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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

[ from addair who is listening to Antony and the Johnsons (I am a bird now) ]

Being the foreigner, I’ve been withholding my opinions.  My particular set of American sensibilities inevitably colors my view but, as much as I can,  I’m trying to keep my lenses clear.  Or at least on the rosier side of clear, I can’t find any harm in reveling in beauty, even when it is out of my zone of familiarity and culture.

The task is difficult, not because I find it hard to abstain from judgement but because it is hard to separate my identity from my platforms.  It’s a good lesson for me.  I know it must have something to do with values and humanity, self-worth and priorities, but I’m still in the lesson so I can’t comment with much accuracy.

This lesson has me asking questions like:  Are we still good humans if we have no platforms?  Or choose to mostly observe?  Without opinions, which part of me is left?  Being clearly out of my element has me wondering if I actually  own any element.  It is bringing me closer to the understanding that I am, and always will be, limited to my very personal and specific perspective.  If this is the case, when do I have the right to assert my opinion?  My sense of justice?

I don’t pretend to understand very much about life here in Mexico and I wonder if I’m closer to understanding the reality I face in the United States.

I don’t understand most things.  And a complete understanding of any thing is, I think, impossible.

It seems that I spent the first part of my life acquiring ideas and beliefs.  With each new experience embellishing my densely adorned sense of self and the world in which I lived.  And somewhere along the way it has shifted.  Now, every new experience requires me to take a layer off, to simplify and make room.  Its beginning to seem that the most stripped down interpretation of justice, of love, of happiness, of ethics is the truest; the one that leads to the greatest satisfaction, liberty, and peace.

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