Moral Issues Archive


THE ADVENTURES OF ‘I DON’T GET HIGH THAT MUCH’ GIRL: PROFOUNDLY IGNORANT (10/21/12)
by Nova
novaknowledgecreations.wordpress.com

It took me five minutes to type profoundly, not because I can’t spell, but because I kept repeating profoundly about a billion times until it had no meaning and was complete gibberish, glorious word noise gibberlishous gory glory. Radiohead’s “Don’t leave me high and Dry” is playing and it is hilariously amusing to me though I can’t seem to find the ability to laugh.

I am shaking inside because I’m having a panic attack and I have the notion in my head that because I am not sufficiently and by that I mean fully in this very moment, I am somehow slipping into the past, and in the past awaits a bloodthirsty tigress and she claws at my insides. She scratches and claws at my heart, lungs, and throat. And air can’t reach my lungs because my throat is slit and everything I inhale escapes through my neck before it can reach that vital organ that craves a full breathe.

Focusing on the future isn’t much better. I still can’t breathe not because my throat is ripped open but because someone or something infinite wide heavy and powerful is sitting on my face smothering me, I try to inhale but just get a mouth full of fabric or some substance that doesn’t allow air through it. Yet I can clearly feel myself inhale and exhale.

I tell myself to relax and for a moment complete peace comes aides me abides me, ceases me and eases me and sure we’ll go for it pleases me. But that only seems to stop the violent shaking for a moment, or two, or a billion. How the fuck should I know how to measure a moment?

I’m not angry or sad or lonely I just am… I wish I just was but I think in-between the peace is chaos and a lot of times I’m floating in oblivion and fear or guilt or self loathing or human loathing hits me and paralyzes me. It blinds me and causes me to run into ignorance, mundane routine, obedience, tolerance, and reluctant acceptance. What am I doing to change the world? What am I doing to change myself? How can you plan the future and only focus on the moment. How can you say… I’ll live in the moment another day?

There is only now… so if I’m not doing it now… have I ever? or will I ever? You’re not allowed to ask those questions they are irrelevant. do not apply. exit left. wash rinse repeat wash rinse repeat wash rise can I choose to do something else? Can I be something else? Looking out a window through a painting wondering why I can’t look inside from out there.

Sometimes I still need you. I don’t know you, but know you so well I can be you. What would I do? Am I doing it? I am not God, though I’ve said so many times that I am. I never meant literally or disrespectfully or pigheadedly. I am God as surely as you are and anyone or anything else is. My decisions affect the rest of the whole just as yours do. Some have more influence but they are just different versions of ourselves.

I’ve had these thoughts forever, just now. just now forever wash rinse repeat wash rinse repeat wash wash wash. There comes a time when you learn it’s not a crime to think outside the lines. You may burn in hell or rot in a jail cell, but that doesn’t make it a crime. In the minds of others you may be doomed even in your own mind the truth escapes you.

I believe because I call myself ignorant what I say can be easily dismissed. Because I let you know I’m high, it’s ok if what I say is slow, repetitious, idiotic, unpatriotic, false, boring, overdone, redone, silly, nonsense, or whatever other label comes to mind as you read these words and judge these thoughts. But my mind is so blurrily clear, I’m more focused than I’ve ever been but so easily distracted I forget where I began, or where to begin.


ANALOGY
by l1brarygrl
iloveseble.wordpress.com

One day last year as I walked around the lake, I thought about the fishermen dotting the shore, “regulars,” casting and waiting. My mind dove under water and imagined the lives–errands, dating (was there courtship?), mating, eating–the daily grind of these lake fish. How many families lived in this man-made liquid city? Was there a hierarchy? Were there different neighborhoods, and did they fight over property or trespassing? Swimming with the wrong fish? Domestic squabbles?

Then I pictured what happened every time a fish took the bait. The instantly alert human’s tightened grip on a stick that’s straining, bending as the hooked fish fights against the pull of rod and reel. Struggling, a tug of war, panicked attempts to swim through the pain of sharp metal puncturing and tearing at his mouth. For better or worse, this lake is his home, his family or friends are here, his life is here. Somehow he knows he won’t survive if dragged from it.

That was Jill. Like the fish and his lake, for better or worse, her home was with Dad. He’d given her a glimmer of hope at some burger joint–we never ate out–that we’d all live in DC when he remarried. Then suddenly we were moving to Mom’s at the end of the week. My pre-Algebra class, with Stephanie, threw me a going-away party that Friday. Too focused on Monday in a new county, school, making friends, keeping Steph and Leslie, I failed to notice Jill’s furious tug of war to stay with Dad. Her friends. School.

I fished as a kid, summers at my grandparents’ trailer home and cottage on another lake. Honored to sit with Grandpa in his boat as dawn broke, lines cast in murky water preferred by bass. Hooking sunfish one after another from a creaky wooden dock. So easy, the satisfaction of having “caught” something, pulling a short, round, iridescent creature from the water, flapping and gasping as I grasped and unhooked him. Tossing him back in the lake. There you go, I thought. No harm done.

I don’t recall seeing Dad doing that. Except with his daughter.


WAYS TO BE MORE TOLERANT!
by Mandy Moran
mandymoran.wordpress.com

If only life was full of sweetness and light and we were tolerant to everything we encountered….
Unfortunately life isn’t always that way and tolerance is a difficult thing to possess

Define Tolerance!

Let’s first think about what tolerance is and its meaning, we want people to treat us with respect,understanding and acceptance, in return we should reciprocate these virtues meaning a tolerance of the diversity of others and our societies!
Acceptance is similar to tolerance but different ~ you can tolerant something or someone without accepting them however you can’t accept without tolerating first…..

Understanding of something or someone helps with tolerance and then hopefully eventually acceptance.

If we were to try to envisage tolerance it would I think be blue, silver, even translucent, a calm gentle being. Something of great importance to each of us and the world.

We all remember being intolerant……..
It would be almost impossible to not feel intolerance at sometime in our life’s. There are ways we can change our thoughts though and try and practice more tolerance.

One of the Tolerance statues by Spanish artist and sculptor “Jaume Plensa” in Allen Parkway. Houston

Ways to help you practice more tolerance……

1.Put yourself into someone elses shoes, imagine being them, living their lifes, this can help all of us to have more acceptance once we understand.

2. Communication is incredibly important it helps to shed light on how someone or something is, it helps again with understanding. Taking down the barriers of misunderstanding……

3. Education of our minds we don’t have to compromise on our beliefs or not be who we are to tolerate others or things around us.
Just as ~

John F Kennedy said

4. Realisation that others or situations don’t compromise us, leads to acceptance…….

These are just a few tools to help us all be more tolerant in our everyday life’s.

I myself have to check my thoughts most days and think differently to stop myself acting out my feelings brought about by thoughts of negativity.

As always try to remember you are special and others differences can only enrich our life’s so please let’s try tolerance and with it we may just reach some personal peace……

Mandy.xx


BITE YOUR TONGUE…
by Send Sunshine
sendsunshine.wordpress.com

Bite your tongue when those nasty retorts want to jump out of your mouth. Have a heart. A favorite excuse people use is, “I am just being blatantly honest.” NO, you can be honest without harsh overtones, cutting digs or just plain rudeness. Blatant honesty comes from those under the age of, perhaps, six. We are all one. We all experience pain, joy, unjust and fairness. It is the simple things within our power to change. The choices we make. Choose positivity, bite your tongue, and, perchance, say something nice instead. Send Sunshine.


AMUSEMENT PARK IN JULY
by poulakose
memophilia.wordpress.com

Helios climbs over plastic skylines
Suburban wastelands rot away
Sweating faces glare behind melting glass
Bodies pickled in stinking fluids
Drenched days ache out every orifice

The stench of summer clings to skin
Styx flows beneath, cool and sweet
Tempting a swim of eternal relief
Where bodies splash in the infinite flow

Fingertips stretch and scratch
Tears and sweat drip from fluid faces
Stomachs ache and wretch and spill
Idle smiles line vomit paved streets

Footsteps sink into the asphalt
Lowering lingering souls into Hades
The piper plays a sterile melody
Cacophonous crowds march ever on

Sugared and salted fingers intertwine
Venom clings to stolen tongues
The sweetest poison by which to die

Souls collected under a waning moon
Burnt red shadows parade away
Darkness settles on an infinite cycle

A poem for the nature of humans in a theme park during summertime.


THE KINDNESS IN YOUR SMILE
by kimscaravelli
kimscaravelli.wordpress.com

By its simplest definition, “kindness” is just a synonym for friendliness. And I like to believe that I am a friendly and therefore “kind” person (also funny, lovable, uber-smart and modest). I have been known to help little old ladies shove grocery carts across parking lots and I almost always offer up a sympathetic smile to parents wrestling with crying toddlers. But I recently came to notice that my kindness has a certain ‘shallow’ quality to it that is not flattering. You know what little old ladies and crying toddlers have in common? Cuteness. And apparently my willingness to offer up kindness may be in direct proportion to the cuteness level of the recipient.

Homeless girl strumming guitar and sitting with cute dog will definitely get a smile and a couple of bucks but smelly homeless guy … I’m more inclined to start looking up at the clouds or out into traffic until I am well past him.

If you want to really learn about true self, may I suggest that you start walking around the streets with a four-legged companion. Your hairy friend will have no problem offering up kindness to every person you pass. He will wag his tail (or, in the case of my poor, tail-less schnauzer, maniacally shake his entire back end). He may even pull on the leash a bit, in an effort to get a little closer to the object of his affection. This is where the truth will be revealed…

When that tail wag (or maniacal shake) is directed at a sweet little old lady or a toddler, you will feel the corners of your mouth turn up. You might even offer up a quick nod of the head or some inane comment about the weather as you pass. But what happens when the person you are sharing the sidewalk with is the smelly homeless guy? Will you share a kind, friendly moment with him too? (Two-thumbs up if you can confidently answer ‘yes’). Or will you give the leash a little tug and hurry past?

The more I walked the more I noticed my reactions to people, but you know what else I noticed? Once I really looked at smelly homeless guy (which was unavoidable because you can’t tug a 45 lb dog past anything he is interested in sniffing) I came to see that he was far more sad than scary. And when I smiled at him the first time, he smiled back, and it was a beautiful smile.

Kindness happens naturally when you really look at someone. That’s what my dog taught me.


SLOWING DOWN DIALOGUES
by alzarghit
kaizenideas.wordpress.com

Warning: I am hereby introducing a rational (i.e., based on what I know) argument for acting morally. This is quite different from religious (i.e., based on what people believe) arguments. I am aware that I am also deriving some conclusions about death which are no longer knowledge items, but rather beliefs; that being said, my “religion” does not require any “supernatural being” to do any work in order to ensure that GOOD and BAD deeds are rewarded / punished. This means that I advocate a belief in SOMETHING [the principle that BAD breeds BAD and GOOD breeds GOOD] and not SOMEBODY [dispensing justice]; by the way, I didn’t invent this principle, a.k.a., karma, or, as we say in aikido,

Good causes [result in] good effects. Bad causes [result in] bad effects
(善因善果、悪因悪果).

And it all comes back to us. Always.
(必ず我が身にかえる).

There is this strange concept in quantum physics that certain things are more likely to be found in certain places, at certain frequencies, which are spaced out from each other. You could think of these as “lucky numbers” (or solutions to complicated equations beyond your average person’s grasp).

I would venture a hypothesis that the human brain has been culturally conditioned in each society to accept dialogues of a certain length (roughly 3 minutes for a song, 20-30 seconds for a conversational turn, 1-2 minutes for a self-introductory speech, etc.), with dialogues undershooting or overshooting this set number by a significant margin being rejected out of hand as anomalous (to grasp this, think how inappropriate a four-second song or a ten-minute self-introductory speech feels).

In addition to the culturally-set values, we would also have been conditioned biologically; think about us as animals: How long could you pay attention to a single stimulus before that would endanger your survival? Before that would encroach on everything else you had to attend to?

Maybe you had to go procure food, right? You don’t have time to listen to this guy talking for more than half a minute? One minute? The acceptable length of a casual dialogue is built into us by our evolutionary history (obviously), and I assume that it would be under a minute. Imagine a Neanderthal having a conversation with another Neanderthal; how many grunts?

How about the anatomy? Would all the parts of the vocal tract (which we take for granted in homo sapiens) be there to allow speech and for how long? Would I have been choking more because the anatomy was not as perfected as it has come to be in the meantime? The shape of the mouth has changed; think about how much difficulty a monkey has in maintaining control of all the muscles (lips, tongue etc.) which appears so natural and easy to us?

So that’s it, 3 minutes, that’s all the time I could keep your attention, so good-bye.

[This post is based on a spoken dialogue (one guy – other like-minded humans) so you might understand some references to external sounds and dialogue length better if you listen to the audio as well; I couldn’t insert any media in this comment-post, so if you care to listen to my (non-native) rant, go to http://kaizendialogues.com/2014/09/20/slowing-down-dialogues/ ]

Now, if I assume that your attention span is only 3 minutes long, things become interesting. If it really is and you tuned out, then you’re not listening to this. So I’m now talking to the other guys, the guys who have a longer-than-three-minutes tolerance for one voice recording.

Mind you, a high tolerance of long-winded arguments is not necessarily a virtue; maybe I’ve sounded idiotic, or incoherent after the first minute passed and you’ve decided 3 minutes is the limit, after that you’re just going to stop listening. When did you stop listening? Well, if you did, then you’re not listening to this anymore.

So now I’m talking to the other guys, the minority. Who belongs to this (incredibly patient) minority? The people who listen for 15 minutes?

My own style of speaking is organized as a rant, where I just run through the fields; discourse involves “running about” (currere, let’s remember the Latin). So it’s a discourse, but it’s a rant as well, a rambling dialogue where I’m talking and you just happen to be in the minority who have nothing better to do than listen, or who are just intrigued by this {self-infatuation that is so patently demonstrated by this fellow who is posing as an English speaker, but obviously is more or less pretending to be one}. Yeah?

You can see through me so easily, right? As an English speaker, my friend, as an English speaker. You can’t see through me as a Romanian; you can’t see through me as a Japanese; you can’t see through me, not through my head, but you can see some parts of me, those which I put into words on a track that’s (usually) 15 minutes long.

Allow me to proceed to the crux of this dialogue:

If you listen carefully to all that’s happening around you, then you realize that sometimes you need to listen more carefully. I’m not sure if you’re catching the (sounds of the) movements of the fan blades that are turning near my room (where I am now walking around and talking). [Obviously, you need to play the audio file to understand all references to sounds]

I’ve had this insight when I was in Tsukuba (Japan) some years ago; I was at a friend’s house, it was raining, it was night time, I was on the balcony, and I kept hearing this noise combined with the noise of the blades of the fan of the air-conditioning unit; I’ve heard this noise that sounded very strange but somehow familiar. Then it just hit me that it was the sound of rain hitting the cars passing in front of the house: Ssshhhh, ssshhhh, sssshhhh…

Each car would go through a certain space, would hit a certain number of drops of water falling from the sky, the impact of which would ripple the sounds (sound waves) through the air and these would eventually hit my ear drums; then my brain would spend some time struggling to assign a source to this sound (the sound of cars passing through rain).

So we spend time in assigning cause, but we’re usually not paying that much attention because we don’t have enough time, there are too many sounds going on around us. Then, I listened to the fan blades and at some point I realized that, if I meditated long enough, I could feel it slowing down, I could hear each blade individually, I could hear it going through the air and hitting the air particles, and then these air particles would ripple and the waves would hit my ear drums.

The insight, the revelation I want to talk about is not this, of course; so far it was just interesting. The revelation was that as we would lay dying at some point in our lives, these sounds (from the world around us) would still strike us, but the intervals between each wave would feel longer, and longer, and longer, and time would seem to slow down, and then slow down, and then slow down some more.

Now, my guess is that in this final dialogue when your body is probably paralyzed, when the blood stops flowing to your brain, when the last sound is that of the last beat of your heart: boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom… Let’s say that was the last one. But there wouldn’t be a last one in terms of what you (=the dying person) perceive; it would be continuously slowing down, but the time interval perception would just continue to grow, and each interval would seem longer, and longer, and longer…

What does this tell us in terms of what we should do on this planet, while we’re here alive? It tells us that we should live our lives in the best manner possible: Not because of some reward in a future life, not because of some categorical imperative, not because of some utilitarian reasons (I do good, you do me good in return, and everybody’s happy), not because of some command from an imaginary being. No, simply because there would be a lot of intervals of time in that last dialogue you have to carry with yourself for longer, and longer, and longer intervals of time, as you’re slowing down, more, and more, and more. At that moment (when you’re dying) there would be so much time that you’d probably be going back (the famous re-living of life experiences and so on).

Of course, I am not sure of this; I haven’t died and come back to tell you, but I have an almost religious conviction at this point that the moment of dying only exists for those who remain but does not exist per se for the person dying. Always getting slower, never completely stopping.

The complete stop would not occur, because that’s when time would stop, that’s when you’d say: Okay, that’s the last interval. There would never be such a time, there would be no end; when time stops, that would be it, but that would be it in terms of you while you’re still here, and while you’re still here there’s still time, there’s still an interval of a dialogue going on in which you might have to account (to yourself) for all you’ve done while you were alive. Who were you? How long did you talk to yourself and how long did you talk to others? How will you look back to all that you have done?

Imagine how much more terrible this dialogue would be for a suicidal person, and you will understand why suicide is bad, intrinsically. Imagine how much worse would this dialogue be for somebody who has killed another person, because this would be re-lived again and again, in slower and slower motion, each time unable to go back and change it. Each time full of regret, full of the same, essentially bad, feelings that you’ve experienced originally.

Imagine how much more rewarding and how much better it would be to re-live mostly good experiences…

So this is important as a moral compass not just for me in terms of what I should do from a selfish point of view (“I want to rest in peace as I lay dying”), but also in terms of me and how I affect others and how I could possibly change their eternities spent as they lay dying, those eternity-bound dialogues in the last moments, in which they review their lives and how I have impacted them. Would they be a series of pleasant, funny, amusing, touching moments? Or, revolting, disgusting, hateful moments?

So choose well my friend, choose well while you’re alive, not just for yourself but also for others because in each moment of our lives we’re deciding those last dialogues for each other and we’re setting ourselves up for an eternity of living good or bad experiences in those last moments.

So here’s my religious experience, my mystical insight. You can share yours, if you like.

Post Scriptum: The above principle does not guarantee that if you do GOOD, you will live a GOOD (=happy) life and nothing BAD (=horrible) will happen to you (unfortunately, the reverse is true as well: People doing BAD stuff can have all sorts of GOOD stuff happening to them); we all know this constitutes an INSURMOUNTABLE argument against the existence of a God-like figure, but some of us are comfortable going around it by posing the existence of another supernatural world where things get balanced somehow.

Nevertheless, if you share my belief and act accordingly, you only have to worry about the GOOD and BAD stuff for which YOU are personally responsible; if a drunk driver runs over me (=BAD stuff), this will not haunt me in my final moments (=eternities) because it is not something I lived to regret; however, the drunk driver will not have this luxury and he will have to spend many a moment (=eternity) pondering his responsibility for this BAD act and all the BAD acts that would (almost inevitably) follow.

It sounds naive, but doing GOOD is (in the very long run) the easy path as it ensures you will have peace of mind for (that illusory-but-otherwise-very-real-to-your-consciousness) eternity; of course, doing GOOD is (in the short run) the difficult path because you cannot take any of the (BAD) shortcuts as these would haunt you for (that illusory-but-otherwise-very-real-to-your-consciousness) eternity.


MANKIND’S DOWNFALL
by rawlse
rawlse.wordpress.com

Killer of justice
Corruptor of love,
A vine sinking in
No blue sky above.

Shattering the soul’s mirror
Filling death black ink inside,
Hatred and depression grow
A swelling, festering tide.

Countless dead because of you
Rolling in graves of unrest,
Harboring the worst of sins
Selfishness. Pride. Unfaithfulness.

Paper families torn in the wind,
Tears of joy drying into anger.
Ruiner of the living, how I hate you
Greed, hatred and lust—you monster!

World of blind people—wake up!
And see what you are allowing,
The coming destruction of your lives,
Everything crumbles to ruins—despairing!

The black pit of doom is beneath our feet
We naively sit on crumbling shelves,
Wasting time, life, and real love away…
Please save us, God—fast—from ourselves!

 
 

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