On Knowing

Wordsworth said it well:  “Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark. And shares the nature of infinity.”

It seems, ofttimes, that even amidst the greatest joy and gladness there is an element of suffering in each and every day that passes. But where does this suffering stem from?

Hypobole, and Then Some

This afternoon I received a letter. I looked at the envelope, it was addressed to me in a shaky hand with uneven strokes and, apparently, a pen on the verge of running out of ink.

Curious.

There was no return address... but the postmark was from my hometown. Initially I panicked, thinking it was from one of my family members, but no. The handwriting was all wrong.

Curiouser.

I turned it over and noticed it was sealed with a wax seal bearing the letter "Z." Uh-oh. The Socialist's grandmother is the only person in my past who always, ALWAYS sends her letters with that stamp.

Curiouser and Curiouser indeed.

Brevity

Well that didn't last as long as either of us had hoped or planned.

A Curiousity

The Worth of a Rapist has been posted for just over 12 hours. Already I've received over 50 Facebook comments, direct messages, tweets, and private emails to the effect of "What's wrong with you? Why are you defending a rapist? Daddy issues much?" I think you missed my point.

It's curious. It's fascinating. I'm glad you're thinking deeply about this. And I want to clarify.

The post has its roots stretching back several years ago. I was reflecting on and exploring of the nature of humanity and the inherent worth of all people. This work was actually not attached to my rapist in the least. As I was pondering, I kept running up against the 'well what about?' question. What about Hitler? What about Stalin? What about Trump (yeah, back then, already thinking about Trump.) Eventually I thought to myself - who has wronged me the most? Who would be the hardest for me, in my being, to find worth in? And if I can find some bit of worth there, will that suffice to wrap up the argument to myself?

Ex-dad then became the archetypal 'monstrous evil' in my exploration, essentially the 'can I find a worth in him? Because if so, then I can find a worth in anyone.'

This as opposed to a desire to justify his actions, redeem him, or anything even remotely related. Never will I defend his actions. Not even a bit. Nope, not an issue of needing to 'reconcile' or 'justify.' Although writing last night's post took a lot out of me and was deeply emotional, I've not dwelt on ex-dad for quite some time. He's functionally dead in my life. And yet, somehow, my musings on human worth and inherent goodness were taken as otherwise.

I suppose that's the controversial part though.

The Worth of a Rapist

Trigger warning - this post is a wee heavy (and not the tasty kind). I will be speaking in detail about heinous crimes committed against humanity, living creatures, and myself. If you've got small kids looking over your shoulder or just don't really want to consider the worth of a rapist... perhaps you'd best skip this one.

For those of you who need to pass on this one, I think this image sums it up best without the trigger-potential.

Hurt people hurt people... damn that's deep.