264. SWEPT AWAY
The problem I have,
The problem I have,
that whole 'in the
world, but not of it'
thing of Paul (the
Apostle), is that
the world never
did me any good,
so why bother in
any fashion? There's
a point past which
steaming through
the jungle no longer
makes much sense
- the river is clogged
and swollen, things
in that current turn
and twist back on
themselves, the
natives are restless
and angry, besides
which they aren't
really too happy to
see you cutting
through their lands.
They stand at the
shore, anxiously
peering out with
their spears and
rocks. It could be
dangerous anywhere.
The question becomes
one of language too
- what are you
saying, what are
they (for goodness
sake) saying, and
how do the two
colliding languages
work together, if
they do at all? If
you have a roomful
of building blocks
- just scattered and
lying all about -
only a certain sort
of person can count
that, in and of itself,
as riches; while the
'other' sort of person
demands first that
all those blocks be
put together as
something, have a
form, use, shape,
at least, before any
'value' is given to
them. Raw material?
Ore? As opposed to
the gem or the mineral
valued within it. I was
confused often with
that one. Also, in
the seminary, I'd
sit around trying to
figure out what a
'priest-missionary'
thing was about.
My intentions for
that, as I've mentioned,
were for deepest Africa,
dispensing all that
love and goodness
crap to the interior
natives. What was
that all about? Was I
to be the dominant
one, astoundingly
claiming that they
were living in a
muddled room
filled with useless
building blocks
which were without
value until I showed
them the construction
of logic, reason, and
'correct' religion by
which to make
something of it all?
What was that about?
Why wasn't that Pride
and Offensiveness,
to be sure? What
sort of self-righteous
creep would do that?
To whom, (ahem)
was I supposed
to answer for any
of that? What was
right? And what
was wrong?
-
That was all the
wicked dichotomy
of the world
before me. A
person, no matter
what, can't just
assume a right
and a wrong as
even existing.
Everything is
fluid, strange,
overlapping. One
hundred years ago,
then fifty years ago,
and then NOW,
every concept
you can imagine
has been flipped
and made different.
Sorry to say. Genders,
for sure. Authority
and organizational
stuff. Roles. There's
nothing that has
remained the same
within the normal
everyday flowing
of the idea of place,
being and concept.
If you were to stop
anyone on the street,
and relate to them
some tale of injustice
or horror, they'd say
'That's so wrong!'
It's a basic, human
thing. BUT, is that
'wrong' then but not a
shifting scale? One hundred
years ago, would a
different sort of
'news' have brought
the same response? ---
"That man just took
that car and drove
right across that field,
hitting and killing two
squirrels and a deer."
'THAT'S SO WRONG!'
- that could have been
a hundred years ago....
See what I mean? Now
we have roads through
every field that ever
was. Life is very
wearisome. There
are four-wheeling
stores, and huge
manufactures of
trail-riding and
off-road four-wheeling
devices, and they
are sold by the
thousands, constantly.
No one thinks twice.
-
When I was in New
York City. all that twisting
turmoil was underway in
my head. It never stopped.
No real 'conclusions'
were arrived at - at
least not the sort that
would rule and define
the life I was leading.
I watched. I just more
rather'd to drift away.
I had my dark, basement
spots, that library
upstairs, a few
acquaintances, friends
- a whole other sort
of people I'd never
known before. I was
both scared and
swept away - all
the newness was
killing me, in the
good sense.
Sweeping me up.
Outside, there
were people with
leather shoes and
umbrellas - real
serious sorts - going
about their daily tasks
and businesses. It
amazed me. I had
my brilliant, light
spots too. Things
I loved about the
things I did : the
sidewalks, Eighth
Street, those oddball
stalls and little shops,
the amazingly anarchic
and wild group that hung
about the Orange Julius
store there, all those
crazy rock and rollers.
I could never figure
them out, for sure,
but they represented
real NYC - whether
it was a drug-crowd,
always high, smoking
weed, whatever it
was that drew them
to the small-food
and drink kind of
munchie-junk there,
it was always a
clutch of not-just
hippies but even a
more hardcore and
dangerous bunch
too. You didn't want
to cross them. As I
saw it anyway. I knew
this guy who had a
sandal shop, on
Bleecker. It was
already famous
then too, but for
the new crowd
rolling in it became
like a mecca. It
seemed everyone
wanted sandals -
he'd hand make
them, real workshop
stuff, and the
over-whelming
nature of the new
business was
affecting him
greatly. Hard to
keep up, how to
expand, who to
teach the leather
craft, and, of
course 'should
I even bother
to expand and
perhaps 'ruin'
my entire premise
of the business
by doing so?'
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