Allie and Stu’s Ode to Juno’s March
Crocuses see if the coast is clear, then daffodils and tulips appear
If you’re aware of the weird power of pluralistic ignorance, then you are more likely to interpret this poem from Allie and Stu as it was intended. You might even be a woman, or know a woman, whose complex insights it is intended to honor. It was written by Allie Space-Owl and Bug Stu, the duo who proposed 7th Pie Theory, which is just now coming out in bits and pieces through me here and other strangely related portals.
Pluralistic ignorance is another cognitive science concept surely already co-opted by half-truth-telling political influencers. Kind of like the word honor, and love, and truth — it’s one of those important concepts that become unquestionable code for political/philosophical purposes. (I hesitated before using honor in the first paragraph, then I decided it provided an opportunity to bring this up.)
People don’t tend to see the roles publishing and capitalism have in our cultural conversations about…roles, publishing, capitalism, and whatever else matters in the way of finding and fostering pleasure, satisfaction, a cause, an identity — everything but an intentially open and curious mind usually.
We are in trouble. We have always been in trouble. We have been and always will be at risk of being lured down a perhaps-well-intended path. Perhaps the paths aren’t so well-intended, because it’s very difficult to know the motivations and clarity with which people influence crowds and thereby our heirs. It has become more and more difficult to talk about this without risking red or blue tar-and-feathering, as they used to say. Anyway…
I heard a podcast yesterday tying much of our current thinking and cultural seeds to Edward Bernays and the early 1900’s. I’ve written a few times about that and the well-intended (it seems, generally, especially from their vantage point) initiatives of that time in the way of crowd influence. It’s not that popular opinions only began to be manipulated then, and only by Bernays’ work, it’s that the game was ratcheted up in capability and impact.
This is directly but not obviously related to the poem below, which actually started as a light rhyme, then Allie gave me the look, and Bug Stu blinked the way he does when he has something to say, so my only lines are in italics. Here’s to March’s opening : ).
(A two minute poem. Not patriarchal patronizing for the sake of acceptance. Once upon a Roman time, March 1st was seen as the celebration of the goddess Juno, Matronalia, and included the honoring of childbirth, a mother’s wisdom, and marital happiness.)
More Smiles, Serenity, and Satisfaction
Three…weeks before the Equinox
Two…until we move the clocks
ahead to, some say, save some time
I say to Juno, let it shine.
Let her light of wisdom win.
Let the light from Sun soak in,
and light the Selfish path some laid
that led to this abyss you’ve made.
Amiss, you valorized a way
of Want and Grasp and Seize the Day
for what you’re “owed,” but what bestowed
a right to harvests that erode?
Erode the soil of loving bonds.
A river grows and flows, absconds
away with meanings more than More
or “I will seek what I adore.”
But Juno brings a light to show
where More of any type will go.
From Left and Right the paths poured in.
The Bliss Abyss, the dins deafen.
The squawking birds, the broadcasts, shrill
“Do not suggest I curb my Will.
My will’s divine, I think you’ll find,
if not, these books should change your mind.”
Your mind? Your books? The grind, the crooks,
they block the light—they dangle hooks.
From Left and Right the paths poured in.
The Bliss Abyss, the dins deafen.
And as dim light lights up the sky
the flow’s delights might catch your eye.
A lure, alluring, but no real use.
Perhaps you’ll bite and get set loose.
But barbs, on hooks, that lure you took,
they leave a gash. You didn’t look.
Some light was there, you didn’t care.
Your sight lost to delight’s bright snare.
But Juno brings more light today,
a goddess in that Roman way
of stories meant to ready minds
to find the fruit within the rinds.
Will mothers stand and ease the fray?
Once smothered under the Selfish Way.
The paths of More from Right and Left,
the Me & Now of might, bereft
of understanding…satisfaction…
down the road…not gut reaction.
Have others smothered mothers’ sight?
Will you recover with Juno’s light?
Will sunlight raise the daffodils
from trampled soil and paths of ills
proposed as ways that “pay the bills”?
You know the shells. Do you know the shills?
Or will you acquiesce again,
or argue over Original Sin,
as if the question matters when
you’ve seen the tears, where these paths end.
Three weeks before the Equinox,
Daffodils, tulips, daisies, phlox…
The lures, now bright with hooks that show,
the crooks and crimes that bring you woe.
The warm sunlight makes flowers grow
embrace the light wise mothers know.
Allie and Stu