"Chess" Revisited

Over two and a half years ago, I wrote a small post featuring a well-known piece, "Chess", by late Mexican poet Rosario Castellanos. For reasons I do not know, that post has received the most traffic on this blog -- a crazy amount -- and has inspired dialogue online and off:

Chess

Because we were friends and sometimes loved each other,
perhaps to add one more tie
to the many that already bound us,
we decided to play games of the mind.

We set up a board between us:
equally divided into pieces, values,
and possible moves.
We learned the rules, we swore to respect them,
and the match began.

We've been sitting here for centuries, meditating
ferociously
how to deal the one last blow that will finally
annihilate the other one forever.

Rosario Castellanos
(25 May 1925 – 7 August 1974)
Mexican poet and author

A recent visitor named Joel asked, "(Y)ou mention that this poem is a representative of both humanity and history. Care to explain your point of view?"

My reply:

(T)hat's a condensed way of saying this, I suppose: the cliched wish for world peace is naive, unrealistic, and never gonna happen, because it doesn't take into account human nature. There will always be conflict. There will always be war, even if it's just between individuals.

Writers and readers, television and movie viewers, all know that stories where everyone gets along, no one makes mistakes or misjudgments, and nothing goes wrong are boring and amateurish. For me, the most interesting conflicts are between respected rivals, or related rivals, because one never knows what they will do: will they help their antagonist, or thwart him?

"Peace" is like "love"--one of those words we say, and we think everyone knows exactly what we mean, and yet everyone has his or her own definition for it.

So, we talk, but we don't really communicate. We educate ourselves, but we don't necessarily learn.

Even the most allegedly open-minded of us has prejudices and makes assumptions. Exhibit A: those who preach tolerance while trying to control or silence those who disagree i.e. homosexual activists, who attempt to shut down opposing viewpoints by throwing around such terms as "hate" and "homophobia".

And what about the call for consensus among scientists regarding global warming? Since when has science been about agreeing with one another? It's about exploration, searching for answers, testing theories, asking questions.

And intriguing nonfiction read that is full of opposing viewpoints, different interpretations of evidence, and friendly and not-so-friendly debates is a magazine I read cover-to-cover, Biblical Archeology Review. Part of what makes it so interesting are the differences, not necessarily the moments of consensus.

History repeats in cycles of violence and calm, repression and freedom, tyranny and democracy, because humanity is always fighting with itself: Who's in charge? Who makes the rules? Who gets the most land? Who has the most power? Who wins, who loses, who flinches first? This occurs among allied nations as well as between rivals.

As an American, I'm tired of my country being vilified -- America's not doing enough, America's interfering; America spends too much, America isn't spending enough -- but everyone wants to take down the biggest guy on the block and become king of the neighborhood. Again, that's just human nature.

On a smaller scale, we tend to fight the most with those who are closest to us. Why? Only what matters to us can make us angry; it it doesn't matter, we don't waste the energy.

Therefore, we push-pull with those who matter to us. My father and I probably could have had a perfectly reasonable, calm relationship if we didn't love each other so much or disagree with each other so vehemently. 

Enough said.

Episode 16 ("Game Change") of Thieves' Honor is up at Ray Gun Revival, and it's a short, quite condensed chapter of the ongoing story of Captain Kristoff, the crew of the Martina Vega, and their various enemies and almost-friends. After reading it, leave a comment at the end, if you'd like.

This serial continues to be a literary experiment, which means it's sometimes a bumpy ride for author and readers alike, but the roughest roads can lead to the most memorable adventures.

In my childhood, my father was the master of the long cut. Many a shortcut he took ended up being the wrong way, the long way around, or a dead end. But he also took us on Sunday drives, after-supper evening drives, weekend drives. A family without a television, we read a lot of books, listened to radio programs, and spent a lot of time outdoors. Those drives were a form of exploring, of being away.

Sometimes they were quiet, uneventful. Sometimes a little too exciting, such as the time Dad swore a rutted and bumpy dirt road was safe, and almost immediately afterward came a scraping thunk as the car became high-centered on a rock sticking up between the ruts. We all had to pile out while Mom freaked and Dad worked to extricate the vehicle without puncturing any of its vital parts.

To add to the, ahem, excitement, the incident happened at dusk, and we were losing light fast.

See? Rough roads = memories. ;)

My hope is that the memories from this literary road are useful -- never drive a low-slung car on a deeply-rutted road, for instance, and never leave a character lingering in a forgotten plot hole -- as well as amusing.