Strings Attached

When I was a child I remember an impression rise up in my mind that there were invisible strings attached to people. I was careful to not get mine tangled up behind me. For example, if I walked around a table in a clockwise direction, I was careful to walk back around it in a counter-clockwise direction. I literally retraced my steps. I'm aware this sounds like a manic O.C.D. episode, especially for a child, but it was brief lived; probably ran the time span of about a week.

That image has been long vanished from my mind until recently contemplating on the truth that each individual has a myriad of defining moments that are largely taken for granted. The smallest visions that we see around us all have a string that winds back for miles in time; twisted around and through the most unexpected influences. A woman holding a child is rarely anything noticeable. Backtrack down her time-line from that moment and see the knot that is the attempts that were miscarried, the tangle of relationship issues that had to be considered to start a family, all the way back to the twisted mess of anorexia that had depleted her developing body to the point that threatened her ability to ever conceive at all. Awareness of the presence of struggle allows for a deeper appreciation of even the most simple things; (in this story) snuggles between mother and child.

Examples of shallow assumptions that cheat us of special moments could be listed ad nauseum. The point would be the same: each life has a ball of twine stringing behind it. Every moment we experience and witness has a complicated history that is usually forgotten or ignored. We speed through visions around us on auto-pilot. Individual struggles are not considered and we assume that things just work out somehow; rarely recognizing that the most seemingly unrelated kink in the line affects and determines the direction of the line. In doing so, we miss the special moments when those tangled strings become clear and straight and, for a moment, we can soar.

Philosophy of Mind

Every doctrine and theology that once made up my world view has been shredded to pieces. I have quite a comprehensive list of things that I no longer believe. However, when I’m asked, “What do you believe in?” I come up short. The questioner is essentially asking for my personal definition of God, salvation, and the afterlife. Most often when I’ve attempted to formulate an answer, I can clearly sense the interviewer is not trying to hear me but is readily compiling their rebuttal to any answer that would differ from the “I Am”, as introduced in the book of Exodus. I haven’t developed much of a new belief system based in faith. Truthfully, I’ve enjoyed the break from having to.

I haven’t always been this cavalier. Leaving the traditional view of Christianity behind was a necessary, but fearful, event for me. I am one that feels very uncomfortable with not having black and white answers and defined outlines. I am compelled to feel that I have a solid base on the idea at hand. Wandering out into wide open philosophical spaces takes away that safety net. However, my growing Cognitive Dissonance between sermons and rational thought had grown so intense that I needed to drop it all and accept not knowing.

So, what do I believe in? I’d rather answer it by beginning with an entirely different phrasing: What is my philosophy of mind?

We are all searching for something outside of ourselves. We wish for something greater that we can look to, trust in, be thankful for and possibly repay. Daniel Dennett wrote an essay, with which I completely agree, called Thank Goodness. In this writing he works through a recovery period in his health to which he is truly thankful for the goodness that he has encountered.

The best thing about saying thank goodness in place of thank God is that there really are lots of ways of repaying your debt to goodness—by setting out to create more of it, for the benefit of those to come. Goodness comes in many forms, not just medicine and science. Thank goodness for the music of, say, Randy Newman, which could not exist without all those wonderful pianos and recording studios, to say nothing of the musical contributions of every great composer from Bach through Wagner to Scott Joplin and the Beatles. Thank goodness for fresh drinking water in the tap, and food on our table. Thank goodness for fair elections and truthful journalism. If you want to express your gratitude to goodness, you can plant a tree, feed an orphan, buy books for schoolgirls in the Islamic world, or contribute in thousands of other ways to the manifest improvement of life on this planet now and in the near future.

I once had hopes that a new type of church formation would emerge. I rarely think toward that anymore. It may happen, it may not. I focus more on the goodness of the moment. My drive to “do something for God” has been replaced by “just be kind to people”. Anne Lammott writes it best with her definition of the Law of the Jungle: “Remain calm and share your bananas.”

And as for the piece of the human question that begs, “for what purpose are we here?”, psychologist Carl Jung’s answer is my favorite: As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.

The Look of Life

I rarely see anyone with which I went to school. To see a younger sibling of a schoolmate is even more of a rare occasion. I had such a moment while out shopping with my daughter.

The last time I saw this man he was a teenager; a very quick stepped, know-it-all, lively boy. His parents were highly respected leaders in our church, his brother was a somewhat talented musician and he was working hard at being a football star. He had not had much life experience but when listening to him it sounded as if he had already ruled the world once and would be embarking on his second tour momentarily.

The town in which we live is a small one. Consequently, I've heard bits and pieces over the years of updates on him and his family; marriages and divorces, births and deaths. His appearance revealed more than any story could. No, he wasn't distraught or disheveled. He didn't ignore me or shun me as if to hide. We said hello, spoke of children, and ended with the usual, "good to see you".

I've mentioned repeatedly that I'm not as intuitive as I am sensory driven. I notice nuances that others may not. What I saw in him surprised me; a vast difference from how I remembered him. He looked tired. Naturally he's older now. The point isn't that he has aged but that he looks aged. I recognize the same look in my own reflection as well as a few others that I know to have been through hell and back. The knowledge of good and evil compounds the usual aging process. Once lively and vibrantly naive eyes are now tired and dreary. Friendly words are backed by cautious reserve. Age comes to us all; to some kind and gently, to others in a violent and furious way. Difficult experiences deepen our capacity but also our brow lines.

We didn't speak long so I have no gauge of his adult temperament. He may still be a know-it-all. Regardless, I would be willing to bet that what he feels he knows now in comparison to his younger years has changed dramatically.
Life has happened; it was written all over his face.