On the use of a book of quotations
“It is a good thing for an uneducated man to read books of quotations.”
— Winston Churchill (1874-1965)
I use an 1884 book of quotations for much of my writing, it is invaluable to me in organizing my thoughts,
Churchill’s quote above made me wonder if I’m uneducated, perhaps compared to Churchill I am,
I may have blushed when I read this quote, alone in my apartment, sensitively my virtue or defect, my education being highly valued with a stalwart pride,
My politics do not align with this man Churchill from the Twentieth Century, but certainly my respect for him matters greatly,
This has been on my mind for some days, but I continue to use my book of quotes.
On Idealism
Why can’t we align upon our ideals, why should our minds and worldviews seem often not even of the same world, this is so frustrating to this idealist,
I undoubtedly am an idealist, and have always been so, often I had to manufacture delusions in order to keep my idealism breathing,
I’ve had my times of true cynicism as well, in fact it visits me most every day, but I’m much more an idealist,
I discount the notion that not everyone is an idealist in their own manner, we all are, I contend,
Some wave their flag, or wear their abstract imaged sweater flashing their beliefs, but some are quiet, secret in their idealism, may take it to their grave all to themselves.
“All human beings are vines. But especially the idealist. He is a vine, and he needs to clutch and climb. And he despises the man who is a mere potato, or turnip, or lump of wood.”
― D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930), Selected Stories by D.H. Lawrence
There is what I call an idealism for which I do not share, that is of the omnificence of the firearm, in this a week of the NRA convention,
Would these NRA souls describe themselves as idealistic, perhaps they would not, so perhaps I’m out of line a bit, but I’ll proceed,
The thought that a firearm is like a ice cold spring in the desert, that it is as essential to mankind confuses me, or to only equate it with a ballpoint pen,
The idealism wrapped up in metal, wood, plastic, with the gunpowder genie to propel a high velocity hollow point, that this is somehow patriotic, only because it’s an American custom, Manifest Destiny,
This idealism seems not quite right, as the rifled barrel will never be melted down to cast as a plowshare, as it’s obtained its idolatry status, people honestly love these tools, despite the madness of their use at times,
I still own my Dad’s Remington brand shotgun, with slide action for which he liked so much, although I dislike its muzzle blast, its recoil, and its impracticality of me living in a city, and my disinterest now with firearms, I wish not part from it,
Fear is eased by such a thing in our hands, this being it’s not so secret power, an idealism firmly attached to such an emotion seems rather hollow,
My opposition to this ideal comes in many forms, of a Second Amendment arbitrarily interpreted, which may supercharge our gun culture, but these are mine only, certainly not shared by all,
So my idealism is not their idealism it seems, it’s a personal preference, but how much easier it might be if our idealistic center of gravity could match?
“All writers are to some extent inventors, describing people as they would like to see them in life.”
― Harold Bloom (1930-2019), The Western Canon: The Books and School of the Ages
So perhaps I have my excuse for idealism, in that I write, and I certainly judge others, and really only write about those I wish to do so,
I try to be objective, hence keeping an unvarnished view of all, but my mortal maness makes that impossible, to this I concede,
I like to write about those who interest me, who may challenge me, as that is who I am,
But I also dwell in the sardonic, the satirical, trying to bend all light through my prism, I’m particular about my rainbow.
“Life without idealism is empty indeed. We just hope or starve to death.”
― Pearl S. Buck (1892-1973)
So what am I an idealist about, it’s my turn to give an example,
I have not driven a internal combustion engine in six years, I drove thousands of miles in my lifetime, and I contributed to the inching up the mercury of the global thermometer,
I’m really quite idealist about man-made climate change, and do not wish to contribute as much to it as I once did, although it’s impossible not to to some extent, we are a fossil fuel driven economy after all,
I have grown to understand our predicament as more than my pie in the sky ideals, the science demands our action, it’s a practical matter, but indeed to a gun owner, their seemingly extravagant firearm is only of the same,
This is my idealism, a kernel of it, and expect to step on the line of hypocrisy, an idealist must always realize that this will be so, try and minimize it, that’s my goal,
I do not castigate others in their freedoms, including in all matters pertaining to increasing our greenhouse gasses, my ranching family is firmly against converting to electric machinery, for obvious reasons,
I dislike some companies of course, and wish the shared in my idealism,
But that will not most likely be, my idealism can sit down and be silent.
“Anyone can be an idealist. Anyone can be a cynic. The hard part lies somewhere in the middle—that is, being human.”
― Hugh MacLeod (b. 1965), Ignore Everybody: and 39 Other Keys to Creativity
There is a prideful way within me, I wish to claim uniqueness, my idealism is special, my goals the only worthy ones,
But indeed, my idealism dreams are commonplace it may seem, and my cynicism only but the same,
This is a bitter pill, I need a full glass of water to swallow, this which changed this author’s writing trajectory today, but I’m accepting this as true, and realizing the superiority of staying in the middle ground, between my desire to be the grand idealist, and the blunt cynic, both roles are in my repertoire,
So perhaps this project has had its positive effect upon me, only time will tell.
“An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it makes a better soup.”
― H.L. Mencken (1880-1956), A Book of Burlesques
Is my idealism often folly, do others wish to tell me such, can I be dead wrong and not realize it,
One has to accept this notion, as humility demands it of us, the egg on the face my stain the new shirt after all,
So I tend now to keep in my hand of cards, of my idealism close to my chest, I keep much of it only to myself, it’s safer that way,
And my youth was a time for more idealism, and age has soured many grand illusions, this is a natural human trait no doubt, for those blessed with a long life,
Yet I may still stew up the rose petals once again, but must realize my error at the time of the quick taste.
“Be idealistic about the future, be realistic about the present, and never forget the lessons of the past.”
― Dean F. Wilson (b. 1987)
Perhaps I do remain idealistic about my future, I have my personal goals most certainly, I appreciate this quote so much, my parents should have told me this perhaps, am I now idealistic or cynical,
I’m much more grounded in the present than I once was, and I try to continue to improve in this regard, but idealistically I can’t always be so,
Forgetting the lessons of the past, this is something I truly fear, the scar tissue should serve its function, my guard is on duty in this realm,
Wisdom read may not necessarily be wisdom practiced, but I’m now forewarned, my idealism has its proper place,
And most importantly perhaps, is my acceptance of the divergent nature of human ideals, for in a wide diversity is in part of why we have survived so far,
This vine must grow it seems, and I must stand on my on plot, I must own my own thoughts, and own my own idealism.
END
Early Morning Birthday Thoughts
Another birthday has arrived, the exactly significance of it still is a mystery to me,
It is but another day, of billions of days past and billions into the future,
“Christmas is just another day on the rigs,” Steve told me many years ago, “Hell the drilling rig won’t stop drilling for Christmas,”
This humility of the worker was startling, at the time to this nineteen year old, but he was right, it’s just another day.
The thoughts of the afterlife do not plague me, even on such a day as this, with another chalk mark on my prison cell chamber wall, not that I’m actually a prisoner of course,
Surprisingly my exit is what concerns me the most, that of a dignified one seems most important, the hereafter is beyond my grasp anyway,
I wish to have some notable last words, this I must confess, one’s which might inspire the living,
Not that I’m workshopping them of course, but it seems a worthwhile endeavor to keep them in mind.
I thought it perhaps narcissistic to write on my day of celebration, and perhaps I’m that boy peering at his reflection in the still pool,
But inspiration struck me early this morning, I may have wished it but a Christmas Day in the oil patch, but it seems still to matter,
My mortality is easier to comprehend then when in my earlier decades,
And there is much serenity attached to it all now, that is the blessing for which I may not deserve, but I’ll take it,
For I wish to always keep my mind to the very end, this seems a worthy goal, yet it may be beyond my control,
And I’m elated to have my lungs inhale to morning mountain breeze, to grind my coffee beans, doctor up my beverage as I wish it to taste,
I’m very lucky, God never abandoned me, I am at peace.
37th posting, April 16, 2023