7862. BELOW THE WATER LINE (pt. 176)

BELOW THE WATER LINE

(pt. 176)

I've read that the Book of Esther, in the

Bible, is the only book therein that

doesn't mention, doesn't contain the

word 'God.' To be truthful, I've never

checked that out precisely, but it was

always a curious one. In St. Andrew's,

or even in the seminary, as I've here

mentioned previously, the Old Testament

was pretty much ignored  -  it being

considered old-hat set-up for all the

new stuff. It always appeared as

unseemly and wrong to do that; like

ignoring unwisely any of the tradition

by which the rest of your structure is set

up to respond to. None of that ever really

mattered, but it just seemed strange. So

much else of Avenel went by the wayside

when stacking things up against what you

were told. It sort of just left things up in

the air; without definition.

-

I always liked to find out little tidbits and

think about them. It gave my otherwise

awkward life some form. We otherwise

lived a kind of rough and ragged life in

Avenel  -  I've already mentioned the 

crazy games, the banging around, the 

little fights here and there. As kids, we 

never cared for much as far as limitations 

went. No one ever got carted off to the 

hospital or anything like that. I never 

remember broken bones or stitches or

anything (I'd already had my own fill 

of all that). And then, later on, I found 

out that, in the 'medical' world it was 

considered better that kids got banged 

around and roughed up.  It all seemed 

so perfect, so Avenel-right. Here's what

I'm talking of : 'Children are anti-fragile. 

Bone is anti-fragile. If you treat it gently, 

it will get brittle and break. Bone actually 

needs to get banged around to toughen up. 

And so do children.' That was pretty 

innocuous stuff, but it so well summed 

up what was going on, unwittingly. 

Avenel was cutting edge!

-

One of my favorite things used to be the 

Bayway Circle, up past Linden, on Route 

One, entering the area of Elizabeth. My 

father, in doing his basement upholstery 

side-jobs, often had people from up that 

way as customers. I'd often go with

him, drafted, as it were, to lift and haul, 

to pick up or drop off furniture -   the 

usual chairs, couches, etc., using his 

'60 Chevy station wagon, seats down 

in the rear, and the rear flaps left open, 

with some furniture concoction usually 

sticking out and being roped in for the 

ride. It was far-off stuff for me, and 

exotic. Riding up Rt. One was like 

going on a major trek, and then taking 

the Bayway Circle, and using it to get 

halfway around again for whatever that 

other road is heading west, was always 

cool. I used to pretend there was, sticking 

out from my hands, holding it, an 

enormous sword that was just chopping 

everything down, cutting everything 

we passed  -  telephones poles, trees, 

houses  -  into half-height of what it 

was. Very weird now, in retrospect, 

but that's the image I traveled with. If 

I were to get heavy into trying to 

psychoanalyse  that, I'd probably 

just have to stop short, at 'psycho.' 

There was a time after this when I 

used my bicycle, on a Saturday I recall, 

to ride up to the very Bayway Circle 

I'm speaking of here. I made it, barely. 

It was pretty treacherous, in that most 

of the way there wasn't really a place 

for the bicycle on Route One, obviously, 

and the cars and trucks whizzing by 

seemed to just treat me as if I was in 

the way. (And I didn't have my sword 

with me that day). Once I got back home, 

my friend Robert Shipley, upon hearing 

of what I'd done that morning, just shook 

his 2-years-older-than-me head and said, 

'You're brave!' incredulously, as if I'd just 

stuck my head into the mouth of a lion or 

something. Hey, bones are meant to be

broken, or whatever that quote was.

-

I never thought straight. I never did anything 

too straight. My life was just always an oddly

erratic end run around things. I made things 

up often enough so they'd grant me a better 

solution. Like in Chemistry class or something, 

if you totally controlled the experiment, you'd 

then also have total control over the outcome.

And, in addition, you could come off like a

crazed genius of sorts to others by actually

'predicting' the outcome of the experiment 

and being found right! It was all bogus, but it

seemed no one ever detected that. Baffling!

Of course you can predict the result successfully

if you select craftily, and stack the deck rightly, 

for all the matter along the way. How 

fundamental is all that? It's relatively easy.

All those other people devising formulas,

measuring capacities and times, pondering 

the Periodic Table of the Elements for the 

sake of the rightness. Pshaw! Just do it. 

(Nike owes me money?).

-

'Which brings me back to Esther. There's no

mention of God in Esther? Why would that be?
Probably a mistake. Probably an omission.
You could never think it was on purpose, or
serving some other agenda. It's just a proper 
place for the same sort of twist on the simple
name of fate or place or being. Like me, here, 
waiting for a train at the Avenel station.'
-
That's the sort of abstract stuff that twists around
in my mind all day  -  doing the littlest and the 
simplest local tasks. I used to think I was in the
first quarter of my life  -  that was all Avenel.
Then I fled it, for the first half, and then the first
three-quarters, and that had really little to do
with Avenel. Now I find it pleasant, and reachable
to all else  -  that's all I really need now. In
the fourth quarter of my life. Yeah, right,
if I'm gonna live to be a hundred.