Is civility civil in “civil war”? Does it matter if it’s Spanish or Syrian by nature?

                                                                                                                                                            
Yesterday all the past. The language of size
Spreading to China along the trade-routes; the diffusion
Of the counting-frame and the cromlech;
Yesterday the shadow-reckoning in the sunny climates.

Yesterday the assessment of insurance by cards,
The divination of water; yesterday the invention
Of cartwheels and clocks, the taming of
Horses. Yesterday the bustling world of the navigators.

Yesterday the abolition of fairies and giants,
the fortress like a motionless eagle eyeing the valley,
the chapel built in the forest;
Yesterday the carving of angels and alarming gargoyles;

The trial of heretics among the columns of stone;
Yesterday the theological feuds in the taverns
And the miraculous cure at the fountain;
Yesterday the Sabbath of witches; but to-day the struggle

Yesterday the installation of dynamos and turbines,
The construction of railways in the colonial desert;
Yesterday the classic lecture
On the origin of Mankind. But to-day the struggle.

Yesterday the belief in the absolute value of Greek,
The fall of the curtain upon the death of a hero;
Yesterday the prayer to the sunset
And the adoration of madmen. but to-day the struggle.

As the poet whispers, startled among the pines,
Or where the loose waterfall sings compact, or upright
On the crag by the leaning tower:
“O my vision. O send me the luck of the sailor.”

And the investigator peers through his instruments
At the inhuman provinces, the virile bacillus
Or enormous Jupiter finished:
“But the lives of my friends. I inquire. I inquire.”

And the poor in their fireless lodgings, dropping the sheets
Of the evening paper: “Our day is our loss. O show us
History the operator, the
Organiser. Time the refreshing river.”

And the nations combine each cry, invoking the life
That shapes the individual belly and orders
The private nocturnal terror:
“Did you not found the city state of the sponge,

“Raise the vast military empires of the shark
And the tiger, establish the robin’s plucky canton?
Intervene. O descend as a dove or
A furious papa or a mild engineer, but descend.”

And the life, if it answers at all, replied from the heart
And the eyes and the lungs, from the shops and squares of the city
“O no, I am not the mover;
Not to-day; not to you. To you, I’m the

“Yes-man, the bar-companion, the easily-duped;
I am whatever you do. I am your vow to be
Good, your humorous story.
I am your business voice. I am your marriage.

“What’s your proposal? To build the just city? I will.
I agree. Or is it the suicide pact, the romantic
Death? Very well, I accept, for
I am your choice, your decision. Yes, I am Spain.”

Many have heard it on remote peninsulas,
On sleepy plains, in the aberrant fishermen’s islands
Or the corrupt heart of the city.
Have heard and migrated like gulls or the seeds of a flower.

They clung like burrs to the long expresses that lurch
Through the unjust lands, through the night, through the alpine tunnel;
They floated over the oceans;
They walked the passes. All presented their lives.

On that arid square, that fragment nipped off from hot
Africa, soldered so crudely to inventive Europe;
On that tableland scored by rivers,
Our thoughts have bodies; the menacing shapes of our fever

Are precise and alive. For the fears which made us respond
To the medicine ad, and the brochure of winter cruises
Have become invading battalions;
And our faces, the institute-face, the chain-store, the ruin

Are projecting their greed as the firing squad and the bomb.
Madrid is the heart. Our moments of tenderness blossom
As the ambulance and the sandbag;
Our hours of friendship into a people’s army.

To-morrow, perhaps the future. The research on fatigue
And the movements of packers; the gradual exploring of all the
Octaves of radiation;
To-morrow the enlarging of consciousness by diet and breathing.

To-morrow the rediscovery of romantic love,
the photographing of ravens; all the fun under
Liberty’s masterful shadow;
To-morrow the hour of the pageant-master and the musician,

The beautiful roar of the chorus under the dome;
To-morrow the exchanging of tips on the breeding of terriers,
The eager election of chairmen
By the sudden forest of hands. But to-day the struggle.

To-morrow for the young the poets exploding like bombs,
The walks by the lake, the weeks of perfect communion;
To-morrow the bicycle races
Through the suburbs on summer evenings. But to-day the struggle.

To-day the deliberate increase in the chances of death,
The consious acceptance of guilt in the necessary murder;
To-day the expending of powers
On the flat ephemeral pamphlet and the boring meeting.

To-day the makeshift consolations: the shared cigarette,
The cards in the candlelit barn, and the scraping concert,
The masculine jokes; to-day the
Fumbled and unsatisfactory embrace before hurting.

The stars are dead. The animals will not look.
We are left alone with our day, and the time is short, and
History to the defeated
May say Alas but cannot help nor pardon.

Sayeth the Bitter Road to Freedom

“This was a foreshadowing of things to come: UNRRA staff across Europe would soon find that refugees, especially when gathered in national groupings, tended to guard their autonomy jealously and to view relief workers as interfering do-gooders with insufficient respect for the struggles and sacrifices their peoples had made in the war.” Page 226

Choosing to be a nonchoosy beggar

“Who will go first?”  Lee heard the question as if the train engines rumbling past, playing hide-and-seek through the treed hedges at the edge of the grocery store carpark, had blasted the words with warning horns at the road crossing next to the neighbourhood recycling centre.

Word-by-word, phrase-by-prepositional-phrase, his thoughts followed in unison.

At what level of explanation did he need to understand the recent crossroad of decisions concerning a group of people intent on fighting each other over philosophical differences, yet another internal squabble that had little to do with Lee directly but much to do with his understanding of human suffering and politically-centred international commerce.

What of his species had been accomplished without military involvement?  What of his species had been sustained with military involvement?

What did the word “military” mean, exactly, another dictionary definition that barely had anything to do with complicated interaction between sets of states of energy that had convinced themselves they were separate from the universe, independently able to make their way above, across and under the earth?

For some, the ironic battle cry was “War is not the answer.”

For others, the rallying quote was “Evangelism is one beggar telling another where to find bread.” [Credited to D. T. Niles]

In this cultural rewind, forgotten from generation to generation, ad infinitum, of the popular (and not so popular) definitions of gender roles, what constituted the aggressive “testosterone” version of international aid and what constituted the sympathetic “estrogen” version?

In a situation like this, Lee was not confused.

He knew he depended on the whole species for answers that were never final, constantly re-evaluated and reworked as much as an individual’s set of states of energy fluctuated from moment to moment despite our willingness to give a set a name like Dick or Jane as if the name alone meant that a set of states of energy at seven years of age was in any way the same as the set at 70 years of age that collected more memories and changes in cell structures, organ health, etc.

The answers were not simple, Lee knew that.

He looked at his current set of friends, comparing them to friends from the past, friends he had met because of mandatory school attendance or by self-deception that having a job was mandatory to be a fully-responsible member of a hierarchical culture.

His personality determined the people with whom he connected best who changed his personality, thus changing the next types of people with whom he connected best — a cycle of change that did not complete a single revolution, leading to new loops that swooped in and out of each other like the drawing of a Celtic animal in a geometric pattern.

Lee looked back but he also looked forward.

What gave him hope?

Was it the moment his wife, Karen, finally told him, “Go on.  I know I’m slowing you down.  I’ll be all right.”, without lacing the words with guilt-inducing tones?

Did he call that a healing moment that gave both of them a freedom they had not willingly conceded due to a deep-seated uncertainty about the early days of their relationship, before they were married, when Lee dated many women at once, Karen often feeling ignored, he always focused on Karen as a stable part of his life who met much but not all of his gender-driven needs?

Hadn’t they survived the transition from platonic friends to trusting lovers without their relationship falling apart when they were tested later on by shocking deaths in the family and outside temptations including demanding work schedules that kept them apart for months at a time, halfway ’round the world, calling each other almost everyday, feeling guilty if they hadn’t, sharing every sordid details about their separate existence?

Trust and flexibility applied at macro levels, too, didn’t they?

What solution did his species find to resolve the military-based conflict between two groups of people in Syria?

How many medical discoveries were funded by governments that employed military-style bureaucracies?

How many social programs were initiated because of wartime conflict?

The only way to get two opponents together was to let them know they could.

“Who will go first?”  What did that mean — who would step forward first or who would be the first to die?

For Lee’s family and his subculture, the local issues at stake for Syrians seemed inconsequential.  Freedom from tyranny?  Access to better healthcare?  These were the same unanswered questions plaguing Americans: the cruel tyranny of international commerce that shone a blind eye toward un/underemployed Americans; healthcare costs spiraling upward out of control.

Lee’s subculture wanted its answers first before some small country full of people killing each other indiscriminately would seem worth unexplained government involvement, adding more military/international aid expenditures to the national debt accumulation.

How relieved Lee felt when Karen dropped the guilt complex from their relationship, aided by their recent friendships with Eoj, Bai and Guin, the latter at first a perceived threat to Karen and her marriage to Lee until she realised that Lee’s love for new friends willing to push Lee to become a better person did not diminish his longterm love for Karen, he ignoring her in the shortterm to become a closer friend for life.  Lee had not changed who he was before or after their marriage but Karen sometimes lost sight of the big picture.

The same could be said for international relationships.

The United States of America had often stepped up to be the responsible adult in the room, bullying its way into a crowded room full of countries with questionable agendas, bettering the world economy in the longterm.

History is an illusion but still useful for establishing goals that indicated consistent trends.

Syria was not a single person with simple needs.

Neither is freedom.

Listening to all sides of an argument takes patience and understanding that some people will be unhappy, no matter what, and others’ happiness will change for the better, relatively speaking, when asked to get involved improving the miserable life of people they may never to go know.

A part-time worker in a US retail store, living week-by-week, may just feel a little happier knowing that her country was able to help someone in worse shape even if both of them end up living week-by-week in the future.

How do we give people hope that international corporations competing for Syria’s marketplace potential is in their best interest?

Lee didn’t convince Karen that their separately and together going through a myriad of emotional uncertainty when Lee spent more time breaking down his personal space and getting rid of old thought patterns while practicing dance routines with Bai and Guin, spending hours alone with them, would strengthen their friendship that existed outside of labels like “marriage,” “husband,” “wife,” “military” and other arbitrary symbols imposed upon them by a subculture that grew and changed with them.

Karen had to see it for herself.

Sometimes, you don’t ask permission and you don’t ask for forgiveness, either — you let your actions speak for themselves when you choose to go first, knowing you’ve got the best interests of people in your thoughts through-and-through, even though circumstances will change people’s perception over time, good or bad in the short-term.

Integrity speaks for itself, not beholden to the whimsical interpretations of morals by subcultures distracted toward flavour-of-the-month scandals — it was right to help one group of people who called themselves Syrians with as much conviction as their opponents — sometimes we compete with bullets, sometimes we compete with love, and sometimes we compete for the best-looking PE ratio reflecting strong quarterly earnings and a growing stock price, public opinion and newspaper tests a forgotten afterthought, telling the people there’s a higher chance their fortunes will increase, a rising tide helping all of them, if we do something rather than sit by and watch, doing nothing to support a country’s defenseless citizens crying for help.

Guest post: a friend writes…

A Letter to Rep. Jared Polis: I Ask You For Courage
by Coleen

Signatories of the Geneva Protocol, courtesy of Wikimedia

This letter was sent to Rep. Polis on 31 August 2013.

Dear Sir:

I write in the hope that my words will not be unheeded, and that you will act as a representative of all your constituents.

At the next session of Congress, President Obama will request a vote from you and all representatives on the issue of military intervention in Syria. I urge you to support this intervention and to vote for authorization of force.

Like many around the world, I have watch the horror of the Syrian civil war unfold for two years. I remember weeping in Colorado in the Fall of 2011, watching livestream coverage of the shelling in the city of Homs. I watched the tens of thousands stream into the streets of Aleppo to demand their rights as free citizens. I watched in horror as the conflict spiraled and moved throughout the nation, even into Damascus.

And last week, I watched children dying from chemical weapons in Damascus.

There is no reasonable doubt that chemical warfare is currently being waged in Syria. There is no reasonable doubt that the Al-Assad regime is using these weapons against its own people. There is no reasonable doubt that the international community is bound by duty and by signature of the Geneva Protocol and the Chemical Weapons Conventions.

Sir, I write as one about to move from Colorado to the United Kingdom. That country’s parliament recently rejected the call to action in the face of such atrocity, and will not assume its normal position as our ally in military action. This situation has not happened since 1782. I know that the situation in Syria is complex, and that there are no clear-cut answers to the problems of intervening. I know that there are many in the United States and beyond who are calling any intervention illegal/immoral/some kind of conspiracy. Any military strike will bring strong opposition. Many compare this situation to the same in 2003. But Syria is not Iraq. Syria is not Libya. Syria is not Afghanistan.

I ask you for courage.

I lived in South Korea all of last year, and I was thankful daily for the international intervention that we call the Korean War. It cost thousands of lives, and there is evidence it was not always fought justly, but that fight was necessary. Millions were displaced, and millions more would have been if not for the brave actions of our own soldiers (my grandfather included) and those of our allies. My South Korean students are able to live in a free, democratic, and prosperous country only 60 years after the official cessation of hostilities. I have such hopes for Syria.

The people of Syria know that the world is watching. They know that the world has stood by and allowed more than two years of wholesale slaughter in their country. If we fail to act, they will never forget it. And those who seek to harm their own people will know that any agreements the international community holds are toothless, that the collective struggle for human rights can be derailed by selfish national interests.

In 2003, I wrote letters to my representatives. I begged them not to go to war in Iraq. I warned them of the future repercussions of an invasion. I am not pro-war, and I never have been. But a breach of international law requires action, or a dangerous precedent is set.

I ask you to vote “Yes” on a resolution that authorizes military force in Syria. Please contact me if you require any clarification.

Kindest Regards,
Coleen Monroe

Hold your hand up if you think Syrians are human beings, too…

…anyone?  Scared of losing important fuel sources from Russia come wintertime, are you, EU members and your neighbours?

That’s what I thought.

When it gets down to it, Damascus be damned, gassed, burned and bombed by its own people.

And you wonder why the concept of individual countries is another one of those quaint ideas we futurists laugh about?

Did the Dalai Lama really earn a doctorate in physics?

I must say it’s pretty darn difficult to erase the use of labels when I use labels as a means of label-erasing.

For instance, the press reports that the “Chinese” are launching a probe to the Moon by the end of the year.

Who is this person (or who are these persons) called the “Chinese”?

Is it people labeled because of their genetic likeness?

Their geographical space?

Their registered identity with a government?

Wouldn’t it be better to say that our species is launching another probe to the Moon?

Only by removing labels associated with local conditions on Earth can we as representatives of the planet say we are going to move life back out into the solar system and beyond.

There’s always a small chance that a stray bacterium will survive a trip to another celestial body and be the first Earth-based living thing to establish a colony, using us as its transport medium.

Dragging the people along for a ride

Ever looked at our planet?

001

 

Lots of blue with some greens, browns and whites thrown in for contrast, is’nt it?

What about the pyramids of little creatures who tend to bond into tribes?

030

Imaginary pyramids that intersect, a few so much larger than the others that they dominate many, many pyramids all at once (freely use your imagination here).

They blend, in other words.

The people at the top of the pyramid are constantly communicating pyramid-to-pyramid by the blended actions and opinions of their minions mixed into multiple pyramid intersections.

We may say that Obama, Hollande, Cameron and Putin are not talking to each other but there’s plenty of communication between their organisations, officially outside the public view.

That is why Mars decided to eliminate the pyramids and implement a peer-to-peer network, a meshing of independent nodes having full access to competitive data to reduce communication issues.

We’ll get back to that history lesson later.  Let’s show you what used to happen on the old home planet, via a demonstration.  Case in point: the proposed international military action in the geographical region of Earth called Syria.

Decisions were made months in advance at lower echelon levels of the pyramids but official announcements are designed to make it look like decisions are made in realtime news.

Watch and learn!