>>insert something randomly funny here
Browsing in Borders earlier, I came across Jonathan Safran Foer’s new book on his journey in vegetarianism. He writes that on the birth of his son, a friend commented that “everything is possible again”.
While this quote is not attributable to Foer, it nonetheless speaks powerfully to me of hope – hope that with a new beginning the slate is wiped clean, and a new journey begins; a marker that the past is left behind.
Ah. Maybe a little too sentimental, then.
My house says to me, “Do not leave me, for here dwells your past.”
And the road says to me, “Come and follow me, for I am your future.”
And I say to both my house and the road, “I have no past, nor have I a future. If I stay here, there is a going in my staying; and if I go there is a staying in my going. Only love and death will change all things.”-Sand and Foam, a poem by Gibran Khalil Gibran
In a sleepy European holiday resort town in a depressed economy and therefore no visitors, there is great excitement when a wealthy Russian guest appears in the local hotel reception, announces that he intends to stay for an extended period and places a €100 note on the counter as surety while he demands to be shown the available rooms.
While he is being shown the room, the hotelier takes the €100 note round to his butcher, who is pressing for payment. The butcher in turn pays his wholesaler who, in turn, pays his farmer supplier.
The farmer takes the note round to his favourite “good time girl” to whom he owes €100 for services rendered. She, in turn, rushes round to the hotel to settle her bill for rooms provided on credit.
In the meantime, the Russian returns to the lobby, announces that no rooms are satisfactory, takes back his €100 note and leaves, never to be seen again.
No new money has been introduced into the local economy, but everyone’s debts have been settled.
I hope that one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not understand for someone you love.
-Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer
The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist. The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments just that way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance. They can see how permanent all the moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests them. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever.
-Slaughterhouse Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
We often forget that war has a human cost. This essay traces the way home for an American serviceman killed in Iraq.It is a stark reminder that its a mad world out there.
There was Joey, carefully dressed in his Class-A uniform with white gloves and polished boots, his badges and cords in place, and his face serene. It was mostly unmarked, and the two men agreed that even though the Port Mortuary in Dover, Delaware — where every soldier killed in action is prepared for burial — had advised against a family viewing, Joey looked good enough for the Montgomerys to see him if they would like.
“I needed to do that to believe it was him,” Gail said. She, Missie, and Micah stood over Joey for a long time that Tuesday evening. They touched him and spoke to him gently. Gail and Missie hadn’t seen him in months, and war had changed him, or maybe it was their memories of him that had changed, and now their eyes took him in, every inch of him, as though he’d been long lost.
It was Micah who noticed that his ring was missing. Joey was a Mason, and the ring was a chunk of steel that he wore on the middle finger of his right hand, a gift from Gail that last Christmas to replace the one that had been cut off him before he deployed, his finger swollen with infection. Now Micah took off his own Mason’s ring, and he leaned down to slip it onto Joey’s right middle finger, over his white glove. That’s when Gail began to shake; the gloved finger folded in on itself, empty but for cotton and carefully rolled strips of gauze.
A quick browse at the top ten fears runs something like this – public speaking, confined spaces, heights etc. In fact, the Boston Globe has a list that looks something like this:
Speaking in public
Snakes
Confined spaces
Heights
Spiders
Tunnels & bridges
Crowds
Public transportation (especially planes)
Storms
Water (as in swimming & drowning, not drinking)
The surprising thing is that old age and death are not part of the list. I’d thought that people would fear old age and death more.
Me, I don’t fear death. A fear of death is a sign of a life unfulfilled. If I fear death, it is because I feel as though I could have done so much more, and that my life journey is too short to have completed everything that I want to do.
No, I fear something worse. I fear old age. I fear dependence. I fear that there will come a time where I am incapable of wiping my own ass, changing my own clothes, moving under my own power. I hate having to be at the mercy of the milk of human kindness. A visit to the Cheshire Home reinforced that perspective.
To see the residents of the home being wheeled about, utterly dependent on the volunteers and staff of the home, is terrifying to behold, because it is a stark reminder of what shall befall me in the distant future.
The day I have to rely on someone for my life, is the day a part of me dies. It represents a loss of my independence and vitality. Morrie Schwartz had to learn to appreciate dependence. I have not reached that stage yet, so I cannot say. Maybe as the time comes I will learn to take it in my stride. But for now, old age will always be my topmost fear.
Of all places to have seen this, I saw this in Air Force School, engraved on a plaque dedicated to a certain group.
Brother Eagle
Who’s sight is keen and talons sharp,
Help me spot the prey and hit the mark
Help me rise above my human life
and trust the winds that give me flight.
And when its time for the young to leave
A gentle nudge is all they need
From up above the view is clear
I must have Faith and have no Fear.-By Marianne Goldweber
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
-All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter (The Fellowship of the Ring), by J.R.R. Tolkein
Perfection is regressive
