Beyond the gate of experience flows the Way, Which is ever greater and more subtle than the world. - Tao Te Ching

Saturday, June 12, 2010

The BP guide to profiting from disaster

The public relations debacle instigated by the BP oil deluge seems to mean nothing in the long-term business plan of British Petroleum. It’s all about the numbers. And the quality of information that is being spoon fed to the media is a slap in the face to free speech democracy. The gross co-optation of governmental bodies by BP officials is harrowing to say the least. Kelly Cobiella, a reporter for CBS news, tried to gain access to the beaches along the Gulf when she was met by a boat of BP stooges and two Coast Guard officials who threatened her arrest. A man from the Coast Guard actually said “this is BP’s rules, not ours.”


Matthew Lysiak, a reporter from The Daily News of New York, was told by a local sheriff that he needed BP’s permission to access a public beach, and that a BP official was required as a chaperone. BP employees are actually answering the telephone for the Coast Guard-Federal Aviation Administration command center, and BP officials denied a fly-over request by a pilot who was carrying a journalist on board.


The oil flow estimates have increased from 1,000 barrels a day to upward of 100,000. Scientists have been denied access to the deluge, and the flow rate estimates are actually surmised from observing a low resolution video. Fisheries are becoming toxic, wildlife is dying, ecosystems are being destroyed. This is deplorable. The entire event, from start to finish is unacceptable. The only possible explanation for this situation is that the cost-benefit analysis performed by BP would seem to indicate that, in the short term, keeping the leak open will enable them to collect more revenue in the long term.


Now, this is where it all gets dicey. Why would BP keep the oil deluge alive when it is obviously a PR disaster? Why would they not plug the leak and tap into the oil again later? There are several, perhaps dozens of deciding factors within BP’s maneuver, and it is almost impossible to know what’s really happening.


But why keep the leak open if it’s bad PR, which is bad for business? BP has already publicly stated that they are going to use all revenue from the oil collected to pay for the clean-up. That’s their PR move. But is still does nothing to answer the question of why the deluge is still active after nearly two months. Maybe bad PR is good for long-term business. More on that later.


Even BP’s “positive” PR campaign is fraught with manipulation and eyebrow-raising actions. After denying a request to pay for clean-up of the Barrier Islands, they spent $50 million on television ads telling the public that they will “make things right.” They even purchased search engine phrases to maximize the number of people going to their Web site, and minimize the number of people going to actual news organizations for information.


That said, let’s take a logical look at this situation through a financial-incentive lens. Oil is pouring into the gulf, causing BP’s stock price to fall, causing BP and its cohorts to pay billions in damages and claims and clean-up. At the same time, BP is going to refine and sell the thousands of barrels of oil they gather from the Gulf to help pay for the clean-up (and buffer their bottom line).


BP claims to have a plan to stop the oil deluge that involves drilling relief wells to relieve the pressure and then sealing the wells with concrete. But they are saying that it will take upwards of three months before this happens. Why aren’t they plugging the hole immediately? Why are they performing surgery on this thing that will take months? And why have attempts to plug the spill consisted solely of processes that would allow for future access to the oil? Aside from the top kill method, all procedures were focused on containing the spill but allowing for access to the oil at a later date.


It is quite possible that BP did not want top kill to work, as certain interested parties could be poised to profit from this envirocide. The hole in the Gulf could be plugged now, but it is not. BP officials stated that they didn’t want to detonate an explosion because if it didn’t work, it would limit their options. Perhaps their fear was that it would work, and eliminate the opportunity for investors to cash in. The problem isn’t a lack of ideas, but in the gross manipulation of our government and we the people by a private company.


Does the manner in which the federal government and BP are handling the disaster make sense? Obviously, no. It doesn’t. So, how do we make sense out of the nonsensical? We have to understand the factors at play; access, influence and control. We have to consider even the most imaginative scenarios because at the highest levels of governance and business, the temptation to retain access, influence and control is more potent than the draw to do what’s right.


The amount of money and power and political clout that the oil industry wields is mind boggling. This is not a BP disaster, it’s an oil industry chess game. The international economic climate is dreary, with positive prospects only in sight of the wealthy. The government is yielding to BP because of all these factors. Interest groups, think tanks and lobbyists are no doubt behind the scenes, making deals that determine when the hole actually gets plugged. People are gathered at expensive hotels, dining on the finest imported caviar (not from the Gulf of Mexico, for sure), discussing ways in which to profit from this disaster. If it drives the stock of BP down, that could be good for people who are trying to take hold of the company. Perhaps we should surveil the sale of BP stock as it continues to decline to determine if this is a systematic takeover in the Hudsucker Proxy vein. BP’s stock value has fallen by nearly 50 percent since the incident. Just before the Deepwater Horizon explosion, New Jersey’s pension system sold it’s $465.5 million investment in BP for a $5.5 million gain. Call it luck, call it whatever you wish.


Of course, this is just an example, and there are an infinite number of possibilities that create the need for a disaster like this to continue (or happen). It could even be an excuse to go into bankruptcy. Oil is not a popular player in the modern energy game, and any disaster could be an opportunity to position themselves for a sneak attack on consumers.


Unfortunately, it is not below human beings to use a disaster to gain something. During times of war, the federal government spends billions of dollars on weapons from Lockheed Martin, Northrop Grumman and the like. Billions. In one strike alone against Iraq, the U.S. dropped $64 million in Tomahawk missiles. $64 million worth of missiles in a few hours. Not a bad day's work for Raytheon, the company that manufactures Tomahawks.


During World War II, the New York-based company International Business Machines (IBM) supplied the Nazis with the computers used to keep tabs on their eugenic genocide. U.S. officials did nothing to stop it. The battle for tanks also spurred a record-breaking spending spree on both sides of the pond, filling the pocket books of ingenious businessmen with no shred of conscience. Many human atrocities are lost or forgotten, hidden or falsified by the powers that were. Even in America, we still consider the battle for freedom was against the British, when really it was a struggle to contain Native Americans and exploit African slaves.


We must first acknowledge that anything is possible. Anything. That would seem easy if we considered our stories. The fact that BP is not giving us accurate or complete information is confirmation of their power. The fact that they are calling the shots, controlling government agencies and limiting government involvement, not answering letters from government officials, denying journalists access to information and providing false and misleading statistics, and preventing independent scientists from personally observing the leak is confirmation that the status quo is what needs protection, and the federal government is along for the ride.


The impotence of our government exposed by this travesty is inconceivable, especially after our executive office has denied help from at least a dozen countries due to the outdated Jones Act, which is easily waived as evident in Delaware where foreign-owned vessels are allowed to operate.


The true loss is not to the environment, but to democracy and the ability of the citizenry to actively engage in the decision making process. If we lose this battle, what’s next? This event is establishing a horrific precedent in government compliance with corporate strategy. What other disasters will take place in the future that will allow for democracy to be stifled? Is this the beginning of an Orwellian society? Or is this just a glimpse into the everyday happenings of global economics?


The tragedy is that we will forget about the real disaster, which is democracy’s loss to the oligarchical power structure. Perhaps that is the purpose for keeping the oil deluge alive–to remind us that we have no control, that we have no power. BP will obviously divert attention to the clean-up effort, and rightly so. But what will that do to the real question, Why didn’t the hole get plugged immediately? We will surely forget, because we must move forward. But with BP’s spit lingering on the face of democracy, it’s a shame we don’t jump on this opportunity and gain a real voice in the sea of political and monetary agendas.


If BP comes out of this with only a PR debacle and a massive clean-up on its hands, then they did pretty good. But if they come out with the idea that they can manipulate public land during a disaster, if they can control water and resources and deny fundamental rights to citizens, journalists and scientists trying to understand what’s going on in order to help, if they walk away from this knowing that they succeeded in controlling this entire debate, then democracy has truly lost. It will only further strengthen the divide amongst the haves and have-nots. It will exacerbate corporate influence on First Amendment rights like never before. Inevitably, it will force our minds to shopping, to our 401k (or lack of one), to our two-week vacation, to Big Macs and extra large fries and extra large concepts of America so we can forget about the pain of reality.


We must plug the hole ourselves, immediately. It will tell BP that we take ownership of our own destiny, and that the lives of millions of people and animals and plants and microorganisms are more important than any agenda. We will gain access to the impenetrable system by breaking down the doors of influence. It is a measure reflective of the times–an act of desperation in the name of democracy.


Plug that hole!










Monday, June 7, 2010

The grocery store philosophers

Spontaneity is so refreshing, even when it’s dull. It’s funny how life sometimes requires it of us, even when our minds are so narrow-minded and focused on control that it would take death to keep us from achieving our goal. But sometimes we listen to our inner traveler, that free voice deep in the pit of our chest that’s connected to the core of our mind and spirit. Sometimes, we listen to that honest consciousness, but not as often as we should, as we often confuse it with our desires which often lead to feelings of guilt and heightened self-consciousness.


I was on my way to pick up a piece of music equipment when I decided to stop at the grocery store. My wife had been ill, and I wanted to grab some vitamin C rich products and organic veggies to concoct a natty meal plan that would enable her body to murder the microscopic infidels. I chose to stop at a grocery store that I never patronize because it’s far from my house. But I felt that little nagging nuisance inside me urge me out the car. So I obliged, feeling empowered, perhaps, by what I perceived was a mission of valor and virtue.


I grabbed some artichokes, fresh ginger and garlic, some asparagus, spinach and herbs, and of course oranges, mangoes, papaya, pineapple and cantaloupe. I also snagged a drink chock full of vitamins and organic veggies, and since Uncle Sam was paying, I bought organic. This was my health care plan. No job, no insurance, fugetaboutit. I’ve never had better access to basic services since I lost my job. When I had money, I couldn’t afford anything. Now that I’m broke, it seems like everything is taken care of.


After stocking my cart with fresh produce and trendy fruit drinks I mozied towards the processed organic food aisle. Man, I felt like a socially conscious green consumer! I imagined my car was a hybrid, and that I lived in an Earth ship buried in the ground with solar panels on the roof and a composting toilet that fed my organic garden of grains and grasses that I fed my goats and chickens. I thought about getting a Flock of Seagulls haircut, spending $85 on fair trade jeans that had pre-worn holes in it to make me appear to not care about looks, and then getting a bicycle and walking everywhere with my right pant leg pulled up so everyone would know how much I respect the earth.


I was observing the selection of teas and the Yerba Matte jumped out at me in all its trendy and hip glory. As I perused the conscious-yuppie staples, three teenagers came laughing down the aisle, seemingly in touch with their emotions and content with their weaknesses (which I perceived by their self-deprecating humor, tight jeans and interesting verbal patterns.)


“It’s Fig Newmans,” Blane said. I turned around and smiled at them. The box had a picture of Paul Newman and what I assumed was his wife on the cover in classic American Gothic style.


“So if you buy them does Paul Newman come out and do a little dance?” I asked, and gave my best rendition of what a Paul Newman dance would be if he were an awful Riverdancer.


“They don’t have milk in them,” he replied. Serai and Greg smiled at me. Blane was 19, tall and lean and health conscious. I suspected that his parents were liberal and he was given guitar lessons at a young age but he perhaps rebelled against the formalities of music education and pursued more visceral audio interests. He seemed a bit taken back by my comment, as he was the obvious leader of the group and his cohorts laughed at my dance whereas he focused on the dairy-free nature of the Fig Newmans.


Greg was fit and very American: blue eyes, tightly cropped hair and a constant smile. His eyes were glazed over, and I suspected that they perhaps had the munchies after a ride on the sativa train. Serai was petit in her physique and minimal in her projections. She seemed to have grown up in a conservative household that reminded women of their “place.” All three appeared to be an odd fit for each other. She seemed Muslim, Greg seemed Baptist and Blane seemed agnostic. But that all changed with a quick and random invitation issued by Greg.


“You should come to a bible study,” he asked. The others looked on and nodded in agreement. I immediately gathered myself. I find these kinds of uninvited invitations most disheartening. It’s reminiscent of a stranger offering a child candy while the mother isn’t looking. But, I knew they were only trying to reach out to me on a spiritual level. They weren’t aggressive or judgmental, just curious and anxious and naive.


What began as a spontaneous invitation quickly turned into a religious debate, right there in the organic aisle of Kroger.


“You see, Christ, in my understanding of him, didn’t go around telling people to come to meetings,” I said. “He lived a certain way. He didn’t talk about it, he did it. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t go around telling people how great he was, which is what most people who call themselves Christians do. If we are Christians, than why are we in this store talking about being Christian? Why aren’t we giving our time to others, helping the poor, living selflessly?”


Paul took offense to my position. “Yeah, but it’s all contextual. What they did in their time is different from what we do now.”


As the debate heated, a man with large dreadlocks tied in a bun walked past us. I noticed he glanced at us as he passed, and he seemed to linger near our conversation. Then, a young woman who was most certainly from the Middle East hovered close by. Before we knew it, it was a real live debate.


“All your perspectives are coming from a Euro-centric worldview,” said the dreadlocked man, whom I will call Peter. “Jesus was not blond-haired and blue eyed, he looked more like a modern day Muslim.”


The new girl, Haya, also interjected her heart. “We have to look inside ourselves to understand the truth,” she said.


After half an hour of chatting, my phone rang. It was my wife. I knew she was waiting for me, and I knew she was not feeling well. But the naivete of these three youngsters was so deep and misguided, I felt i had to stay and talk with them.


“When you say, ‘Christ said this,’ you’re already misguided because Christ didn’t speak English,” I said. “It’s what we think Christ said. And the knowledge of Christ is deeper than any book. Jesus Christ didn’t come to the Earth to start Christianity. He came to show us how to live, and that transcends all religions. I don’t know any Christians who live like Christ lived.”


But the argument continued, and they were more interested in what Peter had to say, probably because they had no exposure to African-American thought on the subject. Or maybe they felt that if they focused their attention on him instead of me, they wouldn’t feel racist. I soon realized that my time with them was ending and that I had responsibilities to attend to. Without getting their names, I left, and insisted that we meet the following Thursday at 9 p.m. in the same spot. They agreed, and I knew I would see them again.


I was obsessed with the upcoming meeting and the potential for a real and progressive spiritual group to emerge from these discussions. Thursday arrived on schedule, which surprised me as I considered my exaggerated emphasis on the importance of this meeting to be a real time-stopper, as if the universe would end before the kind of knowledge we would discover could be unveiled to humanity. The world wasn’t ready for our minds!


I drafted some questions that I thought we be interesting for us to discuss and printed out about a dozen copies, with quotes from the Bible, the Qur’an and the Tao Te Ching. I made my way into the organic aisle of Kroger, eager to catch a glimpse of at least one of my former comrades. With me was a Muslim friend, and I knew he would be a welcomed addition to the discussion. As I turned the corner with much anticipation, at 9:05 p.m., my eyes saw only the products along the aisle and the glistening tile floor. Nobody was there.


I left knowing that it was probably for the best, as the spontaneity that inspired that moment with those strangers whose names I may never know existed in that one moment, like an improvised song that is impossible to recreate but permanently memorable.


I left the store with the stack of print-outs, still looking in the parking lot to see if perhaps someone was there, just running a bit late. Perhaps they came, most likely they didn’t. But I am positive that they will always remember the organic aisle at Kroger with a warmth and affection that no other grocery store section can compare.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Ambulatory Adventures

I exit into a sea of commerce, culture, society and depravity. An old man with no hands and blank white eyes holds his stubs out, asking for the sake of God to give him money. His eyes have seen more than I dare to imagine. Sometimes I give, sometimes I don’t. I have the luxury of choosing, and my choice could easily determine if this man eats or not. I don’t like that kind of power, as it fills me with guilt if I don’t act, and consumes me with responsibility if I do. I continue walking.

A line of metal chairs waits for souls with dirty shoes. The orange seats are worn down to the rusted frame, and the remaining fabric is camouflaged with dirt and oil stains, blending perfectly with this cultural microcosm. Young boys occupy these thrones, and call their subjects to them with dirty cloth in hand, putting marketing skills to the test as they attempt to herd the masses to their Kiwi wax and horse hair buffers.

“Farenj! Farenj!,” they call out. Foreigner. I was called “China” once, which, as I understand it, refers to people of Asian descent. But like many Americans, I am a Euro-mut, with no semblance of Asian roots, aside from my alleged connection to the Caucasus Mountains.

I continue walking. I come upon an ocean of blue cars, Fiats and Renaults mostly, from the early 80s and late 70s. A group of older men stand on the side of the road, talking shop and planning their next attack on victims of an intimidating road system. “You! You!,” they call out. “Me?” I ask. “You,” they say. “You?” I ask. “You,” they reply, and point at a car. I point at their car. “Me?” I say. “Where are you go?” I point down the road and continue walking. My unwillingness to succumb to their salesmanship only fuels their technique. They call out “you, you” again and point at their car, as if a ride in their haughty machine could somehow bring meaning into my life, and without my fare my money would disown me for having never been spent on such an eloquent ride. But today my feet are my steed, as a beautiful day in Addis brings a perfect balance of warm air, cool shades and a kaleidoscope of stimulation for the senses.

A man selling Chinese belts approaches, attempting to convince me of the high quality of these items, which cost about $3 or $4. A woman selling skin-on peanuts, Hip-hop biscuits, chewing gum and suckers waits patiently for her customers to buy something to keep her and hers on the up and up. She sits with a stoic patience, with eyes that know the sun, hidden under a cheap umbrella which she traded a kilo of peanuts for just before the rainy season began two years ago.

Then comes the market. In five steps you have five options. Ten steps, fifteen options. How many different versions of ginger can there be? Who is the best vendor? The competitors eat from the same table, share secrets, lend each other hands. The true spirit of capitalism, invested in the acumen of each of theses respectful entrepreneurs. The only kind of market. A bailout for this system would involve loaning a few sacks of seed and water, maybe an extra hand to plow the field. Civilization never seemed so uncivilized until I saw how ‘uncivilized’ people live.

Walk into the metal-workers section. Men covered head to toe from years of hard labor. Their clothes the color of mace and tar, their faces reveal added years from all their sweat which dissolved their youth. Sparks fly as the saw-man takes off a few meters of rebar. Two youngsters carry heavy poles on their shoulders with effortless grace, as if their identity is tied to manual labor and without an aching back, existence would be meaningless.

Into the automotive area I go. Walls of tires, with radial wire spiking out and glimmering in the afternoon heat, sending waves of vapor and star-like reflections bouncing off the tire-man who waits for someone with a stroke of bad luck to improve his own. The ground is all rubber, beaten into the dirt like a child’s lost toy found years later by the boy who had become a man. The entrance is shredded tires, black filets enticing the appetites of weary motorists in need of a rubber fix.

I walk past homes made of cow dung and all I can smell is sweet incense and the intense aroma of roasting coffee, a scent that never enticed me until my trip here.

On the ground is a man with legs much too small for his stature. He sits in a permanent lotus position–a yogi of the street world. His eyes are healthy and real, and his arms strong from supporting his weight through many years of life. In his hands are wooden blocks, made to slightly elevate his body while he walks with his hands. He looks at me, desperately, trying to pull out my empathy with his eyes. But any reasonable effort I make to help this man is ultimately fruitless. Tomorrow he will still be on the street. Next year, if he’s still alive, my empathy will have long since evaporated into the ether, and that moment when he and I were connected in his struggle will be nothing more than words on a page.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Ethiopia, the Olympics and cosmic consciousness

Ethiopians have much to be proud of. This past winter Olympics offered hope to young Ethiopians and Africans around the world that one day, they too could participate in the ancient competition. Ethiopia’s son Robel Teklemariam competed in cross country skiing, an event which is considered by most to be the most physically demanding athletic challenge in the world. It requires massive upper and lower body strength and an endurance level that tests medical definitions of possibility. These athletes actually have more blood vessels in their body than any other living human, experts say.


Robel, whose family owns the Nile Restaurant in Richmond, Virginia, first competed in Torino in 2006. The mere fact that he was able to compete was satisfaction enough for the dreadlocked athlete. He admits that his appearance drew an assortment of judgement and negative comments from the media and his contemporaries. When he was tested for drugs, his hemoglobin levels were above normal, a sign that performance enhancing drugs had been introduced to his system. However, people who live at high altitudes also have high hemoglobin, and Robel had lived at high altitudes for most of his life. But many people focused on the drug factor because Robel seemed to represent something different, something non-western. For centuries, western societies have continuously found ways to manifest their fear towards other people – especially those of color. This was just another one of those events used to intimidate and get inside the heads of “the other.” But he prevailed, and won. Not the Olympics, but the game of prejudice killing and stereotype shattering.


In Ethiopia, jokes abound about Robel being a skier, given that the country has a mostly tropical climate with snow only existing at the top of the tallest mountains. Who cares that there’s no snow in Ethiopia? There’s no snow in Florida, either, but people from Florida can compete in the winter Olympics. Where do we draw the line? Geography is not the issue, it’s a matter of principal. It’s an extension of the increasingly globalized world in which we live. Anyone can do anything at anytime. Robel is a physical manifestation of the power of the Internet, the interconnections that bind us all together, the spirituality of our religions, and the universal cosmic consciousness that unites every molecule in existence. That’s a lot of responsibility, Robel!


In addition to having a representative in the winter Olympics, Ethiopians should be, are are naturally, very proud. Aside from the fact that the recent elections are strewn with allegations of corruption, Ethiopians are not a people of the government. Before Meles Zenawi, they were Ethiopia. And they will be Ethiopia long after he is gone. Legacies remain, and they are defeated. Dynasties last only as long as the bloodline remains securely selfish. Eventually, all powers find rest in the annals of history. People are the true leaders of their destiny, and they are the true dreamers of dreams. Ethiopians are survivors. More than 80 recorded famines in their 3,000 year history, not to mention countless droughts. Westerners think that famine started in 1973 with Jonathan Dimbleby’s report, but the reality is that Ethiopia is no stranger to these events. And they have survived. They have not been defeated by the hand of nature or by the hand of man. But, like gold in the rock, they have been purified by fire. This is no argument for eugenics, but one of natural selection, a process that has been stunted in western societies by modern medicine, which in reality, only serves to strengthen the bacterias and viruses that are exposed to our antibiotics and vaccines. Of course, some benefits are obvious, but long terms effects are not known and history has a way of showing us how our vanity comes crashing down on us at the most unexpected moment.


This is no argument for the importance of famine, but a reality of what famine does to a people. And, most importantly, what a country’s reaction to famine really means. It is no different than walking down the street in New York City, eating a hot dog and feeling happy with oneself and life, when suddenly a man clothed in rags and reeking of a horrid conglomeration of urine, alcohol and body odor approaches and asks for change. It’s usually when we feel the best about ourself that we give to a homeless person. Why? Because we feel guilty for doing well, for feeling good. We only give to relieve ourselves of our guilt, not to really help this man. If we wanted to truly help this man, we’d sit down with him, find out his story, listen to him, understand him, hear him out. If he’s destined to be on the streets, as is sometimes the case, so be it. But, if he’s just one of the those people whom life has shat on constantly, the best thing we can do is offer him a place to stay, food in his belly and clothes on his back. Then help him get a job and teach him how to keep the job. That’s how we help people. Giving someone $50 or 50 cents doesn’t do a damn thing except perpetuate the socio-economic divide and exacerbate the neediness of the needy. In the western eye, Ethiopia was a homeless country whose story the west never took the time to know, only threw money at it to make us feel better about ourselves.


That's not to discount the people who came together with a heart of right to help those in need. But they are not limited to westerners. True heroes are the unsung; the neighbor who leaves food on your doorstep then disappears in the night without being thanked. The stranger who sees you sleeping on the sidewalk in the cold and leaves his jacket on you without you knowing until you wake up, surprisingly warm. The farmer who opens his field to anyone willing to bend their backs. These are true heros, and they'll never be interviewed because the attention we give them removes their real reward – their anonymity.


Of course, people who are starving are hardly going to deny help. Nobody wants to experience that, as millions of people can lose their lives in a most brutal fashion. But, is dying from famine better or worse than being blown to bits by a remote control airplane? At least when you die of famine, you look to God for answers, because it was nature that failed. When you’re blown up by a remote control airplane (AKA Drone), you tend to look to the person flying it. Unless of course we want to declare war on nature because of her weapons of mass destruction that have been working overtime lately, I suggest we re-examine the nature of international aid, which is a cultural and historical blight on the integrity of the people receiving it. And if we continue to offer aid to combat famine, then we must cease every and all wars and engagements and occupations of foreign lands (starting in Okinawa) or else our hypocrisy will feed the hate that already fuels violence against our country. Save a child from hunger in one country, blow up a child by accident in another. They don’t cancel each other out, one doesn’t pay for the other, it is not good policy.


Of course, one might argue that we are responsible for our brothers and sisters, because if we know there is a famine, we are responsible to act. That is, a starving person may blame us if we do not act, because now instead of nature it is human beings who have accepted the responsibility to act because we are aware of the famine’s existence. This I will not argue against. But, western society, in all its good intentions, does absolutely nothing to bring long-term solutions to these situations and is consciously unaware of the consequences of their good intentions. There are NGOs and small groups of people who drill for wells and do their best, but it is not the status quo. The status quo is control, as exercised by all players in the international community. Nobody wants a famine, but it offers an opportunity to exercise control like no other, so much so that I would argue that famine is political capital on a global scale. Without the opportunity to stop a famine, there would be no chance to show how much love we can give. If we can’t show our love, how will people know of it? Especially in time of war, what better deterrent from killing babies than to talk about all our efforts in Haiti? Therefore if behooves international interests that famines and natural disasters occur, however random and staggered in their occurrence, as international political capital is gained from their existence. Especially in times of war.


But what does that mean? It is an argument for the need for human beings to break away from their perceptions of reality and understand that we are all 13 billion years old and that our physical body is just flash in the pan of time. If we can revolve our minds, unchain them from the illusion of the material world, if we can understand the human condition from the lens of universal consciousness, then perhaps one day famines will cease. The amazing thing is that heaven is on the earth, it is everywhere. We just have to find it and live in it.



Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Can I get a witness: writing for social change

Social change. That was the topic of a discussion held by the James River Writers and the Richmond Times-Dispatch on May 27. The panelists included Michael Paul Williams, a columnist with the RTD; Emily Troutman, a journalist with AOL; and Linda Beatrice Brown, an author of fiction. The host was Maya Payne Smart, a freelance journalist and author.


I was hopeful, in the beginning. I went in knowing that I would be surrounded by introverts. Writers. Artists. The best and the worst kind of people. But I was still hopeful. The event was titled, Can I get a witness: writing for social change. The title in itself is enough to energize anyone with even a vague notion of the importance of the written word. For me, words don’t lie. People use them to lie. The words we use as writers more often reflect our own level of honesty within ourselves. Our own self-knowledge is between every line.


I was a bit uncomfortable, as it was held at the Children’s Museum and I was much more interested in the abstract artistic visions that adorned the walls and in exploring the ambulance that sat in a lonely corner than snob-hopping with the literary elite of Richmond. I don’t mean to sound crass, but Richmond, in all its small-city glory, wreaks of cliques. Not that it’s bad, but it’s annoying. As I gathered the handouts and prepared to make my way into the room, there was a stack of note cards and a small, hand-written sign asking attendees to write down their literary accomplishments. These would then be read aloud at the intermission. I thought about it, hesitated. The whole concept seemed masturbatory. Of course it was done with the best intentions, but I couldn’t help but feel that this event wreaked of sycophants. Come intermission time, no names were read. Perhaps everyone felt as I did or perhaps I was in a room of amateurs. Or, most likely, people felt the need to be modest in a room where intellectual judgement is the status quo.


Like a good little lab rat, I wandered into my labyrinth seeking the cheese and trying desperately to avoid any external stimulus that would negatively impact my mission. It quickly became apparent that what could have been a rally call to excite and engage socially aware writers was actually a watered-down saccharine melange of industry-saturated sentiments flanked by polite attention-seeking questions and pretentiousness. One of the panelists had been to the Congo, and made sure that the crowd knew that by reminding them every chance she got.


Racism.


The only social issue that was discussed was race. Nobody even mentioned the oil spill in the gulf, and the lack of real reporting covering the event. BP could dump a ridiculous amount of rocks and cement on top of the damn thing and it would be plugged. But no, they need to salvage the well. They need to find a way to have access to the oil, that’s why it’s still flowing. My goodness, it doesn’t take a scientist to tell you that. But media won’t budge on it. Why? Because it’s too touchy and the BP scientists have enough of their own “data” to fuel a legal battle that would bury the media outlets, not to mention reduce the advertising revenue to the media from BP.


The panelists, who represented mainstream media, touched on humanitarian issues, but nothing else. Not one of the panelists said what social issues needed to be addressed, aside from the racial issue. I wish I were black so I could feel the freedom to talk freely about race in American culture. Any white person who talks about racial issues seems to be a racist. If they are not a racist, it’s easy to construe them as racist. It’s the default stereotype.


But I’m going to out on a limb here and speak my mind. If people have a problem with racism, than stop seeing race. If people think that remembering slavery and segregation is a means to understand our current situation, where does it end? I am so tired of the “remember slavery” sentiment. Since the dawn of mankind, human beings have enslaved each other. Why do Americans with slave ancestors seem to dwell constantly on that fact, as if talking about it will magically make racist white people see the error of their ways? All people, all colors, have the capacity to hate and to love. Almost all cultures throughout history have enslaved their brothers. Where does “remember slavery” end? In America, apparently, it ends in America, the toddler in the global family of culture.


Make no mistake about it, racism transcends every gender, color and belief system. I have met white and black racists, both who scared me at the depth of their ignorance and the strength of their convictions. And when a person talks passionately about the horrors of racism, perhaps it’s best to look inside one’s own self before bantering on about the hate that came from an era of pure greed, fear and human indecency. If we have a problem with racism, we need to look inside. Do we allow our hatred of racism to create racist sentiments in our own minds? Without even knowing it, by casting the first stone we fail to see the stone that waits to be thrown at us. Do we, when we talk about the horrors of racism, use our own hate of this hateful act to create in us a racist mentality? The answer is undoubtedly yes in a vast majority of people. Even though we like to talk about the importance of turning our cheek to our enemy, it’s much more gratifying to poke out the eyes of the one who blinded our vision.


Do we, when we talk about ignorance and oppression and slavery, instill those realities into our brothers and sisters, to fight fire with fire? Obviously not in the same form, but slavery of the mind, ignorance of the heart and oppression of truth? Not intentionally, because our hearts are filled with good intentions, but as the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with them. Did Hitler know he was evil? Yeah, right. He thought he was doing God’s work. Good intentions paved the way to his demise and built a wall of mistrust against the German people that still stands today in the eyes of many.


Do we talk about the ills of racism while we also ignore attraction to other races? Is it a cultural thing, or is it our own internal racism? Do we judge a man in a beard who wears a flowing robe and a quirky hat and speaks English with an accent? Do we judge a group of men, small in stature and dark-skinned, working on a building and speaking Spanish? Do we judge the woman with small, narrow eyes who waits for us at the convenience store? Or the man with the dark turban who takes our change at the toll booth? Or the lady whose face is covered in a burka? Do we make assumptions and pass judgement based strictly on looks? Of course we do. It’s human, and it’s racist. Perhaps it’s not violent racism, but it’s the seed of discord that is sewn by us and harvested by our children. It is what has kept humanity separated from itself since the dawn of evolution, and it is what prevents us from being a human race instead of a conglomeration of man-made races.


It doesn’t seem right to constantly bring up the civil rights movement and slavery. The panelists didn’t even mention Native Americans. Not a single word. European invaders completely erased at least seven nations in the Americas. Not tribes, nations, each nation consisting of a diverse group of peoples and languages and customs, completely lost to time. At least African slaves had a part in society, at least they had value, albeit it was inhumane and profane and disgusting, at least they were not systematically annihilated, at least they did not experience genocide. Oppression, murder, barbaric treatment, lack of respect, yes. But if we’re going to talk about the history that people need to understand to make better life choices today, why didn’t anyone mention the plight of Native Americans? To talk about social change, and to mention the two things that constantly remind white people of their duty to make-up for their perceived ancestors’ stupidity is childish, irresponsible and only serves to deepen the racial divide.


You want to end racism? Stop talking about race. Stop using race in conversation, stop separating people. You are trying to elevate society but you are using the methods of the magician who sold you his bag of tricks. You want to kill racism? Elevate your mind, look inside yourself, see how you yourself use race, how you talk about slavery and segregation and what you are really saying. Yes we need to know our history, but do we need to be bombarded with a single aspect of history so much until we’re desensitized by it? Do we have to hear about slavery in America when some countries are experiencing racial injustice as we speak? Where a woman in Saudi Arabia can’t talk to man she’s not related to unless she’s with a chaperone? Where a shoe shiner in India will never realize his dreams because of his social ranking? Where a Chinese Muslim will never have the respect of his secular brethren? What about this racism? Yes, it exists in America, absolutely. But talking about its existence doesn’t make it go away. Tell me a story about a murder and people will still kill. Now, this is not to say we shouldn’t talk about these things, but, everything is relative. American slavery lasted a few hundred years. Some groups have been slaves for millennia or more. It’s all relative, and slavery in America is a small part of the history of slavery in the world.


That said, it is important to note that Africans have been one of the most marginalized peoples in the history of our world, and the devastation of colonialism and imperialism has permanently scarred our motherland, the cradle of humanity. History and ignorance does not end in America, and western powers are accountable for their vast and corroded influence on indigenous peoples from foreign lands. How they do this is a topic for another day.


The question today is not one of slavery, racism or segregation. At least not in the traditional sense. Today, our enemy is slavery of the mind. To paraphrase Bob Marley, we need to emancipate ourselves from this mental slavery, this societal cancer that manipulates our desires into perpetuating the status quo, into becoming a de facto supporter of the power structure by our ignorance of it.


Of primary concern for me, regarding the “social change” panelist discussion, was the fact that the speakers represented corporate media, the status quo. If you subscribe to the fact that greed is a systemic problem in our society, than you must know that corporate, mainstream media will never be a vehicle for social change. Real and necessary social change would erase the need for corporate mainstream media. Even our fiction writer, with all her freedom to reach out, chose not to discuss the real and necessary social changes that need to occur and how, as writers and journalists, we discuss the topics that will inspire in people the desire to change.


And let’s be honest. There’s no such thing as objective journalism. Journalism is storytelling. That’s it. If you’ve ever played the rumor game in elementary school, we all know how stories mysteriously become embellished. But, journalism is also a search for truth, as Mr. Williams attested. But, as an audience member pointed out, truth is relative to our experience and each person understands truth as it relates to their own opinions. We read what we agree with so truth doesn’t make us afraid of ourselves. Most people are this way, at least. Most people are like this because of the profound and paralyzing fear that inhabits our society on a global scale. A true, primal fear that we suppress with all our materialism, hobbies, “responsible living” and “philanthropy.”


So, with all this cynicism, what’s the point of it all? If truth is relative and journalism is the pursuit of truth, than journalism is relative? Yes. Objectivity is a means to an end, it is not an end in itself. Objectivity is showing all sides, but our choices in who talks the most, who leads, who follows, who reacts, who comes out as the winner, our story structure and style and the facts we choose to follow other facts all contribute to the message that the writer is trying to convey. It is not the reporter’s fault, it’s our nature. Reporters are also subject to fear.


I thought it was only fair to ask the panelists how they deal with the fact that they represent corporate media and how they dealt with that kind of censorship. Of course, in the guise of the crowd my question came out quite offensively. Here’s how I would have liked to have reacted:


“Here we are, talking about social change, and nobody, not one of you, have mentioned the fact that our country is facing the most serious crisis of consciousness it has ever faced. Ever. I say that because in the past, our crises were obvious, if not to everyone, at least to those who were affected. Now, in the genius of our system, we are so easily blinded by what is truly important, our blissful ignorance has absorbed our souls like a slow cancer that we welcome with open arms because without the cancer which dulls our senses we would have to face the real world and its real pain. Karl Marx had it wrong, it’s not religion that is the opiate of society, it is consumerism. But I’m not going to rant about the ills of society and human depravity. You talk about starving children in Africa? You talk about this problem this country has with that country, and you think that you spend a few weeks or a few months abroad and you write a few human interest feature pieces and you attend some UN conferences and you have lunch with NGOs at a fancy restaurant, talking about how people need food, you think you’re serving a cause? All this self-righteousness is like pile of bullshit rotting under a mound of rank flesh. Mr. Williams you are quite honest, even in your evasiveness. You have an air of acceptance, a resignation that you’ve learned to deal with the fact that you work for Media General. I do respect you for that. And I respect all of the panelists as human beings and professionals. But. Oh, but. But you, (name omitted), have a moral dilemma about giving ice cream to some fucking kids on the street? Are you effing kidding me? Get over yourself! You are not the welcoming arm of God for these people. (If you were at the meeting, you would know what I am talking about). You are not a spiritual crusader doing what’s right for the sake of what’s right. Only for the glorification and satisfaction of your soul that you are doing something you think is good and right.


You see, it’s not the things we read about in the paper or watch on TV or hear on the radio that are our real problems. Our real, true and honest obstacle to social change is ourselves. It is our pride, our arrogance, our greed, our lack of humility, our exacerbated nationalism and jingoist attitudes, our lust for objects, our passion for our creations (food, cars, travel, etc), our self-worship, our good intentions that leak evil consequences, and especially our false use of religion and beliefs to deal with our fear. Human beings will never change unless we decide to be human. The amount of change that needs to take place is mind boggling. Human beings are so far away from what is real, we are so wound up with what’s new, the new toys and gadgets and living quarters, what’s the new green, green living, carbon credits, bring your own bags to the grocery store, eating organic if you can afford it, ecotourism, technology and human body integration, writing a book about writing a book, who’s who in the movies, who did what in what country, who adopted the blackest baby with the most flies on its head, where the best deals are, who has the biggest TV, the fastest computer, the biggest harddrive, the smallest keyboard, the coolest mobile phone, the tightest ass, the biggest lips, the juiciest hamburger, the greasiest fries, the smoothest talkers, the biggest walkers, the Joneses, the Joneses, the Joneses. And that’s only here in America. These types of problems exist everywhere, they’re just manifested differently.


Wealth and ice cream

I would like to now take a moment to talk about the wealth of “developing” countries. We, as westerners, look at a nation and define a people as “poor” based strictly on material wealth, as if that is the only measure by which a people’s worth is considered. Disgusting. The qualitative importance of a people is never an economic matter because it doesn’t affect global policy and it is of no benefit to “global stability” or the “global economic interests.” I’m not going to rant on about how western countries only invade the countries where there is an economic incentive to win. I’m not going to go into a tirade about how the IMF and World Bank (what a presumptuous name!) put countries into debt and offer no planning strategies that are specific to that region and culture. I’m not to talk about how every true democratic leader that has emerged in the developing world was instantly opposed by the U.S. government because a truly democratic leader is an enemy to U.S. interest (see P.E. Lumumba, et all). I’m not going to talk about that. But I am going to talk about a story that our panelist who was in the Congo talked about.


She mentioned a story about kids who walked up to her car asking for ice cream. She had a moral dilemma, as the ice cream in the car did not belong to her and she wanted to give the young boys an ice cream. But what’s funny, is that if she were never there eating ice cream in the first place, they would have never run up to her car. If westerners had never invaded and flooded Congo with its practices and diseases, ice cream would have never been introduced in Congo. Or if it was eventually introduced, most people would probably be able to afford it because they would have developed on their own and not under the knife of an oppressor or under the post-oppressor stress and pressure from countries with a golden tongue and a sneaky eye. You talk about knowing your history? Are you effing kidding me? Her dilemma is over giving a kid some ice cream? And then, suddenly, in a flash, her eyes were opened by her friend who used common sense and gave the kids his half-eaten cone for them to share? And she thinks it was her judgement which she passed on them, that she expected each of them should have their own cone, that that was her dilemma? My god! What a pretentious load. It was sickening. And when the thing was over, the sycophants emerged. I tried talking to the one woman who made sense to me during the meeting, but even she was eager to meet the Congo-advertising journalist. Networking, they call it. It should be called hook setting, or maybe frenzy feeding, or no, even better–parasitic orgies.


So, it ended, with my hand high in the air and the attitude of the people on stage obviously averse to even acknowledging me. I left, not really wanting to talk to anyone because it seemed like no one there even addressed the real issues that need to be changed. Sure we talked about ignorance and racism, but those are only symptoms of the grand disease of our society–our self-deification and our fear.


We will only be human when we can all live like our Christ, our Buddah, our Mohammed, our Gandhi, our Martin Luther King, our Mother Teresa, our monks, priests, imams, ascetics, single mothers, estranged fathers, orphaned children, diseased infants, and damaged soldiers who have risen above the physical world that dominates our mind and are now in the elevated realm of the Way. We can not be happy, we can not have change without a revolution of our mind, without an emancipation from our mental slavery. Until we realize that we are living in Babylon, until we unplug our hearts from the system and only use it as necessary and not as a necessity, until that day comes when we don’t see color, we don’t hear blasphemes, when there are no disgusting tastes or foul smells or violent touches, until we live in that world in our minds and hearts, until we are free from our desire to control everything, until we are free from our fear of each other and our true selves, until that day, we are slaves to the status quo, and we will never be free, and we will never have “social change.”

Can I get a witness?







Surely, i must be the most stupid of men



“Surely I must be the most stupid of men, bereft of human intelligence, I have not learnt wisdom, and I lack the knowledge of the holy ones,” Proverbs 30:2-3.


Wisdom is the most elusive of virtues. The very thought of having it seems to take it away, as if it’s intrinsically ironic, cursed to never be possessed. I like to think I know a little about a lot of things, but in truth I don’t know a damn thing. Let's consider the existence, or non-existence, of an all-knowing and omniscient being we in the west call God. Voltaire said (in French of course) that if God didn’t exist it would be necessary to invent him. But, Voltaire also considered the existence of God a fact not based on faith but on reason. And make no mistake, Voltaire believed in God’s existence. My non-contextual rebuttal to his statement would be that, for me, an imaginary God is better than no God. It may take me a while to prove that, but bear with me if you like, or move on to something more adjusted to your taste.


There is one religion. It’s not Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddahism, Taoism, Hinduism, Rastafarianism, Humanism or any other -ism. It’s just the Way. I’m not trying to create a religion, only to share what I think I know. You be the judge.


I also think that Jesus Christ walked the Earth and was God in the flesh. Now, even Christians have a hard time understanding that Christ was God, as most of them consider Christ a part of God, a son of God, as in the holy trinity. This is of course true, but it lacks the fundamental understanding of eternal existence. How can our finite minds truly comprehend eternity? Is it even possible? The first law of thermodynamics states that matter is neither created nor destroyed in a chemical reaction. But what does that even mean? If nothing is created or destroyed in a chemical reaction, and chemical reactions are the pulse of all life in the universe as we know it, then all matter is a recombination of atoms, a recycling of molecules, a reformation of basic life elements. I may be 30 years old, but my atoms are as old as the universe.


Now, I am not eternal, as my molecules were created somehow (in my mind, by God) at some point in time. A point. In time. That is how we understand just about everything, isn’t it? Our environment, our experiences, our knowledge, it all has a beginning and an end. It is finite. So, first we must grasp our true physical nature before we can even think of trying to understand eternity and eternal wisdom.


If the universe is 13 billion years old, than we are all 13 billion years old (We should all be getting the senior discounts everywhere we go and AARP should be raking in the dough). The atoms that form my physical body were perhaps a tree at one time, perhaps a person, a bottle, water, a rock, a cloud, a star, fire, dust. From dust to dust. When I die and my physical body decomposes in the dirt. If I were to allow my body to be buried directly in the dirt, eventually I would decompose, my molecules would be absorbed into the earth where a fruit tree might grow, taking up my molecules to grow its fruit. Then maybe a person comes by and grabs the fruit, taking my molecules and making energy, then poop. Dust to dust to dust to dust. In some traditions it’s called reincarnation.


But that’s still only the physical world, only a point in time. Now, let’s consider the imaginary God. What does an imaginary God represent? Eternity. Without the concept of an imaginary God, the concept of eternity does not exist, because without God, without eternity, everything is based on a point in time. With the imaginary God, there is the concept of eternity. An athiest would perhaps argue that eternity does exist without God. But this concept of eternity is only a vague abstraction at best, as it does nothing to answer the question of eternal wisdom. It also begs the question, or rather the idea, that everything, the universe, life, our planet, everything began at a point in time. Reality, in an atheistic worldview, is based on structured time. Even if it is unanswerable, as for the agnostic, the search for the answer lies in the idea of time. Of course, the open-minded atheist may argue that time is relative to space and that time can be bent and manipulated, even overcome, perhaps, if by anything, through the brute force of human invention. Science (which by the way is not separate from God, but only seeks to understand God’s language–nature [see Darwin]) offers us finite solutions with finite possibilities because it is based on finite principals. It is safe and rational because it can be seen and tested and proved and retested. Even with quantum physics exploding the doors of contemporary science, it still only proves that what we know is only a fraction of a percentage of what there is to know. We are all wise in our own eyes until we see in our reflection that we have no eyes.


Now there is, of course, the question of language and semantics. How many names does God have and why am I using the word God to describe God? Call it laziness, lack of wit, contempt for ingenuity. I merely think that the word God represents eternal wisdom and love, the never-ending flow of energy that blows life into nothing to create something. Eternal. The name doesn’t matter, as one day I am sure that we will have an opportunity to ask God what names God prefers. Pronouns for God are also superfluous, as the word “superfluous” is also superfluous.


The imaginary God is simultaneously personal and abstract. God is the mystery that atheists ponder but refuse to acknowledge out of sheer rebellion, fear and repulsion from religion. The imaginary God is everything and nothing. Imagine for a second, what our perceptions are based on. Our five senses. If we were born without the capacity to see, hear, taste, touch or smell, what would our reality consist of? How would we generate thoughts if we had no language to represent thought? Would we even be human? How could we communicate in that senseless world? Ironically enough, the physical world, as mathematics is beginning to prove, is only a fraction of the realities that are possible. But we are obsessed with consciousness, and there is no other understanding of reality aside from physical perceptions that we can accept because we are truly incapable of stepping outside of our five senses and into the eternal light.


So imagine the imaginary God in a world where God does not exist. What does that God stand for? As I mentioned, God represents the eternal, the no-beginning/no-ending life force that is the reason for everything. Or, imagine a world where God does not exist. The closest thing to God in this world would be mathematics, which, through numbers such as pi, create the illusion that there is infinity. In any number system, you are bound by rules, by a finite set of parameters that must be adhered to. With any man-made creation, there is a finite limit to its abilities and use. Such is the world where God does not exist. Limited solely to the ingenuity of mankind and the tumult of nature which exists solely as a giant cosmic accident. A belch in the creation of universe.


But in the world of the imaginary God, where human beings use the (imaginary) eternal connection to them to transcend the physical world and become a true saint (read Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Teresa, and all the Dalai Lamas, monks, ascetics and regular joes and joans who used that (imaginary) connection to the eternal to elevate their consciousness beyond the ego and into the realm of pure servant to humankind. That, to me, is the human way. Unfortunately we have not lived like humans throughout our entire existence. We try, but we fail, as we are our own worst enemies. The bombs we build to protect us from evil only make the evil create bombs to protect it from us (which, in the eyes of whom we perceive as “evil,” we are actually the evil ones. When was the last time a dictator committed genocide or human atrocities and knew that it was evil? On the contrary, good intentions [Hitler, Milosovic, Lenin, etc.] mask the reality of evil.) Few people are evil for evil’s sake. They consider themselves doing good for humanity, ridding the world of “evil” through evil means. As Gandhi said, an eye for an eye leaves both sides blind. We are all wise in our own eyes, until we realize we are in fact blind.


Which brings me to humanism. A beautiful, secular way to put morality into one’s life while maintaining religious neutrality and spiritual autonomy. I met a young lady once who told me she was a humanist, and I asked her what that meant to her. She told me that it meant to do good for the sake of goodness, to treat people the way you want to be treated, the golden rule. When I asked her what “good” means, she said of course something that helps people, or does something positive for society. One can imagine the Socratic questioning method continuing ad nauseam. If I ask her what kinds of things are positive for society, we will engage in that catch 22 that will inevitably leave her frustrated that her point was never made, and myself equally frustrated because I never enabled her to better understand her point. The real question here is this. Is her good work actually doing good for someone else? If she, in her eyes, is helping someone, is she in fact helping that person? Or is she, rather by virtue of the intended goodness in her act, merely serving her own desire to do good? It’s the karmic butterfly effect. Our actions, good intended or not, have consequences that we cannot possibly fathom. If we give a homeless person money, how do we know it’s good to do that? If we help an old lady cross the street, how do we know it was good? Maybe she hates to be touched. Maybe she has a contagious disease. Maybe she’s crazy and all she does is cross the street all day. But should we not do good because it’s impossible to know the consequences? Of course not. But, we should only do good because it is right, meaning that we do it with great love for ourselves and our fellow human being because of the undying and sacrificial love shown us by our Creator. Of course, a humanist will say, “That’s what I do!” But without God in our life, our knowledge of who we are is stunted and we will never know the full depth of existence through our eternal creator. Again the argument will be, “But how does that make what you do good and what a humanist does not good? Just by a belief in God?” Not the belief in God, but in the pursuit of the understanding of the eternal love God has for all life, especially the stewards of the earth, human beings.


I’d like to interject a bible proverb if I may. “The fear of God is the beginning of knowledge.” This statement used to confound me. I used to take it to mean, one can not know anything until one knows God. This is partially true. But the beauty of great literature such as the bible is that the words are alive, always changing and growing, yet staying the same the entire time. But the depth of this statement was made clear to me by Van Til’s Apologetic, which is a heavy treatise on the virtue of Christianity. Van Til argues that the fear of God precedes knowledge, but is also placed in front of God, that is to say, knowledge only exists because God has allowed it to be in our lives. When I profess I know something, the fear of God must be present before my knowledge, or else the knowledge is useless, vain, and an extension of my ego rather than an emulation of my eternal creator to whom I owe all my knowledge.


Say for example, my friend Mark went skiing and was chased by a bear down a mountain and barely escaped with his life. A few weeks after he tells me, I get into a conversation about bears and I remember Mark’s story. But because I’m in the presence of people who I want to impress for some reason, I might embellish the story a bit, make it more exciting, maybe add in that he got bit. But if Mark were there, I’d have to tell them how he told me, or allow him to tell the story, because the knowledge came from him. It’s his, and I have no right to disrespect him like that. Such is the nature of all knowledge with God. We must respect the eternal wisdom (God) whenever we profess our knowledge, and know that God is the source of all true wisdom.


No other fear exists when one fears God. This is no license to do whatever one wishes if they believe God wants it to happen. This is where true knowledge of God is important. God wants us to love one another, to give without expectation, to love our enemy, to pray for those who persecute us, to give to those who ask, and to live a quiet and contemplative life. God shows us the eternal plan for us time and time again, but we constantly ignore God’s wishes and pursue our own interests, like religious expansion, nationalism and the pursuit of material wealth. Ninety-nine percent of the people who say they believe in God do not live as though they believe in God.


I am not here to change people. People are individuals, especially in western society and deeply in American society. If we were not individuals, if we did not view our personal selves as special by virtue of our consciousness, then we would not have 50,000 religions that serve to confuse more people than a French restaurant menu. If Christianity served the teachings of Yeshua (Jesus), there would be no Christianity, only people serving God through selfless action and humble hearts. If Islam served the teachings of Mohammed, there would be no Islam, only people serving God through selfless action and humble hearts. And on an on through the religions we go.


But I can not talk ill of religion, because through it mankind has gained its most profound insights, if not directly, than as a a result against its power. Many a Bill Maher fan will complain that religion is the real culprit behind the world’s problems. And yet, to me, it seems that this argument is only partially true. Religion, to me, is humankind’s attempts to reconcile our infinite nature. Not, eternal nature. I will offer a semantic argument here, so forgive me, but I see infinite as having a beginning with no end and eternal as having no beginning and no end. So, religion is our attempt to reconcile our infinite nature in connection to the eternal life force.


Religion is a tool, a spiritual hammer. It can be used to build a house or kill someone. Unfortunately for us, our minds are so trapped in the physical world that our understanding of God is limited to the physical world. That is why we are so confused by religion, because it is intended to show us through physical means the nature of eternal wisdom and our infinite spiritual state. That is far too much for us to handle with our finite concept of reality, so we constantly twist it and bend it and use it against our enemies in the name of God, but the whole time God is showing us his love in his creation and in certain people. If God actually chose to speak to each one of us individually, the entire human race would go insane. My goodness, we can’t even understand what other people say about God, how in the hell are we supposed to understand God! If we are such egoists, that we think the existence of God is negated by the fact that religions relate the word of God as spoken to a few individuals and God, if God exists, should speak to everyone in the same fashion, than that egotism is exactly why we have the problems we have today. And, by the way, God does speak to everyone, but in a subtle and universal language called nature. We are just too ignorant and proud to see it.


“For what can be known about God is perfectly plain... since God himself has made it plain. Ever since God created the world his everlasting power and diety–however invisible–have been there for the mind to see in the things he has made. That is why [non-believers] are without excuse: they knew God and yet refused to [believe in] him as God or to thank him; instead they made nonsense out of logic and their empty minds were darkened. The more they called themselves philosophers, the more stupid they grew, until they exchanged the glory of the immortal God for a worthless imitation, for the [creations] of mortal man.” Romans 1:18-23


For centuries, Catholics would not allow lay people to read the bible as the Vatican feared it was blasphemous. Conceptually, I agree, because if the bible were truly the word of God, how can we expect everyone to understand the word of God? If God is all-knowing and eternal, whose wisdom crosses all boundaries of our wildest imaginations, than how can people be expected to understand God’s word, if it indeed exists? If people can’t understand a high school dropout’s poetry (Lil Wayne), how can we expect people to understand eternal wisdom?


But no human being has the right to oppress any other human being, for any reason, in my opinion. No human being, or group of humans, has the right to dictate what knowledge the masses is allowed to learn. Oh wait, I just described our public school system. But that’s a topic for another day.


So, this imaginary God. This God, even though it only exists in our minds, allows for our minds to at least accept the idea of eternity. Why did it have to be God that created the universe? Why couldn’t it have been an accident? But what preceded the accident? The agnostic questions come from a good place, but they can not use time-based reasoning as an argument for the origin of the universe. The only way for anything to be created is by a creator. Call it God, call it whatever you want. But ignoring the eternal is ignoring the very heart that beats within us. It is denying that heart the blood that carries its oxygen. It is denying our mind that connection to creation that burns deep in all our souls. It is killing the pulse and rhythm of the world, the music of our spirits, the beat of our perpetual blissful existence. To deny the existence of God is to forego all the knowledge in the world to human imagination, as if a tree is nothing, but an automobile is everything. If knowledge is based strictly on experience, than there is no knowledge, because no two experiences are the same and there are an infinite number of experiences that can take place along the line of time. This knowledge is useless because it is finite and will one day end, no matter what human invention we create to preserve it, it will end. But the eternal knowledge, the eternal wisdom, even if it’s imaginary, takes the mind to infinite possibilities of knowledge. Understanding the illusion of the physical world allows for the reality of our infinite nature to take hold, and opens our minds to the possibility of eternal wisdom. Imaginary or not, God exists, and my mind is better for it, how about yours?