INFP Introverts: The 64-Color Box

“Somebody, after all, had to make a start. What we wrote and said is also believed by many others. They just don’t dare to express themselves as we did. The real damage is done by those millions who want to ‘survive’—the honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes. Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves—or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honor, truth, and principles are only literature. Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.” —Sophie Scholl

Continue reading “Sophie Scholl and the White Rose”

At the age of 21, Sophie Scholl was guillotined by the Nazis for her involvement in The White Rose.

I’d been living in London when my world turned upside down and I’d had to come home. By the time my plane landed back in Sydney, all I had left was a carry on bag full of clothes and a world of troubles. No one to welcome me back, no place to call home. I was a tourist in my hometown.

Standing there in the arrivals terminal, watching other passengers meeting their waiting friends and family, with open arms and smiling faces, hugging and laughing together, I wanted someone out there to be waiting for me. To be happy to see me. To smile at me. To hug me.

So I got some cardboard and a marker and made a sign. I found the busiest pedestrian intersection in the city and held that sign aloft, with the words “FREE HUGS” on both sides.

And, for 15 minutes, people just stared right through me. The first person who stopped tapped me on the shoulder and told me how her dog had just died that morning. How that morning had been the one year anniversary of her only daughter dying in a car accident. How what she needed now, when she felt most alone in the world, was a hug. I got down on one knee, we put our arms around each other and, when we parted, she was smiling.

Everyone has problems and, for sure, mine haven’t compared. But to see someone who was once frowning smile, even for a moment, is worth it every time.

—Juan Mann

“There is always something to do. There are hungry people to feed, naked people to clothe, sick people to comfort and make well. And, while I don’t expect you to save the world, I do think it’s not asking too much for you to love those with whom you sleep, share the happiness of those whom you call friend, engage those among you who are visionary, and remove from your life those who offer you depression, despair, and disrespect.” —Nikki Giovanni

This Illiterate Brazilian’s Home Speaks Volumes
By Henry Chu, Los Angeles Times

Sao Goncalo, Brazil—Carlos Leite can barely read a word, but books revolutionized his life. Two years ago, he was doing construction work for a man who was about to toss out six thick, red encyclopedias. Leite asked whether he could have them instead. Thus a dream was born.

Within days, he hit the pavement, knocking on doors, begging people for more unwanted books. No contribution was too small, too big or too arcane. Skeptical members of Leite’s cycling club were dragooned into helping him collect donations.

His collection quickly multiplied. The original six volumes turned into 100, then 1,000. Soon, his humble home was bursting with 5,000 books of all types—worn classics, chemistry textbooks, dog-eared thrillers.

To Leite, though, nearly all the books are mysteries. Born into a poor family, he dropped out of school after third grade and, at 51, is practically illiterate. But books, he knows, are the gateway to a life of greater possibility and more promise than his own. It might be too late for me, a working man, he reasoned, but not for others.

So bloomed the passion that has consumed Leite’s free time over the last two years: transforming his home into a public library, free and open to all in this poverty-stricken neighborhood outside Rio de Janeiro.

Continue reading…

Many of us were children or not yet born, but there was a time when having a social conscience superseded personal wealth and popularity in sports, a time when empowerment among elite athletes had nothing to do with economics. You either believed in a cause and took action or you hushed up. In 1968, against the wish of his own nation [Australia], Peter Norman did something.

“I did the only thing I believed was right,” Norman said over a beer six years ago. “I asked what they wanted me to do to help.”

In the photo, he wears a badge identical to those worn by Smith and Carlos, identifying their Olympic Project for Human Rights. But Norman’s participation was more than a token. “While he didn’t raise a fist, he did lend a hand,” was how Smith explained it.

“Any other white guy, I don’t think he would have had the courage to go through with it,” Carlos said yesterday. “Our lives were threatened. We were being demonized in the media. People were saying we wanted the destruction of society instead of what we really wanted, equal rights. I just don’t think most white individuals would have been strong enough to make that commitment.

“At least me and Tommie had each other when we came home,” he added. “When Peter went home, he had to deal with a nation by himself. He never wavered, never denied that he was up there with us for a purpose and he never said ‘I’m sorry’ for his involvement. That’s indicative of who the man was.”

The Americans discussed their plan with Norman, then a 26-year-old physical education teacher and Salvation Army officer, before the ceremony. When Carlos realised he had forgotten his black gloves, Norman suggested the two share Smith’s pair. He then asked what he could do to support them, and Carlos managed to get an additional badge, which Norman attached to his track suit, over his heart. After the ceremony, Norman explained himself simply: “I believe that every man is born equal and should be treated that way.”

“I couldn’t see why a black man wasn’t allowed to drink out of the same water fountain or sit in the same bus or go to the same schools as a white guy,” Norman said. “That was just social injustice that I couldn’t do anything about from where I was, but I certainly abhorred it.”

[…]

Norman last saw Smith and Carlos last year, when San Jose State University, California, unveiled a statue, based on the photo, of its two alumni. Typically, he downplayed his involvement. “People don’t realise that they sacrificed their lives for a cause they believed in, and it was peaceful and non-violent,” he said. “I was glad I was with them.”

Read Full Article: Peter Norman
Read Full Article: Clenched Fists, Helping Hand

“This is a story about four people named
Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody.
There was an important job to be done
and Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.
Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it.
Somebody got angry about that,
because it was Everybody’s job.
Everybody thought Anybody could do it,
but Nobody realized that Everybody wouldn’t do it.
It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody,
when Nobody did what Anybody could have done.”

—Author Unknown

“Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part that is within our reach. One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these—to be fierce and to show mercy toward others, both, are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity. Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it. If you would help to calm the tumult, this is one of the strongest things you can do.”

—Clarissa Pinkola-Estes

“Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution.” —Kahlil Gibran

“They’re an odd couple in every sense, but a monkey and a pigeon have become inseparable at an animal sanctuary in China. The 12-week-old macaque—who was abandoned by his mother—was close to death when it was rescued on Neilingding Island, in Goangdong Province. After being taken to an animal hospital, his health began to improve but he seemed spiritless—until he developed a friendship with a white pigeon.

“The blossoming relationship helped to revive the macaque who has developed a new lease on life, say staff at the sanctuary. Now, the unlikely duo are never far from each other’s side—but they aren’t the only ones to strike up an unusual friendship. Earlier this year, a pig adopted a tiger cub and raised him along with her piglets because his mother couldn’t feed him. And, in 2005, a baby deer named Mi-Lu befriended lurcher Geoffrey at the Knowsley Animal Park in Merseyside after she was rejected by her mother.” Source

“Perhaps the animal spirit is so great that one day it may inspire compassion in the human heart.” —Nan Sea Love

“Some people think only intellect counts—knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy.” —Dean Koontz

If you’re like me, you get into disputes with narcissists over their casual dishonesty and cruelty to other people. Trying to reform narcissists by reasoning with them or by appealing to their better nature is about as effective as spitting in the ocean. What you see is what you get: they have no better nature. The fundamental problem here is that narcissists lack empathy.

Lacking empathy is a profound disturbance to the narcissist’s thinking (cognition) and feeling (affectivity). Even when very intelligent, narcissists can’t reason well. They don’t understand the meaning of what people say and they don’t grasp the meaning of the written word either. Because so much of the meaning of anything we say depends on context and affect, narcissists (lacking empathy and thus lacking both context and affect) hear only the words.

Narcissists are generally not candidates for conventional analytical treatment, since psychological analysis is a dialogue and narcissism is a soliloquy.

More often than not, it’s the children and other victims of narcissists who often seek psychotherapy in order to come to terms with the damage suffered at the hands of narcissists.

Continue reading “Narcissistic Personality Disorder: How to Recognize a Narcissist”, “Narcissism 101″

For his first paper, now a classic, Hare had his subjects watch a countdown timer. When it reached zero, they got a “harmless but painful” electric shock while an electrode taped to their fingers measured perspiration. Normal people would start sweating as the countdown proceeded, nervously anticipating the shock. Psychopaths didn’t sweat. They didn’t fear punishment—which, presumably, also holds true outside the laboratory. In Without Conscience, he quotes a psychopathic rapist explaining why he finds it hard to empathize with his victims: “They are frightened, right? But, you see, I don’t really understand it. I’ve been frightened myself, and it wasn’t unpleasant.”

In another Hare study, groups of letters were flashed to volunteers. Some of them were nonsense, some formed real words. The subject’s job was to press a button whenever he recognized a real word, while Hare recorded response time and brain activity. Non-psychopaths respond faster and display more brain activity when processing emotionally loaded words such as “rape” or “cancer” than when they see neutral words such as “tree.” With psychopaths, Hare found no difference. To them, “rape” and “tree” have the same emotional impact—none.

Hare once illustrated this for Nicole Kidman, who had invited him to Hollywood to help her prepare for a role as a psychopath in Malice. How, she wondered, could she show the audience there was something fundamentally wrong with her character?

“I said, ‘Here’s a scene you can use,’” Hare says. “You’re walking down a street and there’s an accident. A car has hit a child in the crosswalk. A crowd of people gather round. You walk up, the child’s lying on the ground and there’s blood running all over the place. You get a little blood on your shoes and you look down and say, ‘Oh shit.’ You look over at the child, kind of interested, but you’re not repelled or horrified. You’re just…interested. Then you look at the mother and you’re really fascinated by the mother, who’s emoting, crying out, doing all these different things. After a few minutes, you turn away and go back to your house. You go into the bathroom and practice mimicking the facial expressions of the mother.” He then pauses and says, “That’s the psychopath: somebody who doesn’t understand what’s going on emotionally, but understands that something important has happened.”

Continue reading “How Can You Tell If Someone is a Psychopath?”, “Psychopaths Among Us”, “The Mask of Sanity”

“Cynics are only happy in making the world as barren for others as they have made it for themselves.” —George Meredith

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The trouble-makers. The round heads in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules and they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them. But the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And, while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.” —Jack Kerouac

“Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It’s a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.” —Richard Bullock

“The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.” —George Bernard Shaw

“No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit.” —Helen Keller

“Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people.” —Eleanor Roosevelt

“Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion.” —Jack Kerouac

“Cafe Bastille. I strike up a conversation but there seems to be no real interest. Words are spoken but elicit no exchange. I let it drop. The smell of food, the noise of the kitchen, the colors of the bottles in back of the bar, the polished glasses; on the walls, Picasso, Toulouse Latrec—fullness of the senses but not a word of expression. The void in the middle of the feast. Or the appearance of the feast. Communion withheld. I sometimes run into people who have no interest in other people or conversation. I can’t see where they are at, if they are at anything. If you are living in the country, I can understand this. You go down to the creek, take a slow walk, contemplate. But the city is people. If you have no interest in people, you have no interest in anything. Well, maybe art, architecture, music, food. But it is conversation, a dialog, that ties it together, declares its value. So when I run into someone who has no interest in conversation, it seems like I have run into the living dead. They are walking about, doing a job, but they are really in the grave.” —Louis Martin

The other day, I listened to my daughter, 8, explain to my son, 6, how she was going to save the world. Her plan, as she tells it, is to close all the meat packing plants when she grows up. She’s going to make mass butchering of animals illegal and, likely, throw everyone who has ever worked at a packing plant in jail.

It was at about that point when the “voice of reason” entered the conversation. I’m not even going to attempt to analyze exactly where this voice of reason comes from for the moment but it was, quite obviously, being channeled through me.

“Now Maddie,” I heard myself saying, “Do you really think it would be fair to actually throw people in jail for working at a packing house? People need jobs, honey. People need to feed their families.”

And her reply was exactly what mine would have been at the age of eight.

“So. People should get jobs that don’t involve torturing and killing animals.”

But the “voice of reason” went on. “You can’t punish people for it. Everyone has to make a living. And I know it seems cruel, all those poor cattle squashed into those tiny pens, spending their final hours…”

She was muttering by that time. A quick glance in the rear-view mirror and I could see her little arms folded across her chest, her brow furrowed, “…just like killing people…no different…why people think they can be so mean…”

I shut that “voice of reason” up as I watched that fire of passion flicker and dim. It was as if she boxed it up and pulled it tight against her, hiding it from people like me, people who would encourage her to be “reasonable” and just accept that sometimes life is as life is, that bad things happen for a reason and there’s no use in asking people to change.

We rode in silence for far too long.

“You know,” I finally said, “You’re right. Meat packing plants are bad on a number of levels and I’m sorry I said those things to you. I hope you do grow up and shut them down. It’s people like you who will make the world a better place for those animals and for the people who work in those plants.”

I wonder how often we give up on a dream, a goal, a plan to make the world a better place because so many “voices of reason” swirl around us, telling us to be cautious, be fair, be considerate, be realistic. How many times do we succumb to “reasonableness” before we cease to dream altogether? Why are we afraid to think differently? Why are we content to follow the crowd even when we don’t seem to like where the crowd is taking us? Why do we keep our mouths shut in fear of offending rather than speak out on the subjects that offend us?

Why do we?

Why do I?

Source

I have been topping up my self-esteem and my social status by buying the right branded things, so that I feel good about myself, so that people can know who I am. In my world, the implications of wearing a crocodile as opposed to a polo player on the breast of one’s shirt are of crucial importance. Understanding the differences between Dualit and Dyson, and what they say about their owners is reflection of style and good taste.

By now you’re thinking that I am a particularly shallow individual and, to a certain extent, you’d be right. But I think that in small ways, we all behave like this in our daily lives. A stranger waves as they drive past in the same model car as our own. Snap judgments are made on youths dressed in white Reeboks and hoodies. That little bit extra spent on our favourite name brands in the supermarket is a small price to pay because we’re worth it.

Being the gullible fool that I am, I believed in the promises that these brands made to me; that I would be more attractive, more successful, more happy for buying their stuff. However, the highs of consumerism have been accompanied by a continual, dull ache, growing slowly as the years have gone by; a melancholy that until recently I could not understand.

I now realise that…

Continue reading “Bonfire of the Brands”

“There is a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can’t take part; you can’t even passively take part. You’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you’ve got to make it stop. And you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it that, unless you’re free, the machine will be prevented from working at all!” —Mario Savio

“I am referring to a group of individuals, specifically, monks—who were not able to fit into the disintegrating landscape of the Roman Empire and who experienced themselves as strangers in a strange land. What Roman culture had discarded, these monks treated as valuable; what the culture found worthwhile, they perceived as stupid or destructive.

And so, beginning in the fourth century A.D., these men took it upon themselves to preserve the treasures of Greco-Roman civilization as the lights of their own culture were rapidly fading. In Ireland, and on the Continent, they sequestered and copied the books and manuscripts that represented the greatest cultural achievements of that civilization—material that, six hundred years later, proved to be a crucial factor in the dawn of a new European culture.

When I speak of a contemporary class of monks, I do not, of course, mean that literally. I am not talking about asceticism or religious practice and certainly not organization into monastic orders. But I am talking about renunciation. Today’s ‘monk’ is determined to resist the spin and hype of the global corporate world order; he or she knows the difference between reality and theme parks, integrity and commercial promotion. He regards Starbucks as a sad plastic replica of the gritty (or bohemian) cafe of bygone days.

She has no truck with the trendy ‘wisdom’ of the New Age, and instead seeks guidance about the human condition from Flaubert or Virginia Woolf rather than the latest guru tossed up by the media or counterculture. Computers and the Internet are, for such a person, useful tools, not a way of life, and she understands that both the Republican and Democratic parties represent corporate interests, rather than genuine democracy.

She has no problem being labeled an elitist, because she agrees with Garrison Keillor that ‘what’s really snooty is to put out commercial garbage for an audience that you yourself feel superior to.’ The new monk is a sacred/secular humanist, dedicated not to slogans or the fashionable patois of postmodernism, but to Enlightenment values that lie at the heart of our civilization: the disinterested pursuit of the truth, the cultivation of art, the commitment to critical thinking.

Above all, he knows the difference between quality and kitsch, and he seeks to preserve the former in the teeth of a culture that is drowning in the latter. If she is a high school teacher, she has her class reading the Odyssey, despite the fact that half the teachers in the school have assigned Danielle Steel. If he is a writer, he writes for posterity, not for the best-seller lists. As a mother, she takes her kids camping or to art museums, not to Pocahontas. He elects, in short, to save his life via the monastic option.”

—Morris Berman, “Twilight of American Culture”