The Ivan Karamazov Problem

I don’t believe in the political process. I believe in the human process. Politicians are good at deciding how to use other people’s resources. Humans have the choice to use each their own resources.

"“I must make you one confession,” Ivan began. “I could never understand how one can love one's neighbors. It's just one's neighbors, to my mind, that one can't love, though one might love those at a distance.”"
          --Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers of Karamazov.

The choice to engage change in the society we live in does not need to be a matter of policy; instead, change is the journey of tiny steps, daily choices that finally lead to one meaningful opportunity. Please. Don’t waste time making politically charged statements to amass virtual followers; rather, choose to live a life that beckons real change to those around.

Don’t take the cowardly approach of politicians and address issues from a distance. Love thy stranger, not thy neighbor; instead learn to love thy neighbor. Engage in the real world.

It is easy for a politician to talk about immigration, homelessness, etc., from the distance of a perceived morality. It is quite another thing to reach out to a struggling individual and invite them into our home and into our lives.

It is easy to label people, stereotype and categorize people. It is hard to engage, celebrate, and embrace one another. But there is so much more to myself than me. There are other people.

The growing tide in political debate and even the daily life is one day after another turning into a slowly glowing bloodbath of humanity replaced by the virtual troll.

Each person who does not agree is branded a terrorist, a nazi, a racist, whatever is most convenient and appears to be trending. But in a culture of manipulation, in the end, the manipulator even forfeits their own identity. A life of contrasts or comparisons in favor of a life of meaning and choice.

I know these posts probably seem like I am saying the same thing. I probably am, but the nice thing about only having one reader (myself) is that there is only one voice to twist my words and only one mind to remember them even if they are written down. Maybe, someday, even I will learn.