Chapter 11
The next morning Luke went back to his apartment for his morning meditation. Afterward, he made himself a cup of coffee and went up to the rooftop of his apartment to watch the sunrise. The roosters had started crowing at four, and between them and the bombas, he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Now the clatter of the early morning birds was a constant backdrop. He thought about the conversation he had with Jo before they left the finca. It had cast a sadness over them all day, and they spoke little on the trip back to the city and into the evening.
Looking to the east, Luke watched the sun lighting up the church spires in the city square. His stomach was uneasy, and his chest felt empty. He was missing something. Everything was so natural with Jo. It was like a well–crafted plan coming together. So many different things kept lining up and fitting into place that it made the whole experience seem magical, almost preordained. Those were signs that they were in the flow, that they were right. But they’d been in their own world the last week or so, and now that was about to end. Luke was torn. His heart was longing for Jo—to meld with her, to hold her and never let her go. But his mind was analyzing. Weighing options. Finding problems. Wondering if there was someone better, a tendency that had cost him so many relationships in the past. He knew he wasn’t staying present; he was thinking too much. His mind was running, and he was holding on too tightly. But knowing those things and changing them in the moment can be hard, especially when it comes to love, even if he wasn’t using that word yet.
***
Back inside Jo’s house, Luke found Jo still in bed. He took off his cloths and crawled in with her. He sensed she was awake, but Luke said nothing and instead stared at the ceiling. His feelings about her had settled into a dense fog dampening his soul. But as hard as it was leaving her, he also knew things had shifted during their time together. Somehow, over the last ten days, he had changed. Most of the angst he brought with him to Nicaragua, the lack of direction and the fear of the unknown, had dissipated. His confidence was back, and he was excited about life again. And so much of this was because of Jo. When he’d met her, all he had were vague ideas about war being perpetuated around mistaken beliefs justifying it and that somehow we needed to help people understand they were being manipulated. To help them realize that it’s mass insanity to let a few people focused on their own welfare pit the rest of us against one another. He had been sensing for some time that humanity was entering a window of opportunity, a period in time where enough things would come together that we could make an evolutionary leap forward and global transformation would become possible. Over the last week, this feeling had gotten stronger, and now he knew that this was what he had to write about.
Jo had also been reflecting about Luke. In the beginning, he had seemed so fucking naïve. Brilliant and passionate and obviously smart and capable, but a dreamer nonetheless. Which was such a contradiction. He wasn’t your normal guy with a PhD. Hell, he had several lifetimes under his belt—intense periods of engaging the world in very different ways—so he should know better. Now he had reached the point where he could start producing his life’s work, what he called his unique contribution. That thing arising from his personal matrix of genetics, talent, circumstance, personality, experience, and future potential that would let him contribute the best he had to the world. And Jo knew he was risking everything on the faith that he could find this, which at first she had seen as stupidity. Who in his right mind goes to school for twelve years in the middle of his life because he wants to be a writer or, as he put it, a bridge between the university and the rest of us? She had almost flipped out when she heard him say that the first time. Really? Are you serious, you fucking idiot? How much student debt do you have? Like, wouldn’t getting a job be a little saner? she’d thought. But Luke had pulled it off, at least to this point.
In a way, Jo knew his reasoning was right. Few people get to start over in their fifties. And even with a PhD, he had no experience, at least not the kind they wanted for entry into a new field. But that was also one of his strengths. He hadn’t followed the normal channels, and somehow he’d gotten past the need for approval. He hadn’t been subjected to the conditioning that molds most of us, Jo thought. He’d stepped outside and was looking at the world from a different angle, bringing together perspectives that seldom, if ever, got integrated. But he was also out of touch. He’d been writing for his professors for the last twelve years, and that style wasn’t going to work now. The facts and theories he thought were so important weren’t going to mean shit to the average person, Jo knew. Somehow he needed to put his stuff into a story, something people could get into, something they could enjoy, remember, and talk about with their friends. And Jo knew nonfiction wasn’t going to do that. He needs to write a novel, she thought, to tell a story that engages people and that lets him bring forth his ideas without shoving them down the reader’s throat. It’s a good thing he’s got the set of balls he has, she thought, because he’s going to need them. The skills that got him here are not what he needs to go forward, she realized. This project was going to have its own learning curve: a whole new set of talents he would need to develop. And it was going to take time. Somehow Jo knew that she had to help him see what he needed to do, even if that meant being a bitch. How much more she did after that was going to depend on him.
***
“El Garaje closes at six. I told Claire we’d get there about four thirty for a glass of wine and wait for them,” Jo said as she and Luke walked east down Calle Corrales to one of Granada’s tastier restaurants. “But she didn’t sound real sure they could come, so let’s go ahead and order when we get there.”
It had been a difficult day for each of them as they tried to keep their minds off tomorrow. Stopping in the middle of the block, Jo rang the buzzer on the iron security gate to the old garage that was now a restaurant. The owner let them in, and they walked over to the chalkboard on the wall to see the specials for the day before taking a table on the raised floor in the back. Looking toward the rear of the restaurant, they could watch the owner and his wife prepare the food in an open kitchen next to a small courtyard. Toward the front they looked down on a half–dozen tables covered in white linen, each with a single crystal vase sitting in the center holding a yellow and a red rose.
“So I was thinking of something like a manifesto,” Luke said. He looked at his notes on the yellow legal pad he had brought with him. “Maybe like I was giving a speech or something. I’m just trying to figure out how to frame this. You know, a structure I can step into and fill the blanks and build the case for human sovereignty.” He didn’t sound too sure about what he was saying.
“You’ve done this hundreds of times before, Luke,” Jo said, sensing now wasn’t the time to challenge him on the nonfiction format. “You set the stage. Start by listing out the lies being used to promote perpetual war, and use them as the foundation for what you’re offering. Make sure the people know this world wasn’t preordained. Most people realize that their governments are corrupt and that their representatives have been bought off; they just don’t know what they can do about it. It’s accepted as inevitable, and that’s as harmful as the idea that we’re violent by nature.” She paused as Luke flipped to a new page and continued writing. “So you need to tell them what Boétie and Tolstoy wrote—that if we allow several hundred or maybe a thousand people to dictate how life is run on a planet of over seven billion of us, then we’re the ones at fault for letting that happen. Somehow enough people need to realize that governments require our cooperation to survive, and if we withdraw it, they can’t function. That’s our power, and that idea’s central to everything you’ve been talking about.”
“Hold on.” Luke focused on taking notes. “Okay. Then what?” He was glad for the direction Jo was giving him.
“Once you’ve outlined what’s wrong, then you tell them what they can do about it,” Jo said. She wanted to talk about them, but it was obvious Luke was lost in his own world. “Step by step. And the first thing is to identify the ideals we’re going to use to construct a new world system. One where humanity holds the ultimate power. Where we tell our governments and corporations how we expect them to act, and we hold them accountable instead of them enslaving us to their agenda. And remember, you don’t have to know how to do this. Your job is to help people see what can be done and inspire enough of them that someone else figures out how to do it.” Jo’s face was expressionless as she watched Luke taking notes. He knows all of this already, she knew. He just needed help clearing away the flak so he could see the essential elements to focus on. “And then you give them your vision of the people’s mandate. The World Constitution. The People’s Declaration of Planetary Sustainability. An updated version of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights. And maybe even a people’s court. You know, some way to determine if actions do violate the mandate.” She stared off into the back of the restaurant, resigning herself to the conversation.
“And what about enforcing this?” Luke asked, still writing. Jo had a way of making his ideas sound more credible, and he was excited. She really had been listening to his ideas leading up to this point. And she was right—he was just another player in the long procession of people moving humanity to the stage where these ideas could come forth, and others will come along to pick up where he leaves off. She was seeing this fresh, without his attachment to his ideas.
“That’s where you put out your ideas about international nonviolent conflict,” Jo said. “You need to help activists around the world realize the same tactics can be used at the global level to enforce this people’s mandate we’re creating. This’ll be a big step. Many people fighting for social justice or against oppression are doing so because it’s personal. They’ve been hurt, and they want to improve their situation. But they’re also the ones who are at least doing something. And if they buy into these ideas, many of them will guide the local efforts needed to enforce the people’s will.” Jo gave Luke a bitter smile before breaking eye contact and looking down at the floor. “But all of this, the entire project, has to be decentralized. No hierarchy. No one they can kill to shut the idea down or stop the movement from arising. Instead, the mandate has to act as the guide for action. It provides the overarching principles that allow local efforts to be both independent and integrated with all other campaigns around the world. That way we have an ever–widening circle of response, from local to regional to national to global.”
“And somehow, all of this has to be transparent,” Luke said. His mind was running, and he was oblivious to Jo’s need to talk. “People have to trust the process. Nothing has consolidated power more than keeping secrets under the guise of national security.” Luke shook his head. “It has let the corrupt become more so and crystallized this Orwellian world framing our lives. And the revelations from WikiLeaks and Manning and Snowden proved it. Our government’s not only failed us, but it’s turned against us. And to hear our politicians calling for Snowden to be persecuted, instead of the government being held accountable for violating the Constitution and Bill of Rights, shows the extent they’ve been corrupted.” They got caught with their pants down, and they don’t look any more dignified than some guy crawling out of his best friend’s bedroom window with his half–on, Luke thought.
He continued. “But to be transparent, we have to take money out of the process. Everyone who participates in this project has to be a volunteer—the lawyers helping to write the constitution, the scientists working on the declaration of planetary sustainability, the human rights experts updating the bill of rights, the activists creating the strategy for a global nonviolent campaign, and the judges presiding over the people’s court. This is public service, as in, to the global public.” And maybe, finally, we’ll see decisions made on the quality of the idea—how fair and inclusive and sustainable it is—not on how profitable or expedient it is, Luke thought.
“And somewhere we need to explain what democracy is,” Luke added. He sat back and pushed his pad away.
“What do you mean?” Jo asked.
“These days people are throwing the word ‘democracy’ around like it just means free elections,” Luke said. “But elections are only part of the idea. The purpose of those elections is to uphold a democratic society that recognizes both the rights of the majority through the state, and the rights of the individuals and minority groups in the country. Rights that should never be infringed on, regardless of the person’s ability to understand them or fight for them.” And it’s about ensuring that a free press is not only allowed, but encouraged and enshrined in the constitution, he thought. “Democracy is about ensuring equal access to education and heath care, regardless of class. And it’s not static. It requires an ongoing process where legislation is updated to protect people we come to understand have been marginalized by the way the system was built. Things like racism and ableism and bureaucracy and male domination are big overarching issues that we have all been born into but that we now realize are oppressing large groups of humanity.”
Luke was lecturing, and it was starting to piss off Jo.
“And to counteract these power structures,” Luke went on, “we need to enact laws that dismantle them, at least until our cultures adapt. And of course, democracy is about participation. Designing our social systems so they encourage people to be part of the process instead of manipulating it for the benefit of a few.”
It was twilight as they walked back toward Jo’s place. Luke was still into his project and talking nonstop, thinking out loud as he processed everything going through his mind. As his mind worked overtime, he failed to notice the look on Jo’s face that would have stopped him in his tracks.
As they walked by the café with the same group of old men and their young wives sitting on the porch, Jo worked to keep herself from crying. Just like she had done through most of the dinner, hoping Claire and Aubrey would come and change the subject. But they hadn’t shown up, and she had to talk about Luke’s crap the entire time. She was tired of it. Tired of him. And there was no fucking way she was going to let him see how hurt she was. At least not right now.
End Chapter 11.
Bob
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