The Tribe

Have you ever asked a shy toddler what her name is only to find that, surprised by the interaction, she scurries back to her mother's leg, hiding her face for a moment, then, when she has musters the courage, looks at you from the safety of her mother's protection? There seems to be something within us that instinctively forces us to return to what we know when we feel spooked, in danger. In the uncertainty of the world, that is, when it gets to be too much, we retreat to what is familiar, to be amongst those like us, those who will "have our backs". One of the aspects of the current environment in which we find ourselves is the growing distrust of public institutions. Those large entities, first devised in order to protect us and to enable us to speak with a collective voice, have now been proven to be incapable of shielding us from the dangers of life in 2017. And why should we rely on them if they don't work? In 2005, when GW Bush appointed John R Bolton to the United Nations, effectively installing one of its greatest skeptics, I remember having been gobsmacked. Why would he have assigned someone to work within an institution that he didn't believe in, or may even actively work to further degrade? At the same time, Bush's criticism of the UN, that it was a gargantuan organization, encumbered by its own red tape and procedure, incapable of stopping genocide, war or any number of other calamities was on point. For all of the good the institution had done in the world, not the least of which its promoting of wider human understanding, it had also been a failure in my eyes, albeit the eyes of a wide-eyed and admittedly too-hopeful youth of the 90s. The hippie in me was unwilling to let go of the possibility of a world at peace, both literally and with itself. The UN, NATO, our own governments-federal, state or local, have all failed us by now. They have been unable to protect us from 9/11, from mass shootings, from economic collapse, from income disparity. Can you really blame people for giving up their childish ideals of a world free of hunger and war, retreating to mother's familiar leg, to those who are "our own"? If human consciousness experiences expansion and contraction, I think we can safely say we are in an era of contraction, as our circles become smaller and smaller and come to include only the very small core of people who we see as family. And as people regroup, aligning with those with whom they most identify, we start to isolate ourselves from uncomfortable, pesky, opposing opinions as well. There is enough dissonance in the world; I need not add more to the simmering pot, thinks the individual. The move to digesting only information presented to you from sources with whom you agree is just the beginning, though. As Man regresses to his feudal state, only engaging within his own community, what do you suppose will happen? I mean, that is the great question. The French, after having experienced democracy, actually chose to re-instate the monarchy. The Germans, after having experienced freedoms previously unknown to them in the Weimar Republic, turned on their proverbial Nazi heels to reject said freedom. We have, over the last several decades, profited both culturally and economically from globalism. But now, because of cultural, political, and financial circumstances, we are reverting to a kind of chosen isolation. Unlike the isolation of old, though, we will have, all the while, full access to worldwide information. This will mean that, more and more, we will be able to observe the happenings of people outside of our tribe. Will we view them with more and more disdain, because we can no longer relate, and, because of our separation, we are able to objectify, and, therefore, de-humanize them? Or will we view them as distant cousins, seen with empathy, yet all the while being unable to really relate them? If current norms are any indication, we will see of their plight, donate to their causes, and mourn with them at a comfortable arms length, right where our computers sit. It is impossible to predict where things will be going at this point. Steve Bannon, in his 60 Minutes interview, closed with a very interesting idea: the election in 2020 WILL be about populism. It is just unknown whether it will be a populism from the Left or Right. One thing is for sure, the re-grouping of humanity is underway. I just don't know what will happen when the many different arcs have received all of their prodigal sons and they begin to close the gates.

The Beginnings

Almost as much a given as the fact that about 50% of second graders' grins in school pictures would be strangely toothless, tiny little prize fighters sans fights or other battle wounds. Almost as inevitable as our little Jack-o-Lantern grills were the trips that many of us made to the hospital to have our tonsils out. This was the 1970s, and every kid who had a cold a little too often soon found himself under the bright lights and careful hands of a small staff of angels in white. And, as is always the case, kids had their own take on the events. Most of us were not quite sure what exactly this visit would entail, to tell you the truth. Our parents were clever in holding back details of such things. We couldn't even say "tonsillectomy", after all-not just because our little brains couldn't fathom such a word, but, well, without those front teeth... Because we could not fully comprehend the meaning, that we were going to be put under, and cut open (gruesome, even as an adult thinking of it) our little brains tried to piece together the little bits of tangble information we and our friends had to offer. Because of this ramshackle way of cobbling a story into existence, "getting your tonsils out" was something that, in our child speak, ballooned quickly into an amorphous myth. This myth's Holy Grail, one which during any childhood discussion was always raised at some point, immediately trumping all other points was: "when it's over, you get to eat as much ice cream as you want." This fact, beamed triumphantly over all of us like that final scene in The Fifth Element, light poured out from this statement, ungulfing us, enlightenment itself washing away any childhood uncertainty, bringing smiles to all faces able to behold it. And the sticky facts about an "operation" were soon forgotten. I mean, that was the point, right? The deal was an adult ruse to draw our attention away from reality...to make palpable what would have had us running kicking and screaming from our mother's arms on operation day. In the childhood lexicon, "all the ice cream you want" took on an air as other-wordly as the Tooth Fairy or Santa himself. I, too, had to go under the knife. But I was never a real fan of ice cream. A foreshadowing to my present food issues, at that time in my life I loved to eat raw, cold pats of butter. Yes, raw. Just butter, straight up, nothing to lighten its load, nothing to cut its perfection. Just 100% real butter. Are you thinking ahead? Yes, your deduction skills are good. When the nurse asked me what flavor of ice cream I wanted when awakening from my, at that time, heavy anesthesia, I insisted on a bowl of butter rather than ice cream. And, yes, she brought me a big bowl of butter pats. I peeled off the cardboard bottoms and the wax paper tops and I ate every last one of them. I savored them, in fact. I guess the trend with kids these days is popsicles? That treat would have never have met the muster of a child who was to grow up starry-eyedly watching Julia Childs every Sunday afternoon. I would grow up to love butter and all that it stands for. But that is a story for another day. Yep, I ate a bowl of pure up, unadulterated butter when I was 6, after my my tonsils had been taken out. And truth is stranger than fiction.

Abstand

There is something about the German word that has cemented its way into my brain far more than "distance" ever would. Maybe it's that "ab" prefix. You are standing "off" from something, "away" from it. By standing away from it, this thing, whatever it may be, cannot touch you...physically, emotionally. If the thing were a beast, it could not bite you; if it were glowing embers, it could not burn you; if it were an horrific event, it could not make your heart bleed in desperate agony. My heart's been bleeding a lot of late. There is something about the world that makes me cry for it these days. Humanity is off its mooring. The word itself, I mean, for humanity itself seems to have become so terrible inhumane. Las Vegas was a tipping point for me, somehow. I honestly cannot tell you why. Something about it pushed me over the edge. The unrelenting, seemingly bottomless source of tears inside of myself suddenly hurt too very much and then promptly dried up. And "Abstand" started just flashing over and over in my head. You see, when you care a little too much, when you hope for people a little too sincerely, you run the risk of losing yourself. You run the risk of losing your sense of humor. Your lightness of being gets pinned down. The skip in your step only lumbers. But "Abstand" has been forming in my brain for some time, I think. It has been months since I first remember it having shown itself. Actually, I know right when it started; it was while watching a rerun. A Vulcan mentioned (in a Star Trek episode) that "the problem with humans is that they are not able to objectify other cultures, thus rendering them unable to logically analyze them without emotion." What?, I remember thinking. We had been taught while growing up to not say "oriental", for, to do so would be "objectifying" another race. It is when we objectify others, after all, that we are able to lose our connection to them. Objectification in the basis by which racism can exist. That is how we can begin to think of "us" and "them", when, in reality, it is only "we". But here, Commander Tuvok, a member of an advance alien species, was openly encouraging it. He was encouraging Abstand when analyzing other people's behaviors. I think Las Vegas was my limit. The hurt that I have accumulated from watching the unravelling of society, of the world at large really, had reached its limit and I could empathize no more. The hermit instinct in me, a protective one that I had learned early in life, came back and ushered me away. I will now simply be a spectator to humanity's descent. I will not get emotionally caught up in it. I cannot. I will live my life as though it exists outside of reality, for reality today is far too grim. I will create. I will write. I will compose. Perhaps, if I can muster it in spite of my disappointment, I will sing. But I am not of here. I am not of now. I am crossing my arms and refuse to play along. Don't worry, I won't revel in it. There won't be any buying of popcorn or enjoyment involved. But I will observe it from afar and not feel a part of it. Abstand will help me distance myself from humanity's horrible realities. With its help, perhaps I will survive the coming maelstrom which seeks to swallow all afloat.