The Something of Whatever Whenever – Someplace, Somewhere

(found by the dumpster or in the kitchen sink or underneath the hearth of an abandoned fireplace)

Josie –

I do not very much like this place that you have sent me to visit. I do not very much like this particular society filled with these particular people all doing this particular thing.

I have questions for them, Josie, and – as much as I try to pose them innocently and without judgment or harshness – whenever I ask them a question, they all get rather upset. And do you know what happens, Josie? Josie, just guess!

They turn on me. They accuse me. They call me names, and they scream, and they make me feel as if it is necessary for me to feel bad about myself.

And I want no part of it. I’d much rather like to leave than get a stern talking to from one of these particular people from this particular society which seems overly concerned with doing this particular thing.

I just feel differently, Josie. That’s all. That’s the simplest way that I can phrase it. All of these particular people from this particular society are all very much preoccupied with the doing of this particular thing (or – within reason – an assemblage of things closely related or in some way similar to this particular thing), and I – quite simply, Josie, and quite innocently as well – am not.

I do not have a problem with it. However, I do realize that in order for me to successfully assimilate and become a part of these particular people in this particular society I will soon have to sacrifice my hesitancy, or whatever misinformed aspects of my worldview cause it, in order to become similarly determined to do this particular thing.

It is as if there is no middle ground, no compromise. The particular people that inhabit this particular society are all quite enamored with the accomplishing of this particular thing, and they interpret any deviance or any call towards deviance from the task of accomplishing this particular thing as a threat to themselves fundamentally as people.

And so some end up on a cross or alone beneath a Bodhi tree or just sent to the desert without anyone to record their triumphs.

It seems quite shortsighted. It seems quite ridiculous, in fact.

Although, each must be given their own, even if that courtesy isn’t always reciprocated.

Wish me luck,



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