Today is International Very Good Looking, Very Damn Smart Woman's Day, so says Jane. She sent me one of those very-irritating-emails I normally delete. But, because Jane's a new friend, and to humor her, I scrolled down instead of deleting and found the sentiment worth thinking about.
"Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming 'WOO HOO what a ride!'"
I remember the day my son Blake talked the Chinese ticket-taker at the Great Wall into letting him shoot down the mountainside in their tin bobsled run, a quarter mile or more of snaking switchbacks, a real-live shoots and ladders game. The old guy made everyone stand in line for ten minutes while the guy getting on just before Blake made the bottom, thus clearing the way for Blake. Grin on his face and raring to go, Blake was on his way. From up top, we could hear him whooping and hollering all the way down, his voice and echos trailing behind like a thousand kite tails; now and then we caught blurred images of him careering downhill through the trees. What a ride!
When it came to my turn, I actually dared to let up on the brake and allow myself to hurtle so fast that the spotters along the way "thumbed down" in frantic signal for me to slow down. No way! I got to the bottom all wobbly with the adrenalin rush. Two old equivilents to London's White Tower Beefeaters, only with no teeth, left Blake's side and animated chatter to flank me. Blake came over and, with a very odd grin on his face, translated. "They think you're hot."
Ah! Is that what skidding sideways into the grave is like? What I'm trying to figure out right now is, How did I forget that lesson?
Thanks, Jane!
Bruce Larson, my former pastor at University Presbyterian Church in Seattle, used to ask, "What would you do in life if you weren't afraid?"I'm reading Katie's Life of Pi and Yann Martel deals with this a lot via his main character Pi. Pi is sharing a lifeboat on the Pacific Ocean with a Bengal tiger, and probably someone who knows a little about fear--and faith. Pi says:
I must say a word about fear. It is life's only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy. It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unerring ease. It begins in your mind, always. One moment you are feeling calm, self-possessed, happy. Then fear, disguised in the garb of mild-mannered doubt, slips into your mind like a spy. Doubts meets disbelief and disbelief tries to push it out. But disbelief is a poorly armed foot soldier. Doubt does away with it with little trouble. You become anxious. Reason comes to do battle for you. You are reassured. Reason is fully equipped with tthe latest weapons technology. But, to your amazement, despite superior tactics and a number of undeniable victories, reason is laid low. You feel yourself weakening, wavering. Your anxiety becomes dread.
Fear next turns fully to your body, which is already aware that something terribly wrong is going on. Already your lungs have flown away like a bird and you guts have slithered away like a snake. Now your tongue drops dead liken opossum, while your jaw begins to gallop on the spot. Your ears go deaf. Your muscles begin to shiver as if they had malaria and your knees to shake as though they were dancing. Your ear strains too hard, while your sphincter relaxes too much. And so with the rest of your body. Every part of you, in the maner most suited to it, falls apart. Only your eyes work well. They always pay proper attention to fear. Quickly you make rash decision. You dismiss your last allies: hope and trust. There, you've defeated yourself. Fear, which is but an impression, has triumphed over you.
...your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you.
But if Pi dwells on fear, he also speaks of faith.Faith in God is an opening up, a letting go, a deep trust, a free act of love--but sometimes it was so hard to love. Sometimes my heart was sinking so fast with anger, desolation and weariness, I was afraid it would sink to the very bottom of the Pacfic and I would not be able to lift it back up.
At such moments I tried to elevate myself. I would touch the turban I had made with the remnants of that shirt and I would say aloud, "THIS IS GOD'S HAT!"
I would pat my pants and say aloud, "THIS IS GOD'S ATTIRE!"
I would point to Richard Parker [the tiger] and say aloud, "THIS IS GOD'S CAT!"
I would point to the lifeboat and say aloud, "THIS IS GOD'S ARK!"
I would spread my hands wide and say aloud, "THESE ARE GOD'S WIDE ACRES!"
I would point at the sky and say aloud, "THIS IS GOD'S EAR!"
And in this way I would remind myself of creation and of my place in it.
But God's hat was always unraveling. God's pants were falling apart. God's cat was a constant danger. God's ark was a jail. God's wide acres were slowly killing me. God's ear didn't seem to be listening.
Despair was a heavy blackness that let no light in or out. It was a hell beyond expression. I thank God it always passed. A school of fish appeared around the net or a knot cried out to be reckoned. Or I thought of my family, of how they were spared this terrible agony. The blackness would stir and eventually go away, and God would remain, a shining point of light in my heart. I would go on loving.
Fear dismisses our allies, Trust and Hope. This I understand. But faith as a choice to love? Is Pi right?
A more germain question is Bruce Larson's. How would you live your life if you weren't afraid?
What would you do? Me?I'm still thinking.
______________
footnotes: Life of Pi, Yann Martel. Harcourt Books, 2001.
...is here! Born September 28 at 7:26 a.m., weighing in at 7 lbs., 4 oz., measuring 19" long. Her mama is doing great, her dada even better. Her granny? Silly question.
Evelyn's big brothers, Nathan and Jamie, were not adverse to the new baby, and seemed for a few minutes quite taken with her. But the moment passed and next thing the grandmas and grandpa knew, Evelyn Rose's big brothers were racing around and around their mama's privacy curtain. So Granny Bee left the new arrival to her other grandma and her grandpa to go "es'ploring."
Nathan knew exactly what he wanted to do. Not only was he specific about the agenda, he had further instruction. "I want to s'plore a hole in the woods." I took him to the River Walk along the Snohomish River and we spent a pleasant fall afternoon walking along the river, under the golden trees. Feeling a little worn out, I stopped by Fred Meyer to pick up the new release of Curious George on DVD--a perfect day, I hope, for the boys. A perfect day for me for sure.
Today is International Very Good Looking, Very Damn Smart Woman's Day, so says Jane. She sent me one of those very-irritating-emails I normally delete. But, because Jane's a new friend, and to humor her, I scrolled down instead of deleting and found the sentiment worth thinking about.
I remember the day my son Blake talked the Chinese ticket-taker at the Great Wall into letting him shoot down the mountainside in their tin bobsled run, a quarter mile or more of snaking switchbacks, a real-live shoots and ladders game. The old guy made everyone stand in line for ten minutes while the guy getting on just before Blake made the bottom, thus clearing the way for Blake. Grin on his face and raring to go, Blake was on his way. From up top, we could hear him whooping and hollering all the way down, his voice and echos trailing behind like a thousand kite tails; now and then we caught blurred images of him careering downhill through the trees. What a ride! 
