I woke up last night with a light shining in my eyes. At first, I thought maybe Karen had turned a light on. Then I realized that the light was shining in from outside my bedroom window. It was flickering and moving up and down as though it was alive and agitated. I got up to see where the light was coming from. I opened a patio door and walked towards the light. As I move in the direction of the light, it moved away. I noticed that it was illuminating a path. I started to go back inside, but the light moved rapidly towards me again. It was as though it wanted me to follow it down the path. I slowly took some cautious steps down the path. The light moved with me. I was now sure that it was lighting a way for me to follow. It seemed to be a path to nowhere.
Tired though I was, I decided to follow the light down the path. Soon, I could see someone standing by the side of the road. It was my third-grade teacher, someone I shall never forget. While singing in a class choir one day, she suddenly yelled at me. “You, stop singing. Just open and close your mouth. Do not make a sound.” I have never felt so humiliated in my entire life. Seventy years have gone by, and I still will not sing a note. Never have and never will. “Get over it” many have said but I have not been able to forget how I felt at that moment when she screamed at me to “Shut your mouth.”
I soon came abreast of my former teacher. She was just standing there. She seemed to be glaring at me. I stopped to ask her why she had made fun of me and did she know how much it hurt. She explained that I was a terrible singer, and that my “screeching” was ruining it for the other kids. She was not sorry. She had more responsibilities than just me. The light moved on and I continued down the path.
I saw another shadow ahead. The shadow became more defined as I came closer, and I realized that it was my father. He was standing there shaking his head. He started yelling at me. “You can’t do anything right. You fuck everything up. Leave it alone, I will do it myself.” I stopped to tell him that I was sorry. I always tried but it was never good enough. He just shook his head. The light moved on again and I followed it down the path.
I approached another figure on the path. As I drew near, I was surprised to see that it was my mother. My mother was a wonderful person. Many called her a saint. I never felt that I knew my mom very well. She stood by the side of the path but did not say a thing. She looked sadly at me. I asked her how she was doing but she still said nothing. I was never sure whether she loved me or not. I could not think of anything to say. I regretfully walked on following the light down the path. I could hear the refrains in my mind from the song Motherless Child. “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. A long, long way from my home.” I hear this song frequently.
I almost passed by the next figure on the path. I could see my cousin Louis standing there. His face looked unhappy and mournful. He did not have to say a word. I knew what he was thinking. My cousin was once closer to me than anyone in my life. We had been like brothers in childhood and shared many adventures. Lou had never been a strong child and although he was two years older than I was, I was the one who fought the bullies that always seemed to pick on him. It formed a bond between us that we had thought nothing could break. We once sliced our palms and shared our blood swearing to be loyal and true to each other for the rest of our lives. I had let him down terribly.
It was after high school during the Vietnam War and we both joined the Air Force. Several years went by and we did not see each other. Lou was in Europe, and I was on the other side of the world. Something brought us together again in proximity and we soon renewed our friendship. We had both married, but Lou had managed to snag one of the most beautiful women you would ever see. I was beyond envious.
We started to get together more frequently and one night after having a little too much to drink, I cornered his wife in our kitchen and made a pass at her. I felt like King David that lusted after Bathsheba. According to the prophet Nathan, Bathsheba’s husband Uriah had only this one “lamb” and David had many, but it did not matter to David. David was selfish. I was David.
Lou had been having a struggle to find his way financially and I had been doing much better. I was on an uphill road and Lou seemed to be going downhill. Yet, all I could think of was getting in bed with his wife. Lou found out what I had tried to do and broke off our friendship. Lou never forgave me. He moved away after he found out that his wife was having an affair with her boss. Lou died of a brain aneurism a few years later on Oct 26, 1992. He was only 47.
As I left Lou on the path, I tell him how sorry I am and that I wish I could do our relationship over again. Lou just nods and says nothing. I continue to follow the light. Lou once more fades into my past. The path still seems to go nowhere. I wonder where the light is leading me. Am I on a path to hell or misery, I am not sure. I do not need all these reminders of what an SOB I had often been. My world had once been a terrible place to be. Where was the path going?
Soon, I could make out two more figures on the path as I approached their shadows. One was my former wife, Julia. She was sitting on a rock with my daughter Christina. Christy was seven or eight and they were both crying. I remember the scene well. I had taken a picture of them both that day amid that dismal moment. I was oblivious to their pain and heartache. The picture is in a scrapbook that I left with Julia when we divorced. It has often haunted my thoughts. I can see the picture in my mind just as clearly as if I were holding it in my hand. I was the reason; they were both crying and trying to comfort each other. Thinking of the pictures reminds me of the bastard that I once was and how horrible I had often been to Julia and my daughter Christy.
I walk by both Julia and Christy. I avoid looking them in the eyes. I do not want to remember this time. God, just let me pass them without saying anything. A friend of mine told me before he died that he had no regrets. I cannot understand how this could be. My regrets would fill a dump truck. I have tried many times since my divorce to tell both Julia and Christy how sorry I was for my meanness and belligerence. I can only imagine that the word “sorry” does not really do much to make amends for hurts and harm that we have done to other people. It is often too little and too late. But even on this path to nowhere, I can’t go back. I can’t change things. I silently walk on towards the light. I doubt that I will find forgiveness for myself on the path that I am following.
I know there are more shadows and more people waiting for me. I cannot bear to go down it any further. I turn around to walk back to my bedroom. I can find peace only in sleep. The light flickers behind me and gradually recedes in the distance. I am sure it will come again another night. The light will shine in my window and beckon me to spend another night on the path to nowhere.
The other is anyone who you do not identify with. It is anyone who is on the other side of the fence. It is anyone who does not belong to your tribe, religion, political party, sports team, demographics, ethnicity, country club, neighborhood, gated community, state, country, or hemisphere. It is someone who looks different than you do. It is someone who thinks differently than you do. It is someone who behaves differently than you do. It is a stranger from a strange land. It is a poor person who needs a handout. It is a rich person who does not have to work hard. It is a very educated person or perhaps a very uneducated person.
One of my best friends and I were recently discussing the current mania with “Identity.” There has been much talk these past few years over the issue of Identity politics. Identify politics has been defined as:
This mania with identity presents a problem in the political arena where compromise has long been a foundation of good government. The concept of Identity has so polarized people that they now view the “other” side as having no validity and even in many cases being EVIL. The problem of Identity has metastasized from the political arena to the wider social arena which includes almost every aspect of life on the planet. I think it is safe to say that Identity has always been at the heart of conflicts since the Tower of Babel and perhaps Adam and Eve. Did Eve feel inferior to Adam and want to one up him? Some recent headlines about the concept of Identity include:
Mark Twain wrote a famous story which he asked not to be published until after his death. The story was called “The War Prayer.” A church service is being held at which several soldiers are getting ready to go off to war. The chaplain has just given a prayer for the soldiers welfare and victory. A stranger enters the church and asks the chaplain to say a few words. Reluctantly the chaplain agrees. The stranger starts off by referring to the war prayer that the chaplain gave to instill morale in the soldiers. The stranger notes that there are really two prayers that have been said. One has been spoken and the second one unspoken. The stranger then says that he will speak what was really asked for in this prayer:
We have a world where humans have begun to take war for granted. It is either too easy to do nothing about war as we watch our favorite sports teams fight it out or Osho is right, and we crave the excitement that death and destruction bring to the planet. If we truly want to end war and violence, we must start to see everyone on the planet as a people that we are part of. There must be no “others.” We are all part of one large tribe. Just as the water, soil and air are part of a seamless whole, so is humanity. Benjamin Franklin said, “Either we all hang together, or we all hang separately.” I think we might say something similar for humanity. Either we all live together peacefully, or we shall all die separately apart.”
Suffice it to say, I am awestruck by the reply from ChatGPT. She/he might just eliminate the need for many experts including pundits like me, psychiatrists, doctors, lawyers, professors, sociologists, psychologists and even you. I am scratching my head as to what I can add about the subject that ChatGPT did not provide you. I can tell you a story though that ChatGPT cannot concerning a major non-closure in my own life. One episode among many that has left me with regrets. I can also tell you that it is not always easy to get closure on incomplete episodes. Many things can get in the way. Perhaps the primary barriers either being the unwillingness of one party to try or to reciprocate an effort and of course our own egos.
few years later, I decided to reach out to him again. You can guess his reaction. He was angry and insulting. I decided to drop my effort. Over the years, we have had some interactions by phone or email but nothing that has substantially reinvigorated our former friendship. I am not sure whether he feels any loss, but I can honestly say that I miss him. He had many good qualities and there were many times that we spent together that I fondly remember. I have been the one over the past few years to try to reach out, but my efforts have gone nowhere. At this point, I have decided that “people change” and that he is not the person that he once was. This is a good excuse or rationale for my letting go and forgetting him. You can no doubt pick many holes in my logic.
I could point out that few things worth having ever come easy. The problem is that too many of us grow up today with the fantasy that as the song in My Fair Lady goes, “With a little bit of luck, you can have it all.” I grew up with a phrase that was popular in my neighborhood that went “He got the breaks.” This meant basically that he/she got what they got cause they got lucky. They did not have to work hard. They did not have to practice. They did not have to study. They simply had to get the “Breaks.” It took me years to realize the fallacy in thinking that luck has much to do with what one gets in life. Two of my now favorites quotes are:
A life without closures will be a life not really lived well. The more closures we can accomplish, the more satisfying our lives will be. Perhaps only a life lived with closures can be a life lived without regrets. We will all have regrets in our lives. Our incomplete episodes are links in a chain that we forge as we go through life. A key question is “how long do we want our chain to be?” The more effort we make to complete these episodes, the shorter our chain will be, and I think the happier our lives will be. Look at the incomplete episodes in your life today. Which ones still cause you heartache and regrets. Is it too late to do anything about them? Would it be worth the effort? What would it cost you to try?
Holiday time or Holy-Day time? Each holiday season, I wonder what time people are really celebrating. Christmas becomes X-Mass. Holy-days become holidays. Days of remembrance become good days to host a backyard barbecue and Thanksgiving simply becomes the springboard to “the shopping season.” The big kickoff being “Black Friday.” Where is our soul? Where is the spirit in our natures? Is time off meant to be simply another day to watch the “big game.” Are holy-days meant to be spent shopping? Is Black Friday now the most important day of the year? Is Santa Claus a Good Christian because he gives toys to tots? Was that Jesus Christ’s message, to spend Christmas roasting chestnuts round an open fire singing Jingle Bell Rock?
Please note, it is not my intention to sound like the Grinch or to “cast stones” at others. We all need time to relax and we all need time for fun and games. However, when do we say enough? What about the meaning of the time that we are granted? Do we simply see our time off as a holiday or do we embrace this gift of time to remember our dead, our veterans, our special leaders and those that helped pave the way for the lives that we can live today. These “holidays” we are given each year, whether in remembrance of a religious or civic event should not pass by without our taking the time to remember what their true meaning is.
I have so much but I am continually looking at people that are more successful, make more money, have more friends and are in better condition. Yet once I pause for just a few seconds to reflect on my blessings, I realize that I have the greatest wife in the world and I am healthy and moderately well off. I have six happy and wonderful grandchildren. I have more friends than I have time to spend with. In short, I have nothing to complain about. I have nothing to be selfish or greedy or jealous about. I have been blessed with a wonderful life and yet I hardly ever stop to say “thank you God for what you have given me.” I am usually too worried about what I have not been given.
Two thousand years ago, the Roman Empire started its decline after having been the greatest empire that the world had yet seen. Many historians point to the decadence of the Roman Empire during its decline. “Decadence” is defined by the Oxford On-Line Dictionary as, “Moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury.” The Romans had their “Bread and Circuses.” The Oxford Dictionary defines “Bread and Circuses” as, “A diet of entertainment or political policies on which the masses are fed to keep them happy and docile.” For many, football and politics are the bread and circuses or our American Empire. I think the rot and decay in America today goes much deeper than that. Here is my list of some of the decadence that I see in the USA today:
I have another T-Shirt where I list the “No Exceptions” groups that somehow seem to be conveniently overlooked by many Cultural Christians. The major fallacy that many Christians seem to observe is to define their neighbors as either someone in their own church or in their own social group. When Jesus included the Samaritans who were an outcast group at the time as his neighbors, this should have made it clear that you must go beyond your tribe or friends to include other nations, other ethnicities, other religions, and other people with different beliefs as your neighbor.
I heard this story from the Pastor at my wife’s church this past Sunday. It was the day after Veterans Day, and it brought tears to my eyes. I am not sure where the story is from but it will touch the heart.
During high school, he was bullied by the other boys who saw his lack of sports prowess as being girly. He could not throw a ball or catch a ball. He did not excel in any studies, and no one cared whether he joined any campus groups. The young man could not wait to get out of high school. He felt like a misfit there as well as at home. Once he graduated, both parents were hoping he would leave home as soon as possible. His dad suggested that he join the army and took him down to the enlistment office.
The other recruits merely shrugged their shoulders and off they trudged in some sort of order to the barber, uniform supply office, medical office, chow hall and then their assigned barracks. Along the way, being laughed at by other recruits who had already been in basic training for a week or so. Shouts were heard that they would never make it and they would be sorry they joined. The more this hazing went on the more worried our young man became. He finally went up to his Drill Instructor (DI) and told him that he did not feel very good. This did not sit well with his DI who singled him out for some abusive name calling. He shamed him as a sissy and weakling in front of his entire platoon. Our young man began to feel like a misfit again and like he did not belong in the US Army.
Aging Capriciously 