I’ve grown weary.
One of the signs I noticed, is when I don’t
race to defend or rebuke a particular concept contrary to my own, particularly when
reported in the media. I’d not go so far
as to say I don’t have an emotional reaction, because I do, and often; but what
I no longer do, is dwell on my resentment or disagreement with positions
opposed to my perception of the world; I’ve grown past that.
I
notice changes in social values occurring and I shrug when they don’t strike me
as positive, but then, I reason I’m not responsible for keeping ‘right’ pure
and unstained. I’ve lost that fire that imbues
me with a notion I am entitled to be arrogant in my righteousness. As long as I can argue that, then I can convict
and so then, condemn any who disagree with me to punishment of my choosing. Which, after all, is the true architect for all
contempt; you know, an over compensating judgment of others as inferior to
quell a sneaking sense of that lurking self assessment: Distancing is the oldest of defense
mechanisms…Older than Freud. Now the beauty of this transition is its liberation
from guilt. I no longer feel obliged
towards deserving punishment. 
I
wondered on the shelf life of public memory?
Not just the daily junk reported on the news to pluck at our heart
strings or stir up a fiery sense of indignation concerning how our lives are
being bungled by people we never even met.
No, that’s become ordinary, and certainly there’s adequate marketing
evidence to validate we’re encouraged to think that none of us should sit still
for being ordinary. I figure the shelf
life of history, in the living-context of people having experience to form a relevant
opinion, would be near about one hundred years. After that it becomes too
distant to be remembered. Yeah, four
generations would be about the average staying power of something really
significant to a culture’s history. 
For
instance, yesterday I had to dig to find any reference to Pearl Harbor and the 7th
of December. A day, President Roosevelt
said back in 1941, that would live in infamy. For that generation at least,
it was an assured fact that it would be remembered. Today the opposing forces are
our trading buddies, so it’s best not to bring up past transgressions if we’re
to keep the relationship lite and breezy. I’ve no ax to grind, and I am certainly
resisting a common, shared, desire to point fingers and claim that someone else
is responsible for any of my suffering.
Life is unfair by any subjective measurement, and that practice is just
the way our species tries to absolve itself from the consequences of allowing
others to make choices for us. The
formula being: We surrender personal freedom
for a sense of obligation towards those who shackle us to their vision. Someone is responsible besides me, so they
are required to keep me safe. Some think
that’s justice, I’m just not one of them. I’ve grown sad to consider those who
lose their life protecting the rights of those who do not respect sacrifice as
anything but means towards controlling the allocation of rights. We live in a society that promotes the ideal of the individual; where each of
us are free to pursue our happiness. 
Then in the same breath, judges individuals inadequate
and unable to take care of themselves. So
assign government to decide deserving for each of us, as well as the proper
distribution of all the benefits earned by hard work; even an equal share for
those who are able, but refuse to invest effort. Can you see how corrosive that
can be to any sense of dignity? I’m no longer as mad about all of that as I use
to be, I’m working on keeping my upset in the realm of what I personally can
affect.
Here
is the really swell part.
I don’t have to make other people feel bad for mistakes
in order for me to accept the fact I am less than perfect.
No comments:
Post a Comment