Socrates on Transparency

 

We can all do better here . . . thank you, Socrates.

So much pretense in this world. If we could actually be and achieve what we set out for others to see, well, wouldn't that just be something.

Some people would be shooting themselves in the foot, I know. Influencers, for example, who are so fake that even their most sincere offerings are chaff, floating away in the wind.

But for we serious people of this world, we could do better at syncing up the real with the image. We imagine ourselves virtuous, but in our private moments, are we really? Who are we when no one is looking?

This is something I've taken to heart all my life. I do put a good foot forward for guests, it's what a good host does, but I'm not phony. I genuinely want to give my guests the best possible moment that I can, give them a respite from the drudgery of life. 

I don't think Socrates was talking about hospitality. I think he was talking about relationships, about behavior, but mostly about our hearts and minds, our desires and thoughts. What we pretend to be is what we think is the best 'us' to present to the world, so it probably is worth pursuing. The genuine article, our highest potential as human beings.

I have to say, phony people are a pet peeve of mine. Here I am, living as authentically as I can, though not perfectly, putting it all out there, only to have phony people all around me perform. They purr and giggle, they lie and deceive, they manipulate and condescend. I do not like being used, hence my aversion to using people. I do not like to be stroked when I'm hurting, stroked like a little puppy with goofy baby talk and useless platitudes. 

When someone I love is hurting I listen. Intently. And I offer whatever actual help I can give, and I seek to learn what they need from me to get them through the storm. I think about them and about their struggles, they don't leave my mind. I check up on them until they are through it. I care. Sincerely care. I am there for them through it all, not just until something distracts me.

But it's rare for people these days to put it all out there. The social competition is stiff. We don't want to show our flaws, because heaven knows, no one else has any. Seems people are not comfortable baring their souls anymore. It's a rare person who will do so. I do so. And I find people willing to listen and help me and show true compassion with intelligence. While it's one thing for them to dig into my mind, they often put up a guard around their own.

It's frustrating. Very. Because there is wealth in sharing our highs and our lows with one another. Dialogues are far superior to monologues. 

Also, I must note that Happy Talk is so sickly sweet it rots our minds like sugar on teeth. Chattering about nothing at all or parroting the words and ideas of others is utterly useless in forming lasting bonds. Stop pretending. Have the courage to reveal who you truly are.

Be yourself. Ask questions. Share ideas. We don't have to have all the answers or even all the questions. But to be curious and to share a hypothesis in process or to puzzle out concepts and ideas, yes, these enliven and enrich us. Hard to find companions who will take the time to linger over conversations such as these, I know. Everyone has to be somewhere else an hour ago. Plus, there is a fear of being revealed, of being known as we truly are. It's sad because most friendships grow in the soil of honesty.

Oh well. I will keep being what I think is the best version of me - still a work in progress - and thank God for genuine people when they pop up here and there.

Those of you who already are with me in this, you know who you are, I treasure you. 

Your honor crowns you.

Sweet June 2024

The air in Springfield this past month has been absolutely delicious! Perfumed. 

Each sunny early morning, the sun's warm fingers tickle the sweet aromas from flowers, blossoms, and grasses. The breezes then entice and carry the loosened dainties far and wide.

Mornings, I lie in bed reading . . . in bliss.

Filmy sheer white curtains lift and gently billow on the air dancing between my room's two huge garden-facing windows, fresh scents swirling with them.

I cannot help closing my eyes in peace, inhaling deeply of the mingled fragrances, smiling in closed-lipped contentment. 

Bright blue sky, no clouds.

I shall meander out to the hose in my herb garden to lightly sprinkle newly sprouting basil, parsley, and cilantro, then, give drinks to the other darlings.

I've already picked a heaping bowlful of red sweet strawberries, stunned at the many ripe orbs peeking out from under sturdy green leaves! 

I snap a handful of warm-from-the-sun asparagus. Prolific, as is everything else in my gardens this year.

Artisan French toast with berries for breakfast along with roasted just-picked-asparagus, and a mug of the tea my daughter gave me for Mother's Day.

Sweet June!

Biden the Literary Pirate

When I was a young woman, 1987 I think it was, I first heard, on the evening news at 6:00, the word plagiarize in connection with a smug and sleazy senator, Joe Biden, unknown to me at that time. 

Grabbing a heavy, bright red Webster's dictionary, I looked up the word. I was appalled. I thought surely the discovery of his crime was the end of this guy's political career.

Ever since then, in my mind the word plagiarize travels interchangeably with the name Joe Biden. He copies the words of other people, presenting them as his own, never noting their true authorship. He plagiarizes.

He's done this throughout his life beginning in school and most

recently during his crabbily-delivered Pointe du Hoc speech of Friday, June 7, 2024, many passages lifted from President Ronald Reagan's Boys of Pointe du Hoc speech from 1984. Yes, a speech writer no doubt wrote the entire body of Biden's speech. But Biden spoke it; the onus is on him to check it out, or have it checked out, especially given his, ahem, habit of cheating. He is the President now, after all. 

Sloppy and sleazy, the heart of a con man, a cheater, a puny fellow who tries to stand on the shoulders of giants, but he cannot rise that high. Ever. 

Joe Biden = plagiarist = sleazy, in 1987, sleazy in 2024.

Here is a link to the text of Reagan's speech, which is one for the ages, a beautiful, dignified, honorable speech worth reading. It cleansed my mental palate after listening to Mr. Plagiarist just now.

Here is a link to a video of Reagan's speech. 

Truth matters.

Omaha Beach, 2017 Photo: Cherie Klusman

Seeing One Another

   "We were created to look at one another, weren't we?" -  Degas

Place de la Concorde, 1875, Edgar Degas

Face to face, eyes upon eyes, feeling the heat and breath from another's body, smelling their clothing and perfume, watching the wind play with their hair, patting them on the arm in comfort, a teasing punch on the shoulder, seeing each other in person, this is normal human interaction.

Screens are abnormal.

And we are paying a price for our abnormality.

Unplug with me. 

Unplug from screens and walk away from fakery in comparison, forgery, manipulation, fake scripted and curated lives with unrealistic standards of plastic beauty. Succumb to the phony no more. 

Walk into real life, real living, flaws and all.

Live amongst people. Genuine people.

We were indeed created for each other.

Giving, Taking Away, Giving Back Again

It's been repeated to death, but there it remains in the Bible (Job 1:21b), the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. And here we are to understand that the Lord is blessed for doing so. He does what He does and there ain't nothing we can do about it . . . 

. . . except strive all our lives long to understand that a good God is doing what He's doing for a good reason. Always.

And He is. He really is. He is teaching and showing and growing all of us who are His children.

I remember giving my children toys to play with only to find they didn't appreciate them, might break them, weren't ready for them just yet. So I quietly took them out of play until the right time. 

I also remember many times in my life when I had something wonderful but didn't appreciate it, until it was taken away, or I lost it due to my own carelessness. I wanted it a hundred times more after living without it. How I cherished the wonderful somethings when they returned to me!

These little God lessons come to me at the weirdest times.

Like during this unusual and busy week in the middle of a huge home improvement project.

Two years ago I had something that was wonderful, that I had worked and prayed for, but it scared me. I wasn't sure how to live with it. It made me feel vulnerable, uncomfortable. I didn't appreciate its wonder and goodness. I stupidly dwelt in fear.

So, God took it away, slowly over the course of two years. I pine for it now. I kick myself for not realizing what I had, when I had it. I am frustrated for not guarding and protecting it. 

I prayed to God today, letting Him know that I understand why it was taken: I wasn't ready.

He is slowly giving it back to me, but He's making me work harder for it than I did the first time. I am humbled. And I am grateful. I am willing to work to regain the gift. 

I have every hope that the gift He gave and took away and is giving back will be appreciated and enjoyed all the more the second time around, because its value is known to me. Truly known and understood.

I love the last verse in Job 1. "Through all of this Job did not sin nor did He blame God." That's the ticket. 

I know a life-long, church-going Christian woman who regularly raises her fist to Heaven and blames God in fury when He does what I've described in this post, that is He doesn't do what she wants Him to do; He either doesn't give or He takes something away. She goes directly to anger, fury, blaming, fist in the air, "Curse you, God." I shudder when she describes these moments of hers to me. She doesn't understand her lack of perspective. "Um, He's God and you're not, and He is good and you're not, so maybe be still and know this? Watch and learn? Trust? Hmm?" 

I've always found her tempestuous reaction mystifying because, for some reason, God has kept such thinking out of my nature. I've always known that He is the boss, the One who knows all, the Author of the story, the only one who knows everything that has, is, and will happen, and He knows exactly how He wants it all to go down. Also, I know to the depths of my heart, mind, and soul that He loves me. He is the Source of love.

So I trust Him. I've had my moments - seriously hard, crushing life events - where my legs turn to rubber and the air is sucked from my spiritual lungs, but always - so far always - I have immediately turned to Him in prayer expressing my shock and weakness and hurt and pain, but I tell Him, "Lord, I don't know why you are having this happen, but I trust you. I can barely stand, but I trust you and know you are doing something good for your story. Whatever has to happen, please help me glorify you in my response. I want to understand You. I want to be good like You." (This, you see, is my long-winded version of Job's words at the end of chapter one. "Through all of this Job did not sin nor did He blame God.")

We all have our own walks and lessons. To respond in trust is the most important aspect of walking and learning. And then, to be grateful receivers of the gifts He sometimes returns to us, when we are ready

.

Spiritual Mea Culpa

Sometimes I am acutely aware that I live in a working class town with people who are, well, different from me, in manner, in presentation, in usage of the English language.

I fight the pride, man. I really do.

But today it got the better of me, and I actually said out loud as I drove home from the post office where I'd signed for and gathered my antique Italian mirror (ahem), "I really hate living here. These people!"

Feeling the necessity to meet my pride with humility, my thoughts turned to Biblical passages about believers being salt and light. Many of our Lord's teachings flowed through my pious mind.

Following resignation's deep sigh, I decided to focus on blessing the world with my presence, in order to brighten it, you know, help it out, because, well, me among them. I must stay the course and be a good little Christian woman amidst the Cretins. (Sorry, Crete. I'm sure you are populated with absolutely lovely people.)  I decided that it's best if I deign to bide my time being a godly example to these people until Jesus returns or takes me Home, whichever comes first. 

"Yes, you ignorant, unwashed, peasants, I will walk among you until God calls me out of this increasingly uncivilized world. He wants me here to help you. So I will do my best." 

More lung expulsions. 

The light turned green. I headed home. Unsettled, my mind puzzled over my hasty conclusions. I was missing something. Something crucial . . . 

 . . . . then, I realized with a gulp and a blush . . . . um, Jesus had to walk among the ignorant, unwashed peasants and also the snooty religious leaders in order to actually save their souls. And He did so willingly and with grace, love, compassion, purpose, and all His energy, creativity and talent. 

He washed His disciples feet and then told the disciples, "Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them." (John 13:14-17)

Face palm.

Right there in the car at the red light under a bright blue May sky, I got a clue.

Mea culpa. 

Looks like the biggest proudest unwashed idiot is me.

Postscript: memorize scripture all your life long. Especially teach Bible memorization to children. God uses it to teach you as an adult. Good stuff, even if it may leave a mark on your face.

Max Ernst, 1920

“Ambiguous Figures (1 copper plate, 1 zinc plate, 1 rubber cloth…),” circa 1919-20. Collage, gouache, India ink, pencil and painting over a print. Collection Judith and Michael Steinhardt, New York. Copyright 2004 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/ADAGP, Paris.

Max Ernst's 1920 "collage is serious, desperately so. It is made up of cutting from pictures of machinery and other technical equipment, which have been pasted together so as to form two nightmarish 'mechanical men.' These stare at us blindly though their goggles and demand to know if we recognize them as images of modern man, slave to the machine and thus little more than a machine himself." -- H.W. Janson & Dora Lane Janson

World War One changed the world, drastically.

Things like Dada artwork erupted in response. With the aim to destroy traditional art and then replace it with new works they'd create, one of the Dada artists, Jean Arp (aka Hans Arp, 1886 - 1966), wrote this: 

"Revolted by the butchery of the 1914 World War, we in Zurich devoted ourselves to the arts. While the guns rumbled in the distance, we sang, painted, made collages, and wrote poems with all our might." 

Now, let me be clear, Dada-ists were politically very far left. I don't agree with their politics. I don't agree with their goal to destroy traditional art or culture. At all.

However, I understand that, while being very young, they felt fear and a lack of control or any sense to the War, to the destruction of life as they knew it. 

I am feeling the same things today, with the culture war drowning everything I hold dear, and at such a rapid pace. How quickly the structures of civilization are pulled down and either left ruinous or quickly replaced with evil. It is shocking.

So, while Ernst and I would disagree politically, we do agree that the barbarity of wars and the ensuing cultural upheavals need context, and art is a context that lasts.

This artwork of Ernst's comes to my mind often, because not only is it reflective of the existential crises experienced by the young in the early 20th century, but Ernst has proven himself prescient. His work reaches from the past to posit his questions to the early 21st century.

What is man becoming? Are we okay with it? How shall we respond to the blowing up of the world?