It occurs to me…

Photo taken in San Antonio on a golf course earlier this year.

I found myself reading today from Luke 14:15-24, the Parable of the Great Banquet.  A man throws a banquet and all on his guest list come up with excuses not to attend – so he sends his folks out into the street to “go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame” to attend the banquet.

I won’t pretend to fully understand this parable – yet – but this occurred to me.  I have a tendency to associate with people who think, act, and look like me – we seem to think of that as a “natural” bias, but on reflection, there is little “natural” in that.  We do that by programming, not by natural selection.  A blind person is not blind by choice, nor a poor person, a lame person.  A black person, a brown person, a white person – none are the color they are by choice.  And interestingly, as we each associate in our respective groups, we all see each other as “normal” – because we all ARE normal (whatever the hell “normal” is).

It is time to widen the circle.  Each of us can be a benefactor, a student, a teacher of the other – if we open our hearts and minds and allow that to occur.  That is, of course, a big IF.

Reading today from an essay by Charles Krauthammer, he notes: “[I]t is hard for anyone to apprehend the sheer felicity of one’s own time until it is gone.”  This seems (though Krauthammer might not appreciate the analogy) to be the same sentiment as Joni Mitchell’s song: “Don’t it always seem to go, you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone.  They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.”

From whichever author, I appreciate the sentiment.  It is indeed difficult, perhaps impossible, to fully appreciate the ups and downs of life events while in their midst.  It is only, after the ride, looking back and seeing the roller coaster, that one can – if then — fully appreciate the ups and downs, the twists and turns, that were somehow negotiated.  It is then, I guess, when I am provided with the choice between pride and humility, between patting myself on the back and muttering the line from the Kris Kristofferson tune: “Why me, Lord.  What have I ever done, to deserve even one, of the pleasures I’ve known?”

“I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.”

Ashleigh Brilliant

I ran across this quote today and it caused me to chuckle – though the sentiment is quite serious.  It of course reminded me of Matthew 6:34: “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

Indeed, “each day has enough trouble of its own,” but while “several days [may] attack me at once,” I need not invite but one day at a time in for a visit – though I do, in a perverted way, seem to enjoy the company.

I don’t much care for reading about writing – and my writing likely reflects that.  But recently I stumbled across a blog post (Reditus) by Amanda Mininger that struck a chord and sent me to the keyboard I have been most recently associating only with work.

She notes that when we write we “peer down the silent well.  What’s down there?  What have I been overlooking?  What roots cling with naked tenacity to the stone sides?  What thin layer of much at the bottom hides an ecosystem….  What hides in the cracks unbidden?  I don’t know yet.  I can’t see.  My eyes need time to adjust.”  I like that analogy.  Writing often feels like “peer[ing] down the silent well.”  Continuing, she notes, properly so, that when I feel that tug there is something, often something I can’t even  assign a name to that “has not let go yet.  Has chained itself to my ankle, has let me drag it down the street into my apartment and on vacation and into work meetings and into lazy Sunday breakfasts where I can continue to ignore it, and ignore it, and ignore it if I want to….  But if I say it here – I’m coming back to writing – maybe the chain will break.”

So here I sit at the keyboard, ball and chain unattached – for now.  But the well is always close, the drink so refreshing.

Uncertainty

“When we are not sure, we are alive.”  Graham Greene

I ran across this quote today then, on to Friedrich Nietzsche (you know you are in trouble when you identify with a Nietzsche quote): “What we find here is still the hyperbolic naiveté of man: positing himself as the meaning and measure of the value of things.”

So, to wash that out, this from Leonard Cohen: “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”

It occurs to me that uncertainty may be a better companion than certainty — though it rarely feels that way.

Onward to the day!

An anonymous quote received from a friend today:

“Some quit due to slow progress, never realizing that progress is progress.”

Guilty as charged.  The trick is to stay pointed in the right direction and keep at it.  If I can’t convince the bastards, maybe I’ll just wear ‘em down.

Waking up this morning to news of another mass shooting, it is difficult to focus on anything positive.  People went out for a night of entertainment and many are not returning.  Words like senseless, tragic, and horrific just don’t convey the emotion one wants to convey.  There are times when words fail us.  Still, words help provide respite, provide some warmth, some dim light to allow us to find a comfortable corner until it seems safe to venture out again.

In search of that this morning I came across this from Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata:

“Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.  With all its sham and drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.  Be careful.  Strive to be happy.”

Amen!