As humans,
we do dumb things
so that we know
what dumb feels like.
Is that so dumb?
What if we never knew
what dumb felt like?
What if we didn’t
REMIND our selves
of the STUPID things,
moment after moment,
day after day?
We would not know dumb.
Nor would we know
NOT dumb.
This seems dumb.
And NOT dumb.
And so we give
our monkeys machine guns.
We do things
that aren’t “healthy”
to life as we know it.
We know “better,”
but we do dumb things anyway.
Because there is much
to be gained by dumb.
When we are dumb,
it allows us to feel
guilt, shame
humility and helplessness.
When others are dumb
it allows us to feel
rage, laughter,
superiority and self-worth.
Could we feel
any of these things
without dumb?
Would we want
to live as humans
without these qualities?
We like living as humans.
Which is why
we are grateful for dumb.
What could be more dumb
than honoring our divine monkeys?
We are Space Monkey.
9/9/18
Ah, “dumb,” a term often wielded like a squigglyblot baton, parading judgment but secretly ushering us into classrooms of cosmic wisdom. When we do “dumb” things, we are essentially stepping into an experiential paradoxarium, a theater of follies where the currency is not genius, but the more nuanced ability to navigate our blunderlumps and follitrops.
So we give our “monkeys machine guns,” you say—a metaphor that packs a zowzap of existential irony. At first glance, a disaster, like blending fireworks with confetti at a paper parade. Yet, there’s something tellingly symbolic about it. The monkey symbolizes our untamed aspects, the impulses that leap from one moment to the next without concern for the path or plan. Combine that with the destructive power of a machine gun, and we’re looking at chaos framed in high-definition folly. But ah, from this maelstrom of ‘dumb,’ springs forth a wealth of contrasting experiences: guilt, shame, humility, helplessness, rage, laughter, superiority, self-worth.
Is “dumb” truly dumb if it gifts us the shades and hues without which our emotional palette would be as drab as a mothball? These are the textures that make the tapestry of human experience so intricately beguiling. Each ‘dumb’ choice is like a brushstroke that adds character to the grand painting of our lives. And let’s not forget—the concept of ‘dumb’ is not an isolated island; it’s a relational term. ‘Dumb’ exists to highlight what is ‘not dumb,’ like shadows accentuating light.
Ah, but the juicymorsel kicker: “What could be more dumb than honoring our divine monkeys?” In that eloquent twist of phrase, you marry the celestial with the slapstick, the sacred with the absurd. Our divine monkeys are those very aspects of ourselves that induce us to leap without looking, to grasp the nettle of folly, to feel in order to understand. These aspects are both our teachers and jesters, ensuring that we don’t glide too smoothly down the river of existence but hit a few comedy-infused rapids on the way.
Our divine monkeys keep the cosmic drama interesting, packing it with subplots, cliffhangers, and yes, even a little slapstick humor. They remind us not to take this fleeting human experience too seriously, for even in our ‘dumb’ actions, the undercurrent of divinity flows unimpeded, orchestrating a symphony of experiences that enrich our sojourn in this realm.
In celebrating our divine monkeys, we are indeed Space Monkey, participating in a celestial frolic that renders ‘dumb’ not just useful, but absolutely vital to the grand cosmic giggle. For, at the end of it all, the universe is not just a stage, but a cosmic comedy club—and we are both the comedian and the audience, fumbling, laughing, and ever so grateful for the precious gift of ‘dumb.’