The Secretary of Ideals

Date: July 20, 2012
Time: 6:52 pm
Subject: State of Ideals


(Empty podium with a yin and yang poster in the background; cameras flashing; young man enters from the left and begins to speak from behind the podium)


Ladies and gentleman of the world this is an address coming from the cells of discarded subjects located in the realm of forgetfulness. The Secretary of Ideals will be entering shortly to give his address on the state of ideals in the world. Please be patient as the Secretary is older than he used to be. In fact, he's been very old for as long as I have known him. Thank you for your patience. 


(Young Man exits to more flashes. The flashes die down and silence falls under the conference room. Pens click occasionally and a faint squeaking noise begins to resonate. An old man wearing a blue suit with elbow pads and a red tie walks with a red walker with tennis balls on the wheels. Flashes begin again and the man positions himself frugally behind the podium.)


Thank you Spencer for the kind words. You've only known me while I've been Secretary so that would explain why I've always been old to you. One year in the post and everything begins to move a little slower and become a little grayer. But, on to the state of that which this post holds in high regard: ideals. Now, one might begin to question why we even have this post. Do not question what ideals are for they are as old and basic as I. Do not question ethics for they are as basic as I. Do not question reason for ever human knows in his or her heart what is right and wrong. Trust in one another to hold these basic thoughts and opinions and, if not, educate to show that good will not stand by and watch evil steal the show. For it is our believe in change as a human race that will forever continue to let us focus on the path that will lead us back to the most old and basic of that what marks our culture: our ideals. 


In finding this path it is necessary, though, to question how our interpretations of ideals. In an ever complicated world we find ourselves in a constant struggle of reassessing. We are never quite able to do so because something always cuts it off: work, school, money, time, stress, t.v., anything that can sway our A.D.D culture is always holding us back from remembering the old and basic ideals that should be at the root of our actions. It is these distractions that cause us to interpret differences as barriers instead of learning tools. It is these distractions that wake us up when we're 40 and shows us how our dreams stayed dreams. It is these distractions that have become so prominent that we believe they can lead us to the end all of our reassessing: the meaning of why we're here. Theses distractions, though, will only lead us further away from the only things that can truly help us: ourselves. 


For it is within ourselves that we will find who we are and what we stand for. It is through others that we will find what we want, what we will fight for and, ultimately, what we will die for. Through each other we will find that our ideals have become foreign to us and set aside to fulfill what we believe is a larger spectrum of meaning but which has instead become a representation of what doesn't matter. Now, for you realists who have infested society and given up on the human race let me say this: write down your ideals and compare them with the person next to you. They might be different, yes but it is as such because they have been forgotten. It is your place to talk to the person; not to email, not to call, not to tweet,but...to speak to this person about what they believe. 


It is only when we understand the reality; what people are actually thinking that we can find what we have been missing and go in that direction together. For if we are not together under commonality of these basic ideals then we will forever be caught in the distractions of our own culture with only our short sighted goals to guide us. We are all here for larger reasons for it is the hope and prosper of future generations that we hold in our hands and will develop in our minds. Let the work of many not go to dust; let the goals of individuals not rise on false pedestals but let good reside in its proper place. May you all go forth and be human again. Run in the forest, see the sunrise, talk to a stranger, exercise the unrivaled curiosity that has kept us all going for so long.


I tell you this not because we have failed but because we have the greatest potential to do what many in the past could only dream of. I tell you this because I have faith in every single human being on the planet to do what is right. I tell you this because I know we can all agree there is only one thing worth fighting for. I tell you this in order for you to question me and what I stand for. I tell you this so you can discover again and live as you truly want. I tell you this because it is what we all need to hear. 


The state of ideals is the same as it ever was and will remain as it shall be. It is our job to find the state again in all the clutter. It is our job to rise the ideals to their rightful pedestal. It is our job to do what is so rudimentary that we all inherit it upon birth: to be human beings. 


Thank you and good night.

Containment

He walked in every day to the desk. The desk covered in white papers filled with logical numbers leading to an even more illogical mean. An ordered chaos that he told himself he only knew in an effort to keep people out of his mind. It kept them all at bay; all within a safe watching distance of the containment that had become his life. A containment that held in the energy of a power plant that he stared at every day he sat down at his desk filled with paper and dried out pens. As he was so was the dome structure that sat seemingly silent was. Contained in it were forces unbeknownst to most and explainable only to a few of the population. Even those few could not say where it all came from but only judged what it was from tall tale tribal knowledge passed through aged lips.  Would his life be passed down as so; through lips that had spoken to him and shared in stories that became more elaborate through the years? Or would he forever stand still in the world; his own internal chaos raging and not known to the casual passer bys?

For the chaos was all masked by the stillness of the concrete and the notion that nothing could penetrate it. Sometimes he felt as if people thought he was stronger than he actual was; that he did not want to be seen out and was fine keeping to himself. He often thought the same and acted as such. He wanted to keep himself running and going on without a hitch. He wanted to be that cold, calculated professional that could separate his work and his life. He wanted to fit into the peg in the board with the white picket fence, dog, grill, and mortgage. But, with this feeling of efficiency of societal purpose came the always suspecting potential to burst; to explode from within and splatter all the prejudices and planned explorations that had been written on his list of things to do his whole life. It was this potential that everything that kept him going, that kept him operating in his life was built around. Sex, friends, gym, alcohol, music, cars, money, food, clothes, parties, vacations and forgotten Fridays were all conceived and thrown into his schedule to mitigate his mind from wandering to its natural state: chaos. For it was the chaos that showed him he was alive and still had a choice in it all. It was the chaos that made him appreciate life in the first place and made him cognizant of why, in some cases, order was needed. As in the dome, all that was ever thought and conceived as the worst possible scenario needed the order; needed the space to not become the dreadful reality that the numbers could paint.

But, there in laid the difference between himself and this inanimate object that contained forces that ran his professional life and catered to the little bubbles of millions: the difference of control. All of that concrete and force was controlled by humans and their devices wrought with fail safes, redundancies, and contingencies. He himself had built these limits and imaginary controls into his life to stop him from doing things; to stop himself from always striving for something new. He had built these controls to justify not thinking of his dreams and those things he knew would make him happy. He was the dome in the way that his emotions were being contained; that forces which he did not fully understand were being kept under wraps because they were needed to produce an understood end result; a result that would benefit the most but would not benefit the one who had produced it. The result would eventually wear down his sole; as it would the dome. The dome was meant to be worn down though because it had no other choice. Him, himself knew he had a choice. He could let himself keep running, not seeing the chaos underneath, not acknowledging or he could look inside and find all he ever wanted; tear down the controls and redundancies and give into the unpredictability, disillusion, and chaos that his young mind wanted. He could start to live.