Words of Separation

We are all humans that inhabit this earth together. No matter what you believe this fact is true. People, persons, members of the human race.

We are confined by the words we use to describe or define one another. They bind us into our own body and them into theirs. Separation that spreads through language. I and you, me and him. All humans, but this fact seems over looked. Just as it takes two separate "I"s to make a we or us and even the isolating words "they" or "them".

It seems we begin to begin the separation process when we first come into contact with "others". They are male or female, they are tall, short, they are nerdy, weird, cool, funny. Depending on the arrogance involved you may define them as incompetent, over confident, ignorant or brilliant, good or bad. Some of these words are considered "good" and we wish to be described us as smart or intelligent. These words are not flexible as they build the walls of judgment around even the people we hold most dear. The judgment is simply categorization, confining people to specific personality traits. It is difficult in the English language to describe exactly who a person is. A person can be good while doing "bad" things. Just as bad things happen to good people. A person can be smart while making stupid choices, just as someone who is generous with their money can be selfish with their time. Just as an American can come from Mexican decent. Just as an Iraqi Muslim can fall in love with a Christian Brit and join her church just to be with her. We allow that people can do the "unexpected" to make up for the inconsistencies in our categorizations and we even allow for people to move categories if we find we have misjudged them. People move from friends to enemies with the simple drop of a bomb or a plane crashed into a tower.
They are Muslim.
They are Buddhist.
They are Jew.
They are African (which is funny because it is a freaking continent).
They are French.
They are Indian.
They are American.
They are African-American.
They are Asian-American.
They are Native American. Black. White. Yellow. Brown. Purple....
Funny how separate words can make us. A person can be kicked out of a country by a simple word applied to their being--Mexican--illegal ALIEN--we go as far as to change their species.

We love to distinguish ourselves from one another--especially to raise ourselves above. To be one step higher on the platform to be one step ahead of the Jones'. They are weak, uneducated, DIFFERENT. People can be turned into property to be bought and sold or just given away or stolen.

Words bind people to countries/nations--non existent lines created by the people to keep "them" out. Who's them? The other PEOPLE? The OTHER humans? How much difference does it take to forget where we all come from? How many philosophical walls must we build to keep ourselves from them, the others?

I would claim that our isolation exists only in our heads--that we are not separate beings, but closely connected to one another through the human experience. Our actions do affect one another from the personal to the political. My choices today will affect the future generations whether by the children I choose or do not choose to have. By the books I write or don't. By the generous smile I give or don't. By the piece of sand I pick up in the middle of a desert and move just a little to the right. Anyone who believes he or she is alone if fooling themselves by choosing to live in a false reality where everyone is confined by imaginary walls built by the words that man created to simplify, categorize, and separate the human race.

These thoughts have been formed through my own personal considerations and belief and are not knowingly plagiarized from another source.


Pictures found from:
http://www.freedomagenda.com/images/1989-11-09_People_freed_from_communist
_East_Germany_for_first_time_in_40_years_as_the_Berlin_Wall_is_torn_down_November_11_1989.jpg

http://mars.wnec.edu/~grempel/tours/germany/gifs/berlinwall.jpg

Bugs, Guts, Glory

So counting bugs has proved to be alright. I'll admit I took the job so my parents wouldn't continue to pressure me to find one and this one seemed as good as any. I live in a little valley where the total population can not exceed 20,000 and they may even be an over estimate. However, there is a large amount of mint fields. I grew up here and had no idea. My eyes have been opened to how I never fully appreciated the beauty of where I live as I remained most my youth in the city and ventured out only for the occasional hike or camping trip. I didn't realize that there was such a vast amount of farmland and open area. I think I was always vaguely aware, but now it is painted in my mind. I would like to think that it is not unlike some beautiful landscape found in the green hills of Ireland or somewhere in Europe. But that maybe because I decided to stay home while many of my friends went off gallivanting across the globe, then again...

I recently was in a longboarding accident. The word accident sounds just so pitiful, but I really didn't it on purpose. I would like to blame the two guys walking through the cemetery with out their shirts on or how they didn't step out of the way when I made the corner and shouted "Look out!" I could also blame the fact that I made the turn even when I saw they were there, but I am of a one tract mind when it comes to these sorts of things and so I stuck with it. This accident has let me to reflect on how the skin is attached to the body and how it can be left behind if not carefully attired when longboarding. It has also helped me think of my mortality and thus my inevitable stupidity. What was I doing longboarding in a cemetery, I am not really sure the details are a little fuzzy now. After a couple a week or so of pussing scabs and a bruised ego I have come to be very grateful for my decision long ago to wear a helmet while longboarding.

Due to the nature of my job and my life at this time I have taken up a series of projects in order to occupy my time. I bought this glorious bike made in London, England. I want to say it is a pre 1960s bike, but I am uncertain. All I know is it is a beauty and it it was mine for two dollars at a local yard sale. Oh what a fine day that was. This project involves me learning about bikes and how they work. So far I have cleaned the frame and replaced a tire. I do not want to paint it despite the chipped quality. I believe it is beautiful just how it is. The key now is to make sure my dad doesn't completely take over and so it will remain my project and not his. (Although his help is much appreciated and much needed.)