UNDERSTANDING > RIGID IDEOLOGY
Everyone sees the world through their own life experiences. So you should never feel scared to say your own.
After all, we all have our own individual truths.
.
Social media was polarising people, undermining logic, keeping us boxed in our own viewpoint, facilitating stupid arguments and reducing the full power of human interaction to short, provocative statements that didn't give the bigger picture.
We can't afford to think as individuals. We must work together. Our planets survival and personal health depend on it.
Huge existential threats of climate change, war and total surveillance are right around the corner. Let's use our free speech whilst we can in a thoughtful and intelligent manner. . .
So yeah, that's what KOMODO is for; a space for debate, discussion and healthy dialogue. A site that seeks to solve problems, not enlarge them. At the end of the day we all want is best for us, so let's unite instead of splintering off.
We will be facilitating intelligent insights from all sides of the coin
and will be a site where people know they can post something without being shouted down.
Enjoy the site! Here's a wee story from the island of Komodo in Indonesia that might be of interest!
​
Long, long ago when the world seemed much smaller and its creatures much greater, there lived on Komodo Island a man called Empu Najo and his waife, Lea. They were among the first people of komodo and they lived in a bay called Loh Lavi in Gili Mana, where Empu Najo was the chosen leader of the village. But the community was constantly attacked by the fearsome Bajo people, nomadic sailors who would openly signal their raids while still far out sea, with a great clashing of swords, held high so that they flashed in the sunlight. At this, Empu Najo and his people would flee to the mountains, returning to find their village plundered of whatever had been left behind.
One day, Empu Najo gathered the villager together and made an announcement. “My people, we must move from this place! The Bajo will attack us until at last we become little more than wild animals. Let us go instead the mountains, there to live from the bounty of the forest. We shall cultivate gardens, pick fruit and hunt the deer and the wild pigs that are plentiful there.”
And so, hight in the mountains, far from the reach of The Bajo, They built houses that were raised platforms made of branches, with roofs of lontar palm (kind of coconut tree). They grew their gardens and lived in peace, calling their new village Kampung Najo, in honour of the leader who had saved them.
Now it so happened that on their last night in Loh Navi, Empu Najo’s wife Lea had fallen pregnant. By the time the new village was finished, she was ready to give birth – indeed she was experiencing great pain for it is not easy to leave your home and build a new one when you are carrying a child. And there was another problem. The village had no dukun (local doctor), she had been taken by The Bajo even before she had an apprentice. In those days, without dukun, there was only one way to give birth and that was by the knife. It fell to Empu Najo himself to deliver his child. He made the cut with a steady hand felt for the baby’s head… As he died so, the wind picked the dry leaves that lay on the ground outside and sent them through the window and into the room where they swirled around lea, lit golden by the last rays of the sun. And then Empu Najo gasped “Sebai!” he said at last “but this is strange..”
Strange indeed, for Lea had given birth to a human son and a twin sister who was far from human. She had speckled, scaly skin, hooded black eyes and a tail. There was no mistaking it. Tiny as she was, Empu Najo saw in his daughter the characteristics of the giant lizards that roamed the savannah beyond the village boundary. “We have a son” Empu Najo began uncertainly, looking up at his wife. But to his dismay he saw that she was no longer breathing.
There was a little time for Empu Najo to indulge his grief, for he had two newborn babies to bring up alone. His son he named Si Gerong and his daughter, Orah. He fed them goat’s milk and honey and both human and dragon grew quickly. But long before her brother could walk, Orah was already exploring the street outside the house and even climbing trees. And though the milk sustained her, she was beginning to take an uncommon interest in the neighbor’s chickens. When she actually attacking them, the neighbor complained to Empu Najo “I will give you meat,” he told his daughter, “but you must not attack our goats and chickens!”
Time passed and though Orah stayed away from the livestock, the villagers grew suspicious of this dragon living among them. Only her father and her brother Si Gerong showed her love. In fact, Si Gerong preferred to play with his sister than with the other children. The two would climb trees together, the little boy naked but for his shell, or chase the strange looking kalkun birds through the forest. Sure enough, Orah finally ambled back to the house that evening. Si Gerong was overjoyed and embraced his sister, their father smiled, but said nothing. He knew that she had visited with the wild dragons of the Savannah. Orah remained at home fore a week before growing restless once again. This time when she left, she was gone for two days. When she same back, there was no sign that she was hungry and Empu Najo knew then that she had learned to hunt.
And so it went on, except gradually her time in the village grew shorter, while her trips into the forest grew longer, untli at last she was coming back to the house just once every ten days or so. One morning, Si Gerong woke to find his sister by his bed. They looked at once another for a long time and then she turned and left. Si Gerong knew that this time, she would not be coming back.
As the years passed, Si Gerong forgot about his dragon sister, perhaps the less to grieve her disappearance. He grew into a man of uncommon skill and wisdom. He was a gentle gardener who could coax even the most stubborn plants to grow and he even to make medicines from the wild herbs he found in the forest. But he was known first and foremost as ans expert hunter. There was not a wild boar elusive enough, nor a deer fleet enough, to avoid his spear, which seemed even able to curve through the air.
One day, Si Gerong was hunting at the edge of the forest close to the Savannah when he heard a rustling close to a stream. He stopped at once and stood stock-still. The deer was a big one – a male with high pointed ears and regal antlers. So confident was he in his abilities, Si Gerong decided to creep closer, hoping to plunge the spear directly into his quarry. Silently, he approached ad the deer drank, until at last he gathered himself and leap from the underbrush with his spear raised. But, in that instant, another form appeared, rearing onto its hind legs, mouth open and a single eye, black as ebony, fixed on the deer, which stood paralyzed. It was a dragon, the largest Si Gerong had even seen.
Reflexively, he turned and leveled his spear at the great reptile, for he was loath to lose his prey. The dragon turned its head slightly and lifted itself higher on his forequarters. But as Si Gerong drew back his weapon, a dazzling struck his eyes and he turned his face to the ground. When he looked up again, the deer was gone and there stood before him the radiant figure of a woman.
“Put down your spear, my son,” she told him. “Would you kill your own sister?”
Instantly, all the memories from his childhood came back to him and Si Gerong fell to his knew. “Yes, she is Orah. I bore you together. Consider her your equal because you are sebai.” With this, the vision of their mother disappeared. Man and dragon stared at each other for a long time. Then, as one, they turned away – Si Gerong in the direction of his village, Orah for the Savannah.
From that day forth, Si Gerong and his people treated the dragons with kindness.
The lizards roamed freely in the surrounding woods, feeding themselves on the wild pigs and the deer and the other creatures that dwelt there. And if a dragon became too old to fend for itself, the people of the village would feed it as though it were a member of their own family.
​