From the Stacks … October 23rd, 2020

 

If It’s Not As It Appears, Then What Is It?

“Appearances are deceiving.”

“No, indeed. Things are not as they appear.”

Two people in conversation, agreeing on something that really makes no sense.

It is always fascinating to me that human beings are granted certain gifts which enable us to function in an intelligent way in a topsy-turvy world, and then we are told not to trust these senses.

Sometimes I get confused by knowledge which is imparted to me but then retracted, leaving the door open for future contradictions.

It’s confusing. I need the ability to look at what is set before me and make brilliant decisions.

So why not ask the question, What does it appear to be? 

Being who I am, I made a list:

1. It appears to me that color of skin makes very little difference in the viability of the humans around of me to interact, procreate and work together.

2. It appears to me that homosexuality is not my choice and therefore it will take me a while to get used to the idea, but in the meantime it appears to me that I can grant the gay community the dignity I give to myself.

3. It appears to me that our political system has broken down in its own lavish overstatement and needs to be retooled to meet the needs of the population.

4. It appears to me that religion has replaced God.

5. It appears to me that men and women are very much the same 95% of the time, and I am a fool to focus on the trailing number.

6. It appears to me that if I don’t lose some weight I will die sooner rather than later.

7. It appears to me that my talent is sufficient to give me room and board for the rest of my life if I don’t freak out.

8. It appears to me that I am more appealing when I’m not judgmental.

9. It appears to me that God has given me eyes to see what appears, and have a sound mind to think good and pure thoughts instead of negative and dark ones.

Even though we find ourselves to be a generation of enlightened and knowledgeable souls, we often remove the greatest gift we have by rejecting the responsibility that has been given to us:

Deal with what appears to be. 

Sit Down Comedy … Juneteenth, 2020

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I don’t like to lose.

Maybe no one does.

There is certainly no celebration going on in the locker room of the vanquished team.

No retelling of dropped balls, missed tackles or fumbles.

Losing is intolerable in its inception but even more lonely in its conclusion.

There will certainly be no fellowship in hell for those who are self-condemned to dwell in the loneliness of ineptitude.

I once walked off a football field having been thoroughly beat up—64 to nothing. And yes—it felt like just me—like I was whipped, dragged and humiliated by eleven bullies. My teammates sat in silence, with an occasional sob.

I don’t like to lose.

I don’t keep old raffle tickets which failed to deliver the prize.

I don’t have video footage of me coming in fourteenth in a talent contest.

Yet today I feel like such a goddam loser.

I’m white.

But the only privilege I seem to garner from this statis is the curse of achieving my rank through vile prejudice and bigotry.

It is Juneteenth.

Yet do I have a right, as a white, to even mention it?

What would be my statement?

“I’m so glad my relatives stopped owning yours. Just for the record, I would never have bought you.”

Yuk.

It’s like working really hard to be at the top of your class and then realizing when you got there, everybody hated you.

I’m white.

I’m sorry.

I don’t mind saying I’m sorry.

I understand why it’s necessary for me to be sorry.

But I don’t feel better after I say it.

It just doesn’t seem enough.

Maybe it’s because racism has never died.

Maybe it’s because there’s a whole region of the country which still thinks the Civil War was a grand cause.

Maybe it’s because I’m part of a race that shoots black people in the street and applauds them when they run in a sports arena or dance on a video.

I don’t know how to be white.

It doesn’t matter—whether I know how to do it, I still get the benefit. Or can we call it a benefit? It’s more like the spoils of a war, where the other side wasn’t even allowed to fight.

I want to say something, but everything comes across as anemic as the color of my skin.

I want to be one of those whites who’s “a dude” instead of one of those whites who’s really just crude.

But the harder I try, the worse I look.

Because this problem is not going to be salvaged from destruction by platitudes or promises.

It’ll take a generation—maybe two—before we can even begin to trust each other.

Because while I listen to the news, which implores me to be more tolerant, evening television is still about murderers and rapists, who are usually “colored in” with dark ink.

I just wanted to let you know that I don’t like being this loser.

And I just wanted to let you know that me complaining about being a loser is really a loser thing to do.

I wanted to say, “Happy Juneteenth,” because I am happy about it. Not happy in the sense that I personally was awarded liberty, but happy because hopefully, we can reach a point when we don’t have to award it.

It’s a given.

I don’t like to lose.

If there’s a way out of this, I will find it.

If there’s an opportunity to remain silent, but still be actively involved in reparations for the sin of our country, I want to discover it.

I don’t want you to listen to me whine.

But I’m also not going to watch “Roots” one more time to make sure I’m aware of what slavery was.

Somehow or another, you and I need to go forward trusting each other—that we got the message.

I don’t know how that can happen.

But it’s a nice thing to write down as a goal on a Friday afternoon.

And belief in it, pursuit of it and faith that it’s possible…

…makes me feel just a little less like a loser.

3 Things … February 6th, 2020

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You Need to Know About Black History Month

1.  It makes white people feel “R-E-A-L white.” Look what we did.

 

2.  Skin color doesn’t do shit—people do.

 

3.  It’s all American history.

 

The X Word … July 16th, 2019

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---

THE

WORD

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It is my belief that all the people of the United States owe a brief moment of gratitude to President Donald Trump, for he spared us another administration of Hillary and Bill Clinton. When they were in the White House, they brought disgrace, confusion, deception and a certain brand of conceit that has troubled us for years.

The American people looked at the binary choice and selected the unknown.

It was a smart move.

In that moment, it seemed a prudent way to avoid many of the mistakes that were made by the Arkansas couple the first time they were bequeathed the honor of occupying the nation’s house at Pennsylvania Avenue.

Yet, President Trump was a novice.

We have all been novices. We immediately had to accept two important factors:

1. Not knowing what to do, we were required to learn.
2. Since we were learning, mistakes would have to be confessed and changed.

The novice we elected took a profile of already knowing instead of studying up for the job. The end result is that errors were made, and rather than correcting those mistakes, smoke screens were sent out to disguise the mishaps, and attempts were made to rally “we, the people” behind nasty causes.

That is why I tell you that the X word that should never be spoken or written again is:

XENOPHOBIA

It is a prejudice against people from other countries, but also other lifestyles. It is fostered because of insecurity.

For instance, there isn’t a black person in this country who isn’t a little nervous around the white folks who have caused him or her problems.

There isn’t a Native American who can’t point to mistreatment of his tribe by the immigrants who came from other lands.

Nor is there a Japanese American who is unaware that at one time, his great-grandfather or great-grandmother were put into an internment camp.

The Chinese Americans recall the history of how they were mistreated in the West during the great expansion of the nineteenth century.

And also, every white person in this country is a little sensitive about being cast into the role of the villain on all issues of race.

We are neurotic.

Somewhere deep in our soul is the desire to be kind and tenderhearted, but a fear of one another manifests as a hatred of each other. So when the drums of prejudice start beating, the accusations start flying, the bullets pierce black flesh at white hands, and the nation seems to look on those south of the border as trash, it is time for our leaders to calm us.

They should teach us to appreciate one another. Give us a chance to get used to skin colors and lifestyles, and acclimate to our neighbors. After all, we have an absolutely magnificent country in which to do it.

I say, shame on our political parties.

Shame on the Democratic Party for presenting Hillary Clinton with a side of her husband, Bill, as warmed-over hash.

And shame on the Republicans for failing to take their candidate and place him in adequate restraints for learning and growing into the job of President.

Both parties have turned us into raging xenophobes.

This will not be solved with a political solution. This will require the simplicity of neighbors chatting with each other and gradually coming to a national common sense that acknowledges that even though we are nervous—at times terrified—of the person standing next to us, America is still the best spot to be, this side of heaven.

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G-Poppers … July 13th, 2018

G-Pop loves his children.

Of course, most folks claim they do. Even that lady in the courtroom who “offed her young’uns” insisted she adored the little tykes.

Love is the delicate balance between affection and correction. And who has ever found the balance? Some people are too affectionate–other people are just hard-asses.

How can you tell the truth in love?

G-Pop wants you to know that the world is segregating itself into clumps of misunderstanding.

For instance, over here on the right you’ve got the “He” crowd–“He” meaning God:

God is everything.

God is good.

Yet … God seems indifferent about the plight of children killed in war. (But that’s because we don’t understand His will.)

God, who is supposed to make us happy often leaves us sad, failing to return our messages.

So escaping “He,” we become…

Well, “you.”

I find myself having to contend with–you. After all, you have such great potential. If you would just listen to me, you would become amazingly fruitful, but you persist in your own ideas when you know that mine are proven better.

So you, who could be a companion to me, suddenly become a problem.

Conversations with you. I become convinced things are going to be better, and then you just end up being you.

Worse than that, many “yous” become “them” which is closely associated with “they.”

This is not an issue of prejudice or racism. These “yous,” who have clustered together in regions, have generated a serious predicament.

Maybe it’s skin color–but not exclusively.

Maybe it’s their customs.

But certainly, at the heart of it, they just aren’t quite as good and certainly not as adequate.

They need to be set apart.

Let’s not get mean about it. (Matter of fact, if we can get them to think it’s their idea to promote their own flag, their own skin tone or their own religion…)

Just keep them away.

I guess the only true way this can be achieved is for us to become a “we.”

We’re just so damn cute. We’re clever, we’re creative, we’re concerned about the world. We hold meetings and share ideas, relating with one another.

We are not animals.

We are not part of the ignorant masses who support foolishness.

We have culture.

We even have a mission statement.

Shoot–all we need is a song. Yes, a rallying tune to make it clear where “they” end and “we” begin.

So as the world drags on with devotion to “He,” criticism of “you,” bigotry about “them” and the self-righteousness of “we”, G-Pop notes that something needs to emerge that speaks the truth with love.

It is “I.”

But it is “i” in the lower case. It is an “i” that has not yet arrived.

And the tiny “i” is a way to signify that we understand that we’re empowered, but have not yet capitalized on all of our possibilities.

“i” am the beginning and the end of the significance of my life.

When “i” look to “we, them, you or He,” “i” drain energy from my existence–leaving a huge hole in my soul.

What do “i” need to do?

A. “i” need to repent of my fear of being wrong.

B. “i” need to make that repentance as joyous and as full of good cheer as possible, so “i” won’t resent doing it.

C. “i” need to focus on my work instead of trying to live off the efforts of others.

D. And “i” need to be humble.

G-Pop loves his children–enough to tell them the truth with affection.

G-Pop is an “i.”

He is an “i” who’s working everyday on trying to dot himself.

 

 

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Jesonian: Reasonable (Part 16) Purify … March 20th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Jesus was not Jewish.

This doesn’t mean he hated Jews. He was like you and me. That’s what the Bible says.

Being like you and me, he was one-half jungle and one-half Garden. So he was Jewish on his mother’s side and Holy Spirit on his Father’s side.

It’s an important point.

Jesus did not come to Earth to confirm Judaism, nor was he a forerunner for Mohammed.

Yes, we must understand that Jesus did not establish his message in order to create a third generation for Abraham. He said quite clearly that “before Abraham was, he existed.”

He pre-dated the Patriarch of Judaism and the Muslim faith.

Why is that important?

Because Christianity is here to bring peace to the Earth, not pick a side in the fight.

Until we purify the Christian message, we will miss the essence of the struggle in the early church, when Paul told the leadership that they needed to stop acting so damned Jewish. The message needed to survive Jerusalem so that it would be well-understood in Hoboken and Siberia.

So if we’re going to be like Jesus, we must purify the mission in the following seven ways:

1. I am not political.

Whoever is the next President will be my President and I will honor him or her with my prayers.

2. I am not religious.

The simple truth is, God loves me and there’s no act of contrition or worship that will make that any better.

3. I am not a skin color.

God has vision for only one thing: He sees my passion because He looks on my heart.

4. I am not a culture.

The whole Earth is the Lord’s–therefore I am part of His greater vision, not His local flavor.

5. I am not confined to my nuclear family.

Even though I love my offspring, my real family is anyone who is interested in pursuing the Kingdom of God.

6. I am not afraid.

Fear weakens my love, so I choose good cheer as my refuge.

7. I am not better than anyone else.

There are no chosen people, just people who choose well.

Until the message of Jesus is purified as the “repairer of the breach” for mankind’s misunderstanding, we will be tempted to pick sides and will wage a political conflict…instead of welcoming a human unity.

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G-Poppers… February 20, 2015

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Little granddaughter asked G-Pop, “What is black history month?”

He paused, wondering what direction he should go with her question.

“Do you know what black is?” asked G-Pop.

“It is a dark color,” she replied.

“Some people have a dark color of skin,” he cited.

“I know that,” she sighed, a bit disgusted with G-Pop thinking she was dumb.

G-Pop explained. “But did you know that some people think skin color is, well, a way of treating people bad?”

“Why?”

Yes. Why.

G-Pop took a deep breath, allowing some oxygen to stimulate his brain to say the right thing. He continued.

“If you had four candy bars and you were very happy with your supply but you found out that your friend had four candy bars, too, how would you feel?”

Granddaughter didn’t pause. “Glad,” she replied. “We’ve both got candy.”

G-Pop smiled. “Yes, that’s what you should feel. A happy equal. But some people are mad if they don’t have more candy bars than their neighbor, so they strike out, steal a candy bar or two from them–until they feel they are better.”

“That’s mean,” said Granddaughter.

“It is. But some people are mean. And during the month of February, we get together and admit that meanness hurt our black brothers and sisters, and we’re working very hard to restore the sweetness.”

G-Pop peered at his granddaughter. He wasn’t sure she understood.

G-Pop wasn’t sure he understood.

 

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