RUDIMENTS, pt. 236
Making Cars
Sometimes it all just felt to me
that I was off by a beat. A lot of
life depends on timing - if you
somehow can get that right, lots
of good happens. Mostly, when it's
way off, you have a problem. I
always felt to be off just a bit. That
made for 'a bit' of a problem though
mostly I got the gist of things. It's
my contention that we each, individually,
have no power over this, be it instead
Fate, or Destiny. There are a million
stories of the waitress in some dumb
Los Angeles truck stop or diner who
just happens to be on duty when in
strolls Darryl Zanuck, or whomever,
and discovers her, and the next thing
she knows she's a big star with an entire
made-up story line describing her
life and new name. That's timing.
Or being in the right place when
something momentous occurs and
your own eyewitness account of
whatever becomes the book and story
line for the world's publicity. Or the
letter that falls out of a book and lands
in your lap, and is a note worth
a hundred and seventy thousand
dollars, with a signature by Vladimir
Lenin, or John Lennon for that matter,
at the bottom. It's like getting picked
out of a hat. There's a difference,
in the books, between fate and
destiny, though I can't always make
the distinction. Destiny, I think, is
what you're born to ('He was destined
to be King'), and fate is to where
your selected path brings you.
Not that the distinction ever really
mattered - as I began to say -
because for me anything that ever
happened I either 'just missed' or
was 'just too early' and it occurs
when I'm done. No breaks and
no big shakes.
-
Some people are born to big things.
That never was, for me. Instead,
most of my life was like some
old Russian novel about the guy
within an internal exile in a deep
society that abhors what he
represents and that he, in turn,
wants nothing to do with. Maybe
the bad-timing part of it all stems
from that lack of a real concern
for the where or what of that which
occurred around me. Seldom
could I understand the sign
language or the semiotics of the
world. Back then there was an
entirely different meaning to
the word 'drone.' Drone's were
'automatonic' working stiffs who
just went about their dull tasks. In
my family and neighborhood that's
mostly what people were, fathers
anyway. That was never anything
I had any interest in becoming
(though for many years I ended
up in that condition anyway).
The workfield state of being that
I was always trying to escape
from was just that. It became my
reason for most all I did - getting
away from it and avoiding the trap :
seminary, NYC, faraway Pennsylvania,
and all the other places. Always on
the run. But, even while running,
I never hit the moment of
good timing.
-
I've probably mentioned this
before, but when I hit NYC, the
cloak of invisibility instantly
available to me was one of the
biggest draws. I didn't have to
'be' somebody, or anyone in
particular. I could drop my
old identity, even, had I chosen,
lost my name (think of how many
others have done this), and by
calling myself whatever I chose,
create a new identity. I didn't of
course, but think of it. There's
a total power in naming things -
a mastery. Even in the Bible,
'Man's' first ascension-to-place
was given with the command
to give names to the animals.
In its own way, naming is owning.
One of the first things a parent
does is name the child. Sometimes
one of the first things the adult
child does is to seek to drop the
name. I guess if you have to
own something, it might
as well be yourself.
-
Just like timing can be off, there's
also the consciousness of Time
itself. Unless one learns how to
deal with that, life's a waste.
Most people don't understand
the difference, but the passing
of time can be quite ordinary,
brutally so, say, as in a 'drone'
situation. You can spend your
entire life sorting potatoes or
moving 20 pound bags of sugar,
and be none the better for it.
Unless a sense of 'Quality' is
introduced into a person's life
and line, the remainder of
time can be a real drone.
'Quality' is slow. It can't be
rushed. It's quiet, and deliberate.
Speaks softly. People have lost the
sense of quality. The most ordinary
things can be quality items, showing
the difference in thought and craft.
A simple chain, for instance - being
well-crafted, of solid fit and good
manufacture, nicely lubed, and
with good finish. That can be of
real quality-value. As can a basket,
something woven, a board of lumber,
the finish on a car, a painting, the
rungs of a ladder, a good weld, a
nicely machined hammer. The list
is endless, and the idea of 'Quality'
in turn extends to thought, action,
philosophy, reflection, and the
consideration of all those things.
We've mass-marketed and mass-
produced ourselves now to death.
A million cheap copies of everything
can be had. Plastics, modeled, poorly
stitched, cheaply done and cheaply
finished. Gigantic stores and bargain
offerings never make the distinction
that what they're selling is tawdry.
It's all about volume and sales. A
person has to find what 'Quality' is,
or what it represents, to them.
Maybe that's a key to happiness;
reaching a state of 'Quality' -
self-ordained. I would wish to
live a quality life, regardless of
its timing - and the few famous
people I've ever known, in spite
of their fortunate station and
timing, often seemed to wince at
having IT, rather than just another
set of problems of poor quality to
deal with - travel, travel arrangements,
being always on the move, no longer
being anonymous, etc. So - at some
weird crossroads, timing and travel
intersect, and cancel each other out?
At the end of my days, that was
something I'd not yet figured out.
-
And also, comically, this led me to
understand the deeper level meaning
of when people say, 'Uhm, a, a,
whatdyacallit, you know...?'
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