Let there be light
And life did glow
Then things went south
And God said D’oh…
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I didn’t know the boy… which is odd in a town of 700 and a fourth grade class of 20 or so… But there he was, a classmate, in the front yard of the farm house my parents were renting from a much more affluent rancher… At his side were two horses… And one of them was being offered to me… “Ya wanna go for a ride”? Well, I was a transplanted city boy and had never even been close to a horse, so naturally, my answer was “yeah”!
One glitch that neither one of us considered to be important was the fact that he only had one saddle, which was on the horse that he claimed for himself… I don’t remember getting on the horse, and had any adult saw us strolling off on half a ton of muscle each, there would have been hell to pay. But no one saw us, and no one prevented the death of a naive 9 year old city boy out of his element and clueless to the danger.
We wandered up the drive that led to the paved road heading into town and turned to head back. In an instant, he was at full gallop and my horse followed like any herd animal would… I was caught off guard, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. Had I been a Plains Indian with a thousand hours on horse back, I might have survived. But I was not a Plains Indian, I was an awkward fourth grader with few skills and less sense… I did my best. I held to the horse’s mane, still not aware of what was about to happen, not even scared to tell the truth… I was in survival mode. I bounced high, and again, and again… The horse was in pain from my grip on its hair, and ran faster. And now I knew that I was in trouble.
Midway down a three hundred yard driveway that alternated between potholes and pumpkin sized river rock, I came off and smashed down on to the ground. The world went black…
I think I landed square on my back, because I woke up still sliding over the gravel, my head bouncing as the ruts and giant cobbles passed under my rag-doll body.
How long I lay there after it was over, the dust gliding away on the breeze, I’m not sure. But eventually I rolled over and got to my feet. No bones broken, but a softball sized swelling on the back of my head. And then I heard it…
A voice.
From over my right shoulder, a man spoke. There was no sympathy in the voice, but neither was there condemnation… He spoke clearly and gave me a simple message… “You are being given a chance to make amends”… In the moment that followed, I thought of two things… That reincarnation was real… And that I had been an evil man in a prior life…
So much made sense in that moment… My painful shyness, my lack of friends, a step-father that had no use for me, a mother who spent more time shaming than protecting, bullies at school.
I lived in a small town at the end of the road… Literally… No one came through Joseph Oregon, who was not coming TO Joseph Oregon. The road ended there. It ran a few more miles to the head of Wallowa Lake, a tourist destination, and If you took a cutoff before the town, you could drive another twenty miles or so to Imnaha, Population 24–on a good day…
I rang the bell at church on Sundays. I colored in the windows and doors of churches in our Sunday school comic books, I sat in class in a school built in 1910 or whenever. And I listened at the dinner table as my stepdad ragged on about Blacks, Mexicans and the overcooked meat. Where would I have ever heard of the concept of Reincarnation…
But in that instant while I stood unsteadily, I pondered precisely the meaning of that idea. I had no words for it. I didn’t know what it was called, but I was being given another chance and I was convinced that God had saved me for something… That’s how a small white boy in a small white town in an out-of-the-way corner of ranch-land America couches a theory he had no idea existed…
My classmate was deeply chastened and we led the horses to his home before any real trouble could appear. It was there that I feel asleep on the bathroom floor, to be awakened by his mother and hustled off home, lest I die and cause her inconvenience… At home I crawled into bed and slept the day, and the next. Nothing was said. The bloody clothes were not commented on.
On the day of the accident a naive young 9 year old died… In his place, a cynical angry young boy was born… A boy angry at the callousness of adults who fail to care for children, a mother who sends the child of another mother home to die rather than call a doctor, a mother too self-absorbed with her coffee and cigarettes to notice a bloody and lethargic son. I know knew where I stood… Alone… And that sense of abandonment turned from bad to worse as I grew older. Facial ticks, hatred of teachers, and of school as my grades dropped to D’s, a deep isolation and fantasies of violence against the world… I smoldered, and held it inside. I raged, and lashed at those who came too close. If I wasn’t worthy of love and protection, I would prove that I didn’t care. That I didn’t require it. That you were odious and repugnant to me. My parents, my brothers, my teachers… The world.
I built walls… Thick, reliable, unassailable… A proven fortress… It kept you out… But it kept me in as well.
And then… I turned Twenty One. And the path out was presented…
The healthiest environment is one that is rich in diversity. Mother nature really knows her stuff. And the more that science and technology advance, the closer we get to bio-mimicry. Water flowing over a sharks skin, for instance, influences the design of the skin on our submarines and sailboats.
If diversity is the acme of nature, we would be smart to mimic it in our culture. A ‘many hands make the work load light’, ‘two heads are better than one’ strategy if you will.
My strengths coupled with yours and then with his and hers makes us a better nation, more competitive, more innovative.
Now the opposite of diversity is monoculture. And monoculture does not exist in nature… Monocultures require poison to maintain. We poison the land to keep weeds out of the corn. Mother nature eliminates monocultures. She overwhelms them with diversity.
This has a parallel in politics. People of different political beliefs, different emotional strengths working Together, create a healthy nation. But we don’t have a healthy political climate and therefore we do not have a healthy nation.
Polarization is the norm, division is the goal, derogatory speech–the weapon of choice. Disinformation, half truths, and fear directed at the reptilian brain of self preservation is used to advance a monoculture of ideology. This is true on both sides of the aisle in the language our politicians use. And it is up to us, you and me, to change that. This, of course, first of all requires us to become honest with ourselves and with each other. It requires a lessening of ideology and political jargon. It requires an admission of trust that you and I both love America.
So here is the template we can use to determine who is working for America’s health and who is working for only themselves… Diversity or monoculture.
Who is willing to work across the aisle… diversity.
Who refuses to work across the aisle.. monoculture.
Who legislates for the freedoms of individuals, the freedoms of religion, the freedom from the tyranny of the majority… diversity
Who legislates to control freedoms and force their opinions, their religion on others… monoculture.
Who uses language of inclusion, us together… Diversity
Who uses language of exclusion, ‘us versus them’.. Monoculture.
This is my issue with people like Sarah Palin. Not that she is unqualified for political office. She certainly is that, but so have many of our elected leaders. It is the fact that she has a powerful talent that she is using to advance monoculture. Her ridicule of the ‘lame stream’ media assumes that no one is right but her. She is not offering one possibility as we collectively consider an intractable problem. She is proclaiming the only possibility. Her praise of the “Real America” makes me wonder what she thinks about the rest of us. I mean, those of us who struggle to understand both sides of a complex issue and are unwilling to distill it onto a bumper sticker. It would be fabulous if we could both work together for Americas benefit, her talent and mine. But as it stands, the conservative movement that she is representing is working–and in MY lifetime– has always worked for monoculture and never for diversity. They always have an enemy to feature… flag burning communists, smoke doping hippies, Cadillac driving welfare queens, gays, blacks, Nazis, Socialists, terrorists, Hispanics… The list is endless of those they wish for us to fear.
I know this seems like a polemic against Republicans but that is not my intent. I am hardly impressed with the Democrats most days. You and I, conservative and liberal, can get along just fine, can actually enhance our respective ideals, if we simply relaxed, trusted one another’s love for our nation, looked honestly at our problems and worked together. Your talents and mine, respecting one another’s abilities, respecting one another’s diversity would bring the America we love back into health.
Monoculture or Diversity…the one we put our muscle behind, the one we decide to embrace will create our future.
Diversity creates increasing health. Monoculture requires endless poisons. Diversity gathers energy from nature, the universe–God for those who believe in her. Monoculture is in constant battle with nature and God. Diversity is self maintaining into the endless future. Monocultures clunk and sputter, then crash and burn….
This was a response comment to mystique772′s blog of ‘The world would be a better place if…’
I wrote it before I figured out how to register on this site so the normal links and pingbacks to me don’t exist. So I post it here in case you happen to stumble across it.
What I try NOT to do is come off in a pompous fashion. But as we all do, I try to find a way to make a better world. As such, I offer this musing on the importance of how we use language.
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The expression of consciousness is language. And the foundation of culture is the philosophy i.e. religion of its people. So the language of a religion is critical to the consciousness of the civilization it maintains.
In my simple mind, there are two competing languages–monism and dualism.
We are very familiar with dualism here in the west. It is the language that says spirit is separate from matter, that heaven is pure and this earthly plane is corrupt, that humanity is irrevocably flawed and fallen. It describes you as different from me; And, frankly, since we are sinners, not to be trusted.
The other is monism. Its message is that spirit and matter are two sides of a single coin, that the material world is the shadow of the spiritual one, so that when the spirit bends the shadow bends, when the spirit straightens, the culture of our world straightens as well. It describes the core of humanity as an expression of the core of the universe: Pure, and perfect; filled with power and infinite resources.
It seems to me that if the core of a human is the universe, then two things are true: One, that you are perfect as well as me. And two, that the path to wisdom and change is inward. This is monism in my simple mind.
Monism encourages an inward journey to reveal your true nature. And as I search deeper I find you searching as well, an ally in creating a sustainable world and a peaceful civilization.
Dualism encourages an outward obedience to a message, to the word, to an authority. It is suspicious of an inward search. It separates you and me into cliques of those I can trust and those I cannot.
Monism is an inward search for meaning. A recognition that you too are on a search for your own meaning. It doesn’t fear who is gay or straight, who’s conservative or liberal. Nature is rich in diversity and is healthier for it. A civilization that is rich in unique outlooks is healthier as well.
Dualism is an outward search for identity. A protective cloak of safety against the unknown and ‘the other’ as we surround ourselves with those just like us. It doesn’t trust the individual to search deeply for answers. Answers have been chosen and diversity of outlook is considered dangerous.
These are our languages. We choose our language and we create our world.
As a post script, I notice that some people talk of satanists and pederasts pursuing their preferred hobbies. And I thought that they might misconstrue my meaning when I say ‘an inward search for your true nature’.
If the core of the universe was pederasty, well, then, I suppose they would be right. But I seriously doubt that that is the case. As a person pursues their true nature, they will move away from these various pleasures that are really the cause for their own future suffering.
I wrote this short story as an assignment for a creative writing class I was taking.
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“Are you ready?”
He made the equivalency of a sigh. “Not really… I’m not looking forward to it.”
“I know I made the choice” he continued… “I do it now… I do it later… I might as well do it now… but I’m not happy… I may have chosen too much…”
“You won’t be alone.”
“I will be alone… I will forget… You won’t exist to me. And that is the same as being alone.”
“You won’t be alone. I will not leave you.”
A mixture of remorse and appreciation appeared in his life. The memory of deeds done, fixed in time, now unchangeable, embarrassed him. His foolish choices of ‘I’ over ‘we’ brought a wave of regret and anger at himself. The knowledge of extant forgiveness and love—even humor—offered, chagrined him as well; but it brought a hopeful determination to his mind.
“This is your choice… For now… But it is ready and without you, it will die.”
“Yea.”
Again, he made the equivalency of a sigh… “Ok, let’s go… I am ready… goodbye…”
“Not goodbye… good journey.”
His companion reached out and enveloped him in a field of tenderness. He felt the light dim and his perceptions dull. He knew that he would forget but when it began, he panicked briefly: Only the sense of protection and love surrounding him prevented him from abandoning his task. He grew smaller; and darker; and denser. He began to wonder who he was as he continued to grow smaller and smaller until he fell through a crack in time; a crack between space and non-space. Exhaustion overtook him and he slept.
***
He awoke in darkness, unafraid but alert, listening intently for danger. When none appeared, he relaxed and his curiosity pushed forward like a child’s face pressed against a window, eager to learn. He could see nothing, but he could hear and feel the sound of a drum in the distance. He tired quickly and, again, he slept.
He woke often and, quickly tiring, slept much. He became confident in his surroundings and listened more for curiosity than for danger. He noticed slight differences in the depths of the darkness around him and he heard occasional sounds of activity that piqued his interest.
And always there was the sound of the drum. It was the first thing he noticed when he woke and the last thing that he listened to as he fell asleep. There was nothing but the drum and the darkness that held him. He had been here forever; there was no time before the darkness and no concept of time beyond it.
And yet, he became restless and wondered. He did not wonder what; he did not know how. He did not wonder why or who but an alternating sense of peace and worry affected him and he wondered.
***
He woke in panic. Something was different and threatening. A force was gripping him; his life was being ruthlessly squeezed out of him. Some malevolent energy had taken notice and had rejected his right to live. In a moment of calm, he heard the drum. It was pounding with a ferocity that he had never heard before. And then he heard it; another drum. He listened for it and, yes: It was distinct and also beating out its presence to him.
It attacked him again. Some hateful thing had chosen him for extinction and was bringing its full power to that task. He was dying and he despaired. He was alone: Only him and his unseen attacker. He was vulnerable, defenseless; and uncared for. He held to life, not knowing what it was but unwilling to give it up. And for the first time, he wondered why: Why was this happening to him; and then an inkling of time occurred in his mind and he wondered what would happen next; when would death take him; what would it be like?
The pressure released with a suddenness that stunned him but it was the brightness that nothing in his memory prepared him for that frightened him almost as much as the relentless grip. Another attack was imminent, of this he was certain: Different in scope but just as deadly. He was still defenseless; he was still vulnerable and he screamed in rage and fear.
Everything was instantly new and unfamiliar. He felt his skin for the first time: The sting of cold air and the warmth from the hands holding him. He continued to cry in his confusion and fright but when he was placed on the soft, warm breasts of his mother and heard the familiar drumming of her heart, he stopped as hope and relief washed over him. He hungered and when his mother placed a nipple against his lips, he opened his mouth eagerly and began to suckle, feeling the warm gush of sustenance as he began his first moment alive.
He had re-entered the world. The circle of life was bringing him around again to practice the universal lessons of forgiveness and courage, compassion and service. The cycle of light and dark—two sides of a coin; of day and night—indicative of one rotation; of awake and sleep—a rhythm of life; of life and death—two halves of a larger whole, had begun anew and existence had risen over the horizon like the morning sun.
And like the dawning sun, full and complete yet with the world still fresh and cool from the night, his life shone; though his body was still fresh and not yet warmed to fruition by its wisdom and grace. In time he would grow in size and strength, knowledge and ability until, like the midday sun, he would shine with undeniable power, warming the world around him in his flush of competent vigor and youthful enthusiasm. At mid-afternoon, with his crops ripening in their fields, he would wane in strength but gain in wisdom. And at his sunset, he would sit with the one that he loved and wonder at the beauty of the world.
As the sun sank beneath the earth, he would sleep; to dream and remember his true self; to embrace his guardian angel who had sent him on his journey and to recall his divinity. He would ponder the successes and failures of his recently finished life and he would plan his next. At the proper time a life would be begun and he would infuse it with spirit, to begin again the universal lessons of forgiveness and courage, compassion and service.
If he balked and refused existence from fright, the body prepared would perish, un-used. It could not survive without his spirit but he could not advance without action; and action required existence. The body was the vessel of existence that carried a spirit on its journey towards wisdom and God.
He had almost refused this life. He had made poor decisions in previous lifetimes and caused much hurt to others. He had often chosen the ‘I’ of selfishness over the ‘we’ of compassion and his life had suffered. “Seek the truth, and the truth shall set you free’ a wonderful guide of humanity once said. There was a reason that truth and freedom were so inextricably linked.
For the purpose of life is creation; and the reason for creation is life. There is no creation without freedom, no freedom without wisdom, no wisdom without consequences and no consequences without truth. A life lived, for good or evil, experiences its own creation of consequences. Pain and pleasure is the template of truth. And the path of a spirit as it arcs across time is in this contemplation.
Of truth.
And freedom.
It is for this reason that he had almost panicked and recoiled from his destiny. It was going to be a difficult lifetime for him. He had much to atone for and his natural inclination was still selfish. There was less than a 50/50 chance that he would even survive until old age and a smaller chance than that, that he would be happy doing so. Success was not guaranteed or even likely, and he had himself stacked the odds against him.
But he was a divine soul at his core—as are all souls; and he accepted the task that lay ahead of him. He faced his doom willingly; even though it was with some trepidation and tinged with the sadness of resignation. If he was to grow, he must do it now.
And so he lay there on his mothers’ chest, grateful to still be alive and safe for the moment; suckling at her breast. His own heart, fresh and new, tiny yet competent, set the rhythm of a billion beat song. He took a deep breath and released his first real sigh.
