IN 2,000 YEARS

  I think a major difference between the Right & the Left is how they view the people who vote. Progressives cling to the idea, ‘If they were better informed, if they knew more, knew better they would chose the noble path.’ Conservatives disagree, that people do in fact know better but vote their emotions & feelings regardless. That is why the new ‘Right’ exacerbates fears (real or imagined), where every appeal sounds like a fire & brimstone alter call. It would seem the conservative inner-circle really likes smart phones and twitter but otherwise want to reinvent the Middle Ages. By my measure the pendulum has been swinging that way for 30 years with Newt Gingrich’s Contract With America. It sounded too good to be true then and it was. At the time, Ronald Reagan’s self-serving rhetoric still made news. He preached, “Extremism in the defense of Liberty is no vice.” But somewhere between the fist pounding and the hallelujahs, License & Privilege were misappropriated in guise of Liberty. Progressives shudder; how can voters believe that crap? The public should know better and they do but it’s never been about knowledge. Using fear and prejudice to divide and conquer is more effective than educating the public. I think of a Yuval Harari quote: “Their story (belief system) doesn’t need to be true, it just has to work.” 
I am still reacting to 2nd Amendment clamor in the wake of the latest mass murder at an elementary school. No other developed nation tolerates mass murder of children. They know how to stop it. We know how to stop it too but déjà vu. The Republican Party has restructured its base to weed out moderates and recruit malcontent whites who could be older, who identify with white privilege, white supremacy, evangelical fervor, and (us against them) patriotism.
I think it’s true, the older you get (60 +) the message starts changing, you are becoming irrelevant. Seniors resist change anyway and it is so easy to become entrenched in whatever bias we grew up with. That voting block has not be overlooked by the conservative brain trust. I was privy to public conversations (1940’s & 50’s) that seemed both normal and proper; "Blacks are subhuman. But there are good blacks who know to stay in their place. Women on the other hand should be kept barefoot and pregnant." I don’t know how I escaped that fate but I changed with the times. Apparently, most of my generation did not.
I have no great affinity with Democrats. I agree in principle on most issues and vote with them but while they are herding cats their rivals are selling a powerful package of malice, privilege and self righteous greed. It seems my (generation) cohorts buy into it without a second thought. Another consideration, ’Self righteous’ has lost its sting. It used to be an insult. Not now; self righteous is as good as any other kind of righteous and that makes holy whatever we say it is. By (80+) has-beens like myself are either trapped in their own myth or we reject most every party-line and question everything. I want to do the right thing but my best shot will not stir a ripple. If Shakespeare was right, the world is a stage and we are the actors; my part is a walk-by outside the window and all the audience gets from me is my hat in passing. 
This piece is a lesser rant but a rant none the less. I don’t rant very well so practice may be what I need. My umbrage succumbs without a whimper but I get to abuse the page and use big words, exaggerate my own imagined fears and prejudice. I actually do care about the greater good and fair play but not enough to lose sleep. While Nero fiddled and Rome burned there must have been old people outside the window, nothing but their hats passing by. Their lines would have been buffered to background noise but they spoke them anyway, “In 2,000 years, even if someone remembers, who will care?” Then they go home and take a nap. We’ve got Putin and Trump but history will judge them. I would remember Nelson Mandela and Maya Angelou for what they gave to the world, not what they took from it.  

ZERO SUM GAME

  Once upon a time I had a FaceBook account with sixty-plus friends. But things change and I am naïve, I know; always last to figure out the bad news. FB had become a catch-all for scam adds, bullsh*t propaganda and otherwise meaningless (Look-at-me) selfies from friends of friends of friends I never heard of. So I suicided my FB self. After a while, second thoughts moved me to try something different. I came back under a pseudonym and the photo of a stuffed monkey. I now have nine friends, all folks I seldom see but like to know when they are barking my way. Two of those never bark so for practical purposes, I have seven FB friends. 
I might hit the ‘Like’ button or offer up a short affirmation but I don’t have anything to share so I don’t post. My FB footprint is tiny and I like it that way. The less FB knows about my habits the better. I know my effort to foil them is too little too late. The personal data miners already have enough detailed information on me to accurately predict any action or decision I might make.
I broke that pattern today on FB with a simple question. “Why don’t we get fast breaking news and front page headlines about mass stabbings and stranglings?” I don’t need to paint a picture or launch a sermon. Donald Trump and his following would counter my bias with a statement that some mass murderers are really good people. Guns don’t kill people anyway, people kill people. But they do it almost exclusively with bullets, through guns. I don’t need to flesh out the rest of this story; it’s clear enough where it is headed. 
My feelings have not hardened but they have been dulled. Man’s inhumanity to mankind is a global constant. We come hardwired with two very different ways of treating each other. One is Selfish (Me-me-me) self service. “I will protect and defend what is mine and if I choose, I will take what is yours, by whatever means necessary.” It is a Zero Sum game with only winners and losers and the selfish intend to win. The other is Altruistic self service, a Win-Win game. “We are in this together and you need help, so let me help you. Someday I may need your help.” Reciprocity, tit for tat is the recipe for the Golden Rule. Some situations call for selfish and some for altruism. The dilemma comes with, how does one decide which approach; do you reach out with an open hand or turn away? Most of us tend to favor one way more than the other. Between genetics and conditioned response, we do what feels right in the moment. What feels right in the moment has never been over ruled by logic or reason. 
Some get stuck in the Zero Sum mode, it’s either us or them. You double down on fear, intimidation, and violence as a last resort but they go well with selfish. Warriors are willing to accept dead bodies rather than put down their weapons. As long as the dead are strangers it is easy to rationalize; they should have been somewhere else. Thoughts & Prayers is the coded way of saying, "Too bad, get over it." If the dead bodies are friends or family, revenge passes for justice, lipstick on the pig while the idea of changing the rules to a Win-Win game is an insult, nothing more than sissified soft soap. My fate is with the Golden Rule and Karma; what goes around comes back around. With Zero Sum there are as many losers as winners. 
I fact checked: so far this year in the U.S.A. there have been over 200 mass shootings, 27 of those in schools. There are more guns in this country than there are people. We live in a self righteous culture with an overreaching tolerance of gun violence. Sort of English speaking, Christian Taliban. Enough; I’m starting to sound sissified. So my heart has been dulled and the hurt is more ache than pain. I just wanted to know why we don’t get news flashes or headlines for mass stabbings and stranglings?

WORK UP SOME COURAGE

There was a time not all that long ago that I thought walking for exercise was an oxymoron. If I needed a break from what I was doing I might go for a walk. That was then. I walk now and the exercise is good. The body is a machine with lots of moving parts and they all need to move and answer to gravity. It must have something to do with squeaky wheels and grease. Superman was faster than a speeding bullet and leaped tall buildings in a single bound (1950’s comic books). I was faster than my little brother and leaped over puddles after a rain. Squeaky wheels were never a problem. But they squeak now, my wheels. If I don’t get some grease and move through the full range of motion, that range of motion shrinks until I can’t reach itches that I used to scratch and my knees don’t bend to suit me, hips don’t want to bend at all. 
Walking is not taxing. I go three miles in an hour. When I get back to the parking lot I feel better than when I began. I had grown accustomed to shuffling (always having one foot on the ground) but imagined how great it would feel to actually run (both feet in the air momentarily between strides) across the street and leap from the gutter up onto the curb. I did that yesterday, running for about 40 meters. In ‘The Day’ I would have called it jogging but there was the glide between footfalls. Everything worked, no squeaking and I couldn't dismiss how good it felt. Old dogs and new tricks, not exactly. The old dog part was real enough and the tricks were old as well, just long and far removed. 
While fantasizing the run and ‘shoosh’ up to the curb, another ‘déjà vu’ trick resurfaced. Jumping from the back of my pickup truck to the ground was, once upon a time, easy-peasy. Like going feet first off a diving board, you literally hit the ground running, or walking in my case. But the moving parts all worked, no squeaking and I thought nothing of it. Now I fantasize about the tailgate leap. It would take some planning and a gradual, step by step progression of lesser, practice leaps but why not? Pick a soft spot and be ready to roll. I bet I can still do that. Rolling is a great way to bleed off energy from any kind of collision. We learned that in Parachute Jump School. A hard landing can bounce you straight away from your feet to your head (not good) if gravity and inertia have their way so you roll. It would be like skydiving just leave the sky part out.
All this fantasizing with running and leaping, long term memory kicks in. I spent four years, every free hour either maintaining my parachutes, traveling to and from parachute events, hanging out with jumpers and pilots, in the plane climbing-out to altitude and that short (20 - 60 seconds) of adrenaline rush. Then there was the happy reconciliation with the ground. After walking away from a good landing, safe on the ground was a good thing. 
I don’t entertain any parachute-free-fall fantasies. Even then, (1960’s) it was expensive and I can’t imagine how costly it is now. They do have vertical wind tunnels where you can simulate free-fall. The air moves and you float on it like a kite. But that would be expensive as well. I have enough time to relearn the tailgate move. All I need is to work up some courage. 

EMPTY CHAIRS

  My personal journal, Chert Journal is its own thing and this blog has another. Chert is a common type of stone, a kissing cousin with limestone and flint, colorful with sharp edges, commonly associated with stream beds and gravel bars in southern Missouri. I thought it a good metaphor for myself. In some ways I can be interesting but then who  isn’t? What could be more Common than a retired teacher with a lesson in hand and a room of full of empty chairs? Chert Journal is about me and my story. Stones In The Road is a collection of stories to share, many are drawn from the Chert Journal. Again a metaphor, Stones In The Road can be considered hazards to avoid or be seen as pilgrims in their own right. Stones in the road need be turned over in search of a surprise discovery waiting there.
Last week I posted a piece about the Pro Life - Pro Choice controversy. I don’t usually take on controversy as I am neither buying nor selling. But it was not babies that came to the surface. It took nearly 900 words for me to hammer out that narrative. In retrospect, I am struck with my own flash of insight that only required one or two sentences. I wrote, “It’s not about babies. What legalized abortion does is, it robs men of their authority.” The argument is so easy to make. All one has to do is think about how (God) religion has subordinated women to the procreative service of man’s divine instrument. God’s purpose: it would seem that He is more committed to planting seeds than to growing plants. 
If it sounds like conspiracy theory that’s the risk of introducing stories that bigots don’t want to hear. Looking at microbes under a microscope both magnify and clarify the structure and function of tiny things up close. Looking at the world through a straw limits you to whatever a fertile imagination can fabricate from a great distance and a tiny sample. The confusion comes when wanna-believers with an unproven story argue that their straw is a microscope. Granted, most of of the (robbing men of authority) evidence is circumstantial or point of view, but there is so much of it. Add to that, common sense tradition is no better than the horse it rode in on, committed to what we (people) want to believe in the first place and how that sustains status quo. lIf you want scientific certainty you need some discipline and process to validate the premiss.
Today I wish I could sum up the story of mankind’s (Moral Construct) in two sentences. Greek and Roman scholars from Epictetus to Marcus Aurelius nailed it down pretty well. They observed, the truth is whatever we say it is. If we can agree, who would challenge us? Believing is its own truth and it can be manipulated as the need requires. The application of accurate measurement and mathematical analysis has significantly narrowed that funnel but still, it doesn’t change the way culture relies on common sense (uncorroborated prejudices we acquire in our youth). That’s how it works. Man’s authority over women has been a common sense principle since before written language, and it has been a righteous pillar of moral imperative ever since. So the view through a straw will do little to discriminate between Right (as in Righteous) and Wrong (as in Wicked). But then Right & Wrong can flip-flop anytime we agree (Roe vs. Wade); whatever we say it is.
Oh my, I haven’t even touched on where morals come from or how they work and I’m way-over my word limit. But don’t trust a common sense approach to morals and morality. It would prove woefully inadequate. I could take another swing at Morals and Morality another day but I don’t want to fuel speculation that I’m just another old teacher who would rather die with a piece of chalk in hand than live in the vacuum of empty chairs. 

RUN THE NUMBERS

  In this blog I seldom wander off into politics or religion, not much there. But several days ago I found myself weighing in on the abortion fiasco. I don’t have to be told that my compass is not calibrated like everybody else’s. Not that I’m a nut case but a few points off of magnetic north makes a difference. Being out of sync with the rest of my culture is not empowering, not enlightening, doesn’t fix anything. It just leaves me out of the loop, on the fringe. I am open enough to question my own judgment. Am I doing something wrong? I run the numbers several times and realize, no, I’m good. Kermit the frog was right, it isn’t easy being green. I’m doing what I can with what I’ve got.
The Pro Life vs Pro Choice debacle is not what it seems to be. When I run the numbers it has nothing to do with babies. Unborn babies are like tennis balls. You need them or you can’t play the game and it’s the game that counts. You don’t remember the balls that fo over the fence, only if you won or lost. I am much more sympathetic to women with a dangerous or unwanted pregnancy than with a culture that has god-like technology but is stuck both socially and emotionally in the middle ages. 
If you can, imagine back fifteen thousand years. Imagination plus language equals Story. Primitive humans needed Stories, especially when they lived in small, family clans. They took complicated, mysterious experiences, changed the context to create a simple, understandable story with the same moral message. We would call that a (myth). That was a challenging task when life was short, there were no books, no internet or microscopes, no civilized way to acquire new knowledge. Technology was fire, a pointed stick and sharp edged rocks. From that dangerous and fearful beginning, stories that featured god-like supernatural beings unfolded as religion. Sacrifice a virgin and pray for rain. Then civilization took root, agriculture and cities put lots of people in close proximity. That crowded house needed rules for the sake of order and to please the warrior-king. So together, joined at the hip, religion and government were born of the same purpose. Obviously I do not pitch my tent with the agents of omniscient, omnipotent, invisible, supernatural characters who can override nature’s rules. I have my own sacred Trinity that features Gravity, Photosynthesis and the Speed of Light. That covers it.  
Before civilization required rules, hunter-gather culture was more or less egalitarian. Men did the heavy lifting and women tended children but otherwise they cooperated of necessity and not by demand. They couldn’t ignore how interdependent they were. A family clan had to cooperate to meet their collective need. Anything that diminished one’s importance threatened the whole family. Leapfrog ahead and note that civilized culture tends to layer people into a vertical, class hierarchy, warrior-king at the top and peasants at the bottom. Equal treatment lost its way as skills and pedigrees made those well positioned people more important (powerful). Women came out on the short end of that action. Mothers were subordinated to nurturing man’s offspring and servitude. 
Connecting the dots I come up with butterflies while most of my male counterparts get guns. I suppose that is me being green again, running the numbers. Even though civilization can evolve noticeably in a human lifetime, humans themselves do not. It takes a really long time for the brain to come up with new circuits and we still need myths to appreciate what we don’t understand. 
I think it safe to say over history’s long Story, women universally have been subordinated to satisfy the whims and convenience of men and we are still honoring that primitive tradition. Back when men seized on new authority, the magic of making babies was woman’s magic, something men couldn’t do. But it was something they wanted to control; seems they still do. Abortion is robbing men of their authority; that is the grave injustice in the Roe vs. Wade decision fifty years ago. I think that is the kernel of truth in this whole issue. Abortion is robbing men of their authority. You don’t need imagination or a myth to balance those numbers. When they say, “Oh come on, that ain’t so.” oh yes, it is so. We’re still making up stories that feel righteous but with due diligence, they won’t float. Do the numbers. Things change, even soften a bit but misogyny simply will not die and stay dead. That would make God the misogynist. The issue has never been about saving babies.
In general, men don’t need to think about it. It just is. Women either accept being subordinated and concede their fate or they push back. Many women turn the other cheek and do as their culture demands. They could be either addicted to a righteous, Man created, God centered religion or have been either coerced or seduced by a testosterone paradigm where authority/control takes precedent over reciprocity and fairness. I know men personally, some in my family who would read this and stare wide eyed in disbelief; “WTF is wrong with you?” They haven’t yet but I read body language very well and I know the look. If they did I could say something like, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, maybe something, maybe nothing at all but I’m still doing the numbers and I’ll let you know if something changes.”

NOTHING TO SAY

  It has been over a week since my last blog post. Over so many years my reasons for keeping at it shift around. If it’s not one thing it’s another and they all seem to get lost for a while then find their way home again. If nothing else I write to give me something to do. A few friends and family do visit the site and they wouldn’t if they didn’t care or the writing was really bad. I feel like maybe I owe them. There is a selfish part too. There is nothing like framing language around an idea to nurture the process and I love that part. Until it has been crafted with language, like a potter at his wheel turning clay into pots, you can have experience, even a vicarious, make believe experience but you don’t have a story without words. Creating Story is to my mind what physical exercise is to muscle and bone. Without it you go soft. The more I write the more, the better I understand what I write about but it  also opens the door to relevant, peripheral stuff that slips in without an invitation. It has been over a week.
Still, I have been working on a larger project. Just how long it will be (word count) is anybody’s guess but it is already pushing 4000 words (editing as I go). Slow going waiting on the Muse, I don’t want to overreach the moment. Normal for me is; if I can’t say it in a thousand words I don’t bother. An amalgam of memoir-critique-stream of consciousness-what if-so what and it-is-what-it-is; even with a running edit it will need a major overhaul before it sees daylight. As is often the case it will serve my understanding more than someone other’s reading. Mark Twain said, “If you have noting to say, say nothing.” and I feel right now like he was speaking to me.