Unity in Diversity: All Rivers Flow to the Sea

One is a River.

Everyone is a Sea.

The Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu symbolizes the paradox of life:

it portrays unity and interdependence amidst diversity.

Individuals, groups, and even nations with different perspectives or identities

can achieve more together when they embrace their shared interests rather than engage in conflict.

The crocodiles' fight over food despite having a shared stomach underscores

the irony and futility of internal divisions within a unified body.

The symbol calls for harmony,

urging people to focus on common goals rather than on trivial disputes.

ah, bless the animals

we have always been, in our coats and shoes

and clumsy language, bless our willful ignorance,

so enormous, so world-altering, that, like the great wall of China,

it can be seen from outer space,

where the gods are shaking their heads even now,

in pity and in awe.

an artist's or a philosopher's task is to demonstrate the plain structure of the relationship that may restore the connectedness between the Earth and humans

there is no such thing as a murderous catastrophe

the catastrophe in the midst of which we dwell, yes, we ourselves dwell in that ceaseless apocalypse that we need not wait for, but need to recognize is already here, and has been present all along

there is no dualism in existence

all is evil, or else nothing is

everything plays the roles of both perpetrator and victim in this drama of inevitable catastrophe

how it eats at you, the news, always it’s in the news,

not even a story needed, just a snippet of headline

Cooperation is self-interest.

Lately I've been into collecting charms, trinkets, and symbols. While I try to be mindful of cultural appropriation, I've adopted a traditional symbol from Ghana in Africa as one of my own because it speaks so powerfully to me and so accurately captures my values. The Adinkra Symbol of Unity in Diversity: Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu.

The symbol depicts two crocodiles crossed over each other, intersecting in the middle--and sharing a single stomach. So, if either eats, it feeds them both. What is good for one is good for the other. I'm fond of sharing the phrase cooperation is self-interest and repeat it often on this blog--usually along with another piece of evidence, whether human or otherwise in nature, that supports the claim. It is one of the key values I live by. And I find this symbol depicts it well. When one benefits, the whole benefits. Cooperation is self-interest.

Yet a dimension to the symbol is that the two heads (and tail and limbs) remain separate and distinct. Sharing a stomach does not mean surrendering all individuality to the collective. Everyone benefits when one head eats, but only that one head has the experience--and, presumably, enjoyment--of eating. Each head can have its own unique experiences, thoughts, perspective, and personality. It is both its own creature and inescapably part of the whole. Independent and united. Individual and connected.

In my last post, All Wars Are Civil Wars, I shared my results on the Strengths Deployment Inventory (SDI), which I recently took for a work function. Part of the description of my style:

You achieve feelings of self-worth by being genuinely helpful to others while developing self-sufficiency for yourself and others.

For you, the real measure of success is how helpful you can be without diminishing the independence of those you are helping. You balance principles and feelings, logic and emotion. You want to see your well-planned help bring out the best in others.

You use reason and systems to improve the welfare and independence of others. You alert others to risks they may not have considered. You prefer an open and tolerant environment that respects people's feelings and is based on fair principles.

And previously I've shared my results from the StrengthsFinder tool (see: The Blockbuster Video School of Life and Find the Thread of Love and Beauty in It All). It ranks you in 34 different strengths, top to bottom, indicating which are most and least you. A person's top five are almost always a unique combination and key to understanding them, the the next five helping to create the full picture.

The strengths fall into four different categories, and most of my top ten fall into what they call the "Strategic Thinking" category. Here they are (with #7 thrown in from the "Executing" category because it meshes so well):

1. Input - Inquisitive, always wanting to know more, craving information

2. Learner - Constantly strive to learn and improve, value the process of continuous learning

3. Intellection - Like to think, like mental activity

6. Ideation - Fascinated by ideas

7. Deliberative - Take serious care in making decisions or choices

8. Analytical - Search for reasons and causes, analyze situations and factors

9. Strategic - Look for patterns and issues, create alternative ways to proceed

I'm a thinker.

But my top ten isn't completely homogeneous, because rounding out my top five are two from the "Relationship Building" category:

4. Connectedness - A powerful conviction that everyone is connected, a belief that everyone is part of something larger

5. Individualization - Understand and are intrigued by others' unique qualities

That, to me, is the point of all of the learning and thinking, to be able to better understand others and know how to help us all discover how deeply connected we are.

I made a poem of sorts with descriptions taken from my top five report. Here's the final part capturing Connectedness and Individualization:

You link ideas, events, people.

We are all connected,

part of something larger,

not isolated from one another

or from the earth and the life on it.

You recognize how people are alike and how they are different,

intrigued by the unique qualities of each person,

you can draw out the best in each,

build productive teams.

You are a bridge builder for people of different cultures.

Unity in Diversity.

Here is a longer description of Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu: Adinkra Symbol of Unity in Diversity from TribalGH:

The Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu symbol, known as the “Siamese Crocodiles,” is one of the most profound and evocative Adinkra symbols, representing unity in diversity. In Twi, the Akan language, the symbol literally translates as "Siamese crocodiles sharing one stomach but fighting for food". Despite sharing a common destiny, the two heads of the crocodiles struggle against each other for the food that ultimately benefits both. This rich metaphor is used to communicate a universal truth about cooperation, democracy, and the futility of conflict when everyone shares the same end goal.

The Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu symbolizes the paradox of life: it portrays unity and interdependence amidst diversity. It teaches that individuals, groups, and even nations with different perspectives or identities can achieve more together when they embrace their shared interests rather than engage in conflict.

The crocodiles' fight over food despite having a shared stomach underscores the irony and futility of internal divisions within a unified body. When seen in contexts like family, organizations, and nations, the symbol calls for harmony, urging people to focus on common goals rather than on trivial disputes.

A famous proverb associated with this symbol says:

"Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu, won afuru bom nso woredidi a na woreko"

Translation: "Siamese crocodiles, sharing one stomach, fight for food."

This proverb emphasizes the absurdity of fighting for resources that, when gained, will equally benefit both. It teaches that no matter how different people may seem, their fates are often intertwined. Cooperation leads to mutual benefit, while conflict only wastes valuable resources.

The origins of Adinkra symbols, including Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu, can be traced back to the Akan people of Ghana and Côte d'Ivoire. These symbols were historically used to represent deep philosophical concepts and proverbs, with each design bearing cultural, ethical, and moral values. Initially, Adinkra symbols were primarily used in royalty and sacred ceremonies but have since expanded into various aspects of daily life, including clothing, architecture, and even corporate branding.

Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu is commonly stamped onto traditional cloth worn during significant gatherings such as funerals, festivals, and political events. The symbol's representation of unity in diversity has made it a popular choice during occasions that bring together people from various backgrounds.

In modern society, the Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu symbol serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of democracy and collaboration. Whether in governance, business, or interpersonal relationships, this Adinkra symbol underscores that success is achieved through mutual respect, cooperation, and understanding of shared interests.

No matter how different we may seem, our fates are intertwined.

I love this poetic reflection in response to the inauguration of president 47 and other current events.

Alison Luterman

PRAISE THE BROKEN PROMISE OF AMERICA

Praise deep mineral veins under rich dirt,

and fossilized remains of dinosaurs turning themselves into gas

for our benefit. Praise the exhausted earth,

miles and miles of subsidized corn

and cattle lowing from their hell-holes

in automated milking barns.

Praise farmworkers rising before dawn,

their sore backs and aching knees. Praise the myths

that drew them here, stories eagerly consumed

when there is nothing to eat but faith.

Praise the courage of the reverend to look

the dragon in the eye and preach mercy;

praise whatever hidden waterways are still pristine.

Praise music that refused to play at the funeral of democracy.

and the killing cold that swept through Washington

when the fake Pope took power.

Praise drag queens and lipstick lesbians, boys who are girls

and girls who are lions, butch women wearing tool belts,

and all the music theater nerds

who are even now building new passageways

mapping the next underground railroad

and suiting up to be conductors—oh, everybody,

get on board! This train will chug quietly

across the great plains and over rocky Sierras,

into the desert where people still leave bottles of water

and packets of food for the desperate

who have always been the lifeblood

of this nation. It will stop in obscure hamlets

to pick up fugitives with tears tattooed on their cheeks

and fraying backpacks overspilling with contraband books.

Praise the weirdos because if anyone can save us

it will be us. And praise all the glittering illusions

we gawked at, ignoring our own neighbors

in favor of a 24-hour peep show on the internet.

Praise the convict fire fighters on the front lines in L.A.,

battling the insurmountable for ten dollars a day. We gambled

our future for a hot air balloon with a hole in it. Praise

our reckless hubris, and the infinite distractions

of the hall of mirrors we find ourselves in now, and bless

our overwhelmed brains, scurrying like mice for shelter.

Bless our collective rage, and protect

the officers who stood up on January 6th and now see their attackers

roaming the streets like rabid dogs, ah, bless the animals

we have always been, in our coats and shoes

and clumsy language, bless our willful ignorance,

so enormous, so world-altering, that, like the great wall of China,

it can be seen from outer space,

where the gods are shaking their heads even now,

in pity and in awe.

—from Poets Respond

It is no flaw to be flawed. Struggle onward regardless and aspire to be more.

Of Spadework for a Palace by László Krasznahorkai:

The ravings of a mad librarian.

. . . until now been referring to as my dream, yes, from here on it would be different, I would be on my own, by myself, I concluded, having to admit that if what I have been calling the Permanently Closed Library was to be realized, as it must be, then the work, no matter how unrealistic this sounds, would have to be accomplished by myself alone, that is, I alone, all by my lonesome self, must accomplish the transfer of all the books from the New York Public Library to their new location, all 53 million of them, and only the devil however knows exactly how many had to be brought here, to this magnificent Block, so that I quickly went home, sat down in my easy chair in the nearly empty apartment, oh, I forgot to mention that early in the previous week . . .

Krasznahorkai does a masterful job creating this unhinged rant of a man who has, after 41 years as a librarian at the New York Public Library, descended completely into his obsession of creating a "permanently closed library" to never be entered, merely appreciated from a distance for its innate beauty. Mr. Herman Melvill, our narrator who shares a name with the famous author, shares this vision in a single, 96-page sentence, a continuous ramble that is hyper and propulsive and, somehow, engaging and not nonsensical. He even manages to include some literary criticism, art appreciation, and philosophy.

It's fascinating and entertaining.

A longer taste:

. . . this is still the dream I am speaking of, and yes, on the one hand there would be readers who each day will try to enter the libraries in order to request books (to read them in situ or to take them out on loan) but they would not be able to come in and remove books from the shelves or outright borrow them, for the libraries on the other hand would be closed, yes my God CLOSED, permanently, oh, dear God in heaven, the books unmolested and unread, what a lovely notion even just to dream about, and here I will go one step further because, speaking for myself, I trace this vision back to around three months after I started working at the library, yes, by then I already had the feeling that this library belonged to me, and in fact I'd never been crazy about lending things for instance, on days when they came around for the blood drive I never signed up, no, and what's more, if a colleague knocked on my door to ask for a pinch of salt, I had no salt to give away--much less a book from the library--I considered the library books to be mine the same way as my blood and salt were, that's how I felt after not even three months on the job, and that's how it's been ever since, I can't explain how I came to this realization so rapidly, but already back then, after three months, I felt as if I were part of some apocryphal story from the Bible, where the librarian is not some lackey at the beck and call of library patrons, searching out and handing over books, but rather a ... a ... a ... keeper ... the keeper of the Library, who stands fast in front of the unmarked and undivinable entrance, a portal that cannot be entered, refusing to let anyone come in or to allow anything to go out, no reader may enter and no book may leave the premises, that was my dream--conceived and growing and taking shape within me--the secret dream of every librarian, although many would deny it: go and see for yourself (and again I am not speaking to any one in particular, as I've already mentioned I can only write if I address "someone"), yes, go see for yourself, all librarians are like this, when you, a reader, request something from them, the librarians (and I mean the real librarians) will rarely look you in the eye, and they are always irritable, they mumble when you speak to them, without giving you an answer, as if you hadn't spoken loudly enough, as if they'd had trouble hearing your question, or as if they'd found your inquiry simpleminded, and I could go on here, because that's exactly how I too have behaved, and as I've mentioned, I never felt I was the only one, no, I had an entire army of librarians standing behind me, and vanishing--their shoes squeaking off through the stacks--at the sight of a customer approaching with a request slip, no, no, and no again, we did not relish readers and still do not, for in our eyes there is and there can be no difference between one reader and the next, all readers are alike, they interrupt, they impede and prevent us from being real librarians, and, after all, a librarian, as I've said, is not a lackey, such an idea implies an absolute misunderstanding of a library's role, yes, I began to have a clearer and clearer sense of the situation, especially mine, here at the New York Public Library, public library my eye, whoever came up with that appellation got it wrong, divorcing the concept of the library from its rightful definition and reducing it to designate a mere common shop, a lend-ing in-sti-tution, whereas libraries are towers filled with books--and here the "tower" is just as important as "books"--they are towers that ought to be kept permanently locked, and this notion became firmly entrenched in my mind as the months and years and, yes, decades went by, libraries (as I had written down already back then, when I was barely past my earliest jottings relating to the Earth), libraries (as I wrote near the end of my first notebook) are the most exceptional and exalted works of art, yes, that's it, and people on the outside should be gratified to behold them from a distance and reflect, Ah, there is the library and I am here, which is vastly preferable to Ah, here's the library, as they close in on it, which is of course far worse, but in any case, the ideal library with, say, fifty million books shall sit there, a treasure trove that no one should ever be allowed to touch, since it preserves its value precisely by virtue of standing by, ever ready to manifest this value, by being ready and sitting there, in other words, that's all, and after a time this was what I kept writing down day after day, and it became increasingly obvious that this idea simply could not be bottled up although--at this point!!!--I am not sure if anyone beside myself is able to appreciate such sanctity, but in any case I kept writing this vision down, unfurling the thought day after . . . 

And the feelings, at least some of them, that seem to be at the heart of his breakdown:

 . . . in fact, we might as well say it: he was dissatisfied with the Manhattan of today, which was already there in Lowry's day, and which to an extent had had its beginnings at the time of Melville's walks, and the reason he, that is Woods, was dissatisfied was that he loved, truly loved the real Manhattan, and for this reason he needed its reality to demonstrate the extent to which architecture was responsible for our being sundered not only from Heaven, a rupture that had so devastated Melville, but from the Earth as well, so that in fact here in Manhattan we have nothing to do with the Earth we live on, and therefore have nothing to do with reality, that is to say everything is covered up, reality is covered up, and an artist's or a philosopher's task is to demonstrate the plain structure of the relationship that may restore the connectedness between the Earth and humans, Woods made no mention of the Heavens, I believe that he did not think too highly of Heaven, perhaps he was downright exasperated by the way humans for thousands of years have been speaking of Heaven, because we are still stuck at that stage, Woods probably thought, and Melville had written about this, he had created Moby-Dick and all the rest in this spirit, in the awareness that we have a perverted picture of reality, for according to Melville we have brought about a picture of reality that is mendacious, and stemming from that, a blind society, where people are convinced that they know the nature of the reality they inhabit, whereas they are completely misguided, for they are wrong on both counts, on the one hand they haven't the least notion of what reality is like, and, on the other hand, their conviction that they do know what this reality is like is disastrous, said Woods, as had Melville, too, of course, not to mention Lowry, who had not spoken of this directly, but suffered because of it, because of such falsehood, while in his own intemperate way he had suffered from the truth as well, it broke his heart, and that was how he came to write Under the Volcano, with a broken heart, and came to follow in Melville's footsteps, because, let's face it, all three of them were fully aware that catastrophe is the natural language of reality, and that catastrophe may originate in nature, but it may also follow from human evil, it makes no difference, and furthermore according to Woods catastrophe is NOT EVEN EVIL, we cannot speak of it as of some evildoer, the way for instance people speak about an earthquake, that at a given location an earthquake of such and such magnitude killed a given number of people and devastated this or that city and so on, no, not so, said Woods, who died, as it happened, the night Hurricane Sandy hit New York, but Melville had said the same thing and so did Lowry, there is no such thing as a murderous catastrophe, of course with regard to us yes, granted, but the catastrophe itself cares not a whit about whom it may harm, this is a perilous line of thought if we extend it to human evil, but it still leads in the right direction, Woods believed, as did Melville, for these two, and of course Lowry as well, quite simply refused to take for granted that the point of view from where we consider the universal is self-evident, to put it plainly--which is the only way I can put it, I am being rather hypocritical here, since I am incapable of a more complex wording--in any case the question is, what does one, what does humankind need more: reality or the falsehood we can cover it up with, and they had concluded that falsehood carries a far greater risk, and if that is correct, and we provide, and thereby alarm, people with a true picture of reality, then we must accordingly change our way of life here on Earth, namely, said Melville, as did Woods, and Lowry, drunk as a lord, concurred, we must recognize that catastrophe is permanent and is not aimed at us, catastrophe doesn't give a shit about us, of course it destroys us if we happen to be in its way, but as far as it's concerned, this is not destruction, destruction does not exist, or, to look at this another way, destruction is going on every single moment, and the astounding meaning of Woods's message is that the whole works, the entire workings of the universal is destruction and annihilation, devastation and ruination, how on earth can I say this right, in other words there is no dichotomy at work here, no such thing exists, it is imbecilic to talk about antithetical forces, two opposed sides, a reality describable in terms of mutually complementary concepts, silly to talk about good and evil, because all is evil, or else nothing is, for total reality can only be seen as continual destruction, permanent catastrophe, reality is catastrophe, this is what we inhabit, from the most miniscule subatomic particle to the greatest planetary dimensions, everything, do you understand, and again I am not addressing anyone in particular, everything plays the roles of both perpetrator and victim in this drama of inevitable catastrophe, therefore we simply cannot do otherwise than acknowledge this, and deal with the makeup of destruction, for instance the enormous forces that are shaping our Earth at every moment, we must confront the fact of war on Earth, because there is war in the Universe, and here comes Melville again with his brutal notion, that there is all of this and God is nowhere, that benevolent God the creator and judge is nowhere to be found, but instead we have Satan, and nothing but Satan, do you understand?!, by 1851 Melville ALREADY KNEW that only that Emptiness of Satan exists, about whom Auden wrote that

/he/ is unspectacular and always human,

And shares our bed and eats at our own table . . . 

and I am not quoting this from memory, I had to look it up, but anyway, the point is that I believe Auden has really hit the nail on the head, it seems he too is asking here the same question I am asking, namely, how could he (Melville) know?, but who would be able to answer that, am I to say now that Melville knew because he kept on the move, sailed the oceans?, and the oceans he had sailed had given him an extraordinary understanding of the Earth?, but I will not make that claim, because for all of this it was essential that he himself be the one on the move, sail the oceans, and possess this knowledge, in other words, the knowledge, being on the move, and the travels by themselves account for nothing and explain nothing, so let us just say, to repeat myself, he was connected, and all of this connection had come to him when his spirit was at its freshest, and at the same time this spirit kept moving, and as he must have realized THERE IS NO DUALISM IN EXISTENCE, but what does exist, said Melville in Moby-Dick, and Clarel, and Billy Budd, is man's absurd dignity, as a result of which the tragedy of man becomes manifest precisely at the moment, at the sacred moment when man dares to resist this supreme truth, and at the same time this resistance is also the key to his dignity by means of which he seemingly resolves humankind's problem with the universe and the confusion of our ideas about reality, by acknowledging, by proclaiming catastrophe, as the horribly, extraordinarily, fantastically truthful, gorgeous monstrosities seen in the visions of Woods proclaim in the act of collapsing, the catastrophe in the midst of which we dwell, yes, we ourselves dwell in that ceaseless apocalypse that we need not wait for, but need to recognize is already here, and has been present all along, this is what Lowry must have felt as he transported us in Under the Volcano into the immediate vicinity, the awesome grandeur and ever-present danger, of the two baleful volcanoes Popocatépetl and Iztaccihuatl, and this is what Melville kept writing about obsessively for his lone self till the end of his life, and Woods in his notebooks, which will indeed find their place on the most splendid and coveted shelf in the Permanently Closed Library, when the time comes for us to build it, and this is no joke, I am not just jabbering, I mean it seriously, as I have already written, and, for my part, especially after these recent weeks, ever since my new tribulations began, my Calvary, if I may call them that, I have actually been considering myself a day laborer, a spadeworker on this Library Palace, or shall I say again, its palace keeper?, now at last I dare to write this down, at least in lower case letters, palace keeper, on whom the whole thing depends, whether it stands or falls, and I must confess I have shivers running up my spine at this thought . . . 

I, of course, disagree with his mad vision, but it's fascinating being inside his head, caught up in the flow of his frenzied thoughts.

Another book I recently read is The Practice, the Horizon, and the Chain by Sofia Samatar. My review:

A vast, permanent underclass. A caste system. Slavery. The majority of human societies seem to create economic systems that require some form of hierarchy where a privileged few benefit from the suffering of the rest. Even in the far future, in space, in a human civilization existing in a nomadic fleet of spacecraft drifting among the stars.

Samatar's short book tells a story from that future setting featuring those living in squalor at the bottom of that economic system--and of how a few of them gain together a new awareness of their system, a realization that what they took for inherent, immutable, unquestionable features of reality are human-made constructs that don't have to be accepted as fundamental and unchangeable.

Samatar is a skilled and imaginative storyteller, and here crafts a tale that is at once lyrical, thoughtful, confrontational, and hopeful. It strikes a powerful chord. 

Samatar's book is the source of one of the quotes at the top of the post:

One is a River.

Everyone is a Sea.

Each person, each individual is a river. All rivers flow to the sea. Each person flows into and becomes part of the sea. Everyone is a sea. So, you can follow the flow of each individual to our collective, shared humanity. We are all distinct and united at the same time. Unity in Diversity.

Not really on theme for the post, but this came across my feed today and tickles me.

The Worst Page on the Internet

The worst page on the internet begins innocently enough. A small button beckons the user to “Click me.” When they do, the game commences. The player’s score, or “stimulation,” appears in the middle of the screen, and goes up with every subsequent click. These points can then be used to buy new features for the page—a CNN-style news ticker with questionable headlines (“CHILD STAR STEALS HEARTS, FACES PRISON”), a Gmail inbox, a true-crime podcast that plays in the background, a day-trading platform, and more. Engaging with these items—checking your email, answering a Duolingo trivia question, buying and selling stocks—earns the player more points to unlock even more features.

So far, so fun. But fast-forward 20 minutes and somehow what began with a few curious clicks has turned into a frenetic effort to juggle ever more absurd online tasks. You must continuously empty your inbox, open treasure chests to collect loot, crush pastries with a hydraulic press, purchase cryptocurrency, and even take care of a digital pet, all while YouTube influencers doing exercise routines and eating giant sandwiches vie for your attention elsewhere on-screen. By the end, you have forgotten why you started playing but feel compelled to continue. A chat box pops up in the corner, in which virtual viewers comment on your performance. “How is this your job?” one asks, sounding suspiciously like my wife.

The name of this monstrosity, which was released earlier this month, is Stimulation Clicker, and it is more than a game. It is a reenactment of the evolution of the internet, a loving parody of its contents, and a pointed commentary on how our online life went wrong. In bringing each element of the web to life and layering them on top of one another, the game ingeniously re-creates the paradox of the modern internet: Individually, the components are enjoyable. But collectively, they are unbearable. When everything on the internet demands attention, paying attention to anything becomes impossible.

The game is the bizarre brainchild of Neal Agarwal, a 26-year-old programmer who has spent years designing online apps that comment on and satirize digital conventions. The Password Game asks players to input a strong password that follows an initially familiar set of rules: letters, a number, a special character. But soon users are instructed to add steadily more preposterous elements, such as “the current phase of the moon as an emoji,” corporate sponsors, and “today’s Wordle answer.” Earth Reviews parodies the star-based evaluations that have overrun the internet by allowing visitors to rate dozens of common items and experiences, including “acne” (1.3 stars, 217,181 ratings) and “grandmothers” (4.6 stars, 160,847 ratings). Other projects have educational components. Space Elevator lets the reader scroll upward from the Earth into the stratosphere, learning about the history of flight, space travel, and astronomy along the way. The Deep Sea does the same, but for the ocean. . . . 

The Internet connects us. Sometimes that connection is a good thing, and sometimes . . . 

Another poem.

P.H. Crosby

COPING

how it eats at you, the news, always it’s in the news,

not even a story needed, just a snippet of headline

finds you scrubbing a little harder with something you shouldn’t,

a piece of steel wool in your fist that will take off enamel,

finds your jaw clenched as you seek some solace in the yard,

icy white clouds rocketing above you in the desolate blue;

and when your wife comes in later from chopping wood,

her face a little gray already with weariness, you convince her to listen to music

instead of turning on the news, so she won’t one more time have to

sit in the grip of powerlessness with you,

unable to affect the course let alone the outcome,

least of all with the lines belting out of your smart little machine,

which ricochet while you pause, searching for the g,

and see you have savaged the very letter off your key.

 

—from Poets Respond

January 21, 2024

Not so hopeful, but it captures and experience, a part of our shared humanity.

Focus on connection.

I was at a thrift store recently, browsing for hidden delights. I was curious about a basket, and when I turned it over I saw some handwriting on it: "Lg. Dinner Roll," "Dad age 51," and an address a few states away from me. I couldn't help wonder about this item's story, treasured enough at some point to be labeled so, now cast off and forgotten. Did "Dad" make this when he was 51? Was it a gift to or from him? Though I didn't buy it, those unexpected messages left me with an unexpected sense of connection to this object that was no longer a mere tool, but a part of some human family and their experience. It suddenly had a life and a story.

One is a River. Everyone is a Sea.

You are both, river and sea.

Just like me.