Violence never solves anything. Not really. All it does is create a culture of hate and fear that can keep things under wraps for a time, but human nature will find a way to get around whatever violence is there to “protect.” Men and women who resort to violence against others with guns, with knives, and with weapons of mass destruction generally have a warped opinion of the world, and of human nature.
What honestly saddens me the most is that these people who take up arms against others have a history themselves. They grew up in families, just like you and me, and a good percentage of the time those families did a lot to instill values like the value of human lives, but somewhere along the way that message was lost. Somewhere along the line there was a disconnect, a parting of the ways, when they decided the world was going to hell in a hand basket, so why not join an early apocalypse?
These school shootings, these serial killers, these senseless murders, are they truly ramping up in recent times or are we just now finally equipped to broadcast them almost as soon as they happen? Are these shooters, these killers, these murderers the new form of reality TV stars? Do they yearn for the spotlight, even if it’s the negative end of that light? Or are they just so focused on their mission that they see red instead of black and white? It is every one of these, and then some, in my opinion, because each and every one is an individual. Each and every one has some private vendetta that he/she feels needs to be made public.
I don’t even know where to begin anymore, where the rhetoric ends and the true solutions begin. In the aftermath of every single one of these horrific events we band together as a community, and we also fracture as individuals trying to come to grips with what we’ve just witnessed, or read about. We argue about gun control laws, about the senseless nature of these crimes, about racism, sexism, and any other -ism that just might possibly hold the key to whatever occurred. We are all numb, and yet incensed at the same time, confused that human kind can be so base, and so destructive to other human kind.
Is it time for prayers or action, time for the nature vs. nurture discussion once again, or time for us to throw in the towel and say the end is nigh? The Bible of course tells us that these events are precursors of the end times, that we should all be on our knees waiting for the rapture right about now. But is that practical? What does that serve? What do prayers serve for those who are dead, or dying, or maimed, because of these horrific events? At the same time, what does lashing out serve either?
I’ve read so many posts about how those responsible should be strung up, and the same amount of posts saying that we are simply breeding a cesspool of a generation that has no tolerance because they haven’t been taught to have tolerance. We #standwithorlando, and #fightfororlando, and give #prayersfororlando, just as we did for Columbine, just as we did for the 9/11 victims, and just as we’ve done countless times for these senseless acts of violence, these acts of violence that have never solved anything. How can they?
To solve anything we need discussion. We need conversation, real, honest to goodness conversation, a chance to hear from those who feel disenfranchised, to talk to them and figure things out. We need to give them an option before they feel it’s time to take action, because there’s no going back then. We have short memories, I know, because we’re on to the next thing so quickly, but remember that these people grew up too, that they had families who nurtured them, and who affected them from the outset.
But there are signs, little tics that tell us when things are not going well, that give us clues as to what might happen in the future if things go the way they’ve been going. We read about them all the time after the fact. We also read about those who felt it wasn’t their place to voice their suspicions. Because we live in a world where we don’t judge even though we do, when we notice nothing because our heads are stuck so far up our own asses, or stuck in the goings-on of celebrities.
Now is not the time for prayer. Now is the time to get our houses in order. Because a storm is coming, and it’s been coming for ages. We just haven’t noticed it until now. It’s being forced down our throats as time and again the victims become the oppressors, as our eyes are wrenched up from our own lives to see that the world is so much bigger than we are. But we need to see it before it gets to this point. We need to recognize the pain in their eyes, the anger like a crouching tiger waiting to spring.
We need to become the community we say we are, because as individuals with our individual agendas, we are losing touch. We are losing human beings. We are losing humanity.
Sam
What is being in love? Is it the butterflies you get when you first meet “the one?” Is it the disconnect between heart and mind that raises one up while it shuts out the other? Is it the silences that stretch for an eternity without being uncomfortable? Or is it some amalgamation of all the above, with a little bit of libido thrown in?
Because love is that transformation. It’s in the way we shift and change for the better when we’re with that other person. It’s in the give and take that might not always be pleasant, but is always preferred, because we know what soothes our souls.
Mourning Strangers
Posted in commentary, Uncategorized, tagged celebrities, George Michael, mourning, sadness, tragedy on March 10, 2017| 1 Comment »
“So I just kept breathing, my friends. Waiting for the man to choose, saying this ain’t the day that it ends. There’s no white light, and I’m not through.” ~George Michael
Why do we mourn people we don’t know? Perhaps there’s something about celebrity that makes us feel closer, like we’re friends with people we’ve never met. I sometimes liken it to a cousin who lives far away. You know you’re cousins, that somewhere out there is someone who is related to you, and you might have an idea of them, but you don’t truly know them.
As one by one my favorite celebrities die I’m left wondering how much I really knew about any of them, and how reliable any of my information ever really was. Hell, I don’t even really know my own father. Why should I feel devastated by the death of George Michael?
It comes down to hope, in my opinion. These celebrities inspire a kind of hope in me that could never be matched by any sort of reality. Because they are larger than life they embody what my brain mistakenly construes as a better life, as a lofty ideal that is just as reachable as the theoretical American dream.
It’s the whole “grass is greener” mentality that, while I know it’s bogus, continues to give me dewy eyes like a schoolboy with his first crush. I don’t see it for what it is, instead watching it through rose coloured glasses.
I loved the idea of George Michael, the dynamic voice and larger than life personality that characterized both his music and what I knew of his personal life. I followed the articles and headlines about him, from his first solo album, through the gay rumors, and then the gay pronouncement, to the rest stop, to even tumbling from a car speeding down the motorway.
And through it all was the music, his chronicling of life as he saw it, a connection that kept me tethered, safely secure in the knowledge that, somewhere out there, he was alive, constructing something new, being my erstwhile touchstone.
So my ideas of him were who he became in my mind’s eye, a troubled soul with tender leanings, a lyrical wordsmith who didn’t mind laughing at himself. It was good enough to know that at some point he could release another album or another song, and it would be like one more reunion, but better than family because my preconceived notions of him couldn’t be proven incorrect in the face of personal contact. Because the odds always were that I would never meet him. And now I never will.
Odds were that he would have disappointed me in person, though. Most celebrities I’ve met weren’t very gracious, and seemed quite full of themselves. Maybe that’s a byproduct of celebrity, or perhaps it is just my viewpoint in the brief moments I’ve spent in their presence.
In that way, I feel like the death of George Michael will forever insulate me from that particular brand of disappointment. He can live on in my memory the way I have always seen him, and I can continue to enjoy his divine voice long after he’s departed this earth.
But don’t get me wrong. I still mourn, and I still don’t really know why. It’s easy to say that a kind of hope and childhood nostalgia died with him, and yet it seems like so much more than that, like he was the friend I always wanted to impress but who kept impressing me instead. Now all I’m left with is the shadows I tried so hard to clutch when he was alive, and now just sit idly, stock still, on the stone wall of my soul.
Sam
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