hopelesshappiness.com

There is a segment of our population made up of individuals who are not only intimidated by greater intelligence and by science, but who would also go to great lengths to avoid such matters. This week, our president cancelled a traditional White House visit with Nobel Laureates; and he cancelled the traditional White House Science Fair. I believe this widespread disdainful rejection has come about, (at least in part), because today we are all experts. Armed with our Google, Wikipedia, news slant of one's choosing, and our Twusty Twitter, we can Twist Twuth to fit any occasion.

It seems of late that we have lost our ability to truly listen, partially because we don't have to; (moreso than any time in history, each one of us can choose who to listen to according to who agrees with "me"). However, I do not believe that this fear (of rational analysis and argument followed by an unfolding of thought), is here to stay. I have faith that we (as a Whole) will free ourselves from these quiescent constraints, and I believe even now, as the vines of vituperation spread and entangle, we continue to learn and grow. The more vines we clear away, the more rapidly we will progress. It is sad though that we must first expend the effort hacking vines.

Previously , I submitted written thought arguing for rational analysis and argument processed as follows:

1. Uncertainty
2. Skeptical Questioning
3. Mutual Validation
4. Rational Argument
5. Periodic Agreement

I went on to differentiate periodic vs. consistent agreement, saying

The agreement must be periodic because this will also (periodically) create some degree of uncertainty, insecurity, and (possibly) self-consciousness, thus curtailing anger and avoiding damaging or dangerous. self-confidence. [Conversely], consistent agreement, (for example by using one's power to surround oneself with "YesMen"), results in a surplus of self-confidence, thus eliminating all steps except agreement.

And, I also defined Validation:

Equitably serious, voluntary acknowledgement and consideration followed by a mutually volitional desire for rational argument and debate. (Validation is NOT flattery, praise, compliments, acclaim, or having one's ego stroked. Validation is not agreement.)

Those who avoid such *acumenical matters as greater intelligence and science are, in truth, avoiding uncertainty. Periodic agreement as opposed to consistent agreement, perpetuates uncertainty. Validation, (as defined above), hones listening skills and demands a continuation of the cyclical process above. I am rehashing and enhancing these thoughts because it is specifically applicable to this week, and more relevant now than when they were first written in September 2016.

*According to wordnik.com, "acumenical has been looked up 1124 times, is no one's favorite word yet, is on no lists yet, has no comments yet, and is not a valid Scrabble word." My definition of Acumenical: a diversity of perspective and opinion resulting in an interdependent insight uniting and focusing thought in order to advance our universal search for Truth and Wisdom.

I believe an acumenical mindset and outlook is necessary for our Happiness.

I believe an acumenical mindset and outlook is necessary for our survival.

I am (slowly) making my way through "The Silk Roads: A New History of the World" written by Peter Frankopan. Following are selections from Chapter 13, "The Road to Northern Europe."

Referencing the Incas of the 16th century:

"In the Inca lands, wrote Pedro de Cieza de Léon, law and order were carefully maintained, with great care taken 'to see that justice was meted out and that nobody ventured to commit a felony or theft.' Data was collected annually across the Inca Empire to make sure taxes were calculated correctly and fairly paid, with births and deaths recorded centrally and kept up to date. The elite had to work the land themselves for a set number of days each year and did so 'to set an example, for everybody was to know that there should be nobody so rich that he might disdain or affront the poor.' These were not the savages described by triumphalists in Europe; in fact they seemed positively enlightened in comparison to the highly stratified societies that had emerged throughout most of the continent, where the gap between the powerful and the weak was cemented in an aristocratic patrimony that protected the social position of the powerful."

And referencing the Dutch, (perhaps moving in a positive direction), in the early 1600's:

"In due course, the conclusion was reached that despite competing ambitions and rivalries between provinces, cities and indeed individual merchants, the most efficient and powerful way to build up trade was by combining resources. In 1602, therefore, [they] created a single entity... ...on the principle that this would be stronger and more powerful than the sum of its parts... ...The Dutch model proved astonishingly successful."

And referencing technology in the same Era; (perhaps a step backwards):

"The traditionally built craft... ...were no match for western vessels that could outmanoeuvre and outgun them at will. Continuous improvements in ship design that made them faster, stronger and more deadly widened the gulf even further. The same was true of military technology. Such was the reliability and accuracy of arms used in the Americas that small numbers of conquistadors were able to dominate populations that were vastly superior numerically---and populations that were advanced and highly sophisticated, except when it came to weapons... ...Between 1600 and 1750, the rate of successful fire of handguns multiplied by a factor of ten. Technological advances---including the inventions of ramrods, paper cartridges and bayonets---made guns cheaper, better, quicker and more deadly."

And in conclusion:

"Although Europeans might have thought they were discovering primitive civilisations and that this was why they could dominate them, the truth was that it was the relentless advances in weapons, warfare and tactics that laid the basis for the success of the west... ...The great irony, then, was that although Europe experienced a glorious Golden Age, producing flourishing art and literature and leaps of scientific endeavour, it was forged by violence."

Some Westerners may justify that violence with a grand, sweeping gesture, as if to say, "Look around. That violence brought us to where we are today."

And as I look around I have to wonder if we (as a world) would not be better off as descendants of the more advanced civilizations of that era.

Following is a (paraphrased and quoted) compilation from various sources of some headlines and news excerpts from this week.

New York Times headline, 11/5/17:

"Gunman Kills at Least 26 in Attack on Rural Texas Church"

Some facts about the weapon used, (an AR 556), from Slate.com, posted 11/6/17:

• The stock weapon uses 30 round magazines. It will fire each time the trigger is pulled until the magazine is empty.
• With modification, the weapon can fire 60 rounds in twenty-four seconds.
• With further modification, the weapon can fire 41 rounds in four seconds.
• In 2016, the weapon's manufacturer donated $4 million to the NRA's lobbying arm.

From NBC News, 11/7/17:

[Our President] "said the attack on Sunday was not 'a guns situation' but instead 'a mental health problem.' But [experts] say that their work did not show mental health to be a significant factor in their studies, while gun ownership was... ...'It's a mathematical model that decides what's important, and in this case it was far and away the firearm ownership rate which explained why some countries had more mass shooters than others,' [one expert] said."

"Firearm-related injuries are among the five leading causes of death for people ages 1-64 in the United States."

"There [is] a lack of research on the issue from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention because of an amendment Congress added to a spending bill in 1996, which was strongly supported by the NRA, that said no funds made available to the CDC 'may be used to advocate or promote gun control.' ...The move has had a chilling effect on CDC research on the subject."

From Fox News, 11/7/17:

"The bloodbath is proving to have elements both sides of the gun debate can use. More than two dozen were killed, from babies to the elderly. The slaughter took place in a house of worship. The killer had a history of domestic violence that legally should have prevented him from buying his guns. And a National Rifle Association member pulled out his own rifle and wounded the killer." The killer ultimately took his own life.

From CNN, 11/7/17:

Debunking the "good guy with a gun" argument, (that maintains a good guy with a gun is the only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun), research and statistics find the claim largely anecdotal. Violent crime is consistently 13-15 percent higher in states that have right to carry laws. And according to the Harvard School of Public Health, "case-control studies, ecological time-series and cross-sectional studies indicate that in homes, cities, states and regions in the US, where there are more guns, both men and women are at a higher risk for homicide, particularly firearm homicide." And according to a 2007 study, though constituting less than 5 percent of the world's population, US civilians own more than 30 percent of known firearms.

As a society and a culture, we, in the United States, remain relentless.

I understand that interpretations may vary, but if health experts maintained that there was a strong correlation between ownership of a plasma TV and cancer, as a government official, would you outlaw plasma TVs? Granted, plasma TVs do not enjoy the aristocratic patrimony inherent in powerful weaponry, but I also do not understand the necessity of 41 shots in four seconds to maintain my manhood; that's more than 10 per second! If we want to make it about mental health, I believe this "need" qualifies as illness. Even the desire for a mere 2.5 shots per second should cause serious concern; unless, of course, I am humiliated by standing next to the guy whose manhood is 4X mine. And I believe this "pissing contest" is at the root of the problem.

We are afraid. We are not afraid of the bogeyman. We are afraid of losing our identity; an identity defined by a bogeyman. We need a bogeyman.

In this past year, I believe we have been given permission to act out. It has become okay to say and do, based on reactive emotion. There is a straight line from divisive rhetoric to destructive action. Yes, an individual must consciously choose to follow that line, but the way has been cleared.

I am afraid. I am afraid that while I work very hard to be one of us, I may actually be one of them. I am afraid that those qualities and characteristics I ascribe to the bogeyman, I may share with the bogeyman. I am not afraid of the bogeyman; I am afraid I am the bogeyman. And odds are, that in varying circumstance, to varying degrees, I am. So, one option for denying fear of this bogeyman aspect of my character, is to establsh my manhood with the aristocratic patrimony of powerful weaponry.

We should be afraid...

After three years of employment, it is difficult to continue working for an organization that cares less about quality and process integrity than what a $10 per hour, part-time employee does. Yes, as a representative of the organization, it is absolutely correct that my "caring and dedication" and my "talents and work ethic" are also those of the organization. However, as a $10 per hour, part-time employee, I am unable to approve the resources necessary to maintain the high process standards we purport to be meaningful. And despite recommendations and requests consistently vocalized and substantiated since June, and despite assertions (from management) expressing desires to the contrary, the organization I work for has chosen to deny the vital resources necessary for consistency.

Secondarily, but still important, I personally feel let down. Since October 1, it has been difficult to sit through a Selection Committee meeting, not knowing the candidates being discussed, and unable to provide input as to details that may have otherwise been missed. Before October 1, my favorite part of this job was getting to know the candidates. Now, all I know is numbers. I am disheartened.

Additionally, you have asked me to be patient, believing this transition to full time will eventually happen. Essentially, you are asking me to put my principles on hold for a few months. I cannot simply box up my beliefs and ideals, put them on a shelf, and then, (if I remember where I put them), unpack them again in a few months. If I do not struggle daily, I will forget how.

For these reasons, and because we are now at a point of no return for rescuing this year's integrity, I feel I have no choice but to resign my position. I will no longer work each day within an inferior process whose ripples will remain as a reminder for years to come. I will no longer work each day knowing that we will overlook a number of "superheroes" deserving of in depth consideration as opposed to the cursory glance they now, (since October 1), receive. I will no longer work each day for an organization that makes a decision by not making a decision, and explains their actions by not explaining their actions. Within this framework of no decision and no explanation, there is considerable maneuverability for no accountability; there is much to interpret between the lines.

I have been told that I care too much. I do not believe that is possible, but I do understand why those who care about me, might say so. I also understand that disappointments are inevitable; especially when I am paying attention. But when a disappointment becomes entrenched in a specific circumstance, I have found it better, (whenever possible), to move on.

It is time to move on...

*The letter above was written this week. I have not yet definitively determined if I will follow through. Assertions and verbal reassurance from management continues, as recently as Thursday of this week. If I ultimately decide to follow through, I will add further substantiation here or in future posts.

On this dreary Monday morning, with a chill in the air, I am feeling an electrical susurration in my gut. A visceral response to my realization that this week I have come to a pivotal moment; a turning point of significance; a crossroads or juncture in which a change of direction takes place. (Pardon the redundancy, but I feel compelled to create a trade route from my gut to my mind, and firmly implant this seed in every city and port along the way.)

It will likely not result in a large change; but it may. Regardless of the degree, I am confident it will be a positive change. I can feel it in my gut.

I have been patient, I believe, beyond the bounds of consensus forbearance. There are those who would disagree; but those who would disagree, are not feeling my gut. And those who would disagree, are, a) those who have never felt, or b) those who have forgotten, personal feelings of helplessness converted into feelings of active hope. I understand the seeming necessity of occasional resignation, often followed by a transfer of energy and/or commitment into a different existential exertion. That is not this week. This week I am beginning work toward changing the parameters that define specific and significant chunks of personal endeavor. Again, to other segments of my personal existence, this planned movement may be barely noticeable; or it may impact all or most areas in some significant way. We will see.

I believe restlessness = an inability to ignore one's gut; and stability (often) = resignation, or an inexplicable ability to ignore one's gut. I prefer restlessness; though it (at times) comes at a high price. There are those who would disagree; but (I believe) those who would disagree, have anesthetized their gut.

Yet, as this week progresses, I am struggling to overcome the temptation of anesthetization. This struggle against my longing to be numb was nicely reflected one evening this week by a character on TV who, willing to settle, said, "I will take what I can get!" A second character animatedly responded, "That's not how it's supposed to be!"

I need to hold on to that fire...

I felt it on Monday. It has ebbed and flowed since.This fire is not the flames of anger. I believe excessive anger will dampen active, productive hope by fueling one's desire to alleviate the unproductive turmoil, via quiescence; whereas a spark of anger, (properly nurtured in the gut), will fuel active, productive hope by connecting one's gut with one's mind. I have previously vacillated some on the topic of anger, but most recently I have been more willing to admit and affirm its potential to harm. The following posts reflect this unfolding:

• Forgiving Happiness 3/9/13
• Deliriously Happy 3/15/14
• Minding Happiness 6/14/14
• Driving Happiness 10/31/15
• Herding Happiness 2/13/16
• Distilling Happiness 8/27/16
• Wading toward Happiness 12/3/16

And I believe this week's recognition of the value in a nurtured and focused spark, may be the next forward step in my evolution of thoughts on anger.

Once upon a Lifetime bleary
As I pondered blue and beery
Pondered much of my forgotten lore...

As I nodded, fingers tapping
To the beat of Snoop Dogg rapping
Mind ablaze with memory mapping
Past the haze of memory gapping
And the glaze of distant lapping
Distant slapping on a distant shore...

Barely this and almost nothing more...

Ah, distinctly I remember
Once fleet of foot and corpus-limber
Now within my dying ember
Each separate fleeting thought, hath wrought its ghost upon the floor...

Yet eagerly I seek the morrow
Beyond this late-night beery sorrow
I yearn to wake so I may borrow
More earthly moments hedged against my yore
For rare and radiant hardships to explore
For late-night beery blues til evermore...

Beer and nameless cheer forevermore...

And the silken, sad rememberings
Aimless thoughts from mind dismemberings
Hath filled me with fantastic terrors; terrors I've not felt before...

Terrors meant to still my heart
Cleave my soul, and thus impart
A starving beast; a raging carnivore
A terror left rampaging through my core...

This it is and nothing more...

Presently I felt its hunger
Hesitating, then no longer
Quite as fierce, as fierce it was before...

Perhaps the beast is only napping
And so gently I went tapping
Tapping round within my claptrap core
Searching for the deadly carnivore...

Darkness there and nothing more...

Deep into that darkness peering
Despite my countenance endearing
From within, it stared back leering
Jeering at the Light it must abhor...

Torn between and torn asunder
A darkness poised to rape and plunder
Light that waits for gloom to blunder
When suddenly a booming thunder
And the wonder of that distant shore...

A Lightning Bolt revealed the distant shore...

Back into the darkness turning
All my soul within me burning
All my mind was reeling, churning
Spilling out more ghosts, upon the shadow-dappled floor...

But then from there beyond my marrow
Scoffing at the straight and narrow
Struck by Kama's final arrow
All around me, mysteries to explore
A tapping on my window and my door...

'Tis the wind and nothing more...

Still I opened door and shutter
From the gloom I heard him mutter
His foul smell first, then him unshaven
Stepping forth and walking through my door
Quite dignified, beyond the rags he wore...

Not a word of salutation
Seeking first a lush libation
Straight to my bar, each anxious step a chore
Behind the bar, he perched there with his pour...

Perched, and sat, and nothing more...

Then foreign song and I was smiling
A soothing chant, twas most beguiling
He enthralled, as time was whiling
Words beyond my grasp, betrayed the vestige that he wore...

"Here ye reek and are unshaven
Surely thou art not a maven
More ghastly grim and likely craven
Yet here ye sit, and so I must implore
Tell me why ye stepped in through my door
And did you travel from a distant shore..."

Silent sat this graven troubadour...

Much taken by his gift of song
Though silent now, his echo's strong
Enchantment to enjoy, prolong
Yet spells he cast, chase answers out the door...

For we cannot help agreeing
The soul of any sentient being
Is blessed to hear the beauty, in a graven troubadour
Is taken by the affect, of a craven troubadour...

Quoth the maven, "Nevermore..."

Still unshaven, filthy, stinking
Staring at his drink unblinking
The drink in hand he was not drinking
Now watered down, I asked if he, would like another pour...

Nothing farther then he uttered
Not an eyelid then he fluttered
Door he closed and windows shuttered
Then to the bar, to pour himself, another copious pour
Then to his perch, a fresh drink to ignore...

And silence from my troubled troubadour...

Perhaps my doubts should dwell unspoken
Yet I want this stillness broken
So I offer this small token
"Forgive me sir, for brazen tongue; my previous inquest, please ignore..."

His wrinkled brow, his glance at me
Foretells a thrumming harmony
His golden voice once more floats free
And happily I throw myself against its rocky shore
Broken there amongst the rocks, I'll stay forevermore...

But, again, I hear the maven, "Never, nevermore..."

Then, within his ballad sinking
I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking
What purpose does beguilement serve, with mysteries to explore...

And of this maven staying hidden
His voice that comes unknown, unbidden
Is he from that longed-for distant shore
And did he come here after or before...

And what is meant in croaking, "Nevermore..."

This I sat engaged in guessing
What these strangers were expressing
Perhaps a curse, perhaps a blessing
This disembodied maven, and unshaven troubadour...

Are we here for convalescing
Or perhaps take turns confessing
Should it be so damn distressing
To hear the cryptic beauty, from my troubled troubadour
To hear this maven's wisdom, in the lone word "Nevermore..."

Am I to press, forevermore...

His song creates an aura brighter
My thoughts are whole but somehow lighter
My vision too, is wrapped much tighter
When suddenly, from the shadows, comes that word, "Nevermore.."

"Wretch," I cried, "who hath sent thee
I am finding I resent thee
How am I to circumvent thee
To submerge unceasingly
Beneath the waves, of this grand, melodious rapport
I must be one, with only one; my troubled troubadour...

Quoth the maven, "Nevermore..."

"Be thee Prophet, or be thee Devil
Do you sorrow, or do you revel
Are you furtive, or on the level
You and your capacious wisdom, cloaked in 'Nevermore'..."

"And now chanteur, still unshaven
What say you to ghostly maven
Which of you will gain this haven
I fear that joie de vivre, has no place in 'Nevermore'
Can you share your gift of song, despite the threat of 'Nevermore'..."

Quoth the maven, "Nevermore..."

Torn between and torn asunder
Lapping waves and booming thunder
Waves of song that take me under
The stygian thrill of fears to plunder
Do I truly hate what I deplore...

Within this sorrow laden soul
Uncertain how to keep it whole
Both pain and pleasure take their toll
Perhaps I've never had control
Best to search beneath the waves? Or in the realm of Nevermore?
For rare and radiant hardships to explore...

Quoth the maven, "Nevermore..."

"Be that word our sign of parting
On the morrow, I am starting
Out to sea, I will be charting
My new course, to seek and find, the Truth on distant shore..."

"Perhaps my plans should dwell unspoken
But I want this stalemate broken
Your last chance to grant a token
Be it sung or be it spoken
Clear, plain words I understand; to both I thus implore..."

Quoth the maven, "Nevermore..."

Three months pass; I'm yet unwitting
Troubadour, still sitting; sitting
And the maven, as is fitting
From the gloom is unremitting
Never more, and never quitting
On the morrow, I will chart, to find yon distant shore
As I quest, perhaps I'll pass, the realm of Nevermore...

Most every night now I am dreaming
Dreaming dreams most unbeseeming
Shadow of my soul redeeming
Thoughts that are unwholly teeming
Thus I often wake up screaming
Wake up to the terrors, of the darkness deep within my core
Wake up to the terrors, of that near-forgotten carnivore
Wake up to the terrors, of my maven and my troubadour...

Reality forevermore...