WHY DO WE TOLERATE THE PUBLIC LIE?

WHO AM I?

   Who understands the source of their beliefs? Do the people who are supporting the different candidates know the source of their own beliefs? If so, are they willing to say that the candidates who utter the Public Lie are saying things they themselves stand for. If not, then why do we tolerate the Public Lie? 

   When lying with impunity or ad hominem becomes the status quo for those who would become President of our United States, then this leads to the situation where there are various “camps of believers” who support candidates and their Lies. Or, perhaps worse, people support candidates without knowing why they are supporting them. These then become hierarchies which influence the candidates. These camps of believers remain separate and quite distinct from one another. In the end, is our country no longer sustaining the ideal of being a “melting pot”? Has this also become a Public Lie? Are we now armed camps which rail against each other and even seek to promote their group's safety with gated communities, militia or guards to protect ourselves from ourselves?

    Young black men in inner cities arm themselves in order to protect themselves. Where are the Peace Keepers?

    Is our country now a Lie? This was the case in Ancient Greece where the family (okios) was the prime force. Today, we can see that our citizens are strongly in favor of families. In this election we have the Clintons, the Bushes. Coincidence? Family’s represent one motive force within our nation which feels good, safe, protected by families. Have we simply become tolerant of these old forces and have come to tolerate them because we are too lazy or too busy for any alternative? But, it is a Public Lie. Our country was created as a revolution against monarchy or the family rule.

    We once rebelled against monarchy, family, okios. The family of the monarch was considered to be an extension of the gods. These families were ordering their societies, were elites, had way more money and properties, possessions, castles and towers named after themselves. Oh yes, they thus kept citizens from shooting one another by keeping soldiers under their family command (before ”law enforcement”). 

What replaced okios rule was rule of law. Law was above families - "under law". The idea was once that each person was equal before the law and the laws were enforced on all equally.  Black Lives Matter, all lives matter, under rule of law and not families, each person is equal before the law. Not corporations. Corporations were not people. The Public Lie today is that there are forces working against the rule of law and the individual. We have seen many recent killings of black people. We have seen corporations killing democracy. Public Lies which now seem to be above the law. We are tolerating this for how long?

WHY AM I HERE?

  I bring you Polis! Polis is the opposing approach to life to okios, corporatism and oligarchy.  In ancient Greece, the Polis came to be seen as the opposing philosophical construct to okios – family, monarchy, centralized wealth. Laws were thought to be transcendent ideals which were above all families, gangs, corporations or countries. Humans gained access to laws through groupings such as representatives which were truly representative of people – human beings-  rather than being rather than corporations (okinos groups) technologically groups or economically “bought” – financial okinos groups.

   Vaclav Havel, a revolutionary in Czechoslovakia during that country’s recent Soviet/totalitarian era, wrote an essay during the time of the totalitarian state entitled “Power To The Powerless”. We should read that. In that essay Havel, who after being released from prison after the “Velvet Revolution” became President, described a parallel polis during the time of totalitarianism. One polis was the State which was based on wealth and power. The parallel polis was based on powerless human-to-human relationships. We have a parallel polis in our country, too.

It seems that today we have an interesting   mirror image of the totalitarian state of Havel’s time where we have an uber-Capitalistic, greedy 10% dominating 90%. In his lecture. Havel actually describes this capitalist / totalitarian mirroring. Each has a different form of Public Lie. Totalitarian states today continue to tolerate leaders lying with impunity, and so perhaps, our current experience is preparing us for a time when honesty is no longer a requirement for governance.

If the state becomes a Lie, then are Liars the best to govern?

WHAT DO I WANT?

   The shadow side of the polis is also something with which we are experiencing. It is a different version of the Public Lie. It is when the leader is leading a public which no longer feels it can do anything if the leader is lying. The leader can then freely speak the Lie. There is no notice. There is a mass psychosis.  Here’s how it is done: “Truth” is now created with forceful argument rather than reasoned argument. Those with great wealth appear to be the ones who are “believed” – even when they speak blatant untruths.

    One of the most memorable examples of this was Donald Rumsfeld who said (regarding the lack of evidence of WMDs in Iraq): 

"The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence.” 

    Such circular statements should begin to test the inner strength of citizens. The game was rigged.  We allowed those in power to continue to rule. The world has become a worse place, tens of thousands of Iraqis suffered and died and U.S. troops died because of the Public Lie. It is a Public Lie some would like us to repeat if given the power and feel they can repeat.

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character give him power. ~Abraham Lincoln

The situation today seems to beg us to become “judgmental”. We do not need citizens being judgmental and driven by power and emotion.  What we need is to form judgments, seek Truth outside of our silos. The first step is to know that you don’t know. That we have come to live in silos. That leaders have tried to isolate us from one another as they sought to prove their families are experienced and know what to do. However, their solutions to all problems are to let them lead again.

Here’s what the poet Rilke said:

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart 
and try to love the questions themselves
Like locked rooms and like books 
that are written in a very foreign tongue. 
Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you 
because you would not be able to live them. 
And the point is, to live everything. 
Live the questions now. 
Perhaps gradually, without noticing it, 
you will live along some distant day into the answer. 
~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

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SUICIDE AND EULOGIES

CONTEMPLATING SUICIDE

Eight of us, three age 70+, two age 80+, the presenter, my wife and I in our 60’s, sat together. We know one another as a Unitarian Universalist & Quaker church service. It’s not a particularly religious group. After a half-hour of Quaker-style silent worship, then a coffee break, we heard a presentation about “Compassion and Choices”, a Colorado advocacy group working on a law enabling physician assisted suicide, modeled on an Oregon law.

The presenter asked us to share: did we know anyone who took their own life? What were our thoughts about our own death?

     One woman said her brother, severely ill and not expected to live, died with his sons around. Was it suicide? She did not know. He may have collected pills. For herself, when that time came, and she was aware of her impending death, she said she might just walk into the woods.

     Me. I said my father, suffering with severe bladder cancer, refused chemo-therapy because years ago it was so excruciating. It took weeks, but he died and the death certificate said “pneumonia.”  I said I wanted people’s thoughts about the spiritual aspect of suicide, I thought it was not without consequence. And, I asked, are we, today, afraid to suffer?

     An older man said he and his wife had DNR documents. They wanted no extraordinary measures.

     An older woman described in detail how she has planned her death. She has a pistol. A friend and she have both discussed this at length. She is matter of fact. Pragmatic. She only wishes to be outside so that it does not make a mess for someone else to clean up.

     A medical doctor, choked with emotions, tearfully passed after saying he was a scientist.

     My wife went ahead, said she believes in reincarnation and that we choose our lives, from birth to death. She has worked with people physically and mentally disabled from birth. They bear their disability with grace. It is who they are. They accept joy when it comes. How we die can be a gift just like how other folk live.

     The medical doctor, now composed, said this is all about brain chemistry. If his brain chemistry is balanced, he might not want to die. If his brain chemistry is out of whack, he might be unaware of this and do something rash. His father is 97 and his mother 95, both are still living. They sometimes think the other has lived too long, is suffering, and may want to die. He is unsure.

     Another said that when you die you are like an animal. There is no soul. No spirit. No one has ever come back from the grave to prove it to her. So, she says, you go into the ground, and that’s it. She would be in favor of physician assisted suicide.

     And, the final voice was our facilitator who brought “Compassion and Choice”. She told a story about a young woman diagnosed with incurable ALS. There was no mention of contemplation of suicide at a young age, instead she chose, consciously, to live a determined life as full and rich for as long as possible. She died in her 60s when her respirator unit failed.

     We ended our session with a group hug, squeezing tightly together in a circle with our arms around each other’s shoulders.

CONTEMPLATING EULOGIES

A book chose me that afternoon. At the public library book sale (final day $7 a bag) I picked up book entitled “The Book of Eulogies”* by Phyllis Thereaux. Perhaps the sale of still living older works who have reached some sort of “sell by date” or “cull by date” is also a kind of a librarian assisted suicide for a book.

     Thereaux says that eulogies are “funeral praise”, and the form is perhaps the least valued of our literary forms. Eulogies are usually practiced by amateurs. When someone dies, it is customary for a friend or relative to “say a few words.” Many feel at a loss, pressured, inadequate. Many times I have seen family defer to a clergy person who may only know the deceased vaguely and then offer “words of comfort” or scripture quotes, but does not praise. Those words could be for anyone.

     I recently was with a 92 year old friend whose grandson had died suddenly a few days before we met, and he had been asked to “say a few words” at the young man’s funeral. He read a letter which the boy had written him not long before. It seemed a bridge to the life of the young man, what was on his mind and in his heart. It was filled with his living-ness.

     The “few words” of a genuine eulogy are elastic. They stretch between us the living and the dead. Perhaps it is the magical power of words which live between the living and the dead, a spiritual power. Even the exquisite eulogies which Thereaux includes in her compendium are possibly a means of putting the reader into the presence of the dead great people dead for centuries now. And, perhaps the dead appreciate it because, as she says, they are never too busy.

     Genuine eulogies can bring the deceased and the eulogizer into focus because both are present, both are in the words, in the moment, giving and receiving. Death has passed by but something is living. By rubbing memories together, a flame is ignited.

THE SECRET OF WHO WE ARE

What about us as eulogists? The eulogist seems to pass easily back and forth between themselves and the dead. It is probable that the curtain between themselves and the dead become quite thin as they are writing and then may vanish all together. Does the eulogist then become as if dead themselves?

     Perhaps this is the power of the words in which the dead are living. What memories do you rub together? What do you say about this dead person?  Do you mediate upon friendship – what they meant to you? Seems like your story not theirs. Do you know their story? Can you know their story? Their deep backstory? Will you lapse into some philosophical rumination actually about yourself? Remind them, one more time before they depart about their failures? Will you apologize to the audience and sentimentally state how the dead tried, really tried?

     In some eulogies I have read, the deceased is barely mentioned!  In others, their physicality is described in detail: their trembling eyes, their smile, their voice, their coloring, their physique, their diet. In others it is metaphor: deep like lakes, oceans; lofty like clouds, sky; solid like hills, vast expanses, rare flowers, or a stream.

     The most powerful eulogies seem to be about the secrets the dead reveal, the gifts they give the living through their death. Mainly they point not to the past, but to the future.

It is not odd that a humorist can sees more deeply into the depths of human heart than others.  The humorist, Erma Bombeck (1927-1996,) wrote a Mother’s Day column entitled “Mothers Who Have Lost A Child”, one of the most often reprinted: 

“When I was writing my book I Want To Grow Hair, I Want To Grow Up, I Want To Go To Boise, I talked with mothers who had lost a child to cancer. Every single one said death gave their lives new meaning and purpose. And, who do you think prepared them for the rough, lonely road they had to travel? Their dying child. They pointed their mothers toward the future and told them to keep going. The children had already accepted what their mothers were fighting to reject.” BOOK OF EULOGIES, p.343.

     My friends at the meeting opened their hearts a bit and revealed something secret. The conversation about death seemed a gift which made us more alive to one another in a deeper way. A group of elders standing in front of a holy force, unsure, afraid, and vulnerable. Human.

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WHY IS BEING HUMAN NEVER ENOUGH?

WHO AM I?

    A slippery double bass riff. A whining blues-harp. A backbeat, fair and lovely with its own kind of truthful spine upon which the heart of a woman could recline. Her head nods slowly in time. In time. In time with her heart and the feelings in the music. The 7^th chords open the captured heart, the obligations, duties, anger at bosses, slave masters, kings, and shift leaders. The rhythm moves her fingers. What is unlocked in the heart of a woman, or a man, and makes the flesh respond? Something intimate. Something human. When I brush her neck and down her arm, she chills and turns with a shiver and a “don’t do that” smile. Sometimes the human touch is too much. The music, for a moment, replaces the reality in which the human spirit lives.

Once alive, kings, queens, tribal leaders, slave masters, bosses, parents, family bullies were humans with hearts and hands and heads. They “ruled” people personally. “Their” people. They had power in their hands. They angrily raged against enemies who opposed them. They struck fear in our hearts, brutalized and, betrayed. They were alive. They were the mortal face of power. Evil, strong, good or bad they were not anonymous power. They were not distant, indiscriminate. They commanded and we obeyed. You knew whose face looked out of power eyes, who wore the crown, earned or privileged.

Your labor was due to them, you worked for them day, night, round the clock, work until you dropped, no time off unless the Lord or Master took a break. Compensation? What is the compensation for obedience under threat? They gave you enough, or let you keep enough, to stay alive. Slave wages, indentured, indebted, tied, work was not freely given. Freedom did not belong to the worker. Had justice been invented. You’d never know it. Justice and rights were for the ruling class.

But, power shifted. The rights of man arose. Despots died at the hands of the common folk in uncommonly brutal ways as their despotism demanded. The king is dead. Their Power was released. Was it shared?

WHY AM I HERE?

Kingless times and the “rights of man”. Which men? The “rule of law” made by the privileged put the privileged on the thrones. Gave the privileged rights. Kingdoms were transformed and the once human despots operated behind corporate veils. Then science gave them economics that showed how profits were to be made. Profits, is what were the power was renamed? Power measured by profits still measured by blood.  What is the cost of slave labor? Corporations joined their power with politics and freed the workers. Then workers had freedom without power. They paid the old slave wages, never enough to live on, take it or leave it. The same old nickel and dime now costs more.

Power now: dehumanized, industrialized, and corporatized. Computers, robo-calls, answering machines, media are all human-less agents of power. The same power. No specific person does me ill, but I am harmed by chains of corporate actions. Bound by chains. And, the human being has not changed. Still breathe, still bleed.

Deed are visited upon us all, and what is there to do? How can I swear vengeance for an uninspiring corporate heart? How can I make a defective product, or a chain store pay in blood? The chains have bound more, captured villages, hold communities back. Pay no taxes. Move the money to their castles. Hire few. Rob many. There once were kings who ruled our lands who could be hanged. But how in the world can vengeance be had when corporate amorality unfurls? Corporate faux-kings plot against us, inhuman faces over international lands, evil, strong, good and bad. No corporate face, no human eyes. Anonymous power in thrall o’re the world.

Corporate strategies are not about virtues, only what can be measured in quarterly profits. Outsource every expense. Damn the quality, cut the costs. Offload all responsibility, to whom? People? Let the people pay for toxic waste. Let individual residents, citizens – the humans in a place - pay to clean up what corporations leave behind. That’s just the cost of having corporate jobs! Corporate adultery? Of course, undulating behind the corporate veil with legislatures. Corporate sentimentality? None. Love? Compassion? Musicality? Not possible. Not human! What reigns in the heart of a corporation? Fear of being found out for the crime. But, even then, the individual corporate leaders are protected by the law. Let me go bankrupt and someone else pays. Golden parachutes.  Hidden.

WHAT DO I WANT?

    The slippery double-bass riff, the whining blues-harp. The backbeat, fair and lovely, a truthful spine upon which the heart can recline is the product of a human group not motivated by economic opportunism. Our community can be that band blowing sweet. A band, restauranteur, gardener, shopkeeper, barber, bookkeeper, carpenter, handy man, the self-employed, the healer, the farmers markets; independently outside the secret hand of Adam Smith, not buying into corporate greed, seeking only to meet our local need. Not hidden by corporate veils. Not anonymous. You know them. Creators of the family’s 7^th chords which open, open so much, open the corporate-minimum wage doors, unlock the corporate chains and chain stores that otherwise bind our hearts, hands and brains. Makes life livable for the human spirit here, and competes against the anonymous corporate slaver selling cheap because he’s stolen from another over there.

Hubris, power, anonymity, and greed are what the corporate Board must feed. But the human-sized, the locally based mom’n’pops operate on things called virtues, human values, remember those?  That’s what binds us to us and us to them. Do unto others. Golden Rules. Corporations suck capital from our local lands and feed giant banks in banking centers where conglomerates amass riches to fund bigger projects, create bigger profits, bigger waste, bigger collapses. Too big to fail. What a threat? As if we don’t already have hard times. Hard scrabble. Hard luck.  Really? The bigs needs the bigs and the bigs crush the littles and ignore the locals.

We have collisions of the moral and the amoral. Friction of self-interest. How can a company have morals without a conscience or a soul? In the confluence of the grocery store we see the battle waging. The bankers, the morbid profiteers, the bigs versus the locals. Let’s choose human-sized. Let’s choose the local. Let’s choose the eyes into which we can look. Those who leave their capital locally, in local banks, to pay local workers, fairly, not minimum, another motive – not only about profit.

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OS

ADAPTATION – NOT DEAD YET

WHO AM I?

     According to Darwin, we live our lives under the spell of Adaptation. Adaptation is the process by which we become accustomed to change as it slowly occurs. Our lives evolve slowly day to day, week to week, month to month, year to year.

Adaptation makes us "Slow Blind” we are hardly aware of the changes as they occur. We don't notice the incremental changes.

Many times the meaning of each of the steps which has led up to the future, or the magnitude of some those steps, is not observable in the moment they happened. Our brain weaves them into a seamless whole.

     Only later when we take time to look back at what happened, can we begin to become aware of the steps that led up to the present. Their import only becomes visible on reflection.

WHY AM I HERE?

     Last August, at 2 in the morning I set out to climb Longs Peak (14,265’) in Colorado. You climb at night in order to summit before 10 a.m. Deadly lightning storms start around noon. I didn’t intend on summiting but aimed to reach Chasm Lake (12,000’+) by dawn (6:30 a.m.)

     I am well adapted to living. I am “slow blind” to death. I rarely think about my own death but am shaken out of my adaptive, slow blind mode when a friend dies. Then, after a while, the day-to-day of life and living seals over our awareness of death and dying.

     The way I am attempting to become more aware of death so I can plan for my own, is to come close to death. Like this climb. This is my third “not dead yet” climb of Longs Peak since I had my heart attack in ’01. This is one way I do something very, very physically challenging, not to die in the process, but to live longer. Believe me, it takes me months of gym work to prep for one day’s climb.

The second thing I do is to spend time reading to my “dear departed.” On this climb I will arrive at dawn, read poetry to my “dear departed” and then read their names aloud to the mountain. Last time I did this, the mountain replied with beautiful colors of dawn.

WHAT DO I WANT?

     We seem to view ourselves as “special” beings that are disconnected from the natural world. While we may be hunters and fishermen that see how animals are connected with and Moon, we believe ourselves to be different entirely separate from one paradigm and immersed in a paradigm totally independent.

     Climbing a mountain at night will erase those kind of thoughts of somehow being “precious.” The trail was steep. I wore a headlamp. I was passed by young “trail runners” who literally ran around me! The temperature plummeted. My joints felt like I was pummeled in a full-contact football game. The altitude had a significant physiological affect – at 12,000’ my breathing was labored, my energy vanished, everything went more slowly, and then slowed again the higher I got.

     I finally got to Chasm Lake, crouched behind a rock and started to freeze while I waited for dawn. It was 40-degrees, showering ice pellets with 60-mph winds – the winds were so strong Rangers would not permit attempts to summit.

     Half-frozen, bruised, exhausted; I stood at dawn and read the poetry for my dead, and then their names, slowly. They seemed somehow near to me and because I was so physically stressed, perhaps I was closer to them because I was flooded with memories.

     Once you revisit memories in a powerful way and you see the good and evil in the path up the mountain of your life, the memories move further away and have less of a power.  If you can rise above the past, of the memories, you may also get free from the spell of Adaptation you have made in order to survive and protect yourself. This gives you the capacity to greet your future in freedom. With the rising of the sun on Longs Peak I made my way down back into my day-to-day life, feeling half-dead, but not dead yet.

© Copyright 2014, Jean W. Yeager

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CHANGE OF HEART

WHO AM I?

     Here we go again.

     You and I are members of a faculty, work team, parent group whatever; like two Carrot People in a line of People, TRYING to work together. But, you and I have this THING.

It is the same old thing. We’ve been over this ground so often that the ruts between your heart and mine are deep and well known to us both.

I perceive you standing in position “A” and you perceive me standing in position “B”. This is where we each stand.

Then you say “w”, like you ALWAYS say “w”, and I say “x” like I always say “x”.

Your “w” makes my attitude feel like I’ve got to say “x” – I always say “x”, because you say “w”. There you go again!

My “x” makes your attitude respond as you always do. “She sounds like a record player – there she goes again!” Is that all she’s got?” And, then, you respond “y”, and I can see your mind closing, once again.

And your “y” always shuts me down and makes me respond “z”. I’ve got to say “z”! I can’t let you get away with “y”! So I say “z”.

     And we go back and forth ‘round and ‘round. It’s a Closed Loop.

WHAT DO I WANT?

     I want for you to have your eyes opened! For you to see the Truth. For you to have a Change of Heart. For you to change your ways! We’ve been stuck in this position for so long, You are just a Carrot Person. I am now sure I just can’t change you. You’re too stuck, too Powerful.

     But the disagreement is keeping important things from happening. If I can’t get you to “move” in some way, our entire faculty, work team, parent group, whatever will stay stuck.

     This is not about me. It’s not about me being “right”. I’, Powerless - my Power is stuck. It hurts to feel Powerless. It hurts for you to win.

WHY AM I HERE?

     I am here to get our faculty, work team, parent group to move on this project, this decision. Being Powerless is an agonizing experience. The Christ, Ghandi, Mandella, King – the Great Ones were Powerless.  I’m stuck. I don’t want to, but I must be willing to be Powerless. I do not have a clue what to do, my Higher Self, the Wiser Person within me who has been watching this looping for months, can’t get involved because I’m in the Loop.

     My higher self tells me to stop trying – to Reverse My Will – stop my habitual behavior. Tells me not to react to my personal memory stream which only re-creates this habitual looping pattern between us.

     I wait so that Higher Beings can get involved but am aware that negative Beings or thoughts or responses can enter in as well. After all, I am only a powerless human being. So, we will see what happens at each step. I don’t assume or expect things will go my way. It’s a test.

     You say “w” and I say “q” and I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t know what to do – that’s different already. This may cause you to change your position – you haven’t considered “q”. Your fixedness is moving. I hate to admit it bit I guess my fixedness moved, too.

     The agonizing experience of Powerlessness has the Power to engage Beings who have the Power to change Hearts.

© Copyright 2014, Jean W. Yeager

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