"Political tags -- such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth -- are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire." ~ Robert Heinlein
Speak of Simple Pleasures
Exclusive to STR
November 30, 2006
'I was just thinking that of all the trails in this life there is one that matters most. It is the trail of a true human being. I think you are on this trail and it is good to see.' ~'Kicking Bird,' Dances with Wolves
Like many patriots, independent thinkers, and intellectual misfits, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. A curious mental . . . circumstance, perhaps psychological or even spiritual in nature, occupies an increasing amount of my waking thoughts. This intellectual curiosity results from what I can only call my mad dash between two societal paradigms. Like Robin Williams racing to don, then remove, then hastily reattach his geriatric accoutrements in the climax to Mrs. Doubtfire, my life alternates between the vicissitudes of a suburban professional in modern America , and the deep, gut-wrenching revelations of a committed liberty-minded individual tumbling ever further 'down the rabbit hole.' I experience the utter joy of fatherhood, the daily routine of a technical career (complete with aspirations of climbing the company ladder), and the ups and downs of domestic family life . . . planning next year's vacation, wondering what to get the wife for Christmas, what class I'll take next semester . . . . And yet my computer screen bleeds the nightmare of fascism suffocating this sweet land of liberty; it spews the sickening propaganda of a bought and corrupted media; it glows with the last wisps of the flame of liberty flickering out in our institutions. My mind struggles to get its proverbial arms around this nightmare-in-slow-motion. I contemplate the future my children inherit, and it scares the Hell out of me. I grow more and more horrified at what they may have to endure. Often, I try a 'knock some sense into myself' approach by saying, 'Come on, yer gettin' carried away ' just enjoy your life, the world's not going to stop turning tomorrow.' I'll admit, my phlegmatic personality lends itself to seeing the glass as half empty, but I think it's safe to say things are bad WAY beyond a cynic's mere delight in whining about the mundane.
Having spent months (indeed, years) educating myself about the Austrian Business Cycle, the fundamentals of sound money, the perils of government intervention, you know, pretty much reading Lew Rockwell, Strike The Root, and a good dose of the blogosphere a lot, not to mention some Callahan, Mises, Rothbard, and DiLorenzo in hard or paperback, I simply cannot see how the evil fiat money social engineers can continue to manipulate the levers of the economy enough to bring us to that warm, fluffy soft landing. Major economic calamity loom over every thought about the future--paint me a doom and gloomer--and I keep finding articles from economic heavy hitters that reinforce this prediction. I'll admit, for the life of me, I have no idea what's keeping things afloat as it is. I know China and Japan have traditionally been buying U.S. debt by the truckload, and that this support is waning ' a breaking point grows near where a panic for the exits will ensue. Buying a few shares of BEARX doesn't seem to be helping . . . .
Worse, I keep finding myself connecting dots that never in my wildest nightmares thought could be connected. The nefarious secrets the world leaders harbor, the unctuous tentacles of corporate and financial evil winding their way around every war, atrocity, social movement, and crisis. Nothing surprises me anymore, and the more wacky news comes through the pipeline, the more it justifies the disturbing paradigm of the true nature of the world's power players.
I reflect on the movie 'Dances with Wolves.' Ten Bears, when confronted with the inevitability of their world's destruction by the coming wasi'chu, acted curiously:
'There was purpose in everything he did, and I knew he wanted me to stay. But I was sure of myself. I would be an excuse, and that's all the Army would need to find this place. I pushed him as far as I could to move the camp. But in the end, he only smiled and talked of simple pleasures. He reminded me that at his age, a good fire was better than anything. Ten Bears was an extraordinary man.'
There is much to read into here. Perhaps Ten Bears realized time was short, and chose to focus on enjoying the time they had. Perhaps he knew that the Great Spirit was closing the book on the great native peoples with the coming social juggernaut of Anglo-European political culture. Perhaps he knew it was out of his hands. Perhaps he knew something profound about resisting evil . . . something about maintaining the bonds of kin and tribe, walking the trail of the true human being. Most likely, there is a deeper wisdom in those words that I cannot fully grasp currently in my frightened state of duality. Perhaps the wisdom will dawn on me in time, if I just focus on the simple pleasures of fatherhood, and the vicissitudes of modern suburban life.