A stone in the wall of the Royal Palace in Stockholm
Herodotus of Halicarnassus was a contemporary of the first democracy. He is called the father of history.
He thought of himself as an explorer of understanding, searching by inquiry and reason. Understanding was his goal, inquiry his method.
He searched for the source of conflict.
Some historiens have called Herodotus the father of lies, a story teller. These men who know so much and understand so little scientifically measure the unlikliness of his stories.
They can’t understand how a son of truth can sing with the voice of fiction.
Take the case of Tomyris and the mighty Cyrus for exemple. Perhaps it isn’t true that Queen Tomyris searched the field of dead warriors for the body of Cyrus just to stick his head into a skin bag of blood and cry: “Now you can quench your thirst.”
Herodotus presents not a single document, not one well-drawn diagram. He simply states that this is the most likely account of the death of Cyrus among many accounts.
Herodotus seems to have believed that blood-thirst and wrath have historical value.
He seems to have believed that the heart of truth
can travel on fiction beyond the facts of the times.
(Tomorrow: For the Likes of Us)
The color of the leaf is not manipulated or saturated. It’s natural.
The tiny blueberry leaf came late in the season and didn’t have time to grow very large before putting on her autumn color.
One cool day a lonely ray of sunshine found its way through the trees to touch her. She blushed and reflected the light on a man walking by. His heart smiled and his soul glowed with happiness.
He carried the smile and the happiness with him and passed on bits of it to everyone he met.
Never underestimate the power of light and beauty.
(Tomorrow: The Father of History)
I don’t want to hear upsetting truths. I prefer cosmetic ignorance. Because I’m worth it.
(This is the short version of yesterday’s post, Tarnished Justice)
To say that Guantanamo prison tarnishes American justice is like saying that the rapist tarnished the 14-year-old’s virginity.
(Tomorrow: The Power of Beauty)
On Sept. 09 New York Times wrote about the death of Adnan Latif at Guantanamo prison and ended the article:
“This brutal outpost has tarnished American justice every day of its existence.”
One question: What justice?
Adnan spent over 10 years being tortured at Gitmo.
(The US brand of torture leaves no marks on the body.)
He was never charged with any crime. Four times he was recommended for release because there was no evidence against him. Neither Bush nor I-will-close-Guantanamo Obama approved the recommendations.
Where is the justice? How can something non-existent be tarnished?
Rest in peace Adnan Latif. Should you meet Jesus, the two of you can compare notes. He was also a victim of “tarnished justice.”
(Tomorrow: Tarnished Virginity)
The mysterious Wild Atom (rumors say she is hot and sexy) struck again and infected the entire water supply with a truth serum. All the politicians said the same thing.
Vote for me and I will follow the dictates of corporate greed to make the wealthy (and me) even wealthier while claiming that it is necessary to insure your security. My promises are paid for by lobbyists whose interests I will be serving.
(Tomorrow: Tarnished Justice)
Beauty gives. It asks for nothing.
It gives pleasure to the soul.
It gives confidence in life.
It gives hints of truth.
Natural beauty.
Not all beauty is natural.
Beauty is not always true.
Truth is not always beautiul.
But the beautiful truth is truly beautiful.
(Tomorrow: Political Truth Day)
The nuts gather round the fruitcake.
The rooster negotiates vegetarianism with the fox.
The ostrich searches for a deeper meaning.
The doves clip their wings to set an example for the hawks.
The prisoners plead guilty of provoking their torturers.
The believers do a rain dance in the storm.
The blind refuse to look at unpleasant sights.
The holy bless the worship of idols.
The pimps preach the virtues of service.
The meek praise humility and the power of hope.
The rulers chop away at the tree of life to get to the top.
The prophets die poisoned by the sins of their followers.
Call it a tragedy, a comedy or a farce. It doesn’t matter because we’re not part of it.
We’re performing the drama of a new world, directed by life and produced by nature. Would you like to join our cast? You must be capable of singing Justice and dancing The Pursuit of Happiness.
(Tomorrow: True Beauty)
The Romans had two expressions about what is wrong.
”Malum in se” meant that something is wrong regardless of laws and regulations. Murder, theft and lying are ”malum in se,” wrong in itself.
”Malum prohibitum” designated something that is wrong by decree, by law or command. It is, ”malum prohibitum,” to walk on the grass or spit in the face of a politician.
The knowledge of ”malum in se” lives within us.
Wrong (malum in se) does not become right with laws and rules. Some MALicious rulers seem to think otherwise.
(Tomorrow: Nuts Round the Fruitcake Farce)
Her father called her Sparkle. Grandma claimed her beauty could crack a stone. The judgement of a grandma can be subjective, but Sparkle was undoubtedly a happy and healthy four-year-old who left a trail of smiles on the faces of the people she bounced by.
Sparkle is dead, dead as the rag doll by her side under the rubble of what had been her home. The hell fire from drone-launched missiles doesn’t discriminate between between walls, dolls or kids. Or grandmas.
Sparkle wasn’t murdered alone. Happiness, smiles and love were slaughtered with her. The void was instantly filled with grief, rage and hate.
These massacres are repeated week after week in remote villages from Pakistan to Sudan. They are almost always sandwich attacks. Minutes after the initial slaughter, new hellfire missiles explode among those who rush to the sceen to help possible survivors.
You won’t see the crushed body of Sparkle on your TV-screen or in your newspaper. How could you? There’s no room for such insignificant innocents among the giant puppets wearing human-like smiles. You won’t see the fear that Sparkle’s terrorized playmates will grow up with either. The puppets must have their space to wiggle their limbs and speak of freedom.
(Tomorrow: Ancient Wrong & Wrong)
There is no future. There are many possible futures. A garden and a graveyard stand out among these possibilities.
The graveyard is the default.
_____________________________
I walked through my garden.
The trees told me that they have no interest in humanity’s survival because their situation would improve if humanity disappeared.
A wise old worm assured me that life doesn’t need humanity, but humanity needs life. ”The arrogance that blinds them to this fact is as deadly as a disease.
”Fascinating creatures, full of possibilities yet apparently willing to abandon them and accept the default,”
said the worm and smiled.
A bird whispered to a flower, ”To tell you the truth, I kind of like the way they sing.”
The flower replied, ”I know what you mean. The way they smile at me inspires me to be fruitful.
The grass swayed, the leaves fluttered and the sun played with the clouds.
A storm was forming on the horizon.
(Tomorrow: Sparkle Dies, Puppets Wiggle)
System Humanity 