PANDEMIC DIARY

It’s Hour Come Round
December 2, 2020

Sunday was the 100th Anniversary of the publishing of William Butler Yeat’s damned perfect poem, “The Second Coming”. Written in 1919, following “The War To End All Wars”, the poem reflects the dire, apocalyptic recycling of dread, chaos, and pain. Would you indulge me my interpretation and suggestion of current relevance as I welcome your analysis in return? And, do go online to hear the spoken poem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IY2oIsA4c7k. There is also a Youtube of Williams Butler Yeats reciting the poem which has a disturbing animated lip synch, but if you shut your eyes you will hear the best version of the poem.

The Second Coming
by William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

First, the title. One might think that an Irish Catholic would be referring to the second coming of Christ. However, what we know of Yeats is that he was not religious, was more of a modernist and today might be considered a humanist. Furthermore, he offers in the second stanza a quite varied vision, not one in which Christ returns and we are redeemed, rather a ‘rough beast’ to bring some unknown future.

“Turning and turning…”, the poem opens with a vision of a ‘widening gyre’ or spiral that instead of funneling downward is spiraling upward and outward, more like a tornado Yeats likens this to the falcon which, on the hunt, flies in ever-expanding circles with its keen eyes scoping and surveying the ground in search of prey yet always alert to the instructions of the falconer. Yet, in Yeats world the gyre is, thusly, out of control., such that the falcon that is so distant can no longer see or hear the falconer. The partnership has been severed.

Why? This vision of upheaval and chaos reflected the world Yeat’s lived in ‘reeling’ out of control (a usage that will repeat itself later in the poem), what with the final end of the most destructive war in the history of man; Irish uprisings; Europe in conflagration and splintering apart. He saw the world as not able to get worse - all relationships among man were crumbling and systems and institutions were falling apart. Lawlessness and destruction and a tidal wave of blood and coagulation have settled in. And thus, “the center will not hold”, that finite point around which the spiral circles and holds fixed becomes weakened and the internal structure begins to crumble. This term was repeated in the military to describe how, if the flanks begin to weaken, the center’s hold of powerful forces will eventually be ripped apart.

And, in the midst of all this bloody calamity, without leadership, cohesion, or any sense of binding principle, all opposition, for good or for evil, is meaningless…and “mere” [total] anarchy is “loosed” or unleashed upon the world. “Innocence is drowned” [positioned nicely here following ‘tide’ in the previous sentence) in the din of upheaval. And, then in one of the greatest lines ever in all of poetry, “The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.” We surely witness this today as violent fervor spreads just like the virus laying in wait in the background of our lives. It may be true that intensity can be a disguise for conviction, but in the end it is the passionate who prevail. Maybe because the ‘best’ or good people become despondent and near giving up. And, evil can be a passion. Because evil doers love the terror and chaos and are striven to and hungry for power. While the good do nothing.

All this is precursor. And, Yeats, cleverly uses the instinctive analogy of Biblical revelation and the Second Coming. But, he quickly instructs us that he is dubious about the whole thing. He begins the first two sentences of the second stanza with the word “Surely” which can be interpreted as either ‘will definitely happen’ or, more than likely, is a question inferring that things can get hardly worse. The repetition of the word strongly infers his doubt that things will get better. Yeats, uses the word “revelation” as derived from the Greek, its application here referring to an apocalypse and more directly suggestive of an ‘opening’ or re-birth. A new world order. And so he repeats in the beginning of the second stanza. “The Second Coming” imploring us to share with him the “spiritus mundi”, his world-view, a kind of universal consciousness or collective unconscious (influenced by Carl Jung?). But, be aware, this world “troubles my sight” and is both creative and destructive, with barren wastelands and beasts coming to life whose expressions are empty and lacking empathy or condolence, like the blank stare of the sun.

This imagery is made more ominous with the allusion to the desert, both barren and lifeless. Added to which, flying about are “desert birds” or vultures circling awaiting ‘death’. What is dying? Humanity? Civilization? Reason? Suddenly, Yeats declares ‘enough already’ when “The darkness drops again” and some power of knowing that has slept for “twenty centuries” or two thousand years has been vexed and will awaken (again a reference to Christ born in a cradle around this time). But, what is awakening is a “rough beast”. Not Christ? Or Christ vexed and annoyed at what we have made of this world? Or, possbily the anti-Christ (Satan?), for his time has come…”at last”.

Finally, we see the beast “slouching” and creature-like posture. I feel this infers a return to earlier forms of human existence. In any case, it i “slouching to Bethlehem” the birthplace of Christ, again suggesting and alluding to a second coming “to be born. Yeats, does not seem to be promoting the Christian idea of being ‘saved’ or of ‘heaven’ as reward, but a re-birth that may give man another chance…or not. I sense he is leaving to the reader to determine what humanity deserves.

My sense is that if Yeats lived today hardly a word to this most extraordinary poem would need to be changed. This has been a labor of love. Mine is a singular attempt to attack and understand this poem. There are infinite ways to understand this poem for yourselves. If you are interested in sharing some of those ideas I would welcome them.

PANDEMIC DIARY

“DID WE ALREADY HAVE IT?”
November 26, 2020

I have previously written about my favorite comic strip, “Peanuts” by Charles Schultz. Schultz did not simply write comic strips that made you laugh, they also made you think, reflect, and even cry…or at the very least SIGH! He was an existential philosopher. His characters ran the metaphysical and mental health gamut - rational, profound and neurotic. His crew of children all had out-sized brains given the size of their heads and overgrown hearts given their small chest cavities. They were bulging with adult thoughts and feelings. We were able to laugh at the lingering hurts of our own childhoods as Charlie Brown and friends accepted our burden and dealt with the weight of the world bringing child-like innocence that concluded in hefty dialogues and debates and sometimes disturbing developments.

My all-time favorite Peanuts cartoon is an interaction between Schroeder, the deeply prudent piano player, and the smugly superior Lucy.

— Lucy: “Do you think that there are good days and bad days?”
Schroeder: (preoccupied with his piano tinkling) “Yeah”

— Lucy: “Do you think that there are better days and worse days?”
Schroeder: “Mmm”

— Lucy: “Do you think that there is one day that’s better than all the rest?”
Schroeder: “I guess”.

— Lucy: “What if we already had it?”

What follows are particularly relevant meditations containing themes you most likely have pondered at one time or another during 2020:

— “I gave up trying to understand people long ago. Now I let them try to understand me!” Snoopy

— “I have a new philosophy. I'm only going to dread one day at a time.” Charlie Brown

— “Just remember, when you're over the hill, you begin to pick up speed.” Charles M. Schultz

— Linus: "What's wrong, Charlie Brown?"
Charlie Brown: "I just got terrible news. The teacher says we're going on a field trip to an art museum; and I have to get an A on my report or I'll fail the whole course. Why do we have to have all this pressure about grades, Linus?"
Linus: “Well, I think that the purpose of going to school is to get good grades so then you can go on to high school; and the purpose is to study hard so you can get good grades so you can go to college; and the purpose of going to college is so you can get good grades so you can go on to graduate school; and the purpose of that is to work hard and get good grades so we can get a job and be successful so that we can get married and have kids so we can send them to grammar school to get good grades so they can go to high school to get good grades so they can go to college and work hard . . ."
Charlie Brown: "Good grief!"

— Linus: "Look out!! Ha! Now you've done it! Now you've broken a lamp, and you've got no one to blame it on but yourself!"
Charlie Brown: "Maybe I could blame it on society!"

— Linus: "Nothing goes on forever. All good things must come to an end . . ."
Charlie: “When do the good things start?"

— “No problem is so big or so complicated that it can't be run away from!”

— “Never lie in bed at night asking yourself questions you can't answer.” - Charlie Brown

— “Sometimes you lie in bed at night, and you don't have a single thing to worry about . . . That always worries me!” - Charlie Brown

— "The worst part of it is you don't know if he's barking at an owl, the moon or a burglar!"
"That's one of the drawbacks of a limited vocabulary!" Charlie Brown about Snoopy

— “It always looks darkest just before it gets totally black.”

— “Never worry about tomorrow, Charlie Brown. Tomorrow will soon be today, and . . . today will be yesterday! I always worry about the day after tomorrow!" - Charles M. Schulz

PANDEMIC DIARY

ON THIS DAY
November 25, 2020

It has been a bit of a dark time for me. I did not recognize immediately its depth of physical penetration and its generalized affect. I was not so much depressed as befuddled and bewildered. My thinking clouded, my mind and body sluggish. A diffuse, unidentifiable fatigue. A lethargy of will. Like I wanted out. But, out of what? I’m reminded of my nine or ten year old self who didn’t want to go to school, so I would place the tip of my household thermometer on a light bulb and had to be clever enough to not allow it to reach a temperature in excess of 108F. And, now, even when there is no need to cover up, no need to falsify, I still feel the need to explain myself. Or, maybe I don’t. Maybe you feel the same??? Four years has simply been enough. More than enough.

Just this morning, Adele said to me over coffee that she hadn’t felt this light and clear-headed for some time. Whew! In that moment I felt self-justified. Seen, even if it was seen by my own inner gazing. The recent election ascertainment has lifted me. Bearing witness to a stage of real public servants, intelligent and articulate people, who come with professional provenance and leadership recognition and years and years of experience, their appearance alone instilled in me a hope for our future despite all the challenges ahead.

And, what an appropriate time for this to occur. Tomorrow being Thanksgiving. I am reminded of all that I am grateful for. And, to you all I say Happy Thanksgiving. Have a most rewarding day filled with love and laughter and good food.

PANDEMIC DIARY

WHAT DO WE TALK ABOUT?
November 14, 2020

"What do we talk about?”

“What do you mean”

“I mean, ‘what do we talk about’ when our President elect becomes President. Today, I am meeting with Marla and tomorrow I see Edna, Val and Cheryl. I’ve pretty much gotten over the fact that we will have a transition, and that the next 60 days will be disruptive, hopefully in some less than disastrous way,
and that there will be work to do and other causes to advocate for, but the fear and anticipation, the loathing and acrimony is already fading in noticeable ways - my shoulders are not up by my ears; my heart rate seems to have slowed; and, I see you, my husband, not as some onstage prop where the star actor is always center stage and screaming at the top of his lungs. No, the “Star” is gruffly walking offstage never to return, leaving me to realize who the male lead was all along. My hero. For the first time in four years, I wondered what my girlfriends and I will talk about now that the Orange Bogeyman is almost done with.”

“What did you talk about before the scoundrel took office.”

“That’s what I was attempting to recall. Maybe nothing much at all. Maybe it didn’t matter. We love being together, feeling that connection, laughing at the silliest of remarks, sympathizing about a loss, lauding an accomplishment, cheering each on through one of life’s many obstructions and challenges.”

“Well, you can still contribute all those aspects of yourself.”

“Yes, I know. But it still feels as if some air has been let out. Like a late night television host who has lost the object of his or her ire, lost the set up, lost the punchline and is left having to make jokes about Harry and Meghan. What will ‘HO-HUM’ feel like?

“By ‘HO-HUM’, I’m guessing you mean NORMAL?” And, normal is EASE. And EASE…is, well…normal.” Or should be.”

“I think I can accept that. But, in time. I would like to see normal return, but only after retribution. I want to be witness to a reckoning, an elongated, financially bankrupting, ego-costly, humiliating bloodletting, a family breakdown, incarceration, a popular rejection, a comeuppance, a public pummeling…ending…in…an ‘altering’..available on CNN.”

“How lady-like of you.”

“And, we need to remember that normal cannot mean indifferent or disinterested or apathetic. Ease is the culmination of hard work, the ability to let go following purposeful intention. We can no longer be complacent.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

(she becomes pensive) “You know, you were right.

“Oh, Yeah?”

“Yes. Now I am at ease. And, all feels normal. Thank you. I didn’t know what to think about this situation. You were a big help.”

“But, I…I didn’t say…”

(she kisses me) “You’re a dear.” (she leaves and on the way out)

“But, I, didn’t…”

{DISCLAIMER: The scene is wholly fiction; the characters made up. This was not an actual conversation)

PANDEMIC DIARY

TO BE AWAKENED

November 6, 2020

To Be Awakened

When sleep slips into memory, and
the nocturnal fog of fantasy has lifted, Atlas
undertakes to lift the world, once again
to bear up and brace its weight upon
his shoulders.

Beginning another day asks so much
of us: to rake the pig shit into piles; to
reconcile endless implacable numbers; to
slap peanut butter onto white bread at 6AM; to
protect children from animus and assault.

Who wouldn’t want to dream…the fruitless
barren drift, never laying anchor or pulling into
port…hovering, descrying dangling dimensions where
reality renders not in this realm, where humans can pretend
to be Gods.

Cataclysm can cause retreat. Who hasn’t ignored
their children’s pleas? When did you last bathe in Epsom
Salts? Or, prepare your own Mac n’ Cheese rather than
that stuff in a box? Pulling out has its price; a haven is not
Heaven.

That “…the forces of destruction no longer needed the shelter
of the dark”(*) emboldened a contingent of calamitous
charlatans to pierce the veil of norms and
rationality, to threaten a society under undue
pressure to seek solutions.

Our savior evolved from crumbs of bankruptcy and
Big-Mac’s - a sad, pathological narcissist without
compunction or care. Graduating from ‘Mein Kampf U’,
tutored by Professor Roy Cohen, and supported by
vacuous legions with much…or nothing…to hide.

No autocrat survives rose gardens or oval rooms
’in perpetuum’. You either step nobly down, or
stumble and fall without garlands and wreathes.
Anxiously we await for doves. Anxiously we await
to be awakened.

• “…the forces of destruction no longer needed the shelter
  of the dark”. from “Shalimar The Clown” by Salman Rushdie
  

PANDEMIC DIARY

POOH LA LA!

November 5, 2020

While writing my October 28 blog post, “Because I remember”, I forgot. I forgot to include a memory that makes me laugh every time I think of it…except I forgot to include it. The nice thing abut blogging is that I can clean up an oversight by writing about it. And, this demands its own space. Problem solved.

It took place in France. Adele and I were in Dordogne. We had a house for a month near the village of Sarlat. The Dordogne, a department in the Southwest of France, is sometimes referred to as “le Perigueux” after its most famous town, Perigord. That should give you a hint as to what the Dordogne is famous for: truffles; pate de foie gras; duck and goose; and walnuts. The French also know it as the most stalwartly traditional region in France. When you are in Dordogne, you eat as a Dordognian. This is a hearty, rustic, authentic area whose heritage is reflected in the food, topography and its people. Let us not forget fairy-tale castles and grandly majestic chateaus, often hidden by morning mist that sits upon the turrets and towers like frail, wafting cotton puffs flowing down the Dordogne river.

To further pursue and absorb the regional customs and pleasures, I made a reservation at a restaurant on a most picturesque canal in a small, nearby village. Located in a historic building, the dining room was decorous yet not staid - a balance of propriety and a casual air. We were greeted graciously and brought to our table overlooking the waterway and seated.

The waitstaff was clad in one of the many service outfits typically associated with French waiters, as you see in the picture below.

The menus and wine list were presented for our examination and the waiter departed to allow us time to review the menu. When he returned it was with pen and pad in hand ready to discuss preferences, answer any questions and take our order. Our waiter was young and conversational with halting English and heavily French-accented. Still, he communicated well, was prepared to respond to our inquiries being thoroughly familiar with the menu’s offerings and seeing that we were prepared to order lifted and readied his pad and pen for us to convey our evening’s culinary selections.

However, before we could articulate our choices, the young man, deadpan and enigmatically took two steps back from the table, and while still facing us, let out,

“BRRRFFFFFPPPPPPHHT”

a rip-roaring fart. And, then, as if time stood still for those seconds, the waiter stepped back to the table with the same non-expression, pad and pen on the ready, and stood there…waiting to take our order. The waiter was so surprisingly casual upon his return, uncannily poised, and totally self-forgiving, like someone with crime-related amnesia, that we, too, simply went with the ‘pooh’ and placed our order.

Never had we needed to refrain so wholeheartedly from laughing at a truly comical moment. That we didn’t break into fits of hysterical laughter was testimony to the young man’s poise, so seamless was he in the execution of his duties. Dinner over, we paid our bill, thanked the staff and bid farewell. The moment we stepped out onto the street, Adele and I peed in our pants with laughter.

PANDEMIC DIARY

PRIMORDIAL DARKNESS

November 4, 2020

“I wrote ‘The Index’ while attending a residency at Hedgebrook. I woke up in the middle of the night from a dream about an index that held the name and life story of everyone on Earth. I scrawled out the first lines in my bedside notebook, then I remembered a headline I’d read about the ‘discovery’ of a new Earth-like planet. I thought about that word, ‘discovery’ and how it was used to justify the dispossession and genocide of Indigenous Peoples of the western hemisphere. The poem was written with an urgent feeling that everyone ought to pull together and figure out how to live sustainably on this Earth with each other, otherwise, we carry ‘discovery’ forward in our hearts, as a justification for genocide and the continued destruction of our planet.”
—Rena Priest —

I, likewise feel that the word ‘Democracy’ has become code for the race to the bottom. Democracy has become our justification for self-interest, excessive power, economic control, white privilege, institutionalized racism and classism presenting the merest veneer of .choice, freedom and individuality. The ‘electoral college’ has been turned upside down to the advantage of low population states giving them out-sized power and influence in disproportion to those they represent. “The system is rigged” is now a quaint understatement.

On the heels of an election that went sideways, although when all votes are counted Joe Biden may still become our President, I am offering a poem by Rena Priest, the explanation of which introduces today’s blog.

THE INDEX

Rena Priest

In the beginning there was darkness,
then a bunch of other stuff—and lots of people.
Some things were said and loosely interpreted, 

or maybe things were not communicated clearly. 
Regardless—there has always been an index. 
That thing about the meek—how we

shall inherit the earth; that was a promise
made in a treaty at the dawn of time. 
It was agreed upon in primordial darkness                 

and documented in the spiritual record. 
The nature of the agreement was thus:
The world will seemingly be pushed past capacity. 

A new planet will be “discovered” 31 light-years away.    
Space travel will advance rapidly, 
making the journey feasible. The ice sheets will melt. 

Things will get ugly. The only way to leave
will be to buy a ticket. Tickets will be priced at exactly
the amount that can be accrued

by abandoning basic humanity. 
The index will show how you came by your fortune:             
If you murdered, trafficked or exploited the vulnerable,

stole, embezzled, poisoned, cheated, swindled,
or otherwise subdued nature to come by wealth
great enough to afford passage to the new earth;

if your ancestors did these things and you’ve done nothing
to benefit from their crimes yet do nothing to atone
through returning inherited wealth to the greater good 

you shall be granted passage. It was agreed. 
The meek shall stay, the powerful shall leave. 
And it all shall start again.

The meek shall inherit the earth,
and what shall we do with it, 
but set about putting aside our meekness?

PANDEMIC DIARY

ITS NOT A PREDICTION

OCTOBER 29, 2020

Weather prediction is, at the very least, an inexact science: [Actual forecasts]
”The sun will absolutely shine out of your butt today”.
”Today clouds will roll in and blacken the sky however, not as dark as my soul”.
“We can look forward to a sunny day that will continue to heat up. Get Back, you brutal yellow globe”!
”The forecast is for a cold, constant drizzle. Go home Mother Nature! You’re drunk.”

Of course, ‘normal’ weather forecasts are also comical and statistically speaking not more accurate:
”Variable clouds with a chance of light showers”.
”Intermittent rain with periods of intermittent sunshine”.
”The day will start off with wind and the wind might continue into the afternoon and evening hours”.
”Partial sunshine will make for a nice day. While periods of possible showers might dampen your plans”.

Nothing here makes sense. Nothing means anything. It’s all hedge and no forecast. A jumble of equivocation: Patchy; Partial; Mostly; Variable. I especially like the one that says, as an example, “rain likely in your area” - the “area” being a 50 mile swath of countryside. How likely? What area…within the area?
“Your guess is as good as mine.” should be their slogan.

Right now, I am less concerned about the weather forecast than I am about the political forecasts, which in 2016 more resembled weather forecasting. The Republicans were crying in their milk well into the wee hours. The Democrats were prematurely popping the corks of Champagne bottles, toasting their impending victory. Impending??? There is another of those words.

Last night, Adele and I attended a virtual meeting with Larry Sabato, who is the premier political forecaster in the business - rated #1 with FiveThirtyEight rated #2. A chaired professor of Political Science at The University of Virginia, he is a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, Founder and President of Center for Politics, promoting public engagement and civic participation, and frequent guest commentator on CNN, MSNBC, and FOX News. In other words, he is well regarded for his methodology and accuracy.

This is Larry Saboto’s Crystal Ball prediction for the Presidential Election. (you can view online)

What he said last night that struck me is that over the past four year pollsters have learned a lot. They have learned of whole new sets of variables that were not in play in 2016: White non-college graduates; Outlying districts within States; Evangelicals. These were all glommed into larger, more inclusive groups. Their importance as swing voters was not fully appreciated. And, there are four times as many high quality polling organizations

If you know of anyone in those marginal or “Toss-ups” states, please call them and persuade them to vote. Also, Larry Sabato will be coming out with a final map for the Presidential race, Senate, and Congress on Monday. So, stay tuned.

PANDEMIC DIARY

“THAT CANNOT BE TAKEN AWAY”

October 28, 2020

“That Cannot Be Taken Away”

Because I remember the feel of cold steel climbing the jungle gym;
Because I remember being told “not to get dirty” in my new shorts;
Because I remember the taste combination of mom’s pot roast and Kasha;
Because I remember running for G.O. President in Junior High School;
Because I remember kissing Isabel while Johnny Mathis sang “Misty”;
Because I remember road trips to Kensico Reservoir for foot-long fried frankfurters;
Because I remember Dina breaking my heart;
Because I remember Friday nights spent with my brother, Chuck, and Barry Manilow;
Because I remember my lips and nostrils burning at Harbin Inn, New York’s first Hunan restaurant;
Because I remember seeing Nina Simone at the Fillmore East in Greenwich Village;
Because I remember eating with the great chef Alfredo Viazzi at his trattoria;
Because I remember my father and I going to the movies, just he and I, for my 14th birthday;
Because I remember jumping from a bus, chasing a thief who stole a pocketbook from an elderly lady;
Because I remember where I was when Kennedy was shot;
Because I remember where I was transfixed watching the unfolding of 9/11;
Because I remember having my hair clipped by Paul Mitchell;
Because I remember the sense of isolation waking on a Merchant Marine ship in the middle of the Atlantic;
Because I remember being reunited with my childhood friends, Bruce and Bob, after nearly a half century;
Because I remember holding Alexander for the first time;
Because I remember my blue Toyota Celica, the first car I purchased with my own money;
Because I remember the pain I felt watching Dustin Hoffman portray Ratso Rizzo in “Midnight Cowboy”;
Because I remember the great Zoe Caldwell in “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie”;
Because I remember multiple anterior dislocations of my right shoulder;
Because I remember picking up and moving to Chapel Hill without a job;
Because I remember meeting Paul Bocuse, the ‘chef of the century’ who innovated ‘Nouvelle Cuisine"‘;
Because I remember behaving inappropriately and getting fired from my first professional job;
Because I remember how she responded to my question, “Are you Hungarian”…”No. I’m from BROOKLYN”;
Because I remember receiving the phone call advising me that our company had been sold for millions;
Because I remember meeting my ‘brother’ in Israel and becoming part of a family;
Because I remember how a college friend of mine and I purposefully set up camp in the path of a tornado;
Because I remember each day to express gratitude for having Adele in my life;
Because I cannot and absolutely will not regret what I have lived no matter what happens this election day.
I will not regret creating my own deliciously imperfect life.
That cannot be taken away.

PANDEMIC DIARY

HEALING DEFINES US

October 27, 2020

Healing defines us. I awoke this morning and, as I am want to do, examined my operative knee. My surgical knee. My ‘bionic’ knee’. The ‘invaded’ knee now implanted with military grade artillery metal and nearly eternally lasting synthetic polymers — the former for strength and endurance; the latter for durability and comfort - glides easily, feels no pain, no cricks, and no encumbrances. After three months of active recovery, I am beginning to feel like myself…none other.

Healing takes time. It is a restorative process. However, the therapeutics takes place under cover of bulging blobs of black and blue bruising. The swelling is massive and ran up into my groin area and down to my foot. All definition was lost. All attributes and contours of my physical structure were hidden by contusion, a ‘fluid’ filled mass.

Now, here’s the thing. As I began to heal, the discoloration faded and resolved. The swollen hills reduced into dunes of definition. I could begin to see the outline of what was my knee. The abscess no longer hid completely what laid beneath. Like a sand sculpture, as more was removed the deeper the detail one could see. I thought, “exposure is revelation”. Take away the injury and you are left with insight. Remove the harm and authenticity is revealed.

Isn’t that exactly what is occurring during these difficult times? We are being attacked by concealment at its most destructive and venal form. I got to thinking about our lives in the age of Trump; Covid; Barr; McConnell; Meadows; Stone; etc. and how we have become ‘swollen’ with fear and anger; inflated with rage; and, bulging with a desire to repudiate. We are not ourselves. Or, we are our injured selves. And, just as a foreign object has been inserted into my body, so have individuals of a distinctly different moral and ethical bent been inserted (or invited???) into our societal psyche. We are inflamed by this presence of alien forms. We want to reject the entering fault and eject actively infecting systems so we may return to a semblance of normal functioning. It would be bad enough were it merely the pandemic of viral contagion. Add to that the raging illness of self-interest; racism; classism; caste; and, corruption and we may soon discover that it is too late to heal the body politic.

We have been the unwitting subjects of ethical surgery.

When Adele was pregnant and enduring her 16 hours of labor, she agonized in a room with a hanging statuary of Christ on a Cross. Despite the fact that she is Jewish, she asked for and garnered all the help she could get in a screaming plea to all who would listen. I feel like that now, willing…desperate…to ask the mythical gods for their help and guidance. To heal what divides us. To rid ourselves of what we created in our midst.

We shall bear witness Judgement Day, (of sorts), November 3. May the gods be with us. And, VOTE!

Love to you all.

PANDEMIC DIARY

HIGGLEDY PIGGLEDY

October 16, 2020

Let’s have some fun!

Higgledy Piggeldy is a poetic verse form in double dactyl format. Invented in 1951 by Anthony Hecht and Paul Pascal, HP has a strict structure, more difficult to write and more formal than a limerick, usually meant to be humorous or ironic.

[from Wikipedia’s complex definition] There must be two stanzas, each comprising three lines of dactylic dimeter ( ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ) followed by a line consisting of just a choriamb ( ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ). The last lines of these two stanzas must rhyme. Further, the first line of the first stanza is repetitive nonsense, and the second line of the first stanza is the subject of the poem, which in the purest instances of the form is a double-dactylic proper noun. There is also a requirement for at least one line, preferably the second line of the second stanza, to be entirely one double dactyl word. [for further examples by the best — https://www.math.wisc.edu/~robbin/Higgeldy.txt]

It looks like this to my simple mind:
Repetitive nonsense [Higgledy Piggledy]: 2 x 3 syllables; 1st syllable of each emphasized
Subject of the poem: 2 x 3 syllables like line 1
Have at it: 2 x 3 syllables like line 2
Finish your thought: 1: 1: 2.

6 - syllables
Usually one word with six - syllables, although you use a 6 syllable word in lines 1 or 2.
Bring it home: 6 syllable like line 1
Close with a rhyme to the fourth line of the first stanza 1: 1: 2.
—Remember this is supposed to be humorous—

The following are my creations.

Higgledy Piggeldy
fuck the Republicans
boorish old white men who
fart on command
Antediluvian
misanthropoligists
Trump calls to order, his
blowhards jug band.

Higgleski Piggleski
Putin’s name - Vladimir
Vladimir Vladimir
His given and middle
So repetitiously
imperialistically
has Donald Trump’s fat ass
on a hot griddle.

Higgledy Piggledy
Horrid Mitch McConnell
quadruple-chinned golem
So evil and vile
Lifted sanctions on Russia
unceremoniously
his soul sold to donors
a pile of bile.

I have had quite the difficult time taking my head out of the mire, turmoil and uncertainty surrounding the forthcoming election. I haven’t felt at the top of my game — lolling around hoping for it to be November 4th…and worthy of celebration.

Have fun with these and if I get a few I will publish them.

PANDEMIC DIARY

NEVER UNDERVALUE YOURSELF

October 6, 2020

Never let it be said that I am unwilling to ‘borrow’ ideas or stories when they accrue to some benefit. In a now famous interview, Dick Cavett asked Mike Nichols, the great film director of movies like “Kramer vs. Kramer” and “The Graduate”, who he was influenced by. Nichols huffed his response, “Influence me? You mean ‘who did I steal from’? No one borrows from or is influenced by another artist. They steal. They take what’s there and build upon it. That’s the ‘art’ part. How you build on what’s already there. That’s how we learn and grow.”

I saw this lovely story in a LinkedIn post that I would like to pass on:

“A father said to his daughter, “You have graduated with honors, here is a car I bought many years ago. It is pretty old now. But, before I give it to you, take it to the used car lot downtown and tell them I want to sell it and see how much they offer you for it.”

The daughter went to the used car lot, returned to her father and said “They offered me $1,000 because they said it looks pretty worn out.”

The father said, “Now, take it to the pawn shop.” The daughter went to the pawn shop, returned to her father and said, “The pawn shop offered me only $100 because it is an old, run down car.”

The father asked his daughter to go to a car club now and show them the car. The daughter then took the car to the club, and returned and told her father, “Some members of the club offered $100,000 for it because it’s a Nissan Skyline R34, it’s an iconic car and sought by many collectors.”

Now, the father said this to his daughter, “The right place values you the right way. If you are not valued, do not be angry, it means you are in the wrong place. Those who know your value are those who appreciate you. Never stay in a place where no one sees your value.”

I very much related to this story. As a young man I felt deeply each rejection. I might have reflected that the used car salesman was better than me, or the pawn broker simply trying to take advantage of me. I operated as if something was not right with me and I was at the effect of others. Those judgments did not serve me and they were not accurate profiles of the other people either. Each was doing his job. Their behavior had little, if anything, to do with me.

My epiphany came some years later when I was interviewing for a sales management position. I was brought into an office, sat opposite the desk of a positioned person who immediately struck me as full of himself. We talked for maybe a few short minutes, not really long enough to get any true sense of who I was or my capabilities, when he literally shoved some piece of shit on his desk towards me, maybe a pen and pencil holder or a sharpener, and said leaning back in his chair like some tycoon, “Here, sell this to me.”

I immediately felt sullied and dirty. What was this, performance art? An entertainment for his sole enhancement? My mind was operating at a furious pace jostling between “Fuck you” to accommodating him for the sake of getting hired. But, this was the new me. I said, “You haven’t asked me a single question about my experience or competencies. I admit, that is not the total picture, however, there is no way I am going to do a trained seal act for you to satisfy your neurotic need to embarrass and humiliate. All you’ve demonstrated to me is that you are not worth hiring.” At which point, I ceremoniously gathered my materials into my attache case (remember those) and on the way out smiled and said, “I just sold myself in case you missed it.”

I called up my then girlfriend and took her out to lunch.
There were two people at the table that valued me.
I was glad to be one of them.

PANDEMIC DIARY

ON THE WAY

October 5, 2020

Two years One Month 21 Days

Sorry! My mind and body have taken a slight vacation. Adele and I left for a one week ‘stay-near-cation’ at Topsail Beach. We arrived on Saturday. And, my physical and spiritual Presences have gratefully drifted along with the tide.

I hope to return to writing soon with some observations and comments about today’s events and things more jolly…plus Part 2 of Edward Snowden For President. In the meantime, on the way down to Topsail, we detoured to Tarboro, NC, where Adele read an article on a notable 19th century church cemetery worth a visit. And, it was.

Coincidentally, we stopped at a ‘double-wide’ grave site with the names of two children. And, in stone images, two crosses floating on water. (I do not have a picture of the stone) That evening, on a local broadcast, the newscaster was presenting historical events in the region highlighting Tarboro, NC. The story was about the same cemetery [Calvary Parish Episcopal Church] we had just visited, and in particular that grave site.

Each of us walks their own unique path…

It is a story about two friends, girlfriends, who were inseparable. They lived next to each other and spent their waking hours together as one. Side by side. They went swimming one day, the tide making it difficult for one of the girls to swim to shore. The other girl, dutifully, turned around and swam back to help her friend. They died in their efforts. Died together. Buried side be side. Forever inseparable.

…and, beauty restores.

Have a great week!

PANDEMIC DIARY

“AT-ONE-MENT”

September 27, 2020

“Why, in God’s name, would they request I speak at synagogue? Years ago, I received an email from the rabbi asking if I would address the congregation on Yom Kippur, the highest holy day on the Jewish calendar. This must be a mistake I thought. I am effectively worse than a non-practicing Jew. I have no use for religion. I am more closely related to heathen than human. Who possessed this bright idea to have me speak? Like I was an expert? Did they think that I needed to repent for my extensive sin-making, and this was a sneaky way of me addressing my character flaws? Or, did they think that upon researching for this address I would discover some gem of insight and commit myself to ‘davening’ [praying] and daily recitation of liturgical prayers.

At the time of the request I am guessing I was in my early sixties. Not even an elder, quite yet. I gave annually to the synagogue, but was not a large institutional donor. Yet, the email said, words like, “to fulfill an honor”. I was being honored. Evidently, it is an honor to stand at the bima [pronounced bee’ma], or the raised area [podium] in front of the synagogue, while the Arc is opened and the Torah Scrolls removed. Worse than the idea of delivering an address to a congregation of Jews, who although were mostly not devout themselves, were Jews who at least practiced and some who attended synagogue weekly, was the idea of being bestowed this honor and facially and physically not betraying the indifference I felt while standing in front of the congregation.

My singular salvation was approaching this task like a scholar, delving deeply into inference, and suggestion, and interpretation and coming out with a new way of viewing the significance of this holiest of days. A view that I could get behind with all sincerity so that my expression and body language would not forsake me.

I promise to keep this brief just in case I am losing you already. Yom Kippur is a day in which God decides the fate of every Jew on Earth. How god knows who is Jewish and who is not is a mystery. So, before the arrival of this judgement, as it were, it makes sense to run to synagogue and say in the Hebraic equivalence, “Oy!, God, did I fuck up this year. I want to make amends and ask for your forgiveness for all the sins I committed this past year.” Cynical, you say? More sarcastic. But, in this day and age of wanting things fast and brief, it must be comforting to note that instant repentance has been around for the ages.

Literally, Yom Kippur translates to “Day of Atonement”. A day in which you receive absolution for the mistakes made. A kind of clearing of the emotional and spiritual house so you can move on with your life. And, then I saw it. It was right in front of me. Staring me right in the face. A concept I could get behind. If you simply broke down the work ‘atonement’ it revealed what it truly means.

‘At-One-Ment’

The true purpose behind Yom Kippur and most other acts, religious or otherwise, of forgiveness is so that the individual no longer has to live divided. The person is “at one’ with him or herself. That sense of living and being a vital part of the universe and nature and how and why it and we exist is why we ‘clear the slate’. And, forgiveness starts at home - the ability to forgive ourselves is the hardest lesson to learn. Each day we can practice forgiveness…starting with ourselves. Therein lies peace and satisfaction, gratitude and, of course, love.

The address went well and was received with polite applause. But, when the rabbi said, “I never quite thought of it that way”, I thought B-I-N-G-O. I was a scholar.

“May your name be sealed [inscribed] in the book of life”.

PANDEMIC DIARY

EDWARD SNOWDEN FOR PRESIDENT:
PART 1 — The Origins of Domestic Spying

September 25, 2020

On the morning of September 11, 2001, terrorists flew two hijacked passenger planes into the World Trade Center towers in New York City. The buildings imploded from the heat generated by the explosions and ensuing fires that raged.

[Note: Although Adele and I were living in North Carolina at the time of the terrorist attack, our apartment in New York City was a mere three blocks from the foot of The Brooklyn Bridge as you see it in the picture. (TO THE LEFT OF THE ARCHES AND DOWN THE STAIRS) Brooklyn Heights is an historical landmark community of 19th century brownstones and townhouses with a picturesque 1/3 mile walk on the promenade situated on the lower East River from which vantage point, overlooking Lower Manhattan, is the perfect view of The Twin Towers.]

At that very moment, everything changed for America. Along with the destruction of two of the world’s largest buildings, American Democracy began to burn and collapse. However, the real story is about the self-inflicted wounds. A genealogical tale of paranoia, projection and politics.

The American Flag at the base of the smoldering remains of The Twin Towers

One has to go back to 2006 when Mark Klein, an AT&T engineer provided a sheaf of papers to the lawyers at the Electronic Frontier Foundation, that revealed and established damning evidence that the National Security Agency [NSA], in cooperation with AT&T, was illegally compiling and amassing the internet usage of American citizens and funneling it into a database.

These same documents, this indisputable evidence, became the crux of a civil liberties lawsuit against the government and AT&T. However, in July 2008, Congress along with then-Senator Barack Obama (D-Illinois) voted to override the rights of American citizens to petition for a redress of grievances. Congress passed a law that absolved AT&T of any legal liability for cooperating with the warrantless spying. The bill, signed quickly into law by President George W. Bush, largely legalized the government's secret domestic-wiretapping program.

Mark Klein faded into history without a single congressional committee asking him to testify. And with that, the government won the battle to turn the internet into a permanent spying apparatus immune to oversight from the nation's courts. Mark Klein opined, “I didn’t expect the terrorists to be so successful ultimately in getting us to abandon our core principles.”

Following years of covert spying, in June 2013, The Guardian newspaper reported that the National Security Agency (NSA) was ‘collecting’ the telephone records of tens of millions Americans. The paper published the secret court order directing telecommunication’s company, Verizon, to hand over all its telephone data to the NSA on an "ongoing daily basis".

That report was followed by revelations in both the Washington Post and Guardian that the NSA tapped directly into the servers of nine internet firms, including Facebook, Google, Microsoft and Yahoo, to track online communication in a surveillance program known as Prism — a surveillance system launched in 2007 by the US National Security Agency (NSA).

How did this all come about?
A 1978 law - the Foreign Intelligence and Surveillance Act [FISA] - had set out the conditions under which a special three-judge court would authorize electronic surveillance if people were believed to be engaged in espionage or planning an attack against the US on behalf of a foreign power.

Following the 9/11 attacks, the Bush administration secretly gave the NSA permission to bypass the court and carry out warrantless surveillance of al-Qaeda suspects and others.

After this emerged in 2005, Congress voted to both offer immunity to the firms that had co-operated with the NSA's requests and to make amendments to FISA providing greater latitude to surveillance operations without prior authorization.

The relaxation to the rules introduced in 2008, meant officials could now obtain court orders without having to identify each individual target or detail the specific types of communications they intended to monitor so long as they convinced the court their purpose was to gather "foreign intelligence information".

In addition they no longer had to confirm both the sender and receiver of the messages were outside the US, but now only had to show it was "reasonable" to believe one of the parties was outside the country.

In 2019, Edward Snowden’s memoir, ‘Permanent Record’, was published.

He describes the 18 years since the September 11 attacks as “a litany of American destruction by way of American self-destruction, with the promulgation of secret policies, secret laws, secret courts and secret wars”.

Part 2 to follow…

PANDEMIC DIARY

THE BI-ANNUAL SWITCHEROO

September 24, 2020

Its that time of year again. Its the time of year when you wonder if it is yet that time of year. Wondering, as in a stalling tactic. You wonder because wondering is less painful that doing the “switcheroo”. You think, “I’ll wait”, and then a few days pass and the morning temperature goes from sixty-two degrees down to forty-seven degrees and you say to yourself, “I should have done the switcheroo sooner.” What yo are left with is having to hunt for a single piece of clothing that will get you through the day without knowing where you stored it at the end of the last season.

There is no exact time to do the switcheroo. Particularly, for us in North Carolina when the weather is so variable due to the competing influences of moist, warm, tropical elements and the colder, dryer forces of polar air masses. So we stand…and ponder…and eventually get it wrong. Inevitably, doing the switcheroo either too soon or too late.

Have you ever stood in your closet, looked at your clothes and said to no one in particular, “Nah. Not yet”, then walk away thinking, “Aw, shit. I really should get this done”. Its not so much that you don’t like doing the ‘switcheroo’. Its more about what the switcheroo represents. And, this time of year it can only mean one thing. Winter is rapidly approaching. And, that sucks.

Of course, under current conditions of Coronavirus, the question arises “does it really matter”, particularly in this year of ‘stay at home’ and quarantine. I have hardly worn anything other than my shorts and tee shirts or sawed-off muscle shirts. I am doing so much nothing I don’t even shower daily. I am not going anyplace.. Why go through all this trouble?

Here are some of the exchanges which must take place:
— My Panama Hats made of Ecuadorian straw will get exchanged for a Beaver Fur Fedora.

— My glen-plaid cotton pajamas will be exchanged for scotch-plaid flannel pajamas.
— My shorts will be put away and my sweatpants will come out.
— My tongs will give way to my fleece-lined slippers.
— My short-sleeve tees will be replaced by long-sleeve tees.
— My open-toed sandals become actual shoes.
— And, my turtlenecks go on the shelf.

This past weeks', as morning as temperatures dropped into the high forties and low fifties, we finally got to use our two new patio heaters. They were purchased to extend the outdoor season.

I really am experiencing cabin fever. I am anticipating for these feelings to worsen and grow because of the cold and inclement weather ahead. So, even before I do this Fall’s switcheroo, I am already thinking of the time when early next year the weather will invite me to consider if its time to do the Spring switcheroo.

PANDEMIC DIARY

NOTORIOUS R.B.G.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg
May her voice rise above the din of fear and the pandemic of hate and ‘otherism’.

September 20, 2020

NOT FORGOTTEN

A body diminutive;
a chirp and a flutter
might her wings break

But, no. Her gilded intellect
Soars, casting shadows
on black robes

Her power makes men
cower having Truth
to bare and the
burden of law.

A conservatives carnage:
literalists, originalists
remain to mold freedom
for the few.

What is left but philosophical
squalor and civil unrest.
A pandemic of politics.

There is only us left
in her passing and Right
rubble. Only us.

The body will lie in
State. Our commitment
shall rise from narrow
pine encampment,

Like a vision of He who
had risen, and engender
the equality and freedom
that one body diminutive
fought and died for.

PANDEMIC DIARY

ROSH HA-SHANAH

September 17, 2020

You may wonder why a religious cynic would even take up the subject of the two Highest Holy Days on the Jewish calendar? However, here we are, one day removed from the start of the Jewish New Year, ‘Rosh Hashanah’, literally translated, “the head of the year’ or ‘the beginning of the year’, and I thought I’d give it a shot.

I think it was the great psychologist, Scott Peck, who said, “You can remember the past, but don’t ‘re-live’ it; you can plan for the future, but don’t ‘pre-live’ it”. Sounds very Buddhist to me. And, very good advise. I bring this up because Time is an important element in Judaism. Most religions, indeed the average individual, imagines time to be a straight line with infinite unique points that have never existed before and will never exist again. Ergo, George Santayana’s prophetic reflection, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

In the Jewish faith, time is more of a spiral where time moves ahead and each year passes through seasonal cycles, coordinates on the cycle that are imbued with certain qualities and spiritual meanings and potentials. Or, if George Santayana were Jewish he might have noted that, “Those who remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” OY VEY!

In truth, the holidays in the Jewish faith are guideposts. They are intended to reminds us of the spiritual opportunities that exist as we remember and reflect on the historical significance of the events that took place in our history. An example would be the Passover celebration when the Jews escaped the oppression in the Land of Egypt. Passover reminds us of freedom, a lesson not to be forgotten. So, on Passover we retell the story of our journey to freedom.

Rosh Hashana is the beginning of the new year and together with Yom Kippur we are provided the opportunity to reflect on our behavior the previous year and to make amends for our wrong doings. We celebrate the sweetness of life and the forthcoming year in which we can live a more perfect life. We dip apples in honey - the apple a symbol of harvest and abundance with the taste of honey that adds sweetness. It is also a reminder that when we were born, we we conceived in a state of innocence. Yom Kippur is a ‘cleansing’ from past mistakes and a chance to return us to ‘a clean slate’.

I have ignored most of the purely religious aspects of this holiday to keep this message simple and straight forward. I wish to take this opportunity to wish my friends of the opportunity to that life offers these beginnings everyday of our lives. I also want to extend my sincere appreciation for having you all in my life that makes my blogging of significant meaning to me. This blog provides me the opportunity to realize what is important to me and how I wish to exist in the world.

So, although today is the start of the Jewish New Year, may we all reflect on our lives for this moment and appreciate that we are all seeking to make this day and each day a possibility for better times ahead,

L’shanah Tovah! May we each have a good, sweet, peaceful and loving New Year.

PANDEMIC DIARY

Part 3 : “The Promise” : Cultism

September 16, 2020

No quote in recent memory has so concisely described what is occurring in these United States.

Stated slightly differently:

“There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that 'my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.”
Issac Asimov

What is the attraction of the “cult of personality”? In the previous blog post I provided a list of techniques associated with minutiae and its intentional use to misdirect our collective attention. Lo! and behold, this morning (as I do each morning) I received and read the daily post of Heather Cox Richardson, possibly the most dedicated reporter of pure news working today. Her post started like this: “Lots of people are tired right now. Indeed, the whole point of the constant stream of chaos coming from the administration is to exhaust us to the point we will stop caring what Trump and his supporters do.” WE MUST NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO US.

In yesterday’s list of “Fallacies of Distraction”, this barrage of information is a technique identified as “the red herring: diverting the attention of the audience from the discussion of the real issues to irrelevancies.” In this case a constant assault of irrelevancies. Today, I wanted to examine the nature of “cults” as it relates to our current political environment and how it is impacting our culture.

“The first thing a cult does is tell you everyone else is lying.”
Anonymous

On July 13, Trump told reporters that “everyone is lying” with regards to the Coronavirus. On other occasions he said that he is not at all responsible for the current death toll, that he acted rapidly and prudently, that it’s the Chinese Virus and ‘they’ started it, that the information was unclear in the beginning, that the experts got it wrong, and as recently as yesterday Trump and his minions began counter-attacking the CDC accusing it of having formed a “cabal”, an inner circle of scientists who are disseminating false information to hurt Trumps campaign. “They want the death toll to go up in order to help their candidate (Biden) win”. He has repeated untold times that “if it wasn’t for me, millions more would have died”.

Insane you say, but “cult leaders utilize the ‘poetry of desperation and salvation’, safety and deliverance, which attracts the seeker both coming and going.” [my quote] So what is it people seek? What is the need that causes individuals to be so susceptible to seduction and cultist certitude? This is how I see it.

1. An alternative to the prevailing value system - Cults pray upon generalized discontent.

2. Failure to succeed within current societal structures - Lack of fit or constant rejection are repeated themes of new members.

3. Reductionist worldview - Cult leaders are reincarnated forms or they speak to God directly. Simplifying the message.

4. Paranoia - Cult members share the notion that those ‘outside the cult’ are enemies and after them.

5. Highly restricted - Once in you cannot get out.

6. End of world - All cult leaders declare in some form the “end of times” and its imminence.

7. Ready answers - like the reductionist worldview, complex issues are answered by easy solutions. Most humans want their lives to be “easy”.

8. Spiritual journeying - Many converts innocently and naively join cults as an alternative attempt to find their place in the universe.

9. Drugs - It should not be lost that a sizeable population of those habituating in communes are or have been addicted to some substance or mind altering chemical.

10. Rejection - After a lifetime of rejection, it is the follower who now rejects all forms of social order finding commonality with those who also reject societal norms. The outcast mentality.

“It’s easier to fool people than to convince them they have been fooled.”
Mark Twain

I don’t think it should surprise anybody that at the end of the day cult leaders institute policies extolling sexual freedom. David Koresh had sex with his multiple wives and with girls as young as 10 years old. David Berg sermonized that “God loves sex because sex is love, and Satan hates sex because sex is beautiful.” Berg was also an advocate of sex with minor-age children in an effort for the children to “embrace sexuality.” To the extreme, he contended that incest was necessary because it enabled children “to learn from their families”.

Furthermore, these rulers have a penchant for and are masters at manipulating empathy. What I mean by that is it takes a unique personality to be able to ‘read’ an others’ psyche and then ‘feed ‘ that psyche messages and values able to fully and totally supplant the original framework. The best description I have read of this process comes from Haruki Murukami, Underground: The Tokyo Gas Attack and the Japanese Psyche.

“If you lose your ego, you lose the thread of that narrative you call your Self. Humans, however, can't live very long without some sense of a continuing story. Such stories go beyond the limited rational system (or the systematic rationality) with which you surround yourself; they are crucial keys to sharing time-experience with others.

Now a narrative is a story, not a logic, nor ethics, nor philosophy. It is a dream you keep having, whether you realize it or not. Just as surely as you breathe, you go on ceaselessly dreaming your story. And in these stories you wear two faces. You are simultaneously subject and object. You are a whole and you are a part. You are real and you are shadow. "Storyteller" and at the same time "character". It is through such multilayering of roles in our stories that we heal the loneliness of being an isolated individual in the world.

Yet without a proper ego nobody can create a personal narrative, any more than you can drive a car without an engine, or cast a shadow without a real physical object. But once you've consigned your ego to someone else, where on earth do you go from there?

At this point you receive a new narrative from the person to whom you have entrusted your ego. You've handed over the real thing, so what comes back is a shadow. And once your ego has merged with another ego, your narrative will necessarily take on the narrative created by that ego.

Just what kind of narrative?

It needn't be anything particularly fancy, nothing complicated or refined. You don't need to have literary ambitions. In fact, the sketchier and simpler the better. Junk, a leftover rehash will do. Anyway, most people are tired of complex, multilayered scenarios-they are a potential letdown. It's precisely because people can't find any fixed point within their own multilayered schemes that they're tossing aside their own self-identity.”

“There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that 'my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.”
Issac Asimov

Any of this sound familiar? Suffice it to say, Trump should not be underestimated. His supporters are blind to his faults and manipulations. They reject his crimes and project crimes of the State…The Deep State. Our policy differences have conflated to “with us or against us”. The 40% of the population that supports Trump represent a highly disenfranchised segment of the population. They seem ready to dedicate themselves to Trump at all costs. They have eaten whole every conspiracy theory out there without paying attention to facts, science, evidence or reality. This political/religious fervor has justified Trump’s failure of leadership as God’s Will. All the psychological elements are present for a massive and potentially violent movement. Stay tuned.

“I discover that hardly a week passes that some one does not start a new cult, or revive an old one; if I had a hundred lifetimes I could not know all the creeds and ceremonies, the services and rituals, the litanies and liturgies, the hymns, anthems and offertories of Bootstrap-lifting.”
Upton Sinclair

“Nothing goes away until it has taught us what we need to know.”
Pema Chodron

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Just wanted to add something to the last post on Minutiae. This cartoon I just discovered speaks volumes to the point I hope I made.

PANDEMIC DIARY

Part 2 : “THE PROMISE” : MINUTIAE

September 8, 2020

[Sorry, I failed to make my deadline by a mile. Here is Part 2 which took me considerably longer to organize and write. Simply too much going on in my head]

Several days ago, I wrote about a segment of the book, “The Promise” by Chaim Potok, in which a elderly and admired Talmudic scholar attempts to ply his stature and influence on a young student, his father, and his community, by demanding adherence to a strict interpretation of ancient texts. This is not new to us. We see this battle going on today, as an example, in our U.S. Supreme Court, where ardent, so-called ‘Constitutionalists’ (whatever the hell that is) claim constancy and faithfulness to an ‘original’ document written over 250 years ago. It is here where I would like to start today.

“It must not be forgotten that it is especially dangerous to enslave men in the minor details of life… It does not drive men to resistance, but it crosses them at every turn, until they are led to surrender the exercise of their own will.”
Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America

Rav Kalman poured over texts for the whole of his life believing there is no higher calling than the study of Torah. Studying! Not living Torah. To be fair, I don’t know how many Rebbe ‘live’’ their Torah. What I do know is that a life of parsing words, seeking historical contexts, desiring to discover the ‘true meaning’ of a phrase within the true meaning of the phrase, is like a man with a hand on his genitalia, it feels good in the moment but doesn’t end in relationship.

We are, and approvingly so, being deluged with minutiae, all in the name of ‘information’. Information was going to save us. It was to provide truth, immediacy, and relevance. The internet was to be an ‘information highway”. Except, as is often the case with innovation, the change came too quickly and we didn’t anticipate the highway crashing at the intersections. A pile up of data and noise. A cacophony of pointless drivel and nonsense combined with hateful rants and, of course, pornography which established the internet in the first instance. And, yes, as a concession to you admirers, the internet allows you to buy 13 pairs of shoes, try them on, select the one pair you most like, and ship the rest back. Convenience - a word I am beginning to hate. Convenience at what price?

We have been acculturated to the marketing and advertising industries like an addict who is weaned on small doses of opioids, at first for the legitimate use of pain reduction, only to have its power and allure enslave us. You cannot go to a website without a “pop-up” ad, banner ad, video ad or some other ‘hook’ on the page that forces you to step over or otherwise avoid its imposition. Worse, they are targeting you and your behavior, so if by chance you purchase an anal thermometer, you will receive persistent offers for the latest in anal thermometers for the next 6 months.

There's a saying in Artificial Intelligence that: “most of the time, intelligent agents do what they do most of the time”. That is to say, we only tend to do--and be good at--those things that we systematically practice throughout our lives. I would contend that humans have a powerful tendency toward ‘doing’ minutiae. Furthermore, minutiae has developed into the world’s main industry. That is, aside from armaments, oil, drug trafficking and human trafficking.

Minutiae is always distraction. It is, by definition, the opposite of “the big picture”. It is readily available but removes us from seeing what is important and of value to our society. The sheen of your lip gloss or the kick from a super-caffeinated drink bestow absolutely no insight to race, poverty or war. Its as if the scales have tipped in favor of nonsense having rejected reality. Or, our government has so effectively disregarded the needs of its people and their prevailing suffering that avoidance, denial, and obfuscation allows a population to absolve themselves of any responsibility to act on their own behalf. Minutiae is money. Minutiae is propaganda. Minutiae is a politicians’ “three-card-Monty” scheme. Minutiae is religion’s intermittent reinforcement.

[Caveat: I am not referring to minutiae such as details in scientific research; not to NASA as it seeks to coordinate and execute a precise and safe mission; not to an Olympic competitor whose every performance aspect is viewed by international judges seeking perfection. None of these are picayune. These pursuits are not trivial or trifling. The are exacting efforts demanding diligence, practice, commitment, and dedication to a goal. The big picture.]

Turn on the television any Sunday morning and you will witness the ultimate “sales job” and scam in America. It is the world of “preachers” who, like archeologists, each week dive into the depths of Bible verses with holy hammers, dusting brushes and tweezers plucking fine hair-line distinctions from Biblical verses to find a nugget of a word or verse that they can turn into a fable filled with analogy and philosophy able to turn even the less ardent into blathering ‘salvationists’. And one fellowship member touches another and exaltation spreads virally until a hall of thousands are diving into these dangerous caves of darkness with Bible in hand and a pencil for notations in the margins of the ‘good book’ in the other hand to be saved by the light of the ministering.

“Death looms large for those who seek solace in ‘the word’”.
David Roth

“Humility is not thinking less of yourself, its thinking of yourself less.”
C.S. Lewis

Ah, to be saved! “‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d.” The Sunday missionary or cleric has much in common with Rabbi Kalman. It looks different because of the outer garbs. It sounds different because of the distance between Birmingham, Alabama and the shtetl’s of Eastern Europe, the drawl and cadence of the South and the ‘sing-songy’ complaint of the pogroms. But, it is the same. It is the same as Trump filling the airwaves with drivel. Our news is like pellets you buy at the zoo, feeding a starving animal just enough so it keeps on returning for more. This intermittent reinforcement produces the most powerful, habit forming behavior. Just ask the casino owners in Las Vegas, or watch the widow/er sitting at a slot machine pulling that one-arm bandit like a frenzied morphine addict.

“It is a truism that almost any sect, cult, or religion will legislate its creed into law if it acquires the political power to do so.”
Robert A Heinlein

I found the following analysis of minutiae and the techniques of distraction on the website www.philosophyinaction.com. These are also the tools of authoritarian leaders and Fascists.
See if you can relate these to our current circumstance.

Fallacies of Distraction

...related to personalities

• ad hominem: rejecting or dismissing another person's statement by attacking the person rather than by disproving the statement.

• creating misgivings: stirring up suspicions about a long-forgotten (and possibly completely unsubstantiated) charge against one's interlocutor.

• tu quoque: trying to dismiss or downplay an accusation by demonstrating that the accuser himself is guilty of misconduct.

• poisoning the well: (damning the origin) arguing against an idea by showing that one's interlocutor has a non-rational motive for holding the idea.

• forestalling disagreement: attempting to make an opponent or audience unwilling to debate an issue.

• argument from intimidation: asserting that believing or arguing for a certain idea indicates immorality, in an attempt to intimidate a person into renouncing the idea without discussion.

• self-righteousness: confusing good intentions with actual good or truth.

• special pleading: refusing to apply the same principles to oneself that one applies to others.

• presenting the "good" reason: selecting, as the explanation for one's actions or ideas, a credible fact when other explanations could be had.

Here are the ways minutiae distract and deceive:

• oversimplification: reducing a complex situation to a simple, inaccurate statement.

• many questions: (plurium interrogation) posing a complex question and demanding a simple answer.

• vague similarities: asserting that two situations or ‘existents’ are similar without specifying the properties they share.

• diversion: attempting to support one proposition by arguing for a different one entirely.

• strawman: attempting to refute one's opponent's proposition by attacking misrepresentation of the his/her position.

• wicked alternative: attempting to support one proposition by denouncing another, when the second is not the opposite of the first.

• false dilemma: representing a situation as having only undesirable alternatives when the facts do not support such a judgment.

• all-or-nothing mistake: presenting a naked dichotomy when such an evaluation is unwarranted.

• slippery slope: arguing that if one event were to occur, other harmful events would result without showing how the events are linked.

• impossible conditions: contending that mankind should be changed or even perfected before any remedy for a problem should be considered.

• nothing but objections: continually objecting to any plan proposed to assure that nothing is done.

...related to minutiae

• wishful thinking: constructing false expectations though ignoring unpleasant facts.

• lip service: verbal agreement unsupported in action or true conviction.

• prejudicial fallacies: representing whatever position coincides with whatever prejudices the speaker perceives in the audience.

• red herring: diverting the attention of the audience from the discussion of the real issues to irrelevancies.

• pomp and circumstance: permitting the setting in which the argument takes place to affect the attention paid to the argument.

• humor and ridicule: using inappropriate humor to deflect attention away from the discussion.

I wish you all a week of continued health, peace of heart, joy with your children and loved ones and an abundance of charity. Be well.

Part 3: “THE PROMISE” : Cultism