I notice I'm likely to have one of two kinds of
perpetrations going on (perhaps both) when I have a
conversation of any depth with intelligent people.
I'm not speaking about what's passed off as conversation
but isn't conversation at all. I'm not speaking about gossip.
I'm not speaking about chit chat around the office water
cooler. I'm not speaking about Monday morning quarterbacking.
I'm not speaking about what I call simply filling the space with
noise ie "lip flapping". I'm even not speaking about
conversations I may have within the realm of academia ie
the kind of conversations I may have with a coach when I work out the
dissemination of an
original work
ie a
thesis.
Nor am I speaking about the kind of conversations I may have in a
point / counter point debate, the sport in which the idea
is to outsmart, out-think and to out-maneuver the other
guy mentally. None of the above.
I'm speaking about the open non-manipulative inquiring
kind of "What if ... ?" conversations late in the evening
with the sun just going down on the horizon, some nice wine at hand
perhaps, with friends, with people I love, sharing the gift of
gab between ourselves (as Dewey Bunnell may have said). And
though referring to conversation with tousling affection as the gift
of gab may unwantedly cheapen what I'm speaking about,
referring to it this way is good enough for jazz. I am, after
all, emphasizing conversation with friends, with people I love is a
gift.
The first kind of perpetration is I'm asking questions to which I
already know the answer. These questions aren't open. Even
if no one else knows I already know the answer, I already know the
answer nonetheless. Such questions therefore are covert
attempts to win points, to get kudos for being smart. If
the question is an open question, if it's a true postulation, if
it's a genuine supposition, a true "What if ... ?" to
which I don't have an already answer, only then is it wide open.
When a question is wide open, everyone wins. Any answer coming from
anyone to a truly open question is gold dust direct from
the ore vein.
The second kind of perpetration is I'm asking questions to which I
don't already know the answer, but to which I know you
already know the answer. The perpetration is harder to see this
time but it's a perpetration nonetheless. Here the perpetration is I'm
being covertly cute, patronizing. I'm patronizing
you by setting you up to look good. And while there's nothing
intrinsically wrong with doing that, it's a perpetration nonetheless
since I'm not overtly declaring that's what I'm doing.
A time for us to be together again is
inexorably
drawing nigh. I hereby declare I'll vanquish both these
perpetrations before I come. When I enter our meeting space they'll be
left unceremoniously, unwanted excess baggage, outside the door. I
promise I won't gossip, chit chat, or flap my lips just for the sake of
making noise. I won't be overly significant and I won't be
in a debate with you.
I love being with you, and I want whatever we speak about, whatever the
context of the conversation is, whatever questions I might
ask you, to call forth I love being with you.
It's pointless, a waste of a precious opportunity actually, to ask you
questions the answers to which I already know. It's patronizing (which
is another waste of a precious opportunity, not to mention
disrespectful) to ask you questions the answers to which
you already know. What then, if I could ask you
anything, could I ask you? If I could ask you anything, if you were
open to me asking you anything at all authentically, what ten
questions, say, could I ask you?
When I look for ten questions I could ask you authentically, I come to
a screeching halt. Aghast I discover I can't come up with
even one. I'm at a stop, a dead stop. I'm completely up
against it. There's a brick wall in front of me. All I
seem to be doing instead of coming up with questions to ask you is
sitting here being stuck, face to the wall,
watching the wall.
Part of the problem is when you and I are together and we're being who
we are, when we're being who we really are together, the
space is so full for me, the experience is already so
complete that there just seems to be no more room at
the inn for anything new to come in. Anything. My cup is
so full in
anticipation
of being with you again. There's simply no way more tea
can come in.
It would be plain stoopid, reckless of me to show up to be with
you again without having anything at stake, with my pockets empty of
chips to ante up. So I'm just going to sit here and stare at this blank
wall for as long as it takes until
I think of something.