I lived in my own shell, till I was taught otherwise

....

While working construction during this period, I did get to meet the only person I ever openly called my best friend. When I first saw Doug (again, hanging around the shop in the early morning hours hoping to get to work that day) I remember him shuffling papers and interacting with some of the bosses. 

Doug had severe acne problems as a child and was left was some severe facial scarring. He also was born with a cleft palette as a child, and even though he went through several painful surgeries during his life, as an adult, he still has a bit of what is unkindly called a "harelip". Little did I know at the moment, this person, who was less than the perfect model of handsomeness, would teach me more about life and love than any man I'd ever meet.

Turns out, he was the most beautiful person I would ever meet.

Doug taught me what it meant to face the world with a smile. We had several jobs working together after we first met. I would pick him up often in the morning to carpool to the job. We'd stop at a local convenience store for morning coffee (he'd always pay for mine) and never once would Doug not strike up a hearty conversation with any and every clerk. He never met a stranger, never was shy, and never passed a child that he wouldn't bend over and smile at playfully in some manner or another.

He was also one of the hardest working men I'd ever known. He could stay up late nights 'til two in the morning, get up by five, and work hard all day and then do it all over again. He was relentless. Many people accused Doug of rudeness, since he never hesitated speaking up on any subject and never was one to beat around the bush. I never found him rude, only refreshingly honest. He always smiled, always greeted strangers and made them feel welcome, and he tried real hard to be patient and tolerant of others.

Doug worked in a puppet ministry with children at church when I first met him. He always said he felt it was his calling from God to work with children. Once Doug said, "You know Mitch, I hope we're friends several years from now."

I said, "Well of course, why not?" He said, "Ah, come on Mitch. How many people that you knew ten years ago can you honestly say you are still friends with? Probably none."

He had a point. And I made it a point to be mindful of passing years as his family and my family grew closer together. We went on vacations together. His kids grew up with my kids. We'd spend nearly every Thanksgiving Dinner at either their house or mine. We worked together and argued all the big questions of life over and back again on way too many occasions. We used to play a game while painting or hanging vinyl at the job sites: What would you do if you had a million dollars? It was Doug's favorite game. He loved to dream and believed dreams came true. When ten years came around, I pointed out to him, "Hey, knucklehead (my favorite endearing term for him)... it's been ten years now. What do you think of that?" He instantly knew what I was saying and just smiled and said, "Yeah, you're right. I guess you got me on that one."

Doug is my best friend still, and I believe we will always be able strike a cord of instant rapport. We just know each other too well, from years and years of rambunctious talking. It's been close to twenty years now since I first met Doug. Our friendship lasted longer than his marriage did. I got to be his best man at the next wedding though. We've gotten to watch each other's kids grow up. My children have a special place in their hearts for him. They love him as much as I do. I don't see him as often as I used to, but we both know we'd do about anything for the other. He called me a while back and asked if I'd drive with him out to West Texas for a few days to bury his brother. "Do you have to ask?" I said. "Not really, I just wanted to let you know when we're leaving," he said.

It's good to have a best friend. Since knowing Doug, I've learned to strike up a conversation with a child, a clerk or a passing stranger. I never could do that before. I wasn't brave enough, friendly enough, and, for no apparent reason, I lived in my own shell. I guess I just never really cared about people either. Doug cares for everyone he passes. Reminds me of the scripture where Jesus says, "When you do anything to the least of the people that you meet, you do it also to me." That's how Doug treats people. When I get to see Doug, I get to see a lot of Jesus, also.

...

[Excerpted from chapter: "Fight the Good Fight" of "WHITEBOY BLUES" by Mitch Sanders, 2003; Out-of-print.] 

Is Knowledge Transferable?

I study, there I am - transferable? 

The Greeks Knew Knowledge

The key to answering this question lies in the use of the word "knowledge" itself. In English it has various meanings across the spectrum of BOTH what can and cannot be transferred. To get a better handle on this we have to go to the ancient language of the Greeks where these original ideas were first birthed before morphing into the condensed language of English.

Greek has at least 10 words that can get translated into English as the noun "knowledge". Most all these have the basis of "(k)no" from which our word derives.

• Gnosis - primarily a seeking to know, an inquiry, investigation, denotes knowledge, especially of spiritual truth
• Epignosis - denotes exact or full knowledge, discernment, recognition, and  is a strengthened form of "gnosis", expressing a fuller or a full knowledge, a greater participation by the knower in the object known, thus more powerfully influencing him
• Nous - mind, denotes, speaking generally, the seat of reflective consciousness, comprising the faculties of perception and understand, and those of feeling, judging and determining
• Dianoia - a thinking through, or over, a mediation, reflecting, signifies the faculty of knowing, understanding or moral reflection, 
• Ennoia - an idea, notion, intent, is rendered "mind" 
• Noema - thought, design, is rendered "minds" 
• Gnome - thought, design, is rendered "minds" 
• Sunesis - to set together, to understand, denotes understanding, reflective thought
• Phronema - denotes what one has in the mind, the thought or an object of thought
• Agnosia - the negative of "gnosis", ignorance, is rendered "no knowledge"

Greeks Specialized in Knowledge

So asking if each of the above Greek depictions of "knowledge" are transferable, we are given a broader understanding of the question. For starters, just asking the question implies that knowledge is something that exists as an object—exists even outside the human realm! That in itself could be debated (and rightfully so) but being in the age of mass media with the computer, modern man assumes at some point knowledge can be gathered on disk or written down in books; if all humanity died out on the planet, knowledge itself would somehow still exist. This is knowledge as information.

Network and Context of Knowledge

With this definition of knowledge, it would seem quite logical that knowledge indeed is transferable. It can be written down, spoken into a microphone, recorded into a computer and at some point, read, listened, or decoded into transferred knowledge. (Wah-Lah!)

Network and Context of Knowledge

Now at the other end of the spectrum we have knowledge as understanding. Or, knowledge that can be applied and added to other knowledge to gain intelligence, possibly even insight and wisdom - giving direction or paths of pursuance for individual or group goals. This is the type of knowledge one must ask is transferable or not. Can I put this into a computer? Can I record it and expect others to take it in?

God creates man, man create himself?

This is where the temptation is to say, "No, knowledge is not transferable." This is true partly out of pride in thinking that certain insights and wisdom and accumulated knowledge are special to me and my life's efforts. It is innate to me the subject and not simply an object.

Only objects are literally transferable

If knowledge is an object it is transferable. If it is some unique quality residing within myself that has been birthed out of my own thinking and experiences that are unique to me, then when I die - it dies also. It can only be generated in real time from within me.

I can write it down.
I can try to express it.
I can tell you all about it.
But I can never transfer the whole network of context that resides around and networks to it. That is unique to me and my living self.

"Hi! I am you trans-placed!"

Self as Object

This is where the issue hits home. In this age of information where "smartness" is the quintessential virtue worthy of praise (think about it... what do you praise your child for mostly?), then this is the version of knowledge that is most worthy of asking if simply an object that can be replaced, moved, replicated, handed off, transferred or is it something else?

Self as Object

If this kind of knowledge is simply an object, then that makes you and your "self" - the very core of the accumulation of all you have sought, gathered and valued in your life - a thing that neither is unique nor even worthy of solitary existence. We can just transfer all of "you"... your "self" into some other container - (containers hold objects) - and give it movability and arms and “Wah-Lah!”, you and all your value has been transferred. You have been replaced. Transferred to a CPU with memory and algorithms into machinery that walks and talks - yes, of course - a robot, with "you" trans-placed into it.

So, how special are you? How replaceable are you? Is all that you are and have and become ultimately... transferable?

I study, therefore I am - transferable?

Maybe.

As for me, I like to think, the knowledge that the Greeks called Epignosis, Dianoia, or Sunesis is unique to the context generated by and generated from decades of experience, thinking, and gathering of my own insights -  of life, science and humanity - into a living breathing human process.

A process that, although, not transferable, can be experienced and delighted in -  by other living, breathing human processes seeking also to define themselves and define what they offer as value greater than that which can be transferred as an object.

A process I'd call - me.

How to Help Others - A Parable of Two Brothers

Two brothers grew up and went there separate ways. One became a scientist at the University of Tokyo. The other became a businessman in Mexico City, Mexico. They were each very successful and one day while talking on the phone they decided they wanted to contribute back to the world some of their own great fortune.

The two brothers decided they would start by using their talents to help people locally. The scientist in Japan had an elder widow neighbor whose yard and hedges were overgrown as she wasn't able to do the work. The businessman in Mexico also had an elder widow neighbor that had trouble keeping her property groomed.

The scientist decided he would build a mobile robot with scissor-like extensions to do yard work. He solicited charity funds and accumulated a team of scientists. They worked night and day for weeks and weeks designing their robot.

The businessman looked around the neighborhood and found a boy from a poor family with no means to earn money. He made a deal to buy him a lawnmower if he would mow his yard once a month for one summer and mow the widow's yard for a reasonable fee that the widow could afford whenever she needed it. The boy accepted the deal. The business man bought him a lawnmower.

Eventually the scientist and his team spent a million dollars building the scissor-hands robot over the next year. It never really walked right, kept falling down, and sometimes cut up the wrong things. The team of scientists eventually got bored and determined this was going to be an ongoing project and went their separate ways finding more interesting things to build and do.

The boy that the businessman made a deal with eventually bought a another lawn mower and other equipment like rakes, clippers and a trailer to haul them. He mowed the widow lady's lawn when needed and also many of the other people's lawns in the neighborhood. He eventually had a sizable business and hired other young men to work for him.

The two brothers eventually talked again and related their efforts. The businessman told how he eventually started other young men who worked and developed skills in the neighborhood. One boy became a house painter after he had bought a sprayer, ladder and brushes. Another became a carpenter who fixed roofs and repaired houses once he bought and learned to use a saw and a hammer. The area thrived and grew into a lovely neighborhood to live in.

The scientist brother told how he was still working on his robot, and though it was not working very well yet, declared proudly that once it was completed, it would be able to do the work of 10 young men. His neighborhood eventually deteriorated and many people moved away. The widow eventually died with her lawn and hedges looking poor and overgrown.

The End

Bulldog Warns Me About Stray Bulls - Good Dog! Bad Cattle!

I thought she was barking at the deer. As I stood at the back window watching the herd of deer down below, and a few of them taking notice of my American bulldog's deep-throat warning, she kept barking from the side porch off more to the North. The deer slowly started feeling spooked and eventually split off into two packs and trotted--one back to the woods, the other south down the river. My dog came in eventually but was hankering soon to go back outside. I let her out again and she just sat on the east porch giving a continual stream of warning barks.

I finally figured I better check what it was she was barking as and my wife peered through the trees and said, "That's not deer. I think those are horses."

So I got dressed, left my breakfast and grabbed the camera to check it out. Taking my dog, I discovered four steer in front of the cabin enjoying the wife's flower-bed. My bulldog was happy to see them meander on down the hill toward the river. I don't know whose cattle they are and I'm not a cowboy with a horse that can go round them up. I guess I'll just wait till next time I hear my dog's bark--and try to respond a little sooner.

Spy Gear is Cool

Spy gear is cool. A six-year old boy with spy gear is really cool.

Battery-powered suction cups that can hear through walls. Dark sunglasses with mirror sides to spot bad guys trying to sneak up on you. A wrist watch that communicates by constantly beeping. Sylvan was showing me his spy gear he had gotten for Christmas.

I tried to think of something cool and spy-like I might have to impress him. My heavy-duty stainless steel bracelet given me by my friend John, symbolic of brotherhood and commitment, was on my wrist. I showed Sylvan how this powerful bracelet, if flashed in front me with Kung-Fu quickness, could stop a bullet headed straight for my heart. "Wow...", he whispered as his eyes grew bigger. My wife chuckled out loud--overhearing us in the kitchen. We both looked at her audaciously as Sylvan replied, "Oh, you laugh, huh?" with a mocking somber tone.

I told him about my secret spy cap (--given me by my wife and Millie, apparently for fishing at night.) It was an ordinary looking cap. but with a secret button that shot out two beams of powerful lights to be used for spy action. I gave him time to forget as he ran around the house doing spy stuff and placed the cap on my head.

We thought we heard something in the upstairs bedroom. You never know. It could be bad guys trying to infiltrate our mission. Sylvan and I quickly (with our gear) scampered upstairs. Opening the door it was dark inside. We bravely stepped in anyway. "It's dark in here. There could be bad guys," I alerted. With the quick wit of James Bond I hit the secret button on my cap. Lights flashed on. I was in control and quickly scanned the dark corners. "All clear," I announced. As Sylvan realized my spy cap and savvy spy skills at hand we exit. I hear him whisper to himself, "Nice."

I asked Sylvan where he got all this spy equipment, thinking surely an interesting story could be generated. "Target," was his terse response. In a tone of, like ... I should have already of known this. (Uh, duh!)

Sylvan suspected what might be a camera in the corner of the kitchen outside the window. Someone was probably trying to spy on us. I asked him who it could be. Possibly, the NAOBs (Nasty Association of Bad Guys)? Maybe the World-Wide Terrorists Against Kids group? The KGB? (I was thinking surely one of these witty organizations my mind came up with would be the culprits.)

He replied, "No. I think I know who though."

"Who, then?" I asked desperately.

"This kid I know at school," he told me.

"Oh," I said.

I later remembered one more item I had in the library. A normal "looking" book, that when opened to the right page revealed a secret compartment.

I offered to show where I keep my secret power bracelet, but we had to be careful the others didn't see us. (He was surprised I ever took it off. I told him I think it was pretty safe around here right now.) As we snuck upstairs (using our spy equipment as needed) we approached the hiding place. I got it down and dramatically placed my power bracelet within. His eyes were large with amazement and ponder. Such an ordinary looking book -- designed with such utter spy coolness!

Now we had to replace the book without anyone seeing us. He stood guard and announced to the other adults downstairs, "There's nothing going on here! No kind of spy stuff or anything going on up here!" They looked up at us in reply.

"They're watching us. We can't let them see us put the secret spy book back," I said.

"You guys don't look up here!" he shooed the other adults down below to not look.

We replaced the book in the library and went on about our spy business. He kept his eye on that spot in the library the rest of the night. The book blended in so well looking just like any other normal book. You never can tell what cool stuff might be hidden just beyond the covers of a normal looking book.

She Wants To Do Something

Laing's book titled "Knots" explores double-bind types of people interactions and the psychological unconscious undertones that occur. Laing authored also, "The Divided Self" and was a psychiatrist specializing in schizophrenia who proposed in the 60's that sometimes, as he put it -  "Insanity - [is] a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world."

In the spirit of R. D. Laing, one of the greatest explorers of the mind of our times, here is a scribbling I found of mine in one of my notebooks of a mysterious game exchange I find still occurring bewilderingly enough.

*******************************

She wants to DO something. 
She pressures him "What do you want to do?"

He wants to DO nothing. 

The premise of the question seizes up His mind. 

He is unable to say He wants to do nothing.

She prepares Herself to do "something."

Under pressure, He tries to think of "something the He could maybe want to do. 

Or at least be willing to DO.

She wants him to be happy by doing something he wants to do.

He wants her to be happy by going along with something she wants to do.

They go do something.

*******************************

She is temporarily happy "doing" something.

His is suppressing self-loathing and resentment for the loss of his own will-power and despairs into depression.

He snaps - gets angry, grumpy and ruins her fun "doing something".

She doesn't understand him... tries to appease him by hurrying home, but is hurt, angry, and her "fun" "doing something" is ruined.

He feels like a jerk and can't explain why.

She feels like She did everything possible to "do what he wanted to do" and get him out and have fun and is sad that nothing works.

He feels guilty He can't make her happy.

She feels guilty She can't make him happy.

They both go Home.

Her day is over and she is somewhat satisfied having done "something" but confused and frustrated some He isn't happy.

His day is spent and his despair deepens because time and opportunity of day are now lost and his time to "do nothing" is also lost. 

He despairs further.

In the morning, the same cycle starts again when She asks, "What do You want to do?"

**************************

I guess I might title it something like - I Don't Want to Do What You Want Me to Want to Do But I Love You and Want to Do What You Want Me to Do So I'll Try to Want What I Don't Want.for You

<shrug>

Happy landings in this game called life,
Mitchell

If Time is of the Essence

If time is of the essence

And now is all we get

Then why can we not sit

And simply talk a bit

That poem from Josh Magnuson, my dear friend, is one that comes back to me over and over in my mind as a worthy question in life to be addressed to many people in life. Maybe the only poem I've actually memorized. I don't know if he ever published it or even actually wrote it down since he scratched it out somewhere back in the 80's. So, thought I'd pen it here at least once for the public. 

Here's another one of his I do know was published. I have a hand-written version in a letter written in August, 1989 re-written as I have it before me. I assume Josh won't mind me republishing it here. It's a bit darker perhaps, but I like it, and others recognized the power behind it also.

Alcohol*

These figures in a bottle trying to hold my hand

"Come dance and sing and play with us

in a far-off wonderland."

But "No" I say with every breath

that issues from my mind

"The world is filled with short, sweet pleasure

of the most elusive kind.

So go and bother someone else

with your troublesome disguise

And leave me here alone

to seek solace from the skies."

Upon my speech they went away 

And not a word did speak.

But in the night, when my bed surrounds me

I wonder where they sneak

For life and all its drudgery

Are too easily undone

By a warm and easy atmosphere

And these figures in my rum.

*No, I'm not an alcoholic. I just see the different avenues of escaping from the "malaise" or "self as a vacuous hole" horrors.

Just thought I'd share a few treasures from my life from days gone by. Thanks, Josh. And a happy upcoming birthday.

Mitchell