If you wish to see the truth, only cease cherishing your opinions.— Sengstan
This is a line from an ancient Zen poem that stops me every time I run across it. Can it be that the only thing that keeps us from seeing the truth of our lives is what we might think about it? Whether we like it or not? Agree or disagree? Or in today’s parlance, “how it aligns with our personal values?”
I recently saw a smug somebody define the two US political parties not as Democrat and Republican, not as liberal or conservative, not as right or left, but as my friends and my enemies. In other words, if you think like me you’re safe, and if you don’t you’re dead. Just imagine how much truth has been left out of that assassin’s opinion. Pretty much all of it. But that’s where we always are: far, far from the truth under our feet.
I suppose if we didn’t each have a steady stock of opinions there would be nothing to discuss. Discussion used to be something you had at work, after church, or at your book club, but now it seems to be strictly limited to Facebook or, even less, Twitter. In other words, there is not a discussion at all, just a continuous stream of opinions, rationalizations and condemnations veering miles away from truth.
That reminds me of a long time ago at book club when the topic turned to the death penalty, of all things. I was asked if I was for or against it. Now think about it, when you are sitting in your own living room sipping a bottomless glass of Pinot Grigio and dipping carrots into a bowl of spinach dip, how far from reality is your opinion of the death penalty? I said I was against it. In my memory at least, there arose a clamor of what you might call “personal values.” How could I be against the death penalty if my sister, let’s say, was murdered? Or if my parents were shot dead in their beds? Or if my child was abducted and buried alive? Let me assure you that not then, nor at any time in my life thus far has any of those heinous acts occurred.
I said I was against it because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t flip the switch. I couldn’t plunge the needle. It seemed to me that the only way I could formulate a view one way or the other I’d have to put myself in the shoes of the executioner. Opinions, you see, tend to float in the weightless ether where your feet don’t reach.
And lately, folks seem to have some pretty firm opinions about what should be done with student loans, and by that I mean other people’s student loans. Should they be forgiven? Mostly? Slightly? Not at all? And all of these opinions seem to be based on principles, an intellectual bit of flavoring that sounds, well, “principled.” All of my friends have principles, and none of my enemies do.
I am not a college student today, nor have I been at any time in the last 44 years, having matriculated when higher education was so cheap that no loans were required for me to attend, therefore I am not qualified to have an opinion on this matter. I consider myself abundantly fortunate to recuse myself from this debate, as it involves an entirely abstract and irrelevant judgment of others.
I actually wrote that in response to a discussion. On Facebook. Don’t judge.
Photo by Allan Nygren on Unsplash
At about 3:30 p.m. on Saturday, Facebook newsfeeds were updated with the posting, “Karen Maezen Miller and Georgia Miller are now friends.”
Whenever I see something I’ve written reflected back this way, I know the message is for me. That’s the case with this excerpt from 
When my daughter was born prematurely, they said she might not breathe. Then they said she might be in a hospital for two months. They said she might need a year to catch up. Soon enough, she was at the top of the charts. Then they said she might be delayed. Then they said she was ahead. Then just last week someone said she might be slow, and need an extra year to catch up.
I have written before about the 
