Some of us (I included) request transparency while various attributes & processes are narrated in our lives in a manner to allow comfort in a lack of transparency
As humans some of us are open, & to some extent enabled, to allow both simultaneously. Some can accept adaptation & change, depending on various influencing vectors
Collectively we built entire institutions around lack of transparency. We created these because they allow us a substitute for difficult to understand or difficult to accept results of the process of transparency. Or to control that what “must” be understood by others
Over the hundreds of thousands of years, our species created work-arounds & “pervertedly” took note of (understandably) avoided transparency via narration. Here “pervertedly” means “having altered the direction away from its initial course, meaning or state;” one can think of change, fluidity, dynamics, innovation, transformation or myth
This previous (ie the human, shared & individual histories), & the suggested “perversions,” quickly (in astronomical scales) started to be convoluted with control, & this via any narration which has been collectively embraced. Some of our transparency-hiding narratives are not falsifiable. This creates tensions & harmonies. Request or imposition for corroboration is, at times, systemically opposed, unless the imposer is relentless
We delegate transparency into a blackbox by a different name, while shining bright & sparkling lights upon it, & while collectively dancing around the bonfire lit in its name
Santa is real; the proverbial one & the one living on the North Pole. Arthur C. Clark said it eloquently. I will remain opaque as to which of his 3 laws I am alluding. & yet, Arthur, Santa & I have one thing in common: the joy for aesthetics, poetics & compassion toward the other; at least to bring them moments of uplifting escapism or support
The human choreography is one where we consider the balancing act of when to stimulate transparency & when to obfuscate. If all needs to be simple, clear & straight, we are equally doomed as when we tell blissful stories irrespective of the potentially disastrous or undesirable outcomes to oneself & the relations of oneself with any other; human & non-human
#Transparency & #understandability are interlinked. With these, so are #auditability & #explainability. Eg: by allowing us physical, emotional, intellectual, imaginative, relational & spiritual access to augmenting our senses with a highly powerful microscope or telescope of any engineered types; be these scientific &/or poetic. These nuanced balancing processes can be found in relations with technologies, spouse, students, citizens, communities, markets, policies & larger ecologies. Alternatively these relations can be shattered, brushed under the carpet, crudely abused or unwarranted guarded for the sake of guarding & no longer for the sake of #compassion for life as evolving in complex, paradoxical, diverse relations
Tag Archives: storytelling
<< Different kinda Kind >>
She came to me and said:
“I want to try and be especially kind to those people who I do not perceive as kind. Perhaps I want to try and ask myself: ‘why might he not seem kind to me? Why does she seem unpleasant to me?’”
“Maybe trauma, maybe abuse,” she continued,
“maybe loneliness,… these are some common possibilities.
Maybe linguistic difference or the habit of applying a different style or medium of communication from mine.”
Then she paused for a few seconds. It felt long, continued:
“It’s perhaps more difficult to stomach if it is because they are wired differently or because they have not yet mastered the tools to temper their will or wilds.”
She looked at me with a slight expression of fear and asked in a softest voice: “Could it be there is a human out there who is unable to be my kind of kind?”
She kept exploring with more vigor and speed:
“Maybe they don’t know any better as to how I see my kind of kindness. If I have not yet shown them, repeatedly, my kind of kindness, if they have not experienced what I fuzzily identify as kindness… if they grew up in an environment void of my style of kindness, then maybe it is too easy for me to dictate to her, or him, to be kind?”
She asked but didn’t seem in search for that one clear all encompassing answer. She was on a roll:
“Though if I am then reminding myself that, to them, my demand for kindness might be void of actionable meaning to them, they might wonder: ‘then what now what?!?’; they might not even be able to think where to begin.”
I nodded but let her keep the stage of discerning reflection. It was enriching to me.
“Maybe,” she continued, “maybe if I am kind to them and I try not to waver my kindness…? …Oh, it might be I loose my patience with them! Maybe then i fall out of my mode of kindness. Then what?”
Silence returned.
“Then, then I need to give my kind of kindness to myself. Pick myself up and try again to be kind to her… or him.
Perhaps I could apologize? No? Yes, I could try that. I could say sorry for loosing my cool… mmm, without telling them they were to blame.”
I nodded hardly noticeably.
“If I were to tell them they should have been kind then that might be a questionably kind act. Telling someone to be kind, well it doesn’t seem kind, you think?”
Before I could consider breaking her flow, she unfolded her verbalized thinking further:
“So what to do?”
She looked at me and said:
“Would you then like to calmly state: ‘Act kind, I tell you…though, I am not going to tell you how to be kind …unkindly I think you are old enough and should know better. I believe my unkindness is justified, yours is not. I will not care how irrational I am in dealing with your irrational lack of kindness. and, moreover I want your kindness in my style immediately, unfalteringly, unconditionally all the time!’ Would you?”
“No.” I wanted to reply but she said it instead.
“I want to try my kindness and show my kindness. I want to lead by example, falter by being human, stand up and try again by being a learner.”
Then she hesitated and looked rather surprised with a new thought that popped up.
“Also, maybe I’m craving for his or her kindness? Maybe, just maybe this might be me not feeling confident about being ok not being liked by everyone.”
“Maybe if they don’t like me, this could be ok, while “not like (me)” is no valid reason for them to be blatantly, dehumanizingly crudely unkind to me either.”
She turned around and went on to play being my imaginary friend.
—animasuri’22
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(The video comes with a transcript below it)
The Universe as a Collective Memory; as a Collective Narrative
The perceived universe is a history. One’s perceived thoughts are a history. Each inevitably lie in a past; one slightly longer distanced in timespace then the other.
As a child, and still today, I imagine(d) that some attributes that make up interstellar space could function as memory banks for our collective (and individual) information (knowledge, anecdotes, personal stories, that evasive theory or elegant formula, that silly cat video and so on).
As a child, and still in my today’s naivete, I envision(ed) that the information could be encoded onto radiation, onto waves (of light or which ever), used as carrier waves, carried for eternity (or until the next Big Bang) at the speed of near-to-light, across the galaxies, as our echoes of who and what we once were with one another. …Yes, one might prefer to be more cautious, just in case there is that space-faring parasitic yet intelligent species out there. Though, this might be more telling of how we reflect upon ourselves as a species and how we have been perceiving how we (should) relate to other species around us (and vice versa) rather than being about that hypothetical non-terrestrian.
Some might pose that vision without action is delusional. However, I beg that nuances do exist. One can envision something and can, at the least, be exhilarated or rejuvenated when seeing that somehow similar visions are brought to execution by others. Then such delusional self shifts to becoming a meaning-full self. This occurs through a positive psychology of interconnection with that unknown other, by means of the unintended gift of meaning, or hope, through proxy. That is somewhat what stories do; both fictional or less fictional ones.
I have seen the nascence of DNA computing and information storage on DNA , allowing for enormous capacity and durability. I discovered this through the media I browsed.
I have seen the mentioning of 5D data storage through some kind of glass imprinting of information, of even more impressive proportions. This is achieved at a nano-scale, by means of a dense laser beam of sorts.
I have observed reports about initiatives of databases and storage-redundancies on- and off-planet; not only of stories and information but also of flora’s “story” in the form of seed banks. Who’s and what will (not) be stored?
I have heard of research towards brain implants aimed at increasing memory capacities within an individual
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I also encountered questions of the “right to be forgotten”. In extension to that, it has been said that for instance on LinkedIn an increasing percentage of profiles are of deceased individuals and that in a not too long a near future that can easily reach up to 20% (I will want to verify this). I am equally thrilled about this in associated with the sensation of the echoes of humanity as portrayed in the opening paragraph. Why should one or more of one’s story (not) be stored?
This then in turn entangles with concepts of “privacy”, “freedom of speech”, “secrecy”, “intimacy”, “trust”, “ownership of information”, “the right to perform or distribute”, and many more. Does storage dismiss the story thought or the story hushedly stumbled and stuttered in private settings of the fleeing moment and among those who are trusted? Is there your poetry in the ephemeral, the passing?
I also hear about some who ponder whether or not more and faster (information) is unequivocally better.
Either way, I distill a tautology: we are story keepers, story tellers and maybe more so, story hackers; irrespective of whether we like, want or agree with their content or not. That brings us to meaning-giving, meaning-taking and meaning-maintaining or meaning-alteration.
I wonder, …
I wonder, besides one’s intentions with a story and those intentions being different from the perceptions of a story –which in turn can be seen as an example of the process of “meaning-alterations”– is wanting to be forgotten the ultimate alteration of meaning? Has intention the upper-hand to perception? Has one infinite ownership over one’s story? Could one, should one and how could one ensure the intended meaning of a story over time? Is this the human tragedy or playful dance between the individual and the collective as portrayed in stories over space and time and imagination (i.e. meaning-alteration; since perception is the processing of a story through filters such as one’s imagination)? [if you are wondering how I am making these statements and assumptions as to how someone might process a story: while anecdotal, last I checked I am human and I process stories through imagination and other cognitive mechanisms].
This post will function as a repository of these and associated initiatives or considerations by others. If I find them I will post URLs here.