Moderator: Van Canna
Four blind men encounter an elephant. One grabs the leg and concludes it is a tree trunk. One holds the tail thinking it is a whip. Another touches the elephant's trunk and decides it's a hose and the fourth man pats the side concluding it's a wall.
The wise man tells them, "All of you are right."
The first time I heard this parable, I thought it was illustrating that truth is relative. Here are four different people, each one coming away with very different conclusions.
Years later I realized the story conveys exactly the opposite: truth is objective. After all, is there an elephant? Of course an elephant is there! That is the objective reality, independent of anyone's viewpoint.
Truth is complex, multi-faceted, and at times very difficult to fully grasp. But it's not relative. There is truth out there; we just need to figure out what piece of the puzzle we're holding onto.
The four blind men fell prey to a common mistake: reaching conclusions without sufficient information. Based on an elephant's trunk alone, it is unlikely anyone will come to an accurate conclusion.
The four blind men should talk to each other and share their information. By putting all the pieces together, a clearer picture will begin to emerge and some initial conclusions could be made: this is not a piece of furniture, it's definitely a large four-legged animal.
With more and more information the picture will eventually sharpen, revealing the identity of the elephant.
know we human folks can respond just like an ungulate in the headlights:
Years ago strolling down a street in Halifax. The predator growls, what the F*uck are you looking at ass*hole?
"If di fish woulda keep him mouth shut, him woulda never get cook" Jamaican Proverb
1: 30 p.m (sitting on a Connex train, listening to an old Goldfinger tape and minding my own f*cking bidness) I hate the Connex train to south-East London. It's depressing.
It's always crowded; always packed with inbred drunk BNP members and their pitbulls on their way back to Plumstead; always slow, and , on this bright Sunday morning, totally unpredictable.
There's a guy across the aisle from me who won't stop staring . At first I thought he was just one of the regular disturbed people that come onto the train from time to time and do things like tell you about Jesus, or sit beside you and moan as they try to come down from the bad acid they took three hours ago.
But no, this guy is different. He's not dressed like one of the guys who sells "The Big Issue"; he's got all his teeth and he's a fat mutherf*ucker too --so you know he can actually afford to eat. So why the hell is he staring at me like that ?
As the train rattles along the tracks, his face gets more screwed and I begin to wonder if he's confused me with someone who shot his baby mother or perhaps the one responsible for giving him the thyroid problem that has made him the obese, mouthbreathing pig that he is.
I've always wondered about that "THYROID excuse" that fat people use to explain their blubber. After all, you never see any fat people like in places like Rwanda and I'm sure those poor starving bastards have thyroid glands too!
Anyway, the guy keeps looking at me ,and, before long I can't stand it anymore. I know he's bigger. I know he's uglier, but he's still looking at me after ten minutes like I'm wearing his goddamned underwear.
And he ain't a blind guy cuz his eyeballs aren't rolling back in his head the way most blind people's eyeballs do.
I HAVE to say something--any "REAL MAN" in my position would. I peer at him over the top of the sunglasses I stole from street vendor in Covent Garden and say : "What the f*uck are you looking at ?"
The girl beside me closes her magazine and gets up to move. -
"What did you say?", says the gorilla? -"I said, what the f*ck are you staring at? You've been looking at me for ten minutes now." -"
Cuz you're lookin at ME sh*thead", he replies abusively.-
"No star!", I retort, doing my best to sound like Jim Brown getting ready to back out his ratchet , "you're the one looking at ME!"
As the train pulls into London Bridge station, the staring mouthbreather gets up from his seat and moves towards me as our discussion becomes more hostile and as everyone in the train gets out of the way of the inevitable.-
"Yuh a bloodcloth eeediot", I inform him. -"Pussyhole ", he retorts, as he rolls up his newspaper and attempts to box me in the head with it.
-"You fat mutherfukin black pig", I respond as I duck to avoid getting slapped in my head, "come out a di bloodcloth train if yuh tink yuh bad!"
The next thing I know, I'm on the platform at London Bridge , ranting and raving, waving my fists and cussing the pig about his mother, his sister, his grandmother and her grandmother.
How did this happen? -"Come over here mate", says the pig, "away from the camera's." So, like the testosterone poisoned (and delirously hungry) individual that I am, I drop my bag and walk over towards him as if I know how to fight or something.
Suddenly , I'm brawling with the pig. He's taking swings at my head and his fists are glancing off the hard , top part of my skull. I manage to give him one or two good shots but they aren't quite producing the desired effect, which ideally, would be something between quadriplegic and death.
The brawl continues as the both of us draw a small crowd who are happy to see two niggers kicking the **** out of each other for free.
-"Kick him in his head", screams one old woman. -"Push him in the tracks", screams someone else. And on it goes, until a guy dressed in one of those blue train outfits comes up and gets in between, stopping the fight.
-"You're a punk", exclaims the gorilla, if you weren't in a public place you wouldn't go on like you're bad!"- "You punch like a girl", I replied as he turns and walks away breathing like a beached whale.
I stood there on the platform for a while watching him walk away and I looked over at the railway tracks which are less than four feet away.
A train came speeding along the same tracks and I imagined the embarrassment (among other things) I would feel if I had been had thrown into those tracks, got run over , and then , by some stroke of bad luck, lived to tell the tale over and over again as neighborhood children listened in fascination and asked to touch the stumps which were once my legs.
"Pretty stupid" I thought, as I made my way towards the Underground. That could have been a tragic waste, and for what? A little display of machismo? And so, after all is said and done, what have I learned from this potentially tragic experience?
Well, next time , I'll think twice before asking someone twice my size what the f*uck he's looking at. Next time I'll be more sensible about how I deal with such violently psychopathic unsavoury types.
Next time, I'll fight him inside the train.
Yesterday by the highway bypass out from “piazzale corvetto”__ a pick up truck rear ended and stuck in the middle of the road. Six PM, the usual rush hour madness.
Well, okay.. A bit longer in line..be home in a while.
Wait, what are those people doing horsing around in the middle of the road in this traffic?
Ah..no..no..they are not playing…there are two of them, no, three…oh God..one has a baseball bat and is chasing another…the third is trying to grab the one who is running away….my God.
Scenes of violence almost daily these days. People predisposed to massacre you for getting into a car accident [with a bat? If they catch you, chances are you might be killed.]
The sensation? Fear
Animal fear, even of handling the cell phone to call the police..
What if he sees me make the call? He’ll go berserk and start by smashing my windshield with the bat, then threaten me and possibly beat the crap out of me….and..and..
Anyway, I did call the cops.
But the fear remained. And along with the fear …a horrible sensation, similar to the one experienced a month ago at the public garden, where I was watching my little son who was getting too far away from me, I could not follow him, I was still on crutches, and I was looking at him intensely.
Didn’t even notice the guy in between, who now approaches me and says, “What are you looking at?”
No, wait, I was looking at my son, see, he is down there, and I am worried because I am on crutches, and if he bolts in the middle of the road, I won’t be able to catch him.
Imagine. People ready to beat on you because you look at them, only because you look at them a second too much.
Then I think about my aikido and karate, stuff that is worthless because I am not a fighter, because I am not inclined to get into a fight over a look and or a rear end accident.
And if I meet someone who is, he will beat me up, no doubt about it, because I will not be in a mental state to react.
Oh well, by now…in this s*hitty town, meeting such a type of street vermin is not that difficult. I will hope that he will vent his anger quickly, that he does all that his beastly nature commands him to do, but leaves me a bit roughed up and bleeding, but still able to stand on my two legs.
Forgive my venting, friends, but I am really very saddened. This is my town, and I have contributed in making it what it has now become. I am more than anything, worried about my children, who will have to live in this city, in this climate of daily violence, absolutely gratuitous.
Unfortunately, I don’t know what to do.
And for those who say: “ What? You are a black belt, so you are dangerous for those people”
I barely hold back the impulse of telling those people to go F** themselves, as they don’t realize that what makes someone dangerous is not the years in a dojo in mimicking deadly moves, but the “brain weapon”…if your brain is not of the mindset of taking a certain action, you are disarmed.
Well, it bears repeating, we study for fun, to stay in shape, for the “art” and that’s about it.
Self-defense? Think again..When your knees go weak in witnessing someone chasing another with a baseball bat.
So a while back I was in line at the stadium to buy tickets for the game, here comes an “industrial size” Gorilla [the baseball bat type]_ he cuts into the line and hits the first person who complains with a head butt, busting his nose with blood spraying everywhere in front of dozens of police officers.
Imagine now the scene: a mad crowd waiting for the officers to do something_ and the cops now talking to the guy with the busted nose:C’mon, do you really want to press charges? You know he’ll get bailed out and come after you again. Now the crowd wants to lynch the cops, who now scared ****less, finally handcuff the head butting freak and take him away .
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