HAPPY 55th & 21st PRINCESS, September 25, 2007
Celebrating love is so essential to sustaining love. Although we celebrate our love just about every day, we commemorate it once a month with "Lunaversaries." Below is the commemoration of our 55th (meeting online) and 21st (meeting in person) Lunaversaries.
Were there no such thing prior to our coming together, love would have been invented at that moment. If feeling didn't exist before our hearts touched, it would have spontaneously combusted at that instant. My love for you penetrates each crevice of my being and makes me more than glad!
Happy Lunaversaries My Beloved MaJiC Princess!
I Love you!
Your KOLAL, SweeT
Were there no such thing prior to our coming together, love would have been invented at that moment. If feeling didn't exist before our hearts touched, it would have spontaneously combusted at that instant. My love for you penetrates each crevice of my being and makes me more than glad!
Happy Lunaversaries My Beloved MaJiC Princess!
I Love you!
Your KOLAL, SweeT
 |
2007-09-25 20:07:06 GMTComments: 0 |Permanent Link
STILL JUST A DREAM: OBAMA FOR PRESIDENT 1-17-2007
The month that Americans have set aside to acknowledge the role that African Americans have played in the history of the United States is fast approaching. Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream is celebrated now as well as then. It is quite appropriate, then, that yesterday was the day (the closest to MLK's birthday that he could file) that Barack Obama, the highly touted senator from Illinois, chose to announce the first step in his bid for the United States Presidency.
Hopes and dreams are the kindling that fuels the fire of human striving. They form the springboard from which we spring into life, from birth through death. Whether or not they come to fruition in no way diminishes their import in our daily lives. We play the lottery scarcely believing that we will win, but we savor the sweet flavor of fantasy with each unredeemed dollar that escapes our grasp at the corner gas station. Despite the condition of our society, our planet, we continue to propagate little self-replicas whose futures extend our hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams have little to do with the tangibles that permeate our lives. They seem to survive almost blissfully free from the fetters of facts.
Corporate executives, advertisers, and politicians know this…the media thrive on it. And so it should be no surprise that Senator Obama's presidential bid is all the rage, despite the fact that 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW is less likely to become his address than is my winning the lottery (and I do play sporadically when jackpots jump high enough to fuel my fantasies). Senator Obama's becoming the President of the United States may be the dream of a portion of the US population, but is more than likely the nightmare of the majority.
What makes me believe the above? Well, after reading about Senator Obama's presidential bid on page three of the local newspaper this morning, I turned the page and read that a 24-year old mother of African descent who killed her three sons (ages 16-months to six years) by throwing them into the San Francisco Bay, in plain sight of witnesses, was convicted of second-degree murder. This tragedy reminded me of Andrea Yates, who killed her five children and is now in a mental institution. It reminded me of Susan Smith, who killed her two sons and claimed an African American man had driven away with them. It also brought to mind Charles Stuart who shot his wife and claimed that an African American male had done it.
I don't believe the two convicted killers who blamed a man of African descent for their crimes would have done so were they not aware of the culture of racism that exists in our society. Some may argue that racism is passé or certainly much less present than it was in the past. I contend (in accord with many who consider the issue) that a culture of racism persists in the United States, and that Dr. Martin Luther King's dream, is still but a dream. It is that belief which raised immediately in my mind the question, "Would LaShaun Harris have been convicted of murder if she were not of African descent?"
The answer to that question isn't of utmost relevance (Both Susan Smith and Andrea Yates were convicted, although Yates's conviction was overturned). What is relevant is that the belief exits and is shared by most of the country's population of African descent, and I suspect a sizeable portion of the country's population of European descent as well. Relatedly, the article that pertained to Senator Obama's potential candidacy also mentioned Hilary Clinton's. In a society where biological and immutable human traits, such as skin color and gender, play such a major role in perceptions of worth and character, it is highly unlikely that either Obama or Clinton will ever call the White House home…much less as presently as 2008.
Many seem to have forgotten, or behave as though they have forgotten, that Martin Luther King, Jr. called for evaluating individuals by the content of their character rather than by the color of their skin. Those who are trumpeting the pending campaign of Senator Obama are either unaware of the millions who continue to ignore Dr. King's message, or are pretending that the racist tide that has flooded all elements of life in this country has ebbed. The pretense is patently disingenuously and almost criminally condescending. Yet, they are peddling dreams and pushing hope, products we can't help but buy. Even those of us who know in our core of cores that Senators Obama and Clinton have less than the proverbial snowball's chance of being president will be sucked into the media whirlpool from time to time. After all, we're no less than human, and our hopes and dreams, no matter how dormant, live as long as we do...and sometimes beyond.
Hopes and dreams are the kindling that fuels the fire of human striving. They form the springboard from which we spring into life, from birth through death. Whether or not they come to fruition in no way diminishes their import in our daily lives. We play the lottery scarcely believing that we will win, but we savor the sweet flavor of fantasy with each unredeemed dollar that escapes our grasp at the corner gas station. Despite the condition of our society, our planet, we continue to propagate little self-replicas whose futures extend our hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams have little to do with the tangibles that permeate our lives. They seem to survive almost blissfully free from the fetters of facts.
Corporate executives, advertisers, and politicians know this…the media thrive on it. And so it should be no surprise that Senator Obama's presidential bid is all the rage, despite the fact that 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW is less likely to become his address than is my winning the lottery (and I do play sporadically when jackpots jump high enough to fuel my fantasies). Senator Obama's becoming the President of the United States may be the dream of a portion of the US population, but is more than likely the nightmare of the majority.
What makes me believe the above? Well, after reading about Senator Obama's presidential bid on page three of the local newspaper this morning, I turned the page and read that a 24-year old mother of African descent who killed her three sons (ages 16-months to six years) by throwing them into the San Francisco Bay, in plain sight of witnesses, was convicted of second-degree murder. This tragedy reminded me of Andrea Yates, who killed her five children and is now in a mental institution. It reminded me of Susan Smith, who killed her two sons and claimed an African American man had driven away with them. It also brought to mind Charles Stuart who shot his wife and claimed that an African American male had done it.
I don't believe the two convicted killers who blamed a man of African descent for their crimes would have done so were they not aware of the culture of racism that exists in our society. Some may argue that racism is passé or certainly much less present than it was in the past. I contend (in accord with many who consider the issue) that a culture of racism persists in the United States, and that Dr. Martin Luther King's dream, is still but a dream. It is that belief which raised immediately in my mind the question, "Would LaShaun Harris have been convicted of murder if she were not of African descent?"
The answer to that question isn't of utmost relevance (Both Susan Smith and Andrea Yates were convicted, although Yates's conviction was overturned). What is relevant is that the belief exits and is shared by most of the country's population of African descent, and I suspect a sizeable portion of the country's population of European descent as well. Relatedly, the article that pertained to Senator Obama's potential candidacy also mentioned Hilary Clinton's. In a society where biological and immutable human traits, such as skin color and gender, play such a major role in perceptions of worth and character, it is highly unlikely that either Obama or Clinton will ever call the White House home…much less as presently as 2008.
Many seem to have forgotten, or behave as though they have forgotten, that Martin Luther King, Jr. called for evaluating individuals by the content of their character rather than by the color of their skin. Those who are trumpeting the pending campaign of Senator Obama are either unaware of the millions who continue to ignore Dr. King's message, or are pretending that the racist tide that has flooded all elements of life in this country has ebbed. The pretense is patently disingenuously and almost criminally condescending. Yet, they are peddling dreams and pushing hope, products we can't help but buy. Even those of us who know in our core of cores that Senators Obama and Clinton have less than the proverbial snowball's chance of being president will be sucked into the media whirlpool from time to time. After all, we're no less than human, and our hopes and dreams, no matter how dormant, live as long as we do...and sometimes beyond.
2007-03-06 19:16:12 GMTComments: 0 |Permanent Link
UNSUNG HEROINE 1-24-07
The longing piggybacks on the intelligence leaping from his eyes. His stalwart innocence shines, undaunted by circumstance and experience far exceeding his seven years of hopeful heartbeats. He hasn't yet learned to mask his truth with lip curling sneers, glassy-eyed nonchalance, and quick-witted quips or stinging barbs. But he won't always be seven…And yet, there is a chance that the large brown pools, in which even a soiled heart could learn to swim, may remain crystal in their clarity and caring…
His innocence would have no chance, his caring no hope if not for another of the unsung heroines whose weary, sometimes-unwilling-but-seldom-broken spirits perpetuate us. Until one she's nurtured successfully heralds her heroism, such a heroine is an unpleasant statistic, a symbol of our failed society. She is the single mother, upon whom many cast aspersions…as though she were the one who failed to keep her end of the bargain.
When I look into Duwon's eyes, I see Tiffany's, a teenager when she bore him just five days before succumbing to the capricious whim of cosmic calamity. The only home he'd even known, his mother's womb, gone before he could even conceive of "mommy," much less say it. But even more, I see the eyes of the woman who has nurtured his natural intelligence; the woman whose indomitable will is the impregnable shield that guards his innocence. He calls Roselyn "mommy," though she's actually once removed. She too would march in the ranks of the statistics…if she were the marching kind. She bore Tiffany at 16, well before she knew her destiny as heroine.
I've known her for almost half her life and happiness has never been her companion. Nor had it been before we met. She was 23 then, and had carried, for almost seven years, the not-always-welcome weight of the life she had borne …precisely as long as her precious Duwon has been nestled in her care. I remember her fighting for the right never to assume such responsibility again. She was too young the doctors insisted, until at 24 she prevailed and was free of fear that she'd have to answer for yet another…or so she thought.
Thirteen years later in utter anguish and raging inwardly at the almighty, she lost one dearly beloved responsibility, and gained another. She had chosen the first, despite disapproval that darkened her days and nights then, and do so now I suspect. Her dreams of a career medicine, well founded on "A" student status, would be deferred. Dreams were buried beneath the daily coping with the greatest responsibility on earth: the well being of the life you helped create.
Although she may not concur, the mother's love that fueled her daily fight and enabled her efforts didn't preclude perceiving that first responsibility as penance…and now, coupled with her tremendous loss, her penance had been extended…against her will this time. What about his dad, his other grandparents? In fact they existed; in reality they may as well not have.
Truth be known, it wasn't without doubt and resentment that she assumed her duty, but neither was it without love. It is that love, braced by an unflagging sense of duty, that allowed me to absorb this young man in training, this "statistic" who defies the numbers and analyses. Without that love and sense of duty, he would not now be holding up the letter from his principal proclaiming his membership on the Super Achievers Honor Roll. Without Ro's daily struggles in life's trenches, his teacher would not have said that in all her years of teaching, Duwon is one of the most polite and helpful students she has ever encountered. Without the resilience to recover time and time again, always enfolding him in her love, Duwon would not have been able to grasp the math concepts we worked on, which went beyond his current studies; would not have been able to answer the questions I asked, nor ask the questions he did.
Perhaps more important, without that mother's love and sense of duty he would not have been able to express his joy at our reunion, his eyes would not have shone so brightly in their welcome. He would not have been able to understand why I preferred to live where I do than where he does. "Is it because people don't litter there, because people don't hurt each other?" were questions he asked among others. "Yes, all of those reasons," I replied, surprised that he read me so well despite our infrequent visits. Duwon's gentle spirit, like the one his young grandmother possessed when we met, continues to blossom although he has seen much to daunt the faint of heart in his seven years on earth. Like his experiences, his strength and wisdom are beyond his years.
Statistics rarely tell the stories of our everyday heroines and heroes. They don't tell the poignant stories about the women who awake each day, if they slept at all the night before, with heavy weights upon their shoulders and deeply held doubts that can diminish one's will…yet still carry us upon their backs. To persevere in the ordinary, to rise up repeatedly after being laid low by life's numbing blows, when once upon a time you held lofty dreams long ago deceased, is heroic. When from ground thought barren can be raised a sturdy tree that offers life and shade, a heroic deed has been done.
Duwon stands now and in time to come, a testament to a heroine's heart, a heroine against her will who sought not the battlefield nor accolades. Such is my dear friend Roselyn who could be inspiration for other heroines who at best are but statistics in the minds of men.
His innocence would have no chance, his caring no hope if not for another of the unsung heroines whose weary, sometimes-unwilling-but-seldom-broken spirits perpetuate us. Until one she's nurtured successfully heralds her heroism, such a heroine is an unpleasant statistic, a symbol of our failed society. She is the single mother, upon whom many cast aspersions…as though she were the one who failed to keep her end of the bargain.
When I look into Duwon's eyes, I see Tiffany's, a teenager when she bore him just five days before succumbing to the capricious whim of cosmic calamity. The only home he'd even known, his mother's womb, gone before he could even conceive of "mommy," much less say it. But even more, I see the eyes of the woman who has nurtured his natural intelligence; the woman whose indomitable will is the impregnable shield that guards his innocence. He calls Roselyn "mommy," though she's actually once removed. She too would march in the ranks of the statistics…if she were the marching kind. She bore Tiffany at 16, well before she knew her destiny as heroine.
I've known her for almost half her life and happiness has never been her companion. Nor had it been before we met. She was 23 then, and had carried, for almost seven years, the not-always-welcome weight of the life she had borne …precisely as long as her precious Duwon has been nestled in her care. I remember her fighting for the right never to assume such responsibility again. She was too young the doctors insisted, until at 24 she prevailed and was free of fear that she'd have to answer for yet another…or so she thought.
Thirteen years later in utter anguish and raging inwardly at the almighty, she lost one dearly beloved responsibility, and gained another. She had chosen the first, despite disapproval that darkened her days and nights then, and do so now I suspect. Her dreams of a career medicine, well founded on "A" student status, would be deferred. Dreams were buried beneath the daily coping with the greatest responsibility on earth: the well being of the life you helped create.
Although she may not concur, the mother's love that fueled her daily fight and enabled her efforts didn't preclude perceiving that first responsibility as penance…and now, coupled with her tremendous loss, her penance had been extended…against her will this time. What about his dad, his other grandparents? In fact they existed; in reality they may as well not have.
Truth be known, it wasn't without doubt and resentment that she assumed her duty, but neither was it without love. It is that love, braced by an unflagging sense of duty, that allowed me to absorb this young man in training, this "statistic" who defies the numbers and analyses. Without that love and sense of duty, he would not now be holding up the letter from his principal proclaiming his membership on the Super Achievers Honor Roll. Without Ro's daily struggles in life's trenches, his teacher would not have said that in all her years of teaching, Duwon is one of the most polite and helpful students she has ever encountered. Without the resilience to recover time and time again, always enfolding him in her love, Duwon would not have been able to grasp the math concepts we worked on, which went beyond his current studies; would not have been able to answer the questions I asked, nor ask the questions he did.
Perhaps more important, without that mother's love and sense of duty he would not have been able to express his joy at our reunion, his eyes would not have shone so brightly in their welcome. He would not have been able to understand why I preferred to live where I do than where he does. "Is it because people don't litter there, because people don't hurt each other?" were questions he asked among others. "Yes, all of those reasons," I replied, surprised that he read me so well despite our infrequent visits. Duwon's gentle spirit, like the one his young grandmother possessed when we met, continues to blossom although he has seen much to daunt the faint of heart in his seven years on earth. Like his experiences, his strength and wisdom are beyond his years.
Statistics rarely tell the stories of our everyday heroines and heroes. They don't tell the poignant stories about the women who awake each day, if they slept at all the night before, with heavy weights upon their shoulders and deeply held doubts that can diminish one's will…yet still carry us upon their backs. To persevere in the ordinary, to rise up repeatedly after being laid low by life's numbing blows, when once upon a time you held lofty dreams long ago deceased, is heroic. When from ground thought barren can be raised a sturdy tree that offers life and shade, a heroic deed has been done.
Duwon stands now and in time to come, a testament to a heroine's heart, a heroine against her will who sought not the battlefield nor accolades. Such is my dear friend Roselyn who could be inspiration for other heroines who at best are but statistics in the minds of men.
2007-03-06 19:05:16 GMTComments: 0 |Permanent Link
A DAY WITH MOMMA 02-09-07
I spent yesterday with my mom. We cruised up US 41 into North Port, on up to Venice, making numerous stops along the way. Ma is 73, I'm 47, and who knows how many more opportunities to spend a day together we have remaining. We had one disappointment along the way. We stopped at Del Tura Golf and Country Club, the locale where MJ (my Life Partner- henceforth referred to as LP) and I will be starting golf lessons tomorrow. It is a gated community and the security guards, after determining that we didn't have a tee time, wouldn't let us in. I found it interesting since MJ and I had driven up precisely the same way and had been allowed in. I can't wait to see what the story is tomorrow when we drive up without a tee time. I just can't help feeling that skin color played a role in that rejection...but I digress…
Ma's original idea was to visit North Port because of an article I had had published on the City of North Port by the Breeze Newspapers. Knowing that there wasn't much to see in North Port, my original idea was to check out the Beaches in Englewood & Venice. MJ and I had been planning to visit the area and hadn't yet, so this would be a good reconnaissance mission. At some point, the idea morphed into an attempt to hit all the beach spots from Venice down through Englewood, but after the two beach stops and some fish n chips, Ma was ready to head home. I can't say that I objected much to that alteration in our plans. Plans are great, but being able to adjust on the fly might be even more valuable.
On our outing my dear mother and I listened to WGCU's broadcast of NPR as trees and traffic whizzed by our windows. We ate stale, salted peanuts, reminisced about old times, and remarked about new. We walked barefoot on the beach, brushing shells from beneath the sand with our toes…and we ate fish n chips with our fingers on the deck outside at Sharky's on Venice Pier. At one point we noted that we would have enjoyed the fish n chips, themselves, more had she cooked them. We also acknowledged that our sitting there in the late afternoon sunlight, with the cool breeze blowing goose bumps across our skin, wasn't about the fish n chips. It was about the experience, then sharing time, the being together of mother and son, each of whom defined the other in their being.
As we headed down I 75 back to Fort Myers, gratitude swelled within for the opportunity Ma and I were sharing. I expressed my to the cosmic forces…Ma expressed hers to God. That's slightly indicative of who we are: two being vastly different in our worldviews, values and beliefs…Yet, there were times when she would speak and I would marvel at how alike we were in essence, at how much of her comprised me…
As we rolled on into darkness, and Ma's head began to droop despite her denials of being sleepy, I continued to reflect on the experience, to ride the wave of gratitude. I thought of MJ, my beautiful MaJiC Princess, who would normally be by my side on such an outing, but had been at work instead. I thought of her contribution to the experience Ma and I were sharing. Without her, it wouldn't be. I felt the sting behind my eyes as emotions welled. Love, authentic love, whether it be a mother's or that of the person has agreed to share your earthly experience, cannot be bought nor sold, and is infinitely more valuable than the materials we are urged to pursue so relentlessly.
Ma's original idea was to visit North Port because of an article I had had published on the City of North Port by the Breeze Newspapers. Knowing that there wasn't much to see in North Port, my original idea was to check out the Beaches in Englewood & Venice. MJ and I had been planning to visit the area and hadn't yet, so this would be a good reconnaissance mission. At some point, the idea morphed into an attempt to hit all the beach spots from Venice down through Englewood, but after the two beach stops and some fish n chips, Ma was ready to head home. I can't say that I objected much to that alteration in our plans. Plans are great, but being able to adjust on the fly might be even more valuable.
On our outing my dear mother and I listened to WGCU's broadcast of NPR as trees and traffic whizzed by our windows. We ate stale, salted peanuts, reminisced about old times, and remarked about new. We walked barefoot on the beach, brushing shells from beneath the sand with our toes…and we ate fish n chips with our fingers on the deck outside at Sharky's on Venice Pier. At one point we noted that we would have enjoyed the fish n chips, themselves, more had she cooked them. We also acknowledged that our sitting there in the late afternoon sunlight, with the cool breeze blowing goose bumps across our skin, wasn't about the fish n chips. It was about the experience, then sharing time, the being together of mother and son, each of whom defined the other in their being.
As we headed down I 75 back to Fort Myers, gratitude swelled within for the opportunity Ma and I were sharing. I expressed my to the cosmic forces…Ma expressed hers to God. That's slightly indicative of who we are: two being vastly different in our worldviews, values and beliefs…Yet, there were times when she would speak and I would marvel at how alike we were in essence, at how much of her comprised me…
As we rolled on into darkness, and Ma's head began to droop despite her denials of being sleepy, I continued to reflect on the experience, to ride the wave of gratitude. I thought of MJ, my beautiful MaJiC Princess, who would normally be by my side on such an outing, but had been at work instead. I thought of her contribution to the experience Ma and I were sharing. Without her, it wouldn't be. I felt the sting behind my eyes as emotions welled. Love, authentic love, whether it be a mother's or that of the person has agreed to share your earthly experience, cannot be bought nor sold, and is infinitely more valuable than the materials we are urged to pursue so relentlessly.
2007-03-06 02:12:42 GMTComments: 0 |Permanent Link
What is Uncommon Thought?
One factor that motivates our ways of being in the world and which serve as a primary motivation for reaching out to others who function in ways contrary to the norm, is the belief that uncommon thought, feeling and behavior are necessary if we are to make changes in the sad state of human existence. We realize that those who subscribe to common ways of thinking and being aren't likely to share our view of the human condition, and they certainly won’t agree with our contention that it is precisely their ways of being that contribute to the sad state of affairs that characterizes social existence. Yet, we believe that there are many out there who hold uncommon perspectives that may contibute to positive change.
Our attempts to function in ways that are different from the norm have had some positive impacts in our spheres of being, but they have been attempts without much support or confirmation from others. And, although we do not believe that individual efforts are insignificant or wasted, we do believe that a concerted effort by a community of individuals (a social movement) would have a greater impact on global conditions. The validation and/or confirmation to be derived from a community of dissenters would also be invaluable to the individuals who are seeking to live lives contrary to the norm and to have their lives contribute to the enhancement of the human condition.
Unlike most movements, a movement prompted by uncommon thought would be one that seeks no converts. It would be a movement that would seek to lead by example. Those who commit to the movement would simply contribute to the movement by refusing to allow their uncommon thoughts, feelings and actions to be submerged or suppressed by those who adhere to common ways of being. Essentially, acting in ways that are seen as conducive to the maximization of the individual and the collective would be the only commitment members of this movement would make.
We don’t think of the mainstream as a movement, perhaps because what is common is established and predominant. It is what most folks adhere to, and what guides how they think, feel and behave. Yet whether we identify common ways of being as a movement or not, it is in fact a very large movement, moving humanity toward an abyss that we will have fallen into before we realize it. Perhaps we already have fallen.
Such a view will not be received positively by those who adhere to common ways of thinking, feeling, being. Those who hold a common view of the world usually respond negatively, even violently, when contrary ways of being are introduced into the normal social milieu. These contrary ways are usually attacked and ridiculed. At best, uncommon ways of being in the world are assessed by the norm, and if found to be relatively harmless to the norm, they are tolerated, often ignored, and, depending on the potential benefit perceived, small portions of these uncommon ways may be adopted.
Like most systems, social systems are invested in maintaining themselves and it is not surprising that common systems of thought and behavior resist challenges to their dominance. However, those who are thoroughly convinced that common systems of being are not the most conducive to the enhancement of the human condition may find it useful to come together to construct and enact an uncommon system of being that contributes to the enhancement of the human condition. At worst, a community of those who share a system of uncommon thought and practice would provide validation its members typically fail to find in common social arenas.
As firm believers in the vital importance of clear and effective communication, we find it necessary to be specific as to what we mean by uncommon thought. The definitions of terms offered may not match common definitions...but that's the point here; isn't it? No dictionaries or thesauruses were consulted and we welcome any contributions to refining the definitions.
By "Thought" we mean conscious and active devotion of mental energy to a topic, or any focused mental activity. This inludes the process of making sense of and attaching meaning to our environments, which include objects, people, events and so on. By "Uncommon" We mean unusual, atypical, abnormal, essentially different than what you are likely to find as a matter of course. Uncommon Thought, then, refers to ways of processing and making sense of the environment that are different from the ways maintained by the vast majority of people in the environment. This is a pretty simple, perhaps even simplistic, definition but we believe it serves the purpose.
Thanks for joining us to share Uncommon Thought. It is our hope that through this and other sharings of uncommon thought, uncommon action directed toward improving the human condition will become more commonplace.
T.A. and M.J.
Our attempts to function in ways that are different from the norm have had some positive impacts in our spheres of being, but they have been attempts without much support or confirmation from others. And, although we do not believe that individual efforts are insignificant or wasted, we do believe that a concerted effort by a community of individuals (a social movement) would have a greater impact on global conditions. The validation and/or confirmation to be derived from a community of dissenters would also be invaluable to the individuals who are seeking to live lives contrary to the norm and to have their lives contribute to the enhancement of the human condition.
Unlike most movements, a movement prompted by uncommon thought would be one that seeks no converts. It would be a movement that would seek to lead by example. Those who commit to the movement would simply contribute to the movement by refusing to allow their uncommon thoughts, feelings and actions to be submerged or suppressed by those who adhere to common ways of being. Essentially, acting in ways that are seen as conducive to the maximization of the individual and the collective would be the only commitment members of this movement would make.
We don’t think of the mainstream as a movement, perhaps because what is common is established and predominant. It is what most folks adhere to, and what guides how they think, feel and behave. Yet whether we identify common ways of being as a movement or not, it is in fact a very large movement, moving humanity toward an abyss that we will have fallen into before we realize it. Perhaps we already have fallen.
Such a view will not be received positively by those who adhere to common ways of thinking, feeling, being. Those who hold a common view of the world usually respond negatively, even violently, when contrary ways of being are introduced into the normal social milieu. These contrary ways are usually attacked and ridiculed. At best, uncommon ways of being in the world are assessed by the norm, and if found to be relatively harmless to the norm, they are tolerated, often ignored, and, depending on the potential benefit perceived, small portions of these uncommon ways may be adopted.
Like most systems, social systems are invested in maintaining themselves and it is not surprising that common systems of thought and behavior resist challenges to their dominance. However, those who are thoroughly convinced that common systems of being are not the most conducive to the enhancement of the human condition may find it useful to come together to construct and enact an uncommon system of being that contributes to the enhancement of the human condition. At worst, a community of those who share a system of uncommon thought and practice would provide validation its members typically fail to find in common social arenas.
As firm believers in the vital importance of clear and effective communication, we find it necessary to be specific as to what we mean by uncommon thought. The definitions of terms offered may not match common definitions...but that's the point here; isn't it? No dictionaries or thesauruses were consulted and we welcome any contributions to refining the definitions.
By "Thought" we mean conscious and active devotion of mental energy to a topic, or any focused mental activity. This inludes the process of making sense of and attaching meaning to our environments, which include objects, people, events and so on. By "Uncommon" We mean unusual, atypical, abnormal, essentially different than what you are likely to find as a matter of course. Uncommon Thought, then, refers to ways of processing and making sense of the environment that are different from the ways maintained by the vast majority of people in the environment. This is a pretty simple, perhaps even simplistic, definition but we believe it serves the purpose.
Thanks for joining us to share Uncommon Thought. It is our hope that through this and other sharings of uncommon thought, uncommon action directed toward improving the human condition will become more commonplace.
T.A. and M.J.
2007-03-05 02:27:46 GMTComments: 0 |Permanent Link
