The Difficult Conversations

I think, therefore I am
– Rene Descartes

People are very interesting in very many ways. One of the ways we are interesting is in the degree to which we will go to avoid a conversation. No not all conversation but certain kinds of conversation.

As human beings we have the capacity to take all the variables of a certain situation and look into the future to predict types of outcomes. Not only do we have the capacity to do this we actually enjoy doing this and have develop an entire entertainment sector around our ability to take current variables and predict outcomes – it’s called gambling and we enjoy it so much it is actually a recognized addiction among people.

We do this all of the time. Our very existence depends largely on our predictive abilities. When I am driving I need to be able to consider all variables to determine whether the car at the intersection in front of me is going to pull into traffic or wait – get it wrong and it could mean the end of my life and/or others.

This is how wired we are to predict the future.

We are also wired for survival. The two are actually intrinsically intertwined – prediction and self-preservation. So if we predict at either a conscious or unconscious level failure or even the possibility of failure we work very hard to avoid such an outcome – even placing ourselves into a kind of neutral purgatory rather than come to a conclusion.

This is all a preface to my thoughts on life.

There was a time when thinkers, philosophers, scientists and people in general spent vast amounts of time thinking about the nature of life. What is it? When does it begin? When does it end? Does it begin? Does it end? etc.

Of course such thinking has always invited risk and criticism because one does not have to go too far down such thought paths before running into cross-roads where the path can head in a direction that frightens people.

For instance there was a time when walking too far down the path of philosophizing about life actually having an end with no possibility of eternity meant scaring some people so bad that they would actually brand you a heretic and seek your death. Such an outcome was designed to limit thinking in such ways and was, unsurprisingly, fairly successful.

For years I have been frustrated by western culture’s refusal to allow conversation and investigation into the theme of life – particularly of when it begins.

I think I understand why we are not tolerant of this conversation but it still makes me unhappy and discontent.

We live in a culture rife with thought wars. Ideologies are clashing left and right at the tectonic pressure points of culture, religion, politics, and more to such a violent degree that all sorts of false dichotomies are being forged forcing people into a Yes or No, with us or against us, binary kind of mentality that betrays the complexity of even the simplest discussion.

In the case of discussing the nature of life in the western world there are all kinds of fears about the paths this conversation could lead us down – our conclusions could have significant impact one way or the other on hot button issues like the death penalty, abortion, eugenics, animal cruelty, and war to name a few.

So in the face of these things and a fear of possible conclusions (such as limiting or allowing the death penalty, abortion and war) we move into a kind of thought paralysis, content to allow only the radical fringes at both ends of the argument to battle it out because their conclusions are too mad to be taken seriously.

The problem of course is that while we may not be talking about these things we are thinking about them. In fact we are thinking about these things constantly. Unfortunately given our relational/communal wiring, problems arise in people who spend all of their time thinking and none of their time talking – a kind of interior pressure builds that threatens to blow up all of ourselves and the people around us in ways we cannot control and do an injustice to our real intent – discourse.

We are designed for dialogue…even the most introverted of us. We require other minds to bounce our ideas off of and share with so we might reform, and refine our thinking regardless of the paths it leads us down.

When we stop communicating about subjects (like the nature of life) because we are afraid of the possible paths such a conversation may go down we create a tense, pressure-filled environment that forces us into angry, combative postures when even the slightest reference to the subject arises. Then, instead of furthering our understanding about things we simply takes turns lashing out and hurting one-another in spectacular and reactive fashion – creating an environment where we never want to talk about these things.

This is the place our culture is at in so many areas right now around the world. This is the atmosphere that makes war easier to justify and turns hatemongers into heroes. It is a place of intolerance and ignorance and it is beneath the dignity of what it can mean to be human.

I have no well-thought out and complex solutions other than talking. We must, at all costs, keep the conversations going…even when they threaten to force us down paths we’d rather not go. We must be allowed to speak about things like life, death, war, privacy, culture, religion, science, climate change, etc. in the public square and we must be able to do so without fear of retaliation or punishment or excommunication or even death etc.

To be able to engage in public discourse is to preserve the sanity of our species and not simply settle for the simple existence of “I think therefore I am” but to forge into the more bountiful place of “We talk therefore we are”.

shudder

in a moment there was
a shuddering
and he was not who he was
just a shadow
and back again

silent sentry

thoughts are never false or far
though invisible may seem
each and every good star;

my presence lingers near
as some Heath-bound hidden ghost
that stays and haunts his dear;

through night’s demons to excise
and dark’s heavy sodden cloak
I will sit a silent sentry til sun’s rise

molten

it is a whiter, hotter heart than most
that hides within the ashen iron box
a blinding phosphor liquid light
spent while contained and unseen;
it keeps the gears with purpose turning
toward the hope of a great crack and chasm
that might spill the inner life
and seed the surrounding plains
with all my molten hiddenness

imposter

this earth
that holds me up
it’s not the same
as the earth that held me
yesterday
everything changes
is the unchanging constant
while nothing remains
is all that remains
is there even a single
46 year old cell
in this body
or am even I
an imposter
standing in for who I once was?

the grasping hand

there is no God in you
no lifting light spirit
nor whispering soft
voice of the sainted breezes

you are alone

or so it has been said;
but a hand of constraint
upon the ashen soul
is a hand that touches closer
than one that hovers away
there is God holding tighter
to me and my kind
than any of the righteous
if only to keep us contained

still the grasping hand of the holy
is better than none at all

the arduous task of being

it was the early morning
and we woke empty and hungry
like babes to a new garden world;
so with sharp teeth bared
we sought God’s teats and sucked –
we sucked the very life into us
and never knew how to be human,
not since that.

it was ever after, us chasing the divine
for more about how and what…
more words without understanding
to beat the shit out of our neighbour with,
steel barbs on lettered strips to self-flagellate
that we might bleed life and be loved
through a torture of directed doing.

no and may it come to never be,
but we are neither obedient in the desert,
nor happy in the promised land,
but rather dim, half-made and
somewhat self-unmade golems
with no commanding notes
to joyously choke on;
we are only what we are and this is best,
to eat and live and fuck and flail
in the shadow of a given grace
that come the setting sun we may have found
a maker’s mark in the keeping
of a humble, busted, honest life
and willing hands to take us in

– cracked –

that light would beat
from our blazing hellbent hearts
dripping to the trail we make
so our children might not get lost
and join us somewhere greater…
where we feel important as we are –
unearned and unremarkable

insomnia

the darker night
is an itch that keeps me

AWAKE

thoughts are disjointed
half-burned paper fragments
floating free from
the fire-bombed remnants
of my mind;
black edged
and slowly disappearing
memories
haunt the wakeful walls
of my room,
empty of stars and a sky to hold them;
closed in and colourless on all sides
and sleep is only a fleeting dream
hanging just beyond sight
of my dry and crazy eyes

Graphite and Lead

pencils…pencils
used to be made of lead,
but lead could kill
and so graphite
traced the truth
as it was
and
as it was seen
because
graphite was safe
and truth was freedom

until

lead returned
hot with hate
leaving a blood wake
in its madness

lead does what it always has
while graphite does the same
as one’s life is the other’s death