Peaceable Kingdom.

06-02-2021

Yesterday, in a moment, after being pulled away from a morning Netflix binge by the whimpers of a dog in need, grumpily trying to embrace the calm of the land and the warmth of the sun, we looked up from our stumps and saw a convergence of sights perhaps never before witnessed by human eyes. Three deer were trotting across our yard within a stone's throw, a father house-finch was feeding his newly hatched babies in their chosen home on our porch, a Monarch Butterfly fluttered around the frost-bitten Lilac bush, a Hummingbird zipped bloom to bloom on the Buckeye tree, and edge to edge on a bowl beside us was a fresh, Spider-sewn tightrope of webbing. All of this happened amidst the buzzing of friendly and unfriendly bees investigating the bounty of nectar surrounding us, a cacophony of bird songs, and in the presence of a dog and cat who noticed but did not stir. All of this beauty in a single moment in a single place and time. 

This morning we took our cat, Buzz, to the vet. He'd not been eating much and suddenly seemed very bony to our touch. His spine and hips started to protrude seemingly overnight, while his belly, even surprising to those who've known him, was larger than ever. Buzz has had problems. Boy cats, from what I gather, often have problems. Many times over the years we've racked up debt on credit cards for urination complications or compacted bowel troubles made known after he peed or puked all over our wooden floors. On top of these, a few years ago we learned Buzz had a benign mass in his intestines that could pose a problem down the road. These complications, combined with his insatiable appetite, led to several emergency-ish vet runs. We took him in assuming this would be yet another IV juicing to flush a blockage and get his pipes flowing yet again. But upon returning to the car with the dog who joined us, our kiddo said "Buzz is getting put down." The shock and disbelief I felt was over-ridden by the tears I saw flowing down my wife's face as she talked with the vet who'd examined him. It seemed we were now 'down the road.' The benign mass had spread to multiple organs and she predicted his future would be filled with pain and suffering; a fate all of us wish to avoid. He was calm, and by my human perception, almost at peace with things. The three of us doted on him with wet cheeks and sweaty palms. Then we said 'goodbye' as he was given the final injection to relieve his pain permanently.

About a month ago I experienced what I can only liken to what others have described as a panic attack. Since turning forty last October I've been inundated with moments where death feels really close. Not close like soon, but close like real. Growing up I was gifted a tradition that espouses a very narrow view of what lies in the great beyond. In this tradition death is reason to celebrate if one believed the right things in life. Otherwise, dun . . . dun . . . duuuuunnnnn. This simpler story with its concrete answers about the afterlife crossed and dotted all holes in the mystery of death, for a time. With the unprovable all buttoned up in my mind and the pure, unadulterated luck of when, where, and to whom I was born, I've had a life largely absent of loss through death and relatively absent of the fear of death. Every day I feel lucky to know so little of death. But as time marches I know this loss is coming. I've shed my binary upbringing and have embraced more of what I admit feels a bit hippie-dippie. But as literally no one has any right to claim authority on this matter, these new notions feel right to me now, even if they're not original. I imagine a consciousness 'Ether' that every life passes into. Passing into the Ether we gain all the collected wisdom of why this last life was harder than it needed to be, why we were so limited in our ability to transcend our circumstances, why we couldn't find more peace or be more peaceable. Fantasies, I know, but as good as most, and better than many shared around the world. My view does not contain punishment, only wisdom. I choose to put aside post-life retribution, vengeance, bloodlust, whatever inclination we have as humans to make sense of bad behaviors. I'm hoping for a waterfall of wisdom and an avalanche of understanding.

As Buzz received the first injection to calm his body before the final jab, I told him to say 'hello' to Dezzy, our other cat we let go two years ago. I choose to believe Buzz and Dezzy are in the Ether, basking in the wisdom of what life is all about. As we wiped tear after tear looking at photos of our passed friends, we who witnessed the glimpse of the 'Peaceable Kingdom,' told of in the stories of my youth, reflected on the possibility that Yesterday's moment by the fire pit was a gift from the Universe, an echo of the Ether, and a reminder that maybe everything, however unlikely it feels most of the time, actually is working together and we are all connected. Sounds better than most versions I've heard over the years.

(Image above: Edward Hicks' The Peaceable Kingdom)

Part one of two, hopefully.

 The wait is over.

After signing up for several lists, strategically showing up at several Meijers with fingers crossed, and seeing the myriad posts from friends across the social media sphere who seemed to just outflank me in their vaccine treasure hunting missions . . . last week I got my first dose of the Pfizer Covid-19 vaccine. The lines were long at the DeVoss Center, but the operation was flawless, if not a bit dystopian. I couldn't help but envy these vaccine line workers directing us to and fro because it seemed they had perhaps the best possible job in this pandemic, they got to celebrate with us as we participated in the best solution humans have come up with to beat killer viruses. I made darn sure they knew I was happy to be there, with smiling eyes and specific words of gratitude, I thanked everyone I could. From Angie at the kiosk, who had to update my profile that was still showing an address from 2002, to the final greeter who was thanking participants for 'being a part of the solution' before we left the building, I did my best to glow for everyone involved.

I know their work is hard, but I envy their role because I've been in a different spot in this pandemic journey. I work for everyone's favorite 'neighborhood' grocery store that rhymes with, um, Greater Flows. Those grocery 'essentials' who've been through all of it since the beginning, oh the stories we have. $600 carts, bare shelves, toilet paper limitations, slow safety measures, resistance to masking, lines, protests, politicization, the “nosers” who can't seem to wear their masks correctly, not to mention the fear of bringing home this virus to our households and loved ones . . . every . . . fucking . . . day. Two nights ago, 383 days since this virus came to Michigan, I was told of a man who scorned our safety measures before standing in line, even lobbing the word 'sheeple' at my two coworkers. Fortunately, those waiting in line essentially 'boo'd' him into submission. I was lucky enough to have him in my line, unaware of what had taken place. He was cordial with me but surely felt the eye-daggers shot his way from all others who knew better.

This is what we've been dealing with for over a year now. I have coworkers whose smiles I've never seen.

Yesterday a friend and I wondered how long until our store culture could return to pre-virus status, with all its warms and fuzzies. She could barely imagine a day when we get comfortable all over again with miniature cups of coffee pumped from the same public carafe and small paper plate samples picked over by children who’ve returned for their third helping. We still get new customers all the time and I used to try to explain that had they come at a different time I'd explain all of the great things that make our grocery chain special: new food samples and recipes shared every day, fresh coffee always brewed and ready, the ability to try a product before you buy it, the general sense of being at a party you didn't know you were invited to, and of course, the no-hassle return policy. That is until I realized most people only make out a small percentage of what I say and nod to be polite. So I don't explain any of this. Communicating through masks, social distancing, and plastic barriers makes everything hard to say and hear, so I keep it short and work quickly because there are people outside waiting for their turn.

Michigan is in bad shape. “For the seventh week in a row, the state of Michigan is the worst in the nation in terms of coronavirus cases” says Victor Williams writing for Click On Detroit. Quoting Detroit Chief Health Officer, Denise Fair, in the same article: “We are right back where we were a year ago.” But it feels different out in the wild. It feels like people have moved on. I feel like moving on. We're all so tired. Every time I watch someone tear their mask off the moment they walk out the door I have to resist the urge to look them in the eye and say “forty fucking hours a week,” pointing at my mask.

But it is better with part one of two in my arm. I'm getting comfortable day-dreaming about social gatherings. Oh how I long for house warming parties, hugs, and seeing smiles on mouths not just eyes. One foot is stepping confidently in that direction while the other drags a cement block stuck in the past and present of this virus's wrath which I keep hearing is far from over. Wild times we're living in.

Season of change, season of fire.

Other than having a child nine years ago nothing has put a magnifying glass on our priorities like COVID-19. Since March 20th, like everyone in the country by and large, we've been on a roller coaster of emotions. The most prominent thing the magnifying glass illuminated for us was how badly my wife has missed her mother the past few years. They have the unmistakable bond portrayed in shows like Gilmore Girls, the one where a teenage mother is more likely to feel her child is as close to a peer as they are a son or daughter. They seem to literally read each other’s minds when we’re sharing a room. It’s spooky. They just get each other and love right through any differences. So as we hunkered down with all of Michigan there was one person she wished she could quarantine with, her mom. After a tearful afternoon with our kiddo who was feeling the same yearning, missing her Grandma, we decided perhaps now is the time.

As I’ve told those who've asked, this was in the pipeline. We debated when it should happen, before middle school? Before high school? Nothing until after high school? Figuring out when was best was tricky . . . until we spent 3 months in lock-down stewing on what the future would look like. 

After twelve years in metro-Detroit, we've moved to rural west Michigan.

So, the summer between third and fourth grade it was.

We've traded in our 1949 bungalow, squeezed within ten feet of neighbors on both sides, for a 1900-built, renovated farmhouse on five acres with nothing but corn in view. We're one mile away from our beloved's Grandma and Grandpa to the South-West, and one mile away from Great Grandma to the South-East, and five miles from Lake Michigan.

 

It's been a strange transition to say the least. While we fretted for a while whether we could pay bills and maintain our mortgage as I took leave from work and my partner was laid off, serendipity stepped in and gave us the perfect window to make something that sounded like a stretch a reality. The perfect house appeared on the market within the budget we were approved for and our offer was accepted. The house we sold went fast, sold for more than we asked, and closing went smoothly. My job allowed me to transfer locations painlessly. The money we made from our home sale allowed us to purchase a lake-effect-winter-appropriate vehicle and get some upgrades to the farmhouse that'll help us in the long term. It was a three month tornado of sprucing and renovating that garnered us the serenity that comes with being in a positively beautiful place with people we've been missing.

But, I feel sad about the way we left. Any other year of my life had we made this decision I would've become a social-planning machine, booking all our time with those we love to say proper goodbyes. But . . .Covid. That bastard, the "invisible enemy," as our President likes to call it, did you know he likes to call it that? He does, he loves calling it that. (Sorry, I know that was so five months ago . . .) It changed everything. I managed to have a few small outside gatherings with a few people, we had a couple rounds of giant-circle-sitting neighbor gatherings, and then we disappeared. Poof. No proper final day at work, no hugs, no parties. I barely felt comfortable hugging my side of the family goodbye . . . because of fucking Covid.

Yet, without it, this move wouldn't have been possible. Without the combination of the government stimulus, our tax returns, financial generosity from family, unemployment income, and my Covid-modified work schedule freeing up time to renovate before selling, we couldn't have afforded to move. Call it what you will, serendipity, luck, silver lining, God, whatever, but it is undeniable that without the pandemic changing everything in our lives we would not be enjoying the peace and beauty we have here. Consider me lucky in what often feels like a cold and callous world.

We have big ideas for our space, from wild flower farming, to event hosting, to photo-shooting, the list is ever growing. But most of all, when this season of fire ends, we'd like to have you over for a proper visit. Though it feels like we up and disappeared, know we're still thinking about you and longing for the nights of yore filled with good curry, cocktails, and conversations. 

Until then, be safe.

The writing is on the wall.

Last Sunday, ten days after it was clear CV-19 had landed in Michigan, my wife and I agreed I should take a temporary medical leave from the grocery store I work at, deemed an essential service. After several private discussions with the man steering the ship, the option was put on the table. It was not an easy decision. In those first ten days many things were becoming clear. Every country who was already dealing with the virus had vastly underestimated its capabilities. We watched the video diaries of Italians telling themselves what they wished they'd knew ten days prior. We watched the evidence roll out describing how incredibly contagious this is. We watched our president downplay the virus's threat at every turn. I watched coworkers and the public alike resist the change needed to comply with the unraveling evidence. I watched my company continue to make the wrong decisions to protect its own, and conversely, because of this make the worker-body more dangerous to the public. Life, let alone business, could not continue as usual. Yet, with the exception of the most minor of changes, it was as usual. So I bowed out.

The thing I've been most perplexed by is the arc of people's reaction to the severity of this crisis. I've talked to people who downright scoff at the severity of the virus. I've talked with people who are concerned but not enough to change their routines. I've talked with people who are deeply concerned but also feel a sense of duty to put a smile on and trudge forward. I've talked with people who walk into their workplace having just sat in their car for fifteen minutes weeping with a sense of dread, yet still show up. And I've talked with people who see the evidence, as my wife and I do, and have also chosen to bow out. I feel sympathy for most of these people, but I resent some of them who continue to act impervious to the threat. This sort of disregard makes me feel they are also a threat. What I feel most is empathy for those who could not be with their father, mother, brother, sister, friend, or relative as they died alone in isolation; These who grieve from the window-view of a car during the funeral, unable to hold and weep with one another for fear they might also contract the virus and meet the same fate.

To be fair, I was not as concerned in the first few days as my wife was. I'm learning that she has always been someone who feels things, particularly the threat to her safety, in a deeper way than I do. I'm a tall and relatively strong man whose been raised with the privilege of patriarchy, I cannot process physical threat the same way as someone more vulnerable. But I'm trying. The same way I'm trying to process the threat to those most at risk of having their lives upended, or even ended, by the virus.

After we had our one-and-only kiddo eight years ago, some things changed for her. I've done my best to understand the bond between her and our beloved but continually fall short as I can only imagine the experience of growing the future within one's body. While I've been skeptical about many things and ways to be in this world, I cannot deny her claim she may be an Empath. Evidence of this was perhaps clearest the last time I suited up for work, disposable gloves and pocket-sanitizer in tow, and walked out the door, leaving her behind as she wept for the fact I may not only bring the threat home with me, but I may pass it along to others I would share space with that day. There are some on this spectrum of threat assessment who might smack their foreheads by this reaction, but they are not me, and they are not her. When together we made the call that I would not return to work a wave of relief washed over her. So we're home watching, reading, and listening to how the world is dealing with this, adhering to the advice of scientific authorities. We're mourning the non-action and what feel like too-little-too-late-changes of decision makers bearing the weight of keeping us safe. We're having discussions with those who occupy different space in the threat-assessment spectrum, hoping to move the needle a little toward her end, the end I needed nudging toward. 

For us, the writing was on the wall 15 days ago as we read about Italian doctors making choices about who to give limited resources to and who not to give resources to. 15 days ago the writing was on the wall when the World Health Organization's Director, Tedros Ghebreyesus, said:

“In the days and weeks ahead, we expect to see the number of cases, the number of deaths and the number of affected countries climb even higher. WHO has been assessing this outbreak around the clock, and we are deeply concerned both by the alarming levels of spread and severity and by the alarming levels of inaction.”

15 days ago the writing was on the wall when President Trump claimed the opposite position of most health officials, saying in his Oval Office speech: “This is just a temporary moment of time that we will overcome as a nation and as a world.” 15 days later, we know better. It's still unclear if he knows any better as he pushes the rhetoric of going back to business-as-usual in a mere 16 days.

By no means am I able to claim what is right for you and yours. I am so far from an authority on anything in this world that I doubt even what I'm writing here. Bowing out works for our family thanks to the generosity of our family. Not everyone is as privileged as we are, I get that. However, I fear that soon too many will regret holding onto regular concerns that will reveal themselves as invalid in the face of suffering and death and that soon everyone will have to acknowledge the writing has been on the wall.

. . . and they die alone.

I had a thought yesterday: what if 'the virus' really is a giant hoax? The 1997 movie, The Game, in which Michael Douglas plays Nicholas Van Orton, a billionaire asshole who's lost track of what is really valuable in life, is given a birthday gift from his brother, played by Sean Penn, who claims this gift will change his life. The gift, a mysterious game, upends Nicholas's life such that all reality is questionable. A romantic interest has ulterior motives, he's hunted by god knows who, and clues never reveal their purpose until he's on the precipice of death. And the ending . . . well, you'll just have to watch it.

This movie has stuck with me for years.

Our household is captured by the COVID-19 crisis. Not literally. We're all okay. But I work for 1 of the 2 industries exempt from the escalating closures attempting to 'flatten the curve.' I returned to work today after three days off to find that, as of today, business is not as usual. Of course, the business has not been 'as usual' since last Thursday as we've seen record numbers all across the board. If it were a holiday and the numbers were part of a well executed strategy we'd have reason to celebrate. These numbers are more depressing than anything. But today, we were given the go ahead on limiting the number of people in our building. A combination of things led to this decision, ultimately it was assessed the public was ready for it. Already positive reviews have been made about the limitations, a good sign that from here we can implement more restrictions that should hopefully put the staff and public on safer grounds. Though it may be too late for some, many, or god forbid, all of us. There is a reason that we can watch videos of Chinese health officials dragging unwilling CV-positive patrons into isolation and read the testimonies of Italian doctors who have to choose who of their dying patients get ventilators and who will not. And that was last week.

As we keep our ears to the ground and our eyes glued to screens hoping to hear and see the next new bit of news that would give us a little more clarity about what to expect, I'm continually struck by the diverging opinions about the severity of this situation we've found ourselves in. I've heard some use the term fatalistic as we learn about how asymptomatic carriers can pass the virus. But some are cavalier about it. I asked a couple coworkers this morning if they were worried about it, both nearly chuckled at me, as though merely asking the question was ludicrous. There's been a lot lobbed at the Millenials, attempting to demonize them and their 'it can't happen to me' complex as the problem. I agree with some of that, just not the demonizing part. My experience has been that along with the young, many of the older are just as skeptical. I've watched boomers as well roll their eyes and return to business as usual. I've mostly given up on changing minds over this, with the exception of writing this and posting links on social media. I'm not sure the minds inclined not to believe this is serious are the sort of minds that won't believe until the virus is knocking on their door, or their family's door. There are certain aspects of life that we just can't understand . . . until we do.

My most consistent refrain has been to invoke the stories of those who are suffering and dying right now because their community was under-prepared for what is happening. You could argue that no community could be ready for something like this. But our, the nation and it's elected officials,' inability to heed the wisdom of the world's experience in this crisis is a culprit worth demonizing. You can watch our President downplay CV-19's potential for the last 7 weeks. With Monday's closings of bars and restaurants in many states, finally, it seems the White House is acknowledging that while we have TREMENDOUS help on the way, we might actually be in a pickle, possibly until July or August.

I look forward to reading what people smarter than me write about this crisis after we come out of it. What cultural quality or demographic will Time tell is most culpable? Will it be the Millenials, who essentially inherit the ever-after of this? Will it be the elected Boomers whose policies have worshiped Capitalism to the detriment of our infrastructure?  What about the X'ers and Y'ers and our malaise amidst privilege? Will it be our rugged American individualism that refuses to take the epidemiologists and pandemic specialists at their word? Will it be the legacy of our 'fake news' culture for the past four years? I'm sure I'm missing a slew of angles that will be postulated, but I suspect no one factor will be the factor.

But as only 53% of Americans believe the Coronavirus could infect someone in their family, polled two days ago, we must listen to the stories of those dealing with suffering and death in this crisis. Yesterday, The New York Times' podcast, The Daily, interviewed Italian Doctor, Fabiano Di Marco, head of the respiratory unit of the Hospital Papa Giovanni XXIII in Bergamo, Italy who said:

"We are scared because on Friday, only in my hospital we had 20 deaths . . . from Coronavirus in one day . . . so another important thing we have not the opportunity to allow the relatives to come to the hospital for two reasons, first, it's a danger for them and for other people in Italy because in 80% of the cases they are infected. The second reason which is not easy to understand if you are not in this situation is that we do not have enough personal protective equipment . . . it's impossible to find these in Europe not only in Italy . . . if I allow one or two relatives to come to the hospital I have to give them these but we do not have these for us . . . they cannot receive the relative in hospital so the patients are alone . . . and they die alone."

I feel like I'm falling. This experience is so foreign to me it's hard to believe. So we're leaning on those who spend their lives studying these things. We're washing our hands, a lot. When I go out to work and return, I strip my clothes and shoes off and throw them in the washer, every time. I shaved my beard down so I'm less inclined to touch my face. And at times we have to turn the news off because our kid gets freaked out. This is something she'll remember. This may be something that defines her generation.

I'm waiting for this fall to reveal break-away glass and a landing pad to break my fall, revealing it was all in the plan and everything is okay. But I'm not holding my breath, except when I strafe between bodies in public space. I suspect, because Italy, France, China, South Korea, and Spain have screamed into the void, I will in some way be touched by the suffering and the death this crisis has and is still producing. I hear you. Will we?

Hide and Seek.

I have an acquaintance who I'd heard is a Flat-Earther. When I asked him if this was true he said “Well, I believe many things aren't as we've been told they are, including Science's assertions about space.” He went on to explain that these revelations came to him when he took Dimethyltryptamine, or DMT, sometimes referred to as the 'god drug.' It's "a naturally occurring chemical found in both plants and animals . . .the active hallucinogenic compound in ayahuasca, the Quechua name for a tea brewed from the shrub Psychotria viridis, which is used for ritual purposes by the indigenous people in the amazon [link]." He said under DMT's influence entities came to him and explained that much of the world is not as it seems, including the assertion that the world itself is round. I'm sure I had a skeptical look on my face, so to add some gravitas to the aforementioned, he exclaimed “if I told you everything they shared with me it would freak you out!” I was freaked out, but not in the way he was hoping.

I asked him some pointed questions: Were you alone or with other people for this DMT drop? If you were with other people did they receive the same information? What if they were given the exact opposite revelation from the DMT gods, would their revelation also be true? Lastly, why would your drug induced epiphanies carry more weight than the hundreds of years of scientific inquiry that have lead us to the conclusions most of us take for granted?

He was not alone. His friends did not have the same revelations. The other answers will have to wait for another conversation.

Recently a friend turned me onto the podcast, The End of the World with Josh Clark, in which the first episode deals with Fermi's Paradox. Physicist, Enrico Fermi, wondered if the universe is as vast and full of galaxies with stars similar to our sun, as astronomers have deduced, and if it's likely these galaxies have Earth-like, potentially life-sustaining planets, then why don't we have evidence of other intelligent life? As he famously put it: "where is everybody?" The episode then tries to cover all of the possible reasons why we haven’t found clear evidence of extraterrestrial intelligent life, including the conspiratorial-sounding-verging-on-secret-lizard-people hypothesis that alien intelligence is living among us and we're simply unable to detect them.

If you run in the circles I run in, you probably feel a scoff bubbling up right now. And yet the scoff that pours out of so many of us at the idea of a “They Live” scenario might be suddenly squelched if we take a conversation turn toward God and the idea that God is moving among us. Humans seem to be very adept at maintaining paradoxical thought patterns.

I regularly grapple with our inconsistency concerning our beloved with whom we have supported the idea that Santa is real and fun but the things that frighten her are not. Every time we watch something spookier than we expected, or she awakens from a nightmare, we do our best to convince her the goblins, witches, or bad-guys-who-just-love-being-bad, don’t really exist.

Our kid loves the crap out of surprises! So much so that nearly every time one of us returns from work, comes up from the basement, or descends the stairs for breakfast she tries to Boo! us like it’s Halloween. It is exhilarating and exhausting, but it’s the element of surprise she values most in Santa, The Tooth Fairy, and other creatures who bestow gifts upon children. Navigating this push and pull between fictional fun and the opposite side of the coin that may keep her up at night . . . keeps me up at night. As adults my wife and I aspire to value reason and maintain a healthy amount of skepticism (mine verging on unhealthy skepticism, a point of contention at times), but often what is reasonable clashes with what was introduced to us as the capital-T-Truth by people who’ve lived different lives and had utterly different experiences than us.

The Atheist Experience is a long running debate show based in Austin, Texas primarily hosted by notable atheist debater, Matt Dillahunty. A theme or question that is commonly raised deals with why God doesn’t reveal himself in such a way that his existence could no longer be questionable. In Episode 696, in reply to a caller question, Dillahunty wonders and posits:

How is it that you use reason as a path to truth in every endeavor of your life, and then when it comes to the 'ultimate truth' - the most important truth - you're saying that faith is required. And how does that reflect on a god (who supposedly exists and wants you to have this information); what kind of god requires faith instead of evidence? . . . I have reasonable expectations based on evidence. I have trust that has been earned. I will grant trust tentatively. I don't have faith. Faith is the excuse people give for believing something when they don't have evidence.

Similarly, Greta Christina, in her 2010 article, Why Does God Reveal Himself to Some People and Not to Others?, tackles one of the more common explanations by believers to the the title question: free will. (Setting aside the various arguments that Sam Harris and others far smarter than I am make that free will is an illusion . . . ) Christina explains that the free will response to God's game of 'hide and seek' says that were God to reveal himself unequivocally, humans would have no choice but to believe, and this choice is what God values most, but she puts it this way:

Imagine you’re on a jury. You’re asked to decide whether something is or is not real, whether it did or did not happen; whether the accused stole the diamonds, or set fire to their warehouse for the insurance, or shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

The prosecution doesn’t offer much evidence at the trial — it’s all circumstantial at best, third-hand hearsay at worst, with excessive appeals to emotion and fear, and arguments based on faulty logic. So you decide to acquit.

And then, after you’ve reached your verdict, you’re told there’s a videotape, clearly showing the accused committing the crime. You’re baffled. You’re outraged. You confront the prosecutor in the hallway, and ask, "Why didn’t you show us this evidence at the trial? Why show it to us now — when it’s too late to do anything about it?" And the prosecutor replies, "Because you had to be free to decide for yourself. If we gave you that videotape, it would have made your choice too obvious.

Free will is a precious gift, a crucial component of the justice system — and in order for the jury to have free will, we can’t make the right verdict too obvious. That would have forced your hand."

Would you nod your head sagely in agreement? Would you think that was a sound and reasonable explanation? Or would you think he was out of his gourd? And if you think this was a ridiculous and outrageous explanation from the prosecutor — then why on earth would you think it’s a good argument when it comes to God?

Having more information doesn’t make us less free to decide what is real. It’s the exact opposite. The more information we have, the better able we are to make a free, independent conclusion about what is and isn’t true.

Not sure I feel the need to talk about souls hanging in the balance between ‘paradise’ and ‘damnation,’ like I always do, but certainly if there were any possibility of the latter, it seems like believers would stand in protest trying to persuade God to reveal himself to save their friends and family from it. The complacency and ‘tough love’ position believers often espouse about this quandary strikes me as likely proof no one believes it at all.

What if we concede that knowledge of the ethereal is disguised, that only certain people are lucky enough to gain exposure to the one true god, as much of the world’s population believes, how could we level the playing field? Imagine that every adult in the world took a drug that revealed God to them. What percentage of the stories coming out of this humanity-wide trip would tell the same story? If 51% of these stories had some semblance of a similar narrative, would a simple majority make it the true story? What if the other 49% tripped into narratives that were at odds with the majority? This is the calamity we’re in as the elephant in the dark room feels different to so many hands that claim to touch it. The claims of connection to a god alone demand inquiry enough, the fact that the claims are at odds with so many other claims just compounds the entire process.

Tale after tale of the drug, MDMA, or 'Ecstasy,' tell of it inducing the purest feeling of love; a love free from self-interest and wants nothing but the best for those around you. Chasing a sober version of this love is a noble venture. We should all want to abandon our baggage and self worry to give more and see others with more love. A trip that illuminates how we can see each other in a more beautiful and connecting way should be better embraced. However, a trip that told you the Earth is flat, Heaven and Hell are real, or Aliens walk among us, requires at least wondering about the nature of the trip. When the information revealed poses un-provable conclusions or directly clashes with scientifically tested assessments of the physical world, it seems reasonable to doubt that your information is relevant post-trip.

In the Fermi Paradox episode Clark covers all the possible answers to why we have no evidence of extraterrestrial life. Whether it be the 'Aestivation hypothesis,' a self-induced hibernation where E.T.s are waiting for the universe to change to a more efficient energy status for their civilization, or the 'Zoo hypothesis,' which asserts that E.T.s keep humans in a 'Matrix-'like illusion which prevents us from attaining knowledge of their existence; what is most compelling to me is the idea that other  intelligence is just staying away from us for their own survival. Humans are rarely anything but hostile to the unfamiliar. Other intelligent life may have myriad reasons for keeping their existence secret, namely their survival, which perhaps makes it more plausible they exist because they wouldn’t have an agenda that requires us to believe in them.

There is plenty we'll never understand in our lifetime about the physical world, let alone, the universe and beyond. But time and study has revealed more and more about what we are experiencing and how we experience it. What my DMT-dropping friend had was something close to what people call a mystical experience. The problem with mystical experiences is that they can’t be recreated. The truth he believes he received is more likely a “truth” his brain conjured. How we experience the world, even when it doesn’t correspond with what can be proven about the world, usually overrides everyone else’s experience. His experience, for now anyway, is the Truth for him.

As our child grows she will gain more information about how the world seems to work. At some point Santa’s annual journey of generosity isn’t going to add up, just as UFO sightings lose legitimacy when they’re virtually never supported by astrophysicists, and religious claims of miracles from thousands of years ago lose bearing when we apply the laws of physics to them. Though Dillahunty and the atheist debaters may seem like they have answers to every inquiry, their primary refrain is “I don’t know and neither do you.” They hope we can all get more comfortable saying “I don’t know” when our experiences and ideas present unanswerable questions, and so do I.

(image stolen from here.)

"I drink from a well riddled with misgivings..."

I keep a fair amount of notes on my iPhone, so many so that I regularly scroll through and try to weed out the ones that are no longer necessary, like tearing pages out of a journal. Sometimes the categories make perfect sense: Places to Ride, Beer Log, Song Ideas, Blog Ideas, Good Ideas. Other times the category headline is just the topic in the note: Guarding Sing-Sing by Ted Conover, Evans Scholarship . . . look into it, or I can't stop thinking about this. I've been listening to a fair amount of The Joe Rogan Experience podcast lately. It took me a while to give him a try because I knew he hosted Fear Factor and seemed to be a bona fide meat-head sort of guy, not typically someone I'd imagine I'd enjoy listening to. But when I kept hearing his podcast mentioned by Sam Harris and many of his guests I figured I had to look into it. Obviously I've discovered Rogan is so much more than I allowed him to be. He's eloquent, thoughtful, humble, and most of all, curious as all hell about everything under the sun, which leads to a very wide range of guests and topics covered. His conversations are worth your time.

One of the recurring themes, no matter who his guest is, is that perseverance and discipline will almost always allow you to find the life you want to live. If you've read any of my previous entries here you'll know a recurring theme for me is my longing to find my niche in life. Rogan is always talking about how exploring deeper into the things that interest you and spending time with them will show you what you should be doing. Or as my buddy John says, "do the work and you'll find inspiration."

So I've decided that, though I haven't had an "aha!" moment I'm dying to share with you, I'm going to put some work in on one of my 'blog idea' notes, bear with me. Another bit of wondering on a familiar theme from here:

What exactly do believers mean when they say they know the way, truth, and light? Besides the brass tacks of Jesus being the savior from death, what else? What about how to live and how is that expressed? What happens if you take the resurrection away from the story? What happens if death and resurrection is not the centerpiece of the message?

 And shortly below, a separate but related question:

Is the brutality Jesus withstood essential to the crucifixion story? What if he was simply crucified but without the scorn, beatings, crown of thorns . . . or what if he was given a lethal injection behind closed doors? Is the public torture and execution necessary for him to still be the savior? Is that crucial to our understanding of his experience of human-ness?

As I've pondered around with my dad and some believing-friends on some of these questions we've often come back to one of many absolutely baffling questions: why on Earth did god require the shedding of blood for humanity to 'make right' with god? And moreover, why on Earth did god require public, torturous, blood sacrifice of himself* to be the final blood sacrifice . . . oh goodness here comes the cliff I can't help jumping off . . .

Nearly fifteen years ago while living in St. Louis I saw Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. Some time near Easter weekend I sat among friends in a full theatre and watched what unfolded. I wept nearly uncontrollably as I witnessed the brutality on the screen. If you've not seen it, even if you're a devout Christian, I'm not sure I'd recommend it. One of Gibson's goals I assume was to force the viewer to stare directly at the mistreatment Jesus; To unflinchingly portray the techniques of the times but with an extra dose of stank because he, and most, believe it's integral to the story of Jesus that he was treated worse than the others around him for a lesser 'crime,' and so the blood was spilled, the flesh was torn, the bones were broken, and we see all of it.

I remember reading reviews in the years after seeing The Passion that mentioned a then unfamiliar term: torture porn. Sophia Siddique, in Transnational Horror Cinema: Bodies of Excess and Global Grotesque, examining the splintering of horror genres says this about 'torture porn:'

In effect, these films maximize the visceral impact of seeing bodies suffer, punctuating the sequences with special effects whose simulated destruction of the human body seem to be the raison d'etre [purpose] of contemporary horror. . . Despite it's obvious theological earnestness, [The Passion] has been compared to torture porn for its prolonged, voyeuristic sequences of public bloodletting. . .

Last year we took a trek to the Detroit Institute of Art and as we were browsing we came across a Triptych by the Flemish painter Pieter Coecke van Aelst, 1502-1550. The middle of the three images depicts Jesus on the cross with the two other sentenced men, mourning followers at the foot of the cross, and an unusual bare skull laying on the ground bottom-center. What I noticed first is that Jesus is nailed to the cross, both hands and feet, while the other men are simply tied to the cross. I asked a wise friend through text if he was familiar with the idea of Jesus being nailed while the others were tied, he said he wasn't surprised because he's seen or read of other instances where Jesus was naked while the others were clothed, another intentional bit of cruelty and shaming. In talking about depictions of the crucifixion The Passion came into our text conversation and when I mentioned the word 'torture porn' he became perturbed to put it mildly and ended the conversation. 

In a moment, with one mention of a combination of words, our discussion of artists' imagery around the crucifixion hit too close to the heart. The conversation had to end. We've talked about it since that moment and I think came to an understanding. But, like I asked above, even if Gibson's gut-wrenching account is embellished, why is the idea of unreasonable brutality and blood-sacrifice necessary within the Jesus story? Stranger yet, why would such an archaic idea resonate with modern minds?

Part of my hesitation in writing these days is that I fear I'm asking questions I'm no longer convinced are answerable, and rather than write about them I'd be better to spend my time reading what others have said about them. Yet here I am. So, though I've muddied the waters with complications I may not be able to step back from, what has stood out from the many podcast conversations I've listened to recently between people smarter than me, is ponderings around how we should live if we do not subscribe to a particular belief system that has a prescription for how to live. And to wade into even muddier waters, it is arguable that most Christians have allowed the rule of law that is so present in the Old Testament to go by the wayside because it seems inconsistent with the New Testament presentation of Jesus, perhaps making the argument that god's word has incongruence that may be irreconcilable, though I know there's a sea of authors and massive body of work addressing that.**

I asked a faith-filled friend recently what he believes the core message of his Christianity to be, the one thing he wants to impart to his kids, he coyly answered: love recklessly. Though for years we've discussed how gruesomely complicated life can be, he knowing full well my misgivings on faith, I couldn't disagree with his core value. I simply wonder why we can't adopt this intention for its own sake? While I'm well-steeped in the reasons people, my friend included, point to Jesus as the best example of this 'recklessness,' what do we do when these reasons coexist with so many other pieces of the puzzle that do not point in the same direction? Given the murkiness of text inconsistencies, dead languages, errant and still-evolving translations, historical contexts, absolutely polarizing ideas about how the world came to be, how the world is, who we are, and where we go after death, not to mention antiquated and incomprehensible ideas like brutal blood-sacrifice, is there not a better guide for loving recklessly? If not, how do we evolve to extract this best example and let go of the rest? What does this mean for the faith as a whole when a large percent of it is indefensible? And even still, if everything except the idea of Jesus' love is expunged, how do we then grapple with Jesus himself and his inconsistencies? As Tristan Vick on his blog posits:

Christians like to cite that Christ taught, "But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you" (Matthew 5:44) and will remind us that this shows that not all Christians are intolerant. And that may be true, but Christ also taught, "Do you suppose that I came to grant peace on earth? I tell you, no, but rather division." (Luke 12:51)

 If somehow you don't know this, I'm a pastor's son, grandson, and nephew, which is why these ideas may literally be in my bones. This is hopefully the first in a working series on ideas that have lost their ability to console me and questions that keep nagging me. I welcome further conversation, let me know how this finds you.

-Aaron.

*I'm well aware of the awkwardness in assigning god a gender, but "god-self" sounds more awkward, hopefully you'll have mercy.

**I've not met a single Christian who agrees that "if anyone curses his father or mother, he must be put to death," as stated in Leviticus 20:9. The reasoning is that Jesus changed the entire game, thus the brutality this suggests is 'outdated,' or 'reformed,' or 'nullified' by Jesus. But the same Christians will usually agree that the Bible in its entirety is god-inspired if not written by god himself, these are muddy waters indeed.

(image stolen from here.)