Salon … haiku
Cut away past dreams
Transform me into more of
Who I want to be
Poems, Essays, Thinkiness
At the root of violence and prejudice is the erroneous thinking that there is a “we” and a “they”. There is only “us.”
A thousand years from now, when we are time bleached bones, no one will care how the owner of those bones voted, what color the skin was, who they loved, how much money they had or what their title was. Given the horrific stories of weapons used to hurl small bits of metal at one another on roadsides and in churches, it might be a good time to take a harder look at all the ways each of us see ourselves as separate, better, more privileged, more worthy, more anything than others of us.
In truth, the cancer that is killing humanity is intolerance; adopting an attitude of superiority based on thoughts going on in our heads. Our self-imposed segregation into groups of like-believers who purposely engage in any form of intolerance only perpetuates and reinforces the “we” and “they” culture.
Are we consciously fighting hatred or are we feeding it with our own “acceptable” version of intolerance? Identifying ourselves as aligned with others who are similarly intolerant is a twisted and cancerous pride at being a “member” of a club built on mutual hate.
There is no “we” or “they”. There is only US.
Actual exchange this morning while out with my dog.
Other: “Wow. she’s really showing her age. How old is she?”
Other: “Yeah. That’s about as long as they live. Oh, well.”
I say nothing..aloud. If I said what was going through my head at the moment I’m pretty certain that Other’s head would have exploded. Instead I patted my dog and turned back towards the house. In my head, aside from the tirade of profanity that was creeping up my collar, I was thinking, I hope like hell she never volunteers to be a grief counselor. So not helping.
I’ve known Other for a couple decades and there hasn’t been any signs of dementia or other disorder that might cause her to blurt out any unfiltered thought that pops into her head. That leaves one conclusion. Terminal rudeness.
Imagine this line of thinking if we adjust the scenario with one exchanged detail…
Me: “Wow, your mom’s really showing her age. How old is she now?”
Other: “Eighty nine.”
Me: Shaking my head on an exhale. “Yeah, that’s about as long as they live. Oh, well.”
You see the problem. Apparently, on her planet, ours was a normal exchange. I don’t want to live on her planet. I don’t even want to visit there.
I know my dog is getting older. I know Great Danes don’t have as long a life as smaller dogs. No shit, Sherlock. Just let me bathe in the bubble of *happy dog time* that I do have… And I swear to god, if you say one rude thing after she’s gone, I am egging your house on the hottest day of the year.
There. I feel better. Now, THAT helped.
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