Bohemian Melancholia

"Theophilus Crowe's mobile phone played eight

bars of Bohemian Rhapsody in an irritating electronic voice

that sounded like a choir of suffering houseflies,

or Jiminy Cricket huffing helium,

or, you know,

Bob Dylan.

- Christopher Moore

(The Stupidest Angel)

Time is such a hard concept to understand. It's like Groucho Marx said, "Times flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana." I thought, well, I think I will write a little today, I look at the computer and May has turned into July. Two months without the solitude of writing, how did this happen? Oh well, I suppose I will have to deal with it or in my case just accept it and move on. There was a Psychological Hospital that had the slogan, "Deal with it, or it will deal with you." I don't know if I ever really understood that slogan. It should have read, 'deal with it, until you run out of insurance, or it will deal with you.' It is interesting to observe how people do deal with different tragedies and joys in their lives. More entertaining, is to witness how other people deal with the tragedies of others.

I have seen emotions range from real heartfelt empathy to absolute cold bloodiness in the way that others deal with the grief of friends and loved ones. Grief is such a private thing. I think it is the reason so many people want to be alone when they deal with it. Being alone with your grief does not mean that you have psychological problems. The problem lies in the fact that our society thinks that you need to have 'others; around you to help you deal with that grief, when in reality having a bunch of folks around you feeling sorry for you or droning on about their own grief experiences doesn't do a damn thing for you. It might do something for them, it might help them to deal with a problem that they might have put off grieving about at an earlier time. I suppose it's cheaper than seeing a psychiatrist but it does seem a little on the rude side.

Maybe we should return the practice of hiring professional mourners to express our grief when we lose a loved one the way the Ancient Romans did. But I suppose Funeral Homes would lobby against that idea, I mean after all, don't they know about grief more than those who experience it? Probably not, but they do have more cash. I have met folks that feel guilty because they didn't feel the need to scream and cry and tear their out when they lost a loved one, because they thought that was the way they should feel. When asked why they thought that, most responded that that was the way they had seen others respond. You cannot judge the depth of a person's grief by outward appearances. Sorry, but the crap you see in the movies and daytime soaps, is just crap. It does not have anything to do with real grief and how real people actually deal with it.

Today's particular rant is derived from a post on I recently read on GeekFest regarding the tragic accident that took Marty Roenigk's life, "To pass away along with your dog must be a perfect dream of many in our community."  Was this a statement to assuage grief?  Give me a f***ing break!  I won't let you be in my dream, if you will keep me out of YOURS.  Grief is such a personal thing and how we deal with it is also, very personal.  It takes time for each individual.  How much?  Who knows, we are all unique.  (Especially in ES).  How do you cope? Again, it varies just like the amount of time it takes.  There are no shortcuts.  You can't drink your way out of it, you can't shop your way out of it, you can't pray your way out of it, and you can't 'just climb back up on that horse, partner'.  You cry, a lot. You scream at God, a little. You pray, just like a small child.  But slowly, you start remembering.  You remember wonderful stories about the one you lost.  Some are so funny you laugh out loud, and some are so sad it makes you cry again.  But inevitably you start coming around.  Back with the living, only you have changed.  Because something beautiful has been taken from you life.

Until next time,

I remain...

Just another Zoroastrian Funeral Director trying to sell you an Absurd Lay-A-Way Plan...

Nirvana

There'll be two dates on your tombstone

and all your friends will read 'em,

but all that really matters

is that little dash

between 'em.

-Kevin Welch

When I listen to Kevin sing, 'Life Down Here on Earth', I think about all the experiences in life that have led me to question my beliefs about certain things.  I know, it is really hard to believe that an old person might have some prejudices and biases, but hey, I'm only human.  When my wife offered to take me for a pedicure, I had to laugh out loud.  Really.  It just did not seem like a manly-man kind of thing to do.  She asked if it would make me feel more manly if she called it 'Waterboarding'.  Here our country is involved in a debate about torture, and my wife is making jokes.  But she assured me it would be an unforgettably pleasant experience.  She was correct.  She took me to a place in Berryville called Pretty Nails.  The place is operated by a young Vietnamese couple, Michelle and Steve.  When I sat down in the vibrating chair, my feet being massaged in a spa of warm agitating water, I was happier than a puppy with two peckers.  If you have had a pedicure you know what I'm talking about, if not, no amount of explaining can help.  it's one of those things you just have to do.  Steve is one of those people who truly has Wisdom in his Hands.  Steve's fingers started probing my toes with moves that reminded me of a lie-detector needle at a congressional hearing.  It really was...a little bit of heaven.

It reminded me a little of when I had my first encounter with Escargot.  What I learned from that experience was that you could saute a cow patty in butter, olive oil, and garlic and it would probably taste pretty damn good, too.  These experiences allow us to communicate with others on a different level, albeit a very shallow one at times.  Have you ever had one of those conversations where someone asks, "You ever been to Mexico?" "Yes," you respond, thinking maybe this is an ice breaker to talk about Swine Flu.  But no, your conversational partner keeps asking until he/she finds a country you haven't been to, and proceeds to tell you all about it, and you don't have a clue?  Well, you have just been sucked in by a Conversational Dictator (a new use for CD).  Shared experiences be damned.  That is why it is difficult for me to find others who want to share their experiences about Vietnam.  I was visiting a friend's website, Rareclick, who has some phenomenal photos of Vietnam, which we both can relate to, although our experiences were so totally different.  He was on vacation, I was on a MacNamara Scholarship.

Sometimes I find myself stuck in that limbo that exists between the concrete and the abstract.  If I cannot find several 'concrete' examples to express my thoughts or opinions in the abstract, then I find myself revisiting the concrete trying to develop a more complete understanding of an idea.  Then sometimes the ideas are just unexplainable.  It is as though explanation steals the magic of that which you are trying to explain.  It is about the solitude of creating.  I think back to a custodian who used to work for me, one of the many who served as inspiration to me, who used to love to tell me, "God didn't send no committee to save the world."  There are things we have to do on our own.  There are some things we know that defy explanation.  These are things that provide our lives with meaning.  Right now, i think it's time for another pedicure.  Yippe-Ki-Yea.

Until next time,

I remain,

Just another Zorastrian Cowboy wondering why all his dead relatives are laughing at him

Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here

Here I hang from a 46-D

While the Big G just sits there

Punching holes in Cheerios.

Hi Mom!  Say hi to Pete and all the guys!

- Anonymous Viet Nam Poet

Dante Alighieri's famous quote from his Divina Commedia hung in large red letters over the arrival gate at Hue-Phu Bai air base in 1968.  To many of the young men and women who fought in Viet Nam, the concept of Hell took on new meaning during their tours of duty.  You not only came face-to-face with all your fears, you had to do it in a nightmarish environment totally foreign to Americans.  The question that often arises among a group of vets is, "Was it Heaven or was it Hell?"  Hell if I know.  It was more like an interlude in the theater of the absurd.  Since only about 25% of all Americans believe in the concept of hell, while 90% believe in heaven, maybe we should pause and kick around the idea that 'the Kingdom of Heaven is in us and around us' (from the Book of Thomas).  In his book, The Things they Carried, Tim O'Brien discusses what a 'true' war story looks like, what it sounds like, how it might make you feel, and the pictures it might form in your mind.  If you look carefully at how Tim talks about a true war story, they look ever so similar to the Parables of Jesus or to the tales of Buddha.  Many of these early stories told by Jesus and Buddha bordered on the surreal.  They have no real moral for the reader and no explanation that is the same or even satisfactory to each reader or listener.  It's almost as if each person walks away from the story understanding it differently than anyone else.  And that's why we love them.  They are just stories.  Stories that make us laugh.  Stories that make us cry.  Stories that challenge us to confront our own fears, biases, prejudices, and views of the world, based on the experiences we bring to them.  Before I departed for Viet Nam, my granddaddy provided me with the briefest, (therefore best) and most absurd advice I was to receive.  "Son, when you get to Viet Nam make sure you keep some matches wrapped in plastic on you at all times.  You never know when you are going to need a light."

The Kingdom of Heaven is like the yeast that a woman

took and mixed in with three measures of flour until

All of it was leavened.

- Matthew 13:33

The following is a true war story.  If you don't like it, hang around until I tell it again...I am sure it will improve! The Kingdom of Heaven is like this helicopter crew flying out to a firebase overlooking the valley where Khe Sanh was located.  On their way there the pilot called back to the crewchief, Danny Dulude, to tell him they were about to fly through a rainbow.  Danny stood in the passageway of the CH-46 D helicopter, between the pilot and co-pilot and witnessed a sight he had never before beheld.  Dead ahead was a perfectly circular rainbow, in the valley, between the mountains they were flying through.  It was an awesome sight.  There was no beginning and no end.  For a moment Danny could not recall the last time he had seen any colors quite so bright and quite so beautiful.  Danny stepped back into the cargo area of the aircraft and told his gunner to go into the cockpit and take a look.  As the helicopter made its descent into the firebase, all hell broke loose.  Time froze.  While the helicopter crew was admiring Nature's phenomena, the bad guys were training their guns on the helicopter.  One of the 30 caliber rounds that came through the fuselage had ripped through Danny's calf.  Danny lay there, in the haze of sudden shock, with calf muscles and tendons hanging out of his flight suit.  His gunner drew a knife and started toward Danny.  Danny screamed at him, "No man, don't cut it off, it's still attached!"  The gunner told him to relax, the knife was for cutting his flight suit pant leg off, so he could get a tourniquet on the wound.  Danny passed out thinking about the time he caught his foot in his tricycle when he was just a little boy.

True story.  Of course, Danny lived and still has all his appendages, even though some of them are a little scarred.  He lives in Upstate New York now with his wife and has three sons and believe it or not, he collects knives.  When asked about Viet Nam Danny will tell you, "It don't mean nothin'." What meant something to me was Danny's unbelievable enthusiasm for life.  It was remarkable to me how he could find meaning and joy in the most mundane aspects of life.  Danny not only saved a lot of Marines, he healed a lot of souls.  No disrespect to my granddaddy, but Danny provided me with all the light I needed in Viet Nam and still manages to shine a little on me from time to time.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Dylan Thomas

Until next time,

I remain,

Just another Zoroastrian Crewchief wondering if anybody in Eureka has a light...