Culling the herd, an original poem

Here’s to a more contemplative, considered, measured Earth Day 2018 (on, around, or far from 4/21), as for all intended days of remembrance, tradition, action, and activism.

Here’s to an antidote to do-something-ism, the arrogance of action for the sake of acting without intelligent, careful thought, patience for information, debunking myths, withholding judgment, uncovering assumptions, probing conventional understanding, and placing a check on emotionalism. Certainty is impossible, but near-certainty must be earned, not used as an excuse or a form of denial beforehand.

Here’s to Earth, to people, to animals, to reason, and to love. To a balanced appetite for details and the big picture. To doubt, to questioning, to human rights, and never killing to punish. To you, if you’re with me on these–if you, too, would cull the herd mentality, whether it claims to come from truth, patriotism, freedom, control, justice, safety, mercy, love, or God.

And here’s a poem of sorts.

Culling the herd    © 2018, Carrie Tangenberg

Sometimes to love animal
 means to love human-animal balance,
 if love is a balanced act of
 compassion, reason, acceptance,
 for human is animal, too.

I couldn’t pull the trigger
 in everyday conditions,
 but I don’t begrudge the hunter,
 farmer, game warden, parks
 ranger, zoo keeper, veterinarian,
 wild survivor, adventurer, 
 conservationist, naturalist,
 lost traveller who may have to,
 want to.

Who am I to stop everything?
 Save everything? Or anything?
 Start something? What exactly and why?
 What is wisdom, wise action here?

Cull the herd, naturally.
 Cull the herd naturally.

What does it mean?
 What is natural? What unnatural?
 Where is the line between?
 And which herd will it be?
 And how?

Curiosity, discovery,
 fascination, wonder, awe,
 anxiety, annoyance, frustration,
 disgust, confusion, amusement,
 anger, sadness, startlement,
 fatigue, and sometimes fear—

These are the feelings
 of living among wild prey
 when one owns a dog
 and a yard with grass
 you don’t want dug up
 by any but yourself,
 and a house built on
 pavement ant pandemic.

But free will is never free,
 never without consequence.
 What if making a difference 
 means doing more harm than good?
 Did you know? Do you? Always? 
 Respect the what-if, at least.

I don’t get squeamish
 reading about creature
 death, butchery, predation,
 and harvesting for food,
 watching wild death
 on TV or the Web, or watching 
 vet shows, trauma, surgeries, 
 sorrows.

I would, I do not like to see
 blood up close, so bright,
 so red, so shiny, fresh, raw.

All it took was a clip
 of the quick on my dog’s
 left back toenail to
 send me into panic
 where I’m usually calm.

It wouldn’t stop bleeding.
 General Chaos conquered.
 It was Easter 2018.

Bleeding eventually stops,
 and so do breeding, foraging,
 fleeing, hiding, sleeping,
 mating, hunting, scavenging,
 migration, habitats, and life.

We can’t stop everything,
 but everything stops, even
 rivers, seas, forests, islands,
 valleys, mountains, plains,
 planets, stars, solar systems.

Even senses, motion, heart,
 brain, growth, and breath.

Even love, even faith, even hope,
 even panic, idiocy, evil, insanity,
 and this listing of word lists.

If this post or poem resonated with you, you may also enjoy:

Five-Phrase Friday (34): Earth Day, Every Day

Call of the Wild Poetry

Five-Phrase Friday (1): The Poetry Politic

Nothing I Own: Original Poetry

And your deep thought from Philosofishal today? An anti-Thanksgiving sort of excerpt from my poem “Nothing I Own” (2010). Inclusion neither constitutes nor forbids endorsement.

And she said to me,
“I would give nothing
That I own, if asked.”
Appalled, I then realized,
Mine is worse, or no better, 
for I would own nothing
So as not to feel obliged.

copyright © C. L. Tangenberg

Looking at just this part of the poem with fresh eyes and new cultural context, I think I’ll file it under Nativism–in all senses of the word. Or Socialism or Communism. Or just re-title it. Or maybe False Freedom. Relativity? Solipsism? Extremism? Bald-faced Sin? Excuses? Seeds of Evil?

But, well . . . how to choose?

Does the first speaker mean she would give only when NOT asked? I.e., it has to be her choice, her original idea? Or, does she really mean she’s keeping it all to herself always?

Is the second speaker, because she is the “I,” the person whose perspective the poem is most squarely about? That would seem to indicate which title fits best.

And yet, can we trust her statement? Are the motivations we claim to have really those we hold? Are the ones we actively claim really the most active among our reasons? How much does social pressure shape our response?

Can there be light, as in true enlightenment, without closely examining the darkness?

Not recalling the rest, can I really analyze only part of a poem, even my own poem, with any authority? How much does context matter? Some say it’s everything. I don’t go quite that far, but it is significant.

So, in order to know what’s at the heart of the art, what message might emerge from the words, you really have to read the whole thing and, in so doing, seek to learn things like:

  • What else was said? What was happening? What is their history? Who are they?
  • Are they both speaking freely or under duress, or is one dominating the other?
  • Is the speech itself merely an instrument of a different, hidden purpose? Is that better or worse? Does she like or dislike her audience?
  • Is it a contest to see who is worse? Americans are generally pretty attached to those.
  • Do they mean what they say, or are they just afraid somehow to be honest?
  • Which is speaking–the authentic self or the wounded inner child?
  • How mistreated do you have to be to feel the need to avoid others at all costs or reap punishment for self-absorption?
  • Is this their way to ensure they get nothing themselves, a sign of self-hatred?

I know. You’ll say I’m reading too much into it, but I’m not really seeing one conclusion or another at all. It’s been too long since I read the whole poem. I’m asking. Because I don’t have the answers. It’s an examination of a small corner of the possibilities of human psychology, social morality, and subjective truths.

So how can I judge? How can you? What can we really know?

If we don’t know what to conclude, there seem to be two active responses open to us. (I’ll get to the passive ones farther down.)

  1. Find out more in order to judge properly, if possible, or
  2. Simply be more open to revelations and to getting it wrong, more tolerant of the lives we are not living in the skins that are not ours, and withhold judgment, learning from the outcomes in the process.

This second option may seem passive, but it is active when it takes skill in self-control to achieve openness, humility, tolerance, and restraint, greater skill than it takes to shout our precipitous verdict from on high.

I try to do the first–investigate–when I can and when I feel it is important to, but I know the effort is often fruitless, takes a lot of time and thought, and rarely aligns with the personal goals that matter more to me, where my energy is better spent. Which leaves the second way.

The active withholding of a decision when you know you’re missing vital information to make it wisely is actually rather wise.

So if it’s not our literal job (yes, literal meaning actual earning of an income to feed oneself and one’s family) to judge something, or if it is our job to know what the heck we’re doing, then what legitimate basis (let alone right) do we have to label someone, to declare a just course, to say what should or should not be done, when knowledge is nowhere to be found?

True freedom is to be measured by what we allow other people in our midst to be and do, not by how free the judging of them makes us feel. A free society must evolve from citizens freeing one another. But do we love liberty or each other enough to evolve into that society? Or, do too many of us prefer the hollow promise of equality and the illusion of government protection to a freedom that demands more individual responsibility?

People seem to love to claim they are holier than thou, which belies any claim to love equality. All claims require basis in fact to be true. And what fact do you know about yourself that cannot be legitimately disputed by those who know you relatively well?

Think about it. All the things we’re most sure of about ourselves–the ones that aren’t patently obvious and therefore unimportant–are often the most objectively questionable. So “Let he among us without sin be the first to condemn” actually means “How dare you condemn, you hypocrite!” There should be no “first” because there is none without sin.

A passive response to not knowing what to make of things, whether it takes the form of forever ignoring a fundamental life question or choosing an arbitrary answer, is more unconscionable to me than the highly visible sins being judged in the first place.

So it has to be either judge wisely or don’t judge, but can such a non-judgmental approach work for everyone, in every role in life?

Can a president, for instance, afford to suspend judgment or be uncertain–ever?

Sure, they have to project a strong front to ward off threats to the country. Frankly, though, and yes, in ironic judgment, I find a publicized persona of sustained high confidence–along with rote, platitudinous rhetoric–in political leaders to be a sign of idiocy and incompetence, not to mention dishonesty. Verdict read. So apparently, the only people I judge harshly and permanently are the judgmental, or those who seem to have more confidence than I. 😉

But in all seriousness: However covertly or discreetly displayed, without actual humility and openness, meaning the capacity to learn, improve, and course-correct, a leader is lost. And what does that make the leader’s country?

Your thoughts?

 

Poor Charlize Theron

Warning: Explicit language

Maybe Sideshow Charlize should get that leg length reduction surgery that is so popular with the disenfranchised supermodels these days.

ASSHOLES WATCHING MOVIES

Because we all have deep wells of sympathy for gorgeous, billionaire blondes, here’s why Charlize Theron thinks you should feel sorry for her today: she’s just too pretty!

“Jobs with real gravitas go to people that are physically right for them and that’s the end of the story,”says the woman who won an Oscar for playing serial killer Aileen Wuornos in Monster.

“How many roles are out there for the gorgeous, fucking, gown-wearing eight-footcharlize model?” Charlize said in the May issue of British GQ, whining that “when meaty roles come through, I’ve been in the room and pretty people get turned away first.”

This coming from a woman who not only has a robust career as an actress, but also makes millions on the side every year modelling for Dior and the like. Sucks to be her!

Weirdly, her best example of beauty-discrimination is a role that she actually did…

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My Kind of Vehicular Idiot

Of all the things to miss about visiting Chicago, I can’t deny that driving in the city might seem like a strange, even ludicrous, choice. Drivers found around the Chicago metro area are infamous speeders, arguably reckless. Sometimes a change of “pace” or scenery brings particular delight. Sometimes a new challenge is just what you need.

The typical, experienced downtown driver in a large American city is my kind of idiot: alert, quick, and decisive. The road is one of those few places where I feel that way about myself, as I’m otherwise often hampered by too much contemplation, or “analysis paralysis.”

A greater portion of Ohio drivers in my experience threaten more danger in their tentativeness than through any deliberate recklessness. Along with the sensory impaired, I set aside drunk or high morons and the assumption that any genuine violent intent is less frequent in them than in sober maniacs.

It’s true that all the ways out there are dangerous, and I have a healthy fear of car travel, though I suspect I’m somewhat more asphalt experienced than many peers my age. I’ve driven in larger, powerful, often unreliable used cars since I started driving, and I’ve worn deep ruts over long distances in various settings from college to job commuting to cross-country road trips.

I’m comfortable with highways. You can be hurt or killed just as easily on a street going 25 mph as on the larger arteries going 70. But I’m more comfortable with large urban city streets than more suburban or rural, or even small-city, ones.

My main point is that when it comes to operating a car, it’s advantageous to have a little fender bender experience to learn from (guilty), a lot of mileage experience to draw from (check), and a healthy fear of the road through which to balance offensive and defensive driving (working on it). Extremes in driving, as in anything, tend to get you into trouble. That includes excess caution.

Personally, if I’m going to encounter, or be, a vehicular idiot, I’d rather it be on purpose with someone who knows the vehicle, knows how to evade traffic, and won’t panic in the heat of the moment. I’d rather ride with champion F1 racer Lewis Hamilton (not just because he’s cute) than with any nervous teen, soccer parent, middle-aged bookworm, or elderly citizen at the wheel. While otherwise not the greatest specimen of film making, the plot of the ’80s movie License to Drive, starring Corey Haim and Corey Feldman, clearly illustrates that treacherous driving experience tends to make one a better driver.

(Note that I’m not advocating reckless driving behavior or deliberately creating dangerous situations for the sake of skill development.)

Assuming existing skill, confidence in any venture is far more useful and likely to lead to success than is habitual hesitation. I’m a big believer in the “fake it till you make it” motto: If you don’t feel ready despite due preparation and a teacher’s, coach’s or mentor’s belief in you, pretend you are, play the part (that I can do), don’t over-think it (this I’ve got to work on), and charge ahead until you feel the confidence you instill, even if you never do.

The next time I’m feeling uncertain about my ability in something, I’ll make a point of recalling how thoroughly I enjoyed my drive through downtown Chicago last October. I successfully navigated with some helpful and some not-so-helpful GPS and passenger assistance, kept it clean and crisp among zippy cabs and other aggressive drivers, and avoided causing an accident (as far as I know–you can’t discount possible indirect chains of events far behind you). By luck or grace of God or fate or whatever combination of factors, we avoided becoming victims of a car accident as well.

Even knowing an accident or road rage can happen anywhere at any time, I was less scared of the traffic in that environment than I am of slow highway mergers, hesitating turners, and paralyzed watchers at multi-way stops back home. Such tentative behavior tends to create more danger, not least by spreading fear, than it prevents or avoids.

I prefer to avoid the kind of fear that makes one a stupid driver. I guess I see it as my responsibility as a citizen at the helm of a complex, high-mass, and fallible piece of heavy machinery. Anxiety, phobia, and poor coping in a crisis tend not to mix well with dangerous equipment. Still, more often than not, I’m content to stay at home . . . . Easy civic duty.