In Defense of…nothing

I happened upon an article posted on Facebook by a long and dear friend of mine written for Harper’s Magazine by a woman named Rebecca Solnit which gave me pause to ponder. It was a harangue on the state of a perceived perception by some modern in society, either proper or improper on what is expected of women in the world today. It was a cogent indictment on the fact that some folks in the world today should, quite simply, shut the fuck up.

It was also an equally cogent indictment to those of us who should, in fact and practice, open our mouths and keep them open.

Egotistically placing myself in the latter of these categories is the purpose of this piece. I have, for a number of years, identified myself as a writer. Rather erroneously. I have written, scribed, composed, scripted, authored, recorded, put in writing, jotted down, transcribed, or otherwise put pen to paper (or rather, fingers to keys) many words and even received remuneration for such on occasion. I am what some rather ceremoniously call a “Published Author.” Whoop-de-do.

In truth I have not written anything of substance for over two and a half years where I sat at a table at a Men’s retreat in Pennsylvania and wrote my sister Paula’s obituary. It was, simply, the last time I truly opened my heart and let the world know what or who I am.

I can barely stand to look at my face in the mirror.

My Sweet Deifiúr Paula was and, if my belief in God and things is correct, is my biggest fan and staunchest proponent. I have held within me the erroneous belief that she was my muse. While she was inspiration for some of the things I wrote, she came to love my writing many years after I began to stalk the highways and byways of writing while still in elementary school. In my early writing attempts and in the reading I was doing was a wonderful world where I discovered, as a child should, that place where heroes were heroes and damsels were always in desperate need of liberation from some form of distress. A place where murder mysteries required solving and Stephen King books scared the shit out of me. Where the heavens existed for the marvel of exploration and all Irish stories were tragic, romantic, and humorous at the same time.

This is not the first attempt I have made at the metaphorical “getting back on the horse.” I have haltingly tried several times and each of them has begun with halfhearted attempts at redeeming myself as the long lost grieving brother and how difficult it is to create when your muse has died. That is just so much bovine excrement! Paula would not think I should feel sorry for myself, she would probably tell me that I should write a book about our mother. Well, the Rolling Stones were right. You can’t always get what you want. Whatever comes out after this is what is supposed to and the world, including my beloved sister will have to live with it. If luck holds, someone will send me some money to either write or shut up, with the former being the operative objective.

So, let’s get back to the article in Harpers. There are many observations one can make about what is or what is not proper for any person to pursue in life. The article speaks of whether the author thought she should have had children. This was a question submitted to her from and audience that was clearly there to listen to her expound upon writing. This question, outrageously misplaced, was the reason I got up and walked the exhausting distance from my easy chair to my keyboard (about seven and a half feet, well, eight and a half if you count getting and transforming my desk chair into an actual chair from being a door stop).

I am, joyously, fanatical about a few things in life. First, the New York Yankees which is not subject to discussion win or lose. Second, my life in recovery from drugs and alcohol, also not subject to discussion unless you are or want to be in recovery. Then there is how I feel about everything in life. This sounds moronic or simplistic but those who would think that are quite simply obtuse and not worthy of consideration.

I am the most liberal person I know and, even though it does not seem that way from time to time, the most polite person I know. By that I mean that I fervently believe that someone’s opinions are to be held inviolate as long as those opinions do not cause harm in any form. Unfortunately, many opinions turn into action and lead to atrocity. Once it gets to that level, then I am particularly impolite.

I believe the taking of a human life outside the normal life cycle is an abomination and should forever be opposed…including capital punishment.

I believe who and how you love is nobody’s business but the person you love and only then if it is accepted and not abusive.

I believe that God should stay out of politics. I also believe that He is of the same opinion but that the whole Free Choice thing kind of has His hands tied.

I believe that two thirds of the world is at war either on a physical or a cerebral level and that they all believe in the same God, who tells us to treat each other with love and respect and is constantly ignored.

I believe that children should never have to go hungry and should be educated well…not tested based on a specious set of standards that were not written by educators.

I believe Science and Math teach us the truth and Art and Music teaches us an equal level of truth…the truth of our hearts.

I believe all who commit crimes should be punished…and shown the path to redemption for their transgressions.

I believe that government should govern and people should live free. One should not infringe of the other…either way.

I believe that the right to bear arms is a reasonable right…if it is regulated reasonably.

In conclusion, well, for now. I believe what Jesus told us to do;

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind”

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

“But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who despitefully use you and persecute you, so that you yourselves may be the children of your Father Who is in heaven”

“…that you love one another in the same way that I have loved you, that is how you are to love one another.”

These, not necessarily in order, all come from the Books of Matthew and John. If you want to know the verse citation than I suggest you get a copy of the Books of Matthew and John. I’m a writer here on a free blog, not a paid pundit. Unless, there is someone out there who wishes to pay me. In that case I am one citation writing fool.

This has been both an equally most painful and joyous exercise. I really need to do it more because, as is evident, I still know how to type and I still have something to say. I am posting this on my blog, if I can remember the password, and will continue to do so…I hope.

If you got anything out of it, cool. If you did not, come back and give it another try next time. If you are reading this then you have found me. I have other locales on the World Wide Web which can be found at: https://about.me/tlloydreilly

Peace

Just a Reminder…

You need to write something.
Your friend,
Jim

This is the text of an email from a close friend of mine.  A man not taken to outward displays of affection, he sent this to me from what I could only translate as concern for my well being.  We have known each other over twenty years having met when we were both at University.  Being children of the 60’s and 70’s we discovered within each a kindred soul that might take many thousands of words to explain.  He is my computer geek and I am his friend who has never lived up to his potential.  We view each other with a level of equality while holding differing values on the meaning of life. 

He is one of the few people in the entire world I can have a real conversation with.  The list is quite short.  There is him, of course, my best friend Daven, my sponsor, and my therapist.  Daven moved back to my home state recently, prompting a process of healing in my spirit which has been in desperate need of re-invigoration.  I have been aching for his presence the last eight years while he resided in a distant part of the country.  More of him will be said at a later date…there is much to be said for our friendship.

My sponsor is an unlikely addition to this list.  He is the very definition of a cowboy.  Every part of his life has to do with cattle.  From the growing, to the buying, to the selling, to the transportation, and ultimately to the overall care of the meat that is for dinner.  This is his realm, where he is king.  Coming from differing backgrounds it sound improbable that we should be close.  Our connection is, of course, the Twelve Step program that we are loyal and passionate members.  I have been in recovery a long time.  He has a decade more experience than I, and can carries the message of respite, and recovery better that anyone I have ever met.  He carries a spirit within him that calls to me and which has given me much solace.

My therapist is that person who gets to hear most of my complaints, and is especially good at triggering the intellectual side of me.  I have an excess of education and that sometimes brings a sense of loneliness within my circle of acquaintances.  A friend of mine once told me that I was the largest repository of useless information he ever knew.  I come from a simple hard working blue collar lineage and tend to befriend folks likeminded to my ancestry.  The only real difference is in the toolboxes we use.  I have friends who are employed at occupations that require skillful use of the hands.  Among them are mechanics, carpenters, food service personnel, construction workers, plumbers, electricians, music industry roadies, truck drivers, equipment operators, and a few current and former exotic dancers (both male and female).  Each is greatly talented and highly intelligent. 

My toolbox is my brain.  If you have read this blog before or any of the other things I have written you will know that I am, and have been all my life, in a deep love affair with words.  Hence, my desire and attempt at being a writer.  I once, due to personnel irresponsibility, was a member of the country’s homeless population.  I was living under a bridge (the fourth such address I called a residence) when it occurred to me that winter was coming (Yes I am a Stark in spirit) and I needed to find a better living situation.  I also came to the realization that life would be much more endurable if I found a way to maintain a domicile that was both permanent and had certain amenities; heat, electricity, water, furniture, etc.  Not being simple minded, I realized that this goal was obtainable only if I learned a way to get and maintain this form of luxury.  It occurred to me that I would need to go somewhere and learn these skills.  With the help of my Dear Sainted Mother, I was able to discover, elicit aid, and gain entrance to an institution of higher learning.  I occupied that existence for eight years.  Therein lays the origin of my toolbox.  Therein lays my desire to earn a living by practicing my passion.

My toolbox has been partially closed the last year.  Since the passing of My Sweet Deifiúr, Paula, I have been consumed in my grief and impotent in the practice of my love affair with the arrangement of phrases, the origination of verses, the expressing of prattles, the transcribing of facts, the scripting of tales of daring do, the authoring of wondrous words of inspiration, the devising of plans for the future, the penning of platitudes, or even simply putting pen to paper to figure my monthly bills.

Well, the bills have somehow been paid without negative numbers in my bank account.  I began my writing exercise that has worked in the past.  (Morning Pages as directed by Julia Cameron’s wonderful teaching in “The Artist Way.”)  I have ceased eliciting sympathy for my plight from those inclined to give such solace. I have not sought to enlist the aid of the legion of books or websites for authors that offer assistance with writers block.  Although, I will admit that a level of empathy would not be an out of sorts exercise, I steer a wide path around such assistance.  There is, I have found, only one method of curing writers block.

Write.

Admittedly my muse is lacking, or gone.  Paula, in her belief of my talent kept me going through starving artist syndrome.  She helped pay my bills while I sought publication.  She always championed me to all who would sit or stand still long enough to hear her tales of her brother the gifted author.  And most important, she never gave up on my dream.

I know not how long the grief process will last.  I am weeping as I write this, and have resisted the urge to quit.  It seems almost a betrayal of her memory for me to turn my back on what she considered a gift from God.  A dear friend told me that I was not betraying a damn thing and that I need to let my grief run its course.  I recall that the last stage of the grief process is hope.

Now the lack of muse is a real thing which must be conquered.  I am a zealot in the dominion of literary invention.  The words are in me.  I just need a little push.  Well, what I truly need is a swift kick in the ass.  So I have a challenge for my friend who sent me the email eliciting this post.  

Remember when we were at university and you came up with the idea that we write a story together?  Out of that came one of my favorite stories.  You declined to participate because you felt that I had written a complete story and, as such, could not contribute to what was already a complete story.  It has not been published (yet) but as you read this I am actively submitting it yet again in hopes of publishing success.  Here’s the thing.  If I publish that story, I will pay you what I am now terming “Muse Money.”  For any remuneration I might receive from the publishing of this story, or any in the future, I will direct 10% to you in whatever manner you desire.  We both know this is not enough to pay for one of the hundreds (?) of meals we’ve enjoyed in restaurants where you picked up the tab let alone even begin to financially compensate you for the pecuniary munificence you have shown me.  I do this in the spirit of the businessman in you, and the belief you hang on to that I will succeed as a writer beyond that which I have already enjoyed. 

I am, if nothing else, able to follow instruction.  This post, albeit late given the date of the email, is proof of my continuing ability to arrange words.  What I would request from you is the idea for another story.  What I propose is a partnership wherein you get the ideas and I put them down on paper.  This, I imagine, will not be a long-term collaboration.  The precipitate pouncing of my posterior end given me by your ideas will, hopefully, reinvigorate the creative juices that have been cogitating in me.  In this I retreat to the stages of grief and the place upon which I ardently covet …hope springs eternal.

I would ask that we do not discuss this over the phone, or when we get to see each other.  Let us communicate through that which is so important to both of us…words.  I would ask that you reply in the comment section on the blog.  I am re-involving myself with the blogosphere in all of my presences.  Well at least that is the plan.  More to come.

Peace

Goodnight John Boy…

Dragging myself out of the depths of depravity I venture, once more, into the literary world with full and earnest intent to become a “writer of note.”  To accomplish this task I must drag my big posterior end into the world that exists at this dimension and away from that despicable den of depravity, dishonesty, dissipation, decadence, debauchery, and dissoluteness that exists at the other end of my sanctum sanctorum.  To wit…my easy chair with the remote control sitting on the table next to it.  “Onward Christian Soldier” or some other contrived construct that will allow me to put words on a page that makes sense or amuses.  It is a wish that I must force into existence that I find a way to put words down in some sort of fashion that pleases me.  For that is the essence of a writer, is it not?  Does not the scribe first please his own palate first before invading the rest of the universe?   

Long term sloth and conflicting emotions all play landlord to the address where a writer can find himself blocked.  I have sat in the despicable den and dreamt hundreds of deliberations with which to amuse.  I have even outlined what seemed to be great works of literary art using ideas garnered from the electronic contraptions that exist in my world.  Even as I sit today, I type with one of the instruments of indolence within reach.  Oh woe the day when a device as simple as a telephone could be as tempting as the fruit of the Tree of Good and Evil.  Should I capitulate and reach for the device every time it buzzed, bleeps, or otherwise makes its presence known?  Can I please narrow my world to the rectangular object before me holding the encrypted letters and numbers with which enlightenment for eternity might be found?  Lord?  Are you out there?  Can I please have a bite of this apple?

To liken the ever expanding world that is reality in this day and age, to a simple concept seems infantile, and ever more somnolent.  Exploring the great beyond that is the universe and all its interconnected components seems a noble quest.  The journey in search of elucidation and comprehension must move beyond the wisdom set down in reruns of “The Walton’s.”  

That has been my literary refuge of late.  The rest of the world is absolutely insane, immoral malicious, malignant, vindictive, spiteful, foul, revolting, and downright sinful.  There are many more words that express everything that is wrong with the world, but that will not get any of us anywhere closer to understanding the most complex issue we all face…what am I feeling?

I used the television show to attempt to find muse again after the loss of My Sweet Deifiúr, but have failed in this.  I have come to realize that the show simply displays for us, or leads the three senses that it can effect, back to things that are well known, or should be; love, kindness understanding, compassion, passion, evolution, life lessons, and the overwhelming certainty that life is assuredly a journey and not a destination.

My thoughts were that the vision of that young boy sitting at his desk in that old farmhouse, the only light still burning late at night, writing down words that are bursting out of his heart and into his mind before ultimately finding their way to the page would reawaken me.  What I did not realize came to me just this morning when I read a posting I had written for a blog of writers who are enjoying the gifts of advanced experience and age.  I have been a contributing writer for this blog for a while.  I have let more than one posting fall by the wayside and felt apologetic and irresponsible in that laziness.  I force myself to get off my duff and take my place in the queue as expected.  What I discovered was that I have not lost my proverbial edge; I just haven’t been using it.  I sit here today and seem to be finding words and phrases just fine.  This is not cause for celebration or jumping up and buying myself a milk shake.  It is just something that I am supposed to be doing.  

I am at rest while plinking away at the keyboard.  I am at peace when I am deriving the next adroit alliteration.  I am fulfilled when I think of my Sweet Deifiúr looking over my shoulder and smiling.  It is not for her memory that I write today, although I could, both today and for a thousand more nights.  I write today for the simplest of reasons…I am a writer.  I care not what is thought of me as I publish these words on my blog.  Pronouncements of one’s talent or expertise may elicit derogatory ideas or remarks but these beliefs matter little to me.  The idea that any talent needs to be expounded on profusely is and never has been my intent.  If someone reading this believes me conceited or narcissistic, then by all means move on and go with God.

If you know me and love me, then you will rejoice in my contentment, love me as you have, and hug me when you see me.  

Peace

“Is Timothy Reilly an Irish name?”

This was a question I have been asked every June 21^st for the last forty years.  It is part of a ritual that grew out of a query I once presented to a nun/teacher at Sts. Cyril and Methodius Roman Catholic School.  I was of indeterminate age and have no personal recollection of ever saying it.  My Dear Sainted Mother started and maintained this potential urban legend that has become ritual and nurtured in the ensuing years.  My Sweet Deifiúr maintained it.

I will no longer be hearing that question on the First Day of Summer.  The latter perpetrator of this questionable legend passed away on April 16^th after a protracted war with the disease of Leukemia.  My darling Sweet Deifiúr, Paula, no longer walks this plain, and I am bereft and overwhelmed with the enormity of my loss.

The name which caused a level of uncertainty as to its ancestry was given me by this gentle woman.  I enjoyed the comfort and love of knowing that the world will be bearable and good as long as I had the ability to speak with my sister.  She always watched over her little brother and now is guarding over me from a place I hope and pray we both inhabit in the future.

She was the embodiment of every good feeling someone can have.  She never looked at anyone with an undeserved harsh view.  Even those she found lacking in this world had, in her mind, something that was special and fine within them.  She was fiercely loyal, and overwhelmingly dedicated to those she loved.  She loved more people than she did not.  Even those she found disfavor with were never loathed.  Hate was not in her…ever.

There were constants in this life that are no longer as tenacious as when she was with us.  As mentioned, the dubious inquiry every June 21^st, the greeting every March 17^th with an offer of Irish Soda Bread and a joyous “Erin go Bragh,” and the passionate belief that her brother was the best writer in the world are but a few of these constants.  Said constants that are now memories and, hopefully, fond commemorations after the grief dissipates.

I admit to sloth in the writing of this piece.  I have wandered around my house in a daze.  I have avoided the phone and allowed the Internet to dissuade me from this writing.  It somehow does not seem to be of any importance right now.  My love of, and ability to, string words together into a cognizant and attractive manner pale in the face of the loss, to the entire world, of this wonderful woman.  I search for muse and find it absent.  I wish to regale you with memories of her and find that there are too many to list.  From the dedication to those she loved, the good she did, to the pecan pie she was never able to bake without it coming out as hard as asphalt, there are just too many to fathom at this moment.

While my distress is at the top of my feelings, I have responsibility in me to honor her.  Everything I learned about responsibility as well as the difference between right and wrong I learned from her.  The lessons every man should learn about being a gentleman and respecting women, I learned from her.  The ability to have and live by values and principles that are greater than me, I learned from her.  The fear I have ongoing is for those things in life I have yet to learn and who is going to teach them to me.  A better teacher than my sister does not seem to exist.

What I do know, more than anything else, is that my sister did not lie to me.  The last words she spoke to me were – “I love you.”  The last message she asked Captain Domesticado to relay to me was - ”Tell Timmy that it is going to be all right.”  Both declarations that I cannot doubt…after all…my sister did not lie to me…ever.

I love you Paula!

Peace.

Meet the New Boss...

Apologies.  I have been absent since before the anniversary of the Birth of Our Lord and have felt remiss in my dedication to the enlightenment of the masses.  Not that I am the all-knowing, all loving God that I have some understanding of, and from whom you must take heed in your daily struggle to discern right from wrong.  I am more akin to the “All powerful OZ” who plies his trade behind a curtain while admonishing others to pay him no heed.

In that light I must admit to a period of sentient ignorance whilst I saw to the infirmities from which I suffer, chief amongst them being apathy, sloth, and idiocy.  In this time of bliss, I have not found anything telling to write about.  I have endeavored to focus on the amazing male bovine excrement from which I have finally found to be a source, if not small, of income – fiction.

While I believe in the power of the message one might convey in a good old fashioned yarn with an origin coming out of my hellishly active imagination, I have found muse for another scathing diatribe on the state of affairs on the third planet from the Sun.  There is a new Pope.  Unfortunately for those of us that like to peer into the future, there does not appear to be very much change in store for the One True Religion that I was born into, baptized, educated in and grew into adulthood in.

Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

I have always wondered why the Lord Jesus saw fit to command us to love one another.  Somehow I am befuddled that the progenitors of my faith have consistently and systematically chosen to ignore that simple mandate from the one person they proclaim to be magnificent, glorious, superlative, and totally worthy of worship.  Why is it so difficult to give our neighbors a break and allow them to live happy lives in the same manner that is our aspiration, and ambition?  

Right out of the gate, this new guy has renewed the hate, indifference, and institutional bigotry that  is  in contradiction to the vehemently strong stance Liberation Theology which has been championed by many of Latin American clergy?  If he is not of a mind to agree with his own people, how can he lead a religion with the diversity present in modern day Catholicism?  Why must we condemn gay people, why do we have to conceive children we are not able to care for?  WWJD?

I think he would tell them all to go someplace and sell earth shoes instead of trying to lead a religion. 

I like to keep things simple and not ask too many questions.  I am, after all, a civilized man.  Or am I? The things that I learned as a child such as being polite, and being respectful to my elders are great lessons to live by.  At least, that is, until one learns to read.

 “The first human who hurled an insult instead of a stone was the founder of civilization.” ― Sigmund Freud

Speaking of being civilized elicited a further need in me to delve into the manner in which we treat each other as members of the same “civilized” species.  Going to the “Devil’s Diatribe”, or, anything that has anything to do with the news media, I found incontrovertible proof that we have, in fact, become “civilized” as based on Sigmund’s belief

At this point in my research I thought the clearest avenue to elucidate my beliefs was to write a scathing indictment on the state of the world and how the world is wrong.  Then I happened upon another quote that literally yanked my fingers up off the keyboard;

"Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets." Matthew 7:12, King James Version.

The Golden Rule in all its glory.  I then embarked on a quest using the World Wide Web for whatever wisdom lived there about how humans treat each other.  According to Cambridge University, 83% of the world believes in some form of deity that embraces spiritual tenets that speak to how we treat each other:

Judaism:  "…thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.", Leviticus 19:18  "What is hateful to you, do not to your fellow man. This is the law: all the rest is commentary." Talmud, Shabbat 31a. "And what you hate, do not do to anyone." Tobit 4:15

Islam –

"None of you [truly] believes until he wishes for
his brother what he wishes for himself."

Confucianism -  

"Do not do to others what you do not want them to do to
you" Analects 15:23

"Tse-kung asked, ‘Is there one word that can serve
as a principle of conduct for life?’ Confucius replied, ‘It is the word ‘shu’ –
reciprocity. Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire.’" Doctrine
of the Mean 13.3

Try your best to treat others as you would wish to be treated
yourself, and you will find that this is the shortest way to
benevolence."

Christianity -

"Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men
should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the
prophets." Matthew 7:12, King James Version.

"And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to
them likewise." Luke 6:31, King James Version.

"…and don’t do what
you hate…", Gospel of Thomas 6. The Gospel of Thomas is one of about
40 gospels that were widely accepted among early Christians, but which
never made it into the Christian Scriptures (New Testament). 

Buddhism -  

"…a state that is not pleasing or delightful to me, how could I
inflict that upon another?", or “Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.

Brahmanism –

 "This is the sum of Dharma [duty]: Do naught unto others which would
cause you pain if done to you"

Bahá’í Faith –

"Ascribe not to any soul that which thou wouldst not
have ascribed to thee, and say not that which thou doest not." "Blessed
is he who preferreth his brother before himself."

Ancient Egyptian –

“Do for one who may do for you, that you may cause him thus
to do." The original dates to 1970 to 1640  BCE and may be the earliest version ever
written.

Humanism –

"Don’t do things you wouldn’t want to have done to you,”

Native American –

"Do not wrong or hate your neighbor. For it is not he who you
wrong, but yourself."

Shinto –

The heart of the person before you is a mirror. See there
your own form"

Sikhism –

"No one is my enemy, none a stranger and everyone is my
friend."

Unitarian –

"We affirm and promote respect for the
interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part."

Wicca:

"An it harm no one, do what thou wilt" (i.e. do whatever you will, as long as it harms nobody, including yourself).

"What you hate, do not to another. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn."  Hillel the Elder at the turn of the BCE-CE millennia

Mohism

If people regarded other people's families in the same way that they regard their own, who then would incite their own family to attack that of another? For one would do for others as one would do for oneself.

—Mozi

Mozi regarded the golden rule as a corollary to the cardinal virtue of impartiality, and encouraged egalitarianism and selflessness in relationships.

Platonism

The Golden Rule appears to be present in at least one of Plato's dialogues:

One should never do wrong in return, nor mistreat any man, no matter how one has been mistreated by him."

—Plato's Socrates (Crito, 49c) (c. 469 BC–399 BCE)

Quakerism

"Oh, do as you would be done by. And do unto all men as you would have them do unto you, for this is but the law and the prophet." Postscript to the Quaker peace testimony, signed by George Fox.

Scientology

Consistent with the observation by Walter Terence Stace "that 'doing as you would be done by' includes taking into account your neighbor's tastes as you would that he should take yours into account" (see Criticisms and responses to criticisms), Scientology addresses the issue concerning differences in values or interests by focusing on the values and interests of the recipient of the conduct:

Thus today we have two golden rules for happiness: 1. Be able to experience anything; and 2. Cause only those things which others are able to experience easily.

—Scientology: A New Slant on Life, Two Rules for Happy Living

The Way to Happiness

The Way to Happiness expresses the Golden Rule both in its negative/prohibitive form and in its positive form. The negative/prohibitive form is expressed in Precept 19 as:

19. Try not to do things to others that you would not like them to do to you.

—The Way to Happiness, Precept 19

20. Try to treat others as you would want them to treat you.

—The Way to Happiness, Precept 20

Pop culture

Be excellent to each another.

—Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure

Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.

—Monty Python's Meaning of Life

Don't be a dick.

—Wil Wheaton

And finally, in the most important way to put it:

“Do the right thing” Spike Lee

This “ethic of reciprocity," is a foundational instruction for nearly the entire world and still, we keep killing, separating, excluding, secluding, shunning, demonizing, estranging, and discriminating against people based on their actions and not on a principle which is a cornerstone of human spirituality.

I could probably go on forever in my dissatisfaction over the election of a new Pope that is apparently no different, ideologically, then what my religion has been spewing for centuries.  Going on about how I can no longer participate in that religion.  Go on about how it must all change.  But, I think not.  I am just another guy with too many words and not enough actions.  After all, I do not love the Conclave of Cardinals today.  Shame on me.  I think I will shut my Gobshite mouth and try to go and do what my God commanded me to do;

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” Matthew 5:43-45

Peace