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I think it is childish

September 8, 2011

Here’s another rant/manifesto or sorts that may or may not turn into a character. This one’s a bit less raw and more structured than “I feel so tired.”  *plot, plot, plot*

I think it is childish

I think it is childish


to see only light


I think it is childish


to see only dark


Because there are both.


Nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so.  And that’s what we do: we think.  All the time, a flowing current of thought over the stone cells of our mind, the little neurons spouting up even in our sleep.  We can come up with a hundred ideas to another species’s one.

But back to the topic: is man a killer or a lover or destroyer or creator, a devil or an angel, a disease or just a rather prolific species?

I choose both.  We have the capability of both.

(Isn’t that always the answer to any riddle?  The middle answer, the one between the extremes, the one that nobody expects.)

But if you say there’s just dark, that after death is loneliness and nothing, that in any situation of course humanity is going to screw up and why should we even bother to procreate because all the children will grow up to be little fools like ourselves then you’re being childish.  You’re being base.  You’re only seeing one side of the story and refusing to see anything good at all.  We’re not total animals who kill and destroy and corrupt.  You’re giving up, taking the easy way, just saying that everything is awful and hopeless anyway so why don’t I just try to get by.  A child curling up and closing its eyes forever.

On the other hand, if you say there’s just light, that all humanity will rise to any occasion, that everyone will do the right thing all the time, that no one really wants to cheat or rape or murder, that all is love and light and stars and no one ever dies, then you’re being childish.  ‘Cause its not.  You’re ignoring others’s pain, refusing to acknowledge someone else’s hurt.  You’re forgetting about Hitler.  You’re forgetting how painfully, brilliantly, passionately human we actually are.  How we struggle, how we fall, how we make mistakes.  How we hurt and hurt and hurt.  And sometimes, just sometimes, a person is hurt so early and so much that they hurt others for the rest of their lives.  And just because they were hurt before doesn’t always excuse hurt to others.  A little, but in the end they chose to hit and bite.

You need to acknowledge the dark, understand without tipping over, so then, oh then: you can have serenity.  You can go there and bring back the lost, the forgotten, the hurt.  You can help people. You can confront their pain and then wipe it away best you can.  But you need to have knowledge of good and evil, of Eve’s first apple, for that.

There’s always the shades of gray.  Binaries are too easy.  Too easy when in reality we live in a mixed up world.

Don’t live a cynical half-life.  Don’t live blinded by the sun.

You can live in between, can tend towards one or the other, but don’t fall over either edge completely.

But then, this is my answer to the riddle.  Mostly born because I was tired of people expecting the worst.  Of writers taking pains to prove that humanity is horrible and all comes to nothing in death and presenting that as if it is the truth.  As if they have thrown away all the sparkles and delusions of greatness to confront the reader with a great, hulking elephant in the room that most refuse to acknowledge.  No.  That’s not it.  It can’t be it.  You’re forgetting goodness, faith, love, compassion, warmth, happiness.  These things I’ve encountered so many times.

So for today, this is my answer.


From → Fiction

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