Wednesday, April 25, 2018

How to fiddle while Rome burns: A Primer for the 21st Century

We don’t have to be a despotic emperor to enjoy self-produced melody while the capital of our civilization is threatened by fire. Here a couple of steps into the 21st century we have more reach for our tunes than old Nero could ever have imagined.

So how does its work you ask?

One, we get out our violins. Yours might be pink and eschewing the traditional wasp-waist shape. Mine might emit a gentle glow of polished wood as I lift it from its case. My violinny looking instrument may cause some to laugh. Your wacky colored electro fiddle may cause others to scoff. No matter. 

Some, of course, will continue to follow the conventional approach bow on strings to etch out their melody. Others may beat their instrument drum-like until they hold only strung together pieces clattering through the air. Still, others will find strange and wonderful new ways to make their fiddle “sing.”

Recently, a young man garbed his violin in only a coat and plucked the strings like a trigger before some Philistine in the audience grabbed the instrument and ended the concert. That’s what he deserved for playing in a Waffle House.

Another unfortunate venue for music these days has been found in public restrooms. I admit the acoustics ring sharp and long in such a place. Parents play songs of protection for their children. Those of shifting genders stridently respond with angry counterpoint. The musical battle rises to such levels that I just wait until I get home.

Our corporate leaders live as detached foot tappers, who have to get in on the strings, so they raise melodies that the cacophony of the halls of government (another venue of marvelous acoustics) can’t get together. Instead, the players of the government string section emit mews like lost kittens. They live just as herdable as those tiny felines, queuing up for the benefits and forgetting any notes from the second before.

Meanwhile, the violin smashers are feeling ignored. They cast their pieces into a huge pile, take up gasoline and match. The blaze begins from their strengthened hands. The flames crackle as if laughing at any tone but its own. As the energy spreads to more dashed fiddles the melody broadens to a roar as lacquer and polish and paint goes up in a flash eating away wood hundreds of years old right beside wood harvested humanely just yesterday.

Bonfires can radiate such heat that we have to back away or melt in sweat. This conflagration drives scores to their corners. If a fire could be said to live, this one seems bent on consuming every scrap of wood its waving tongues can wrap up.


A maestro steps forward, undaunted by it all. Soon several surround the party, their faces quavering in shadows and heat waves as the rest of us look on. These few take up their instruments. And for a lonely minute, we hear a high and noble melody rise with equally brave harmonies. Sweating and smoking these few continue to play as their hair begins to smolder. The flames penetrate their hearts as the final chord of their song swims through the shimmering air to us.

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Love and hate can't cohabitate.

"Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen." 1 John 4:20 

Why not? I have people in my life who get me and I'm on their wavelength. I have warm feelings for them and they for me. Others don't understand me nor I them. Neither of us desire to change that relationship. In fact, we harbor the chill of misunderstanding and hate between us. What does this lack of relationship have to do with the fire of our passion for God?
Hate keeps me focusing on me. Every perceived spiteful act of that other person drills me deeper into myself. Soon many of my relationships become tainted by selfishness. When folks don't respond as I desire, a frostbite of selfishness cuts in between. The frost of hate leads the way through my life for the dead cold of bitterness. Slicing emotional winds of hate tear apart God's passion in me, reducing our love to coals and smoking ruins.

Monday, April 02, 2018

Social Media and Me

Social media posts feel like my best friend. I can share my feelings, thoughts, and opinions without the frustration of someone interrupting me. Furthermore, I can mull over and play with and refine my thoughts before sending them out. Social media comes across as a slice of heaven for an introvert who has lots of thoughts and feelings roiling around inside.

As United States citizens we have never seen such one way, uninterrupted and mass communication. As us introverts stretch out in this freedom, we, I, can overdo it. Interruption and instant response are key components to a conversation. Reading the other's facial cues, body language and tone are life skills that allow us to function as a society. When you or I see the pain, confusion, humor or anger we are inciting on someone else's body I believe we feel some level of empathy. When we hear the hurt tone in another's voice, we remember when we felt the same. Emojis just don't carry the same energy.

So now that the email has been sent can we reel it back? I wish I knew. I think we will know when we make understanding and using social media responsibly significant priorities. We can do empathy when we access the sites of those opposed to us and try our best to read with unbiased eyes. We need to stay away from loud, angry sites with click bait headlines. We need to travel to a coffee shop to listen and respond, practice our social skills. We need to eat meals together media free. We need to relearn how to put on another's pair of shoes and walk around for awhile.

Our use of social media is smashing away at our social skills and the fabric our ancestors have created and maintained over the years. This bag of skills forms a large part of what keeps us from reverting to days before civilization. Social skills are basic to cultural survival as breathing is for all animals.