Could Be Worse


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How lucky can one man get? I ask myself this occasionally, when I’m not actively focused on what I lack. How much time do I have left? There’s no way to know that, so I might as well act as if time were running out and I’d better hurry.

These are the ways I drive myself crazy. These questions and compulsions come from inside me, not from outside. The world isn’t insane, I am.

If you hang around people who seem content, either they really are or they’re hiding their inner turmoil. Maybe serial killers seem to have the Buddha nature. At least we’re sure they have the ability to create a plan of action and follow-through. Those are qualities I sorely lack.

And then there is the issue of codependency. I’m always worried what other people think of me, how they feel at this moment, and those worries preclude any chance I could champion my own interests. Again, serial killers suffer from none of that. They don’t care what their victims think or feel.

But I am lucky not to have been born a serial killer, nor to have become one along the bumpy road of life. Yes, things could be worse, much worse. For this I am grateful.

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Lying Liars


Who get paid to do what they do so well…lie. It’s not just fanciful invention, making stuff up, it’s downright lying to avoid facing the truth. If the Truth shall set you free, then lying is guaranteed bondage.

It’s not just Trump. Our government has been lying to us for longer than I’ve been alive, and I’m coming up on seventy.

 

An awful lot of what we call “education” is really spreading convenient lies. These justify the status quo, but at great cost, for the price paid is largely invisible, at least in the present moment. The only reason anyone would participate in this process is because he or she hopes she would somehow benefit from the spreading of lies. That, as we can well imagine, is a bargain with the devil that will someday inspire deep regret.

We all know what lying feels like, and what rationalization and justification feel like in the aftermath. Palestine was not a waste land dotted with nearly subhuman Arabs whom the Zionists tolerated long enough to make the desert bloom. That’s the lie I heard sixty years ago in grade school, and in some form or other, I still hear today.