Look Away, I'm Hideous!

I have admitted something to myself more important than convincing everyone how truly terrible a person I am. By the way, some have absolutely no trouble subscribing to my awfulness while others spend too much time refuting my arguments. My friend, Evan, simply interjects, between my very protracted pauses for breaths, things to the effect of I can’t fool him or that my claims are unsubstantiated. It is important to highlight that he does add the qualifier that I am not as bad as I would like to present myself. So, he has left the door open to attribute some degree of rottenness, through his deliberate phrasing. Meanwhile, another friend has me branded as someone that entered an arena and was embraced and loved and respected so readily that I have gone out of my way to destroy my own popularity and reputation. It is true. I have done so deliberately. She rightly observes I am more comfortable as an undesirable scoundrel or untouchable. I know it is because otherwise I doubt I will be touched as much as I require.

Being discovered to actually be nice and to demonstrate regard for others is so contrary to my desire to be a threatening figure of a man that it really derails my ambition to alienate myself from the human race. I may be brutally blunt and obnoxiously direct but I care. I care to tell the truth. I care to not allow myself or others to hide. I care to listen and be involved. Caring sucks. When one cares, the want to help and to fix things is constantly thwarted either when someone elects to forsake the offered assistance or because no amount of help is sufficient. I hurt for others far more than for myself and I do not spare myself the luxury of wallowing; so, I carry this burden like a thorny crown. Fortunately for us all, the One that actually wore that crown has the power to overcome. I simply am asked to live rather than die. As has been said, “Dying is easy – Living is hard.” - In as far as this world dishes out misery, I have a good life. But, I live to help. I can’t resist the pull of jumping into the fray; even if I exacerbate the fraying as the result of my rough edges. I do not know how to remain neutral. I can not mind my own business or keep my mouth shut. For someone that cares so much I certainly don’t have much sensitivity when it comes to people’s personal space and preferences. I do not respect boundaries and I do not honor limits.

All of that was simply introduction to the utter dichotomy of my nature. I have a general contrariness and intolerance that borders on dictatorial. I am an advocate of executing martial law – MY edicts, of course. Yet, beneath the gruff and growl and the scowl and snarl has been a very tedious desire to embrace, accept, and conform to the prevailing view surrounding me. This has been an arduous and often insufferable vexing of soul and anguish of spirit for me. Simply put: I want to ”behave” and be a non-descript goo that is not in any way discernible from the masses. I have striven for that but it is the most monotonous of vane pursuits. I yearn to be invisible and homogeneous and . . . I must surely fail. The admission I am only making at now nearly forty-seven years of age is that I am not a conformist. I will always be distinguishable no matter where or with whom I am found.

The truth finally has to be faced that I am seeking to do precisely the opposite of most other people. Where others are looking to elevate themselves, I am attempting to disappear. As many wish to be found unique, I am struggling to compress myself into the cast. The similarity and the paradox lies in the fact I am engaged in the normal human wrangling to find comfort in my own skin except in reverse. I am trying to become a part of what most are trying to escape. I have a peculiarly inverted relationship to other human beings. Evan also insists that everyone claims to adore and wishes to emulate the Maverick and the independent thinker until they actually encounter such a one, personally. It is never a meeting of recognition and mutual admiration but of resentment and conflict and a feeling of threat and suspicion toward the unique, the individual, the “different.” Only historical figures are lauded and exalted while contemporary figures are ridiculed and despised. I must admit he is extremely observant. The thing that I have had to face has not been the shunning by others or even open hostility. That which has afflicted me has been self-contempt for being self-aware.

One finds escape from most of the unwanted identification as an individual as long as they may be conveniently packaged and branded. The largest umbrella to attempt to overshadow the fact that some project rather than reflect is found when labeled as an “artist.” As long as any term inviting explanations that can be encompassed by not quite all of the five senses of sight, taste, touch, hearing and smell may be applied (more out of convenience than supportable evidence) the lone figure may be contained, defined and deemphasized. There is a sort of normal desire to mar the clearly distinctive characteristics of others so that they become a blur in a faceless human smudge. A “visionary” is not as distasteful as the notion of a stubborn, insistent and willfully selfish magnate. One “listening to the beat of a different drummer” is far cuddlier and much warmer a character than when considered marching in a never wavering straight line to their objective. A “philosopher” is a much softer figure than the leader that shuns decision based on consensus or conventional “wisdom” who shuns the attempt of others to color his thoughts. In all of these, and especially in recent societal “developments” and “cultural influences,” feeling has supplanted thinking.

Currently, to stand out from the crowd really does not require that one necessarily exhibit any extraordinary abilities. All that is needed is to claim any abilities at all. It is expected that one must accept and make subjective value judgments based on the collective impression of feelings rather than on reason and carefully measured and repeatable standards. There is a strange duplicity of demanding accountability for others while apportioning deniability to one’s self. This is the grounds for intolerance of an individual because their very singular behavior threatens to reveal the whole machine a fraud by not subscribing or needing to find association with others. It is quite educational to demonstrate that ignorance is encouraged due to the subjective, collective pooling of tactile inputs as acceptable; but, the objective outputs of the individual mind are discounted as arrogance for daring to claim understanding. There is an actual preference to shun the notion there can be absolutes. There is nearly a religious fervor to imagine a world in which nothing may be stated with any certainty. This has been the futile struggle in which I have engaged for most of my life. I dare to claim insight and am punished for doing so. I have innocently identified common behavior and have been found guilty of crimes for failing to omit or overlook the folly of my fellow man. Many wish to identify with the child that told the truth about the absence of the Emperor’s new clothes, yet spend the majority of their efforts making whole cloth out of fabrications and falsehoods.

I must acknowledge that my desire to conform has only succeeded in creating a conflict between reason and action and Pavlovian response and reaction. Feeling is not thinking. Transient impressions are not keen observations. When one is mindless there is little to identify consequence for being thoughtless. I am at odds with a culture that seeks to remove any discernible and permanent markers and that refuses to recognize a fixed graduation or scale against which to examine the world outside or inside them. I can not, and in fact, will not waste my energy applying cosmetics to fit into some mask of reality. I am through with finding diversions and distractions in order to hide from others the unattractive things I see. If the need to allow the light to shine on human stupidity makes me an ugly person then I am finally able to articulate without apology, “Look away, I’m hideous.”

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Identity Theft

THREAD BARE

I am having some difficulty with the notion that I have lost my identity. In actual fact, I am having more difficulty allowing that I may never actually have had an identity that was uniquely my own. I might take solace in the admission (and even that by so recognizing this reality that I foment opportunity to actually incubate and bring an identity to fruition) However, it is the pangs of sadness and the dull ache of resonating with the hollow sense I feel which holds my attention.

While I may feel as though my sense of self has been hijacked, it simply is not true. One must possess a thing to have it stolen. Yet, one may certainly feel loss for something they have never possessed. I have, apparently, been in possession of an ideal and not of something actual. I will not go so far as to declare the ideal to not be real, but, I will offer that, real or imagined, it has eluded my grasp. Perhaps I have been owned by a thing rather than the owner? All I know is that I am reaching for something and not finding it. I have reached back into my past and find only vague references. I have existed on inferred instead of imparted substance. I have been running on fumes.

I am very much a child of American Pop Culture. As such, I have a keenly developed knowledge base which is inclusive of nearly all subjects but shallow in depth. I take consolation in that I have more depth than most I encounter, but that is far from a triumphant statement. I am fantastically suited to engage anyone in a dinner party conversation or make a good contestant on a television game show. Just avoid prolonged exposure before I begin repeating my anecdotes and stories. In bursts, I am engaging, insightful, and intriguing. I am perfectly suited for life on the talk show circuit as celebrity filler. My life is a collection of sound bites. My age perfectly positions me to span generations both before and after my own. I am a social chameleon. Finding this to be so is very distasteful as it was never my intent.

I was born early in the year, 1962, and by two years of age was requesting my Beatles albums as each was released in America. I was cognizant of the volatile times in which I was a mere child and have never become calloused to the social upheaval or carelessness of the times. I have, however, lived long enough to watch all that was ignored or adored (either deliberately or by a willfully self-induced narcotic fog) prove that history repeats itself. We are very much behaving as those of thirty-five years ago. Our amusement – especially in the form of stimulants, has taken priority over any collective will to participate in meaningful ways in our world. We are extremely sensitized and energized but also detached and anesthetized. There is no drive from within. Like the coils of wire in a transformer, we are induced to motive force only while an external source supplies us. That was how I “lived.” I was induced. The overdriven circuitry of twelve inch Celestion speakers coupled to the weak vacuum of British valve amplifiers stirred me inside. The decades I have experienced, especially the early ones, were a time of wonders and magic.

The 1950s were just before my life began and the residual traces of them had a saturating impact upon me, The 1960s were an explosive spectacle and that included technology and other things from which I have benefited while at the same time I have also endured the detriments of the cultural loss of purpose. But, for myself, I had the magic and the inspiration and found my center in the music; and the Beatles were, of course, the epicenter. When all else failed, the Beatles never had . . . until the 1970s. I took their disbanding as hard as if my parents had divorced. Now, that I have experienced divorce, the loss of the Beatles had just as great an impact upon me. So, recently I have waxed nostalgic and reached back for the sounds and sense of self in which I steeled myself in my formative years and it was gone. Sadly, the Beatles were demi-gods for too much of my life and now that their mortality has begun to take them from me, yet again, I find no comfort anymore. And, now that I am able to play the music which was so elusive and mystical a thing I no longer enter the temple with reverence but rather ritual.

The thing is this. I never needed to go in search of God as He is far too in love with all of us to wait and take that chance. God does not hide. I knew Him before I knew of the Beatles or anything else I saw as wonderful. So, I am not disillusioned and without hope but I am without definition. With the enchantment gone from my daily activities I am just so uninspired. This is tragic. I used to write poetry and music and draw and design and invent; no longer. I still tinker with my music but I have lost the connection I require to give of myself in that way. I have no audience. I was about to insist I have no one to whom to give myself but I must correct that. Music is so personal but it is also self-centered. I have become so reticent to push my own ambitions and desires that I simply do not care to write about or for me in a song. So, not living by every word sung by the Beatles and not replacing them inside with my own voice leaves me without dimension. As a consequence I have gone from speaking from my heart to brooding in my head. A curious thing is how I have replaced the failed structures in my emotional world with the comfort of mathematical postulates. Still, I am an undefined expression and far too variable to plug into this function of living.

I so want to solve the unknowns and perhaps become the sort of artist to inspire others as I have been blessed to experience. Perhaps it is good that my heroes are dead so that I take the courage to act.

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A New Wrinkle - Facing the Unexpected and Unrelenting.

I am writing this as I await the end of the rinse cycle on all of my earthly vestiges. I have an appointment, tomorrow afternoon, that I would love to miss; but, such a choice would result in an even more unwelcome visit by a Sheriff or other state law enforcement official.

A Sheriff awoke me, approximately two weeks ago, and greeted me with a summons. That was awful but these now less than twenty-four hours until I stand before a judge are incalculably worse. Hence this post. I have stopped trying to measure "Worse." I have ceased to weigh the heft of "Bad." I no longer imagine lifting the burden of "Set backs," or try to wrap my arms fully around "Dismay." I am beyond grasping the immense magnitude of my circumstances. I am not at all inclined to bother trying any longer. I have run on well past the twist in the road whereby I lost my bearings and now I am exhausted and do not much care about finishing the course, much less claiming any victory - even a personal one.

I have an image of myself as down on one knee and still being beaten across the back of my shoulders. Everything inside me should seek relief from resisting . . . yet, I insist on trying to stand up. It might be argued that, more than figuratively, I have nothing else to lose and all to gain. People mean well when they express optimism that my lot in life will improve. I have more than reasonable doubt to the contrary. I do have something incredibly valuable left to lose - my freedom. Tomorrow, if things go extremely unfavorably, I could lose that.

My freedom has been slowly and methodically stripped away from me over several years and whoever might be my phantom foe, one thing is sure: their zeal to incarcerate me is now accelerating as the stakes become precious. First, I lost the freedom to be found acceptable to several employers. Then, I found myself deemed unacceptable as a spouse. I then found myself bound to accept conditions that have never eased and are the cause of my court appearance, tomorrow. I have lost my fiscal freedom, my occupational freedom, and, my freedom to participate and associate with my children. (My children and former spouse left the country, too bad for me and my visitation "rights") I have lost the freedom to function as a "normal," and "productive" member of my society. I am excluded from job interviews because I am discriminated against by the only remaining filter not prevented by law - credit history. I am discriminated against by the failure for anyone to prove I have a detectable medical condition, as well - yet, I am not cleared and approved to return to work in one of the few occupations that makes a living wage without scrutiny of my financial blemishes. Not having any fathoming of how or why this has transpired I also have no idea how to fight back. And, this is obviously when one must fight to procure and protect the liberties supposedly provided under the law of the land of which I was born and am a citizen.

There is a serious issue, however. I am not of the special groups for which special care, special provision, or special interest is in vogue. I am (was, for some aspects) a white, middle class, male. My function in my nation is to be the source of revenue and sustenance for all other component elements of that people that comprises these United States of America. That is not a thing I have ever resented or felt put upon in being expected to provide, by the way. Paradoxically, now that I find myself in the position of no longer paying for the multitudes from my wages I face the odd quirk that I am disqualified or ineligible for all assistance programs to which twenty-five years of my employment have contributed. I find myself with no help but the struggling efforts of my friends and family to try to sustain me. And, for what I must ask?

Indeed. Tomorrow I will be asked why I have failed to meet my child support obligations. I am hoping that the explanation that I have been unemployed for nine months, scratched out piece work and small bid projects, and barely subsist on the charity of family and friends will have a favorable weight rather than just an additional millstone about my neck. One can not be certain if the judge may still feel compelled to "make an example of me." And. Yes. I am very much afraid. I have so far been denied unemployment benefits, denied welfare, denied any hope of a job earning a sufficient wage to meet such obligations as my child support and tomorrow I may be denied my liberty. I dare not ask what may yet be extracted from me but the idea of any mercy or favor was spent long ago. The one rest from all of this - to not awake is the only offer in compromise I am not being offered.

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Am I Squinting For or Wincing From the Light?

Years ago I moved far away from my family, friends, and the familiar environment that had incubated my social development, career, and contentment. At the time of that departure I ventured out on a path described by circumstances and the intent of pleasing someone other than myself. I had a new wife and an opportunity to sacrifice my comfort and convenience for the love of seeking to fulfill her ambitions, hopes, and desires. There was no coercion or pressure from her at all. I acted independently, swiftly, and without regret. I also acted carelessly, too dependently, and without realistic consideration. The latter three became the hallmarks of my marriage and all other conduct as the man defined by those actions. I still have no regrets for the decision I made. I have no regrets for the leaving of all I knew behind. I especially have no regrets for having been married to the person with whom I then lived in a world completely removed from my preferences and own dreams and ambitions because I loved her – will always love her – and had counted the cost of discontinuing investment in myself to be a price worth paying to have her in my life.

My failure to invest myself and in myself has left me in a deficit from which I may very sincerely never manage to recover. I am so keenly interested in time, now. I am not interested in the time I have remaining as a positive influence but as the unwelcome reminder of a debt still owed and in collections. Time is not a healer but a compounding of that negative interest and the yield is exponentially wearying. I do not look forward, but, only backward in order to recall happier times. The exercise is not bitter or sweet. It is the checking of figures in a ledger and simply acknowledging that the accounting is accurate. There is nothing on reserve or left to be deposited that will enhance the balance. There is no funding underway for any hopeful or ambitious endeavors. I am made ever sadder by every moment I live. It raises the bar just that much higher beyond my grasp. I am alone to face a future that is certain in its urgency, sparse accommodations, and empty solitude. I am without currency and it is pay-as-you-go.

I am expressing this as a sort of pressure relieving valve and as a cautionary tale. Perhaps someone may feel resonant vibrations. If so, you are urged to tune to another frequency and lower or heighten the pitch of your life to something richer and resplendent with harmonious complements of something fundamentally fulfilling. I have always enjoyed the Blues but never was inclined to pay any sort of metaphoric dues to sing them from my soul. That said, I am on some sort of installment plan, apparently. The words sound familiar but the tune is something I am finding that I groan more than hum. I do not wish you to follow the trail of wasted years I am recollecting. When that journey away from all I knew and had never expected to be removed from came to be it was launched with a going away party. I never anticipated that all of me was to go away. I only expected there to be distance and difficulty but never permanent loss. I have come to experience more loss than any gain in my life here to fore. The first indication of that loss was at the party, in fact. My dearest and closest friends parted with good wishes and warm handshakes and hugs. I have all of them in my life, still. I did not lose them. Had I lost them I would not be here to write this. But the curious thing I took away was what caused tears when it was left behind. That which I cried over and those that cried over me in those goodbye moments were made of incomplete and unresolved stuff. The remorse was in the regret of opportunities not taken, friendships not deepened, and lives not interwoven. I am trying to remember that sting so that I do not live in this coma where all that remains to me are the tears of loss and no hope of gain.

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To Whom It May Concern.

I still suck.

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This End Up

When reason and emotions have failed is there a third alternative? Or, why limit the possibilities? My self restricting limitations seem to be the undercurrent running over, under, through, and even, permeating the stuff of which I am. This is essentially the “riddle of the ages” question of labeling and identifying “ME.” I am pondering all of this as I am alone with my own thoughts and feelings entirely too much for my liking. And, people keep asking me how I feel with seemingly more intent and interest these days. I am really not all that concerned with how I feel. My feelings are not reliable indicators or even necessarily associated with anything of substance. That, I suppose, is the real rub for me. I do not feel connected, involved, or, engaged in anything other than consequence. I have had nothing to be about doing and nothing of any importance to say for a very long time. I do not even have busy work to distract me from the banality of my daily routine. So, what am I all about?

Besides the age old question of “Why am I here?” and “What is my purpose?” comes the more direct question of ”Why Bother?” I have the “opportunity” to reinvent myself, yet again. I really don’t want to. While I actually don’t have the chance to be anything I’d like to become I still have occasion to be many other things than what I have become. But? Why? All of these sorts of exercises are supposed to be for self benefit and be because they are the things that I want for myself. In reality, all such efforts are to placate detractors, dissenters, and well-wishers alike. I am simply tired of it all, tired of myself, tired, tired, tired. The thrill is gone. My life is endless drivel.

The entire quest of the past six months to return to my latest career (and reinvention of self) ended in an all too expected but entirely undesirably protracted way. Had someone merely decided they were going to abandon and then dismiss me months earlier I could have made different plans and pursued another course of action. Now, I am dazed and angry; disenfranchised, stunned, and immobile. I have no luxury of capital at my disposal to be selective and must take on some very unappealing work to try to extract myself from the muck and mire in which I find I am sucked under. How do I feel? Please refrain from asking such questions if you REALLY care about my well being. Also, add the following other attempts at concern for me to the list of topics to avoid; in fact . . . let’s list them all:

1) How are you feeling?
2) What’s new?
3) What have you been up to?
4) Has there been any news?
5) Why aren’t you rich?
6) How come you’re single?
7) How are your children?
8) Have you got a social life?

I’m sure there are others but those nine pretty much test the limits of my civility in not going blind with dismay mingled with rage and screaming unpleasantries at the person who has asked them. The reason I get so testy about those questions is that (in some cases every day) I have to remind the same people how much I despise those questions and have repeatedly asked them to refrain from asking. So, I suppose the truly frustrating aspect for me is the general indifference and lack of attention I am paid by my friends. That alone keeps me mostly occupied so that I do not extrapolate the data to the logical conclusion that if my “concerned friends” care so little to oblige my requests then how vastly uninterested in me does that make everyone else? Right? If the sympathetic souls – aren’t ??? Never mind.

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The STATUTE of Liberty

When Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi sculpted “La liberté éclairant le monde” (Liberty Enlightening the World) or what is commonly referred to as, the “Statue of Liberty,” it was as a commemoration of the centennial celebration of the Declaration of Independence. It was also a remarkable ideological as well as technological achievement. The copper skin of the figure was wholly supported by an internal structure of iron, designed by Alexandre Gustave Eiffel. Yes, the engineer responsible for the Eiffel Tower. But, what I believe is all the more remarkable is how the history of the statue has been more telling than the symbols in its composition. I now look upon the monument as a sort of national “picture of Dorian Gray.” There are many parallels in the maturation of the young nation of the United States of America to the central figure in Oscar Wilde’s novel.

The concept that drove the forging of the statue was the idea of Liberty as a progression away from slavery, oppression, and tyranny. The grandest hopes of a free society were entrusted to what the founding fathers referred to as the grand experiment. The United States was to be a republic of independently governed states where democratic principles would guide and sustain it. So, within the elements of the statue are such things as the left foot trampling broken shackles while the right foot steps beyond them. There are seven spikes upon the crown to represent both the seven seas as well as seven continents demonstrating that the principles of Liberty should encompass the whole earth. The raised torch is to show enlightenment while the tablet clutched in her arm represents knowledge. To be sure, all of these things are indeed noble. They are also lofty and ambitious objectives so one does not consider that such accomplishments would be easy. However, it would not appear that any of those things indicated by the statue are either regarded or are possibly any longer noticed much less remembered.

I am a staunch supporter of capitalism. Yet, I do not subscribe to the notion that it is a fundamental tenet of the Constitution. The Preamble to the Constitution refers to Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. It guarantees none of those and it is very appropriately phrased that happiness is a pursuit and not a right to be expected, much less, demanded. What causes me to take issue with the current public mindset is that I sense that “we the people” have upset the balance of reason in favor of selfish pursuit. It is why I believe that when a nation loses its fundamental grasp of the principles, beliefs and convictions intended by its founders and subsequent generations that there becomes a “Statute of Liberty” and that statute has limitations.

And from this point forward in this essay is my concern as best as I have presently developed the analogy. When first delivered to the shores of America, the statue was in crates and needed to be assembled. There were mistakes made in the assembly that were not detected for nearly one hundred years. There were no mistakes in the design or the pieces as forged but in the understanding of the complexity of the instructions and the foreign language used to explain the process. The torch arm was actually attached improperly. Nevertheless, because the design work was so well thought out and so painstakingly constructed - even the foibles of the common man could not disrupt the integrity of the whole. When new, the figure was a shiny copper without any of the green patina that is now far more familiar in the minds of the world looking on her form. The flame of the torch was a solid and complete representation covered in gold leaf. It reflected the sun and shone brilliantly. For many years Liberty towered above other manmade achievements.

Over the course of time the statue became an iconic figure and many added their own symbolic elements to its meaning and purpose . . . even losing sight of its initial intent.
In the 1930’s it was decided that rather than reflect light, externally, the flame of enlightenment needed to be amended and cut full of holes to allow more light, internally. This was one of the first efforts that weakened the underpinnings and allowed the storms of the descending decades to penetrate the edifice and rot the framework. At this same time it was also decided that artificial light was needed to enhance the appearance of the visage of the statue. More holes were cut beneath the arm supporting the torch to place lamps to shine upon the face, and this further weakened the structure. More decades transpired and because the outward appearance of the statue seemed “fine” no one concerned themselves with any examination of the supporting internal works until it was noticed a few years after the bicentennial that Lady Liberty appeared to be “stumbling” and her torch arm was drooping.

It took a charismatic campaign to raise enough financial support to repair Liberty and make her whole, once more. There was not sufficient public interest in preservation of our heritage without the use of commercial ventures and entertainment value to garner the required effort. The benefit to the many was struggled and fought for by a dedicated few. Indifference and apathy replaced patriotism and the appreciation of preserving a national institution. The nation was enjoying a prosperity boom but had no interest in investing in its own relevant past so that future generations would benefit. The picture of Dorian Liberty was showing its age.

Upon close inspection it was discovered that the whole structure was on the verge of collapse – rotting from within. The generations had taken their toll, consuming without putting anything back or exercising any maintenance. The structure had been forged of iron by hammer, hand, and sweat at its core, with a copper skin, and the whole edifice was “safely” surrounded by a saltwater basin. When the notion to alter the natural cycles of day and night with electric light was applied to Liberty Island, the current was carried beneath the water and into the statue. Galvanic corrosion resulted, where the figure became a giant battery, with the saltwater acting as an electrolyte. While everything on the surface appeared unchanged, hidden forces surged from underground channels and dissolved the entire framework that upheld the lovely skin deep illusion of a colossus. The cosmetic portion of the figure was all that remained to carry the weight of the image and it was failing under its own grandeur.

I hope the symbolism is not lost on you. There is a familiarity with the corrosion of the once new and shiny plan and purpose of my nation. On the Statue of Liberty we call it “patina” for it is more attractive a word than ”rust.” We embrace the crusty film over our emblem as it would be far too overwhelming to return a shine, again. The task seems daunting. Likewise, we neglect our infrastructure because, cosmetically, all seems good. And we argue that the crusty film we have developed on the skin of our nation helps to protect us and adds to the distinctive character we project. That is both lazy and troubling. We used to be a bright beacon of hope for other peoples of other nations. But our flame is not so bright any longer and the fire has too many holes as we look for inner light and grow dim and flicker with doubt. We have also grown tired of holding that torch high and in a forward cast. We are directionless and purposeless, I fear. Perhaps if the torch were replaced with our current desire it would be a fist full of dollars or a new cell phone? All I know is that the current light in which we are illuminated isn’t natural. The only accurate element remaining for the modern Land of Liberty is the tablet of knowledge. We exhaust ourselves pontificating, exploring, and babbling incessantly about our superior knowledge. Sadly, wisdom has been forfeit in order to make more room for ambitious learning, apparently.

And the seeking of pleasure and happiness is the new slavery and tyranny that we elect to step into with eagerness. It was somewhere, approximately fifty to sixty years ago, that “thinking” was replaced by “feeling.” No wonder we are adrift as a culture. All of the principles, convictions, and beliefs used to construct this nation are now out of sight and out of mind. We attempt assembly of a complex structure in a language foreign to us. The subjective has been substituted for the substantive. Only because the original design was so diligently calculated and devised are we still standing, today. The core is rotting; hidden beneath a familiar façade assumed to be permanent despite neglect and a failure to maintain it. But there is a statute of limitations on the liberty of ignorance and arrogance.

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