Obsessed with security
I remember driving down the Pacific Coast Highway a couple of years ago with my boss, and looking up at all of the houses on the hills near Malibu, and thinking how just one of those houses was probably worth more than the entire GDP of most Third World Countries. My boss took an even more cynical approach: "You look at those houses," he said, "and you realize that's why the U.S. has nuclear weapons pointed in every direction."
I was reminded of this conversation today, by all the stories pouring in about the mudslides that destroyed more than a dozen homes in the hills of Laguna Beach. I know, that's kind of random. Mudslides in Laguna Beach shouldn't equate to security and nuclear weapons.
I got to thinking about my boss's words, though, and this morning I'm thinking he may have been on the right track. I'm reading a book right now called, "Like Grains of Wheat: A Spirituality of Solidarity," by Marie Dennis (a friend of mine, and one of the most genuine souls around) and Margie Swedish, and they get to something that I think explains what's going on in our culture right now. We're conditioned to see security from a very personal lens (i.e. security means protecting my wealth, protecting my house, protecting my car, etc.), rather than looking at security from a lens that sees all of humanity as interconnected. This book attributes this to the hyperconsumerism culture of the U.S., where we're judged by the number of possessions (or the size of the possessions) we have. They also dig a little deeper, and argue that U.S. foreign policy is becoming a force to preserve our consumerism culture, rather than a force for promoting democracy and peace around the world.
At the moment, I buy what they're saying. And I love what they offer as an alternative: a vision of simplicity.
Simplicity...means stripping away the excess, the baggage, all that prevents us from experiencing depth of life, so that one can get to the core of meaning, so that one can make real human contact.
The movement toward a more simple life...is a profound spiritual act, a human act, done not for the sake of self-sacrifice but to experience life more deeply. It reflects a realization that many of our possessions and so-called security are walls that separate us from our true selves, from the immediacy of being alive, from connection with other people, from authentic relationships.
They go on to say that it is no longer possible to work for change in this world without having a constant interchange between people.
This stuff is like a water fountain for my soul. Wow, if that's not the worst simile anyone has ever used, I don't know what is. I swear, I hit 25 years old, and I turned into the biggest cornball.
But I'll leave you (and this rather lengthy blog entry) this morning with one other brief paragraph from the book that had me reaching for my journal, it was so good. They talk about a man from El Salvador, Juan Carlos, who shared his thoughts on the massive damage that was caused by a hurricane in 1998. His response to disaster, they argue, may have been an appropriate response for our entire country in the wake of 9/11, and may have led us down a path of true security, rather than the public relations-led, color-coded mockery we have now. Enjoy!
As he reflected on the disaster left in the wake of Hurricane Mitch in 1998, Juan remembers feeling 'flooded by the grace of solidarity. That's maybe why I'm not frightened anymore by rising waters.' This is a discourse that would have resonated in the days after the terror attacks in the U.S., when a community of solidarity gathered around the victims' families, the traumatized ranks of fire fighters, the workers at the World Trade Center site during the nine terrible months of recovery and clean-up. It is an alternative discourse to the one that says people must pull inward even more to protect themselves, to save themselves from risk. It is a discourse that invites them to become a part of a human passion, a struggle for life. They will share the pain, they will hold one another, and they will go forward in hope that life will indeed arise out of death."
I was reminded of this conversation today, by all the stories pouring in about the mudslides that destroyed more than a dozen homes in the hills of Laguna Beach. I know, that's kind of random. Mudslides in Laguna Beach shouldn't equate to security and nuclear weapons.
I got to thinking about my boss's words, though, and this morning I'm thinking he may have been on the right track. I'm reading a book right now called, "Like Grains of Wheat: A Spirituality of Solidarity," by Marie Dennis (a friend of mine, and one of the most genuine souls around) and Margie Swedish, and they get to something that I think explains what's going on in our culture right now. We're conditioned to see security from a very personal lens (i.e. security means protecting my wealth, protecting my house, protecting my car, etc.), rather than looking at security from a lens that sees all of humanity as interconnected. This book attributes this to the hyperconsumerism culture of the U.S., where we're judged by the number of possessions (or the size of the possessions) we have. They also dig a little deeper, and argue that U.S. foreign policy is becoming a force to preserve our consumerism culture, rather than a force for promoting democracy and peace around the world.
At the moment, I buy what they're saying. And I love what they offer as an alternative: a vision of simplicity.
Simplicity...means stripping away the excess, the baggage, all that prevents us from experiencing depth of life, so that one can get to the core of meaning, so that one can make real human contact.
The movement toward a more simple life...is a profound spiritual act, a human act, done not for the sake of self-sacrifice but to experience life more deeply. It reflects a realization that many of our possessions and so-called security are walls that separate us from our true selves, from the immediacy of being alive, from connection with other people, from authentic relationships.
They go on to say that it is no longer possible to work for change in this world without having a constant interchange between people.
This stuff is like a water fountain for my soul. Wow, if that's not the worst simile anyone has ever used, I don't know what is. I swear, I hit 25 years old, and I turned into the biggest cornball.
But I'll leave you (and this rather lengthy blog entry) this morning with one other brief paragraph from the book that had me reaching for my journal, it was so good. They talk about a man from El Salvador, Juan Carlos, who shared his thoughts on the massive damage that was caused by a hurricane in 1998. His response to disaster, they argue, may have been an appropriate response for our entire country in the wake of 9/11, and may have led us down a path of true security, rather than the public relations-led, color-coded mockery we have now. Enjoy!
As he reflected on the disaster left in the wake of Hurricane Mitch in 1998, Juan remembers feeling 'flooded by the grace of solidarity. That's maybe why I'm not frightened anymore by rising waters.' This is a discourse that would have resonated in the days after the terror attacks in the U.S., when a community of solidarity gathered around the victims' families, the traumatized ranks of fire fighters, the workers at the World Trade Center site during the nine terrible months of recovery and clean-up. It is an alternative discourse to the one that says people must pull inward even more to protect themselves, to save themselves from risk. It is a discourse that invites them to become a part of a human passion, a struggle for life. They will share the pain, they will hold one another, and they will go forward in hope that life will indeed arise out of death."
posted by MikeJ at
10:03 AM
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