Chrisonomicon

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

The weather has been cooler this week, a nod to the imminent autumn and subsequent cold that I?m strangely anticipating. I took the dismal weather as an opportunity to visit M and grab some dinner, followed by an evening spent in his arms drifting between the waking world and the ethereality of sleep.

Thirty-four miles of asphalt separate us, much of it in despairing disrepair. I?m a relatively safe driver, yet images of mangled steel and rancid, black smoke flash through the back of my mind every time I drive those thirty-four miles, if even momentarily, and I grit my teeth, ease my foot on the gas and try to deepen my breath, glossing over these thoughts with music, landscape observations and meandering thought.

The notion occurred to me that we gloss over much of life in this way. We are born into a world that is immediately unfriendly and this is not persistently obvious to me, except for the brief thoughts of car accidents and the hourly reminder of last September 11th. We are raised to believe?and readily accept!?the idea that life is rooting for us, that we are inherently good, and that we deserve this life. The consequence of this belief is a horrified reaction to death, particularly sudden, accidental, or deliberate death.

?How could this happen?? we ask one another. More importantly, how could this happen to good people? The fact that death is an intrinsic part of life in all it?s forms has been glossed over by a belief that experience in this world is paramount, that life should happen a particular way and any deviation from this ideal is wrong. The notion of a mechanical, impersonal mortal coil has faded to the back of our collective mind.

We confuse idealism with reality and perhaps that?s what makes us human. Able to build upon the knowledge of countless past generations, we should naturally be able to build upon the experience of an uncaring world to create something ideal, something human: to believe in our goodness and fear death as change, degeneration. I doubt, seriously, that we would have advanced this far as a communal organism had we believed anything else.

I want to believe that life is rooting for me, that the universe conspires, but the evidence argues otherwise and the world continues to drive perfunctorily, impersonally. I find that the only practical response is to accept this with as much grace as humanly possible. The images in my mind are from news reports, personal sightings, real life scenes. I must believe that this could be my fate, accept that, and move on; realize that nothing is rooting for my successful survival other than my own ego. I let go of that grip, and suddenly simple existence is beautiful.

There?s a sense of sadness as I return to the pavement speeding under my car, as though I?ve lost an intrinsic part of myself?a thumb or an eye?something I?ve relied upon to manipulate the world around me or navigate this life, but I feel stronger for it. Hope and idealism can be crutches, aggravating our disability to see our lives clearly. Only by recognizing these devices for what they really are, can we use them to effectively overcome a fear of death and change as horrible mishaps and learn to live.