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the presencepulse
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Conversations are silenced when there is no patience for respect.
Such is the clarity demanded that we can’t afford the patience to respect the space for respect. Thus, from the house of tolerance, we enter the Bordel of conversations.
At the table sat four. Three spoke English. Three spoke Russian, and three spoke French. Yet, out of all three languages, not one was spoken by all four.
So the evening went with double-speak for most of it. Often, simultaneously translating between a combination of two languages leaving one person on the table grasping at words they knew but couldn’t fully use.
And on this multicultural table with immense intellectual potency, the conversation couldn’t but drift into talking about conflict.
Who is the aggressor? Who is the defender? The questions came.
Instead of answering right away. I generalized the dialogue to a global level, which in turn triggered a reaction almost immediately to why this isn’t clear.
It was clear, yet I didn’t answer clearly. I eventually did, but not until I learned more. The answer came delayed.
In Le Locle, Switzerland, among the masters of clockwork from Tissot to Mont Blanc and the most exclusive and lavish brands with names you don’t even know unless you are in those circles, timing became the topic.
The space for understanding was welcomed not only that evening for hours after but even drifted into the second-day breakfast. And what seemed at first to be a possible moment of contention resolved in a deeper connection built on respect.
And through it all, between our legs, sweet Genghis, a 12-year-old beagle and jack russel mix, silently and patiently awaited its treats. It stood in attention when our voice rose and slept safely, cuddling joyfully when the tone calmed.
Our furry friends have nailed the timing, while sometimes we still struggle to recognize the space needed to share the joy of being around each other.
The room willing for understanding each other left me formulating my thoughts in French rather than English. A feat I haven’t accomplished in the last 20 years.
We have friends at our homes. We serve them. We take care of their needs, and we respect their space while, in return, they do the same, yet when it comes to ideas and views, we tend to act more like in a whorehouse.
*Excuse my French. Les Français have quite the sense of irony in what they call a whorehouse: The house of tolerance. Bordel is the same, even if it sounds fancier.
Everything is ripe for the taking with the false pretense of satisfying the lust of ego for the pleasure of being right. That is how it seems we are going into conversations.
Everyone comes with their ego erect, ready to satisfy their needs. And the onus of dialogue is left on others opening their legs and waiting to take it in.
The imagery is brutal and vulgar, I know. And I hope it bothers your senses in disgust for its vile approach, yet it feels necessary in how far we have veered off from the respect of a decent conversation.
The bordel wins. And in the cacophony of sounds attempting to converse, we are left in agony.
And probably, it is time to delegate the responsibility of finding common ground to one of our latest inventions. Its ability to normalize the conversation is uncanny. And we should use it as such.
It’s less susceptible to the need to be right because, in its programming, it always is, and in that, there is some comfort. Even when biased. It’s not self-serving but more so dumb sounding smart.
AI, in its design to be gentle and nice, strokes our ego in all sorts of ways, so even it got that covered. It replaces our rush for conclusions where we miss understanding the sensitivity of our rationale and the fragility of our emotions.
No matter what, the conversation must continue. Otherwise, we are left with truths declared with no understanding to carry them to end the suffering.
The house of humanity might keep failing, and that’s ok. We are not meant to get it right from the first time, nor the second, nor the third, but hopefully, in our continuous attempt to do so, we get gentler in respecting its endless pursuit.
Until next time,
Carlo