Right off the bat, here’s two competing concepts. Each day, each moment, is filled with uncountable blessings. We take in life-giving breaths without counting a single one. There is an astounding number of processes that go into making a single smile. One kind deed grows us a foot taller. And — and — an infinitesimally small drop of poison can kill us.
Both are next-door neighbors.
The poison that weakens us is ancient. And mysterious. And wicked. It appears with many faces and is widely worshipped. One of its names? Tolerance.
We’re not dying from MAGA Republicans, nor even hysterical and addled Democrats. We die from the 10,000 paper cuts some call the Devil and from those wounds, our souls escape.
A couple years ago, I had dinner with friends. Over coffee afterward, a pal confessed. He used to start the day with a glance at headlines on his cell phone. He noted that a few years earlier, there would always be one or two head-shaking headlines of man’s depravity, cruelty or plain stupidity. Two years ago, he noted that somehow, that number of the chronically wretched had grown to a dozen or more news stories. Today, I’d estimate that number is sneaking up on a hundred, and those are the ones reported. It’s not like a moon-sized asteroid is headed toward Earth. Earth is wantonly headed toward an asteroid.
We seem to be — tolerating — our own destruction.
Last weekend was the Paris Olympics opening ceremony. In writhing lewdness, drag queens parodied Leonardo DaVinci’s painting, “The Last Supper.” I’ve read reports that a singer appeared covered in paint, essentially nude in the sketch. Of course, people worldwide were outraged and I found it interesting how much of the media handled the response. In the news coverage, critics were brushed off as “… right-wing conservatives,” or, “… angry Catholics,” or, “… religious right.” I’d estimate the standard news response was to, pardon the pun, paint the vulgar depiction as an ode to ancient Greek culture. OK. Fine. Do that in a night club near the airport with sleazy saxophone music where they charge $18 for a paper mouthwash cup of watered-down vodka. Besides being a questionable satirist, I’m an old-time newspaper editor and news director. In reading several dozen stories, the gist is that the poor, put-upon transgenders were simply expressing themselves and espousing the beauty of the human body. The people complaining? They’re the nutjobs.
All this tut-tutting by the Left is done in the spirit of — Tolerance. Which is linked to certainly America’s greatest perceived sin of Not Being Cool. The Great Tribal Shamer. The Left is just completely gifted at this shaming. It’s not even a wink. It’s a sly smile, accompanied by the silent, “Oh yeah. Get a load of him. He’s one of those Christian/MAGA kooks …” The N-word of the 21st century.
We just don’t seem to notice that we’re the frog in the saucepan of water, slowly boiling on the stove.
There was an outcry after the Dance of the Perverts. Some world leaders managed a voice-cracking, “Aw c’mon now!” The Olympic Committee offered one of those terribly transparent apologies. It’s a close cousin of when a pro hockey player disembowels a skater from the other team. Holding his bloody stick, slouched before a table full of microphones, he fools no one with his mea culpa, “Uh, sorry, eh, about Leif having to wear the colostomy bag through the holidays.”
The goon’s not sorry. Neither is The Left. They’re wiggling out of responsibility and will do it again and again and again. Why? Because most of us are terrified of being labeled, “Intolerant.”
It’s not that we’re going down the drain here in California. We’re IN the drain, fingers clutching the chrome lip as the tap water cascades down on us. Worse? As we’re drowning, we’re spitting out the imbecilic mantra, “WATER IS MY FRIEND! WATER IS MY FRIEND!”
We poison ourselves by what we allow into our minds, which then trickles into soul and muscle. Dracula is a wonderful metaphor. He has but two tools, to terrify or entice you. Most of us live foggy lives, swallowing poison, coming back for more. Each day comes with a thousand distractions, keeping us from becoming who we truly are. And that unique, true person, I guarantee you, deep down, does not — tolerate — crimes against our minds, bodies and souls. Parading perversion in front of us, in front of the eyes of our children, is simply, that wonderful Arabic word — sin.
It’s an archery term, meaning, “to miss the mark.”
Why would you practice archery, or, for that matter, anything — just to miss the target? And that mark, that bull’s eye, is to become that best version of ourselves. Sure. We stumble. Fail miserably. But this current path we’re on, of dishonesty, lack of ethics, morality, sullied spirit, hopelessness, pro-crime, public pornography, lame excuse after pitiful justification — it’s not our best feature. No matter how it’s well-lit, no matter how much it writhes and wiggles or whether a first lady pays homage to it, it is not our best feature.
We need, desperately, in our lives, healthy intolerance. That doesn’t mean hatred. But we have to start NOT accepting intolerable behavior, especially as the norm. This begins with ourselves. We need to grow a spine. There are not barbarians at the gate. Take a look. They’re INSIDE. We need to stand up. Clean ourselves, our psyches, our bad habits. We need to clean up our communities, the nation, throw out bums, start saying a firm and resolute “no” to tyrants.
And those tyrants are often our leaders, in home, office or culture. Closer to home? Those tyrants are ourselves.
Forget that we’re in the midst of tolerating ourselves into the extinction of a wonderful, noble civilization. We’re committing a daily suicide of the soul, of our integrity, one paper cut at a time, one vulgar live nude Olympic TV entertainment event at a time.
Santa Clarita’s John Boston is the most prolific humorist and satirist in world history. His website is johnbostonbooks.com.
