August 3: Slowly and Steadily, Surprises, Arbitrariness

Santiago finally sees the fish . . . 

Then, with his right hand he felt the difference in the pull of the line before he saw the slant change in the water. Then, as he leaned against the line and slapped his left hand hard and fast against his thigh he saw the line slanting slowly upward.

"He's coming up," he said. "Come on hand. Please come on."

The line rose slowly and steadily and then the surface of the ocean bulged ahead of the boat and the fish came out. He came out unendingly and water poured from his sides. He was bright in the sun and his head and back were dark purple and in the sun the stripes on his sides showed wide and a light lavender. His sword was as long as a baseball bat and tapered like a rapier and he rose his full length from the water and then re-entered it, smoothly, like a diver and the old man saw the great scythe-blade of his tail go under and the line commenced to race out.

It is a moment that Santiago's been waiting for and expecting.  The fish finally surfaces, and, even though the old man was expecting it to be large large, the sheer size of the fish stuns him.

Surprises can be good or bad.  They can make you feel as if you're holding the Golden Ticket to tour Willy Wonka's factory, or they can knock you on your ass like a fork of lightning.  There's no way to truly prepare for them, unless you're like me.

Let me explain.

I try to think of all the possibilities in every situation.  This usually works for things like packing a suitcase for planning a Christmas program.  I try to anticipate good weather, bad weather, hurricanes, blizzards, loss of singers, and size of audiences.  By doing this, I have contingency plans for everything--from an ingrown toenail to a North Korean missile strike.  And this gives me peace of mind and helps me sleep better at night.  (I've never been a great sleeper, so trying to eliminate worries stomps out insomnia fires before they can even start smoking.)

Today, however, I received news that took me completely by surprise, like the fish jumping for Santiago.  Even though I should have been prepared, I found myself reeling from the black-and-white reality of it.  Perhaps I'd been living in denial, not really wanting to accept the truth.

Now, most people reading this blog post right now are going to be very frustrated because I can't really give any details.  They are not my details to give, and I have to respect that.  But I have spent most of the day dwelling and contemplating and writing.  Met with a close poet friend by a little lake, and we scribbled poems about it.  That helped a little.

Tonight, I have to admit that I'm a little pissed at my Higher Power.  The universe at the moment doesn't seem fair or just.  In fact, it seems somewhat feckless.  I know that good things happen to bad people and vice versa.  That doesn't make me feel any better.  

I do believe that everything has a purpose.  If I didn't hold this belief, then I have to embrace the complete and total arbitrariness of . . . everything.  That's not very comforting.  According to NPR, Dr. Ali Binazar calculated that the probability of any person existing is one in ten to the power of 2,685,000.  Those odds are a pretty amazing argument against chance.

So, I sit here tonight more than a little heartbroken, but also convinced there is meaning in this messy experiment we call life.  Figuring out that meaning is the job of philosophers and theologians.  Maybe poets, too.

Saint Marty's blessing today:  a beautiful blue lake on a warm sunny afternoon.