July 17: Let Us Hope, Too Busy, Hopeful Suppression

Santiago speaks his hopes , , ,

Maybe if I can increase the tension just a little it will hurt him and he will jump, he thought. Now that it is daylight let him jump so that he'll fill the sacks along his backbone with air and then he cannot go deep to die.

He tried to increase the tension, but the line had been taut up to the very edge of the breaking point since he had hooked the fish and he felt the harshness as he leaned back to pull and knew he could put no more strain on it. I must not jerk it ever, he thought. Each jerk widens the cut the hook makes and then when he does jump he might throw it. Anyway I feel better with the sun and for once I do not have to look into it.

There was yellow weed on the line but the old man knew that only made an added drag and he was pleased. It was the yellow Gulf weed that had made so much phosphorescence in the night.

"Fish," he said, "I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends."

Let us hope so, he thought.

Santiago does a lot of hoping in this passage:  he hopes to increase the tension on the line; make the fish jump; and kill the fish before the day ends.  The old man knows what he's doing.  All of his hopes come from his decades of fishing on the ocean.  

As I said in my post last night, it is my sister's birthday today.  However, I didn't spend the day dwelling on that fact--not on her presence in so much of my life, and not in her absence these past seven years, either.  I was too busy.

I went to two church services this morning.  I played at one, sang at the other.  Then, when I got home, I mowed my lawn in 85-degree heat.  After that, I finished my preparations for a poetry workshop, took a shower, and drove to a friend's house for a meeting of my book club.  (In case you are wondering, we discussed Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake.)  On the way to book club, I stopped at the cemetery to visit my sister's grave.  And after book club, I sped home and led the poetry workshop.  

So, you see, I couldn't be too sad today, except for those few moments at the cemetery.  Is busyness a sign of hope?  I'm not sure.  It could be my way of avoiding difficult feelings, too.  Take your pick.  I could be hopeful, or I could be suppressing.  Or a little of both.  Hopeful suppression, or suppressive hope.  

Sitting on my couch, typing this post, I realize that I'm often in this state, whatever it is.  If a busy life is a sign of hope, I am the most hopeful person alive.  It may also be a coping mechanism.  Either way, at the end of the day, I am usually too tired to be feel anything.

Tonight, therefore, I am a mixed bag.  Exhausted.  Hopeful.  Sad.  Grateful for friends and poetry.

Saint Marty's blessing tonight:  really great friends who love books.

June 29: Concentrate on the Good Ones, Book Club, Praise Be

"So--" said Billy gropingly, "I suppose that the idea of preventing war on Earth is stupid, too."

"Of course."

"But you do have a peaceful planet here."

"Today we do.  On other days we have wars as horrible as any you've ever seen or read about.  There isn't anything we can do about them, so we simply don't look at them.  We ignore them.  We spend eternity looking at pleasant moments--like today at the zoo.  Isn't this a nice moment?"

"Yes." 

"That's one thing Earthlings might learn to do, if they tried hard enough.  Ignore the awful times and concentrate on the good ones."

"Um," said Billy Pilgrim.

Shorty after he went to sleep that night, Billy traveled in time to another moment which was quite nice, his wedding night with the former Valencia Merble.  He had been out of the veterans' hospital for six months.  He was all well.  He had graduated from the Ilium School of Optometry--third in his class of forty-seven.

Now he was in bed with Valencia in a delightful studio apartment which was built on the end of a wharf on Cape Ann, Massachusetts.  Across the water were the lights of Gloucester.  Billy was on top of Valencia, making love to her.  One result of this act would be the birth of Robert Pilgrim, who would become a problem in high school, but who would then straighten out as a member of the famous Green Berets.

Valencia wasn't a time-traveler, but she did have a lively imagination.  While Billy was making love to her, she imagined that she was a famous woman in history.  She was being Queen Elizabeth the First of England, and Billy was supposedly Christopher Columbus.

Did Columbus and Queen Elizabeth the First ever meet?  I'm not sure, but that's beside the point.  The Tralfamadorian solution to things like war and genocide is simply not to focus on them.  Instead, they focus on good things, like days at the zoo or, in Billy's case, the conception of his first child with his new bride, Valencia.  Good moments, that will make everything alright.

I'm not sure I agree with this advice.  However, I do believe that dwelling on some past tragedy is not very healthy.  I have a had a lot of bad things happen in my life, as has everybody reading this post, I'm sure.  If I went around all day thinking about the death of my sister or my wife's mental illness or the election of Donald Trump, I wouldn't be able to function.  I would curl up on my bed, under the covers, in a fetal position, and just not live. 

Ignoring traumas from the past isn't a good practice, either.  That creates issues like depression, PTSD, and other forms of mental illness.  No, bad things must be dealt with, through talk therapy and group therapy and medical therapy and chocolate.  That's the only way to overcome bad shit.  I'm speaking from experience.

Tonight, however, I am going to have a good moment, one that Tralfamadorians would probably return to in times of war.  My book club is meeting tonight at my house.  This month's book is Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale.  When I'm done typing my posts, I'm going to cut up some cheese for a little tray.  Then, I'll set the tables with dishes and cups, because Book Club is really just an excuse to eat.

It will be a lovely moment with lovely people whom I love.  Is there enough love in that sentence?  It will be a good night, filled with laughter and conversation. No war.  No end of the universe.  Just cheese and crackers and brownie trifle.  As the characters in The Handmaid's Tale say, "Praise be."

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for good friends.

June 27: Tralfamadorian Test Pilot, Margaret Atwood, Happy in This Moment

"Would--would you mind telling me--" he said to the guide, much deflated, "what was so stupid about that?"

"We know how the Universe ends--" said the guide, "and Earth has nothing to do with it, except that it gets wiped out, too."

"How--how does the Universe end?" said Billy.

"We blow it up, experimenting with new fuels for our flying saucers.  A Tralfamadorian test pilot presses a starter button, and the whole Universe disappears."  So it goes.

So, the Tralfamadorians know how it all ends, and they're doing nothing to stop it.  Because it has already happened, is happening, and will happen again.  They're not upset about it because time is a fluid thing.  That's how Billy can be a zoo exhibit on Tralfamadore, an optometrist in Ilium, and a prisoner in Germany.

It's kind of a comforting thought, existing at all times.  Death isn't an end.  Pain isn't so painful.  Sadness is just a rest stop between moments of happiness.  That kind of outlook would save a whole lot of people a lot of trouble.  I know I would sleep better at night if I took a few lessons from the Tralfamadorians.

Instead, I spend my life worrying.  This morning, I woke up worried about grading some research papers this afternoon.  This afternoon, I worried about getting all of my work done at the office.  Tonight, I'm a little concerned about writing two blog posts and also reading The Handmaid's Tale for my book club meeting on Thursday.  If I was just a little unstuck in time, I wouldn't be stressed at all right now.

But, I am not living in a science fiction novel.  I can't time travel, and I have never ridden in a flying saucer.  I am a human being, living in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan on the continent of North America in the Western Hemisphere on the planet Earth in the galaxy of the Milky Way.  I live in a specific moment.  That's what human beings do.

And I am happy in this moment.  I graded some papers.  I'm almost done writing this blog post.  Pretty soon, I'll have a few hours to read some Margaret Atwood.  That's what I have tonight.  And that's good enough.

Saint Marty is thankful for this moment.