Truth From Ashes

A few years ago, a friend committed suicide.  It was well planned out.  His papers were in order and individual notes were left for ex-wife, son, daughter, and business partner.  Before pulling the trigger, he called the police and told them what he was about to do and where they could find him.

Shocking? Some of us might be tempted to say that he was selfish.  I don't; I think he was lost.  Unless you have lived in the darkest place and saw no value, no purpose, no point to your life, then you cannot understand what drove him to make this decision.  At some point, his mind fractured.  He was broken.

My friend made a decision to abandon his family and friends.  I still cry over this loss of life.  So many of us are fighting to live another day and he decided to stop fighting.  It is understandable that he would want to end the pain but it is incomprehensible that he could not see the pain he caused others.  He no longer took his thoughts captive.  He was blinded by the night.

Before this tragic end, he persisted in following a failed dream.  Slowly, he was poisoned by despair because his plans did not come to fruition.  Literally, his life was unraveling and he was facing prison time.  His life vision was distorted but he held it in high regard.  Oh, the energy he spent chasing the what could have beens.  

Was his life in vain?  No.  Even though he left a legacy of emptiness, truth can be formed from his ashes.  As we sift through what remains, we can find answers to our own despair.  All of us will face pain and failed dreams.  Most of us will not choose such an abrupt end but we may instead drift along without thinking.  It is its own type of death.

As I faced my loss of mobility and the resulting loss of dreams, I too faced choices.  At first, I was frustrated at how little I could do and how little I felt understood.  Over time, it occurred to me that I needed to examine my thoughts, challenge my mindset, and make decisions that provided a legacy worth leaving behind.  My struggles would serve a purpose beyond the vision I had for my life.  Each light and momentary tribulation would work a deeper truth within me and, as a result, carry the potential of life-giving gifts to those around me.

Hope keeps me going through my darkest struggles.  As I encounter challenges, I have the option to face my tribulation with faith.  In truth, the greatest moments are those where I have suffered with purpose.  For suffering produces patience, and patience character.  As character matures,  hope emerges.

The Erroneous Logic About Silence

One benefit of being mobility challenged is that I have the gift of time.  So, lately, I have been thinking about the turmoil and reactionary hate that is all around us.  For me, it seems that much of the conflict is derived from defining what is true and real.

I am the Narrator of my life.  In every moment, I give contextual meaning of who I am, what I am about, and why I am doing it.  My interpretations and inferences about people and events are what defines my personal reality.  How I choose to understand myself and the world around me is how I choose to live and, ultimately, die.

You are a narrator, also.  And, not only you but every person determines the script of their life's story.  We live our lives within our story and this story is the foundation for our reality.  Our narration extends to our public world as well as our private world.  In our family of social relationships, we define our ethics, mores and norms.  It is a cooperative attempt to create a set of values for living together.  This is a political activity — deals and compromises are part of the group dynamic until eventually there is a consensus.  (An example of this is to think about how your social group understands what it means to be an American.)

When we encounter a group whose ethics deviate from ours, most often there is conflict.  The clashing of ideals and mores can cause disharmony and escalate to violence and war.  Rather than finding a way to mediate, we disparage one another.  We fail to see that reality is our personal and social construct; it is not objective; it is not fact.

However, we must understand that our group's consensus does not confer an absolute.  For example, let us look at a hot topic: are police servants of the community or abusers of power? You probably have a definite opinion and most people within your social group will have a similar belief.  This belief not only co-joins you with your social circle but determines how you will respond when you encounter police or hear about an incident reported in the news.  It is your reality of police and their behavior.

So, if I create my own reality based on my beliefs, expectations, and mindset, is truth a mere construct as well?  There is most assuredly a social construct of reality and truth but how far does this permeate each individual's existence?  We seek like-minded people who reinforce and affirm our foundational mores.  Sometimes, in the discovery phase of a new relationship, we find that our differences drive us away from further intimacy.  At other times, philosophical differences breakdown previously intimate relationships.  (Think about a time when you said, "I thought s/he was different from that.")

If we can look at ourselves objectively and see how reality is fluid, then we can become aware of the dynamics of the subtle changes in the social construct of reality.  In other words, what we say and do can influence how others perceive the reality of events.  The media does it all the time.  We can bring about change by setting clear boundaries and differentiations.  When we stand in silence and we allow another person (or group) to say or do something that is contrary to our morals or ethics, we are permitting them to redefine us.  Most often, the erroneous logic that silence implies consent comes into play and they (those that we disagree with in silence) group us with them.  By default, we become a party to something that is contrary to our ethics, our beliefs, our reality.

So, silence is no longer an option.  All around us decisions are being made and reality is being redefined.  We need to find our voice.  Be silent no longer.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." - Edmund Burke

The Bridge Between

Grabbing the handrail parallel to the stairs with my left hand and holding my cane in my right hand, I push off with my right foot and try to lift myself up to the first stair.  It doesn't work.  I try a second time and then a third.

"Okay, Valerie," I say.  "I can't do it.  Please help me."

She has been standing guard behind me, waiting for me to ask.  Knowing that I want to try, that I need to try, she is patient with me.  Valerie places her hands on either side of my torso at the waist and as I press off on my right foot, she lifts me to the first stair.

One step down and another to go.  Facing forward and reaching out, I grab the handicap bar first with one hand and then the other.  This time, I am able to pull myself up to the second stair.  One final step over the threshold and I am on the breezeway that links the studio to the house.

Doing my own special walk of shuffle, step, shuffle, I am transported to the safety of a home with handicap accommodations.  In this place, I have a gentle, kind caretaker who sees her employment as a calling by God and a loving husband.  Even so, it is a harsh reality.  Every movement is a reminder of what I cannot do, an acute awareness of how much is done for me.

My fairytale home is a Disneyland wonder of peace.  Yet, the poison apple is waiting there, also.  Do I give in to temptation?  The impulse to reach out and take a bite of despair churns within me as I cross over the threshold.  Here, I am reminded of everything I can no longer do and everything I have been forced to leave behind.  There is always an "I cannot," now.  Sometimes, in the early morning, I want to cross that bridge.  I want to go to my studio above the garage.  I want to but I cannot.

My studio - what a wonderful place of paints and brushes.  The walls are covered with paintings - each one a story of some moment in my life.  It is in this place that I am not handicapped.  Rather, I am not.  I do not exist for I am in the moment of color.  It is a pure, virginal time.

Then, it is over.  Valerie helps me clean up and put away my brushes.  It is time to cross the bridge between and set aside my dreams but never my hope.