Stop kidding yourself

#Trust30 Prompt: What is burning deep inside of you? If you could spread your personal message RIGHT NOW to 1 million people, what would you say?

Stop kidding yourself.
You who hated to be judged: Do you judge?
You who hate thoughtlessness: Do you think?
You cry out for democracy to be spread, but what elitism will you tolerate to bring it about?
You cry out for justice, but do you even know what justice is?
Would you be willing to be treated justly, just as you demand that the unjust be punished?
You want justice for the poor, but do you give freely?
You want the rich to pay more of their share, and yet are you not greedy?
You deny that there is evil while the concentration camps still stand.
You cannot love the earth and hate people, and you cannot even hate haters and live on the earth.

You have opinions, but you cannot think.
You need righteousness, and yet your opinions are so strong you cannot ask for it.
You hate being called a sinner and yet you beg for forgiveness; from what?
You control by being out of control.
You mistake being out of control for freedom; how pitiful.
You shoehorn your idea of a savior into a hipster, morphing hubris into character.
You are an expert in things you know nothing about.
Your voice is infallible though it has never gotten anything right.
You are an authority on how to live, but you have never truly lived even one day.
You will never see yourself in these sentences, because you are blind.

There is only one piece of good news but you will never hear it reported.
Perhaps you are deaf also?
It was clever to make history subjective: then it could begin when you were born.
You are certainly deaf to any tradition, and banish the old to oblivion.
You can feel good about trusting your gut, but the transcendentalists are dead.
Their antebellum self-reliance could do no more than self-actualize them.
When slavery and civil war came they saw the shallowness of withdrawal into their minds.
Help from outside us must come or bondage and bloodshed will be dragged inside.
What we could not do for ourselves he did for us.
So, stop kidding yourself.

Who’s Afraid of Prof. Arkoudas?

#Trust30 Prompt: “Always do what you are afraid to do,” Emerson said. What is ‘too scary’ to write about? Try doing it now.

I admit that I have been afraid to make my Professor Arkoudas character incarnate. He has always remained in my brain, though occasionally I have scratched out a sentence here or there to remember a fertile idea. So now I am going to write a little more of a dialogue to flesh out Arkoudas. My fear stems from giving life to a fictional character that is a meld of friends and mentors that I genuinely respect. I want them to live on in my stories so others can enjoy them as much as I do.

Arkoudas was giving me one of those looks that are part of the peculiar arsenal of curmudgeons. His eyes were mere slits that looked like the lowest row of a number of furrows in his brow. The hint of a smile mocked me. “What are you making now?” He asked.

“I don’t like plain tortilla chips without something to dip them in, ” I explained. I take this Always Save ranch dressing and mix in these spices from the rack.”

“What spices?” He accused. He obviously thought me incompetent in the kitchen.

“I ground up these dried red peppers with salt, sugar, and citric acid…”

“Citric acid? Are you kidding? Who uses that?”

Three questions in staccato should be prohibited by law. I should have said, “Yes, no, me,” but I am not quick enough. So I explained, “It is possible to have it on hand without being an apothecary.”

“But that’s the kind of ingredient you only see on product labels,” he protested.

“So what are you saying? Do you mean citric acid doesn’t really exist because it’s on ingredient labels?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Exactly? You say exactly? Why, that’s outrageous!” I really couldn’t believe an educated person would deny the existence of something that was so common.

“Not at all. Citric acid doesn’t exist because it is on ingredient labels, my friend. It is on ingredient labels because it is a real commodity and part of the recipe of the product in the jar.” He paused for effect. “Now I see your jaw has dropped nearly onto your chest. Such a habit is really not healthy–so hard on the jaw and the salivary glands all at the same time.”

I blinked in disbelief. He continued.

“You are so imprecise in the way you ask questions. I really wonder how you could have written a defensible dissertation with such ambiguity. But tempus fugit, and please bring those chips along with this very strange dip into the living room and let’s get down to business.” Then he picked up the bowl of tortilla chips and the citric acid dip and left the kitchen.

Before I had a chance to gather up my lower jaw and consider my next physical movement, he popped his head back into the doorway of the kitchen. “Oh say, I think we could use a pressful of coffee if you could make it. What kind of beans do you have today?”

“Starbucks Verona,” I sputtered out.

“Starbucks, eh? Well, I suppose that will have to do. Remember to pour in water that has not begun to boil and press it after two minutes.” The head popped out.

The head popped in. “Oh, and I suppose you know you would be courting disaster if you used a metal spoon to stir the press coffee? Wooden spoons are best.”

“Yes, I know that.” I said.

“Good man,” he said. This time the head, and his body, stayed in the living room. When I brought in the French press I found him ensconced in my favorite leather chair.

“One more thing,” he said without looking up from the document he was reading. “Where do you get this curious idea that inanimate things like citric acid exist?”

Now I understood what he was getting at. At times like this I reverted to something about my ethnicity. As far as I knew, Arkoudas never employed ethnic slurs. He did not think one nationality was superior to any other. In fact, though he loved his country he thought America as melting pot provided compelling evidence that all ethnic backgrounds displayed ridiculous behavior equally well.

“Oh, you know us Celtic people. We have a long tradition of ascribing existence to rocks, plants, and water…” I said, breaking the sentence off in such as way that I invited him to add to the list. He declined the invitation, but the strategy worked nevertheless.

“Ah, yes. I suppose I could have employed an understanding of general circumstances. That was a tendency of the Celts. But really, old fellow, trees are one thing, but your ancestors had no knowledge of the ingredients of chili powder.”

He was right. Citric acid was sometimes added to the blend of spices in chili powder. He knew I could have saved time by adding chili powder to the ranch dressing. So that was that, and we moved on to more important things.

Chirrup ye saints o’ God!

#Trust30 Prompt: What would you say to the person you were five years ago? What will you say to the person you’ll be in five years?

To the Me of 2006 I would say, “Hey, you are close to the finish line: You are going to finish that dissertation within a year even though you may be the oldest guy at commencement! You can make it!” and to the Me of 2016 …if man is still alive, if woman can survive…I would say, “Don’t you dare forget how that turned out five years ago. Your Ebeneezer will perpetuate the memory of that nailbiting season. And send me a singin’ telegram from the future, Doc: ‘See there, nothing to worry about…nothin’ ta make ye feel afraid, nothin’ ta make ye doot, remember… and keep singing!'”