New

I was listening—politely but disinterestedly—to a coworker’s explanation of their latest malady, knee surgery I think, the other day. Having mercifully forgotten the details of this conversation I was left with the observation of how self-identity is defined by attribute. “I’m good at …”, “I’m smart”, “I’m bad at …”, “ I have x malady, disease, issue, etc.” I I I into oblivion. No doubt I share the same problem, hopefully I haven’t burdened anyone with it recently. What is it about self, and self-identification, that requires all these labels?

I (there I go again) don’t presume to have the answer. I can look to the East and appropriate form and emptiness for a possible solution. Since all forms arise and fall away, people included, no form is uniquely permanent, or one’s own. Instead it is only the current manifestation of the form contained in one individual that possesses the specific set of attributes we define our self’s by. Those attributes, and this instantiation of self, will cease to be—be form—and once again pass into emptiness—the potential for form—upon death. Historical figures are remembered for their specific accomplishments, attributes, character, contributions to the world narrative, not for themselves as self.

Indeed, there is no self to be known in another I would suggest. It is difficult enough to “know thyself” as the ancient oracle implores. In the Eastern traditions knowing thyself results in the destruction of self and becoming one with the infinite. I’m not certain that Judeo-Christian traditions have a direct equivalent with the concept of heaven. Heaven, to my mind, is held out as a possible way to retain the part of self that was spiritual and separate from the merely physical. Which part is which?

The merely physical is straightforward and observable as well as measurable according to this line of thinking. Spiritual attributes: virtue, honor, moral character, benevolence, the makings of human nature and the Aristotelian good would then become the keys to the afterlife. The New Testament delineates the specific way through repentance and the acceptation of Christ to dwell in our soul (self); other traditions skip this step. The path to heaven is not always clear, it might be preordained, it could be based on works, it is always based on faith though.

Faith in what is another topic. The act of faith, placing the care and growth of the soul outside of myself in some form, can serve as a freeing mechanism for the self. Once I have entrusted the part of me that is not my attributes to forces beyond my control all I have left are attributes. The rest is up to fate, I can influence, tempt, affect, challenge, rail, etc. fate but I cannot escape. Whether I am on God’s path, the wheel of karma, seeking the Tao, or any other pathway (guided or not) forces beyond my human control hold sway over that part of self. I am helpless before them, and free to be my attributes exclusively, I guess.

If attributes are all that is left to me all these labels make perfect sense. I am short, tall, heavy, thin, bad knee, high blood pressure, fit, smart, not mathematically inclined, and a host of other descriptors. I am the sum of my parts with no single universal save life itself. Really? 

I had the dream again last night

The dream where the snakes are so colorful but move back as I walk the path

The dream where I need not fear the snakes, but I kinda do

The dream with an unknown destination

The dream where the grass is so high I cannot see

I had the dream again last night

The dream where the bridge is green

The dream where I must cross the bridge by driving over the superstructure

The dream where the Piscataqua bridge leads into a massive city, I must take the proper turn

The dream where I mustn't drive off the edge of the rails

I had the dream again last night

The dream where I discover I am naked and exposed

The dream where I am in public

The dream where I must soldier through until I return home

The dream where dealing with it is all that can be done

I had the dream again last night

The dream where the customers never end

The dream where time is frozen, as is the food

The dream where being caught up would equal nirvana

The dream where dealing with it is almost impossible, but is done

I had the dream again last night

The dream where I am neither single nor married

The dream where I am suave

The dream where I never follow through, because I am married

The dream where I don’t deal with it, or them

I had the dream again last night

The dream where I am an unlikely savior

The dream where the situation becomes progressively unlikely

The dream where i always know what to do next

The dream where the ridiculous becomes the sublime

I had the dream again last night

The childhood dream of imaginary terrors

The adolescent dream of descent into the unknown

The young adult dreams of exposure and danger

The adult dreams, overwhelming possibility and responsibility

I will dream again

Moments colliding

Years and months reduced to days

Peaceful passage on

  Open Season 

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven  

Ecclesiastes 3:1 

   Last Saturday was April 1, opening day of the fishing season in my part of Maine. In my teenage years, and a bit before, my father would make it a point to get the two of us on the water as close to April 1 as we could manage. Work and school combined with the short days (daylight savings time came a month later then) were the biggest barriers. The best we could hope for was fair weather on the immediate Saturday following the first. I was home last Saturday thinking that I could actually take advantage of opening day this year. As I watched it snow I decided against it.  Salmon Rushdie once wrote that the ice was always lurking under the surface; here it is still very much on the surface of the two small lakes (or ponds) I drive by every day. Two days ago, Chickawaukie was finally starting to thaw and show grey breaks amidst the silvery white of the ice, they looked just like eyes. What were those eyes looking at, and are those the eyes that lurk just under the surface? Maces Pond is starting to thaw, apparently trees or veins lurk there.  A few more days of weak spring sunshine, no snow please, and both the eyes and veins (or trees) will have retreated below the surface to snag careless lures and lines.  I have several avenues to rationalize my failure to brave the snow and participate in a tradition. I haven’t bought my license yet, there is no actual closed season anymore on the river I generally fish, I am old enough to realize that not everything must be accomplished immediately, I am old enough to no longer enjoy being cold, wet, and miserable for the sake of a fish, and I have other things I could be doing. What I have trouble rationalizing is the steady decline of tradition itself, at least in my own experience. Opening days, holiday get togethers, country fairs, vacation spots, all have succumbed somehow to the persistent call of “now”. Now I need to go here, go there, make sure so and so gets to work, school, game, event, etc. Now I need to complete this project (because this is the time I have), read this interesting book, whatever. Now I need to watch the game, now I need check my email, now I need to clean the house, the garage, the cat box (I do), the basement. Now Now Now!   All of these now’s are important at times, all demand attention; even the ones that look suspiciously like wasting time. Behind and beneath all these nows, lurking like Rushdie’s ice, is the weak but persistent voice of tradition. Tradition doesn’t occupy every day for most of us, only certain days. On those days the eyes of the buried ice look balefully on as I rationalize my decision to forgo this particular opening day, there is always next year. On those days a choice to break with tradition is a thinning of the copse. Every event missed, rationalized away by something more important, is a mature tree sacrificed to progress. Sacrifice enough trees and the copse becomes inhospitable to its former residents. Tradition must move on, remake itself, and find a new home.  Ecclesiastes intimates that things have a proper time and place. In that assertion is the implicit assumption that one should attend to those things when the time and place comes, and not be attending to something else. Tradition would fall under this category I would think, that is why the mute eyes of the ice give one a feeling of disquiet. I feel like I should have gone fishing anyways, snow be damned. I feel like I should travel and visit more at the holidays. Maine is not on the opposite side of the world from most of our family, only a state away. I feel like I should have started seedlings a month ago, even though we rent and don’t tend a garden. I feel the weight of tradition, the eyes of the past, and the stillness of the forest calling me to observe the times and places that should hold meaning for me. Meaning that is not lost or subservient to the relentless march of now. Maybe Rushdie was right, maybe the ice is lurking to remind us that “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven”. Maybe the ice is nothing more or less than tradition.      

       The passage of winter into spring brings April showers, May flowers, and a general dinginess from the accumulated sand and salt of winter road care. This shows up as a swath along road edges extending a few beyond the tar. The combination of the silt and spring rain can produce slippery roads, the solution is to come along with a large power broom attached to a tractor and sweep the roadside clean. I also see people with tarred driveways doing the same thing on a smaller scale with handheld power brooms. Every time I watch somebody sweeping up dirt, outside, I am not sure what to make of it. The dirt is as outside as it’s going to get already, why does it have to go to a different part of outside? The part that confuses me the most is this; what does it mean to be “not sure of what I think” about something?   Sweeping up a driveway, blowing leaves off a lawn, or picking out stones and trash from the edge of the lawn should not, on the surface, be thought provoking activities. It is clear that these people want their particular piece of property to look nice. If that piece of property is also a business a well-kept yard hopefully correlates to a well-run business for the consumer. This is not what confuses me about what I think, I think. What gives me pause, and leads to my confusion on many seemingly straightforward actions, is why it is important to present an appearance at all? Why does it matter if I or my neighbor keep a nice yard? Why does it matter if a business is not manicured and perfect, does that really mean they are inept?  “I’m not sure what I think” becomes a cover phrase for “I’m not sure I accept your standards” if I follow the above line of questioning. This is likely much closer to the truth somehow, I don’t know what to think about sweeping up dirt outside because I wouldn’t bother. Since I wouldn’t bother, and I am –of course—logical and rational, your bothering is an irrational act for an illogical standard (dirt free tar). If I knew absolutely that my position on the question was the only correct position I would not be confused about what to think. I would think everyone I saw engaged in such activities was wrong, wasteful, and self-indulgent. I would also think they were slaves to some herd impulse since it is a fairly common practice.   I am not so certain of myself to take my position on anything as absolutely correct, maybe it’s a character flaw, maybe it’s a virtue (I’m not sure what I think about it). All I am certain of is the pause, the being unsure and knowing vaguely that that uncertainty is hopefully a sign of some growth. Young children are certain. Our grandchildren come over and take control immediately. Toys are searched for, gotten out, played with, and abandoned for the next one in a most certain way. “I’m hungry” or “I’m bored” are statements that are meant to lead to certain direct results according to their view of the world. They don’t and uncertainty begins early in life. As they grow, and we all went through these stages, the certainties in life will become questions. Is my families’ way the only way? Mom and Dad don’t know everything? Parents aren’t perfect, families are flawed, situations are fluid, the wider world beyond your immediate circle, are all factors that take away the certainty of the very young.  School is the main contributor to erosion of certainty. School introduces us to new ideas, to history, to science, to literature, to math, etc. whether we like it or not. School at its best makes us think, at its worst it makes us memorize. Even rote memorization undermines certainty. If my personal beliefs run contrary to the absolute facts I have memorized what then? If I have not been afforded the opportunity to think things through, either in school or out, I must decide which road to follow with conviction. Decide, as my philosophy teacher was fond of saying, comes from a Latin root word with the meaning “to cut away” (I don’t recall the precise spelling of the Latin). Once I have cut away a line of reasoning I can once again be certain of my thoughts.   What then happens when I won’t or can’t make a decision? When I cannot “cut away” either beliefs or facts? When I have come across too many competing facts, all seemingly valid, and the consequent opinions and beliefs they engender? Must I make some Hegelian compromise to fit them all in? Or, as I have done from what I can tell, do I simply live within the indecision. I refrain from an absolute cutting away. I look for what may be universal, notice what appears to be specific, and “don’t know what I think” about something that does not immediately fit into one of those binary choices. Is sweeping up dirt outside some sign of a universal drive that humans have towards orderliness and control? Is it particular to my country, or even neighborhood?   Sweeping up dirt is but one innocuous example of a practice or habit that eludes my ability to decide with absolute certainty what is right and wrong. At times I envy others who appear so self-assured in every context, who always know the right thing, who are always certain. None of those others are people I actually know. Everybody I actually know, no matter how self-assured in some settings, struggles with the same problem of not knowing what to think at times. Other cultures, near and far, have practices and beliefs that fall well outside my personal capacity to evaluate them. The simplest thing is to declare that those practices and beliefs are wrong; they do not fit in my particular box. The more difficult action is to consider them on their merits, if I can. The most difficult thing is to consider my box, my belief structure, and identify any hidden or obvious prejudices and blind spots. Sweeping up dirt outside as an avenue to reveal those prejudices is probably not all that fruitful, I think. Or do I? I’m not sure what I think of that.  

Conversation

(a lost art?)

In today’s politically charged and polarized times how does one conduct a conversation? I can certainly find like minded individuals and have a palaver whereby we mutually reinforce each other’s beliefs, prejudices’, and values. I can also deftly navigate some small talk with someone I disagree with without being too rude or condescending (at least I think I pull that off). What I find nearly impossible is to have a conversation about ideas that doesn’t become a political entrenchment behind an ideological wall that brooks no dialogue.

As much as I would want to cast myself as an intellectual capable of holding contrasting ideas in my head and logically debating their merits, I am not immune. I hear certain viewpoints and immediately dismiss them. Then I think, what makes my viewpoint better? The fact that it aligns with my particular worldview? I like it? My parents, teachers, idols, whoever hold it? It goes with my lifestyle? My social status? What indeed shapes my, or your, or anyone’s, view on “The Way Things Ought to Be” to quote one author on worldviews.

Childhood and parents have an undeniable influence in the beginning. What we were raised with in our formative years never quite leaves us. Whether we carry that forward, rebel and return, or repudiate totally the views we were exposed to as we became politically aware those views form the backdrop to our particular stance. Peer groups and education are additional factors. Getting out of ones own hometown and experiencing the broader world tend to test those core beliefs we grew up with and internalized. Sometimes the beliefs are validated, sometimes they are challenged. Either way a time for justification is at hand, what exactly will we choose to believe in? 

Early on the choice might be murky. The shifting sands and the tide of revelation to ideas and concepts heretofore unknown swirl around us. New personas are tested and discarded; outrages are the blue plate special of this time of a life for some. Others of us might find this time a time of reification, I was right (so were my parents) all along. People are exactly like I thought, and I have it all figured out, so I have a head start on life. Over time a core set of principles will emerge, and our beliefs will calcify into a worldview that guides us.

Once that calcification takes place, post adolescence and pre geriatric, what then? For most of my adult life I have been fairly apolitical, they’re all crooks was my motto. That in itself is a worldview that brooks limited conversation. Don’t tell me how Bernie, Trump, Hillary, Biden, Reagan, Bush, or any other politician is special; They’re all crooks remember. My mind was not prepared to receive any supporting evidence why one was better than the other. 

Over time the notion that any politician on the national stage was just as bad as any other began to crumble. Some definitely seemed less inclined to improve my personal situation than others. Of course, first I had to have a situation that could be improved in an ideological manner. Having achieved that status the “all Crooks” mantra was no longer useful. One party might be more inclined to enact policies that directly benefited me and my situation, even if the entire platform was not to my liking.

I suppose this is how most people eventually settle into a political camp, it’s not perfect but overall I like the direction. I am still registered as an independent (unregistered in Maine according to the choices), were I to want to influence a primary I would have to choose a party. Even without a declared party affiliation I find myself reacting to party platforms. One might speak to me as sensible, the other as ridiculous. One might espouse things I believe in, the other things I abhor. One might sound eminently American, the other foreign. Once I have made this choice I return to the initial question, how do I have a conversation with a person from the party I did not choose.

From what I see in social media facts, logic, reason, and persuasion hold no sway against entrenched ideology. If I know someone well I suppose I could ask the directly if they really believe what they are saying. I could question their sources, doubt the veracity of their “facts” and “statistics”. This of course presupposes that I am on the side of truth justice, and whatever. How do I know that my “facts” and “statistics” are any better? Just because they came from a source I trust? So did my friend’s. I certainly don’t have the time, energy, access, and acumen to verify what I take to be true. Neither do most of us. What I do have is my beliefs, what I’ve read, life experiences, social conditioning, education, work experience, life lessons, the same stuff (but unique to me) as anyone else.

Once I relinquish my personal hold on the undisputed truth I can begin to converse. Even if the metaphorical you cannot budge I can. I may not capitulate, but I can at least discus your arguments on what I comprehend as the merits of the case. I could possibly even see your point of view. The challenge is recognizing my personal mindset as one among the multitude, not The One of the multitude. If we can both come to that conclusion then and only then can conversation in the classical sense occur. Conversation whereby ideas are tested, concepts examined, and flawed ideas exposed in pursuit of something greater than any one particular viewpoint. Conversation that seeks to bring forth something better, something greater, and something new. The kind of conversation that brought forth the defining documents of the Western world: The Magna Carta, The Declaration of Independence, Proclamation de l'abolition de la royauté, or The Universal Declaration of Human Rights. 

This type of conversation won’t magically happen overnight. It won’t happen with a change of political leadership. It won’t happen because my side is ascendant and someone else’s is in decline. It will only happen as individuals place more importance on dialogue and conversation than on being right. Than on scoring points. Than on getting wins. Than on most of what drives politics in the current age. I am not the shining light and perfect example by ant means, but at least I know what steps to take. I hope to find others taking similar—imperfect and halting—steps to converse with.