Morning Thoughts: Peace

C.W. and I were talking ….

He wanted to play a game, but I wasn’t in the mood. Then he explained it. See what you think. He calls it “What’s the metaphor for?” I know, I know, but let him have his fun. Here is an example, as he put it to me.

A young farmer had a farm, at least that’s what we’re told. And on this farm he has a barn, to keep things from the cold. And in this barn are hornet nests. All, we’re told are bold. But, they are quite small and cause little harm unless one harasses the individuals in the nest. The previous farmer had lived in peace with them for years. So, we have a small farm here, a big barn there, a farmer home, and hornets everywhere. See, I've told you so.

Now it gets interesting. A half-mile away, the “Mother of all hornet nests hangs from an oak three. This nest provides the inhabitants of other nearby nests.

Once a day, sometimes more often, the farmer walks down the road the half-mile and pokes the great hornet nest. As the hornets fly out in search of the danger, he quickly moves back to the farm, whereupon he goes to the barn and pokes a couple of the smaller nests. This, he thinks, makes them fearful, maintaining peace and harmony.

Well, it turns out that this particular species of hornets has a genetic code that passes memories from generation to generation. They also have communication skills.

No matter, the farmer says, “They’re just dumb hornets and I’ll handle them.” Off he goes to poke the mother-nest again.

So, what’s the metaphor for?

Hint:

Morning Thoughts: Ships

C.W. and I were talking …

He kept asking me what the hell had gone wrong. I said I didn't know, so he went outside to play with the dogs. He likes dogs. He says the Fallooninians hold them in higher esteem than they do homo sapiens. After he left, I started thinking and made some notes.

In my adult life, I’ve viewed my country, in the sense of a collective entity, as a nation with flaws, and capable of making poor decisions, but one also capable of making sublime ones: the elimination of slavery, the civil rights acts, the Marshall Plan, the de-fanging of Joe McCarthy, the efforts to remove glass ceilings for minorities and women, the efforts to afford human rights and respect to our LGBT brothers and sisters, and the care of “the least of those among us."

I’m old enough to remember the first time I saw an African-American brother allowed to sit in a movie theater or restaurant in the American South, and the first time I worked with female chief executive. I remember the first time one of my gay brothers-in-life felt safe in proclaiming to the world the sexuality that nature provided him.  (I wonder if anyone else is confused by the tendency of right-wing evangelicals to assign their own actions, particularly their shortcomings, to “God’s will” but insist on referring to the sexual physiology of others to “choosing sin).

Anyway, we’ve not fully achieved what should be moral imperatives in our country’s governance, but I do believe we try. Although the path gets blocked at times, we seem to bumble through. Our country has often benefited from wise and enlightened leaders. 

Now, I see a country increasingly run by a minority of mean-spirited, cruel, anti-knowledge creatures elected not on capabilities but on artificially created hatred of their perceived enemies . As the old salts used to say when the top-heavy ship on which I served rolled in a storm, “It will right itself.” Here is a story I wrote using my old Navy ship, the USS Hunley, AS-31 as a metaphor. The old girl always enjoyed a steady hand.

I hope my country shall, for I do love it so.

She was top-heavy and could roll in a storm.
She always righted herself. I hope we do.

  

Morning Thoughts: Causes

C.W. and I were talking …

He was wondering how the so-called pundits manage to get things wrong so often, not only wrong but wrong to the extent of assigning contradictory causes for the same incident. He was quoting from the book The Black Swan by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, who said therein,

“It happens all the time: a cause is proposed to make you swallow the news and make matters more concrete. After a candidate’s defeat in an election, you will be supplied with the “cause” for the voters” disgruntlement. Any conceivable cause can do.”

I agreed, and pointed out how the causes stated often fail to come near the real reasons behind the failure. For example, in the recent election, a number of reasons for the outcome are, according to the pundits, responsible: unrest in the heartland, poor campaigning, lack of empathy, voter apathy. Take your choice. There is a pundit espousing each, and they are all right.

Not one yet, C.W. pointed out, has mentioned the possible effect of eight years of hatred spewing into the living rooms and waiting rooms of America from so-called Fox “News.”

358. Conspiracies

“So here is the deal,” he said, taking a long pull from his cigarette. Oh yes. He, C.W, that is, was in one of his very favorite shapes, Edward R. Murrow again. “I’m organizing a vast conspiracy to assassinate an international leader in broad daylight in front of thousands of people.”

I let that sink in. We were sitting on the balcony of our condo smoking, he a "cig" and me a cigar. “Okay,” I said. “In broad daylight.”

“A vast conspiracy.”

“How vast?”

“Let’s see,” he said, and began to enumerate, “at least two foreign countries, the United States intelligence community, the FBI, the State Department, organized crime, and a myriad of citizens. Is that the right word? Myriad?”

“It is if you mean a bunch,”

“A big bunch, some of them petty criminals, two, three time losers. And we have to keep it a secret.”

“Okay,” I said, “you have your cast of characters, planning the most secretive and minutely organized act of terrorism in broad daylight in one of our country’s largest cities with cameras rolling, and you don’t want to get caught. What’s next?”

“You hire a deeply troubled person, an idiot with no experience in crime or organization, a person already under surveillance for disloyalty, to kick the whole thing off.”

“Hardly a logical choice for such a complicated assignment,” I said.

“Correctum.”

“I think you mean ‘correcto,’ don’t you?”

“Whatever. So, you think a nut-case could pull this off?”

“You would be referring to Lee Harvey Oswald?”

“No,” he said sarcastically, “Donald Duck.” He composed himself. “But ask yourself, does that make sense?”

“Not really,” I said, “but it forms a digestible narrative for the non-discerning. Go on.”

“You’re a 14-year-old-boy,” he said.

“I’m not, was once, never again, thankfully.”

“My point exactly,” he said. “Not the best of times. Your voice is changing for some reason. You are developing acne, the girls won’t talk to you, the 16-year-olds bully you constantly, you worry that you’ll never reach average height, you just don’t seem to fit in anywhere, and your grades aren’t high enough to get you into college.”

“Sounds about right,” I said. “Your point?”

“You wake up one morning, look at yourself in the mirror, and think, ‘I don’t have enough problems. I think I’ll decide to be happy, lighthearted, and carefree.’”

That confused me for a second or two, then, “I think you meant ‘gay’ didn’t you?”

“Whatever,” he said. “But yeah. It’s your language, not mine. Anyway, does it bespeak a shred of logic? 'I'll chose to be a homosexual to take my mind off my troubles?'”

“I see your point,” I said. “Want to bring it around to current events?”

“Your family is starving,” he said.

“Okay.”

“You have no money and no prospects. You hear your children crying from hunger at night.”

“Okay. Is this going somewhere?”

He ignored me. “A hundred miles of desert, snakes, killers, and other dangers away is the promise of sustenance, and hope.” He drew on his cigarette and exhaled.

“Okay.”

“Miraculously you make it to the land of plenty, but you’ve been punctured by cacti, beaten, and wounded. You are starving, exhausted, weak, penniless, and missing your impoverished family. You are a wanted criminal, fearing capture with each step you take.”

“Okay.”

“You find friends."

“Okay.”

 

What do you suppose he's thinking?
Maybe, who is the first person
he'll learn to hate, once he
masters this task? - C.W.

“They ask you what’s the first thing you want to do?”

“Okay.”

“And you say … , you say,” He stopped for dramatic effect.

“I say what?”

“You say, ‘very first thing I want is to register to vote in your elections.’”

I said nothing.

He shook his head slowly. “How in the world?”

“How in the world what?”

He looked at me and his eyes turned into eternal blackness. “How in the world did your species ever learn to make stone tools?”

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Morning Thoughs ... Music and Religion

C.W. and I were talking this morning …

He was asking me about the support of our new president among some of the more stringent elements of protestant Christianity in America. “Whatever one may think of chances that your new president may prove successful,” he said, “and we shall see, no one who has the least understanding of the Judeo-Christian religion could argue that he is a righteous man. I can see the support for him among some elements of your species, but hardly by those who call themselves godly."

I had to agree.

“There were signs,” I said, and explained that I saw it coming maybe 15 years back, but it didn’t register until lately. I used to volunteer for a community-based radio station to present a bluegrass music show once a week. (I’ve always had a fascination, to C.W.’s great amazement, with the banjo).We had a small but loyal audience, most of them religious, many of them elderly, and almost all genial and sweet … at first.

Because that type music has a strong religious element, I devoted a portion of the show to gospel bluegrass. It was a popular and graciously received segment. Groups performed many of the old gospel hymns in bluegrass style and the audience loved them, showing genuine gratitude. They would call in and make requests, thanking me for my volunteering.

Then things began to change. Callers became hostile. Comments shifted to the personal. I didn’t understand what gospel music was. This group also performed “raunchy” music and should be banned. That group had a “jap” playing in it and couldn’t love Jesus. I only played old music and didn’t play any new stuff. (What some call “Jesus is my boyfriend" music with the word "awesome" appearing at least six time). I didn’t play music about “killing all them babies.” Was I sure I had been “saved?” Contacts became more and more strident. Live festivals even began to include sermonettes against “the unholy ACLU,” liberal do-gooders (like Jimmy Carter), and disavowed politicians. A cloud of anger settled over things. Hostility joined the anger.

I soon had enough and gave it up. Had I thought it through, I might have envisioned the replacement of The Galilean with the likes of Franklin Graham.

"I've always liked the Galilean," C.W. said. "Wasn't he the one that told your species to love one another?"

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