Saturday, January 4, 2020

Daddy Knows Truth

This is the second of two postings following up to "Happy New Year in Paradise".

The first follow-up noted that I'm definitely not an optimist, though to many people any perspective other than bitter negativity must stem from rose-colored positive thinking.

If you hurt yourself, leaving your body twisting to the left, and a physical therapist straightens you out, you'll feel sure, for a while, that your body is twisting to the right. When you're accustomed to being badly skewed, straightness seems like a skew. This works interpersonally, as well. If you refuse to oblige a control freak, you will seem, to them, to be the control freak. This is how pretty much everything works, from the private kernel of individual being to the macro of massive societal movements. For example, this is why history always unfolds via a succession of immoderately reactive pendulum swings (sparking a question I frequently ask: Will we human beings ever learn to react to extremism with enlightened moderation rather than with reciprocal extremism?).

When the Buddha talked about the Middle Way, this was what he was referring to: opting out of the reactive ping pong table.

So here's the second followup to "Happy New Year in Paradise":

It's odd that middle-aged white guys, as a class, are freely mocked and despised in this society. I suspect a big part of it involves the subconscious, dreamy suspicion that archetypical "Daddy" (a role that is just as easily filled by Mommy, by non-white people, by a deity, or by anyone else; I'm talking about uppercase "Daddy" as a role, not lowercase "daddy" as some guy) knows the truth about certain things, and we are a truth-averse society.

Archetypal Daddy - aka "The Provider" - makes things happen for his spoiled, ungrateful charges while they opt for drama, cultivating furious victimhood amid paradise, all while enjoying unearned perks of modern comfort and privilege. Archetypal Daddy wants to bring you down, puncture your bubble, and plant your feet on, ugh, solid earth where you're not actually starring in a movie. He exerts gravity, dragging you toward a flatly prosaic life of doing, like his life. Pure Hell!
So take your "we're in paradise" bullshit and shove it, Mr. Smug Whitey-White-Boomer-Privilege-Asshole-Who-Can't-FEEL-What-We're-FEELING. Daddy needs to shut the fuck up and pass the lamb chops.

1 comment:

Display Name said...

Mmmm lamb chops! In Gifts Differing the author describes my personality type as preceived by other types as a rudderless ship drifting through life. My type sees some of the other types as barely alive she claims. I've learned that someone has to has their hand on the damn tiller. I love the reporter character in Inherit the Wind. but I didn't think my life would be littered with so many like that dude. Life is not a spectator sport.

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