He crosses the bridge at Selma one last time. A giant once again laid horizontal to the asphalt—once bloodied, now encased with honors. We journey with him across the river, hoping to follow the linage he leaves of loving our enemies and sacrifice—the ever returning catalyst of love.
Pictures that compose words, words that write images—have we ever lived in anything but a blended world? A picture is worth a thousand words; a well-placed word conjures up a thousand pictures. Around the circle goes. We reference, and the references become worlds—objects which outstrip and sometimes outlast us.
When did resolved hardness become a virtue? Was there some Thomistic meeting declaring unadulterated truth forever that I missed? If our short democratic experiment taught us anything, we should know how fragile and laborious it is to build societal trust. Any diamond-like society forgets one must invite the other to the table every day. Share a meal, understand their fears, hopes, and dreams, and build a community together.
O temporary visitor in between the already, yet, and who knows, there where we face our finitude. Yet, we yearn After Finitude, the title of Meillassoux’s excellent book. Might we forgo our dogmatisms and ignorance into possibilities? Turn our petit peu into peut-être?
Again, here I am as if for the first time in an eerie encored conglomerated memento of something which seems familiar. Tables, people, noises displaced from a previous situation become a rebus of the new in the old. What a wonder it would be if two people could experience déjà vu together.
We pour ourselves into the internet and skip over other’s posts. We read, write, and view, consuming all we can. And yet, in this sea in information, it is often a single beautiful sentence or a poetic turn of phrase which touches and changes us. I pray for more such moments everywhere.
The world is full of experts. Novices, learners, and jesters flock to them, and rightly so. They are deposits and diplomats of knowledge. All of them are needed, but the Jester is least understood and often misrepresented. Jester play with what experts know and dream up new, unimagined worlds.
Protests are often sketched as violence. Sensationalism highlights the confrontation with systems, peoples, and infrastructure emerging from them. Marchers are roaring through the streets, uncivilized, and out of control. But such rallies are often more weeping than roaring. Like tears, a group of bodies floods roads. They have no other recourse for the depth of their mourning.
We may say broadly that free thought is the best of all the safeguard against freedomSlavoj Žižek
Those who shout “I” the loudest have little “I.” The cult of hyper-individualism forgets its reliance on various structures. Everything is for me, a “me,” which would not exist without others. Knowing I become through human and non-human others helps me remember freedom is a gift—one which is given to me and one which I should share.
Personal goals can be so vulgar, especially when one pretends they produce meaning by themselves. One pursues objectives, and if one is not careful, they skulk after you. Switch from goals to lifelong learning or exploring and chasing after turns into finding oneself: in places, with people, and yes, sometimes even in meaning.