For some time the Holy Grail of genetic determinists has been the study of (identical) twins. You know how it goes. Everything the twins are and do can be explained by their genetics. No matter what kind of environment they have been brought up in, it all comes back to the genes. Nonsense of course, but now is not the time to shoot down yet another mainstream holy cow. What I find interesting is that the same level of research has never been applied to adoptees.
Perhaps I should be grateful because who knows I might have been roped into some ludicrous experiment. I have found it fascinating over the years when in the presence of medical (hardly ever) or insurance people asking me about “family history”.
“What did your father die of?”
“Emphysema, bronchitis. He smoked all his life.” Telling them this usually heads off questions about my health relating to breathing, and anything lung or chest related.
“And your mother?”
“Old age. She was 88, decided she’d had enough, died in her sleep and was ill once in her life from food poisoning.” The clever ones stop there. The slower ones, or the ones who run pre-installed mental algorithms go on to ask me what “medication” I’m on. “Nothing” usually closes the dialogue about genetic influences on my present state.
Adoption has been written about extensively elsewhere. I recall a couple of blog posts on the subject. Knowing you are adopted can polarise your worldview. It fluctuates between feeling all-powerful (I was meant to be here!) or likening oneself to space dust (I could have been aborted). If you subscribe to the view, as I do, that we were all meant to be here, then it tends to skew thoughts in a positive direction.
As above so below; the inner determines the outer; we all are sparks of the Divine. An acorn has within it all the information needed to grow into a 200 foot oak tree. The sperm and the egg combination which creates us is similarly endowed.
“To see a World in a Grain of Sand, And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, And Eternity in an hour.”
Yes folks, enough of us believe that within each of us lie the secrets of the universe. No, we haven’t found a way of unlocking them all. Yet. But aren’t we are off to hell in a hand cart.
Or maybe we can get off and climb the stairway to heaven.
I’m some way into a fabulous book about the Irish potato famine by Tim Pat Coogan. Can’t imagine many people would like reading about the utter devastation and catastrophic nature of this act of genocide. And if the thought about reading about the cruelty that stalks this planet keep away from Larnaca promenade if you visit Cyprus. For the truth activist, 10 lifetimes would not be enough to learn about 0.1% of the crimes committed by the powers-that-shouldn’t-be since the dawn of time.
Yeah, we know all that, they are a set of bastards but I’m down here to have a life and be happy, so off you go…
It could be argued that daily bulletins about the depravity of the planetary rulers is addictive. Without our “fix” we might lapse into toasting the Queen, join the queues to be micro-chipped, max out on chlorinated chicken McFoetus, roll over and die. Who knows?
Another quote I’m rather fond of is “the mind once stretched never returns to its original dimensions.” This has been attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Have you ever thought though, gorging on a mental diet of truth, or I’ll meet you halfway and call it “negativity”, can actually make you stronger? As the Godfather of truth activists, David Icke would have it, once you know “the agenda” you know what’s coming. And knowing what’s coming can be empowering. So when you read or discover that all around the world people are not rolling over and are actually waking up then the stairway seems in sharper focus.
The problem is, if it is a problem, that truth activism tends to be impersonal. It’s about “them”, scandals, outrages, “fake news”, conspiracies and plots. Yes you can talk to individuals about all this- if they have any inclination to doing something about the state of the world- but mostly it boils down to a shared knowing. When I was in the Labour Party the faction I was involved with was about “converting” other members to a particular way of thinking. I wouldn’t recommend it.
In the Utopia-don’t you love that word?-we are striving for, we would all be of service to each other, to all sentient beings and the planet. Being of service would not require a business plan, debt recovery, marketing genius or 5G. We would all be of service because we would realise that is what we are here for.
So how do we bring this about? Do we keep publicising the excesses of the psychopaths? Do we bury our heads in a bucket of “Signature Mixers”? Do we look the other way while the train is coming? Do we serve until we drop? Or do we infiltrate the dark side?
Does it not come back therefore to our own individual origins? Do we stagger through life taking on board life’s knocks, learn the lessons and cue up the next catastrophe, you know, the one we never anticipated. And what happens if we don’t learn the lessons, as someone famous once said, are we destined to repeat them?
I’ll partially close with a wonderful concept, not originated, but elaborated perfectly by Tim Pat Coogan. Providence. The Irish potato famine was an act of God. The fanning of the flames and the starting of a 1000 more fires were also down to Him. So why bother to seek God out, chances are you will get covered in Brimstone trying to scale the pearly gates.
Bring me my bowl of eastern maize!
Bring me my handcart of desire!
Would’st Thou stick me with thy spear? O sky, unfold!
Premature death, O sing Heavenly choir! (see postscript below)
That spark within me seems to glow ever brighter and the glow of everyone who is awake will soon be visible.
Jack Stewart, Friday, 07 June 2019.
A truly inspirational quote, poem or prose stands the test of time. The rest of it depends on enough pseuds to endorse it. My adulteration of an inspirational song (Jerusalem in case you haven’t guessed) is as crap as anyone else’s. In the potato famine the importation of Indian maize partly offset thousands of deaths. Tearing the roofs off Irish homes and evicting the tenants had as much to do with Providence as voting. Unless you are George W Bush,