Red and Green

I’ve been thinking about perspective, human perspective: you know, how people see the world and how it colors what they do. I’ve come to a few conclusions, mostly opinions but conclusions in my own mind (there it is, the first hint of bias.)

Firstly, there’s color. Not color as in bias, but real color. When people see green, they associate it with cool and earthy and natural. Some people. Others see green and think, mold. Ugly. Grass. Someone could say that a paper is red and another person could say it is red but what if they’re not talking about the same red? What if the pigments we see are different, between individuals? And as children we’re taught that this is red and this is green, and some thinks it’s ugly and some think it’s brilliant. Is this the child’s opinion? Yes. But based on what? Perhaps when we think of our favorite colors, we’re all thinking of the same color, but it’s perceived differently from person to person. Maybe lavendar is the one color that draws all people but it is passionate in the minds of some and cool in the minds of others–sometimes it’s green and sometimes it’s red, but who would realize that anyway?

But, you might think, people associate feelings with colors. People almost always think red is fiery and green is cool. But a child, looking at these colors, doesn’t think that. He or she thinks red is red and green is green, and isn’t that color so beautiful? He or she doesn’t even know why. As they grow up they learn to associate ferocity with vibrant colors, and if their favorite color happens to be red, they associate ferocity with their favorite color. And if their favorite color happens to be green, they begin to associate all things green with coolness. Colors are not innately anything. They don’t feel. People make them feel, the same way people feel for the dead and people feel for ideals. People assign them feelings and children learn those feelings because that’s what the mass mind believes.

Secondly, there’s religion. A wide spectrum, to be sure. We have the naturalists and the god-worshippers and the God-worshippers–and all the shades between. We have the sacrifices and the traditions. Human sacrifices, sacrifices of coins, sacrifices of time and thought. People sacrifice their thoughts because something in this religion drawn up by men catches their fancy, and they give up a part of themselves to make room for the thoughts of the religion’s creators. Not all religions are like that. But most are.

I was reading East of Eden and there’s a quote that struck me, that “It would be absurd if we did not understand both angels or devils, since we invented them” (Steinbeck 132). And the devils and angels we see, how can we be sure they’re the same devils and angels some other poor soul down the street sees? Most certainly, the angels and devils of the rich man are not the same angels and devils as the poor one. Unless, of course, the poor man was once rich and now blames those celestial beings for his new existance; but even then, the extraordinary is tinged differently where power is concerned. Money shades it green and hunger shades it red. Whichever red or green the individual sees, who can say, but they won’t be the same red or green that every person sees, and thus the greatest sin and greatest gift will be different to one who would give all to be free than to one who would give all to be full. Or even, most especially, to one who would give all to be loved.

I think people find in religion different things. Like people might see different colors, some find in religion a type of spiritual freedom; to others, a cage. I won’t say which I favor because that would only be my perspective, and I’m trying my hardest not to be biased (it’s impossible, but I try). On the subject, I’ll only say that I have the feeling if I did not read, I would believe more in the God of Christianity. Who can say, though, perhaps reading is what brings some people to believe in God.

Lastly there is human nature. People are not perfect, but there might be another in the world that the individual finds more perfect than him or herself. A person might find perfection in beauty or perfection in simplicity, in elegance, in high cheekbones and bronzed skin or in pale complexion and rosebud lips. Who can say? Like red or green, perhaps we are all looking for the same perfection and find it in different things.

People need to know that perfection exists because it’s in their nature to hate what they see as imperfection. The mass mind that we hear so much of, the collective press of the minds of the people who influence us most–be that our parents, our lovers, our friends–helps to define what is perfect but it doesn’t explain everything. There are people in the world who can shrug off their conditioning like a coat when it doesn’t suit them anymore. Those are the people who succeed the most, the ones who start businesses and get rich, or paint inspirational pieces and die alone. (Success, too, is just perspective. If a person is happy, is not that person successful? Though where that leaves the majority of modern workers and businesspeople today, I don’t know.) And those who can break new ground are the trendsetters, but they always end up belonging to the mass mind because where they will not accept the conditioning of the majority, the majority allows itself to be conditioned by them. So in the end it doesn’t matter if they’ve thrown off tradition because traditions will follow in their wake.

Granted, this doesn’t include the hermits and those who die too young for others to remember as being anything other than human. Yes, that’s right–anything other than human. Because many people will agree that it is human to be imperfect and strive to correct those imperfections, making those who accept and even pander to their faults…inhuman. What it means to be human is only an opinion. Anyone can say people need food and shelter, but do people need love? If so, what kind of love? The love of a man or a woman? Or the love of nature? The love of elegance? The love of perfection?

If you think about it, you’ll find a lot of what you’ve accepted as fact is only perspective. When you have something you love unconditionally, you can’t imagine another not loving it as you do because your love is just that–unconditional. But that sort of love doesn’t come around too often. I think it’s a lot like being crazy. If you love something unconditionally, you don’t realize there’s any other alternative. When you’re crazy, you don’t know you’re not normal.

I suppose even if you could prove people like colors because they appeal to the same innate instinct, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. They’d still like the same colors and hate the same clothes and love the same people and hate the same people. I guess philosophy’s a lot about realizing the reasons behind what exists in theory, and a fat lot of good it does to change the hearts of people. You tell them the Muslim loves the same color as they do, it does not change their view of that Muslim. You tell them the child can read better than they can, it does not change their condescension towards the child. Philosophy only changes what people let it change.

I suppose that’s what blogs are for. Mine, anyway. All the things that have no impact on my life are the things I love best to speculate over, because it makes no difference to me. I always thought it was a better alternative to talking about my life. Too many people love doing just that. I think it’s rather tacky unless you’re James Bond or Oprah. Then it’s just interesting.

But who am I kidding? Maybe someone out there loves to read rants about soccer or politics. I wouldn’t know. The mass mind tells me these things are boring, and who am I to say otherwise?

One Can of Beans, No Tear Gas

Apparently the US is one step away from annihilating itself, but truthfully, when are we not?

My state’s got a deficit that even Donald Trump would be hard-pressed to fix. And you’d think in the midst of a crisis all the opposing parties would go–oh my gosh we need to team up to get us out of this! According to my newspaper, if we don’t agree on who’s getting cut this year, we’ll have a “state shutdown.” Which, if you ask me, is a little dramatic. I have a feeling our neighboring states aren’t just going to sit there and watch us fall into anarchy.

I read the list of proposed cuts by the Republicans, Democrats, and then our governor. I know right? There’s the parties and then there’s the person we elected. Though if you want to be technical, we didn’t elect her. She got the position after our elected governor ran off to play with guns and bombs, despite the fact that she’s probably never held a pea-shooter in her life, not to mention AKs and poison gas. But what’s a little thing like experience got to do with it, anyway?

That was a sidenote. Ignore.

So I was reading through this list of proposed cuts, and it struck me that the Democrats had some decent ideas. Instead of lumping the cuts on one or two agencies, they’re spreading the love. But then I noticed the Republicans also had some good ideas. They’re thinking the government’s going to gyp us on stimulus (which is definitely not out of the question), so they’re planning for the worst. Murphy’s law and all that jazz. And I might not like to believe the government would purposely allow us to be thrown to the dogs, but I have the feeling it’s happened before. I’m thinking it’s a good, safe thing that the Republicans in my state are a bunch of cynics.

As for the governor’s plan, I don’t see how slashing welfare (thus increasing the number starving) or taking away equipment money for the cops (thus increasing the number killed in gunfights) or even taking away scholarships offered by universities (thus increasing the number of poor kids who can go to college), is really going to solve anything in the long run. Perhaps if we were preparing for armageddon, it wouldn’t matter if Johnny-so-and-so had a degree in architecture, or that Lizzy and her daughter live on a can of beans a day…but we’re not that deep in it yet. And truthfully, if that day does come, I want my police to have enough ammo and tear gas to keep rioters from destroying the city. But that’s just me.

I don’t see why people can’t work together. No. That’s wrong. “People” implies reasoning ability. And I do see why no one can work together. Sheer, unmitigated, unnecessary stubbornness. Traditions of being uber-conservative or uber-liberal, traditions that say, “no, they’re wrong” no matter if they other party’s ideas have merit or not. Ridiculous. I think that’s what I hate the most about democracy, is the fact that it gives certain people enough power to become arrogant enough to believe they have all the answers to all our problems. And those with that power hold onto it by their fingernails even as we’re sliding deeper and deeper into the quicksand. We scream for them to throw us a rope but they don’t want to let go with even one hand to save us.

Ridiculous.

SLC to Kalispell

Wednesday, June 3

I am so sick of vacationing. No, actually, I’m sick of my parents.

Today I found out my oldest brother is joining the Army as an explosive ordinance specialist. And the first thing my dad says after hanging up is, “Your brother joined the army as an explosives expert. Why do I deserve to have two idiot sons? Now we have to prepare the bury him because he won’t survive four years of service.” I mean…I get the frustration but really? Are you serious? Thanks, dad.

But anyway…we stopped for the night in some rest area with a hole in the ground for a bathroom and grass that the dogs aren’t supposed to walk on. Oh, well. I only noticed the sign after they’d done their business on the lawn. Some trucker asked if my dog is part wolf. Sometimes I wish she were so she wouldn’t be so scared of everything.

Zion to SLC

Monday, June 1

Today we traveled a couple hundred miles across Arizona, from southern Tucson to the border of Utah. Literally. The RV park where we’re parked overnight is about 100 feet from the road that separates the two states. It’s called “Stateline Rd” and I wondered why until I saw the “Now Entering Arizona” sign right outside our campground.

Funny. This side of Lake Powell looks just like the other side. I noticed that too, a couple months ago when I crossed the California-Arizona border. And again at the Mexico-United States border.

Well duh, you might say. Just because the land has a different name doesn’t mean it’s a different land. Calling a skunk a squirrel isn’t going to make it stink less. My only conclusion: people like to slap names on stuff because it makes them feel less like they’re insignificant against the enormity of the world. Or just because they like a bit of law and order and if we didn’t have boundaries, we’d need a new government and a new name and a new system. Yeah, that’s right: a new system. It’s called anarchy.

A few notable things on the trip thus far. First is that my dog is frustrating me to no end. She completely refuses to pee when we take rest stops. Tonight I spent an hour walking her around to all the likely places and you’d think I’d get something in return for the effort. Unfortunately I haven’t taught her the phrase “Pee or I’ll Give You Away” yet. She only understands “come”, “stay”, and “bath.” Whether she listens to them is another matter. Oh, and she can hear the sound of a can opening from a hundred yards. Is that impressive or what?

Secondly, there’s the Indian Reservation. I know, I have all my priorities in order. But it was strange—I guess it always is—driving through Navajo land. Not just because I knew from the map that it was a reservation, but because of…well, everything. First of all there was the poverty in some places. As we were driving we saw little clusters of patchwork buildings, rusted cars sitting outside and skinny dark children playing tag behind shrubs. Other parts were nicer, where the pickings weren’t as thin, perhaps. And along all of the roads were empty stalls where “Handmade Jewelry” was once sold. Some of the stalls were still in business, but not many. On one of our breaks we stopped beside one that went on forever. It was this long line of desolate, mismatched stalls. Standing back in the street for a larger view, they looked eerily like the missing teeth of some giant, the face the canyon and the sky the hair. Like somebody had punched Mother Nature in the face and still she grinned and showed off those empty gaping holes.

Possibly not the best thought, but where would we be if we didn’t take the good with the bad?

Lastly there’s the whole picture-taking thing. I’m supposedly the official picture-taker and I really hate it but at the same time my passive OCD (as I like to call it) won’t let anyone else take the pictures. I just know if I let someone else do it, they’ll miss all the great things I see. This coming from the girl with the dusty messy desk and five feet of old schoolwork to go through, and a closet that looks like a dozen of those fur balls from Spirited Away imploded.

I don’t know. I just feel like I’m missing something when I’m busy taking pictures, but at the same time I can’t shake the feeling that someone else would miss it if I didn’t.

Anyway. I have to get up early tomorrow, though it’s only—yikes—ten thirty. Off to Salt Lake City.