Already at Avignon I foresaw that I was going to run out of money before I got to Genoa. I had a letter of credit on a bank there. So from Avignon I wrote back to Tom asking for money. From Marseilles I started out on foot along the coast, walking on the white mountain road, overlooking the bright blue water, having on my hip a flask of rum and in the rucksack some more of the same novels. At Cassis all the restaurants were crammed with people who had come out from Marseilles for the day, since it was Sunday, and I had to wait long for my bouillabaisse. It was dark by the time I arrived at the grim little port of La Ciotat, under its sugarloaf rock. Tired, I sat on the jetty and contemplated the moon.
At Hyéres I had to wait a couple of days before the money arrived, and when it did, the letter that went with it was filled with sharp reproofs. Tom, my guardian, took occasion of my impracticality to call attention to most of my other faults as well, and I was very humiliated. So after a month of my precious liberty, I received my first indication that my desires could never be absolute: they must necessarily be conditioned and modified by contacts and conflicts with the desires and interests of others. This was something that it would take me a long time to find out, and indeed in the natural order alone I would never really get to understand it. I believed in the beautiful myth about having a good time so long as it does not hurt anybody else. You cannot live for your own pleasure and your own convenience without inevitably hurting and injuring the feelings and the interests of practically everybody you meet. But, as a matter of fact, in the natural order no matter what ideals may be theoretically possible, most people more or less live for themselves and for their own interests and pleasures or for those of their own family or group, and therefore they are constantly interfering with one another’s aims, and hurting one another and injuring one another, whether they mean it or not.
Having a good time, so long as it doesn't hurt anybody else. That seems like a philosophy a teenager (even one who will grow up to be a Trappist monk) might subscribe to. There's something incredibly self-centered in this way of thinking, and most teenagers don't have the wisdom or experience to see the larger picture.
Some adults have this myopic vision, as well. I have learned this fact from observing and dealing with the addicts in my life. Instead of seeing the pain and damage they cause, addicts simply look for their next fix, without thought of significant others, children, pets, careers, or God. Their religion is their addiction, and they use all kinds of things to justify their actions. "I deserve this." "I'm tired of being controlled." "My kid can take care of herself." "I can handle it." "This is who I am." Lie upon lie upon lie, because the truth is too difficult. (Cue Jack Nicholson: "You want the truth?! You can't handle the truth?!")
Addicts are stuck in a Ptolemaic universe. Ptolemy had a geocentric view--the stars, moon, sun, comets, everything revolved around a stationary Earth. Addicts (and most teenagers) share this characteristic. Everything revolves around them and their needs and wants. If you don't fit into this orbit, you are in for a world of hurt, until the addicts experience a moment of clarity or die. Sometimes it takes a lifetime of moments of clarity. They have to learn and relearn the fact that their actions hurt the people who love them. Over and over and over. For some addicts, that moment of clarity comes too late. Children grow tired of playing second fiddle; significant others, being emotional punching bags; and family members, enduring years of embarrassment and disappointment.
Love doesn't die. It simply develops a very thick skin. A protective coating, if you will, impervious to the slings and arrows of addiction. Eventually, if addicts hold on to this Ptolemaic philosophy, they will find that all their moons and suns and stars have moved on. What's left? Lifeless rocks. Black holes, maybe. Vacuum. Emptiness.
If you can't tell, I'm having a reflective night. Wrestling with a lot of difficult emotions. Earlier, I stepped outside to take my puppy for a short walk. She is my therapy dog, in a lot of ways, reminding me daily what unconditional love really feels like. As I started down the block, I looked up. The clouds were on fire, as if God was trying to knock me over with beauty.
It worked.
I realized that I had been stuck in my own little Ptolemaic universe for most of the day, solely focused on my problems. I finished my walk, came home, and gave my puppy a couple of treats. Then, I filled out a survey that, for some reason, I received in the mail from the Trump Presidential Campaign--wrote all of my opinions on it in very thick, very dark magic marker ("You are a racist!" and "You are responsible for the deaths of over 150,00 Americans!" and "I don't support White Supremacists!"). That made me feel better. Finally, I sat down to write this blog post.
The addicts in my life are still addicts. I can't do anything to change that. They are their own universes, slowly moving toward collapse. However, there is beauty all around me. I just have to raise my head, look up.
For that fiery miracle, Saint Marty gives thanks.
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