04 October 2008

I am trapped... all around me.

Symbols strewn together in intentional order to create meaning and significance... this is all so magical and lovely... yet so very dangerous. These symbols, that you're deciphering, lead us on a road.. linear lines to linear reason.. creating individualistic thought, and individualistic self. This is the result of hundreds of years of a media rut.
The printing press really has done a number (or letter) on us. I crave true community, but I, but we, have been pressed into an anti-community being by the very way we communicate. We've gone away from a tribal and community based mentality, mostly the result of our own perceived intellect. What is the mother of all learning... text book or experience?... solitude or conversation? Where has 20th century media brought us; further away from each other... more alone.
"You are more connected than ever!" cry the online social network and cell phone. And they may be right... but what sort of connection does the soul cry for? The arms-length shallow connection given from symbols strewn together on a screen, or the intimacy of personal conversation... when I can see the way your nose wiggles between thoughts and your eyes sharpen as I confess my past. We are begging to feel connection... to God, to the Earth, to each other. This isn't a cry to leave technology and modern media behind, but more of a "wake up!" Lets not be so ignorant and examine the mediums by which we connect... "The message is in the medium" - Marshall McLuhan.

Clearly you may think myself a hypocrite writing these words on the pages of a screen, and certainly I feel like one. I am a prisoner to what's around me. Because I can write things down and place thoughts outside of myself, I think I can be objective and free...
I am Not objective
I can not be
Experience has it's finger prints all over me.

I can not simply jump from where I am to the finish line. This is simply the start... to the finish of something that is surely beautiful.

e m d o e f r s i i n h c r s t i l n a o e