The idea of assimilating immigrants into American life is just as delusional as assimilating American immigrants into Ugandan life. In neither case does one culture absorb one group into the other. Rather, the native cultures must adapt and accommodate the immigrants, just as immigrant cultures must adjust to their new hosts. The initial difficulties that both hosts and guests (for lack of better terms) have with the other are based on the degree to which each must change in response. Those difficulties are based on the erroneous premise by each that immigration brings about a net loss of cultural identity, rather than growth of cultural assets. In other words, hosts expect their cultures to be diluted and guests expect their cultures to be dissolved. Those expectations, if not managed properly, become self-fulfilling prophesies. And those expectations, by the way, are manifestations of fear. The key to managing the fear is to find ways for both hosts and guests to understand that blending, not assimilation, of cultures enriches both. But to “…find ways…to understand…” is far easier said than done. Only when hosts and guests simultaneously search for, and reach, that understanding can fear be held at bay.
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Flames of a wood-burning fire mesmerize me…a reasonably small, easily managed fire. Forest fires, on the other hand, terrify me. But watching videos of even massive conflagrations as they consume hundreds or thousands of acres captivates me. The way flames swirl, seeming to create their own fierce and windy weather, inspires awe—even in the face of horror. A manageable fire—in a pit designed to contain it—is beautiful. Witnessing logs transform into flames and smoke and ashes is an almost mystical experience. I think I understand why fire is or has been so deeply revered by various cultures. Perhaps I should proclaim Prometheus as my patron pagan. Probably not, though. Despite the stunning beauty of flames of a raging fire licking the sky, the horrific damage it can do is beyond comprehension. Fire is at once beauty and hideousness; love and hate. Fire provides warmth. And it can be used as a weapon. Flames are gorgeous, yet dangerous, contradictions.
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One’s fantasies are beyond private. They are secrets so intimate a person is just barely willing to share them with himself. If a person were to reveal his or her deepest fantasies to anyone else, they could be used as suicidal weapons or as indestructible emotional adhesive.
Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It’s a way of understanding it.
~ Lloyd Alexander ~
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The heads of the CIA and Britain’s MI6 spoke together on the same stage for the first time this weekend. Except for the gravity of the decisions they must make, often on the basis of incomplete or uncertain information, I might enjoy taking on their roles for a while. But I do not need the stress, so I will not pursue that possibility.
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Just a few more days until my next chemotherapy session; 3 to 5 hours of sitting in a not-entirely-comfortable recliner. The effects of my last treatment should have dissipated by now, but I remain perpetually exhausted. I woke this morning with a slight headache; it is still slight, but now it throbs in time to the beating of my heart and the irritating noise only I can hear. Nothing even remotely terrible, but sufficiently annoying that I give occasional fleeting thoughts to swallowing all my remaining narcotic-laden pain pills. But I know better than to do something irrevocable; so I just wait for today’s version of normal, when I will be able to sleep again.
