There’s a simple reason why I don’t read newspapers or watch news on television.
What’s your real passion? Truth or delusions? If it is truth, then how can anyone fall for news? Sounds ironic, yes. What’s a journalist concerned with? Is he / she willing to go beyond the appearances to dig up what’s true? Or is he/she contented with what is believed to be real?
Many years ago, I too was trained to produce news. The inverted pyramid arrangement of the five Ws (What, When, Where, Who, Why) and one H (How) by themselves appear quite a holistic method. But the professionalism you feel there is just skin deep. Once journalism turned into a business like soap or cola production, newsroom became a factory of muck. Like seeming ‘facts’ was upheld instead of truth in our courtrooms. I’m not talking about truth which some journalists fashion themselves are after. There can be no truth in these social affairs as reported by the papers. How can truth be found in forms? How can anyone claim as truth, his own interpretations, his own judgments? What exactly do we mean by truth?
Business means numbers. And numbers always means loss of objectivity. When bad news is considered to be news, both the writer and the reader of the news collaborate in dipping their heads in pure muck. Is that what you want to do all your life? To dip your head in somebody’s closet?
Let’s think some sense now.
All creation are alike. Creation is equal in terms of content. You and I and the so-called criminal are equal and alike in content. Only form varies. And what varies cannot be true. It can only be an interpretation of the given moment.
A journalist has laid claims on his passion for the true. Once you realise there cannot be truth in anything to do with forms, in this outward existence, should he still loiter in the dirt that’s always unreal? Soon, it becomes a matter of earning bread / rice money. Compromising becomes a daily habit. You go into newsroom and pour muck into the pages and go home believing you are living truth. But deep inside, every journalist of worth knows he/she is just faking it all. The priority is never truth. The priority is one’s own sustenance.
So what results from this unholy trade?
Every reader becomes a bearer of the muck. You are turned into a holder of somebody’s seeming dirt. Over time, your mind is filled with the idea that this world is a hell and you shall outlive others by hook or crook. The other becomes hell, as Sartre believed. Simply put, Sartre becomes a hell to himself by that. Nothing more. Would you like to fill your head with garbage?
“When a brother perceives himself as sick, he is perceiving himself as not whole and therefore in need. If you too see him this way, you are seeing him as if he were absent from the Kingdom or separated from it thus making the Kingdom itself obscure to both of you.” [ A Course in Miracles T 7. II. 1: 2,3 ]
As soon as I felt the whole paradigm of reality as believed by this world is faked by oneself within one’s own head, truth became the paramount priority. Journalism as you see serves sickness, not wholeness. It is partial, judgmental, and prejudiced against the whole mankind. Because it comes out of minds that still believe firmly in delusions.
May I rather stick my head in my own closet please?