In the last 7 to 10 days I have been beset by yahoos, that Swiftian nomenclature for libidinous creatures, low in intellect, high in passion, applying no rationality to their lives. it was Theodore Dreiser who said that out of a thousand human beings nine hundred and ninety nine are bastards. I submit he has a strong point. What does one do when fools seem to be even in your soup? What I do is try to turn inward, that inner self that is impervious — hopefully — to the inclemencies brought about by human nature. In this space I dwell, set my GPS to home, and navigate there. I take things to heart although a very wise human being has advised me not to expect too much of human beings. In so doing I would not be disappointed with them. I see that, I know that. I am working on all that.
When I work on myself I recall memories, often memories that strangulate my heart and soul, such as the death of my wife in 1999. I abide in that memory for it gives me succor, that old-fashioned word so rich in biblical meaning. Indeed, when I have to be adversarial or stronger than I really am, I go back to her being on a gurney — dead, in lifelike repose. From this no human being can touch me. I become a lion. As she would, I imagine, want me to be. I do not limp, nor stutter, nor have macular degeneration. I am only hypertensive, aren’t we all? I am not grossly obese. I am just aging. However, if you sense me without looking at my bodily apparatus, if you acutely listen to me over weeks and months, you might imerceptibly realize that I am damaged beyond all repair. I lost Rochelle. And so as I work on myself, as I try to focus on what is essential, what is important and what is not important, all I can share with you, reader, is my belief that daily life should have a measure of reflection and consideration. I believe the most critical thing I might say to another human being is: “You are not a serious human being.” Serious, of course, does not mean somber; however, to live day by day, as markets fall because people panic, while racism wafts through our politics, without posing questions to oneself is to go awry, one piston missing. What is that old Chinese cliche that, to wit, one should live in difficult times. I’d revise that, change it all around. One should be condemned to posing questions without waiting for answers. And so for me working on my self is asking questions, especially ones I cannot answer. Why am I under attack of late? Who cares for me regardless of my imperfections? Why do people herd together and act as a mob? How do I generally handle adversity? What strengths prevail within my inner climes? Why can I be led astray and allow myself to be intimidated?How resourceful can I be while assailed? What is in my nature that makes me face the wind, much like the horse whereas the cow turns its ass to the wind to let it blow over him?
It is very hard, is it not? to stand fast. We are not taught that. We either observe that quality in relatives while growing up, or friends, teachers, or characters in books perhaps. Or we are tested, as I have been, by the cruel realities of life — loss, abandonment, death, the jujy fruits of existeence. I associate to what my son, Jordan, told a rabbi who was asking us about Rochelle, as wife and mother, at the day of her funeral services. He wanted to know something of the woman. Gently, my son stopped him to say a few telling words. “Rabbi, my mother taught us to get on with things, to handle all kinds of emergencies.” In short, to be strong, to persevere. Perhaps Rochelle said that in words or perhaps he observed that in her over the years. He shared a learning I had never been privy to. The rearing of my son (23) ended on that mournful day. I no longer had a son. I had a man by my side. Oh, the rabbi looked at me and in that look was everything a parent needed to understand about how he saw my son.
I have monies in the funds, but I am so constructed I cannot get too upset about all this as I observe human nature imploding upon itself. I have learned, I have been trained, I have observed all this, to expect all this. And I fear not. I have little or no fear. I lost all fear in 1999. Understand that about me, and you understand all that needs to be said. To work on oneself is to take on fear, to take it in the mouth like Jesus took in the centurion’s vinegar soaked sponge. Whenever I get rattled or fearful or tremble, I recall what the blessed Benzion Rapoport, told me: “It’s fear, Matt.” The implication is that I must render that impotent, not the issue itself. Fear first, everything after that. And so I say adieu, enough.
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