BROKEN WEAL © 2010 by Michael Raysses
I’m intrigued by subjects beyond my command. Lucid dreaming, moderate Republicans, and power meditation are all concepts that have tickled my fancy without me understanding them, much less knowing whether they even exist. Now I have another entry to add to the list—global soul.
What is “global soul?” Is it like world-music but subtler? Because if it is, I question how music gets to be “world” music. Isn’t all music world music? It is created in the world, right? But I digress. This kind of inquiry drives me not to the brink of insanity, but to the point of letting go. And that is exactly what I am going to do with global soul—surrender it. Here’s why.
I have absolutely no global perspective. Unless you count excursions taken via my View Master. I also have yet to physically travel outside this country. And the little reading I do from the international media tends to suffer from the same bias that has infected the media here: an addiction to tragedy as being the only thing that’s newsworthy.
So if I’m to believe what I read about the global state it is that there are lots of ongoing wars, invasions, conflicts, rebellions, and clashes. Throw in the odd insurgency, crisis, and skirmish, and you get a general wash of the condition of things. As I factor in the “soul” aspect of the question, I’m left wrestling with wraiths. Does “soul” connote that part of a living being that is eternal and is commonly held to be separable from the corporeal? Or is it that force that impelled singer James Brown to lift his voice along with his feet in rhythms so spirited that they embodied the very life they suggested?
But try as I may, I just don’t see global soul. In its best light, what I see is a series of responses by seemingly enlightened people, reacting to tragedies that are inflicted by crazed zealots preaching their own unique brand of radicalism, be it religious, cultural, or economic.
To understand the incomprehensible, I scale down my inquiry while pulling back on my expectations. And though by asking less I am guaranteed as much, it’s a deal I’m willing to make. I’ll surrender global soul if we can at least maintain the public weal. An interesting phrase, “public weal.” It is as au courant as a pair of go-go boots, as fashionable as a Nehru jacket. It is synonymous with the notion of common good, that there is something out there that is intangible yet has value with nothing to do with you as an individual, but everything to do with you as a part of a greater whole, one in which you have a deep stake.
But even public weal and the common good are in dire straits because everyone is too busy experiencing their own private Idaho to even consider them. Technology is one contributing factor, enabling us in the worst possible way. I see it in public places, generally speaking, but in restaurants in particular. Ubiquitous cell phones have given way to all sorts of imperious portable gadgetry with all their attendant capabilities. I recently experienced a dubious first while seated at the counter of a local eatery; a man sitting next to me whipped out his I-Phone and began showing his friend his latest home video, replete with tinny blaring volume. Suddenly, the counter became this man’s living room. I opted out.
But people’s behavior is a contributing factor as well. When they go out to eat these days, they act is if they have never left their homes. When I was a kid, going out meant bringing my “A-game,” behavior-wise. When it was time to order, as kids we didn’t even so much as look at a menu unless we got The Nod from our Dad. The Nod was his way of indicating we could order something other than a cheeseburger, all done without a single syllable uttered. And we had to dress for the occasion because my sisters and I weren’t going to reflect poorly on my parents or we quite simply weren’t going to be let out of the house.
Recently, at the same counter where I got the unwanted home video screening, I sat next to a child of at least eight who was still in her pajamas, draped in a flowing blanket that spilled everywhere. I won’t even broach the topic of kids that are allowed to keen like wounded animals or to literally run through a restaurant like it was a playground, all done while doting parents turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the greater implications of their parental neglect. I call this phenomenon the Chucky Cheesification of America—we don’t raise the bar for kids to aspire to. We lower it to make it more readily trampled under foot.
The public weal is broken. It’s been preempted by the hegemony of technology. It’s been crushed by the errant exaltation of personal liberties at the cost of the common good. And the public domain, that place where it lives, is shrinking as fast as a polar ice cap, reduced to a series of mini-fiefdoms whose permeable borders are defined by people’s personal electronica. The biggest casualty is the vanished global soul, vanquished by atrophy because there is no longer the chance to exercise it, no place for that to happen.
We need to refocus in a way that dignifies the public domain. I don’t care if it makes us guilty of putting on appearances. Right now, I could live with the appearance of people treating each other respectfully. Perhaps in making what might arguably be an empty gesture, the act of doing so would leave space for us to subsequently fill in the void with informed intention. The emptiness must now be filled. It requires it. And what better way to do so than with something consistent with its arc and outline—with soul.
Michael Raysses is a writer/National Public Radio commentator/actor, living in Los Angeles. Email him at MichaelRaysses@hotmail.com.