Today
I got a haircut, I think it's the finest I've ever had. Here's to you
B.
I'll try not to bore you with my musings on life, but perhaps I can
share a short insight. There seem to be a million theologies,
philosophies, and ideologies for where we come from, what we're doing
here, and where we'll end up. Whether we meet in the sweet by and by,
are reincarnated through transforming energy, or become Gods of our
own device, there seems to be proselytizers for any who will have
them. Does it matter which one we choose? Not to me. However, just as
I choose not to window shop for afterlives, I also have no interest
in condemning others' beliefs. It makes little difference to me
whether my neighbors attend the Native American Church, or the
tabernacle. That is, as long as they possess a sense of dignity and
loving respect for the world around them. While I do not believe in
atheists, I find this to be a fitting time to share my personal
observations as an agnostic.
Bethany's condition comes as a grave indicator to me of the
incredible beauty in the world. I suppose in times like these it
would be simple enough to shake my fists and cry into the heavens,
God Damn you! Perhaps I could wallow in despair, break my knuckles in
anger, or drown myself in ecstasy to escape the absurdity of such a
situation. I suppose it's also a fitting time for a 'come to Jesus
moment' as well, bowing lowly and begging forgiveness, asking that my
transgressions be relieved, and asking to be taken back into faithful
service. Cliches come easy in times like these, “It's so unfair”
or “how could this happen to such a wonderful person?” Yet I find
little reward in these circles, and refuse to stagnate in bitterness.
I cannot be afraid, and I cannot retreat. It makes little sense to do
so, and although I can't quite find the logic in all of this yet,
I'll keep trying.
One line of reasoning does occur to me in these sifting hours.
Suppose we take the most cold approach to this entire conundrum, and
view life as nothing but straightforward. Say for argument's sake, we
take away the archangels, sacred cows, and origin stories. Let's
assume for just a moment that there is nothing after we die, no one
cares what sins we commit, and that our inclinations to hang tooth
and nail to every scrap of life are simply genetic programmings
passed from millions upon millions of years of organisms with a will
to live outcompeting their more complacent counterparts. Remove the
symbolism, remove the glass panes, and just view this thing in the
moment. Sure brain cancer changes some of our plans. Of course I don't
like to think about the labyrinth of possibilities. But what's really
happening? Here. Now. Simple. I'm in love. I've found the person who
makes the most sense to me in the entire world, and she's alive.
We're alive, right now. Even more so, there are things to celebrate
every single day. And I don't mean in a stale, glass half full kind
of way. I mean really celebrate.
Today started with Bethany vomiting her breakfast in her lap, sitting
cross-legged on the bed. She was not smiling, nor was she happy to
take pills, sit up, eat, sleep, talk, or do much of anything else.
Not a great start, but it left a hell of a lot of room for
improvement. We thought we might travel back to Moscow today. That
was a bit presumptuous. Instead we extended our stay and focused on
healing. We cleaned Bethany, the bed, the clothes, and the dishes.
Then we focused on tidying the room, organizing her personal
pharmacy, and settling into some simple goals and priorities for the
day. A few hours later, with another attempt at medication and food,
Bethany once again heaved our efforts into the toilet. That's a start
right there. It may seem simple, but having someone vomit into the
bowl is a lot nicer than on herself. Furthermore, we had a place to
start. With patience and love, we steadily made it through the day
finishing Bethany's pill regiment, holding down food, and getting
some good sleep. We also were able to start exercising, making multiple trips scooting up and down the flights of stairs. To top
things off we were able to start carrying conversation, and smiling
once again. I played secretary while she napped, filing through the
incredible lengths of loving support that people all over the entire
world send this miracle of a woman. And lastly, we laughed. All of
us, together, in pure joy and overwhelming love. Those were all
moments worthy of celebration.
When you watch the other half of your inner being dramatically shift
into an opiate zombie, paralyzed with pain and drowsiness, bedridden
and fragile, a part of you comes alive that you didn't realize
existed before. Whether it's a soul, a heart, synapses firing in the
right spot, or a natural inclination to fend for your family, this
thing inside of you shudders in breathtaking awe and compassion for
the beauty before you. The tough, hungry little girl with a swollen
face and scars running a zigzagged railroad across her shaved head,
suddenly becomes more beautiful than any starlet to grace a magazine
cover ever dared to be. And when she laughs, you want to cry, those
salty tears that come when you feel Atlas' burden beginning to lift.
I'd say that's worth celebrating. I'd say staring into the mirror as
the barber gives you your solidarity cut, and the man in the
neighboring chair covers your bill when he overhears the motivation
for the haircut, that's worth celebrating.
If for no other reason, is not the simple beauty and mystery of every
day compelling enough to live for? Regardless of whether we live with
divine direction or not. Is the love of life not reason enough?
Whether one believes in God has no bearing, we all live by some form
of dogma or another. It matters not whether it's bestowed upon us from
an elderly virgin in a golden throne, or the enculturation processes
of life. We all have our codes. For me, I believe in God. I just
don't call her the same name as others. My God doesn't carry a staff
or have a flowing beard, sitting on clouds to judge the quick and the
dead. My God reaches peaks through suffocating cloud cover, is made
of the deepest greens and the bluest blues. She is enormous, and
incomprehensible. She is simple and sweet with tranquility that flows
and ebbs, and vile with tempests that rage in furious horror. My God
is absolutely, unfathomably gorgeous, and worth celebrating.
Furthermore, I am a reverent man. If ever there is something a god
would like for us in our magnificent days, it would be to appreciate
the living artwork and beauty present in every single moment, of
every day. I cannot weep anymore, and pity serves no one. The love of
my life loves life, and so shall I.
