“A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.” -William Shakespeare
The industry. That’s what it’s called, the wine world. A dimension that inextricably entails a certain free spirit and fairness. A Humanness. So why would some on this stage want to mute, monetarily paralyze, persist with a punitive pulse? This is something that I’ve never understood. One could say, as I’ve heard it said, “This is a business.” Thank you, I know. You could deem me indignant. Again, thank you, for Emerson said “A good indignation brings out all one’s powers.” I don’t have a lot of power. But, I am compelled to speak, this night. Let it noted be: I merely wish to talk. Truly, I feel as though I’m brought back to Carroll’s world, where the logical is no longer logical. How? I must pose. People gather around wine. Smile around wine. Share, in the presence of wine.
Is Humanness not supposed to exist in an “industry” that is dependent within the presence of Humans? I’ll be scolded for thinking about this too much. For asking questions, for questioning. Probably causing problems, me, which is shameful, as I solely wish to solicit ideas exchange. If you look at past regimes oppressive, ideas were muffled, rampant consequences pervaded populaces. This was death. Mentally alive citizens scurried to shelter. Life, lost. Why should the same happen in an “industry” that elementally builds upon contentment, jubilation. It has to be so on both sides of the counter.
I could be labeled a non- “professional,” as I’m from the Literary/academic world. But I’d civilly beg you to dismiss that reality, that past of mine, even though I divulged it. I’m simply asking, “Why is reason so arduous to administer?” I’m not even calling for “competitive” wages, just those reasonable. I wrote an essay at the end of 2010, entitled “Truth,” pushing attention to specific dimensions of this industry. Decided not to post it to my log, afraid of vengeful reaction, which in itself is shameful. Why would I want to live such? Why should such be a writer’s reality? I’m not accusing anything, anyone, of anything. What happened to Exchanges of Ideas, civility?
What makes me return to equanimity: the ones for which I have the pleasure to pour. So enthusiastic, so positive, so engaging. So positive. Wine, as far as this author can project, places positivity, a favorable flavor. Am I out of line here? I must be. Shame on me for sharing my ideas, hoping for exchange...
Going to take a break, sip a little more of this St. Francis ’08 Pagani Zin, gather the Self. I feel like I should page-up, mind what I typed, be careful. But that’s censorship, Orwell’s projection. I’m not Winston. I harbor the venom of thoughts free.
“Why do you want to be such a rabble-rouser, Mike?” could be posed. “Discretion is the better part of valor,” I’ve so many times been told. First off, this is a bastardization of one of Shakespeare’s throws. Second, it’s a passive way of urging a freethinker to stay silent, not ask questions. Wine, its industry, it channels, something for which I’m unquantifiably thankful. Within which I’m joyous. Mind you, though, there are certain imbalances that need straightening, just like anything else. Guess I’m the fool. For freethinking.