Tag Archives: comparison

The Best and the Dimmest

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The other day, changing clothes at the YMCA, I chatted with a delightful stranger, a twin in her fifties who apparently has never competed with her identical twin sister (and best friend) in anything. Not during their childhood, not as teenagers, not as wives and mothers, not even now since their kids had grown. I was flabbergasted.

 

In brutal contrast, I grew up in an extremely competitive household. My three sisters and I spent considerable youthful (and later, adult) energy attempting to best one another in every arena, whether trivial or significant. We carved our egos, our veriest identities, out of what shreds were left after thoroughly wrestling and wringing out every possible family title.

 

We gambled madly for the unpredictable prize of my parents’ attention and approval, and they thus unwittingly encouraged our many rivalries, although they also greatly wearied of our constant bickering. Probably they encouraged us to compete because they thought competition would make us strive for excellence. Or perhaps they generalized that, since competition in capitalism and on the athletic fields of battle was considered so wonderful, surely family competition must be good, too.

 

It isn’t.

 

Whether I “won” or “lost,” my sibling rivalries always left me feeling cold, mean, and alienated. When I triumphed over a sister in some area, I felt a little smug, and very guilty. When I came up short—much more often—I felt inadequate, resentful, defeatist, and again, lonely.

 

I’ve always been fascinated with twins and twin studies, so I peppered my new acquaintance with questions. I insisted that at the very least, she identify some little, unimportant area that she was now “better” at than her twin—some divergent hobby or lifetime interest, some skill so minor as baking a cake, for instance. No. She was adamant that she could think of no examples. None. Neither she nor her twin were superior in any achievements or endowments.

 

I concluded that either these twins had always eschewed comparisons as hurtful and unpleasant; or that their minds just didn’t work in these terms; or, perhaps, that competition was just not particularly interesting to them. Gwen ventured to guess that maybe it was a combination of all three. In any case, no, they had never competed, probably never would, she had never thought about it before, and had never been asked about it, to her knowledge.

 

Wow. In my family, identical twins, on exactly equal genetic starting lines, would have relished the challenge and competed at absolutely everything. I wonder how happily that would have turned out?

 

Either way, Gwen and Jackie’s delightfully mutually supportive and sharing relationship has to be preferable to whatever unfriendly rivalry we would have come up with in our family.

 

Now I’m wondering if perhaps all competition is a bad thing….

 

Having been reared in a family (and culture) which greatly values competition, I never really considered how harmful it might be for me, for my family of birth, my own children, or even for American citizens and other “competing” nations. I’ve never thought about how useless competition really is, especially considering its costs, considering what is lost. Yet few other cultures, many far more ancient, value competition in the way Americans do. Certainly, for that reason, if for no other, we should question the value of competition.

 

If I were raising my own children again now, I would frown on any hint of competitiveness “against” one another, and make sure they understood that friendly competition was a kind gift from someone else who was helping them in their struggle to better themselves. I would do my best to guide my kids to strive for their own personal bests, reserving their comparisons and judgments only for their own goals for self-improvement. I would try to help them see how harmful competition can be to relationships, and how it can also be mutually supportive (as when one encourages others in their striving for self-improvement) or really unkind and hurtful (“besting” or beating someone.)

 

I’ve even come around to wondering whether the loftily unassailable idea of competition-as-intrinsic-to-capitalism, is harmful. We must work hard to convey the message that the only moral competition is the friendly kind that is mutually supportive in helping one another strive for excellence, because the fruits of unfriendly competition are always sad ones—envy, anger, resentment, even for the “victor,” who must also contend with dangerous feelings of overreaching, pride, and arrogance.

 

Here’s what I’ve decided: whenever we compete “against” another, whether as individuals, groups, or nations, that competition works against our highest goals, ideals, and purposes. Any time we move away from simple, personal or cooperative effort, towards something as mean-spirited as hurtful competition, we move toward erasure of mankind’s highest ethical standard, the “golden rule”— treating others as we would like to be treated—and move instead toward “all’s fair in love and war,” a smarmy slogan which conveniently discards morality and ethics as low-priority whenever something newly urgent feels at stake.

 

If U.S. capitalism has worked well in the past, it’s not because of business competition, but because people with freedom and opportunities and resources have pursued excellence, which springs only from friendly competition, which springs from cooperative values such as caring, fairness, and honesty, and personal virtues like hard work and perseverance.

 

Abuse of the idea of competition provides us with a too-handy mask, an illusion of moral nobility or superiority, for the times when we want to feel good about running roughshod over someone else, to get what we want.

 

Our most amazing athletes and athletic competitions are so wonderful because unique individuals like Lance Armstrong and Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods surround themselves with other great athletes in order to challenge themselves—to continually strive for excellence, to achieve their own personal bests, their own highest standards—not to conquer or best someone else.

 

Since I’ve met the twins, I’ve withdrawn my support from any competitions—whether in families, sports, business, or politics, whether local or global—that divide, separate, or polarize relationships, organizations, or nations.

 

Because such unfriendly competition, apparently, has never improved anything—not a single relationship, not a single enterprise on this tiny, fragile, interconnected planet, where every thing we do impacts everyone else, where every thing we think touches every other mind, and where we share the very air we breathe and every drop we drink.

 

Please send comments to epharmon@adelphia.net

 

 

 

 

 

I Have Seen the Future of Latino Immigration—and It Is Good

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The hair on my arms stood up as I tuned in my car radio to the raucous enthusiasm of the immigrant protest rally aired recently on C-Span. It was “déjà vu all over again” as I recalled my own youthful experiences with immigrants and racism in the very hispanic city of San Antonio.

 

For I have seen the future of Latino immigration in America before, and it is good.

 

My military family moved to San Antonio during the late 1950’s, my middle school years. We had already moved eight times before, and I spent five of those years learning in overseas post schools along with a multiracial and multiethnic group of classmates all living middle-class lives. Transferring now into a San Antonio off-post public school situated in a sharply divided socioeconomic setting, I was surprised to be suddenly thrown in among a very large number of poor latinos, and shocked to see how unkindly they were treated by my anglo classmates.

 

My youthful ideals and sensibilities were greatly offended by such discrimination, but like many—perhaps most—youthful innocents, I was confused and easily led by the mean immoral majority, who quickly taught this eager new girl that “we” didn’t “like” “them”—and certainly didn’t mix with them.

 

My parents weren’t much help either. When I protested the injustice I saw so clearly at school, they lamely agreed with my moral indignation against racism, but also strongly registered their preference that I not choose to socialize with children who weren’t “like us”—i.e., clean, educated, privileged, advantaged.

 

A few of my teachers treated all students respectfully, but the general consensus about “meskins” in my school was a sweeping generalization that they were, as a race, all dirty, poor, immoral, violent, sneaky, and “too stupid” to know how to speak English. The convenient filter of race soon blurred my eyes to the many differences among these children, and eventually I clumped them all, even the occasional middle-class and native-English speaking exceptions, into the same rejected bunch I thought of as “mexican.”

 

Through whispered conversations, I soon “knew” what my schoolmates “knew”—that all these kids were children of “illegals” who had snuck across the river, and were now sneaking around in bushes and backrooms doing filthy jobs our parents wouldn't dream of doing, living in hovels, and probably stealing and breaking other laws too. We exchanged warnings about their poor side of town: don’t go near the San Antonio River unless you want to get knifed by a “mex”…. The wealthiest among my friends claimed to “own a ‘wet’ (‘wetback’) or two,” whom their parents kept hidden away on distant ranches in shacks stocked with sacks of beans, to chop cedar and clear brush in the searing sun, at the cost of pennies a day.

 

My classmates generally viewed the influx of Mexican immigrants with suspicion and disgust. Sometimes we sneered at them, even fought them as they grouped together defensively—but mostly we ignored them. I went, too quickly, from feeling righteously indignant, to apathy, to feeling more “in the know” about the “appropriate” way to feel and act—that is, prejudicially.

 

Of course, I knew nothing about how hard it can be to get ahead when you’re poor, or the immense barriers of linguistic disadvantage, or the challenges of a new life in a different culture, especially an illegal life. I saw without recognizing only the commonalities of poverty; indeed, many of my Latino classmates were very dirty, their clothes were smelly, they did seem ignorant, and they spoke English poorly.

 

I’m especially sad when I remember how kind many of the Latino children were to me when I first enrolled. Many seemed friendly, attractive, and fun to this lonely new girl. Too quickly, though, I “knew better” and pulled away from them, frightened by the strong social prohibition against socializing with “mexes.” I had already begun to make friends with some who were probably pleasantly surprised to be greeted initially with no prejudice; I’m sure my transformation and confused withdrawal hurt many feelings.

 

Fast-forward now forty years, to the year my family returned to San Antonio to care for my dying father. To my delight, I found San Antonio completely changed, a bright, working city ornamented by a proud Hispanic cultural heritage. During that difficult year of family losses, all of my childhood prejudices were firmly replaced with admiration and deep gratitude, as I worked my way through a long line of outstanding care-giving and service professionals, nearly all native-English speaking, educated, middle and upper-class Latinos.

 

From that ragtag bunch of schoolmates of yesteryear, no doubt themselves largely parented by penniless, ignorant laborers who dared their way across the border, had come this impressive line of smiling, capable, courteous, faith-driven professionals. Where “mexicans” had previously been relegated only to San Antonio’s lowest social classes, now they were the home-care aides who tenderly washed and fed my father, the capable nurses who treated him, the orderlies who gently attended him in hospital, the capable doctors who set his broken hip, the hospice workers who comforted us, the owners of the funeral home, and the directors who helped us plan his funeral.

Latinos now ably ran much of the city, blending in with the anglo minority attractively—and patriotically. As I hurried through busy days, helpful Latino faces sold me groceries and hardware, delivered our packages, repaired our dishwasher, patrolled the streets, and repaired phone wires. My father’s accountant was hispanic, as was his attorney.

 

I remember my childhood astonishment when I overheard comments about a local “mexican,” Henry B. Gonzalez, was became an influential national politician. Later, I learned that another “Chicano,” Henry Cisneros, had worked to transform the whole city for Hemisfair, refurbishing the San Antonio River Walk, which later became one of the world’s safest and most colorful international tourist draws. A multitude of Hispanic civic and political leaders followed in their footsteps. As an ignorant young girl, however, I found it all much too confusing. How could these apparently benevolent leaders possibly be drawn from that same lowly pool of apparent lowlifes which I had tragically learned to exclude from my own personal repertoire of “nice people”—or, perhaps, “human beings?”

 

The San Antonio of today is a multicultural treat, largely run by courteous, ambitious Latinos. All those I met during that painful year resembled, in their work ethic and attitude, our Attorney General Alberto Gonzales—genial, earnest, hard-working, well-intentioned, people of faith.

 

Welcome to the America of the future, and more power to it.

 

Immigrants break no law they ever had a chance to democratically vote upon. Immigrants are doing exactly what any of us would do for ourselves and for our families, were we faced with an impossible present and future—if only we could find the daring and the support necessary to pick up, move on, and start over.

 

No other country is spending billions to guard its borders from terrorists, although quite a few nations are presently scrambling to arm themselves against our American invasions. No expensive walls are being built to keep terrorists out of Canada, China, Norway, or Sweden? And why not? Each of these countries has a similarly long, porous border, like ours, but unlike the U.S.A., these countries have friendly, cooperative foreign policies—i.e., fewer enemies.

 

When our politicians decide to create fewer deadly enemies with unkind trade and foreign policies, and focus instead on offering generous, accepting policies which embrace the world’s problems as our own, we won’t waste so much money protecting our borders from terrorists. Maybe we’ll pour some of that money into a better life for ourselves and for the immigrants we need to help make this country great again.

 

When I turned off my radio, I said a prayer for all persistent immigrants, for their admirable struggle to make a better life, and for the America we will all work to build together. Because someday soon these adventurers will claim for themselves the same bright prize their audacious countrymen have claimed throughout our history, the grandest lottery ticket gamble of all, the chance to win U.S. citizenship.

 

Please send your comments to epharmon@adelphia.net

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ninety Lives … For What They’re Worth

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My favorite news source is newspapers, but every few weeks I get my ironing done with the Sunday weekly news roundup shows on television. Yesterday, watching George Stephanopoulos, Inside Washington, Face the Nation, and Meet the Press, I became painfully aware that not a single mention had been made, even in passing, of the ninety lives lost in a Baghdad mosque earlier in the week.

 

Reporters and interviewees droned on about “not one more American soldier,” while George Stephanopoulos thoughtfully rolled his register of American lives tragically cut short thousands of miles from home. Hours were devoted to gleeful analysis of what Libby knew and what Bush didn’t. Bernadette Peters made a generous appeal for one of my favorite causes, adoption of America’s homeless pets.

 

Yet during those three hours on ABC, CBS, and NBC, not a single image or voice was raised to note the horrific loss of those ninety lives in Baghdad.

 

The American media—and Americans in general—are simply missing the point. The point is, respect and support for human life everywhere, not just for Americans. It’s as if, by example, we somehow imagine it to be in our best interest to urge all nations everywhere to adopt our own peculiar brand of tunnel-visioned “me-first” patriotism.

 

Apparently, Americans see planet Earth as a tidy jigsaw puzzle where self-sufficient clumps of humanity are divided perpetually into impermeable nations separated by high, immutable stone walls that God himself built, instead of a tiny and fragile living planet where we are all so interdependent that we share the very air we breathe, and every drop we drink.

 

Nationalism and patriotism are just fine and dandy in their place–a very limited place of proud achievement, unique traditions, and dedication to local civic responsibilities. But patriotism and nationalism go too far when they pander to the illusion that human life elsewhere is somehow less important than the lives of “we Americans”—as if it could be possible that lives in one nation could somehow be of greater value than other lives.

 

Since when do traditional American values speak only for American citizens? Since when do our philosophies declare all men created equal, with Americans just a little more equal than all the rest? Since when does Jesus love the little children of the world, especially American children?

 

What does it mean to be an American, a patriot? If it means some kind of Orwellian doublespeak where we turn our backs on the rest of the world, I don’t want any part of it.

 

Americans couldn’t have been more touched by the international outpouring of empathy when our twin towers fell. Attention was paid. Moments of silence were shared. Candles were lit. Prayers from every religious faith were invoked in every language. Helping hands reached across the waters. Schoolchildren collected pennies for victims’ families.

 

For that one moment, everyone cared—not because of, or even in spite of the fact that the victims were Americans—but because human beings were at one moment peacefully pursuing happiness and the next moment they were dead. Human beings. Not Americans, or Chinese, or Hutus, or Shiites. Human beings, upon whom all the highest moral values of every religious and ethical system have forever been built.

 

Every day, in every corner of the world, far more people die hourly from the consequences of economic and political violence—curable diseases, starvation, poverty,  war—than died in that mosque, or in the twin towers, for that matter.

 

But that’s not the point. The point is, it’s not about Iraqis, or Jews, or Americans. It’s about people who are needlessly dying from human violence and indifference, people whose bodies are mangled and lives shattered. People with faces and names, of every nationality, who once had families and dreams and prayers and work that needed to be done. They're all gone.

 

News analysts have a dual role, to both reflect and create public attitude. This Sunday’s weekly news roundup created and reflected total American indifference to the suffering of human beings in the Middle East. Our otherwise distinguished news analysts were so busy interrupting each other over the fall of DeLay and the immigration gridlock in Congress that they couldn’t spare a moment to mention the fact that last week, the equivalent of a whole Shiite village was blown to hell as they gathered to pray to the very same God America prays to, even if we call Him by a different name.

 

And Americans are by no means unaccountable. Because no matter how you read the tea leaves, our violent hand has left its mark indelibly on that anguished region. The tyrannical power of Saddam Hussein was an American creation. The nation of Iraq itself was an arbitrary western notion forcefully assembled from three historically distinct ethnicities. The very fact that these three mutually-distrustful factions are at this very moment bristling with high-tech arms they can hardly resist using to annihilate each other in a civil war, out of sheer desperation and despair, is almost entirely due to the generosity of the American military-industrial complex and its imported violent solutions to the region’s problems.

 

What will it take for the west to recognize and support the majority of Muslims who repeatedly pay the price of decades of violent occupation and interference with almost inhuman endurance, responding stoically with non-violence, forbearance, order, and faith? What does it take to earn American respect and compassion for this vast majority peacefully enduring the fires of hell through no fault of their own?

 

And what kind of unholy armageddon will it take for George Bush to stand up and say, This is not right. This is wrong. This is evil. This will not stand.

 

Americans claim to have democratically decided to throw $500 billion of our hard-earned taxpayers’-dollars—not to mention our darling children and grandchildren—toward the goal of bestowing freedom and democracy upon our beloved Iraqi friends. Or has a tiny extremist group of neocon warmongers managed to misuse our democratic processes so as to herd American citizens around like sheep, in hopes that when Iraq is similarly safely “democratized,” we will be able to commandeer Iraqi oil by riding herd on those citizens, as well.

 

If this is not the case, if we so love the Iraqis that we're willing to put our economy and our progeny's lives on the line, why can’t we manage to come up with just one silent moment of programming time during three hours of major-network weekly news roundups in order to show the minimum of respect for the ninety murdered souls on whose behalf we’re supposedly fighting and dying?

 

The American media goes absolutely crazy, and the American people spare no expense, when a single American miner can be rescued from an explosion, when an American child is pulled from the rubble of a well or a hurricane, a lost American pilot plucked from the ocean. But we harden our hearts, press our lips together, and look away when the victims are “others.”

 

Our own violent culture is the one which stands to lose the most from this terrible attitude. What is it with us? Are we getting bored? Have we seen too many damn mosque bombings to move us anymore? Is it like, ho-hum, more collateral damage, another suicide bombing, please change the channel to a good Schwarzenegger movie? Is this the kind of coldhearted, narrow-minded, mean-spirited world that American parents want to leave their bereft children alone in someday, a meaningless, terrifying one that hates each other?

 

Perhaps some sense can come from this mosque bombing if Americans and all other nations consecrate the ground of these martyrs by insisting that this be the last bombing, the one which finally turns the violence around, that makes everyone realize that enough is enough. Are we waiting for global thermonuclear war to force us into that decision?

 

It’s time to bind up all nations’ wounds, to care for the widow and the orphan, and to dedicate ourselves to a new birth of freedom from human violence, not just for the people of the Middle East, but for all of us, for all our children, everywhere.

 

The world is not the economic and geopolitical chessboard of some tiny extremist splinter group, with winner-take-all the unfair object of their game. If Americans care about all people, as I know we do, we need to play a different game entirely, one with a golden rule which treats all others everywhere just exactly as we would like to be treated. The object of the game is respect and support for the quality of human life everywhere. 

 

Please send comments to epharmon@adelphia.com

 

 

 

 

 

Another Holocaust?

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When Hitler painted all Jews everywhere with his hate-filled brush, many people were caught up in his scary “logic,” and the result was a Holocaust. Today’s Jews should be the group least susceptible to the rampant prejudice that is currently damning all of Islam with sweeping fear-based generalizations. The lesson of the Holocaust for all of us is never again should anyone buy into paranoia and bigotry concerning a whole people, culture, religion, ethnicity, or lifestyle.

 

Yet, here we go again.

 

If you don’t like some Muslims (or Jews or Chinese or Hutus …) well, that’s human. But if you hate and fear most (Muslims) because you think they’re all pretty much the same, that’s ignorance and prejudice.

 

It’s simply not true that most Muslims are quarrelsome, narrow-minded, blood-thirsty fanatics out to dominate the world. Yet I have recently heard that repugnant argument for war from Jews and Christians alike.

 

Of course we’re all frightened, Muslims too. But violent extremists are found in every culture. America had its own bloody civil war, not to mention lynchings, attacks on civil rights marchers and labor unions, gang wars, office and schoolyard shootings, rapes, widespread child and domestic abuse, crime, and murder. We have our own home-grown steady supply of trigger-happy nutcases, D.C. snipers, Unabombers, and Oklahoma terrorists, all continually egged on into fear and violence by faithless media demagogues and opportunistic politicians, in just the same way that Hitler once terrified the German citizenry into insanity.

 

FDR gently reminded us that the only thing we have to fear is: fear, itself. During this difficult time, may we have cool heads, loving hearts, open minds, and an abiding faith in the golden rule, so that we may respect and support all of God’s beloved children, everywhere.

 

Transfixed by Lost in Translation

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Lost in Translation is my (all-time) favorite movie. With so many sad movies about sexual exploitation floating around, it’s a refresher to see two nice, interesting people exchange such powerful, passionate, platonic gifts during a brief, innocent time, without taking advantage of or hurting one another, and leaving one another happier and stronger.

 

Sofia Coppola’s complex, beautiful, diverse sensibilities drench each frame with implications… revelations… perturbations…. Like all perfect movies, this one is rich, deep, lavishly-textured, and gorgeously-layered. Coppola adds not a questionable jot nor extraneous tittle, and leaves out nothing necessary to her narrative or contemplation. She attends masterfully to imagery, editing, framing, character, dialogue, tension, narrative, symbol, improvisation, serendipity…a small sampling of her range of talents, may she live long and prosper in the movie-making business.

 

I lived for a few childhood years in Tokyo during the American post-war occupation, and took away beautiful, evanescent impressions, so perhaps I’m more susceptible to the delights of this movie than your typical movie-goer. Watching Lost in Translation, I'm enchanted both by remembered charms and recent technological innovations, as well as by the awkward Japanese embrace of things western.

 

Lost in Translation is perfectly titled, because Copolla shines her tragicomic vision on the challenges each of us, no matter how talented or well-intentioned, face in communicating, caring, and empathizing across the mile-high/-wide/-deep chasm of human individual differences. Copolla’s laser gaze scintillates not only cultural barriers such as language and custom, but universal obstacles as well—differences in gender, age, social class, lifestyle, goals, values, interests, backgrounds, personalities—and even the molehills and mountains of distance and time.

 

Lost in Translation is hilarious, even more-so for Japanophiles. I’ve seen it many times, and still am cajoled into explosive snorts. Like any great lover, Copolla brings knowledge, appreciation, honesty, and a creative, playful intimacy to the peculiar amusements and benefits of relating to the Japanese. Japanese culture has its many endearing and frustrating quirks, as do all cultures; Copolla chooses to laugh equally good-naturedly and respectfully at eastern and western pecadilloes.

 

I cannot imagine a soundtrack more thoughtfully selected or edited in support of the shifting impressions, emotions, and experiences Coppola develops in each new scene.

 

Bill Murray’s unique talents are all on glorious display, as are Scarlett Johannsen’s equally bounteous ones, which have an umplumbable feel to them. She defiantly withholds an illusive, precious, sensuous little secret—like Garbo’s, like Monroe’s—whose unveiling the world will breathlessly await forever. Casting Johannsen, like casting Gwyneth Paltrow, will elevate any movie. Only great direction can account for the consistent quality of all the other “smaller” performances.

 

The fact that anyone could enjoy this movie on the level of a simple, poignant, romantic comedy should not detract from its value as a multifaceted meditation upon the human challenges inherent in connecting with any “other”—whether in “translating” one’s self to another, or in meaningfully “translating” another’s mysterious mumblings and gestures in our own direction. Far too often, we are left feeling all alone in the world throughout most of our lives, feeling quite “lost in translation.”

 

Please send your comments to epharmon@adelphia.net

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Depends On If You’re Our Good Guys Or Their Bad Guys

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It’s called “terrorism” when they bomb people for political reasons, and “democracy” when we do.

 

They’re madmen when they blow themselves up with cheap explosives to achieve strategic goals, and we're patriots when we do the same thing with expensive long-range missiles.

 

They’re crazy because they kill women and children. We could never do that, ever. Unless it was really necessary, for a just cause, and our patriotic duty. And then, we’d feel really bad about it. They wouldn’t.

 

They’re dangerous monsters who must be disarmed and sanctioned when they protect their way of life from foreign invaders. We’re freedom fighters when we’re invading and occupying foreign lands, imposing our ways upon people accustomed to completely different traditions, and “controlling distribution” of their valuable resources.

 

They have crazy religious ideas about jihad and martyrdom, imagining God might approve their sacrifices. We, on the other hand, are pure-and-simple onward-Christian-soldier-crusaders, marching with God on our side and the cross of freedom going on before, whatever that means.

 

They are violent maniacs who reject foreigners threatening their families and the lands of their ancestors. We would never act so uncivilized if foreigners invaded our country. Would we.

 

We respect all ethnicities, traditions, and religions. Except the really weird ones with all the strange gods, traditions, practices, foods, languages, doctrines, clothing, rituals, laws, customs, and beliefs. Like theirs.

 

Their whacked-out culture, with husbands veiling wives and home-schooling daughters, is definitely messed-up. There’s nothing wrong, however, with our own culture’s rates of divorce, sexual and spousal abuse, abortion, teen pregnancy, prostitution, rape, pornography, incarceration, school violence, unwed-motherhood, alcoholism, and drug and nicotine addiction.

 

They’re nuts, killing their own people. We could never do that. Except for when we kill Rebels…. And Yankees…. And attack civil rights marchers…. And lynch suspicious Negroes…. And murder homosexuals…. And shoot at race and draft rioters and college protesters…. And knife rival gang members…. And terrorize labor union strikers…. And blow away schoolmates…. And abuse prisoners…. And wives…. And children…. And gun down and burn anti-government survivalists and fundamentalists…. And take the lives of convicted murderers…. And then there’s the Unabomber’s victims…. And Timothy McVeigh’s…. And Lizzie Borden’s…. And all the murderers and serial killers….

 

Nevertheless, our stirring history, beliefs, institutions, rights, freedoms, way of life, political traditions, economic system, and patriotic and religious customs are still well-worth killing and dying for. Theirs aren’t.

 

They ought to keep their people unarmed and passive, and never acquire nuclear weapons. We, on the other hand, have to have nuclear weapons, so we can be the world’s unelected policeman. As the world’s only superpower, we're obviously the most vulnerable country, so we have to arm ourselves like terminators, unilaterally start up pre-emptive wars, invade, occupy, shoot up foreign countrysides and cities and villages, interfere with sovereign nations’ internal and political affairs, drop nuclear bombs on civilian populations, disrupt livelihoods and lives, kill innocents, and stockpile enough armaments to kill all life on earth many times over.

 

Although their teensy little country may feel justifiably threatened by our historical aggressions, they certainly don’t need to have “the bomb.” That would be overkill, and dangerous for us, as well. We, on the other hand, need thousands of nuclear weapons, since we are an envied and feared international target. Only an immense arsenal of nuclear weapons can properly back up our huge armies, navies, and air forces, not to mention our defense budget, larger than those of all the nations of the world combined.

 

The lives of children are infinitely precious and of unlimited sacred value to us. Unless of course they’re someone else’s children. Or they happen to live in a poor country, or in a country at war with our country. We also believe fervently in family values, and supporting families. With, of course, the above exceptions.

 

Our enviable five-hundred-year-old culture certainly has nothing to learn from their primitive five-thousand-year-old one.

 

Our ways and traditions and institutions are unquestionably superior to any other country’s. Anyone could tell that, just by looking at our nation’s fabulous prosperity. It’s true we built our success upon genocide of the native Americans who were here first, and then upon the bloody backs of millions of imported African slaves. Not to mention exploitation of the richest swath of virgin land and untapped resources the world has ever known. But none of that really had anything to do with why we’re such a great country—it’s our perfect political and economic systems that are infallible. Everyone should be like us.

 

So please, try harder to see everything our way. Because, frankly, we’re bigger.

 

And don’t worry. Trust us. ‘Cause we’re the good guys.

 

Even though, just for the moment, I can’t quite remember why.

 

Please send comments to epharmon@adelphia.net

 

 

 

 

 

Zzzipppiddee Doooo Daaahh….

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What a difference perspective makes…. Whenever I'm feeling blue or resisting something that just “is,”  I try to remember to ask God for another way of looking at the person or situation–and I always receive what I ask for (it helps to pay attention and be ready for the answer.) I drew this comic strip soon after one of those happy moments when I'd received such an answer to a prayer. I remember feeling resentful, feeling like an old ugly lonesome drudge, about some housework I had to do, and praying, as I looked out the window, for another way of seeing my present situation. Suddenly I focused on a bird “working” for her brood, but nothing could have been more natural, beautiful, purposeful, or right than that little brown bird doing her thing for her family. Renewed with my wonderful answer to my prayer, I went back to work–this time joyfully.

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Peacemakers Who (Really) Keep the Peace

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Dictionaries offer two definitions of “peacemaker”: someone who settles disputes and problems by negotiating and mediating, and a second kind of “Peacemaker”—a Colt single-action revolver popular during the late nineteenth century.

 

American voters keep bringin’ on the gunslinging version of peacemaker—belligerent, reactionary leaders who turn taxpayers’ pockets inside-out to fund their immense arsenals, endless wars, unwieldy spy bureaucracies, and sprawling armed forces, who make no one’s day–and untold enemies–with their cocky boy-cowboy approaches to diplomacy.

 

I want new leadership that will keep the peace, not disturb it.

 

Only visionary leaders can provide the understanding, acceptance, and appreciation necessary to unify the planet’s polarized cultures—Africans, South Americans, China, the Muslim world, and the West. Only idealistic leadership can inspire each of these cultures to achieve its own unique ideals, hopes, and dreams, while respecting and supporting the quality of human life everywhere. Only non-violent leadership can address the century’s most urgent problems—the ravages of disease, injustice, hopelessness, greed, hunger, environmental degradation, natural disasters, ignorance, addiction, prejudice, imprisonment, nuclear proliferation, crime, poverty, conflict, corruption, migration, war, terrorism, and violence.

 

Albert Einstein said, “”You can't solve a problem with the same mind-set that got you into the problem in the first place.”  Yet we keep trying to address 21st century problems with the same kind of 19th century peacekeeping that got us into trouble in the first place.

 

When our founders wrote the Constitution, they charged future leaders with serious peacemaking roles. And just exactly what does it mean to us, today, to “provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, establish justice, and insure domestic tranquility?”

 

American peacekeeping today is all about invading and conquering distant lands unlucky enough to have rich resources and strategic value; imposing international political and economic conditions advantageous to Americans; treating idealistic global cooperatives, movements, and legal bodies as convenient extensions of American hegemony; promoting justice primarily for white, wealthy, incorporated, and preferably male Americans; and insisting on America’s right to do whatever we want, to whomever, whenever, wherever.

 

We don’t need any more moral bankrobbers who stare down imagined enemies at the point of a gun. We need spiritual political leadership in the mould of Gandhi, Mandela, and King, peacemakers with faith in the power of love, and the moral courage necessary to bring the world together, who will establish a cabinet-level Department of Peace, work to keep our nation in harmony with all God’s children in every nation, and help secure the blessings of liberty for ourselves, our posterity, and all mankind.

 

Yippee-ki-yay, brother.

 

 

Please send your comments to epharmon@adelphia.net

 

 

 

 

 

Finding Time For What's Most Important

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I have more time these days to…. I started to say, to do what I want to do, but everyone does what they want to do twenty-four hours a day, if you count wanting to go on living, wanting to eat, stay warm, take care of loved ones—in short, most everyday activities.

 

So, rephrasing…these days I have more time and money to choose activities beyond caring for the immediate needs of myself and loved ones—and I feel very lucky about that.

 

I’m surprised, though, to find that even people with “free time” can put themselves under a lot of self-inflicted pressure, feeling we should do more, better, or different with our new-found time. I’d hoped that all that rushing around would be behind me when I had more time.

 

Nope.

 

Now that I think about it, the world’s most influential people stay pretty busy—although they don’t act rushed. I guess they’ve mastered the art of living in the present moment (think Bill Clinton?), focusing on their most important agenda items, and taking satisfaction in what they can do.

 

My husband tells me “involvement” is the key for him. Whether he’s fixing a drain or paying a bill or working on job-related projects, he’s contented, so long as he feels “involved.” I know he makes seemingly boring tasks more interesting for himself by holding to high standards of excellence, focusing, and paying attention to detail. And of course he never gets his long list done either. But he’s pretty good at attending to his “big rocks” first, accomplishing them as well as he can in the time he has. (The “big rocks” theory says you can squeeze more rocks and pebbles and gravel and sand into a jar only when you put the big rocks in first.)

 

I used to put all my little pebbles in first—hoping to address them quickly so I could get on to all my big rocks—but then I would run out of energy and motivation, and never get around to my most important, if less urgent, goals. Now I’m learning to take care of my big rocks earlier, and to fit all the others in where I may. To my surprise, even a few minutes a day on my big rocks elates and energizes me, and I’m more, not less, likely to get to—and enjoy—my little rocks.

 

And which are my big rocks? That’s hard to figure out, too. My big rocks are those activities and goals which give me the greatest sense of meaning, usefulness, happiness, and contentment. Each person’s set of big rocks is quite different from any other persons’. I’ve also learned to identify what it is I value most, compared with the values of others’, by looking back on what I’ve chosen to do with my time in the past. (I’ve noticed, for instance, that I camped, backpacked, and hiked whenever I could manage it, even when I didn’t have much time and money, so I’ve recognized that being active in nature is very important to me…. These days, I garden.)

 

Another way to identify big rocks is to think about what I would do if I had unlimited money. International spiritual and activist treks always drew me, though other goals won out; nevertheless, here I sit at last, traveling the world through the internet, and writing my spiritual/activist blog.

 

It also helps me to think about all the famous people I admire–athletes, leaders, stars, writers, artists; all the things they're so good at are quite different from each others'–so they had to choose, too, and make hard trade-offs during their own twenty-four hour days.

 

Finding time for what’s most important to me also requires listening attentively to my intuition. Of course, I still keep good old reason-and-logic handy in my big bag of decision-making tricks, but nowadays they share equal space with my gut-feelings. In any case, I’m aware that I often use “reason” just to build a case for established preferences—so why not just pay attention to them to begin with? I also sometimes intuitively pick up a long-neglected activity because, “If I don’t do this now, it won’t ever get done.”

 

I’m more courageous now about letting go and trusting God to guide me toward what’s most important on each day—having lived enough of my life to know that, while life often feels chaotic while I’m living it, staying close to my own unique self, my sense of integrity, has been richly rewarding.

 

What’s most important to us—our own personal set of “big rocks”—is unique to each of us. While having good relationships is always valuable, many feel equally drawn to money-making, career, public service, art, travel, education, health, adventure, politics—the list goes on. No one can choose everything, at least not all at the same time; so we have to pick and choose among many competing options every day, every season, every decade. Configuring one’s own personal—and changing—sets of big rocks, weighing and prioritizing, balancing and selecting from among the infinite range of options, is a difficult thing to do.

 

Sometimes, when my big-rock choices are frustrating me, backfiring on me, or offering little short-term satisfaction, it helps to remember that every single choice, no matter how worthy and legitimate, is fraught with its own unique set of challenges, heartaches, and trade-offs. The hardest thing for me at such times is to turn my back on all those other delectable, competing “want to’s,” “have to’s,” “oughts,” and “shoulds.” It helps, at such moments to focus on the present and future joys and rewards of the goals I’ve chosen. Each tempting new rock and pebble may be very legitimately appealing and persuasive, but first things first; lifetimes hold a lot of hours.

 

During my crazy early days, when I blindly and not-so-patiently began weaving the first few strands of my own life’s tapestry, I certainly couldn’t see any underlying unique patterns or themes, any beauty, grace, or inspiration in it. I did cling fiercely, however, to a mole-like faith, that as long as I tried my best, led with my heart, and moved toward my passions, I would be all right. (And, to everyone’s surprise, I’m not dead yet.)

 

I know, in retrospect, that considering who I was, and considering what I knew back then, my life’s tapestry couldn’t have been woven any other way.

 

I used to envy a dear friend in faraway Idaho who sent me letters filled with such fascinating activities—travel, adventure, hobbies, classes, friendships, causes, achievement, nature, exercise, creativity—so many things I longed to do. I admired her so much (and still do) but felt like such a boring creature in comparison. What I wasn’t honoring at the time, as I provided day-care to babies, was my own choice to dedicate my own particular twenty-four hours a day (the same number everyone gets) to giving those babies (and my own) a good start. Looking back, I wish I had valued my own very reasonable “big rock” of that time as much as I did my friend’s equally well-chosen, wonderful ones. I wish I had appreciated and enjoyed the good work I was choosing, instead of putting negative energy into yearning for the other things I wanted to be doing simultaneously. Many of my temptations later turned into my big rocks of other years, each in their own time. And I know I’ll never regret any of the time I spent being home with my little girl.

 

My sister Sally, a devout Mormon mother of nine, once wrote a skit about time pressures and priorities, for her church’s women’s group. I thought her creativity so wonderful (she was wonderful) that I saved it, to re-read whenever I feel overwhelmed, envious, or unsure about my present priorities:

 

 

Skit for Relief Society Birthday Dinner

April 4, 1986

By Sally Jean Cole Andreason

 

 

Doll #1: “Sister W. always looks so great. The women in the church just seem to do well at everything. I don’t think I can live up to that. It would be so much simpler to stay home and play my dear piano.”

 

Doll #2: “Whew! Doing my aerobic exercises makes me feel great—and doesn’t hurt my looks, either! I wish I felt as enthusiastic about genealogy.”

 

Doll #3: “What a joy getting those names into the temple brings me! Talking to people who can talk back, like my teenager, is a lot harder. I could use some good ideas.”

 

Doll #4: “I love being able to talk with and be a friend to my daughter. But I wish I had the nerve to be a better missionary to her friend’s family.”

 

Doll #5: “She said ‘yes’! My friend at work said ‘yes’ to talking with the missionaries! If I start today, I might have the house in shape enough for them to give the discussions next Saturday. There goes the week!”

 

Doll #6: “I love to make my home a beautiful place for my family. I do wonder, sometimes, though, if I could transfer my homemaking skills to the job market if I needed to.”

 

Doll #7: “It surely feels good when I’ve worked hard on the job and really contributed. My boss knows he can count on me. I’d like to do something to help at my children’s school too. I just haven’t the time to be a room mother or a PTA officer.”

 

Doll #8: “I can really make a difference in our town. The school, the Little League, are really worth my efforts. But sometimes I wish I would make the time to learn to play the piano as beautifully as Sister K. Her talent must greatly add to her and her family’s enjoyment of life.”

 

Doll #1: “Really?!”

 

Doll #9: “The church and our Relief Society lessons take us as we are, and help us to grow. We all excel in different ways. We learn to appreciate and share our own talents and knowledge, and learn from our sisters’ examples and abilities too. One step at a time, everything in its season, each individual is unique. I’ve heard that a good woman is one who is trying. In the sisterhood of the Relief Society, we can help each other. The Relief Society is for every woman.”

 

There’s a gentle joke among Latter Day Saint women, that they sometimes try to take on too much—waking up an hour early to exercise, and then staying up an extra hour to pray, and then setting the alarm just one more hour earlier for inspirational reading, and then staying up just one more hour later to quilt/write/draw/whatever—‘til eventually they’re going to bed when it’s time to get up. (That was our Sally.) Sound familiar to any of you ambitious types? Sally packed a lot of joy and love and good work into her life, which I’m sure was exactly just long enough for whatever she and God most wanted and needed to do together.

 

God is bounteous, and provides richly for each of his beloved creatures whatever we need to live the life he expects of us. If we offer him our wholehearted best in doing whatever he gives us the inspiration, strength, and wisdom to do now, if we focus on our tasks and activities positively and passionately, one-by-one, I’m sure our lives will suit him, and us, just fine.

 

Please write your comments to epharmon@adelphia.net

 

 

 

 

 

 

How We Can Help Each Other Let Go of Guilt, Anger, and Attack

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I used to think of anger as something “caused” by someone or something outside of me—most often, another person’s bad behavior. I experienced anger as an uncontrollable emotion that just sort of washed over me unexpectedly (anger as a tsunami wave, destroying everything in its path….)

 

I was sure my anger and retaliatory attacks were completely rational and justified. Always, someone had earned my outrage by doing something that hurt me, whether consciously or cluelessly. And not only did my tormenter deserve to be jumped for his egregious error, but I also was sure that his abuse would escalate if I didn’t instantly and harshly avenge the injustice.

 

Now I see anger as deriving mostly from my own useless guilt feelings, since anger comes up for me mostly when someone or something touches a subject I already feel at least a little guilty about.

 

If I start to feel angry now, I can almost always put my finger on something I’m feeling guilty about; it’s always a deeply repressed guilt so heavy that I’m almost desperate to push it off onto someone else, to release my feelings of panic over my weakness. My consequent flashes of anger result from wanting to push my guilt off onto someone else, to somehow lighten my load.

 

But guilt isn’t a hot potato that can be passed on to someone else. It’s not a balloon about to burst, not a burning coal, not boiling water about to blow under pressure. All attempts to pass guilt off through angry attacks just increase the guilt, usually in both parties. These metaphors only serve to reveal how urgently we all want to find some way to release our loads of guilt, and why we so quickly turn to anger and attack.

 

Pop religion and pop psychology sometimes hint that harboring guilt feelings is useful, that somehow, holding on to guilt will makes people strive to be better. On the contrary, I’ve finally realized that guilt and anger—yours, mine, and everyone else’s—are always crazy, insane, mad, deranged, completely useless, and completely harmful. They never accomplish anything positive, ever. Guilt feelings only hold us back, paralyze us, depress us, and urge us to angrily attack others, and thus keep us from moving forward and doing our best, while anger always just makes everyone feel guiltier and angrier.

 

I used to believe that “repenting” for my mistakes at some painful length–suffering a long term of anguish and guilt after I “sinned” (or made mistakes, or failed to live up to my ideals or standards)—was the only way I would ever improve. If I didn’t feel guilty most of the time, I supposed I would somehow run amok, maybe burn down the world, become a serial killer or something (and I wasn’t even raised Catholic!)

 

When we’re willing to forgive ourselves and let our guilt feelings go without at first groveling and spiraling down into the unavoidable black depths of guilt's self-hatred, when we can accept the support and forgiveness of our loved ones without first guiltily and angrily pushing them away, kicking our pets, and feeling like scum, then we can begin to make progress toward a new life.

 

But we’re afraid to let go of our heavy loads of self-aggravated guilt. We’re afraid that without the benefit of abject guilt to torture and spur us on, we’ll never get anything right, never fix any bad situations. We’ll be leftk, finally, with nothing but the same tedious, incremental, arduous, step-by-step process of self-improvement that everyone else has to master—a terrifying prospect for those of us whose lives feel chaotic, yet who really want to be different, and who aren’t very good yet at changing our own behavior.

 

I thought that piling guilt on myself was sufficient evidence that I wanted to change, that I really really really was trying, especially as I kept failing to improve. At least, I thought, my guilt made it absolutely clear to God and everyone, and to myself, that at least I meant to do better. The more abject my guilt, and the deeper my depression, surely, the better the person I would become. Why else would anyone choose to keep on suffering like that?

 

But it doesn’t matter what you want. It only matters what you take action about.

 

I don’t know why I kept believing this myth so long, when it never once worked for me. The only times in my life I’ve ever gotten back on track were the times I managed to let go of my guilt feelings—usually with another person's help, or God's, reminding me that I was still lovable.

 

This first giant step, away from the blackness and self-condemnation of feeling guilty about the past, can make all the difference in success at making changes in life, and certainly in ending a frustrating cycle of anger and attack and depression. I finally had to learn to let my whole past go. And, consider: after all, it was gone. 

 

Our path to a better life begins with letting go of our guilt feelings, and it doesn’t matter how this happens. We may find a way to let go of our own guilt, or perhaps someone will remind us of our value as a person, or perhaps our higher power will help to release us.

 

The great teacher Jesus’ primary message was about letting go of guilt. Over and over he explained that we are not the guilty, miserable sinners we’ve been taught to see ourselves as, but rather, forgiven not-guilty creatures, now and for always. Jesus’ peaceful message was that, at least on earth, we were merely human, and humans make mistakes; so we should let go of our burdens of guilt, lighten up, know that we are forever and always forgiven, and then go forth and lead good, happy lives.

 

However it is that we manage to let go of our guilt, this release always feels wonderful, light, free, and very powerful. Only letting go of guilt feelings can give us the motivation, the lift, the transformation, and the necessary energy to move forward to achieve our goals.

 

Too often, though, instead of letting go of our guilt, instead of forgiving ourselves and affirming our own worth and lovability, we sidestep into angrily pushing away our guilt feelings, unloading big chunks of that guilt by angrily attacking others. Then, unfortunately, we're not only stuck back with our original guilt, but we feel the additional guilt about our angry attack, as well.

 

This cycle of guilt, anger, and attack is always completely pointless, because nothing and no one is ever helped by our guilt or anger or attack. Have you ever noticed that when you attack someone, they don’t like it? Have you ever noticed that dumping anger and guilt on someone else isn’t considered the best human relations trick out there?

 

Whenever you blame anyone for anything, whenever you attempt to shift your unwanted guilt feelings onto another, they’ll usually start feeling uncomfortable and guilty themselves, and of course then they’ll want to shift that guilt right back onto you. It’s called the blame game, and it accomplishes nothing, and always makes situations worse. Who cares who's to blame? Isn't it more important for us all just to get back on track?

 

Guilt can never motivate anyone, no matter how hard we kick ourselves. Letting go of guilt, on the other hand, can lighten up our load miraculously, freeing us to move forward again, motivated and eager to improve.

 

If we let go of our guilt, will we keep on making mistakes? Of course. Forever. And continuously. People can always think up new mistakes, because we’re human, and mistakes are what humans do. But through our efforts, we can also learn to make fewer mistakes, can keep on forgiving ourselves, can keep on learning and enjoying life.

 

The only way we can ever improve in any area of life is to chip away at carefully selected behaviors, goals, and problems. No one wakes up one day with their bad habits transformed. Even when our sins are washed clean in the blood of the lamb, as many Christians believe, even when we’ve managed to let go of our load of guilt, even when we feel whole and new and free, even then the path to human improvement is long and tedious and step-by-step. However, without guilt and anger weighing us down and making us miserable, we at least have the confidence in our own worth necessary to meet old and new challenges.

 

So when is anger justified?

 

Never.

 

Anger always only makes things worse, never better.

 

Another reason anger is never justified is that everyone else is just as fallible and as human as we are, and therefore just as prone to make mistakes. The only difference between ourselves and other people is that our own particular sets of mistakes are different from theirs. But all of us still make a lot of mistakes.

 

Sure, it’s so hard to accept the stupid mistakes other people make—things you and I would never do. Other people’s mistakes seem so deliberate, so unbelievably cruel and obtuse. But consider that people all tend to be blind to their own particular weirdly original sets of shortcomings and confusions. Really, we’re all in the same leaky little boat. All human beings struggle continually for betterment, doing our best and yet failing miserably, over and over again. Everyone is the same as you. No one is an exception. Everyone makes mistakes.

 

And when they do, what they need most from you is exactly what you need most from them–a little patience, a little understanding, a little help, a little forgiveness, a little love and consideration and kindness to help them over the tough spots in life, to where they can start chipping away at their goals again…. And there are a lot of tough spots in life!

 

The mistakes of others are those very choices and actions which seemed, at other moments, like the very best ideas they could come up with their little pea-brains. It’s tragic to realize this, isn’t it? That some people can be so confused, so unenlightened, so sad and clueless as to make such dumb decisions? Just as sad, in fact, as we are ourselves, sometimes, when we make grievous mistakes that we later regret. 

 

So give all of God’s fallible children (and yourself, too) a break whenever we need it the most, because we all need love, especially when we’re at our weakest and stupidest and saddest points.

 

Sometimes we’ll be out innocently gamboling about on a sunny day and wham! someone will angrily attempt to offload their guilt onto us with a seemingly senseless, vicious attack.

 

We can always choose to push our guilt right back at them, by angrily attacking them in return. But this strategy won’t work, except to make us both angrier.

 

Besides, what people really want, what they need most whenever they’re feeling guilty, when they’re attacking us—is help. Just a little helping hand from us, just because they, like us, get so sick and tired of feeling low, of feeling awful about themselves, so weary of carrying around all that guilt. They’re only hoping, deep in their unconscious, that they’ll get a little relief if only they dump all their guilt and anger on us. But what they really need and want most, even though they may not be aware of it, is for someone else to help them by reminding them that they’re still lovable.

 

An angry attack should signal to each of us that here is someone who desperately wants, deep down, to let go of his guilt and feel good about himself again. We can choose to help all angry and attacking sufferers release their guilt by reminding them, with our love, acceptance, and understanding, that they’re not alone in their struggle with the pain of being human. We can remind them with our kindness that everyone messes up, it's a disgustingly human trait, and that, regardless of this fact, that they are still so very lovable, valuable, and worthwhile. They need to know that, just as we need reminding of that, too.

 

It’s true that an angry attack is a rather peculiar way to ask for help, especially from the point of view of the one who’s being attacked, and especially when the attacker catches us in our most vulnerable places where we already feel most tender and guilty. Angry attacks always hit those places right on the money.

 

It helps a lot to remember that no one really wants to attack us. It's not about that. Just like us, at times when they feel most down and guilty, and are trying to pull themselves back up any way they can, they may crack, and try to shove off their heavy weights of guilt onto a handy innocent bystander at a difficult or weak moment.

 

When someone angrily attacks us, we don't need to pick up the guilt they’re trying to foist on us. Guilt isn’t something real that can be passed back and forth, anyway. Instead, we can help them let go of the guilt and anger they’re trying to push onto us. In doing so, we’ll enjoy experiencing the nice return miracle of receiving, for ourselves, freedom from guilt and anger; because when we forgive others for their mistakes, we’ll remember that we too, are forgiven, forgivable, lovable. And our lives will start to get a lot more peaceful.

 

We are what we are, we aree what God made us to be, what he meant us to be—which is, mistake-prone, fallible human beings, not little godlings. None of us is omniscient or omnipotent. Evidently, we were never meant to be. We’re just pitiable, glorious, amazing, feeble, growing, learning earthy creatures doing our lower-than-the-angels sporadic best to get some things right. And no human being ever gets anything right, not perfectly, not once-and-for-all, and certainly not for long.

 

That doesn’t mean it isn’t well worth our while to keep on chipping away at things, and to enjoy our life while we do. Because when we keep working and trying, we’ll stay out of trouble a little more often, we’ll learn a bit more here and there, come closer to the people we love, and gradually become the people we want to become.

 

God expects us and everyone else to screw up. He made us mistake-prone, not in order to torment us, but perhaps because he loves diversity (consider the snowflakes! and the beetles! Think how long and predictable eternity would be without the wide range of human choices….) Part of being unique is having our own particular sets of human weaknesses. Maybe God would be eternally bored with any other kind of creation…? Whatever the case, he made us as we are…fallible and mistake-prone.

 

What we need most from other people is help in letting our mistakes go. And we need to treat others with the same kindness we hope to receive from them, because we all need to be accepted just exactly as we are, so that we’ll be able to forgive ourselves and others, let all guilt and anger and attack go, and keep on getting better.

 

It’s sad, but the last thing any of us wants, is to be equal to the rest of God’s children—that is, just as stupid and fallible as everyone else. Surely not, we hope. Yuck. Surely we’re not like all the dreck, the hoi polloi, the huddled masses, those unenlightened, classless, hurtful, sinful, oblivious scum? Surely mortality is some sort of competition, which–well, look at us, hopefully we’re winning! Surely the deep black sins of others are far more grievous and dangerous and harmful than our tiny gray ones? Surely others deserve self-righteous wrath, while our little mistakes are only tiny oversights? Surely “they” have reason to feel guilty, while we don’t, not really….

 

I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work this way. We can’t see our own particular sets of mistakes as the only ones which aren’t important, as superficial, understandable, tiny momentary lapses based on misunderstandings and difficult, unusual circumstances, while everyone else’s mistakes are cold-hearted, obtuse, oblivious, calculated, deliberate, oft-repeated, defiant, shameful, and unforgivable mortal sins.

 

It’s only when we can forgive everyone's mistakes, all of them, (in biblical terms, only when we can “bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things”) that we will be able to see clearly to forgive ourselves, to release ourselves from guilt and anger. We’re all human, and all our results will always be inadequate, insufficient, and disappointing. We all blow it, big time and small, over and over again. So when we can find it in our hearts to forgive all of humanity, to go easy on everyone, we’ll find we've finally let ourselves off the hook, too.

 

If we attempt to maintain our delusions about ourselves, that we’re different than others, and that our mistakes are unimportant, while others’ mistakes deserve immediate and harsh, angry attention, we’ll eventually crash hard. Because when we harbor the delusion that we’re better than others, we eventually swing to the polar opposite direction, and start believing that really, truly, we’re worse than everyone else. That's a hard, dark place to spend time in.

 

Neither delusion works. The only thing that works is humble acceptance that we’re all human, we’re all a mess, just like everyone else—if not exactly the same kind of mess as everyone else, rather, we're our own special kind of mess, one finely honed and refined, a unique, particular mess of our own creative making, quite different from everyone else’s mess. But still, a mess.

 

The most exhausting activity in the world is carrying around the pain and torment of constant judgment about guilt, both ours and others'. Loving and learning—what humans do best, and what we’re here for—is so much more peaceful a process when we can let all the negatives and guilt about the past—ours and others—go, and instead focus on and experience the joys and. yes, sorrows, of the present moment, free of guilt, anger, and attack.

 

Learning to change the present moment from a sad one to a wide-open one by letting our past guilt go and seeing only present good in any person or situation, is how we can create, for ourselves and others, a new, different, peaceful past, present, and future.

 

God, by definition, is infinitely good. Whatever plan he has for all his children (and there are many theories) must involve loving them all equally. Somehow, on whatever eternal scale, and by whatever process, all of his children will have ample opportunity to learn whatever we need to know to return to him.

 

It cannot matter to God that his children are presently at different points on the path to human improvement. Our current comparative levels of status and achievement couldn’t be less relevant, ultimately. If God believes each of us is deserving of his acceptance, love, and forgiveness, who are we to judge ourselves differently? We all need help from other people, and from God. Someday all of us will find our way back to our Source. Until then, our best opportunities for forgiveness and release from guilt lie in helping one another by looking for, and reflecting  back, only the good, and not the guilt, in each of us.

 

I know that nearly everyone has a more difficult life than I do, and many are daily cruelly challenged by guilt, anger, and attack . Still, I hope these insights will offer someone somewhere greater peace in her daily life, relationships, and in solving day-to-day problems.

 

Anger, attack, and other forms of judgment, resistance, and non-acceptance are completely useless emotions, whose basic foundation is needless guilt. They never improve any situation, and are always harmful. They hurt and kill many people every day, and their spread throughout the world has the power to destroy human life on this planet. I pray that we all work together to help each other let go of all guilt, anger, and attack, in all its forms, both personal and global.

 

Please write your comments to epharmon@adelphia.net.