We Have A Tendency To Ridicule And Attack One Another Harshly On The Deepest Levels
We have a tendency to ridicule and attack one another harshly on the deepest levels, really calumniate to destroy one other emotionally, morally, personally. This reflects the emotional ignorance, lack of understanding and emotional respect we where subjected to, often unintentionally, as children as infants, as newborns, it gets played out in all sorts of elaborate fashions but in essence it is the results of our hurt minds, emotions, feelings and soul.
How do you respond in a healing manner to others that are important to you that are marooned on such emotionally stunted levels that hold such limiting, painfully restricting views? You do not go down to their level, nor do you pretend that the gravity of their mindset is not toxic. You go on with your life, as you do you might occasionally invite them to meet you on higher grounds but do not engage in battles on lower levels. You lose your self and power that way. You gain self and strength when you have the space to engage live freely, meaningfully that only comes when you do not restrict your self to battles on lower levels. You healing these who are receptive to heal, in time others will find their own way if the choose to let go of the unfulfilling ways they are exercising on lower levels, mind sets, when such individuals stop using control for control sake. If out of stubbornness they wish to remain immature, that is their choice, you do not have to destroy your self, hurt your self in engaging with them, by connecting with them, in trying to save them if they do not want to move.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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Children
Wonder, children wonder, but it seems that from an early age it is knocked out of them. Conformity overrides possibilities and even reality slowly starts to ascend in their mind as they are processed through the systems, in fact conformity becomes reality. No wonder that wonder slowly and then completely looses its place. Children's freedom to see new possibilities, to invent knew worlds, knew universes is increasingly viewed with suspicion as they age. Even more devastating to the processes of wonder, is the self righteous way we as adults invalidate children's seemingly preternatural ability to know where adults are coming from, to even punish children because they see and say that the emperor has no clothes on. Their natural ability to know others emotional states and to sense when adults are imposing their darkness upon them and others is far superior to our own in many or most ways; until we force them to see through are own adult processed perception. We would be wise to learn from them instead of trying to control them. The experience should be two ways. This is the best way to keep wonder alive while teaching children to understand them self and the world around them. This takes courage for us adults.
As we know, children do not know their place, they are adept at seeing through adult pretenses, masks, false identities, roles, games, hypocrisy, we are so busy shoving our own way of processing the world down their throats that we forget to wonder with them, to be with them. We become fearful of seeing things through their eyes, through the eyes of the child we once were. Darwin, Einstein, both were precocious, slow very slow in their maturity and unable and unwilling to conform, they such as so many other had a prolonged childhood, and a lasting child like way about them, the wondered.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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I think it is ironic that many of the leaders in technology were adopted.
I think it is ironic that many of the leaders in technology were adopted. Every one raves about how Steve Jobs put so much style into the apple; he turned his computers into an esthetic work of art, as well as into a fluid experience of joy; thus transforming both dimensions, making the out side experience as beautiful and wonderful as the inside, from a machine that was thoroughly repulsive to the vast majority prior to Steve Jobs. As people we wish the outside of our life was as beautiful, cooperative, exciting and rewarding as how we imagine it, as how we experience it on the inside as well as in moments from our depths.
We wish our inside could be understood by our loved ones. We wish to understand others seemingly incomprehensible emotional states. This is never more real than in infancy, as children, and later as teenagers. What Steve Jobs did was pure alchemy, on one level he was trying to bridge the gap from the lost part of himself, to make himself as attractive as possible to his miss attuned parents so that they would take an real interest in him. He attempted to decode what seemed to a child his parent's senseless emotional algorithm of being emotionally unavailable into something comprehensible. He also made something very distant assessable, complex codes to be memorized with great labor into a mouse and images, where one simply points and clicks.
He got the love, the admiration from many that he needed, he far out reach most, becoming an icon, but the child in him yearned and created the emotional attunement he never had, in both the inside and out side he had made himself through his products as appealing as possible, towards the end his exterior persona started to fade, and he could not maintain his brilliant performances, ironically for once he could experience the unconditional love on the out side and inside for who he was without having to physically dazzle and brilliantly perform. For once he would be loved for who he was, not for the dreams he could fulfill for others.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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There Are Demons that Torment All of Us
There are demons that torment all of us. Our past struggles in coming to ourselves where our acts reflect are pain and not our core. Such demons are thought compulsions, which have become an unwelcome tradition in us. They are the ultimate distraction; they have nothing to do with anything. Just think of the ways in which the past echoes through the media during presidential campaigns. Things said and done in the candidates past that have nothing to do with anything relevant are constantly being played. The negative slander of the opposition with a portion of their past truth gets more time, money and energy than defining who one is and what one stands for. Such adds, are disinformation, they have nothing to do with the issues, and who would be best suited to be president.
A significant portion of our mind generates negative rhetoric like the negative presidential campaign adds; it spins gross distortions against itself and for its self. Even more lethal in countless ways is the positive adds that are also distortions. In both cases the mind lies to itself. Our enemies, meaning those who are jealous, envious of us or those who are threaten by us, or those who are addicted to manipulating people, will take advantage of the rhetoric we except. Such parricides will play on your vanities and exploit your weakness. The artful ones will do both.
Superficially the parasites sharaid themselves as a friend, as a stable alliance, as someone you trust, confide in, as a wife. They will appear to be your most genuine supporter who defends you from the negative distortions from your self and from others. But they are not there to support you, all they know is betrayal, for the ones who they are closest too betrayed them. Many times they have identified with the parent or parents or person who betrayed them. As a defense they will not admit how hurt they are and how awful their childhood and life is. They were brought up in a world in which there was the appearance of love, but not real love. They perpetuate this illusion and people who could potentially really love them get caught up in the gravity of their illusions, in their atmosphere; it is a planet of denial and deception where not real caring grows but contempt, where no real love can grow. Where potential love withers and fades unless freeing itself from this insidious sneer.
Such people, cannot really help you, they cannot even help them selves. They can not give to you what they themselves to not have, love, genuine compassion, sincerity.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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1992
It was 1992, just before the Watts riots, one of the family's on my cases invited me to attend Raymond's party. It was his eighth birthday. Many scenes from this party stand out in my mind, in a way such are in time capsules that expand in time while compressing it at the same time. Well the children, the girl children were playing in the small front yard in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the hood. I was amazed by the rhythm, the pure joy, and athletic agility of the young girls' double ductching with two long jump ropes. It was not one double duch going, but two or more going on at once with three girls jumping between the two ropes in each, most of them had their hair tightly braided in the fashions of the time, or in pig tails, or both. They still have not shed their baby features.
Then, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG all of the children hit the ground, rope stopped. Color plastic hair elastics no longer bouncing on the girls' heads in carefree innocent singing child rapturous wonder that seemed completely oblivious to all of life's darker forces; now they are covered with clenched hands. It is as we were in the middle of an air raid.
By the time I hit the ground, they had already said to one another, it was only falling boards. A burst of laughter and sigh of release, shuu, as they instantly resumed their sophisticated jump roping as if nothing had happened.
I was still seeing my life flash in front of me, feeling the shock of experiencing a drive by. Thoughts still ringing, 'this could be it, 'Please god help me, ' and of course the sublime wonder and terror when glimpsing death. Such thoughts flashed through the children's minds as well, but they automatically dismissed them and went on as if nothing had happen, monthly, weekly daily hourly, intrusions of random madness are the norm.
One of the kids stood out, she jumped rope just as effortlessly as the other girls. Many things are unique about her, she was darker than the rest, almost pure black, she had even more energy and was more daring than the other girls and boys for that matter, all of whom already over flowed with gumption. She was about six years old, cute, girlly yet compact with assertive vitality, bursting with energy and life, 'Mom' she yelled, 'play hopscotch with me.' She made a hopscotch path out of color cholk. 'No Tam, can't you see I am busy, I have to pay attention to the other kids, it is not fair if I only pay attention to you, ' her mother Neesee yelled out. To this Tam started crying.
Well watching her cry, it felt to me that all of the disappointment of the world was coming out of her. A tide of sadness and despair that threatened to wash over the world with a force greater than Noah's flood, this coming from a child, this concentrated innocent precocious wonder who had more life, more joy, then the world could contain. Where is her uckine father I thought, why let the poor kid suffer like this.
I played hopscotch with her, The adults looked at me as if I was from another world, which I was, she, Tam looked at me as if I was Jesus Christ himself, Santa, summer incarnated, god himself.
She hopscotch's with skill, with finesse, with abandonment she hopscotch's into the obstacle she set for herself. She set the challenge and she was going to do it, no matter how impossible. She made it through. I thought she was going to break a leg. The only thing broken was my heart. But she, this kid, hopscotch right into it, my heart, into my soul. The accomplishment of this incredible task meant nothing to her, she would have done it again, blindfolded and backwards. What mattered to her was that someone was there seeing her do this, that she did matter, that someone on this earth was witnessing her life, was cherishing it. Tam, 'you are going to fall and cut your ucken legs, you already have ucken knees like a boy from all the time you ucken fell before, ' her mother says. Mom watch. Her mother hold's up the back of her hand, 'watch this.'
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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