TRANSCEND

I have been revisiting Joseph Campbell, (1904 - 1987). Imagine a guy who spends a lifetime creating a Lincoln Log/Lego model of Chicago, built to scale, nothing left out? What Campbell did was the equivalent except his pieces and parts came from myth and mythology, from the abstract, mysterious, incomprehensible experience of (BEING). This transcendent reality cannot be captured directly in words or images. It can only be experienced and it changes over time as culture and civilization evolve. Transcend or transcendence: a mouthful, difficult for simple people like me to understand or come to terms with. A change is necessary but the change itself has to surpass the earlier meaning set. If one’s performance today transcends yesterday’s it must be better, faster, bigger, etc. than it was before. A transcendent (all inclusive) reality would have to be greater than it had ever been.

At 82, a year before he died, Campbell made the clear distinction: God is a metaphor for a mysterious experience that cannot be understood but transcends (elevates) one’s reality. He goes on; It depends on what you think. If that mysterious experience transcends your reality then the metaphor becomes real rather than a coded word for the incomprehensible and the person is a Theist (believer in a real God, not a metaphor). On the other hand, if your mysterious experience does not transcend (elevate) your reality then God is just another myth, metaphor to describe the indescribable. Nothing has been elevated and Atheist is the label for nonbelievers. 

J.C., the one who died and stayed dead (was not transformed) was not a god and we don’t need a metaphor to comprehend a parallel reality. He was just a man of extremely keen insight and long term curiosity, a researcher and writer. My little dip into his accumulated knowledge vault is nothing more than that. I came here out of my own need as I’ve always maintained, I write as much to understand as to be understood. I have a long way to transcend before I can carry on a credible conversation on myth, mythology, human nature, god metaphors, etc. But I’m working on it.  

JUNE 19, 1865

After two weeks without any inspiration I have ideas and feelings that beg to be leveled. For the past three days I’ve been hearing about today’s date, June 19 and Juneteenth. From tribute to enslaved people and their tenacious resilience to a contemporary view of racial injustice as it continues to oppress people of color; I was reminded. In January, 1863 after two years of Civil War Lincoln freed all slaves everywhere. Of course, Slave owners and Southern governments disregarded that insult but in hindsight their disregard was irrelevant. In April of 1865 with General Lee’s surrender, that freedom was recognized. Slave owners relinquished their authority over former slaves and likewise withdrew any and all responsibility to care or provide for newly freed citizens. But that is another story. Gradually the news spread and a class if not a race of people began a journey of reconciliation that is still unfinished. After two & a half months the last bastion of slavery was forced to concede. Union troops arrived in Galveston, TX with official authority to free former slaves. The date has been fixed in African American culture as their Independence Day. Racism and racial prejudice still run deep in White American culture but since 2021, Juneteenth is now a Federal Holiday. The holiday does nothing to reconcile injustice and hypocrisy that still won’t die but it is a rallying point for Black Americans to never forget and never give up. 

Here today in 2024, I’m an 84 year-old white man who has been sheltered in White Privilege all my life. The first time I benefited from being white was by my mother’s prenatal care when I was in the womb and who knows how much or how often since! I don’t get angry easy but the feeling is disturbing; if breaking something would help then I would break things. Racial prejudice and injustice, even when it has been systematically institutionalized, made to seem normal, appear to be fair; it still privileges the one and oppresses the other. Privilege and oppression are opposite sides of the same coin. You can’t manifest one without perpetrating the other. When I hear stories of real people caught in that cultural trap it pisses me off. I can change my address to some far place but I can't change the legacy of white hypocrisy that weighs on my conscience like an incurable disease. I am both ashamed and embarrassed for my predecessor's part in that sin against mankind. What is even worse is the helpless feeling that I cannot change things. For generations blacks had been denied home loans outside their segregated neighborhoods, then they were charged higher interest rates and foreclosed on sooner, for less cause. When society combines racial disparity with poverty the consequence compounds. I’m just an old man chewing on an ugly, unconscionable, hateful bone; racism. For those who would take me to task as a N***er lover or worse, I would say, shame on you you SOB. 

On a much brighter note it is mid June. That is when Sycamore trees in my yard and neighbor's yards start shedding last year’s bark. By now the old bark has turned dark gray, started to peel and turn brittle. The trunk and limbs are growing in diameter and new bark is pressing out relentlessly against that old gray bark. Push comes to shove and something gives. Big slabs of old dry bark pop away from the new and fall to the ground. I mow the yard and come out the next day to see hundreds of bark shards under Sycamores everywhere, long and wide as a roll of paper towels, some curved, some flat, some in weird shapes of limb crotches and forks in the branches. Up and down the tree, new, white bark has enough stretch to accommodate trunk and limb growth and leave some flexible space for the next season’s growth. It’s like a suntan in reverse. The tan goes away and white skin takes its place. 

        I think about climbing trees, I was good at it. My kids were good at it too. My grandkids are just as good. Nothing like ascending limb after limb up a giant Sycamore ladder, up higher that the rooftop, up until limbs are no bigger than you arm and the breeze blows you back and forth like treetops in the wind; duhh! Your mom comes out and calls up, she knows you’re there but can’t see you for the platter size leaves. Mid June; a lot going on.  

PAY ME NOW OR PAY ME LATER

  Growing old is an adventure. Being old calls for staying right side up and either landing on your feet or in a soft place. Some of us, our parts wear out before they should while others keep on ticking after their warranty expires. I have lots of down time, time to ponder things that don’t really matter, old people do that. The ‘Good Old Days’ were good because we were young. I don’t know what led me to that (wisdom) but it was a no-brain conclusion. I made the connection without a prompt or an argument. Make up an analogy for taking care of your body and taking care of your car. The mechanic says, “Pay me now or pay me later.” and it will be a lot more expensive later. Once upon a time I was an adrenaline junkie but I outgrew that, now moderate in my habits and lucky as well. My adventure still has tread on its tires and gas in the tank. But times change and things happen much faster now. 
With social media and fake news there is no way to cull out the BS before the next dose gives you either heartburn or diarrhea. I remember the presidential election of 1948, I was a 3rd grader, listened to my parents talk. Thomas Dewey, the popular (R) Governor of New York was strongly favored to beat then (D) President Harry Truman but Truman upset Dewey by the narrowest of margins. There were no cries of, “The election was rigged” and Dewey did not instigate an assault on the capitol to overturn the results. America was known and admired for a history of peaceful transition of power. Americans had not forgotten Hitler’s rise to power and how authoritarian rule can backfire. Republicans and Democrats found ways to negotiate, compromise and move the nation’s course forward. 
Comedian Robin Williams used a clever if not insightful line in one of his monologues, talking about government, “Politics; poly = many, and ticks = blood sucking parasites: Politics” The comedian had pretty good instincts. With over 65 years as a legitimate adult, a good college education and decades at the school of hard knocks, I submit that I can reflect on politics in a responsible way. I realize that conservatives and liberals need each other to provide checks and balance. Without that give and take, if left unchecked conservatism would downgrade into tyranny and liberalism would descend into anarchy. One side relies on centralized, tight fisted control and the other can tolerate some chaos in order to serve the greater good. Someone famous said, “Democracy is like sausage. It’s wonderful but you don’t want to see it being made.” It takes too long and it costs way too much but it’s way better than what’s in 2nd place. 
I think one current flaw is with the way the word, “Liberty” has been convoluted. The founding fathers demanded liberty against British oversight that treated the colonies like “Red-headed step children” neither wanted nor accepted. Regardless of how it began, how it was framed and made real in the 21st Century, Liberty has literally become; Taking what you want whether it belongs to you or not, by any means necessary, without any punitive consequence. If you can get away with murder, it must be God’s will. Both conservatives and liberals understand the new rules. They just use different arguments to validate their schemes. Both points of view use knee-jerk issues to keep a knee-jerk culture distracted while the (blood sucking parasites) scheme to stay in power, power is money and getting reelected is where the blood-sucking goes on. One school wants to maximize profit at the expense of the working class while the other wants to redistribute (bloody rich people’s) ill gained wealth to meet the needs of an oppressed underclass. Even the greatest democracy in existence has smelly arm pits. 
My gut instincts lean left with the liberals but I understand it is not a rational decision. Respected researcher Jon Haidt (a moderate liberal) has done tones of research on how decisions are made and at the end of the day, every day, everybody is influenced by emotional (feelings) long before they consider logical rationale. It just is. The more important the decision the greater the probability the result was predetermined before you even knew the question. That part of the brain is not accessible, we can’t think our way around it. Cognitive therapy can help some people change the way they feel about knee-jerk issues but it doesn’t change how the brain works. So I work at considering what is so compelling for conservative thinkers. Keeping everything you earn sounds good (no programs for the disenfranchised) and it helps me see through the same lens they trust. I don’t think Jesus would carry an assault rifle and I suspect if men had ovaries there would be no abortion issue at all. I have to understand they are not stupid and their feelings are just as relevant as mine. So, If I can engage with an agreement to disagree, to listen seriously, taking notes if necessary, not to interrupt or change the subject when there is no other answer than how it makes you feel or what crafted propaganda has led either of us to believe, we can have a meaningful conversation. But probably not a good idea to share it with our own knee-jerk constituents. 
I didn’t make up the Jon Haidt research stuff but I do trust it; and I’m still old, growing older. I have trouble believing Trump cares about anything other than his own (narcissist-demagogue) appetite. If his rhetoric had been left leaning enough to generate his base in the liberal camp he would be ranting to please left wing concerns. He can live with any ideology as long as he is all powerful. Liberals are less likely to fear loss of wealth and privilege they never actually had to begin with so his appeal gravitates to more aggressive conservatives. How do I get over that? I’m old enough, I grew up understanding Hitler’s plan to make Germany great again and how Jews were blamed for every problem and Germans sucked up his swill like it was cognac. I don’t know. I don’t know.

CLARIFICATION

  Writing has a history that began with symbolic characters pressed into clay tablets from about 3,500 BCE (five & a half thousand years ago) in then, Sumer (Mesopotamia). From keeping track of grain harvested, stored and sold, writing has evolved to modern alphabets, written language and stories for every purpose one can imagine. By now reading and writing is a necessary skillset. From making your signature on a receipt to writing a text book, from reading a calendar to a (Tom Sawyer) classic, literacy is required to navigate our culture. Some have taken literacy seriously, so much so that we identify as Writers and work at length to master the art. 
Sometimes I need to clarify my Writer’s identity and this is one of those times. In 1964 as a 25 year-old college freshman I needed an outlet to vent some issues where there was no willing listener. I started writing with a purpose in a spiral notebook. A 40 year career in education followed and as my journal grew the writing improved.
After retirement in 2001 I became an itinerant storyteller, traveling anyplace and everywhere, still documenting my story, my spiral notebook had been replaced by an Apple laptop. In 2012 I summered in Halifax, Nova Scotia. My son and daughter in law requested (twisted my arm) that I convert the journal to a blog so they could keep up with me, know where I was and that I was alive and well. Me creating a blog has never been about writing for public consumption. I never stopped journaling and much of it made its way into my blog. The point is; most bloggers are trying to grow a following, I was not and I am not. Over the 12 years I've picked up a few followers but 7 or 8 hits on the same post is rare. Leaving a comment is a clumsy, unfriendly process so I have no idea who the visitors are, the website counts hits but doesn’t ID them. 
In the 1990’s I belonged to a really good writer’s guild in Grand Rapids, MI where I was nurtured by some awesome writer/friends. Y2K came along, I retired and went on the road. But I had identified heroes like Nobel Laureate, Elie Wiesel who deftly proclaimed; “I write as much to understand as to be understood.” I make that same observation. My writing explores and shapes whatever is on my mind, whatever the voice inside my head gives me. If it resonates with someone else that’s fine but I do it for me. I write it, then edit, then revise and rewrite, by the end of the process it usually stands on its own legs but I own it. I’ve learned that edit/revision/rewriting is the long, hard work of making the piece work. I remember submitting first draft reports in college and wondered why I only got C’s; duhh! By now, anytime I review old work I make new changes as I see the need. Often I write stuff in the journal/blog that needs work but then I never get back to them. It's like traveling; it's about the journey, not the destination.
This is not a disclaimer, rather a clarification. It will need cleaning up but I doubt it gets it. The point here is: Since emerging from the Covid pandemic, I’m not  happy with a lot of stuff that has gone into the blog, it’s like slow dancing. When the band stops playing and goes home, you are done whether you know it or not. So I’m not happy with some stuff I’ve done lately. Much of it is nothing more than process that needed to be written but not so much to be read. Still my kids know where I’ve been and when I’m back home again. 
Academically I was a late blooming wall flower, not ready until I was 25. I experienced the joy of discovery for the first time and I’ve never been able to satisfy that appetite. I want to know everything there is to know and I study more now that I’m retired than when it was my business. I have limits, not the sharpest knife in the drawer but I like anthropology (human history), brain based science, how we learn, make decisions, human nature, the improbability of free will, etc. It spills over into whatever else I’m working on and it muddies up my journal for sure and likewise the blog. Those old Sumerians with their clay tablets and Cuneiform symbols didn’t have a clue as to where their creative energy would take us but I’m glad they got it started when they did. 

WHO NEEDS IT?

To begin with I am an old, retired science teacher. The path I followed was delayed and in some ways strayed down a few dead ends but in the end I learned and shared lots of science content and still retain a valued life-lesson, to look (think) before I leap. I still have impulsive urges but pause and defaulting to reason has proven to be a better scheme. Passion is unreliable and after it has been spent it cares not at all about where it leaves you. As a disclaimer I would note that in philosophical terms I would be considered a Stoic. Stoics tend to be skeptics, not ones to share feelings or express ideas prematurely. Stoicism homes in on what you control (which isn’t a lot) and progresses from there. For a long time, dismissing issues where I have no control in favor of those I can put my hands on has served me well.

I am processing an experience from several days ago. Sixty seven years later, remnants of my graduating high school class meet for a monthly luncheon. There were ten of us last week; some were spouses and others were leap-frogged into our midst from the class the year behind us but we all had the same common cause. One classmate had been a best friend during our senior year and even though our futures would unfold in profoundly different ways, we still want to get along. One’s conscious, chosen identity in terms of religion and political ideology are usually deep seated, vulnerable to powerful, passionate expression. I work patiently and without exception to think and think again before I leap. As a result, I can be slow to react and appear to be detached and I don’t talk religion or politics with anyone who doesn’t already understand the difference between conversation and argument. Argument is for competing while cooperation is for cooperation, enlightenment, entertainment. Either everybody or nobody wins at conversation. My former BF knows very well that I do not share his passion for Baptist religion or conservative politics but it seemed we were agreed to disagree. It had never come up and neither has it been a stumbling block.  

Long story short: at lunch his wife unloaded on another classmate, a girl I have come to appreciate. Never close friends in school, we have parallel experiences and commonalities we now share and we get along famously. I don’t know which one broached controversial politics first but an unmitigated, one way attack by my friend’s wife followed in defense of former President Trump. She made her point in the the first words of her rant but stretched it out across several sentences. The most disturbing thing I noticed was that she both enjoyed the moment and was smug afterward. My classmate friend didn’t want to argue so my friend’s wife postured like the winner. 

Several years before, before they started coming to Lunch-bunch, I enjoyed the same kind of relationship with another one of my oldest-longest schoolboy friends (from the 3rd grade). We also avoided controversial issues. At a summer picnic however, somehow the conversation stumbled over the George Floyd murder in Minneapolis and the resulting Black Lives Matter movement. We realized where that track was headed and changed the subject. But as an afterthought he made the comment, “Blacks should be thankful for slavery because without it they would not have been born in the greatest nation ever.” I was dumbfounded. Following up I did say something to the effect; “If you had been born black you would not have said that.” He nodded, no he would not have and we moved on. But he had been serious as a train wreck when he said it. Over several days (thinking before leaping) I was troubled with how I should respond, if at all. I let it go but the next month when Lunch-bunch rolled around I didn’t go. I stayed away month to month until I realized I had looked long enough and had mande my leap. If that was to be what I could expect from a friend then I just didn’t need it and I am too old for word games over stuff that is out of my control. 

Our stalemate at the picnic was the last time I saw him. I stayed away and kept staying away. He died of a massive heart attack a few years later. Now I’m thinking again, and again, about if and when and how to leap. Four days ago when his wife was running out of breath my friend weighed in with an equally condescending observation that was in fact an indirect insult and I felt like Yogi Berra’s famous quote, “It’s dejà vu all over again.” I didn’t go there loaded for confrontation and I really don’t need that to reflect on a high school experience. I suspect come June’s Lunch-bunch I’ll be preoccupied and probably July as well. As for the other two classmates who share a long standing trust, I can see them whenever we can agree, no rules of engagement. I’m not angry, I really don’t care. Who needs it? Who needs it!

In conclusion, as I often rely on favorite sources to cast light on my little thoughts I turn to Robert Frost. 

The woods ar lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep. 

JUST ONCE IN MY LIFE

  In her acceptance speech for an Academy Award in 2007, Sally Field’s microphone was cut off my the FOX Network in mid sentence. The content of her message however was not lost. She said, “If mothers ruled the world there wouldn’t be any God-damned wars in the first place.” 
If mothers ruled the world there wouldn’t be any God-damned wars in the first place. I wish just once in my life I could be that eloquent, say something so profound. 

TINY STEPS

  Back in the early 1990’s I read a self-help book (Do It!) for people who needed help pursuing and achieving their goals. In the first or second chapter the author used an example that spoke to me, so much I still fall back on it. Simply stated, take small (even tiny) steps that move you toward reaching your goal. Every grand journey begins with a single step. Every day is a new day and you keep taking that first step from where you are at that moment, day after day, again and again. With relentless persistence one keeps moving in that direction (tiny steps) until the necessary knowledge and skills have been mastered. The one, absolute, unforgiving rule is: never compromise that tiny step, every day, for as long as ti takes.
The example he used was for aspiring writers (like me). I had been keeping a journal for twenty years and I identified with the challenge in that regard. An idiom attributed to Confucius tells us, wherever you may be, there you are: and the quest begins using the knowledge and skills you already possess. So we all begin with tiny steps, in the right direction and never give up. You don’t need a computer or a typewriter. You don’t need to take a class. If your goal is to be published and you have no experience in that discipline you can begin at the beginning, with a pencil and a piece of paper. Someday, all of those small steps will translate into knowledge and skills and you will need a computer. That relentless journey of tiny steps will (can) take you places you never imagined. 
Nowadays I am comfortable identifying as a writer. I have fair command of colons and semicolons, use run-on sentences when it servers a purpose, my spelling and grammar are adequate. Some words I like and use more than others but the vocabulary has expanded and continues to grow. Writing can be self serving or for other’s consumption, it is what it is. Yes, I am a writer. I am also a storyteller and an educator. Think of it as a blessing or a curse but once fixed in the scheme, it doesn’t expire or evaporate. So I still tell Story, still share my experience and understanding and then I write about it. 
The book, DO IT! was a good read and over the years I have taken its best idea and committed it to both memory and practice. But it begs more questions than answers. I’ve tinkered with so many different projects, toyed with dead end ideas there is no way to do all of it. But the writing has never been reduced to nothing more than, something I used to do. 
I recently came across the phrase, “. . . making strange bedfellows.” It is so well worn I should be more familiar with it. Sounds like something Shakespeare would say; “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows”  it is by Shakespeare! The Tempest, (Act 2). I had to look it up but will remember it for at least a little while. Over time it has become a metaphor; to engage in an unusual or unlikely affiliation, usually in politics, government, war, etc. It runs close parallel with, “My enemy’s enemy is my friend.” If I try to unfold that riddle it comes full circle with Israel and Gaza. I didn’t set out to land on this square but here I am. I’d be afraid to fall asleep, worried who would be in my bed with me when I wake up. I’ve been derailed to a dreadful thought. Hamas is a mirror reflection of the Talaban, second verse - same as the first. Then there is Israel, their leaders have reinvented Nazi strategy to create a 21st century holocaust. In both cases, the preferred action is to kill your enemies, kill them all. Then kill their children before they can grow up and seek that self righteous ‘Eye for an eye.” Kill them all, God is on our side. I don’t want any part of waking up in that bed. Where is the voice of reason: Gandhi gave us, “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.” I get upset just knowing and it wears me out. 
Here I’ve gone and started a good idea and it has turned on me in a cruel way. I’m sure someone famous or wise has left an appropriate quote but I don’t know who. The book DO IT! doesn’t dig in this hole. Certainly we hope for a share of good health, to love and be loved and a safe place to sleep.  It was 1978, Kenny Rogers wrote and sang THE GAMBLER; the lyrics are relevant here as he brings it home. “. . . every hand’s a winner, and every hand’s a loser, and the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep.” I can wait on dying in my sleep just don’t be sneaking in no strange bedfellows. I’m sorry; I’ll try to be more positive, more forgiving next time.