History will tell many tales of this latest pandemic, if history
tells us anything. Some we today may scarcely recognize depending on how
differently the night sky looks in those future ages. Yet, even then they will
hold value. Ancient stories still strike intimate chords today, still carry Truths
to teach. Fortunately, we won’t have to wait that long. Clever humans, at this
very moment, are weaving medicinal tapestries from the threads of daily events.
When their looms will stop, I do not know. I can say many will carry fear long afterward.
This is understandable. Disease is only a little younger than Life itself, let
us remember. The Fourth Rider and its pale steed have always cast a cold shadow
near our doorway. Will it enter? Will it pass? we ask in the long night.
And what of the shadow’s umbra? Its name is Uncertainty, mother of Panic. As I
said, flinching in their presence is understandable.
I offer these words as a small balm for the stream of tribulations
2020 seems hellbent on throwing at us: We’ve been through worse. We’ve learned
from it. We’ll get through this.
Our ancestors braved storms and gales to travel unexplored oceans.
Our ancestors raised structures of breathtaking height and
sophistication around the globe. Some of which we, who now plan to walk the
surface of Mars, still cannot fully explain or replicate.
They invented Art and Philosophy and Music and the
Scientific Process.
They dug themselves out from under earthquake rubble to rebuild
larger and stronger than before.
They set aside time for special celebrations despite (and to
spite) the precariousness of daily life.
They saw lobsters and boldly declared I am going to eat
that! With butter!
They survived other humans.
All of human history is within YOU. Give yourself the gift of learning about your past.
It is your birthright. Your inheritance. Rest upon it. Take strength from it.
Then, gentle reader, please help ME remember to do the same!
I have those dark, cold nights, too. What reminded me this time round was a
re-watching of the extended version of “The Lord of The Rings” trilogy. My hope
was the pandemic would have long passed when the final credits rolled. Alas, no
such luck. Instead, two ideas smacked my skullcap. The first was Theoden’s story
arc. I have no idea how the tragedy of his character eluded me all those
previous viewings. Some squirrels don’t make it to the top of the tree, as the
old saying I just made up goes. Much has been written about him over the
decades (I’ve since learned) so no need to expand that. The second smack came
from a visual. Felt like a hammer. Here is the clip posted by Warner Brothers
Entertainment on YouTube.
Every time I see the families in the cave it gets me. Every.
Damn. Time.
Orcs, Humans, Elves, and a stone wall. It dawned on me that this
scene is an analogy of human history, and by extension a broad model of the
human psyche. Let’s start with that wall. A wall is a line lifted into the
third dimension. Its sole purpose is to set boundaries. This one is scarred
from the many times it fulfilled its role as protector. Outside the gate comes destruction
and chaos under the cover of night. Animalistic yet not unintelligent, Orcs are
a constant threat. They steal, kill, burn, or destroy to suit their own ends. They
are kept in check by strength alone, ruled by strength alone. These new Orcs,
however, are far worse. They have been augmented and organized by the intellect
of a once ally. Behind the wall stand humans and Elves. And Gimli. Elves are
everything Orcs are not. Remember, Orcs were created by the purposeful spoiling
of Elves. They are negative images of each other in both action and thought. Elves
embody grace and order. They value knowledge and taught the Ents to speak in
the deep past. Then we have humans. They exist in a mired middle ground between
Elf and Orc. Humans can embody grace and knowledge. We can
demonstrate bravery and kindness. We can also grow apathetic or spiteful. Indifference
leads to stagnation. Wisdom rots from memory until what’s left is human in
form, but Orc in spirit and nature. The Wildmen were aptly named.
The battle was new to the participants, but the setting was
old: a line, an enemy, and a battle to survive. Change the names. Adjust the
ideologies. Martin Luther attacks the walls of a religious bureaucracy with
words nailed to a door. La Malinche whispers a calculated suggestion into
Cortez’s ear to guide his eye toward victory over the Aztec empire. Dr. Ignaz Semmelweis
argues handwashing saves women’s lives despite the fierce objections of colleagues
and the medical establishment. It costs him his life. A victim of violence, slavery, and hunger decides
stability must be imposed upon his world, thus Temujin becomes Genghis Khan. Off
the Cuban coast in a Russian sub, Commodore Vasili Arkhipov weighs patriotism
and sworn duty against the fire of nuclear holocaust. Lenny Bruce keeps using
schoolyard vulgarities in front of adult audiences.
And again. And again.
The Established battling The New. Rulers battling Revolutionaries.
The Invaded battling Invaders. Home battling Visitors. Brother Order twirling
with Sister Chaos across the floor of Time without a care, save only for their
dance. We live in their wake. We are of their wake. Life, after all, depends
on them, not the other way round. Humans can see the dance, for some reason. Seems
that way, anyhow. I think it’s linked to knowing we’re mortal. Most days I
suspect the perception of personal mortality (I have an ending?!) came
first. Something went into our Options and switched off the ‘Live In The Moment’
setting. Time and Memory orbited a new version of Self thereby inventing questions,
which lead to symbolic language to ask better questions. The primal,
predatory Why? was born. Maybe it was the Dance that changed our Options
settings. Maybe. Whatever the reason, our mind’s “Territory” dial turned to
Eleven to match our rapidly expanding mental landscape. We drafted metaphysical
lines, build mental walls, and dropped symbols on whichever side of the map
worked best for achieving our needs. Flags, ink, and paper replaced urine. I
wonder sometimes if early material maps looked that dissimilar from mental ones.
Here be monsters might be truer than we thought. Do they look dissimilar
today in our enlightened, sophisticated current year? All maps tell a story, so
probably not. As Robert Anton Wilson used to point out, “The menu is not the
meal.” Which is, of course paraphrasing Alfred Korzybski’s, “The map is not the
territory.” and “The word is not the thing.” Both were influenced by the
Surrealist movement in art. (The human mind? Surreal?) Perhaps you’ve seen this
piece from ninety-one years ago.
 |
| “The Treachery of Images” by Rene Magritte 1929 |
Perhaps you know this other work by Rene.
 |
| “The Son of Man” 1964. I’ll let you decide how it fits in to my words. |
Let’s briefly turn back to Middle Earth for a possible
explanation for the above.
Orcs = ID
Humans = Ego
Elves = Super-Ego
Helm’s Deep as a model of one model of the intermingling operators
within our psyche. This popped into mind when I asked myself why (There’s the
old thorn again.) human history seems so repetitive. Then I remembered how old
and cliché even asking the damn question is!
What has been will be
again,
what has been done
will be done again;
there is nothing new
under the sun.
Ecclesiastes
1:9 Circa 935 BCE
That was almost three-thousand-years ago. Put another way:
Thirty centuries ago, humans were complaining there was nothing good on
television, movies were all the same, and new music sounded like recycled crap.
Nothing changes. Similar software running on similar hardware yielding similar
results. My words have been written before. They will be written again. The
cycle triumphant.
And yet.
Our ancestors braved storms and gales to travel uncharted oceans.
Our ancestors raised structures of breathtaking height and
sophistication around the globe. Some of which we, who now plan to walk the
surface of Mars, still cannot fully explain or replicate.
They invented Art and the Scientific Process and Philosophy
and Music.
They dug themselves out from under earthquake rubble to
rebuild larger and stronger than before.
They set aside time for special celebrations despite, and to
spite, the precariousness of daily life.
They saw lobsters and boldly declared I am going to eat
that! With butter!
They survived other humans.
But, Sam. You’re hopefully asking. Aren’t you contradicting
yourself by making large number level observations on human behavior while citing
those specific individuals? They all altered this immutable cycle you’re rambling
on about despite having been a byproduct of it.
Noticed that, did you? Yeah. Funny how individuals can do
that. Funny how a single person can tip a scale carrying millions. Funny how
the Dance sometimes sways to a single person moving to their own music. It’s almost
as if there is an odd profundity to the Individual that’s fueled by the nature
of their intent. And it just so happens I am talking to an individual at this
very moment.
Oh no, don’t drag me into this. I have enough on my
plate.
Ever wonder when Hope was invented?
I’m wondering when this blog will end and hoping it’s
soon.
Not the ‘wanting’ hope, the visionary Hope. The 'look
around and wonder how better existence could be' Hope.
Invented? You mean like a light switch or diet soda? Never
thought of it that way. Weird to think that Hope didn’t exist until the second
it did. But, “invent”? Is that the correct word?
Someone wiser than foolish me probably has a better one. Still,
somewhere along our long path with all the hints of ages lost, there was a
moment when Hope came into being. We’ve never let it go since. Maybe that was
in our Options, too? To install the Hope DLC, press X. Who knows how
many names or origins or sources we’ve given it over the millennia. Think about
all the greeting cards that never would have existed without it.
A staggering observation.
I deal in the hard Truths. Explains why I don’t sleep well
at night.
So, take your own advice.
What do you mean?
You’re going to great lengths to encourage people to have
Hope, to use Hope, based on what humans have endured since humans existed.
Pandemic upheavals sparked this blog, but 2020 was just warming up. Here’s the
reminder you asked for: We have endured much, yet still created much. We have
endured much, yet still done much good. We’ve an established track record that
doesn’t need platitudes, because we invented platitudes. We can picture the
possible, then marry the image to action. A human is a spec of flotsam bobbing
on an ocean of time that miraculously found ways to build ships and draw maps
in the Hope of one day harnessing the storms that threaten to drown them.
That’s you. That's Us. Don’t forget it.
Huh...you got me figured out.
Of course, I do. I am you. I know what you know. I know what you’ve been
through.
I can't argue with a good point. Can I ask you,
er, me some clarifying questions? I feel like we’ve just scratched the surface
of all this...........Hello?
Hello?!
I guess it’s just you and me again, gentle reader. Interesting.
We’re all a product of and a producer of. And more. We often fall
under the step of the Dance, yet sometimes we pick the beat. We can make
decisions. Well, I certainly gave myself a lot to think about.
I Hope I gave you something worth thinking about, too.
Be well. Stay well.
I believe in you, fellow human.
Sam
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