Intrinsic concept…

Amazing how the human mind (assuming the mind is human) can attach itself to one seemingly simple notion, perhaps one word, and build on it a vast metropolis of color and intention. Take, for instance, the word Intrinsic. I’ve been aware of this word for years upon years and every time I sit down to write, it’s one of the first words that reveals itself to me. I want very deeply to conquer a whole novel around this word. Or even to etch out a simple piece of prose to exemplify the whole and atmosphere of one word, this word, would be satisfying beyond- more words. So long as the word is properly defined, shared, broken down and put back together again.

I can easily compare this to Addiction. The whole nervous system of a body that desires one thing, one fix from one unattainable thing, wraps itself eternally about that thing, the essence of that thing, the existence of that thing- the distance between itself and the existence of that thing. And at every other turn I have to remind myself that “this really is just a word and there’s a bowl of cereal there, unfinished, soggy, ready for your attention- while to hover over this word.”

It’s not just a word. It’s an itch. And I can conquer entire galaxies with such a word. I can weave and stretch a canvas about the borders of the Milky Way and spew rhythm and assumption in perfected punctuation and reasoned space of etymological cacophony about the word. Or I can set myself at the evening side of a mountain, resting my chin deep into my palm with my elbow to my knee and my heel to the stone. And with a gasp and a sudden jerk of my head I will be Enlightened! I will shoot up and find the nearest oak to borrow a worthy strip of bark. I’ll find a peacock and beg a hidden feather of unimaginable hue for a moment or few. I’ll find purple’d berries and squeeze the juice in a leaf and find my stone again. There I will sit and engrave the meaning of life, utilizing this extraordinary word INTRINSIC. And should this occasion fall on a rotation that finds me with lover at home and a liaison to be reckoned with, I shall enhance the glow of the setting sun and let all eyes of Creation see that this word, this ever relevant word…this…word…

…is really, after all, just a word. And the more I dwell on it; the more I say it over and over…the more I hear it and analyze it and concentrate on its innards; the more I ponder the collection and arrangement of its letters; the more I un-paint the picture and spread the pieces out across my palm like a handful of marbles; the more I listen to its consonants and vowels…

…the more it becomes inorganic; inanimate; purposeless.

Still, the idea of one word bringing me this far… How one word can stick to your lobe and bend your ear for so long. Fact is it’s not just that one word. There are countless words that bite at my heels, stealthily following me to every blank page or screen. There are numerous concepts that so easily reveal themselves when they are least expected.

They are, however, mere concepts, mere words. Dreams are mere dreams and love affairs are mere love affairs…

…until they are put in the right place, shared with the right people, considered with the right intention, admired with the right heart…

Alone they are nothing. What is accomplished with them and how they are used is what matters. I, like the word Intrinsic, am nothing as a stand-alone. But when I stand next to someone or in a group, I become something because I am then worthy of comparison. To know something is to have the ability to parallel that piece of thought with an occasion of circumstance unfolded within an action and acceptance of knowledge. Understanding can only occur if there is a frame, a canvas and an acknowledgement that this “color is red” because I have seen and know that there also exists Blue, Green, Orange, etc. Those colors are further proven by their absence, which then produce White and Black. White and Black are proven by the appearance and disappearance of the former colors.

In a world full of people who are bent on individualism, I must recognize that without those individuals I cannot be who I am today. It’s a debilitating thought, a deflating thought to consider that if I were the only human on this planet, I would be a mere dot…actually, no, I would be nothing. Who else is there who can consider my existence? I depend on my brothers and sisters to know that I am Jonathan. I depend on them to consider me to prove that I truly am who I think I am. If it were just I, do I have the ability to confirm that I am I? Does not the human condition require a committee of at least one other person to confirm one’s existence?

My head hurts.

Human Life…?

There are almost 6.8 billion [known] humans scattered across this planet.  The scatterings are concocted of large numbers of people.  Rarely would you find a random person wandering the Sahara.  People cling to each other.  Connection is important.  Security is found in numbers.  Danger can increase with larger numbers of people.  But overall a person feels safe knowing there are numerous others around, searching for the same answers, riding the same wave of existence.  There’s comfort found in the same place death and agony are found.  It’s just one piece of the human condition. 

The human condition also contains a certain and absolute uniqueness among each earth dwelling upright.  A human’s genetic makeup may come across as similar to another.  And we all surely look the same to the foreigner- 2 legs, a couple of eyes and a head.  But what happens in the head, behind the eyes, in the heart is as inimitable in the individual as the number 1 is within 6.8 billion- and then some.  The essence of a being that has the power of consciousness, love and experience of emotion can never be matched.  Dreams are incidents that may share the same details as another person’s, but what that dream means to the individual is incomparable.  And there are numerous aspects of the dream within the whole that are never contrasted. 

 

I would hope that every single person I ask would agree.  You are unique.  There is none like you.  You may have the same needs as I.  I may have the same desires as you.  But my emotions, my experiences are in no way comparable to yours. 

 

And so…beyond this and without our collective acknowledgement of this privilege…

 

You have become a statistic.  I have become a statistic.  We watch documentaries and read articles about starvation and civil wars.  We witness the murdering of 1000’s of people at a time.  Wars produce millions of deaths.  The denial of free food and health care to impoverished nations and communities brings even more deaths than war. 

 

How does someone sit by, watching this happen without lifting a finger?  How, for example, do governments see evidence of genocide in Darfur and let it slip by because it would cause trouble?  What kind of trouble?  Sure someone will die.  But the inhabitants of Darfur certainly don’t see that as a problem.  Hundreds of them die and are raped every day.  

 

Seeing faces scroll across the $2300 Hi-Def television in my living room, those faces that can almost seem indifferent, life-less.  What choice have they?  After witnessing their own family shot to death, where would they find the strength or reason to express care?  There are no words to describe what they are forced to deal with.  They are a simple statistic.  They would prefer to be my statistic or your statistic, but they have no choice. 

 

Human life to the collective is no longer Human Life.  The collective consists of individuals who care for themselves only.  The collective sees a lifeless, blank face on TV’s and billboards and considers it nothing more than pixel and space.  I walk down the street of DC or NYC and see these pictures and I have no sense that behind those faces are dreams that are 1:6.8 billion unique.  What I care about is getting to my next destination, getting my cup of coffee and sitting with a friend hovering over an otherwise meaningless conversation.  And, thank goodness, someone else will care for that vacant face.  Someone else will send food and care.  Someone else will give the homeless man I just crossed paths with a dime or a few. 

 

And then a week later, after all the coffee has been drunk and the conversation forgotten.  After another 6 or 7 days of death and starvation, I’ll hold myself hostage behind the blinking cursor of my Personal Computer.  I’ll sip some chamomile tea and delve into a melee of words and anger against the world for being so cruel.  “How can you let this happen, World?  Who the f*ck do you think you are?  Who gave you the right to take and eat while Vagabond rustles through your garbage?  Who told you it was all right to let a whole nation of people sift away to nothing while you sit at your coffee shop table with your friend, arrogantly sipping away at your $4 coffee- that you paid with credit- with money you don’t even own? And how dare you spew vain words when someone asks you your opinion on poverty, puffing your chest like it can’t contain the oversized (albeit black) heart?”

 

 

Human life, then, is only human life to the individual (?).  Is it that since I am only present in my conscience and that only I can speak for myself, that I am only human to me, to my acknowledgement?  Is it that every other “person” I see isn’t really a person at all?  Are they pieces of my conscience, a collection of random-looking objects that merely help me get through the day?  And am I to only tap into my created placards when I feel the necessity, when I am feeling blue and need some contact?

 

Who am I? 

 

I am self-centered, and I need a cup of coffee.  Care to join me?

Welcome to my bench

Good morrow all and welcome to my bench- one bench among many in the train station we call Earth.  My bench is long and there is always room for you, the passerby and fellow pilgrim, to set a spell with me and spit random babblings, conquer / ponder the universe, play thumb war or just observe as time expectant wriggles by.  This is our institution and we utilize it as we see fit.  And I ask only one thing of visitors to my [loaned] bench:

Remember that you are human.  Remember, then, that I am human.  The only thing that separates you from me and me from you is distance.  Distance can be removed by a variety of means.  The one method that will never be used to remove that distance is force.  And so that means your presence as Visitor is expected to be one of peace.  War does not exist at my bench and so if I have offended you with any of my words, either approach me with mutual respect or don’t bother stopping by.  My philosophy (well, one of them) is that the one who is offended bares the fault of the offense.  Life and all things therein are what you make them once they are in your grasp.  Words that oppose your view are to be absorbed and placed carefully in safe corners.  If I hear or read words that might offend me, it is my duty to take them in and do good with them, or simply cast them aside and move on to the next obstacle.  A gentleperson’s debate is golden as long as it stays gentle.

And we all share the same planet.  We all have basically the same questions.  We are all searching for basically the same thing.  And I know that the worst way to try and settle my inquest is walking over others, pushing them aside, beating them down as I climb to a destination and holding them back while I scratch my way forward.

Perhaps there’s a bit of cheese in all of that.  But without cheese, we would be a bunch of sorry saps- sitting around waiting for the bus that simply won’t arrive, while our whiskey glasses dry out and out puffing pipes settle off.

Enjoy.

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