January 12, 2012 New World

I was struck recently by an image I read in a book called, "How the Irish Saved the West".  In the book the author describes a bizarre and almost incomprehensible occurrance in medieval Ireland.  Individual monks, of their own volition and under the spell of religious fervor, would construct small rafts (yerts, perhaps?), pack a few days worth of food, and set themselves afloat on the vast unknown Ocean.  These solitary men, these devoted souls, these men of knowledge and contemplation, these children of God, decided they would set their corporal body into the hands of the Almighty so that he might place them in the spot He wanted them to be.  They would either perish and be enfolded in His warm embrace, find new land where they would build a place of worship and spend the rest of their lives praising His Glory, or find other people to whom they would teach the word of God.
A striking image indeed.  I of course would love to think of myself on those high seas, sitting cross legged in the center of a small circular raft made of wood and lamb skin, tied together with rabbit sinew and pitch, praying desperately as the waves lash at my crusted lips.  As I swim out past the breaking waters, smiling in my profound belief that this is where the arc of my life has led, I would look back and see my brothers blessing me and raising their thankful arms to the Father.  How bold a thing to do!  How fearful they must have been in the days leading up to this sea march.  How sure they would have to be that the Lord not only exists... but cares enough about each individual that He would carry them to their destination.  In many ways they had to be a bit carefree... either they would find a new home where they would spend the rest of their days living under God's sun, on God's untrod earth, in God's grace, or they would cast off their old tired bones, be washed clean of the dirt, and sink into the arms of the next Golden World.  There was no indecision, no hesitance, only pure devotion.
If I was a good man, a true man, I would use this story as an analogy to describe my life, and especially my adult life.  The idea of the world of men as an ocean and my singularity as a raft on that uncaring expanse is a seductive one.  We could all be described as lone figures being blown about by winds of fortune, and all our encounters are but brief halloos in the cold Atlantic night.  But upon further investigation, either the analogy falls short, or my true life falls short of the analogy.  To say which is pointless.  In order to set oneself adrift, one has to have FAITH in that endeavor.  One has to DECIDE to go.  Those old Celtic monks sat on that raft for days upon days, sleeping, waking, praying, sleeping, until there was no return.  At what point did they stand up and realize the truth of their endeavor?  What was the moment like, in a.d. 1200, when Brother Christian found himself in the North Sea, near delirium, ranting the Lord's Prayer until the words became all one?  I like to think at this point Brother Christian, like a clap of thunder, found himself floating above himself, looking down at the wonder of his own breath, and laughter came washing over him like white light.
For me, there was no decision and no test.  The great arc of my life has been more like a flat line leading steadily onward, with no deviation, through the great wide passageway of the middle, with a vague hint of the end that awaits us all. Fear has kept me from living a good life... fear of trying and failing, fear of looking foolish, fear of nameless powers around me like government, terrorism, society, damnation.  I created a comfortable prison of couches, TVs, food, drugs and alcohol, and longing.  As I sit here, now 38 years old, now 217 pounds, now high cholesterol, now aching bones and joints, now still unhappy, I can see that there was no effort, no motivation, no belief, no heart.  As I sit here I feel the days slipping by with still no raft built.  I truly feel left behind by life, like I never really got started.  To be even more honest, life was going on all around me, but I never engaged it.  I've watched my friends all get married and have children, get great jobs that they love, move away, my parents get old, and my family drift slowly apart, making their own families.  I've clung desperately to the past, covering my youth in a golden gauze until the truth of those days is unfamiliar, and I can't trust my own memory.  I know, however, that I must cast off these sentimentalities and embrace the present, because to do so is to live, and I want to live.
This year is 2012.  There is a strange convergence going on and I've felt the soft stirrings of life within me.  My father, bless his soul, has been ravaged by Alzheimer's disease, and we've sadly had to place him in a home.  This has broken my mom's heart and my own, but I've learned one more valuable lesson from my old man... life is short, and a happy death is no guarantee.  I consider this year to be year 1, and I want to catalogue it because there are many things that I want to do, many things I want to say, and some strange things will be happening throughout this year that I feel are all in some way related.  There is no doubt, at least I feel there is no doubt, that we are all dancing together on these vast plains, that we are all still a great community, albeit a community of tribes, and as a man who has learned much about our past, I am full of optimism for this great time we live in.  After all, if this is the peak of our civilization, why aren't we enjoying it more?  I've been intrigued about the predictions of the end of the world by Nostradamus and the end of the last cycle of the Mayan calender.  Movies about alien invasions, demonic possessions, and machine revolutions are on the rise.  It seems we've become obsessed with old gods and old myths, trying to find the answers to age old questions about the end of time.  It seems so appropriate that the end of the world coincides with my forthcoming wedding.  I hate to use the word ironic because frankly, I don't know what that word means anymore, but it's absolutely fitting that after 37 years of solitude, the year I get married will usher in the end of days.
I'm going to try my best to not ask so many questions, at least not ones that I can't answer.  I consider these posts to be a series of my own personal essays, to be my own rafts, and I hope that you can see yourselves in them because despite the medium... we all need to reconnect with each other, to gain wisdom and find love again.  Until we meet again...