Blah, blah, blah

South Brent skyline
South Brent skyline
“The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.”
Rainer Maria Rilke

Day #7 of 2021.

Sadly, it feels no different from the end of 2020.

What's time anyway?

How you feeling?


All of the above and so much more?

The thing is, and this is super personal, the language — across all the media I spend my time surfing — hasn't changed. 

Why should it?

Well, as my good friend Stephen Jenkinson says:

language is everythng.

Ain't that so.

That means I'm constantly checking how I speak and write. Mostly, it's prolix, legally-suffused nonsense — or certainly I'm too verbose — but just in once in a while, I do capture the essence of what I'm trying to say.

But at least I'm aware of my failings — or some them of them 🤣🤣.

I don't know what it is that (sometimes) so irks me but definitely in the mix is the free-floating axis of business-as-usual, hope, optimism and the New Agey, self-absorption stuff that I feel needs a serious rework.

Instead, our language should be much more sombre, more cognizant of the unfolding climate disaster and the unsolved, depressingly familiar social inequality that pervades so much of the world

I'll be honest, I've tried to articulate my foreboding at home. It hasn't gone down well. I won't embarrass my wife in repeating what she said, but let's just say that when you start talking about suicide in the context of Albert Camus's fantastic book (yes, it's hard to read), The Myth of Sisyphus, you really have backed yourself into a no-win corner.

Then again, what's wrong with trying to find a new or redefined language to deal with the extant situation? I try to think about how our indigenous forebears might have spoken but always come up short by dint of my lack of knowledge and understanding. That said, I've started to listen to a wonderful book by Martín Prechtel called "The Unlikely Peace at Cuchumaquic: The Parallel Lives of People as Plants: Keeping the Seeds Alive" which is a memoir and spiritual call to arms based on his "experiences growing up on a Pueblo Indian reservation, his years of apprenticing to a Guatemalan shaman, and his return to the U.S. after fleeing from Guatemala’s brutal civil war". I'll let you know if I'm any the wiser once I've finished it. (Good books I tend to listen to a few times so it might be a while if I can say if it contains any indigenous juice that might help me in how I see and write/speak about the world.)

What am I really trying to say?

As the rubric suggests, I'd like us to dial down on the blandness, the nauseating 'be all you can be' and to be more cognizant of our own spiritual and soulful insights.

Is that too much to ask?

Anyhow, it's time to mount my legal stead, ready for another day of ploughing my back-and-forth furrow of sameness. Still, I'm very lucky to have a job.


— Ju

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