Michael Jackson, the cornerstone
"Show me the stone the builders rejected. This is the cornerstone." St. Thomas
No, this is not this Sunday's sermon. But this phrase from St. Thomas, often misinterpreted, jumped out at me more than on other days at the end of a hot day. Many times already, it has brought me back to Michael Jackson.
What better illustration of this stone-rejected-angular than him? A stone out of the ordinary, which does not fit well in the drawers, which does not meet the criteria, which forces to check all the boxes, unless it is none, of the characteristics of any species and finally, not to be classified.
The stone does not fit well in the drawers, does not meet the criteria, has to tick all the boxes, unless it is none, of the characteristics of any species and finally, is not classified in any category. Nowhere...
By how many builders has it been rejected before its determination emerges victorious? What splendid artistic and humanistic edifice did he not then contribute to raise and sustain? No, he is not crazy when he says: "Even today I dream that I fly. We can fly, you know. We just don't know how to call the thoughts that allow us to levitate above the ground."
Didn't the most modern concepts (airplane, rocket, telephone) first germinate in the form of ideas, did they not nourish and mature in minds open enough not to relegate these abstract exuberances to the rank of madness?
The power of the mind. The power of belief...
He reminds me of this old Indian (perhaps one of his ancestors) who explained that if we could not find any vestige of communication technologies in ancient civilizations, it was simply because they probably did not need them... They probably had faculties that we have lost and that we have replaced by all these expensive and polluting accessories... who knows... telepathy, instinct, among others... We still have a few crumbs of them, sometimes... just before the Cartesian mind puts them back in their place. .. in the trash.
Michael's extraordinary production was born from this kind of mind. A mind for which nothing was impossible. Nothing. A mind capable not only of dreaming, but of taking steps in the direction of his dreams... Of realizing some of them completely, of initiating the realization of others... In any case, of showing the way. Not just the goal or the direction, but the way, the road, the means to get there.
He had the secret of these virtuous circles. He knew how not to throw rocks into the gears, how not to sabotage himself. And if there were to be a compromise, he knew in advance what other direction he would take to get there anyway.
Michael, the stone outside the norm could well be, a more down-to-earth comparison, like those fruits that are more than organic and natural, good, pure, but thrown out of the stall because they do not correspond to the canons of distribution, to the norms of society.
Everyone has their great principles on this. Great theories on the matter. But facing the market gardener's stall, doesn't our hand go more spontaneously to the roundest, brightest, most colorful fruit, rather than to its decategorized, yet pesticide-free neighbor?
The unusual stone is easy to defend, as long as it remains conceptual. It is easier to accept the difference, when it does not touch, when it pours out in speech, but is not to live. Because when it is present... How many of us do not send help to other continents, stumbling every morning over the homeless person sleeping at the bottom of the building? He should go to work, he shouldn't have left his wife... how many responsible excuses do we find for him as long as we don't project ourselves in his situation, as long as we can reject the idea that we might end up like him? Look away...
Michael Jackson, conceptualized, is probably easy to defend. In everyday life, in the flesh, his ideals must not have been easy to live up to, especially since they were high up and came before everything else. This explains that...
But if Michael Jackson, the cornerstone, went over the walls, one by one, if he climbed them and supported them, he owes it more to himself than to anyone else around him.
He owes it to the faith he had in himself. In this mission that he felt invested in and that he wanted to honor, with conscience and respect for these talents that he had not asked for but that had been, however, so formidably entrusted to him.
If Michael Jackson had thought like everyone else, he would not have been Michael Jackson. He would probably be alive, a bit of a has-been, a judge of some X-Factor, smelling nostalgia and surfing on it by selling a Nth compilation of his best hits,