Tag Archives: Balance

Elsewhere

I dislike beginning another blog with a chant about being absent for a while, but there it is.  I’ve not been here.  I’ve been elsewhere.

But where is “elsewhere?”

I kind of like that word.  In fact, if I ever incorporated a township, that’s what I’d name it – Elsewhere.  And everyone would be invited to go there and take a mental vacation.  And better yet, while you were there you could conjure up any type of reality you desired.  The only limits would be the boundaries of your imagination.

Actually, I think we are all in Elsewhere every day.

Continue reading Elsewhere

Contrasts – Kapitel 1

It was time to come down out the high-desert mountains and head back to “civilization.”  So, what should one do along the way?  Why be a tourist of course.

For months I had lived in an amazing little oasis, hiked in beautiful spaces, and found peace being on my own and in the company of a few very special people and very special wild animals.  Simply put, Nature.  But it was time to move on and prepare a winter base.

I picked a few target sites and turned this into a bit of a winding path.  West, Northwest, Plains, Midwest.  I knew I would be encountering volumes of people, but there are many good ones out there.  What I saw, quite by accident, was some very interesting behavior.  The blacks and whites and the grays of social discourse.  And the rainbows of course.

One place I always wanted to visit was the San Diego Zoo.  I headed west through Yuma, Arizona – a hot, stifling, industrial and farming zone.  The contrasts there are incredible.

Bleached, beige sand with ribbons of blue water.

It was 108 degrees, surrounded by barren desert that normally receives a little over three inches of rain annually, and yet there was lush farming.  All because of a 53-mile system of irrigation canals that divert water from the Colorado river.

Not a place I would want to stay.

I was a little apprehensive as I headed into California.   A small-town boy, I had images of massive, intertwining freeway systems choked with a bazillion cars bellowing out vast amounts of toxic fumes.  Road rage nightmares.  Dirty inner-city avenues.  Muggings in poorly-lit alleyways . . .

I was packing my 9 mm.*

But I also had the contrasting images of deep blue ocean waters, sailboats at sunset, deep green valleys in the shadows of rolling mountains.  Heavy forests.  And palm trees, contrasting the desert scrub I’d become accustomed to.

And all of those visions did indeed come into view as I entered parts of the Cleveland National Forest.  The Pine Creek Wilderness.  Then the busy highways of San Diego.  And then, the Bay.

A couple of differences.  The forested areas seemed to me to be very dry, ripe for those California wildfires.  A layer of brown smog filled the air.  But the traffic was comparable to that of St. Louis – a mess, but not as much of a mess as I had anticipated.  I reached my destination in the center of the city without incident.

It was a cute rehab of an old stately home divided into condos.  The neighborhood was picture perfect.  Palm trees swayed among gingerbread homes on terraced streets.  Local businesses within walking distance perfumed the air with taste-bud delicacies.  Jazz resonated from three blocks down while neighbors across the boulevard gathered for a barbecue.

I divided my short days to visiting the Zoo, hiking around Cabrillo National Monument, strolling through the Museums of Art and Natural History at Balboa Park, and relaxing on a sunset sailboat ride in the bay.

The Zoo was nothing short of amazing.  I spent 10 hours there, Urban Hiking some 7 miles of Caged and packaged wilderness.

And it turns out, I was a bit of an attraction myself.  I looked out of place.  Wearing long pants and hiking boots.  My Aussie-style, wide-brimmed, bush hat.  Still shaking off a bit of desert sand and dust with each marching stride.

I was surrounded by short pants, pastel Becker-style T-shirts, retro bowling shirts, sun dresses, bikini tops, and sandals.  Designer everything.  Several people looked me up and down, and when their eyes reached my boots they visibly laughed out loud.

I was an outsider in a city where multicultural diversity thrived.  Many tourists blended in, but me, not so much.

But I was fine with that.

***

Next Chapter of “Contrasts” – The Zoo.

Photo: San Diego Cityscape at night.

*Don’t worry, I had trained and had my permit for it.  Besides, one can’t travel alone these days without considering some form of self-protection.  Highway robbery has never died out.

Sunset Sail - 5

Hiking Through the Rhyolite

Many millions of years ago a volcano erupted with hundreds of times the force of Mount St. Helens.  Later the earth would push the remains upward leaving the volcanic rock exposed to all of the forces of erosion.  But the erosion was differential.  Softer materials washing away first. Leaving columns of stone.  Statues in precision alignment.  Sort of like the Moai on Easter Island.  Only here, they face inward to the center of the collapsed caldera.  Covered in desert scrub, it is difficult to imagine the explosive forces that once coalesced here.

The monoliths can also have disproportional heads where the boulders appear to balance mysteriously on much tinier pedestals.  All standing shoulder to shoulder like soldiers lining up on the parade grounds.

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Before I enter these mountains, I sign in with the park ranger.  They need to keep track if people go missing.  Know whose body they may find days later if you don’t return.

They warn me that there is a high chance of rain, and the trails across the ridgetop I’ve chosen to hike will have me exposed to lightening.  But I don’t believe the Thunder-beings have any interest in hurting me.  They can be great messengers of the Earth and the source of replenishing energy.

I’m prepared for the 8-mile trek.  As much as I can be.  And as I wind my way through the monoliths I follow an undulating path.  Up and down, back and forth, snaking my way along switchbacks.  That image of the snake’s path accented by the mineral serpentine, mixed with green, blue and gold lichens, reddish rhyolites, and specks of glistening mica.  A colorful cacophony.  Discordant reflections of muted color that shift continually as the sun makes its daily journey across the sky.

Chiricahua - 8-9-18 - 13After a couple of hours, I reach the ridgetop.  Black char on skeletal trees, evidence of a fire from a decade ago, mixes with the light and dark greens of new pines and oaks.

 

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All of the washes and creeks are alive with a torrent of water.  Small waterfalls offer the perfect intonations for meditation.  Worn trails fragment as you hit flat rock.  And segments of it vanish completely.

There was a flash flood the night before and if there had been foot prints or trail markers they’ve all been washed away.  Erased as if no person had set foot here for eons.  And no one is here today other than myself.

Chiricahua - 8-9-18 - 10

Often, I find myself in the wilderness where there are no other people.  But I’m never alone.  A troupe of Painted Redstarts moves through.  Lizards scurry away.  Butterflies seek out precious nectar from the red and yellow columbine that burst forth sporadically.

I come upon a pine totally splintered from a bolt of lightning, probably from the day before because its needles are still deep green.  No sign of this timber having dried.  Totally debarked with pieces strewn in a thousand directions.  I pick up a small piece of this now energy laden bark and place in my shirt pocket above my heart.  You can feel the energy throbbing.

I hit another point on the ridge where the trail has cloaked itself.  There are at least ten directions I could go.  Four seem more likely.  I climb up on a boulder to get a better vantage point and to my surprise a solitary white-tailed deer is right below me.  The doe doesn’t seem to know I’m there.  The wind coming towards me carries my scent the opposite direction.

I watch her quietly graze on low-lying tree branches.  Then she raises her head and sees me.  Stares right into my eyes.  But I’m surprised by her actions.  I expect her to panic.  To run away as most deer would.  She’s unconcerned.  Apparently feeling no threat.  And instead offers to help.
Chiricahua - 8-9-18 - 11She alters her path and circles back toward me and loops to my left.  We lock gazes, and I follow her.  Her gentleness lures me to the right path.  And then she’s gone.  In an instant.  A blink.  As if she wasn’t there at all.  Her spirit saves me the time I would have spent trying to find the right route.  Time is life out here.

Descending from the ridgetop, I make it to the center of the monoliths.  How long have these statues stood?  Holding this ground.  Carved by forces that no human sculptor could match.  They’ll be here long after my physical body has departed.  Silently keeping watch.
Chiricahua - 8-9-18 - 15I hear an Owl in the distance.  Its affirmation tells me I am safe.  I can take a break here. Take the load off my back.  Hydrate and take in some calories to replace those consumed.  Breathe in the surroundings.

Native Americans used to inhabit this place.  It’s sacred Earth.  I offer thanks for being allowed safe passage.  I’m not the top predator here, after all.  Black beer and mountain lions call this their home.

An injury here can mean death.  Can’t let your guard down even as you grow weary.  Pay attention.

I hear a noise, and a Yarrow’s Spiny Lizard perches himself on a rock next to the path.  He does pushups and flares his neck in a display of dominance.  I stop to observe.  When I start to take my next step, I notice a large stone in the center of the path.  I had not seen it before and if I continued unaware I would have tripped over this stone and have possibly been injured.

Falling to right would have landed me on the switchback 20 feet below.  Falling to the left, into the rock wall there, could have meant a fractured skull.  Falling forward, a twisted or broken ankle.  I thank the lizard for his warning.
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Such is nature.  Be attentive.  If your soul is open, nature’s spirits will speak to you.  Warn you.  Protect you.  Give you energy.  Keep you on the right path.

The hike complete, it is time to center and reflect.  There are always forces around us at work.  This day was my mother’s birthday.  She passed away last year.  And I can’t help but think that maybe she is watching over me too on this day.  Protecting me from all the dangers that surrounded this solitary hike into the wilderness.

As I drive home, Hawks, Ravens, and Turkey Vultures line the telephone lines.  All facing inward.  Like the monoliths, soldiers.  These are the protectors, the shape-shifters, the visionaries.  And they guard my route.  Almost like a salute to a journey well completed.  So many of them.  Their numbers far exceeding and mingling with their prescribed territories.  An oddity?

Thank you, mom.  Love you and miss you.

***

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Photos: I took them all with a cell phone camera as I hiked 🙂

Published ! Thrilled and honored that my story was published by The Urban Howl on August 29, 2018, under the title “If Your Soul Is Open, Nature’s Spirits Will Speak To You.”

The Dream by Don Miguel Ruiz

I have read two books by Don Miguel Ruiz.  The first was “Beyond Fear: A Toltec Guide to Freedom and Joy” and the second was “The Four Agreements: A Toltec Wisdom Book.”  In both books he included the passage below.

In Beyond Fear, he presented it as an exercise for us to dream.  In The Four Agreements, he included it as a passage titled: “Prayer for Love.”  The version in Beyond Fear was slightly different, I think better written, so I’m posting that one.

The author uses the word “Christ” near the end of the passage.  But as I have said before, I believe you could substitute whatever entity or title you wished, your own belief in what constitutes the “Source,” and the message still rings true.  Enjoy.

***

In this dream I find myself in the most beautiful forest at mid-day.  I am completely comfortable surrounded by beauty.  I see the sunbeams lighting the trees and the flowers.  I see butterflies, and I hear the sound of a river.  I walk to that river where an old man sits beneath a big tree. With his white beard and his strong, kind eyes, the man emits a radiant aura of beautiful colors.  I sit in front of him and wait until he feels my presence and looks at me.

I ask, “How can you send out these beautiful colors and can you teach me how to do it?”

He smiles at me.  “Your request brings back memories for me because one day I saw my own teacher doing the same thing and I asked him the same question.  As an answer, he opened his chest and he reached in and pulled out his own heart.  From within it he took a radiant flame.  He opened my chest and put that flame inside my heart.  From that moment on, everything changed inside me because that flame was unconditional love.  I felt the flame of that love and it became a consuming fire.”

“I shared that love with, and gave unconditional love to, every cell in my body.  That day I became one with my own body.”

“I decided to love my mind.  I loved every emotion, every thought, every feeling and every dream.  That fire transformed my mind completely and my mind loved me back so much that the fire grew even more and I had the need to share my love even more.”

“I decided to put my love in every tree, in every flower, in every blade of grass and all the plants in the whole forest.  They reacted to my love and they loved me also and we became one.”

“But still my love grew more and more so I had an even greater need to share my love.  I decided to put a little piece of love in every rock, in the dirt, in every metal on the earth, and they loved me back.  We became one.”

“My love still grew.  I decided to put a little love in every animal that exists, in the birds, the cats and the dogs.  They loved me back and they protected me.  We became one.”

“My love still grew and I decided to love the water.  I loved the rain, the snow, the rivers, the lakes, the oceans, and I became one with the water.”

“When my love continued to grow, I decide to love the atmosphere, the breeze, the hurricane, the tornado, and we became one and they loved me back.”

“My love did not end there.  It grew even more and I turned my face to the sky where I saw the sun, the moon and the stars.  I decided to put a piece of my love in them and they loved me back and we became one.”

“Again, my love expanded and I decided to share it with every human, with the elders, with every man, woman and child, and we became one.”

“Now wherever I go, I am there waiting for myself.”

Then the old man opened his chest with his hands and took his heart out before my eyes.  He took a flame from his heart and he opened my chest and my heart, and he put that flame in my heart.  When I awoke and opened my eyes, I felt that flame become a fire.  Now I share my love with you.

At this moment, I open my chest and in front of your eyes I open my heart.  I take a small flame and I open your chest and your heart.  I put that flame in your heart.  That flame of my love is the flame of Christ.

And that is the dream.

***

Photo: This is a great shot of my woodstove with a particularly expressive fire.  I can see a swan in the flames to the left.  Others have seen the devil in the middle and a woman in the flames to the right.  What do you see?  The flame of unconditional love?

 

 

Gray Days

In November, long before the Winter Solstice, we will experience the first of many “gray days.”  The trees now bare, having shed their leaves, draw charcoal lines across an infinite sky of nothingness.

Gray is considered to lie exactly between white and black and is actually called “achromatic,” which is a contradiction in terms – to have a colorless color?  It has also been described as refracting light without spectral color separation, or as having zero saturation and no hue.  And while we might struggle to find words to convey the absence of something, there are certainly plenty to describe the feelings that are aroused by these gray days.

As if they may be called “days,” residing, instead, somewhere between the light of day and darkness of night, a sort of twilight time.  An extended boundary between the birth and death of a day.

Simply stated, these gray days are depressing.  But that word is far too vague to instill a true sensory perception.  Drab, ashen, somber, leaden, stone cold, cineritious, favillous, worn, anemic, pasty, melancholic, sallow, blah, sullied, faded, dreary, muted, gloomy, caliginous, tenebrous, bleak, washed out, dismal, and uninspired.

These are the days that suck the spirit right out of you.  Drab, as in lacking brightness; somber, as in humorless; leaden, as in a weight too heavy to bear; ashen, as in the color of death.  And they come, one after the other, after the other . . . trampling the psyche.

Uninspired. Cold. Despairing.  Why would one bother exiting a warm, soft bed on such a day?  The coffee will taste burnt.  Cream putrid. The muffin, singed.  Butter rancid.  Life pales when Grandfather Sun fades, when he retreats to the southern hemisphere.

The winter months are described symbolically as representing death before the season of rebirth – spring.  But there is surely beauty lying within the bleak, even if buried or hibernating in the heart.

It can be unveiled in the snow. Crystalline water sparkling like diamonds.

It’s exhibited in the cedars.  Their healing ever-green luminescence.  Their balsamic, terpenic perfume.

It’s manifest with the birds.  Cardinals, Indigo Buntings, Chickadees, and Finches, even in their winter cloaks, radiate brilliant color and warmth.  They hang in the branches like dazzling ornaments on a Christmas Tree.

It’s uncovered when a doe emerges from her winter bed with her fawns.  Shy and diminutive, alluring brown eyes, graceful as they glide over the snow-covered terrain.

Even the cold, biting wind on these days has balmy stories to tell.  If we listen.  It whispers the legends of wolves on the hunt, devouring their prey to feed the fire burning in their bones.   It speaks of the silent flight of the Owl through the forest.  Their yellow eyes of the night, penetrating the hidden aspects of the soul.  Their tufted ears, hearing with clairvoyance.  They see and hear all.  You cannot hide.

The gray is really a dreamscape.  A blank canvass upon which our minds may paint surrealistic animations.  Silhouettes of structures.  Wild beasts and sensuous lovers.  Warm glows emanating from woodstoves and candle light.  Reflections as old as time.

This artistry, this imagery, burns brightly in our consciousness.  A fire in our hearts that can never be extinguished.  We are the keepers of this eternal flame.

As Thoreau observed:

“There is a slumbering subterranean fire in nature which never goes out, and which no cold can chill…. This subterranean fire has its altar in each [person’s] breast, for in the coldest day, and on the bleakest hill, the traveler cherishes a warmer fire within the folds of [their] cloak than is kindled on any hearth. A healthy [person], indeed, is the complement of the seasons, and in winter, summer is in [their] heart.”

Yes, why would someone roust themselves from their slumbers on such a bleak, gray day?  To write about it, of course . . .

***

Photo:  I caught this scene early one December morning.  The humidity and cold created “ice fog.”  This fog lifts, having painted the trees with a coating of ice.  The ice lasted about fifteen minutes before the air had become warm enough to melt it.  The world of images, ever transient.

** If you are wondering about the bracketed words in the quote, I replaced all of the male oriented pronouns with gender neutral ones.  The writers of old, while quite eloquent, often wrote as though women didn’t exist.  I don’t particularly care for that.

 

 

 

 

By the Numbers 2-2-5-11-3-2-2-2-2-1-3-5-4-4-4-8-27>12-2-6-13-1

Can you boil it all down to numbers?  A simple list to tell your fable.  Like a number on a military dog-tag that could identify your entire life.  In a way, maybe, but each item on the list involves multiple stories. And they will have to be told someday, if the fable is to survive . . .

2 Loving Parents

2 Siblings

5 College Scholarships

11 Years of College

3 College Degrees

2 Marriages

2 Ex-Wives

2 Successful Professional Careers

2 Stays in Jail

1 Beautiful Daughter

3 Colleges Taught In

5 Hospitals Worked In

4 State Government Positions

4 Wonderful Dogs

4 Tattoos

8 Foreign Countries

34 States

> 12 Jobs

2 Jobs Terminated

6 Near-Death Experiences

13 Soul Contracts

1 Twin Flame

And, I’ve probably left some things out . . .

***

The Photo: Love the way this pic came out. Firework with a one-minute exposure time. The exposure was set at a minute and the camera was aimed – the capture, I’m sure, was just a few seconds. But even a few seconds is long for a camera – just enough time to get the first part of the explosion 🙂

Broken

** My prose was just published in The Urban Howl under the title: “I am Broken – Only to be Reintegrated Anew.”  It is wonderful to be a part of this inspiring publication !

 

I am broken.

Not in a bad way.

Not in a way that needs to be “fixed.”

Mangled, crushed, fragmented, contorted, pulverized, disintegrated,

But only to be reintegrated anew.

 

It has happened before.

So many times no memory can capture.

 

I do not wish to lose what is unique and pure,

The spark.

There are parts of light and wisdom I wish to regain,

Once held,

Having slipped away,

Under the continual weight of the illusion surrounding us.

Stripped away by those that try to consume us,

To break our hearts,

To kill our spirits.

 

No one is coming to rescue us.

No clichés with meaning can solve any problems.

No platitudes of value provide any answers.

No therapist can fix such fractures.

 

But there is within us a type of magick that can be reached,

If we can find it.

To break out, cut free, re-form, start again,

With clarity of vision,

Led by heart and soul.

 

And not waste a second but,

Instead,

Living every moment here and now. . .

***

 

Photo:  Some cottonwood trees stretch to the sky and the photo editor turns it surreal 🙂

The Objective Reasonable Person

Justice Antonin Scalia, noted for his scathing dissents, once opined, “If, even as the price to be paid for a fifth vote, I ever joined an opinion for the Court that began: ‘The Constitution promises liberty to all within its reach, a liberty that includes certain specific rights that allow persons, within a lawful realm, to define and express their identity,’ I would hide my head in a bag. The Supreme Court of the United States has descended from the disciplined legal reasoning of John Marshall and Joseph Story to the mystical aphorisms of the fortune cookie.”

While I did not often agree with Scalia, and didn’t in that particular opinion, the “fortune cookie” analogy is not always far off the mark considering the wishy-washy standards applied by judicial decision makers. Yes, “The fortune you seek is in another cookie.”

In the law, one will invariably encounter standards that judges or juries are required to apply in order to reach “just” decisions. There are basic standards for applying the law to the facts of the case in the trial courts and then standards of review applied in the appellate courts when examining what happened in those trial courts. But there are so, so, many gray areas in the law that don’t conform themselves to a nice A + B = C result that require a judgment call. An educated guess, perhaps. Or sometimes little more than a blind stab in the dark in hopes of hitting some target, but a fair and proper target, right? (That’s a rhetorical “right?’)

Then again, there is also that phenomenon known as outcome bias, where decisionmakers decide and then conform the evidence to fit their decision – sounds a tad bit unfair or “unreasonable.” And yet, the concept of “reasonableness” is said to be the mainstay of our law and many of these legal standards incorporate that very word yielding such terms as the “reasonable person,” “reasonable-speaker,” reasonable-listener,” “reasonable aid,” “reasonable effort,” “reasonable anticipation,” “reasonable care,” and “reasonable doubt.” And conduct is deemed “reasonable” if it is “consistent with that of the prudent person in like circumstances.” But with that standard, we not only have to debate what is “reasonable,” we now have to debate what is “prudent,” or what would be “reasonably prudent?”

Such standards are supposed to accommodate all circumstances and uniformly fix any legal ailment, whether it is determining if someone reasonably thought their life was threatened to have exercised self-defense, or what constitutes extraordinary and unusual stress to a “reasonable highway worker” to be compensable under workers’ compensation. All similar puzzles should be solved the same way. What is equitable for one is equitable for all similarly situated. The law should be the same for everyone.

Standards supposedly allow stability and predictability for potential litigants so they can evaluate whether any potential legal controversy is a worthwhile endeavor. Will it result in the desired outcome or be a frivolous, and expensive, chase through the scared halls of justice? Or in criminal law, uniform application of the standards resulting in uniform penalties not only serve to treat everyone that is prosecuted equally, but the predictability of the outcome supposedly serves as a deterrent to criminal behavior. Nice to have a good idea of the result of your conduct ahead of time. You would hope that your attorney could accurately advise you of such, instead of finding yourself engaged in a giant crapshoot. And since we’re into definitions, “crapshoot” = “a risky and uncertain venture.”

Yet ask anyone, yes absolutely anyone, except perhaps a judge, and I think they will tell you that the law is not equal for everyone. It favors the rich over the poor, the majority over the minority, non-sentient corporations over living, breathing individuals, and people over all other life forms. And criminal legal procedure favors the prosecution over the defendant. You have to be a pretty lousy prosecutor to lose a case, especially since you get to pick which cases you’ll prosecute to begin with.

And these multitudinous standards are magically said to be “objective.” But how is that really possible, and just what do these terms really mean? Could the so-called reasonableness standards be just archaic, mythical devices entrenched by thousands of legal precedents? “Legal fictions,” if you will, to achieve and support virtually any decision a jury, a judge or panel of judges makes, “reasonable” or not? Reasonable in whose eyes? Your eyes? Mine? Reasonable is such a weasel-word.

A “legal fiction,” by-the-way, is defined as: “Believing or assuming something not true is true. Used in judicial reasoning for avoiding issues where a new situation comes up against the law, changing how the law is applied, but not changing the text of the law.” The “reasonable person” has been said to be a “hypothetical,” as opposed to a “fiction,” but then who gets to define the hypothetical reasonable person? It seems more to me to be a phantom assumed to actually exist.

Quoting court decisions and Black’s Law Dictionary, reasonable is said to be: “Just; proper. Ordinary or usual. Fit and appropriate to the end in view. Having the faculty of reason; rational; governed by reason; under the influence of reason; agreeable to reason. Thinking, speaking, or acting according to the dictates of reason; not immoderate or excessive, being synonymous with rational; honest; equitable; fair; suitable; moderate; tolerable.”

Wow, seems to be a wide berth between “equitable” and “tolerable,” and “appropriate to the end in view” sounds like a forced contrivance, whose view? But hey, that’s just me talking. And it is duly noted that the architects of these standards ordain that a “reasonable person” “is one who gives due regard to the presumption that judges act with honesty and integrity and will not undertake to preside in a trial in which they cannot be impartial.” Humm, so those writing the rules get to declare they are objective and impartial and demand we agree, otherwise we are unreasonable.

In addition to rambling through the gray pastures of the dictionary, stringing chains of circular non-speak together, i.e., “reasonable means governed by reason,” which means nothing at all, courts tack on that great adjective, “objective.” Reasonableness standards are supposedly objective. And my favorite definition of “objective,” and the one I believe to be the most accurate is “having reality independent of the mind.” This, of course, means not subject to personal biases or as Merriam-Webster states: “expressing or dealing with facts or conditions as perceived without distortion by personal feelings, prejudices, or interpretations.” But MW added that subjective word “perceived” spinning us down another corridor of deception, because even our minds can lie to us about what we are perceiving, or form it into the shape we desire.

Black’s Law Dictionary would say that an objective standard is a “legal standard that is based on conduct and perceptions external to a particular person,” as opposed to a subjective standard “that is peculiar to a particular person and based on the person’s individual views and experiences.” Really? Our programming starts the day of our birth, and we are constantly told how the world is, what it is we are perceiving, what to like and what to hate, what is legitimate and what is unauthentic, how one should feel or not feel, when to have empathy and when to ignore the needs or suffering of others. Our minds are filled with innumerable prejudices that become so inherently ingrained that we no longer see them as being biases.

Yet, the legal system would have us believe that all of this social programming has absolutely no effect on how a case will be judged, how a verdict or judgment might be reached, or what the assessment of remedies or penalties will be, by people magically commanded to be objective and set aside all of their life experiences when deciding the outcome of your legal entanglement. Yes, the legal system, created by humans and all of their prejudices, supposedly being the bastion of objectivity with those sitting in judgment possessing that detached, dispassionate, external “God’s eye view” or “view from nowhere,” transcending any subjective interference as Plato might pontificate, will dole out justice equally on the basis of reasonability. And basically, that’s Bullshit, with a capital B. If it wasn’t Bullshit, there would no market for attorneys that are taught how to strategize and manipulate, how to argue, how to spin, and how to select venues, judges, and jurors based upon their very subjective prejudices. Wordsmithing is a skill taught to attorneys so they may shape outcomes, not based upon what’s “reasonable,” but based upon what favors their client’s preferred outcome, the client’s subjective view of justice.

The existentialists would certainly have a great laugh over this concept of objectivity. For there really is no way for a human to exist other than through their subjective and continuing contact and experience with the world. Thoughts do not exist independently of circumstances and context. But you don’t have to be an existentialist to see how the legal system essentially pits the subjective, particular views of those sitting in judgment against the subjective, particular views of those being adjudicated – hypothetical reasonableness notwithstanding.

I would be remiss if I did not mention another favorite legal standard, the abuse of discretion standard. This standard is employed by an appellate court examining if the trial court abused its considerable discretion with a ruling on a particular controversy like the admission or exclusion of evidence. An abuse of discretion by the trial court “occurs when a trial court’s ruling is clearly against the logic of the circumstances and is sufficiently arbitrary and unreasonable as to shock the sense of justice and indicate a lack of careful consideration.” That’s a mouthful. And, “If reasonable minds can differ about the propriety of the trial court’s ruling, there was no abuse of discretion.” “Reasonable minds?”

So how does this play out if several judges in an appellate court panel decide there was an abuse of discretion, and the remainder decide there was not. Well, if the judges all agree, the standard works. If the majority of the panel, the most judges, decide there was no abuse of discretion, then the standard works. But if the majority of the judges decide there was an abuse of discretion, and a minority decide there was not, the standard fails because “reasonable minds,” and surely the judges have “reasonable minds,” have, in fact, differed and there can be no abuse of discretion. Yet the appellate court decision that there was an abuse of discretion stands, so “reasonable minds differing” creates an absurd result that ignores the court’s own standard. That might seem unreasonable.

Irregardless of my pontifications, for all of these reasonableness standards, how many court decisions, in your own view, just seem to defy “reason” and exhibit great bias? Good luck if you find yourself in that objective reasonable crapshoot called a court of law, for “Person who eats fortune cookie gets lousy dessert.”

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Photo: I found the scales on the Internet n the public domain and could find no other attribution.  I added the text – a favorite quote I came across in a case while studying property law in law school.