A Reasonable Person

To discover knowledge, construct wisdom and learn to praise the right requires mental modesty.

Dana Bate
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"Be alert. The world needs more lerts" as the saying goes. If you were driving down a back road in the country after the Spring rain, you turned off the road and got stuck above your hub caps in the mud, what would you do? Would you go and get help to free your car from being stuck? Or would you borrow some tools and equipment, cut down trees, build a house, clear some land, plant crops and sell tomatoes out of the back of your mud stuck car?

The contest these day seems to be who can build a better house and who can grow better tomatoes. In other words, who can better articulate the same old mud stuck ideas. I think it was John Cage who said that he didn't understand why people were frightened of new ideas, that he was frightened of the old ones.

I emerged from high school with a bunch of flimsy theories about the world, given to me by teachers who never offered any alternatives. Once out on my own the compassionate ones pointed out my ignorance and the uncompassionate ones just tried to prove that I was stupid. It took me a long time to stop trying to defend positions and theories that were not reasoned out. My emotions got in the way. I couldn't bear being wrong. But about midway through my first half century I began to realize that "I don't know" is really a legitimate answer to any question if it's the right one, and it doesn't mean I'm stupid.

I grew up with people who steadfastly refused to give up old ways of thinking or even to consider a new or different idea. So I suppose my dawning mental freedom was my form of rebellion, in a way.

In my career I found people who had developed a secure system of working and never deviated from it. But sometimes I would get a role that would defy being worked out with my system and I would have to rethink how I worked. I finally got to the point where I used to say "I reinvent the art of acting with every role I get."

Now we are at the point in the world, on all of its continents, where the non thinkers, the articulators of old, rusty worn out ideas are predominate and any traveler who passes by with refreshed ideas about governance, spirituality, art and education, who doesn't get stuck in the mud, is having the mud thrown at him. Because, as I was, the wrong can't bear being wrong.

Defensive emotionalism is the rule, the system, instead of the open mind of reason. A reasonable person is one who holds opinions based on clear headed thinking but is always prepared to change his mind. A reasonable person is one who realizes that he doesn't know all there is to know about any single important issue. A reasonable person is one who sincerely listens to another reasonable person's opinions even if they are different. A reasonable person is compassionate towards ignorance and is not provoked by stupidity. A reasonable person knows the mud is there, avoids it and doesn't sling it back. A reasonable person is mentally modest.

DB - The Vagabond
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SUMMER QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)

Who are the 2 (two) most important people alive today? Why?

Only 6 responses so far.

dbdacoba@aol.com

Thank you.
DB
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The Waking Up

I know the joy of fishes in the river through my own joy, as I go walking along the same river.

Zhuangzi
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How often do I take advantage of the opportunity to sit down next to a rose bush or a tulip bed and share the flower's sunlight? I can stand out on my balcony and breathe the same air that squirrel is breathing as it scurries along on it's day's adventures. Even though I don't know the languages I can hear the birds singing to the world at large from their branches or the dogs talking to each other from there various back yards. And listening carefully I can begin to understand, if not the specifics, the spirit of joy and life that is the subject of their dialogues.

The tulip doesn't care that I'm also in the sunlight and doesn't reject me for being there. Sitting in peace and respect I am one with the tulip, and being a tulip I can begin to understand what it's life is like. Does that sound crazy to you? Well, it isn't. Tree huggers know something that their scornful critics don't.

We are dreamers. Our dreams take many forms. I have had dreams in which I knew I was dreaming. In one case I dreamed that I threw the covers off the bed and just as I dreamed it I actually did it. Another time I dreamed that someone woke me up from a dream. And a third time I was dreaming about something terrifying and someone in my dream said to me you know this is only a dream, so relax.

Many great thinkers, over the years, have told us that life is really a dream. "We are such stuff as dreams are made on": wrote Shakespeare. Can I close my eyes and dream of being a tulip? Why not? Can the squirrel dream of being a human? Can my proximity cause the tulip to dream of being a man?

Zhuangzi (4th Century BCE Chinese philosopher) once wrote that he dreamt of being a butterfly joyfully flitting about. But when he awoke he said "I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man."

I read a lot of philosophy, psychology, science and religion, and on the highest levels of that literature are men and women who have reached the understanding of life's great spiritual journey and that the unattained result of that journey is a discovery, a Great Awakening, a realization of the truth of existence and of the vanity of human systems to explain it.

One day I went to visit a wise man because I was confused about my career and what I should be doing. Should I stick to broadcasting, or pursue theatre, music or some other activity. What he said to me was "The answer is none of the above. What you should be doing is waking up."

Zhuangzi also wrote "Only after the great awakening will we realize that this is the great dream. And yet fools think they are awake, presuming to know that they are rulers or herdsmen. How dense!"

How dense am I? That's the question. To understand my being is a daily activity and will see me sitting quietly, staring at the wall, while the butterfly dances through my mind.

I long for the day, as the tulip, squirrel, bird, dog and all of us do, when I will wake up.

Dana Bate
The Vagabond
********************
SUMMER QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)

Who are the 2 (two) most important people alive today? Why?

Only 6 responses so far.

dbdacoba@aol.com

Thank you.
DB
********************

Weekend Contest Winners

WEEKEND CONTEST WINNERS
Gotcha

Here are the first two words of song titles.
"I got" or "I've got"

The person who comes up with the longest list of song titles that begin with those two words will be the winner. In the case of a tie duplicated prizes will be awarded.

First prize of a linen music stand goes to Val of the Blogspot Tigers. She knew songs I never heard of.

Second Place goes to Sue, also of the Tigers

Tied for third are Diane of the Email Lions and Salemslot9 of the Blogspot Tigers

Nice going girls
DB

A House Is Not A Home

I sometimes fancy that if I ever became very wealthy I would buy or build a house to suit myself and then advertise for a single woman companion who likes to homemake, give her a credit card and let her go to it while I relax. Provided she didn't make everything pink.
DB

Until It's Right

No authority is higher than reality.

Peter Zarlenga
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The teleology involved in a work of art is not hard to identify. It isn't Judgement Day or the end of the world, although it may seem that way sometimes to the artist. The culmination of a lot of effort is something finished and good enough for the artist to sign his name to. There is no way for an artist to know how hard the journey is going to be from the first stroke of the brush to the moment of signing.

It is a curious thing that some stories, paintings and other works seem to create themselves while others offer nothing much to the artist but struggle and frustration.
My two long stories, Brian and Christine, and Brian On The Road, seem to have written themselves, whereas some of the others, like the one I'm writing now, The Savior, is asking a completely different dimension from my imagination. It's one of those pieces that needs to be told, retold and retold again until it's right.

I used to have a similar experience as an actor. I did a lot of plays by Eugene O'Neill. Two of the major roles fit me Hogan in A Moon For The Misbegotten, and Con Melody in A Touch Of The Poet were roles I felt were written for me.

For the actor to make a successful work it must be honest, a recognizably real person within the style of the drama. It's the reality of human life and it's articulation by the playwright and the actor that gives the theatre it's vitality and authority.

I understood Con Melody at the first reading of the play, but I wasn't cast in the role. I was given a different part. The actor who had the role didn't understand him and dropped out. I took over the part on a day's notice.

In the case of Hogan I thought I had a good grasp of the character but there was still something missing. One day the director handed me a corn cob pipe, a tin of tobacco, a knife and a box of matches and said "Play with these." I cut the tobacco, stuffed it in the pipe and lit it a few times until I was comfortable with the business. It was the simple act of stuffing the tobacco into the pipe with my finger that opened up all the rest about that character I needed to know in order to play him.

On the other hand I twice played James Tyrone in A Long Days Journey Into Night and each time in order to get to the reward of the silvery poetic writing of the last act I found the first three acts a hard struggle.

The question is why do some things come easily and others don't. Someone watching from the outside might say "You're putting up barriers to yourself." That is probably true but what are those barriers and why do we erect them? I've heard many nonsensical reasons. "You're being to serious." "You aren't taking it seriously enough." "You're too angry." "Use your anger." "You're being too self-indulgent." "You need to put more of yourself into it." And so on.

The easy days are tempting us. One day we stride across home plate amid the cheers of the crowd and the next day we can't get to first base. We forget that we have to work at it and keep working at it until it's right, thumb our noses at frustration, take the dog out for a walk, have a shower, make another cup of coffee and go back to the task.

And we also have to ignore the voice that keeps saying "Look at you. You're a joke. You're a dunce. Whoever told you you could write? Give it up."

For the artist there is no such thing as "give it up."

DB - The Vagabond
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WEEKEND CONTEST
Gotcha

Here are the first two words of song titles.
"I got" or "I've got"

The person who comes up with the longest list of song titles that begin with those two words will be the winner. In the case of a tie duplicated prizes will be awarded.

good luck
DB

Don't Mess With Your Truth

The man who makes a character, makes foes.

Edward Young
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
Why do I write so much about individualism? Why do I persist in challenging people to take charge of their own lives, their own thoughts and their own light? Why am I always waving red flags of warning about the toll gates that await any traveler who thoughtlessly rides the road of imitation?

Years ago I saw a TV drama about a community of girls who all looked the same. According to the story when they reached a certain age they would enter a machine, or some other system which would completely transform them. There were several models to choose from but whichever one the girl chose she would emerge being identical to all the other girls who chose the same model.

There was one girl who objected, who didn't want to lose her own individuality She suffered insults and ostracization for her decision. She was denied the society of others and repelled by the world of the girls around her.

She had one friend who had gone through the process and kept trying to persuade her until the girl finally agreed to go through with it. She chose the same model as her friend had and now they were identical. She emerged saying how glad she was that she had done it, and how happy she was to look just like her friend whom she admired. After that there wasn't much left of the friendship because it wasn't based on sameness.

There are pipe makers who can carve pipes that look exactly like Dunhill's, but they aren't Dunhill's and a pipe smoker can instantly tell the difference. If you can't afford a Dunhill's why pretend that you can?

I once played a scene with a live chicken. In the professional theatre when there are live animals involved they must have their own environmentally friendly dressing room. So she had hers. Since I was the only one who handled her on stage I used to go in to her room and spend a couple of minutes with her before the show. As we got close to performance there was a sign on her door that read "Hen-rietta." I complained. I said to the stage manager that every professional chicken is named Henrietta. Why couldn't they come up with something different. Why think it's clever to be like everyone else?

There are rock bands that look and sound like other rock bands, painters who are poor copies of Impressionist painters, actors who have to play the role as Rex Harrison or Marlon Brando played it. Imitating a great master is not a bad idea if you learn what's there and move beyond it into your own creative world. But too many people never do.

I have known people who have come into theatre proclaiming the theories of some professor. But almost without exception those theories have no legs and crumble under the brass knuckles of professional theatre.

Now modern medicine has given us cosmetic surgery. To repair a face that has been severely damaged or that causes suffering due to a birth defect is certainly a commendable practice. But what started as a simple nose job has now become a big industry where you can remake yourself to look like anyone, or anything. How far does it go? The mask face of Michael Jackson? The man who had horns inserted into his forehead? The people who have vampire teeth implanted in their mouths? The amazing thing is that it is very popular. How soon will it be before we can go into a surgeon's office and choose a model. (Make me look like Robert Duval.)

And what then happens to the real person inside? How much of ourselves to we sacrifice for this self mutilation? What happens to our true character when we choose to blanket it over with sameness, ordinariness or popularity, no matter how grotesque, to avoid the enmity of those who insist that the current standards of look and behavior be obeyed? That is a heavy toll to pay along the road to acceptance. It's a self mutilation of the soul.

Dana Bate
The Vagabond
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WEEKEND CONTEST
Gotcha

Here are the first two words of song titles.
"I got" or "I've got"

The person who comes up with the longest list of song titles that begin with those two words will be the winner. In the case of a tie duplicated prizes will be awarded.

good luck
DB

A Tale of Two Enterprises

Don't put your hand to the plow without putting your intelligence and affections to it as well.

Dana Bate
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This is the story of two businesses, one a failure and one a success.
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The Ballad of the Sad Coffee House

Once upon a time there was a young man, a recent college graduate, who wanted to own his own business. The city he lived in was vibrant with a long cultural and intellectual history. There were colleges and art museums, concert halls and theatres. He admired the coffee houses that were sprinkled around the city and it's suburbs. He liked the people who came to them and the ambience of those establishments. So he decided to open one himself. He wasn't too smart about it.

He chose a place further out of town, much further. He rented a large space, formerly a seafood restaurant that had gone out of business. He invested in tables, chairs, charming decor and colorful lighting. He spent a lot of money ordering expensive coffee beans and rare teas. He hired someone to make the various coffees on his menu and taught him how to do it. He hired waiters to serve the customers. Against expert advice he decided to do his own advertising and promotion, which was very lackadaisical and uninteresting. Then he sat back and waited for the place to fill up.

In a short time he closed, owing a lot of money. People said he picked the wrong location. His shop was on a well traveled road, with other shopping areas near it. What he did was to pick the wrong town. He didn't trouble himself to find out what the town could use or what it needed. He just assumed what would work in one place would work in another, but the place where he chose to prove that theory had no colleges, a slim cultural life and no pretensions to elitism or intellectual snobbery. It was a beef eating, beer drinking, snow plowing, ski and tourist town. It was the lack of intelligence and affections that brought him down.

The Song of the Happy Restaurant

Then there was the man who took an old ski lodge, put in tables and chairs, fixed up the kitchen, made up a menu and opened his door. His restaurant was in the worst possible location, down a tertiary country road with no skiing area and no other buildings near it. He did no advertising that I can remember. It was word of mouth and he always had customers. But there was a gimmick, and a good one.

The first time we went to it, because some one had told us to, we walked in and right at the door was a letter, framed and hung up, complaining about the food and threatening a law suit, signed by the restaurant critic of the Associated Press. There were a few other such letters. And when we walked into the dining room a big burly man with a loud voice said " \Well, two more suck..er...vict...er...customers."

We were shown to a table and given menus. The waitress said the soup of the day was lentil but don't order it because it's terrible. I asked what the alternative was, she said there was none. I asked about some of the other dishes and she said it was all awful. That's when I got the point. We ordered dinner, including the lentil soup, and, of course, it was excellent.

The big loud man turned out to be the owner and chef. He enjoyed pretending and having his help pretend that everything was wretched because, in fact, he was one of the best chefs around and people knew it and told other people. There was no sitting around waiting for customers. He was a busy man. His heart was in what he did and he enjoyed insulting his own, delicious cuisine.

After dinner he came out for a moment and asked us how it was. I said "dreadful." He laughed and said "That's what I like to hear."

I'll bet the AP critic went back for more, as I did.

Dana Bate
The Vagabond
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WEEKEND CONTEST
Gotcha

Here are the first two words of song titles.
"I got" or "I've got"

The person who comes up with the longest list of song titles that begin with those two words will be the winner. In the case of a tie duplicated prizes will be awarded.

good luck
DB