leaks
Which could raze a stink
Cowering in deed
Not even with standing
A rhetorical quest in
The proverbial can
Not out of the woods
Lay bear
It’s very nature
Calling out
Know shit
Sherlock
Without a hint
How ironic

This poem goes out to the NSA and all the other proprietors of secrets.  The NSA makes a bold play trying to corner the market on personal information about virtually everyone on the planet.  All the wile, the NSA lies about itself.  Thanks to the continuing Edward Snowden revelations, the NSA has had to deal with the light of day, sending them scattering like cockroaches.  The irony is deep when Americans are told that they have nothing to fear if they are law-abiding citizens.  So, what of NSA fears that their “private” data is divulged?  The spy business is fraught with hypocrisy and deception.  The so-called “intelligence” agencies cannot make credible claims about their own behavior when their very existence is incompatible with transparency.  A sound democracy cannot be built on official lies and “trust me” reassurances.  Power without powerful oversight lends itself to abuse of the common good.  Trust is perhaps the most valuable social good.  Trust cannot be earned or maintained without honesty and forthrightness. The NSA is sitting on a two-legged stool, and with every fresh revelation about its deception it wants us to believe that its shit doesn’t stink!

POEM: Fortunately

Unfortunately
I am deeply cynical
The sum of my hurts, disappointments, and fears
Fortunately
I am unfathomably hopeful
Beguiled by unearned graces
Surrounded by serendipity
And pelted by joys out of the blue

In many ways, life is a double-edge sword, fortune and misfortune mysteriously entwined.  The difference may largely be what we focus upon.  I find that the firmest foundation upon which to rest my attitude is gratitude for all that is fortunate in my life.  Most of this, such as the gift of life itself, is not my doing.  Granted, much of the difficulties in my life also originate outside of my control.  Of course, I have a great say in what I choose to focus upon.  Frankly, I find gratitude so much more pleasant than resentment.  That which I do have some control over is a priceless gift of opportunity.  And such opportunity is best engaged with courage rather than fear and timidity.  As Amelia Earhart said so well, “Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.”  May you find, that inasmuch as your life is out of control, that it comes to you characterized by grace, joy, and hope, rather than hurt, disappointment, and fear.  May you find, that inasmuch as your life is in your control, that you meet it with courage and gratitude, rather than fear and resentment.

POEM: Rascal

I am a rascal
Of course, there are many kinds of rascals
Of which sort I won’t tell
That’s part of rascality

Anyone who wholeheartedly embraces and explores their free will, will find a glorious unpredictability that can only be viewed as rascality from certain perspectives.  Spending an inordinate amount of time trying to categorize the various types of rascality can be foolhardy as well as an unsatisfying distraction from the sheer enjoyment of rascality.  My optimistic take on rascality focuses on its playfully mischievous aspect.  This variety of rascality is harmless, except perhaps if taken too seriously, engendering an overreaction.  Of course, there is some danger posed by the type of rascal who is simply an unscrupulous scoundrel.  Though I suspect that unscrupulous scoundrels have a more distinct predictability.  If you can tell the difference between playfulness and conniving, you are probably safe.  I trust that it is no mystery which kind of rascal I am…

POEM: Feet Grounded

People who insist on having their feet firmly on the ground
Often become intimately familiar with the top of their shoes

The attachment to knowing and control, and the quest for security, can lead to a focus too narrow for one’s own good.  So-called realism can lead to tunnel vision.  Plus, sticking with the feet metaphor, to move, walk, or run, you need to lift your feet off the ground.  In fact, the more mobile, agile, adaptive you are, the more attention you need to pay to your environment, especially new information coming into view or from the horizon.  It can be an elusive wisdom striking a balance of being familiar with where you are at and taking in and processing emerging information extending out from oneself.  Like I have been known to say: It takes a big man to have their head in the clouds and their feet on the ground.  May you grow to wondrously fit whatever is in your path, rising to any occasion, or nimbly navigating any narrow passages.

POEM: Breathing

Thinking about breathing makes it more difficult

Amazingly, and quite fortuitously, people can breathe without thinking.  Breathing is something we know how to do without having to think about it.  Thankfully, thousands of bodily functions fall into this category.  Fortunately, we don’t have to think about digesting a meal, or even know the intricacies of how digestion occurs.  Breathing is somewhat special in that it occurs without our volition — and even against our volition if we try to stop breathing — yet we can alter our breathing if we want.  Breathing is under both unconscious and conscious control.  This is why many meditation experts use breathing as a focus for developing awareness of and harmony between our conscious will and the many natural, well-regulated processes outside our consciousness.  Most people who have ever tried breath meditation techniques immediately learn that conscious thought can interfere with the natural process of breathing.  Some things are better left alone.  This poem is intended to cause reflection in the reader about the benefit of leaving alone these many natural, well-regulated processes outside our consciousness.  Humans have a bias toward conscious control of themselves and their environment.  The great gift of volition needs to be balanced with a respect for life and nature and its own wisdom, that doesn’t require our will for harmony to exist.  Perhaps ironically, willing ourselves to let go of the need to will is often the best solution for us and the rest of life.  Of course, adding another few thousand tasks to our do-not-do list can be more freeing than free will itself!  May you freely relax into your life.

 

POEM: Confused

If you are confused, you are well on your way

Life can be complicated.  If you delve into the intricacies of most any situation or topic, you will find many shades of gray, and undoubtedly some paradoxes or contradictions.  If you find this confusing, then consider that a sign that you are well on your way.  Another version of this is: “If you are confused, then you are beginning to understand the problem.”  Certainly, having a deep and nuanced understanding of any situation or topic can offer great benefits.  Knowing the facts about reality can be much better than not knowing the facts about reality.  However, sheer knowledge has its limits and can bring diminishing returns with increasing effort exerted.  At some point it may even bring negative returns.  This brink or end of knowledge can be the beginning of wisdom.  The learned add something each day; the wise let go of something each day.  A key facet of wisdom is unlearning, letting go of ways that no longer work well.  Increasing complexity is not the strength that wisdom offers, but rather simplicity.  Organizing one’s life around a few things that one is confident about is much wiser than building an increasingly complex, teetering pile of less certain and less valued stuff.  In the wise words of Lao-tse: “I have just three things to teach: simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures.”  Of course, in modern, capitalistic, Western civilization, complexity, impatience, and unadulterated self-interest are virtues cultivated.  Complexity overwhelms simplicity in a juggernaut of competing interests meeting shallow needs.  Impatience serves as a superficial imposter of the eternal now.  Greed trumps compassion.  If you find these clashing values confusing, take simplicity, patience, and compassion for a test drive. Still, don’t be surprised if many around you find your new ways increasingly confusing.  Knowing the world is knowledge.  Knowing others is wisdom.  Knowing oneself is enlightenment.  And many get stuck on knowledge.

POEM: Coincidentally

I have a lot of amazing coincidences in my life
As luck would have it
I don’t believe in such things

This poem is intentionally ambiguous — much like much of life is ambiguous.  Most people tend to bring a certain perspective to this ambiguity.  Some people view fortuitous coincidences as the effect of some beneficient force, such a God or some version of a friendly universe.  Some people view unfortunate coincidences as the effect of some nefarious force.  Some people view coincidences as dumb luck, sometimes seemingly helpful, sometimes seemingly harmful.  Are these perspectives caused in some deterministic fashion, chosen by us, or granted us by some mysterious source?  It seems to me that the answer we give to this question depends on our assumptions.  I am fascinated by these recursive issues — while others may simply find themselves cursing over and over!  In some strange way, my hope and optimism springs eternal from the apparent reality that it is impossible to NOT believe something; that is, we MUST believe in something that cannot be proved with certainty.  While this could be viewed as a maddening trick by a cruel or indifferent universe, I see it as the essential wiggle room that we need to play the creative games as in the image-ining of our Creator.  Choose an assumption.  Believe in something.  See where it leads.  Our assumptions do matter.  They change the world.  They change us.  Our faith will incarnate into the world.  Regardless of what beliefs you act on, you will manifest a reality congruent with them.  Be the change that you want to see in the world.  Is it some amazing coincidence that our free will acts upon the chains of causality?  Of course, if you don’t believe in free will, then belief is meaningless, and all is determined for you; and you can rest assured that your meaningless situation is someone or something else’s fault.  As luck would have it, I don’t believe in such things.

 

POEM: Good News, Bad News

I have good news and bad news
The bad news:
God called and he said he wants his religion back
The good news:
He didn’t call collect

The gap between the actual practice of religion and the sacred principles held dear by every major faith present in the world requires grace to be reconciled.  The relatively popular and all-too-common view that God is punishing is perhaps the most fundamental misconception in religion.  God is love.  Love does not seek to punish.  If you want to punish people, please recognize that that impulse is not in alignment with God’s will.  The desire to punish others is a misguided human impulse.  Attributing your own desire to hurt others — or, conveniently, have another punish them for you — only adds insult to injury.  The belief in hell is the perfection of projecting human shortcomings onto God.  There is plenty of hell to go around, created by humans on earth.  Wanting to see further misery added to this is simply sadistic.  The gospel, literally “good news,” is that when God calls it won’t be as a debt collector, but rather as a lover seeking to woo you into a deeper relationship.  Now that’s a call I can answer!

POEM: Eminently Bad Business

Some might suggest that we run everything like a business
This is eminently bad business

The notion that everything should be run like a business runs like a disease through Western Civilization.  This delusion leads some to believe that capitalism is the answer to all human problems.  This pathetic reduction of humanity to economic beings is at the core of most major human problems that the world faces.  Most people would consider it absurd to run your love life like a business, or raising children, or being a best friend, or virtually any enterprise that would benefit from centering one’s life outside of one’s own parochial interests.  The most valuable things in life are not things.  Such “things” should not be imprisoned within profit margins and subject to usury for every asset we possess.  What does it profit a man to gain the world and lose his soul?  If you can’t articulate some sacred ground for your soul to reside, then the only advice would be: make sure you get a really good price for your soul; don’t sell yourself short.  Of course, if your soul has a price, and you are selling yourself, don’t be surprised that others treat you like a prostitute when going about your business.

“Let them call me rebel and welcome, I feel no concern from it! For I should suffer the misery of devils were I to make a whore of my soul.” — Thomas Paine.

POEM: Sinking Ship

When a ship is sinking
It may be wiser to follow the rats
Rather than the humans
That is, if you can tell the difference

This Titanic poem juxtaposes the zeniths and abysses of humans, created only a little less than angels, and rats, a generally unappreciated part of the human experience.  This poem sets up a contrast of the ingenuousness of Western civilization and the oft underappreciated wisdom in nature.  Amidst the myriad of human-created crises, looking to nature for wisdom can cut through a lot of foolishness.  Rats are less complicated creatures than humans, not as prone to confused and conflicted decision-making.  This simplicity can be lifesaving in life threatening situations.  Of course, when humans are at their lows they are less reliable guides for behavior than rats and exceedingly more dangerous.  Calling a human a rat is considered derogatory, but in some situations rats exceed human performance.  Maybe we should cut rats some slack.  Similarly, in our foolish scurryings about, perhaps we should refrain from the term “rat race,” as this also may be unfair to rats.

POEM: Disillusionment

You say that you’re disillusioned like it’s a bad thing

My whole life I’ve heard people talk about being disillusioned in one way or another.  Not once have I heard this with anything but a negative connotation.  This one line poem alludes to another way.  Some years ago, it dawned on me that losing your illusions is a great thing.  Disillusionment may, in fact, be one of the grandest goals in life.  What greater meaning can be attained than aligning one’s life with reality, as it is, not as we happen to think it is.  And how can this happen except by letting go of our illusions?  I would like to see humanity reclaim the term disillusionment.  Will you join me in claiming an attitude of gratitude when our illusions run into reality and those illusions lose handedly?  Let’s rejoice at this inescapable process of disillusionment on the way to enlightenment and more truthful living.  Alas, hope springs eternal, even in the face of determined cynicism.