Write as if you'll never be read. That way you'll be sure, to tell the truth. LORI LANSENS
I don't think we have a clue about our fellow man.
After writing about #Negativity Bias in the last blog I still wondered about people. Are we sitting at home in front of our tee vees gobbling up negativity while wondering why we feel like we have been dragged through a knothole backward?
If the media said that 138,000 people escaped poverty last year, as well as the one hundred years before that, that data would slide off us.
Progress is slow.
But an explosion? That's instantaneous. A powerful brain hit.
We preserve that explosion like mom canned her string beans in a mason jar. The brain takes out our mason jars filled with jaw-dropping memories and serves those memories for hors d’oeuvres.
On an eight-minute clip of an interview with Steven Pinker on the Joe Rogan show, Pinker said, and gives evidence to support it, that the world is becoming better— fewer wars, better education, medical advances, progress on lessening pollution. However, since 1950, the media has become 70% worse. (Judged by the use of negative words used.)
Where does that leave us?
Okay, we get up from our chair and poke our heads out the window, and the little birdies are chirping and flying limb to limb.
Hey, look at that! It’s not so bad after all.
John F. Kennedy said.
“Our problems are man-made, therefore they may be solved by man.”
Ever since I saw the movie Alpha about how dog's (aka wolves) and humans connected I have been intrigued with what the Native Americans called the Sacred Path.
It is the path laid down by our ancestors in an attempt to show us the way to go, to help us find the big game that will sustain us through the winter. The Scout, the Shaman the Medicine woman, are all there to help us. All point to the physical and spiritual path.
Recently I have been calling myself "The Scout" as in covered wagon days when a rider went out to search the area, and bring back news of the safest route to take, where to find the narrowest strip of river to cross, if there were hostiles in the vicinity and the best place to circle the wagons for the night.
I'm here to scout the Sacred Path, whatever that might be, and wherever it might take us.
I am neither a Shaman nor a Medicine Woman; I’m a seeker and a self-proclaimed Scout.
When I lay something by the campfire, be it story or fact, it is for you to pick up or leave. It’s simply something I found on the trail.
My “Tribe” will find me.
As I clip-clop along the trail, I think that by innuindo the world is screwy, yet when I get back to the wagon train I notice how helpful people are, how ingenious, how friendly. All in all, it looks pretty good.
And here on this day in November, the world looks rosy, the bird's chirp, the deciduous trees are trading in their pajamas, yellow and red, and magenta, for a naked hibernation. They will hover under a blanket of frost or snow or ice, but come spring they will throw off their covers, and push out sweet buds that become silky leaves that shine with golden drops of sun, and spin in the rays of summer.
As I was riding hell-bent for leather down a mountain path, I caught this tidbit from Tim Harris. (The Four-hour Work Week) It’s his take of the gratitude list.
Each day put three things on your list.
1. Name a person you are grateful for:
Not your kids, your spouse, or your girlfriend, you will use them up in a hurry, but someone from history, someone from high school, that teacher who sent you down a different path.
2. Whatever you want
3. Something small:
Potato chips, birdies, sunshine.
I am grateful for you.
I am grateful for my warm house.
I am grateful for the iced tea I sip as I write this.
See you after the next ride,
Scout, Tonto's horse--how about being named after him? I wonder though, why is Tonto riding with a saddle?