It is my last name after all...

I would like to thank the people at Pandora for reuniting me with parts of my mind.

I often "aim" posts at those who have lost faith. Not faith in something beyond this physical plane, but it their fellow human beings. In a way, this is simply defense of my world view. In my little world, we our are only hope. My faith in humanity is what allows me to see another world, a better world.

So, occasionally I wonder why I maintain this belief. I question everything. It is my nature. Why then given the visions of humans at large would I choose to see "good" and light? The answer is simple in a way... music..

Art as a whole would be a more precise answer but avoiding the rhetoric of the definition of art seemed simpler. We as humans have learned to communicate beauty, love, anger, and pain. The greatest among our wordsmiths can evoke emotions regardless of distance, time, or listener. The poets touch us, move us. But over the millenia, we have combined this poetry with mixtures of percussion, vocalizations, vibrating strings, bending reeds, and changes in air pressure. The very air has become our tool. And when combined, the world changes.

There are many that have been moved by Whitman, but everyone knows the words of Lennon and McCartney. Whether or not they moved you... Whether or not you connected with them... The words are there. My very mention of the name has had an effect.

We have done this as a group. We have learned to communicate in moments decades of thoughts, feelings, and knowledge. From those that created the instruments, recording equipment, and broadcast systems, to the artists, to the listeners themselves.

The tones, rhythms, and timing give phrasing to the words. They add a depth the words alone can not. In some cases of spoken word, these tones are from the words themselves, but the very bending of the air around us has the power one would expect. It suffuses us. It penetrates. It evokes.

I would also put forward that it does not overpower at its best. Unlike its cousin the motion picture, it does not attempt to tell the whole story itself. It lets the listener add their own visuals, just as the still photo and work of paint and pen allow the viewer to add their own soundtrack. Yet, it conveys more of the artist intention than the work of print.

Not to downplay the power of any of these works. The emotion of fear has not been evoked by music in my own case, yet movies and live performances have had this effect in numerous cases. The works of Steinbeck have brought tears to my eyes on many occasions. I have felt the joy of protagonists and loathed antagonists and vice versa more times than I can count. The mere mention of the name Jane Austen causes me to become irrational.

But, where I do feel music has an advantage is its response time. A poet with the aid of musical accompaniment can have their effect in moments. Causing listeners to rise up, to come down, to remember the lost, to feel the need for loved ones, to wish for a different time, to wish for time to stand still, to move, to stay still, to dance, to laugh, to smile, to cry...

With this ability to generate beauty... With this power at our disposal... How can I not see the light in my fellow humans? They are all listeners.

Why I don't write....

If one looks back at this collection of 0's and 1's, they would think that the tragic has avoided me. To a large extent it has. My life has been simple and my cares small.

But there is another factor. I have spent a good deal of my life being silent. I believe that words have power. I believe that a wordsmith can change the world with them. Although I will not credit myself with that title, I hope that my words have some effect.

What I have never been able to do with words is mend. Words may be able to heal, but I lack the skill to use them in that way. In truth, I have not witnessed words heal. I have seen them tear and harm. I have seen them change people before my eyes. I have never seen them silence grief. Where a hand can offer strength, offer aid, offer support, offer warmth, offer friendship, connect 2 humans... words are a poor surrogate.

We humans have spread out. We can communicate across countries, across continents and oceans, in select circumstances across millions of miles. But what we have found out again and again, is that human interaction was designed for occurring within the range of 2 extended hands.

I can show you photos of other worlds, other stars, the other side of our own world. I can speak to you about warmth or cold, about pain and joy. You can hear the song of whales in your living room or view a mountain range on the other side of the world from your chair. But what I can't do is let you touch the water. To feel the wind on your face, you have to be there. To offer my hand or my shoulder, I must be near you.

And so, these bits are inadequate. There is no use in storing them. I have no perspective to add. I can not say anything to ease pain. I don't wish to store the failure for later review. Perhaps, if I do, I can learn from the failure.

But the risk of adding to the pain is simply too great. And so, I will simply try to digitize a touch, a handshake, a hug. If I fail, no one will know of it. If I succeed, I will have something to offer other than silence.

I guess I just don't understand...

I have the natural advantage of being a heterosexual Caucasian male at the center of the empire.

Do you hate me because of this?

No, of course you don't. You may not trust me. You may view these words differently from those written by another. Your entire perception of me, may have just changed. But how could one possibly hate someone they don't know. Oh, wait...

I could easily say that I love you. That I love all humans. It would cause you to pause. It would distract you for a moment. But it's not true and I have a thing about truth.

The truth is, I can only love those that I know. There are 6 billion people on this planet. I can list the ones I love on a 3x5 card. I will never know all the inhabitants of this country much less all of the inhabitants of the planet. It is physically impossible to meet all of us.

So, if you have never met someone who do you hate? I am not saying that everyone hates the same way. I find myself incapable of the emotion. Maybe that's the problem. I don't understand it. I have a vague concept. I know anger. Is hate simply being angry that an individual exists? I know love. Is hate loves opposite? Love lightens and strengthens. Does hate hold you down and make you feel heavy? Love enlightens. Does hate befuddle? Love transcends death. Does hate end with its subject?

The glow of warmth that suffuses us, the radiance that surrounds us, the power that fills the very cells of our being, that are all effects of love, do they have counterparts connected to hate. Oh... Oh no... Surely no one could withstand that. The opposite of love would destroy in moments. I imagine a soul torn asunder from the inside out. No vendetta, no past offense, no anger is worth that.