“Milk and honey have different colours, but they share the same house peacefully.”
from The Renegade Press, an article by Chris Nicholas…
This is an awesome proverb from Africa, and a great post in equality. Yet you might be like me.
While my difficulty with explaining the differences between Islamic and Muslim beliefs has been a different experience: at times I am appearing satanist or socialist or negative to the biblical few, even in my family; this rhymes in mental violence.
For a moment, imagine some mid-west community I live in, which is very close-minded, not agricultural, but not developed enough to be classified urban, very christian, very conservative, and having the ideal of Beaver Cleaver, limited in educational resources, and an easy place to accept and promote propaganda, and while I appreciate their dedication to labor, it is very working class, and, as such, approaches critical thinking the same way: a bit lazy–where there isn’t much to aspire to beyond the factory or the mechanic’s shop.
Over a decade the immensity of social changes that involve a developing global society, arise, and the globe which is educating its own self to grasp its new characteristics it defines, as early as tomorrow, and at such a pace when there is something different that we have to learn with the next day’s sun, and yet within those minute years and in the complete timeline, which have been felt, where a community tries with extra energy to remain static, and forces my intuitive and sensitive nature into a corner, it is alright when we see military vehicles going down the street displaying which candidate they feel should be in jail; and yet I think, while individuals of armed forces have inherent rights as citizens to cast their votes, I don’t think it is right to take to militarized vehicles and parade in the streets and demonstrate what they think to incite fear in voters.
I live in a state that passes legislation against genders without reading what rhetoric they write, without any understanding for what the words mean, and when we examine these individuals they hardly have any agency when they accept their various roles to represent the people, as it seems, and rather they represent a belief as much as their intolerance for skin color and misunderstanding of instinct, when it comes to gender, and they feel they are under attack, and they exploit anything outside their culture, including those individuals that do not inherit the same rights and privileges we pushed onto reservations that are just expected to be forgotten and are out of the way, and when comparing these opposing faiths, western or eastern, the only thing that really differs is the hemispheres of the world which their believers live in, and in counterpoint I would argue that there are zealots in both, in both! even if the fundamentalists in both camps are so Narcissus they refuse to see their own faces and how they love to thrive off of the war they impose on any opposition–it is a modern, homogenized, corn-fructosed, opioid, genetically-modified crusade.
When a few weird or crazy individuals try to organize a rally of peace, immediately they are met with domineering forces of insensitivity, in a public park that isn’t public, counter-intuitively. Yet that generalization seems much too abstract; they would make the argument that everything is about morals and to every moral they identify and display, they seamlessly convey their equal hypocrisies.
To the point: they would actually go out of their way to obstruct the voting process, and leaving the court house you see the Klansmen judges of the past that served our community in their black and white prints in pride displayed on the wall. I tire, and I ache and I am dreadfully depressed. So, I seek out my own family history, to find that I have a relative that was an indentured servant in America that ended up having slaves himself.
A History professor that I worked for lifted up my spirits with a Mark Twain quote, and the author suggested to “[n]ever argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.” And yet, it is hard for my spirit to acknowledge this sentiment nor the proverb above because I have a passion to educate, and I feel each nerve ending shaking with sitting because I am ready to react.
While the milk and the honey are in our tea, they refuse to digest in my stomach because I am dairy intolerant, which really would show how much of the problem I am and how invested in the separate issues we become. Yes, I could continue to put the cow’s breast in my cup, but I will still have the shits from the tea that I love.
There has to be more to the world than their idols, but for them, in this moment, there won’t be, while we have to relive Antigone, though the faces and roles change and anything you think that matters outside the limited scope and tunnel fuses into the dark matter in the vortex of their universal womb; she will continue to cry over her brother’s body, repeatedly, and her uncle will keep decay out there and let the community suffer in putrefaction, he’ll arrest her, and she’ll hang herself.
We’re in what chess calls Zugzwang or stalemate because we will continue to let each faith martyr themselves and kill countless millions upon millions, and victimize themselves when anything that is different is criminal, or if not criminal not tolerated in social conduct, as over the milennia the count rises of dead and injured, without any real way to educate or adapt them to the real world, and don’t even try to show them the stories they generalized and made their own from cultures they eliminated from around the world.
There’s no talking to them because really they are all too busy creating the hell to step back as a painter to see what has changed in their dismal canvas of time. And what is scary is that their mystified patrons have aspired to high points in decision making and have a very limited scope when dealing with real problems, i.e, praying to their imaginary friends. Yet you are allowed to pay and be in their clubs because you are just going through a phase is enough for me to commit myself to the local psych ward, where I can continue to research their nonsense in safety, and where it is okay to think this way because I am crazy, and in my tax paid tray I continue to eat my bananas.
This state could be defined as committed. And they are, as well. There are costs to heaven on earth. Is it equality that we seek? Is it the color of graphite on parchment? Is it order? And when we move away from our homes, and when we create distance to see the past villainy, and we try to toss it aside, or stomp out what was ruining ourselves, is it any different? Is there any clarity in a change of scenery or is it the same? How do we squelch our demons? How do we adapt without being monsters and start giving back to the world? And when we do give back and when we finally earn something for ourselves, what do we ignore and what is further damaged? And how does the world handle that?
The quote above, and the movie Colossal kind of coincide, as I try to make sense of all of this information. There seems to be something important to me that is very minuscule to someone else to the point they would drive through it with an automobile and kill it. I find it fascinating how “equality” and “making a difference” could be rendered synonymous, and how much money would it take, and how many great things would we have to own before we could accomplish that?
What would be “perfect” and what would have to be completed? And what would we have to do? How well does that horror work for someone else–what to them is not horror, but comedy? And is there any point beyond living for one’s self, that if an individual is to achieve the most for his or herself is that fascinating enough or unsatisfying? What is ideal and what is the idea of that?
It is imaginative and I can write about that and it can be a story the rest of the world hates. I hope, selfishly, in the next hour science doesn’t define too much and that something is left unknown, untouched because that is interesting. And yet I write this, and don’t write something else, life is that amazing that there is no right and wrong and only stories and I am not a prophet, and there is no absolute, and that is the only thing we all can be comfortable in together, there is no right answer, and there only is seconds.