Pandora's Curse

Pandora's Curse

A hymn to the unnamed

by HW

Today I burnt the rest of the candle. Though I did not wish for it to burn again. I wished to hold memories in my hand, cupped in cold crystal. I wished to hold memories of candlelight in my hand: the memory of light, the golden glow of a waking dream. I held in my hands the memory of light that burned all night as you slept. From the meagre store of my soul, I offered to you Safety and Sanctuary and Peace. And you took from all I have, and I can only rejoice I had it to give, and that I have it now, to hold in my hands.

And now the voices begin. The petrified, calcified, stratified voices that apply another level of varnish to the cold sheen that covers the dream: "Better to have loved and lost..." The voices say. Yet again.

And again, I can see through tears that this dream has strength to lift me aloft, to toss me high yet one more time. I can believe that one day-when I alight, after the dream, after the light, after the dance, when I stand again on the ground-you will stand before me. I will look in your eyes and together we will light a match to toss into this straw: this history: this life: whose flame will consume us.

You hide in the bottom of her open box. And I seek you. I seek you with all my heart. Do not fear my love: we have nothing less to burn than the rest of our lives.


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Pillows, Puppies and People: Ontology embedded in Everyday Usage

People love puppies. Puppies love pillows. All three are beings. A person is a being, a puppy is a being, and a pillow is a being. All of these can be said, normally, to be. A person is. A puppy is. A pillow is. All three have form, color, and weight. Each one can be described, named, circumscribed, weighed, located, fed. Wait. A pillow can't be fed. There's something different about a pillow. OK, we've discovered a difference between pillows, puppies and people when we engage to feed them. People can be fed, puppies can be fed, but pillows can't be fed. When we were describing, naming, circumscribing, weighing and locating them, they seemed to be the same kind of beings. But a difference is discovered between them when we offer them food. We can offer each one of them food: that action does not change. But how they receive that action changes depending upon the kind of being they are. We've done nothing magical to change the kind of being each one is. The difference in their being is revealed by an action. The action differs in this case on the part of the recipient. I am the agent who feeds. The person recipient, and the puppy recipient, eats. The pillow recipient does not eat. My action does not change the recipient. The recipient's action, or lack thereof, reveals the difference in the recipients' mode of being. But still, puppies love pillows. And perhaps some people love pillows, even though a pillow is a different kind of being. Does a puppy recognize the difference between a person and a pillow when it comes to the act of feeding? Perhaps a puppy finds food at the pillow. In that case, the puppy may even believe he is receiving food from the pillow. After all, the pillow is where the food is. Only the person can recognize that the pillow does not provide the food.
A more radical difference between these three kinds of being can be discovered when we act upon them in a more direct way. Consider this action: a knife wielded, struck, inserted and turned. I can wield a knife, strike, insert and turn it in a pillow. I can wield a knife, strike, insert and turn it in a puppy. I can wield a knife, strike, insert and turn it in a person. The exact same action in all three cases. Absolutely no difference in the action I am taking. Yet the name of this action differs on account of the kind of being each one is. When I do this to a pillow, it is called vandalism. When I do it to the puppy, it is called killing. When I do it to the person it is called murder. Is it appropriate to call this action against a person vandalism? It is inappropriate and disrespectful. Is it appropriate to call this action against a puppy murder? It is an error in perception and judgment. We don't naturally name this action against a puppy murder. Our language allows for the possibility, but only through a certain indulgence on our part for the sake of the person who would wish to name this action murder. You can only murder a puppy if you have a skewed notion of the kind of being that a puppy has. A puppy is not a person, even though both names begin with "p."
You may wonder what my purpose is in the pursuit of discussing these obvious distinctions? No one thinks to dispute the obvious differences between these kinds of being: an inanimate object, an animal and a person. And yet, there are groups of people who wish to assign the same kinds of linguistic usage when speaking about God, as if God is just another person among people. "Hey Jehovah, mind if I call you 'Jah'?" If I called my father by his first name, it would be the height of disrespect. There are rules embedded in human relationships that forbid the use of first names. I call my father "dad" when I'm speaking to him. I wouldn't dare call him by his name. It's because of the kind of beings we are. It's because of our relationship that I don't call him by his name. The rules are embedded in the ways of being that we have emerged from. The rules are a natural part of the way of being that we inhabit.
What about more formal rules? What if I were going to visit the Queen of England. "Hey there Elizabeth, mind if I call you Bess?" There are rules governing how close I may approach. There are rules governing how I should comport myself physically when in her presence. I would not dare call her by her name. I address her as "Your Majesty." Oh, and the word to name the action discussed above? In this case it's regicide. Jesus, I guess that means she's a different kind of person.
Let's consider our beings one more time. Let's say someone nails a pillow to a cross. Then let's say they nail a puppy to a cross. Then what if they nail a person to a cross. Let's say they've nailed to the cross the one who taught me to call God "My Father." In that case, the best response among believers is to kneel, and if we're to speak at all, St. Thomas the Unbeliever taught us to say "My Lord and My God." It's the unreflective unbeliever who demands that this person must be a separate being, who demands that God the Father must be a different being from God the Son. "They have to be different! After all, that's where the food comes from!" It's kinda cute that the puppy demands to treat the pillow the same as the person because that's where the food comes from. There's a Catholic moment: why yes, that is where the food comes from, and the food is His flesh. Because His flesh is real food, and His Blood is real drink. The puppy does love them both.
Oh yes, a Catholic can enter the world of faith rather quickly. It's because it's not far at all from the world of experience. Just don't ask me to call my dad by his name to his face.
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Location:Here and Now

Fathers and Sons

Hey Dad,

I just saw Jimmy Rollins go into the stands and sing happy birthday to a nine year old kid. Stayed for photos by friends toting cell phones. Should have seen the light in that kid's face. Shoulda seen the light in his dad's face. Sorry we didnt get to have that, but we had lots, didn't we? We had camping, we had hiking, bike rides and swimming at the Little North Fork.

Lemme tell ya though, dad. When I saw that scene, that kid and his favorite player, and the light in his face, my face broke open in light as well. Thanks for teaching me how to understand what was going on in that game. I still hear your voice explaining to me what a hit is, what an error is. What's the difference between a passed ball and a wild pitch. Maybe that's why I don't like the announcers who yell about what's happening on the field. Such a cognitive disjunction between that sound and the calm rational sound of your voice clarifying the reality of what I was seeing on the field.

How I long for calm reasoned discourse, and how infrequently it's found any more.


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Location:Philadelphia

What I would hope for

When I was a kid, they didn't have the internet. I was trapped in a worldview I did not know how to escape. I had to let "outside influences" take over my life. I had been rendered unable to choose, I had been rendered unable to think for myself. At the height of my desperation, I experienced a visit from "my future self" who told me it would work out OK. Who told me I had to do what I knew I had to do, I had to let go of the safety. I had to let go of my friends. I had to let go of my family. I had no other assurance it would work out OK beyond this visit from my future self. I knew I had to be free, and I knew that would not be possible if I continued to live as one of Jehovah's Witnesses.

What I would hope for is something more than what my occasional reaching out to strangers in ex-Witness support groups has shown me. I would hope to be able to show that it is possible to emerge from this atmosphere without the bitterness and the grudge. I don't think you'll ever be "normal" as in, able to leave the past in silence. My friends know that I will refer to my past as a Witness with some regularity, and they tolerate it in me. They don't know what we have emerged from, and my friend, if you are on that threshold, and if you are ready to make the step, then can I share a little of what I have learned with you.

I once hoped to be able to write a story as powerful as Siddhartha, or Tommy, or as powerful as a good pop song: Do you Feel Like We Do, or a Bob Seger joint, or whatever hook, line, or riff has given you a moment of freedom and a taste of what free air might be like. I don't think I have that beautiful story in me. I have only appreciation for the freedom, and appreciation for the artists who have portrayed a world that is beyond beautiful. A world to be shared with reverence and awe, not a world to be feared.

Religion inhabits my language. I cannot talk about the things that are most important to me without reverting to the language of worship and awe. And so my friend, I have figured out who it is I'm talking to. I'm talking to you, myself in the past: full of doubts, and fears, and questions, and ready to take a stand, ready to make a change. I'd like to share with you some of the things you will find out.

Let's begin with level flight.


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Location:Salem 1984

DNKJB

Someone who cares very much about me tipped me off to the existence of this version of the Holy Writ. I won't provide a link, you can Google it if you're curious. My experience upon looking into the reasoning these, uh, scholars provided for hacking the King James Bible was probably very much different from the reaction I'm sure she was hoping for. It brought back for the most part those old feelings of helplessness and rage. Where can one even begin to reason with anyone who finds this tripe compelling? I was confronted with grandiose, deceptive, nay, viciously deceptive half truths. Yet, as I read on, floating amongst the flotsam and jetsam like a pearl on the half-shell was a direct quotation from the KJB regarding the Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. The passage was offered in order to prove some point in the drivel. But what this old angry monk got to experience for a moment was the joy and peace that accompanies meditation on the Gospel. For anyone who's seen it, this light cannot be hidden. So, thank you again Lord for the good words. And you know the rest: save me from your followers.

Writing when you've nothing left to say

I remember years ago when I killed the editor and the words started flowing. French emerged, Iikely because my English felt so powerless to convey the flavor of the stream in my mind. And the scrawl in the page, in
purple splashing light, somehow reflected more accurately the shape of my thoughts than these stultifying and restrictive blocks that I am bound to try to hit in order to get the words in the stream to fall out onto the page. Unfortunately, the last time i dug out that tool in order to scrawl, it broke in half. A hundred dollar Waterman pen broke in half in my hand - like a sign from God that i should not be wasting my time doing this. In addition, the editor, who was dead then, cannot resist reviewing my typing at very short intervals so that I do not forget what I have written. As if the words that were coming out at this point meant anything. Just the mind of a questioner who loves the language and it's ability to contain an answer, like the wise man in my past once told me, "I don't know. I'd have to write about it to find out what I thought about it.". All I have now is a glimmer of hope, that this pattern will not continue. And it begins, it begins with paying off the credit card, and thanks to Charity, who lives the dream I once had, with so much more awareness and grace than I ever would have had. And, by the way, how *do* you say "pay off my credit card" in Spanish?


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Location:Home

Heaven in the Vortex

Oh, m' G'd, another delightful evening with the emotives. I had no idea there were places like this in the universe!