"He's found fish," he said aloud. No flying fish broke the surface and there was no scattering of bait fish. But as the old man watched, a small tuna rose in the air, turned and dropped head first into the water. The tuna shone silver in the sun and after he had dropped back into the water another and another rose and they were jumping in all directions, churning the water and leaping in long jumps after the bait. They were circling it and driving it.
If they don't travel too fast I will get into them, the old man thought, and he watched the school working the water white and the bird now dropping and dipping into the bait fish that were forced to the surface in their panic.
Santiago's luck is about to change. He has never lost faith in the idea that, eventually, he will catch a big fish again. That's the old man's religion.
Recently, I've been revisiting Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking. It's a book that details Didion's life following the sudden death of her husband. I read the book when it first came out in 2005, at a time in my life when I was facing some very difficult personal struggles. Didion spends a year shuttling between external reality and inner reality. For example, she keeps her husband's shoes and clothing because she believes the he will need them when he returns home. As long as his things are in the closet, Didion allows herself to believe that he is still alive.
Some people might call what Santiago and Didion experience superstition. The big fish is out there. Didion's husband is picking up Chinese for dinner. I think that everyone engages in magical thinking at some time in their lives. We buy lottery tickets. Believe we'll win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Light votive candles for sick loved ones.
I played the pipe organ at church this afternoon. It was a Mass dedicated to my mother, but I didn't know that until it was announced from the pulpit. For some reason, I took it as some kind of message from God. I know, I know. That kind of stuff only happens in the Bible. Maybe in a Hallmark movie. Didion would say it's magical thinking. Santiago, a sign from the ocean--flying fish or a school of dolphin.
As a Christian, I call it faith. The belief that God is looking over us every second of our lives. Giving us strength, Hope. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.
I realize my last couple posts may have been a little bleak and depressing. My sister Rose's situation has kind of thrown me into a tailspin. Coming three months after the death of my mother, right at the beginning of a new year, following 2020 and its sequel, I am struggling to find a whole lot of light.
Don't worry. This post is not going to be another black hole of existential angst. Even I, the reincarnation of Sartre, get a little tired of darkness and nihilism. I received a message from a good friend this morning. She reached out to me, shared some words of wisdom and encouragement. Reminded me that, as the old saying goes, the price of love is grief.
I don't know what's going to happen with my sister Rose. I visited her again this evening in the ICU. She's still breathing hard. They had to increase her oxygen to 65%. And she currently has a high fever. Rose may get better. Or she may not. She's been through quite a lot, health-wise, these last couple years. I'm not sure how much more her little body can take.
My faith tells me that God is looking over her. Perhaps He will give her back to us for a little while longer. Or perhaps God will give her the wings He's been saving for her. And my mother and sister, Sally, will take her hands and lead her to a place where she can dance and sing and do latch hook rugs all the time. Call that superstition or magical thinking, if you want.
But Saint Marty knows that loving someone sometimes means letting go when the time comes.
❤️
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