Do We Build our Own Pens?

   I was thinking about traps the other day. About how we can trap ourselves slowly and subtlely and don't even know it. Do you know the story about how you catch a wild pig? If you set out food in a pen, of course he will not go for it. But if you put it in the open, he will come to eat it after a time.  When he gets used to finding and eating the food in the same place, you put up one section or line of fence nearby. Later on you put up another part of the pen so you have two connected pieces of fence. A bit later, you put up the third side of the pen. Piggy still will come for the food.  After a while, you just put up the last part of the pen but leave an opening. Piggy saunters right in and you close up the fence while he chows down.  Now, that takes some time, but it is effective.
    Sometimes, I think we do the same thing to ourselves. Well, I was really thinking about celebrities, but I think regular people trap themselves also.  First, let's take a celebrity who has more money than sense. Maybe she is a Kardashian.  I only see a Kardashian once in a while on those TV shows whose purpose is to celebritize celebrities. Anyway, I have noticed that, according to those shows, the Kardashians now have an empire encompassing many products that bring in lucre for the family.  In order to sell more stuff, the sisters K have to go places where they are seen dressed in expensive, if not tasteful, clothing. They produce much-publicized weddings that last about five minutes, but they get to put on one hell of a wedding and party, complete with incredible dresses, presents, food, ambiance, wide-spread publicity and lots of other celebrities. If their brand seems to be losing its luster, they create a story that goes viral and garners them more publicity. They have to be seen. They have to do outlandish things to continue getting publicity. They have to live up to their brand. It is a self-perpetuating cycle and sooner or later they will want off the merry-go-round. But if they jump off, all the fun is over, not to mention the money. So they are trapped in a construction of their own making. When the reality show started, they thought that fame and fortune were all they wanted. But after a time, doesn't it seem a bit empty? Too late - if they want to continue to live in the style which they have created and which they have become accustomed to, they must maintain the madness. Trapped. And they are not the only ones in this state.
   How do normal people trap themselves? They allow themselves to live in a rut. They do the same things, eat the same foods, associate with the same people. They believe they are good at some things but that they cannot do other things. They allow themselves to live within barriers of their own creation. This can take an infinite variety of forms: "I am a good mother.  A good mother never lets  her children down." This kind of mother will neglect her own needs for her children. How noble, but how unhealthy.  Or "I am a great bread-winner for my family." This man (or woman) needs to be seen as providing everything needed or wanted by their children and spouse. Work, work - make money.  Make more money. This means they cannot be with the family for much of the everyday activities that make up their children's lives. They miss out on their kids' activities, accomplishments, recitals, sports games. Too late, the provider understands that he/she has placed him or herself inside a pen. He is simply the provider, not the loving parent or spouse. How does he get himself out of this?
   We are all subject to trapping ourselves whether it is the trap of the mind or of action. I hope we can recognize the signs before we become too ensnared. That takes vigilance, doesn't it?

Emily Dickinson knew something about captivity.


I never hear the word "escape"
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation
A flying attitude!

I never hear of prisons broad
By soldiers battered down,
But I tug childish at my bars
Only to fail again!

An Open Mind - All I Want is an Open Mind. Or do I?

Well, it has been a long time, blog of mine. Don't even know if I can figure out how to post in this new format, but I will try. Nothing much to say, no injustices to set right, no big issues - uh oh... Maybe there is one tiny little thing I'm upset about.
Upset? That's not the right word. Livid. Yes, livid is better. You see, I am so fed up with the political process during this Presidential election that I could just take a big stick to the ad writers, campaign managers, smarmy-voiced announcers, mean-sounding announcers, actors, (yes, I know it's their job, but how could they say the horrible things those ads make them say?), writers - anyone having anything to do with the lying, exaggerating and misinforming of the campaign ads.
Livid with the campaign, but what am I feeling for the American populace? The ones who vote based only on the above-mentioned lies, and the ones who just vote their party without thinking about the people running or the issues or the party platform. The word for what I am feeling about these people is...stupid. We are stupid, stupid, stupid. Our system is broken and we are trapped in it. It seems that money buys elections; voting machines can be rigged; elections can be jiggered; and the wrong candidate can win.
My, my, listen to me. It must be late at night on the eve of campaigning door-to-door for the candidate that my neighbors in this county do not like. And why don't they like him? Because they have drunk the poison cool-aid of his opponents. They have listened to the lies and misinformation because it is easier to do that than to find out what really is going on. But I'll be out there anyway trying to influence those who haven't made up their minds yet. Those who have open minds. I wonder if I will find any - it seems that people don't want open minds. Facts might find their way into an open mind. An open mind might think instead of just react. The possessor of an open mind just might figure out who to vote for based on his record and what he says he wants to do in the future for the citizens of his country.
So yes, it's late and I have heard too many awful political ads because I live in - the saints preserve us - a SWING state. Yecch. The candidates show up in this state every other day. Rich people have $20,000 a plate dinners for them often. The TV ads are disgusting and non-stop. What a joy to live in Ohio during a national election. Everyone will be united the day after the election no matter who wins because we all will be so relieved to not be forced to listen to the ads bought by outside money - lots of outside money. Boatloads of outside money. So much money that it could probably reduce the national debt significantly.
Some people say they hate politics and stay away. They don't listen or pay attention to what is going on in Washington. I hate politics but can't stay away. And that is my problem, my curse - the cause of the little black cloud above my head tonight.
But tomorrow is another day and I will go talk to people, many of whom won't want to listen to me. But I will feel better knowing that I have tried. I have taken action in a small way, the only way I can. And I will take more of these small actions so that I can feel like I put my money where my mouth is - or more accurately, walked the talk. And I won't turn on the TV for the entire weekend so I can be surprised by the new ads on next week.

Here is a poem about an ideal candidate.

Exquisite Candidate


by Denise Duhamel and Maureen Seaton

I can promise you this: food in the White House
will change! No more granola, only fried eggs
flipped the way we like them. And ham ham ham!
Americans need ham! Nothing airy like debate for me!
Pigs will become the new symbol of glee,
displacing smiley faces and "Have A Nice Day."
Car bumpers are my billboards, billboards my movie screens.
Nothing I can say can be used against me.
My life flashes in front of my face daily.
Here's a snapshot of me as a baby. Then
marrying. My kids drink all their milk which helps the dairy industry.
A vote for me is not only a pat on the back for America!
A vote for me, my fellow Americans, is a vote for everyone like me!
If I were the type who made promises
I'd probably begin by saying: America,
relax! Buy big cars and tease your hair
as high as the Empire State Building.
Inch by inch, we're buying the world's sorrow.
Yeah, the world's sorrow, that's it!
The other side will have a lot to say about pork
but don't believe it! Their graphs are sloppy coloring books.
We're just fine—look at the way
everyone wants to speak English and live here!
Whatever you think of borders,
I am the only candidate to canoe over Niagara Falls
and live to photograph the Canadian side.
I'm the only Julliard graduate—
I will exhale beauty all across this great land
of pork rinds and gas stations and scientists working for cures,
of satellite dishes over Sparky's Bar & Grill, the ease
of breakfast in the mornings, quiet peace of sleep at night.

Are Our Shoulders Broad Enough?

The other day I read a poem that I cannot keep out of my mind. I shared it on Facebook and received some positive comments on it. The more I think about it, the more I feel that the central point of this poem may be the most important concept for the survival of the civilized human race. Let's forget about global warming for the moment as that may cause the ultimate demise of humankind at some point, but this poem raises the possibility in my mind that something else may beat this particular kind of global destruction.
The poem makes its point in a poignant situation involving father and child - one that any parent who loves his or her children will feel deeply. The poem plays upon the care and protection a father affords his young child, but then makes the point that we all will have to behave in this way to each other if we want to survive.
In the face of the political polarization of Congress and our populace, this poem's premise is particularly astute. When Congress can't or won't pass bills to ameliorate the economic debacle that is our status right now; when Democrats and Republicans cannot compromise enough to prod a Congress mired in distrust and dislike for each other into action; when attack ads are the norm in any political contest; when millions are out of work and losing their homes, it is obvious that we are not taking care of each other, let alone, business. Far from it.
I have felt responsible for others for most of my life. Maybe it's because I was the first child of four. Maybe it's because I'm an Aquarius. Perhaps it is because I had the parents I was lucky enough to be born to. I feel that we are all in "this" together and that in order to make the most of "it" (read "life"), we need to help each other deal with life. We need to lend support when others need it. We need to open doors when someone has burdens that make it hard for them to do so. We need to recognize when others are weak and help them rediscover their strength. The "no man is an island" idea speaks to me. We are only as strong as our weakest link has its appeal, but to state it simply, we are all in this together and to mix metaphors even more, a house divided cannot stand. The world is our house. All the peoples in it are the house. Our neighbors across the street and the Ethiopian orphans in Africa are the house. Even the Wall Street millionaires and the crooked mortgage brokers are the house. We are all in this together. It's about time we acted like it. But do we have shoulders broad enough to bear the responsibility?
Here is the poem that is still chasing me:

Shoulders
by Naomi Shihab Nye

A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.

No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.

This man carries the world's most sensitive cargo
but he's not marked.
Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE,
HANDLE WITH CARE.

His ear fills up with breathing.
He hears the hum of a boy's dream
deep inside him.

We're not going to be able
to live in this world
if we're not willing to do what he's doing
with one another.

The road will only be wide.
The rain will never stop falling.

"Shoulders" by Naomi Shihab Nye, from Red Suitcase. © BOA Editions, Ltd., 1994. Reprinted with permission.