Like first of all, why did my parents say “think of the starving children in Africa!” before they threw my half eaten dinner away? They aren't going to ship my half eaten food to Africa, they wouldn't have shipped it had they known I wasn't going to eat it before they cooked it, in honesty had they not bothered to get the food and cook it for me neither would the store we bought it from.
Why do the charities that collect for the starving children collect money more often than food? Even if a child in one of these countries we've sucked all the life out of actually received what we'd given they would have to come here to spend it, and coins didn't seem that edible.
If my parents were so bothered about the starving children in Africa why didn't all the parents just cook what was needed for their children rather than heaping mountain fulls of food onto the plate and send the leftovers to one of those countries. One ship for every community here to feed our leftovers to every community over there.
I surmised in the end that this was because it would cost money to do it.
As I grew I found new layers to this question, like why the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation) felt the need to fly impeccably dressed middle aged men to these areas, follow them around with a camera crew and have them commentate on the action so we could all tut and talk about how terrible it was. Wouldn't the Ethiopian people be a lot happier if instead of the BBC spending the thousands of pounds on gathering and transmitting such footage to overfed children in the UK they sent some food and ice cream (it looked hot there)?
This starving African children thing seemed all backwards. As much as it seemed like we were acknowledging the problem by sending inedible coins and Award Winning Correspondents like Mike Thompson and Peter Biles to gawp at all the starving children, we didn't DO anything.
My real curiosity was that while these news reporters were wandering around these places they would wear impeccable suits, sometimes have an umbrella up, occasionally drink from a bottle of water. The real questions that would play on my mind would be, where did the reporters stay? What did they eat? Was there a big air conditioned van or production truck hidden off camera filled with Sunny D and Wotsits? Was there a hotel a couple of miles down the road with vending machines full to the brim of coca cola and a group of french speaking migrants stood around with towels on their arms offering Peter Biles and his colleagues some freshly squeezed orange juice? And how the hell could he stand there filming the death of a naked, starving child and writing his next voice over when if it was his child, or even a boy walking the street outside of his swanky Mayfair apartment, he would probably take the child into his home, feed and wash it, and turn it over to the care system. All this for the benefit of a 5 minute filler segment between "choco rations" going up and the next party sponsored spin peace about housing prices or some magic talking dog who saved a girls life.
Yes, there was something wrong with the world I grew up in, and hopefully one day someone will read this and say we WERE backwards, because 23 years into my life and this statement is almost regarded as ludicrous.
So how does this system work? Why do we continue working within this system if it would seem the very way it is structured means that a geographical boarder can define what rights and value a human life has? Was I to feel lucky or spiritually privileged because I didn't live in one of these hell holes?
After all if we imagine my consciousness was just floating around the ether before my mother pops out a sprog and bam, the consciousness lands in this human vessel and where it is just happens to be one of the most opulent, decadent countries in the world, statistically that seems like the equivilent of winning the lottery.
I could continue down this path all day, this initial post could turn into a several thousand word essay alone. I do not want that, so I wont go down that path.
My main thought is that we live in a country and world where each essential human being is rhetorically stated to be equal in both rights and privileges. This simply is not true.
The crux of the matter is that had my “Soul” or “Consciousness” or whatever this unexplainable part of “Beingness” we are all aware of lying beyond all those layers of unthinking tissue; instead of choosing this body chose the body of the child dying in front of millions of British people having their dinner, I would NOT have been equal to them, because if I was equal I would be eating my dinner and not starving.
What makes me? What is Self, is self this position within this logos implemented societal structure that has the home and the debt and the food in the fridge, bank account and TV and washing up to do?
Or is self the bit of me that incredulously looked on in shock as Bono and his jet setting cohorts released “Feed the World” a second time when the first time seemingly fed a vastly smaller amount than was quoted on the cd? (Although bono's ego is definately planet sized, the world wasn't fed by the first cd.)
I have found a path in front of me, a path that says to me it is time to further explore this issue for the purpose of better knowing myself. Is this structure necessary?
Is it time for us as a race to allow the Nanny state to continue to distract us with televisions promises of a better life, archetypal freedom and vacuum packed composite individuality as she slowly locks all the doors and tapes up every piece of independence we had so we can't “hurt” ourselves. Or is it time for me to put away my toys and distractions, stand up and say “I am a grown up now nanny, and you are essentially here to serve me so your rules no longer apply nor are they necessary because I accept all responsibility for my actions. Stop messing around trying to run my life as I know I have the ability to do and get what I want, and start working with everyone else on my behalf to get them to do the same. And if you don't do it, I shall send you home and do it myself.”
What I am finding is a multi layered onion, each layer stark in colour but essentially made up of the same ingredients. A fractal like entity that traces back through the routes of civilization as a constant embodiment of the constant war between self and structure, Ascent and Descent, Consciousness and Language, Space and Time, Wakefulness and Sleeplessness.
As I strip each layer of the onion, I shall continue this blog as well as the book I am penning about this experience. I have a small amount of debts to clear which are plays within the game I made when I was not fully aware of the implications of what exactly I am, and that what I am participating is indeed a game with ultimately little satisfactory reward.So once these debts are clear in November of this year I will start living as if money and property have no value to me, as they will not.
I currently know myself as Rich:Craig. And this is my truth.
Additional: I'm aware this is a gross oversimplification of the crises facing Ethiopia and that charities don't physically send money directly to the starving kids, so don't bother telling me.
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