funny conversations we have

I figger since Jenn and SB have gone outta business, all of us have the responsibility of memorializing stupid things we say on the World Wide Web. What say you, huh? Like for instance, Amin and I were discussing Santa Claus. (Christmas is coming, no matter what you say.) So we were looking ahead. To when, like, we have kids. (Disclaimer: This is purely hypothetical. Don't hold us to it.) And we were thinking of how to disabuse them of the idea that Santa Claus exists, so we derived this torture method:

When kid asks when Santa is coming:
Mom: Santa is actually a thief. We put out cookies and milk for him so that he'll leave the silverware alone.
Dad: And Daddy's golf clubs.
Mom: And the jewellery. As well as your swimming trophys/teddy bear/whatever the kid holds dear.
Parents: So go and sleep and tomorrow you can open your presents.

After reading the Black Jewels trilogy (must with-hold personal comments for fear of embarrassing myself) it's intriguing how Anne Bishop has taken what we humans do and turned it into a tangible thing. Okay, that made no sense. It's like the "breaking" of witches and even warlords is a physical harm, but we do that with impunity and no visible damage most of the time. Everyone of us is powerful. We have the power to love, to affirm, to approve, to give, to accept, to smile, to share. In equal amounts, we also have the terrible power to hurt, to cut, to destroy, to belittle, to look down on. Why is it, when we have the gifts to be nice, that humans more oft than not pick the hurtful way of responding to the world?

Safety is something we desperately crave, I think. Even when people seek adventure and play death games, they're merely gambling away their physical safety. Mental and emotional safety - so much harder to ascertain, diagnose, heal - is infinitely more precious and as infinitely more elusive. What is this ghost commodity that no one can place a price on, but that everyone's life revolves around? Imagine a life where nothing is certain, not your life, your abilities, your chances, logic, fate, whatever. It's like playing a damn screwed up computer game. And we, who hold our own safety in such esteem, think nothing of throwing stones at glass houses. THE IRONY - we throw stones seemingly blindly. We throw them at others. We throw them at ourselves. Something like breaking all the furniture but making it seem as if the house's still intact. And well hell, it's my furniture. Metaphorically speaking. So hands off.

Perhaps wallowing in self pity and its polar opposite of luxuriating in self esteem are but two sides of the same coin. Both are rooted in our psyche, are they not. And like I heard in sermon today, the jails that are the most fearsome are not those of brick and steel, but of our minds and hearts.

No matter, c'est la vie, I know what panes are broken in my windows. And maybe one day I'll fix them. Meanwhile, I like the draft.