April 19: Artificial Habitat, Things to Accomplish, Negative Capability

They introduced an anesthetic into Billy's atmosphere now, put him to sleep.  They carried him to a cabin where he was strapped to a yellow Barca-Lounger which they had stolen from a Sears Roebuck warehouse.  The hold of the saucer was crammed with other stolen merchandise, which would be used to furnish Billy's artificial habitat in a zoo on Tralfamadore.

The terrific acceleration of the saucer as it left Earth twisted Billy's slumbering body, distorted his face, dislodged him in time, sent him back to the war.

When he regained consciousness, he wasn't on the flying saucer.  He was in a boxcar crossing Germany again.

Some people were rising from the floor of the car, and others were lying down.  Billy planned to lie down, too.  It wold be lovely to sleep.  It was black in the car, and black outside the car, which seemed to be going about two miles an hour.  The car never seemed to go any faster than that.  It was a long time between clicks, between joints in the track.  There would be a click, and then a year would go by, and then there would be another click.  

The train often stopped to let really important trains bawl and hurtle by.  Another thing it did was stop on sidings near prisons, leaving a few cars there.  It was creeping across all of Germany, growing shorter all the time.

I really enjoy typing these sections from the novel.  It's simply the experience of stringing together the passages, the same way that Vonnegut did so many years ago.  I like the feeling of sort of being Vonnegut, rediscovering the story letter by letter, word by word, sentence by sentence.  Even though I've read the book many times before, doing this makes me almost feel like a Slaughterhouse virgin, not knowing what's going to happen next, where in time Billy Pilgrim will land.

This afternoon, I've landed in my office at the university.  I have a few things to accomplish.  First, I have a couple blog posts to get written.  Then, I have to prepare for my poetry reading tomorrow evening.  I've got to get my manuscript in order, put together some prizes, and do a little more publicity.  In the last 24 hours, I've booked/semi-booked two more readings for later this summer and next spring.

In the next week or so, I also want to send my new chapbook manuscript out into the world to see if I can find a home for it.  I have no idea where I'm going to start with that.  Maybe a contest.  Maybe a blind submission.  Maybe a pathetic play for sympathy ("I need this book to get published in order to buy my son Tim some new crutches").  Whatever it takes, I guess.  I am determined at least to have it placed somewhere by autumn.  I'm not sure if that's unreasonable.

I wish I could get unstuck just a little in time (May to October) to see if I was able to find a publisher for my book.  That knowledge would make this summer really wonderful (or really horrible).  Unfortunately, that's not how the world works, and I don't know any Tralfamadorians personally to help me out.  If you haven't noticed, I don't really care for chaos in my life.  I'm not Keats.  I have trouble with Negative Capability (living in intellectual confusion and uncertainty).

But, for right now, Negative Capability it is.  I have no choice.

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for the certainty of leftover baked ham for dinner.

August 3: Heisenberg, Principle of Indeterminacy, Change

Back in 1927 Werner Heisenberg pulled out the rug, and our whole understanding of the universe toppled and collapsed.  For some reason it has not yet trickled down to the man on the street that some physicists now are a bunch of wild-eyed, raving mystics.  For they have perfected their instruments and methods just enough to whisk away the crucial veil, and what stands revealed is the Cheshire cat's grin.

What Dillard is talking about here is Heisenberg's Principle of Indeterminacy that says that "you cannot know both a particle's velocity and position.  You can guess statistically what any batch of electrons might do, but you cannot predict the career of any one particle."  Basically, Heisenberg said that you can't predict the behavior of the universe.  You can guess, but you can never know for sure.  Look through the highest powered telescope or microscope, and all you will see is the Cheshire cat, laughing his ass off.

Of course, that's just my very rudimentary understanding of highly complex idea.  The universe is full of mystery.  Heisenberg lifted the mysterious veil and revealed more mystery.  Scientists and mystics are cut from the same cloth.  They just try to answer the questions in different ways.  The answer remains the same.

I have given up trying to understand the universe.  I've seen the Cheshire cat's grin too many times.  No matter how much I plan, I will never be able to predict the trajectory of my day.  I can make educated guesses--I will write a blog post, grade student essays, eat chicken for dinner--but they are still guesses, nothing more.  As Heisenberg pointed out, I can't know both the velocity and position of my life.

The poet Keats called this Negative Capability--living in uncertainty, without grasping around for explanations.  I have to exist comfortably with the idea that I am not in control of anything, aside from, maybe, going to the bathroom and whether I eat peanut butter M&Ms or plain.  Trusting in uncertainty.  That's pretty much what faith is all about.  The opposite of faith isn't doubt.  It's fear.  I cannot call myself a person of faith and walk around constantly terrified of what's going to happen next.  Those two conditions--faith and fear--are mutually exclusive.

So, tonight, I'm singing the praises of uncertainty.  At the beginning of the summer, I was driving a ten-year-old car with over a hundred thousand miles on it.  I was working a job that caused me great stress daily, and I was finishing my twentieth year of teaching.  Now, at the end of the summer, I am driving a new car, have a new job, and received a promotion from the university.  Uncertainty was a good thing for me these last few months.

Of course, that doesn't mean that life will always be rainbows and chocolate bars.  However, even in the throes of despair, I can say to myself, "This, too, shall pass."  Sadness will give way to calm, which will eventually transform into some kind of joy.  That's what indeterminacy is all about.  Wait a second, and things will change.

Make no mistake, though.  Saint Marty isn't embracing change.  More like trying to negotiate a cease fire.