The Conumbrum of Curiosity – Or, Are You Happy, Hoopoe?

We can rise to the occasion and opportunity presenting itself in social media or slouch around yammering about meaningless doodads and faux everything as if hunky dorky. Don’t read on Jan B. – you probably will not like my concluding statements even though I have not written same, yet.

My mother was huge on manners, civility in each and ever case, and style expressed with creativity. Resourcefulness was engaged as a key component in her recipe for happiness. Her working theory was anyone with beaucoup bucks can buy stuff to make their life beauty bound. What makes us truly artists is putting together aesthetics on a shoestring, be it home, outfit, cosmology, or civilization. 

Fedbook becomes unbearably uncivil when people abuse/use mood altering substances acting out their emotionally unbalanced crap raging-on at another person they have never actually met, in person. Say what? Someone ventured netizen insanity is a cross cultural societal dis-ease of the times – borderless, frightful, and annoying considering options available. There are 1.6 billion humans on-line at any given moment. 

The blatant not-news are these attack chats and/or self-loathing bouts of he said, she said, they said, us vs them, and infinitum across the globe are easily edited out by those ones (I mean this phrase), and fortuitously, you and me. Click off, maybe block the basturd, yet plainly do not engage in trying to convince someone mood altered they could be off the wall. Flip over one’s mind set, dis-engage ego, and re-focus on right action. Nothing is to be gained dueling with a nut job in cyberville because their discourse has absolutely nothing to do with you. Mad cows wringing in their agony have nothing on our species.

The admission of guilt of human manufactured bull corn is never going to be made internally or externally by those flinging caca unless inside the rooms of a heavy duty therapist while under hypnosis? Self-loathing (always in denial) rules a poop-covered roost of its own scary cobwebbed pokemon. 

Existing by an imaginary river in pretend Egypt is a mighty intricate f**ked up force preventing self-awareness and brutal self-honesty. I know from my own mucking around in the trenches. Denial led me through hell and high water filtering a faked life via my brain and my heart circa 1974 through 1985. Being a functioning successful human being with a personal life in 28/9 shambles is a duplicity compounding itself, regularly. They (read anyone but me) had the problem, not moi. After a reinvention it turned out, it was me, albeit a mood altered smart working creative. Highly screwed up on what the nature of intimacy and my instant gratification process of choosing partners (personal, political and business) was the stoned viper eating its slithering tail.

The bubble brigade, my not at all clever estimation of the Sheeple, are another subset of our waning species. No amount of 2 x 4s bounced off their third eyes are going to break through channels. These folks prefer to not think, not consider, and not evaluate anything beyond their immediate needs and those of their nuclear dysfunctional families. Captured by the slave state their daily grind is one long brain pause punctuated with drone work and trying to make ends meet while bending over and taking it up the you know where. 

Those of us who are library junkies, art and music freaks, and book anteaters barely ever cease exploring the net. We do not surf the web, exactly. More like selective seductions beyond the first page in Google to light upon a fertile site and dig in deep seeking to know something fresh and sparkling. Linkage research is not actually taught. You either have a snooper’s snooty nose for it, or you don’t.

A long time ago, in a groovy hipster land far far away (Northern California) a Zen buddy of mine, a painter, a gay man, a chef, a builder, a thinker, a gardener, a philosopher, a humble shaman, explained to me why curiosity is not teachable. In fact, it cannot be transferred or layered on as the human need to understand is intrinsically centered in the faith one knows little. 

Being ego-less as possible is a tenant of Zen, as is nothingness becoming. The former concept is not available to all humans. The later requires an understanding given, never earned, and obviously by nature on-going, and as rare as a Whooping Crane in Idaho.

As our wailing on each other species crowds Earth and the globe shrivels with the internet our differences disappear, if we are curious. If we insist on turf wars and greed then ego and fear win the day, destroy cultures, and mangle the environment (our home nest) beyond livability.

A dear friend of mine, Mr. Hoopoe, sent me a short story I had not read in decades. I offer it to you (see the link below), Somerset Maugham’s Mr. Know All.

Mr. H proffered this story was him. And, indeed, many moons later, knowing and loving him, I concur. 

This is a tale as touted below about culture, manners, first impressions, values and prejudices. Is this not the operating essence, the funky ball of tin cans and sticky tangled string making up social media?

Dear Hoopoe: Reading Maugham’s tale, one more time, made me happy. For a man to know who he truly is could be perceived as a cross to bear, then again it may be why God exists. Possibly cyber anywhere is not vacuous and silly. Maybe, Gore Vidal was not right, when he said, “The unfed mind devours itself.”


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