Rocks and Fundamentalism
Today in my ‘learning to surf’ journey I met rocks. Well enough to draw blood, not so bad to do damage of any consequence.
In my entanglement with rocks there was a great lesson. I am unlikely to get myself into a place where I need to learn this lesson again.
Learning to grow up is not a destination. There is no arrival. One of my arguments with age and people ageing is with the entitled belief that there is an arrival. And with that arrival the privilege of sitting back and no longer learning, hitting the rocks, and getting back into the frey.
I watch the world go mad, perhaps no madder than it has in past times, but certainly approaching peak mad (I hope) for our age, and those who offer their voices to the cacophony of channels, burning with righteousness.
If people are willing to learn, to really learn, to be open to learn, to be open to listen, not as a trite gesture of supplication to a short term power grab, but to be willing to be wrong, to have a screwed perspective, incorrect information, or simply hubris born of ignorance, then to grant them grace is an act of integrity, even while ensuring they are held to account for the consequence.
If not, and this includes me, it peoples positions and ideas and beliefs are rigid and closed, then their voices are not worthy of listening to, other than to be seen and heard as signals of a deeper systemic issue.
But to grant them a platform to spew into is to say yes to the refusal to be open, possibly wrong, and potentially very dangerous.
Fundamentalism is exactly that, in all shades. Incapacity and unwillingness to hold possibility of any other point of view.
Photo taken January 9th 2021