GREY MUTTER: There is a lot of negative energy going around, and sometimes, to stay sane, we just have to lift our gaze and look past it, writes Lance Fredericks.
PEOPLE are miserable. No, this is not an insult or criticism; it’s an observation. I say it because this past week again, I was again bombarded with megatons of negative energy.
Strangers, friends, family – everybody is suckling on the teet of tribulation and teetering on the top of the tower of torment.
On Thursday last week, the service station attendant – as he pumped the fuel into my car’s tank – was determined to let me know that my car was rubbish and he would never, ever make the mistake of buying one.
As I listened to him, I was tempted to say that I was relieved that he felt that way, seeing as I had no intention of selling my car to him and walking home from the filling station.
But the distress was not limited to the filling station forecourt. I was receiving distressing text messages. I was hearing from friends of rumours – just unsubstantiated rumours – of plans to build a ‘zama-zama’ hostel near our suburb.
Then someone was sharing Tweets of riots in France. Others were keen to dig into the recent assault of the heavily-armed ‘Blue Light Brigade’ on other road-users. I bumped into a friend at a shopping centre and all he could speak about was the latest electricity hike in the city.
Now the result of being blasted and buffeted with negativity resulted in a darkening and souring of my own spirit. And therefore I started (as early as Thursday last week) to formulate a column that was filled with complaints, anger, frustration and scolding.
I wanted to complain about roads in the city that, although tarred and pothole free, are as bumpy as the skin of a pineapple. I was going to have a go at litterbugs, again, and take the usual swipe at people using their cellphones whilst driving, again. And so on … there’s lots to complain about.
But I stopped myself. I just decided, made a conscious effort, to refuse to be drawn into the darkness, and take the six or seven people that read my column down that dark road with me. Why, I thought to myself, could I not write something more uplifting?
I thought, for example, of someone who had recently experienced post-surgical constipation. Now, from experience, I know how devastating that condition can be. In fact, this could be an opportunity to suggest a possible source for all the darkness we are experiencing.
It’s an old familiar story – everyone over the age of 15 must have heard it at least five times. So my retelling is purely for the sake of illustration.
The story goes that one day, all the organs of the body had a meeting to decide who was in charge.
The brain was first to announce his suitability saying that because he ran all the body’s systems and without him nothing would happen, there could be no other choice.
The blood piped up: “Actually, I should be in charge, because I circulate oxygen throughout the body; so without me you’d all waste away!”
The stomach disagreed, saying that he was the one to process food and bring energy to the system. The legs argued that they carried the whole system around, so they should be leaders. The eyes sarcastically quipped, “Yeah, but without me you’d carry the body into a ditch!” And things carried on like that for a while.
Then the rectum, who had been quiet all along said, “Because I’m responsible for waste removal, I think I should run the show.”
All the other body parts laughed at the rectum. They insulted him and poked fun at him – you can just imagine their cruelty – for quite a while.
This upset the rectum so in a huff, he shut down tight and refused to do his job. Within a few days, the brain had a terrible headache, the stomach was bloated, the legs got wobbly, the eyes got watery, and the blood was toxic.
They called an emergency meeting and all decided that, in fact, the rectum should be the boss.
I am sure there’s moral here …
Speaking about cleaning up, this past week I read a story of a man working for an airline who was tasked with cleaning a prototype aircraft. When he got to the cockpit, he found a little book titled “How to Fly the New X7000, for Beginners – Volume One”.
He flipped to the first page and read: “To start the engine, press the red button …” He located the red button, pressed it and the engines roared to life. Excited, he turned the page and read, “To get the aircraft moving, step on the yellow pedal.” He did it and the plane started taxiing.
By now the thrill had intoxicated him. He always wanted to fly, and on page three he read with glee: “To let the aircraft fly, simply press the green button …” He didn’t hesitate and soon he was soaring above the airfield.
After about 20 minutes of flying, he felt satisfied, and thought he’d better return the aircraft before someone noticed. Needing to know how to land, he flipped to page four which read: “To be able to know how to land an aircraft, please purchase ‘How to Fly the New X7000, for Beginners – Volume Two’ at your nearest bookshop!”
There is a moral lesson here too.
Anyway, the third cleaning story I heard was about a janitor at a church who had enjoyed the minister’s message the previous day. While tidying up around the pulpit, he was thrilled to find the minister’s sermon notes. He laid down his dusters and stood there reading and recalling the points he had gleaned from the previous day’s worship service.
However, he frowned when on one page, next to some text highlighted in bright yellow, the minister had scribbled in pencil: “Shout loudly and pound pulpit with fist when making this point – there is insufficient evidence to back up this statement!”
The moral of this one seems simple enough … No matter how loud the argument, don’t accept it until you have verified the facts. That lesson should come in handy, especially these days.
As for the panicky cleaner circling the airfield, screaming into the radio for help, maybe he should have learned never to attempt something without doing some research and gaining more complete information first.
And as the body in our first illustration is recovering from constipation, the moral – according to the original story – is that even though the others do all the important work … there’s usually … pardon the image … a ‘sphincter’ running the show by doing nothing.
And that doesn’t sit well with me, because I just realised that I am in charge of one of the departments here at the office, and now I don’t feel uplifted.
