Light and Dark Life

It is often said that "Knowledge is Power."  But I believe that a universal, if previously unknown, truth is that "Knowledge is Pain."  I believe that knowledge of any form brings with it a certain amount of pain, and that the more profound the knowledge is, the more pain it can cause.

Although I hope someday to be more free, I currently work in the corporate world.  In my position, I see a great deal of information, both personal and professional, which passes through my computer and before my eyes all the time.  Much of this information is automatically compromised for my viewing by the computers I take care of, and it is information which the human originators think is private, even though I have repeatedly told everyone in the company I work for that nothing is private on their computers.

Sadly, they ignore my warnings, and engage in repeated streams of personal diatribes against bosses, subordinates, and coworkers that would stagger the imagination. Even more sadly, for me, is that sometimes these conversations are about me.

In C.S Lewis’ well-known book, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, which is itself a part of the epic and powerful Chronicles of Narnia, lead character Lucy Pevensie finds herself, at one point, in a wizard’s office, looking for a particular spell in a spell book.  She was supposed to search for a specific item, for the purpose of helping her companions, but is intrigued by the other spells she sees in the book.  Indeed, during her search, she finds and skips other spells, but then decides to try a little spell on the side for herself.

The spell she casts is entitled, "A spell to let you know what others are thinking." She quickly casts the spell, and is rewarded with a vision of a girl she knows from school – a girl she thought was her friend – badmouthing her to other girls at school.  Devastated, she is unable to withdraw from the vision before she hears the entire conversation.  Later, discussing the incident with trusted lord and leader Aslan (who is in fact a Lion in the story), Lucy recounts the pain and disillusionment she experienced when viewing the vision.  Aslan tells Lucy that the girl she saw really did care for and like Lucy, but was afraid of the other girls and spoke only out of the weakness of her heart. Taking in this knowledge, Lucy realized that she would never be able to forget the comments that were made, and that her relationship with the girl would be forever damaged because of it… a fact which Aslan Himself confirmed to her.

This, then, is an aspect, at least, of knowledge, that must not be forgotten.  Is ignorance bliss?  Is it better to not know?  Perhaps, perhaps not.  But I myself can testify that it is constantly painful to have to work with and smile in the face of people whom I know are spending their time badmouthing me to each other, behind, as it were, my back. 

The fact that I am not the only target, but am rather just a "target of opportunity" among many, is not relevant.  The fact that they might actually like me, in some cases, and are acting out of weakness, doesn’t matter a bit.  My perceptions of these people are forever changed, my relationships with them forever altered, simply because I know what they are thinking, and saying.

Knowledge is indeed pain.  Let the world beware.

 

For many, indeed I think for most, the world is a somewhat unsafe place.  As the years pass, it’s easy to become withdrawn, protective, distant, from those we do not know or trust.  We deal with enough rudeness, anger, and hate that we just assume the worst in people and decide to stay away whenever possible.

This is something which is at once understandable, and tragic.

I myself experience this irony frequently.  I am daily let down by people that I think I should be able to trust, and it gets to the point that it becomes very hard to deal.  One of my hobbies, inherited from a mentor who is no longer with us, is Amateur Radio, (also known as "ham radio"), a hobby which involves making contact with and communicating with other Amateur Radio operators across town, or around the world.  I love the hobby, I love the equipment, I love the memories of the adopted father who introduced me to it… but it has been a very long time since i have picked up the microphone and spoken.  After all I’ve been through, I really just don’t feel like talking anymore.

And yet earlier today, on a day I had just run up the street for a quick sandwich, I was asked by a man behind me in line "what all those antennas on [my] truck are for", and before I could even answer, he went on to introduce himself and proudly tell me that he recognized my "ham radio antennas" and that "[he's] a ham, too!".  A very pleasant, if brief, conversation ensued, as this person showed me the simple kindness of a brief, friendly conversation about a common hobby.

We forget, I think, how important life is.  I know for myself, as do my closest friends, how quickly life can end, and how precariously it can begin.  No matter our circumstances, I believe that we all have within us a need for simple kindness.  And I believe life would be much better for us all if we were able to grow beyond ourselves and live up to our responsibility to show kindness from time to time.

It is a need I certainly have… and a challenge I still struggle to meet. 

The pain can be overwhelming.

We are all, I think, influenced by music to one extent or another.  Music brings meaning to our lives, in a way that very little else can.  And while I, like my contemporaries, have been influenced by the music of my decade, there is one artist who stands out above all the others in terms of bringing meaning to life, the universe, and everything, and that artist is: Chris DeBurgh .

Chris released a flurry of music in the 80s and 90s, but we in the United States didn’t see as much from him after that.  Like so many of us, I think he retreated to his home country (or at least home area – Europe) and focused more on the local market.  Travelling to America has, after all, rather fallen out of fashion this millennium.

But Chris is still alive and well and doing his thing, and has several recent albums worth mentioning.  The Road to Freedom, released in 2006, has a number of fantastic new songs, all with the signature CDEB touch.  More recently, Now and Then, Chris’ latest compilation album, was released just last year – with a surprise – a new track called “Live for the Day”, which is totally a Chris-style message.

Best of all, he’s got a new album coming out this year (2009) called Footsteps, in which Chris has recorded 13 songs which are his personal favorites – songs which inspired him during his own life… including “Turn, turn, turn”, “We can work it out,” and, amazingly, “American Pie!”

It was so uplifting to me to discover that Chris is still going strong – good news that I had to share here!

There are so many things out there that I have given up… so many things lost. Or, perhaps "things" isn’t the right word. How about "so many opportunities lost". Hmm… maybe "lost" isn’t the right word either, since it implies finality. Yet what I describe is an ongoing process. Let’s try this:

There are so many things out there that I am giving up, every day… so many opportunities being lost with every passing moment… the prospect of what I could have done… should have done… could BE doing and SHOULD be doing… is so huge as to be overwhelming.

Each day we all do what we can. For most of us, that means "just dong what’s in front of us." Life presents us – seemingly without our involvement – lists of things we need to accomplish each day. And, somehow, we accomplish those things, just in time to drag ourselves, beaten, back to bed, to do it all over tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow after that.

I could tell you of the lists my own life forces on me. But doubtless you know your own lists. I can quote Steven Covey and Tony Robbins until I’m blue in the face, but I’m not here with the answers. I don’t know the answers.

I don’t even know the questions.

Around me, near and far, people congregate and pursue their interests, hobbies, and lives. I belong to a website dedicated to the production and sharing of new music… but I’ve never had the time to upload much less even produce my own stuff. I belong to a group interested in amateur radio, and own several radios myself… but I never pick up the microphone these days, or even turn the radio on. I don’t even know if the batteries are charged.

My memory stretches back and encompasses other such things… times that seemed happy doing things that brought happiness: producing plays and other productions in high school. Social groups full of friends. Skiing. My God, how I miss skiing! Not just the skis on the snow, but the bus ride up with friends, the hanging out in the lodge over pizza and hot chocolate, the midnight stop on the bus ride back at Wendys, followed by the most beautiful girl I knew at the time falling asleep on my shoulder as we were driven back home.

As Dolly Levi would say… not just acquaintences… friends.

Blink. I went from 18 to 41 in no time at all. Now, decades later but just moments later, it seems, I can count my friends on one hand, but the miles between us are innumerable. I went through the socially-expected steps of spouse and children… and came up relatively empty, and alone. I did all the things I was supposed to do, but ended up with nothing that I wanted, and a life I really don’t.

Quantum theory implies that there are other mes out there, who made other decisions and are living other lives. I perceive things not so much as quantum threads as timeline alternatives. What if X instead of Y. What did I need to do differently to be happy? Why did I not do those things? Why am I where I am now. What did I do wrong?

And it’s ironic… at 41, my life is arguably less than half-over. And yet I barely have the strength left to look forward, since there seems nothing to look forward to. I am unwilling to pay the necessary costs to break myself away from where I am, and feel that the opportunities I had in the past would never re-present themselves even if I were in a position to choose them. And as for new opportunities… I see nothing but darkness there.

Indeed, while I can see alternative timelines branching out from my past, I see none whatsoever branching out from the future. Like Dune’s Paul Atredies, I am trapped in the vision of prescience, unable to move or deviate from the path because the cost would be too horrific. But unlike Paul, I have no attendant vision to give me hope. Only a vision that is empty, and feet that are stuck to this never-ending yet dead-end path.

Somewhere the snow is falling, and the fire burns warm on the hearth. But my skies are dark, and my house is definitely empty.

In the night I had a dream.

But explaining the dream will require some background.

When I was a child, my parents were somewhat absentee, especially emotionally. As their only child, I existed to them somewhere along the spectrum bounded by annoyance and aberration, usually residing in the vicinity of "burden to be avoided." As a result, by my teenage years, I had found role models in other adults outside of my biological so-called family, and the chief of these, the one who stands apart from and at the head of any others, is a man I’ll call "Den."

My father introduced me to Den when I was 12 or 13, as Den was a coworker of his. Den had an interest in computers – back then, the Radio Shack TRS-80 was the latest thing – and I had knowledge of them. So, when Den wanted to set up a "Bulletin Board System" (the ancient precursor to today’s forum), my father felt that a good way to get me out of his view and house for a while would be to foist me off onto Den.

His plan worked all too well. Den had a son my age, who I’ll call "Denny", and his relationship with Denny was tenuous at best. The victim of several parental divorces, Denny was the typical rebellious child, coupled with just the right amount of apathy as to tear apart the heart of his father daily. Denny and I became uneasy friends, but, needless to say, Den and I had common ground, if from opposing directions, and bonded instantly.

There is no way to convey the meaning and light and healing and absolute sense of love this person brought into my life. He became the father I never had, in literally every healthy sense of the word. For the first time, I began to understand why my life had always been empty, and all that I had never gotten from my biological so-called parents. I could write for the rest of my life, and never tell you all. But I will try, as time passes.

But for now… Den had a farm in the rural lands about 30 minutes north of where we lived, and he was working on building a house there, and converting the farm to a combination airport and, later, wild geese preserve. Going "up the road" every weekend to "work on the farm" became one of the best times of my young life – the only light in a life of darkness.

I grew up, grew older, time passed, and I eventually got married. But throughout my life my love for this "adopted father" grew, along with the sense that I needed to "return home" soon, to be with him and spend time with him again. One week after the day of my wedding, I received word from my bitterly jealous and thus gloatingly triumphant biological parents that Den had died in a plane crash four weeks previously. They waited long enough to ensure that I missed everything, including funeral, memorial, and follow-up services, of which there were many. It turns out that Den was loved by many more than just me, which came as no surprise to me.

This was one man who was taken in his prime, who had potential to do so much more good, and whose loss lessens everyone who knew him, and, indeed, I believe, the world.

In my dream I was walking on the farm again, and Den was alive again; although I never saw his face in the dream, yet I felt his presence in the dream and knew he was there. His son, who, after Den’s death, took over the farm and converted it to a vehicle repair shop and moved in to the house on the far side of the airstrip, was living in that house in my dream, too, even though Den was still alive. I didn’t see his face either.

But a new house had been built on the near side of the airstrip, away from the old house, and many people were there whose faces I did not know, and yet I understood, in the way of dreams, that these people were friends of Den’s, or, perhaps "represented" friends for the sake of the dream. They were all there, enjoying time together, and I was there, and a room had been built in the house that was mine, and I was to move in immediately and live there, home at last, at peace at last.

The dream morphed and cross-dissolved in the way of dreams: the house and "Den’s part" of the farm detached, leaving Denny and the airstrip behind. The farm was no longer a farm, but a smaller yard located in a town where I lived once, halfway "up the road." Day turned to night, summer to winter, and the farm house turned into a more elegant multi-story house, in which the friends were down on the first floor, and "my room" was on the second floor, with more floors above. A woman was there who was my mate? wife? although she bore no direct representational resemblance to anyone currently known to me. I looked out the plate glass window, and saw streetlights, and snow falling softly. A large Christmas tree was being put up, in what turned out to be a parking lot. Snow continued to fall, and the lights on the tree sprang to life, and I was able to see that the house was now right next to a small, quaintly-styled outdoor shopping mall.

The first floor of the house, where people were gathered, now turned into more of a bar/lounge/restaurant scenario… quiet, dimly lit, full of people there to spend time together. My "home" was built above it, with a stairway leading down to the lounge, and, upstairs, somewhere, it was all still Den’s house. His son was left behind, not part of this place at all.

In the final scene of this dream, I was standing outside looking at the shops, and the house-turned-restaurant-with-a-house-over-it building, feeling the snow on my face, and was, for a brief moment, reminded of Guinan’s description of the Nexus from Star Trek: Generations. She said, "It was like being inside joy, as if joy was something tangible, and you could wrap yourself up in it like a blanket."

For the briefest moment, I felt wrapped and protected, and whole. But alas, it was only in my dream. All too quickly, the dream vanished, to be replaced by the voice of my three-year-old, insisting that she needed me to "help her go potty."

A brief but nevertheless bright patch of light in an otherwise dark life.

ARTHUR: (opening a council of the round table) Which is the greatest quality of knighthood? Courage? Compassion? Loyalty? Humility? What do you say, Merlin?

MERLIN: What? (waking up) The greatest? They blend together like the metals we mix to make a good sword.

ARTHUR: (laughing) I didn’t ask for poetry. Which is it?

MERLIN: (now fully interested) All right, then. Truth. Yes. That’s it. It must be truth, above all. When a man lies he murders some part of the world.

Truth.

One of the most powerful and tangible intangibles in the world, it defines itself. Many pursue it, more hope for it. It has been a driving force in the world since the beginning of communication, and yet it has been perverted and twisted in innumerable ways for just as long. It can be given, yet not taken, defined but not described, it is both free and invaluable, and we often never know we have it until it is too late. We long for it and fear it, and can both heal us and destroy us.

I have many faults of my own – innumerable faults, as my very few friends know well – but the one thing I have been hurt the most by in my own life – more than anything else, I believe, is the perversion of truth. Whenever I have been lied to, either directly or through the omission of truth, or some other subtle blurring or blending, I have been hurt; and, in many cases, scarred. Therefore while I still do many things I wish I wasn’t doing, I have chosen to focus my entire being on the discernment, communication, and upholding of truth. In all forms, in all ways, with all people, and at all times. I cannot do everything; as the father of a three-year-old I can barely do anything – so I’ve picked one thing, and have tried to focus on it: truth.

This is not an easy task.

First, of course, there is the discernment of truth. In order to communicate truth, you must know what is, in fact, true. And in our world this is almost impossible. We can only be certain of that which we know to be fact for ourselves. We cannot take another’s word for a thing, or accept an explanation of a thing as a proof of truth. Nor can we accept religious doctrine nor statements which sound very scientific as proof of truth. In the immortal words of Peter O’toole in his role in the movie Creator… “Heisenberg’s third uncertainty principle! … We can never know anything!”

It is absolutely astonishing to me how many people claim to know truth, or to have truth, or who fight over truths. In search for the Merlin quote above, I came across tons of websites arguing about the legalization of gay marriage, and the “truth” of personal freedom versus the “truth” of God’s vengeance against such freedoms. In searching for the Creator quote, I found even more extreme arguments, as you can imagine, given the heavily-argued and multi-faceted meanings of the word “Creator”. This type of thing wears me down. So many people are so involved in fighting their own personal wars, and in dragging other people into them… and, worse yet, most people actually want to be dragged into such battles… that I barely have the strength to think about it. The massive level of dysfunction in the human race astounds me. No, it depresses me. It fills me with despair.

Faced with such obstacles, I believe that all we can do is seek after truth with as much clarity and courage as possible, and learn what we can for ourselves. Occasionally, perhaps, we will be able to share what we know.

Which brings me to the next step, the communication of truth. Discernment could also be called the “receiving of truth” – or the sifting of the communications we do receive in an attempt to identify truths; likewise, communication of truth could also be called the “sending of truth.” In this, we as humans can really have the opportunity to shine.

Speak the truth. Speak the truth. And, again, I say, Speak the truth. This is one of the most important, and difficult, aspects of life. How then? Shall we speak the truth no matter what, knowing that such truth could hurt or scare or damage another? Or, shall we “hold back a little truth” to spare another’s feelings? I think that brutality must be out, but truth itself must be in. Often compassion is needed, often the appropriate time must be found to say a thing, but we absolutely must be sure that whatever we do say is in fact the truth.

I never particularly watched the popular 70s shows of that decade, but one scene from one show I never otherwise watched is well worth recounting. The show “Doogie Howser, M.D.” was about a boy who was such a genius that he passed high school, graduated from college, AND medical school AND got his medical license by the age of 16. Not realistic, sure. But neither was “Shazzam.” Who cares? It was TV. So, anyway, we have as the primary protagonist a 16-year-old family practice doctor seeing patients. Not my kind of show, but the type of thing they were doing when I was a kid.

And there was one scene – the only scene I’ve ever watched of that show – in which a young girl (child, say, age 8), was in a hospital bed, obviously very sick, obviously about to have an operation of some type. And “Doogie” (as his patients evidently called him) was sitting at her bedside talking to her about it. In a sad, pathetic, scared, terrified, heart-wrenching voice, the child asked, “Doogie, will it hurt?” Enough to make any parent cry, I can assure you.

Say what you want about 70s shows, but in this scene, both of the actors were consummate professionals, and played the roles brilliantly. You could actually feel the girl’s terror. And you could see the entire process of hesitate, consider the lie, dismiss that option as unconscionable, feel the resignation and pain over what you were about to say, and work up the resolve to speak the truth flash across the boy’s face before he, amazingly, said, “You know, I made a promise to myself once that I would never lie to anyone, no matter how hard telling the truth was. So, yes. It’s going to hurt. When you wake up, you’ll have pain, and you’ll feel bad for several days.” And you could see the girl see the process the boy went through as well, and understand and absorb and appreciate it… and then understand and come to accept the magnitude of what was about to happen – and, more to the point, what had just happened.

Now, granted, not every doctor has this courage, or would even make this choice, and not every child would react in such a way. But I can assure you that as a child I was so often lied to that I craved the truth – craved it – and would have responded just as that girl did. It was a scene that lasted only 15 screen seconds… but it has remain frozen in (and burned into) my memory and heart forever.

Truth is paramount. We must be dedicated to it.

And not only must we be sure of this, but we must be free from deception. It is easy, terrifyingly easy, to say something true in a way we know others will not accept, or will misinterpret, or misunderstand. It is easy to remain silent, or send a nonverbal message… a smile, a nod, a raised eyebrow… that will convey a perception that is untrue. These things must not be. If we cannot speak a truth, we should state that. If we cannot state that, we should remain silent. But we must be careful to not mislead, misdirect, conceal, omit, or commit, anything that would result in a lack of or reduction or departure from total truth.

There are many ways the truth must be twisted. We need to avoid this. In one of the Star Wars movies, Obi-wan Kenobi points out that “many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view.” Even the blunt communication of truth can sometimes have shading effects based on the perceptual filters we carry with us, or that others carry within themselves. Thus, our communication must go beyond simple truth to the send-receive-feedback-restate process that engages sender and receiver(s) and ensures that truth is being accurately sent, received, interpreted and processed. In every step of every day of our lives, the pursuit of truth is paramount.

This, of course, relates to the upholding of truth. I am not suggesting we go to war over our truths – quite the opposite. This is primarily an internal, personal process: we cannot force our truths onto others. But we must cling to our own truths for ourselves; for, if we can do so, they can protect and save us when everything else would crumble around us and take us down.

Hold on to what you know. Hang on to your truths. Continue to seek out truth. Be dedicated to it. This is the “upholding” of which I speak.

And now, who the heck am I, you might ask, to preach to you about truth? Forget this guy, you might say, I’ll lie if I want to! I agree. I have no right to preach, or to tell anyone what they “should” or “must” do. Such is not my intent. When I say “we must” in these writings, I do not intend to imply that “you [or any individual] must [or should be required to] tell the truth in all things [or anything].” I personally do think we all should, in fact, but my intent is not to preach at you, or beat you or shame you into submission, or force you to change against your will.

No, when I say, “we must”, I mean that I believe that if we are to survive as a species, a culture, a race, that it is absolutely imperative that, as a race, we eliminate deception and dishonesty from our culture, because if we fail to do so, I believe such will destroy us. Truth enables us to trust, which enables us to rely on each other, which enables us to grow as a people.

If you, like me, are frustrated by the stagnation of our world, the anger and hatred in our countries, and the general sense of loss and failure that almost everyone feels at any level, I would suggest that change starts within. And if change is to start, a good starting point might be truth.