Hear the rattle as civilizations collapse under the weight of complex problems

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The sound of collapse is all around us. In the U.S. the political system is in a close race with our transportation system to see which one gets declared the winner in a race towards non-functionality. Our physical bridges along with our metaphorically constructed political bridges are in different degrees of collapse. And we, as a nation,  are the model of stability. Whole countries are suffering from Gang or Terrorist warfare.

Holding on and letting go — the old fountain pen writes of connectedness, collaboration and shared promises

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FALLS CHURCH, Va. — When I was in Junior High School my parents and I had a yearly ritual beginning with the first September of the Seventh Grade. I got to pick out a new Esterbrook fountain pen. Learning to fill it with ink, the blue black river of unshaped words, was a thrill I obviously have not forgotten. Just me, and a blank piece of paper, and my pen working together to find out what I was thinking about.

Playing favorites

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What an odd and multi-functional phrase that is, “playing favorites.” Sometimes it means picking your favorite tune, or your favorite quarterback, or your rooting for your favorite team. As I was fumbling around the other morning, looking for one of my favorite couple of cups, the ones I use to bring the morning coffee to my wife and to myself, some little bell inside of my head dialed up a question for me to ponder. I know that some mornings, I am content to bring whatever is available, and other mornings I want to use one or the other of the two sets pictured. And on the weekend, of course, I have the special set I always use for Saturday and Sunday, the “workweek is over and what shall we today?” set. What I suddenly became aware of was the pleasure I enjoy in choosing and using those special cups.

The reality of being alone creates the reality of relationship

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Our three grandchildren range in age: just over two, just over three, and six years old. They are adorable. I think at first that is not possible for a grandchild to be anything less than adorable. Of course that is the message sent coursing from my eyes through the internal web, the model for the one we can all connect to, that mushy thing that lives, sometimes in comfort, sometimes in despair, inside my skull. Someone else might see them as cute, or clumsy; hear them as too quiet or too loud; experience them as too shy or too pushy.

Seasons. (Stanley S. Smith/Borderzine.com)

Seasons – The ordeals of change rushing towards us

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My copy of Eric Hoffer’s, The Ordeal of Change was published in 1976. I am re-reading it now, along with his, The True Believer, and along with that a whole collection of current writing all focused on what kind of creatures we are, and what kind of creatures we need to become, rather rapidly at that, if we are to manage all the ordeals of change that are rushing towards us. “It is my impression that no one really likes the new. We are afraid of it.” That is his opening.