Visible and Invisible Sufferings

Visible and Invisible Sufferings

You walked for about 90 minutes in the cold and the rain instead of standing in a long line waiting for a bus to take you to the landmark La Sagrada Familia. The city is big and known for its avant-garde artists. The furniture and decor at the hotel have a distinctive, modernist simplicity and functionality instead of the wasteful and spacious extravanganza that most high-priced American hotels are allied to. On the way back, since the line for the bus was not long, you decided to endure the wait. You dozed on and off during the long bus ride. And of course, your mind turned to Laura and the two ignorant, insolent nitwits. Forgiveness is an art. Some are not born for it. But then you wondered how the 35-year old Hughes de Montalembert, French painter and filmmaker, managed to transcend the bitter, absurd loss of sight when one of the surprised burglars whom he caught in the act of trashing his New York apartment, threw paint remover in his face. He wrote a memoir about the transforming experience thirty years later in a book entitled Invisible.

In Montalembert's sightless world, some dirtiest words have nothing to do with profanity or sordid sex; rather, they revolve around pity. Montalembert fiercely denounced pity in any shape or form, including self-pity. He emerged strong and ferociously combative after predictably plunging into despair and darkness after the loss of his sight. He is now proudly and defiantly wearing an eye-catching big
stainless steel pair of glasses on his rugged, handsome face.

He lives well in Paris, Denmark, and Marjorca. He has been married for 15 years to the artist Lin Utzon (daughter of the architect Jorn Utzon, who designed the Sydney Opera House). And, of course, he writes.

Pain will either drive people into drinking or writing.

(I know you want to say "bye, bye, bye"
So, don't be surprised
When you see me cry, cry, cry)
Some may even engage in killing in order to inflict and spread the
pain they feel within.

Montalembert writes well. He can be a great help for those who feel bitter, unhappy, and full of self-pity. Whenever I catch myself on the verge of feeling weak and sorry for myself, I remember Montalembert and I see very clearly that my loss was minor and self-induced, unlike Montalembert's which was spectacular and unexpected. I also remind myself that I lived through the horrific Vietnam War largely unscathed, unlike millions of Vietnamese who suffered heart-rending losses. I was lucky and still am lucky, compared with my compatriots who are now forced to live under totalitarianism where brazen lies and rank corruption are facts of everyday occurrences, and change for the better is no where in sight.

In the dark hours of the night,
I have a fervent desire
To plunge this knife of mine
Deep into that stupid heart of yours
So I can have a satisfaction
To see you jerk around for a few brief seconds under the quivering
knife and then you lie completely still
As a stream of blood that first spurts from your chest settles down to
a slow oozing, certifying the kill.

Would I have pity for you then
Or would I experience a peace
That long eludes me?

Nietzsche once said the thoughts of suicide
Help many men go through the night.
I would like to add, the thoughts of killing you
Have helped me stay alive.

How I hate you so!
Until you came along,
I didn't know how strong
Public insolence can wreak
Havoc of my soul.
You now make everything complete.
You brought understanding to the meaning
Of hatred and defeat.

Thanks to you, I have become an actor
And no longer wish to be a martyr.
I now have a zest for life
And no longer care to cry.

A man's got to do what he has to do, but to do the task well requires self-knowledge, A man's got to know his limitations. He has to know not to talk much, not to give off too much information about himself, about his intentions enen when he is angry and upset. Self-righteousness is for small and stupid people. Silence and forbearance are what drive a man to success. To lord over others, one must first master oneself. To get upset over small things saps a man of his strength and makes him look like a whiner. Sarcasm is a cheap wit. Anything worth saying has to be said with poetry and dignity. To inflict pain on others through sarcasm is to invite retribution.

To be lovable is a sign of maturity. A lonely and unloved man is usually a man not at peace with himself, who takes himself too seriously. So what if he is insulted and ignored, he would suck it up and will not internalize the hurts. He lets them roll off him like water. He does not open his mouth and absorbs water. Instead, he goes to a warm, sunny place and dries himself. There is virtue in silence. To fulminate against others is a sign of weakness. One has to be pertinacious in making oneself strong in all aspects---physically, morally, and intellectually. I always wonder a belief in a personal God ultimately makes a person strong or not. I suspect the answer lies in what kind of a man a person is. Some people need to fashion a staff to lean on when they feel weak. Other people have no use for a staff. They make themselves strong. They learn to rely on themselves. They cannot take fiction for reality. Truth is truth. They don't want to take in fiction in order to make their lives meaningful and bearable. They have true pride and courage. True humans are different from false humans and lesser animals by virtue of their knowledge. They care to learn. They know their place in the overall scheme of things, even if that knowledge is imperfect. How matter how imperfect and incomplete that knowledge is, they know it provides a better guidance than a wholesale surrender to a fiction called God when all the evidence screams there is no such entity.

I further wonder how can an intelligent man subscribe to a ridiculous notion that an illiterate carpenter--no matter how loving of others that person is--is God in the flesh who was conceived not through an ordinary process called fucking, but through "Immaculate Conception"? When an otherwise intelligent man believes in such nonsense, I call him sick and weak emotionally. He cannot endure loneliness. He cannot face hardship without help.

Today a petty-minded woman called me up and told me about a gossip that people have spread about me. She at first tried to appear sympathetic and said that she didn't believe the rumor, but in the end she couldn't contain herself and asked me if there was any truth in the rumor. I calmly told her that the rumor was so fantastical that it was laughable and that gossip-mongering was a cheap form of Schadenfreuden. She insisted that I had to clear my good name. I said that I had more important things to worry about than to spend time feeling concerned of what people may feel about me, especially when I haven't done anything remotely connected to what the rumor suggested. I further told her that there was one thing worthy of my attention--
and that was the law. As long as I have not done anything that the long arm of the law would reach me, I have nothing to worry about.

As I was terminating the conversation, I could tell she was embarrassed for calling me to check on the rumor. I was glad I was strong during the conversation and didn't lose my temper. The problems presented to me by my son and by my financial situation have strengthened me to the point that I only devote my energy to real issues. However, I must be careful in my speech so that animals and assholes wouldn't be able to twist my words around in order to defame me. I have to remind myself that most humans are nothing but animals who traffic in gossip, laziness, and viciousness while believing in a fiction invented by priestly parasites. The fiction is called God. If any of those animals try to tell you about their God, please tell them to talk to the Frenchman Montalembert and asks him how he lost his eyesight. As I mentioned at the beginning of this monologue, Montalembert's blindness has made my problems look all puny, including the latest rumor about me. For your information, I have stopped all efforts to bring an early demise to my life. I now assiduously, sedulously, pertinaciously work to make sure that I will live the next 40 years of my life in serenity and boundless joy ang good health.

This morning I couldn't shake off the flashback about two assholes. I knew then I was suffering from invisible suffering.

Exhortation

Exhortation

There are some individuals who exhort, encourage, plod, push, plead,beg, bessech, implore others to take actions, but they themselves refuse to lift up even a little finger when their participation is needed.

There are two types of cowards. The silent ones live their lives of quiet desperation. The others are loud-mouthed cowards. They make a spectacle of themselves because they crave attention and thus assume it's a matter of course for humans to behave that way. Little do they know that when words are not translated into actions, the persons who have uttered those words only invite contempt from onlookers. I have nothing but contempt for loud-mouthed cowards.

Cowardice is not a very pleasant way to go through life. Cowards never experience moments of triumph when adversities are overcome, nor do they savor feelings of solidarity when accomplishments are acknowledged by appreciative populace.

Cowards may live a long time and pass on their genes, but their lives are no different from those of asses on the farm and shrubs in the desert. Nobody respects them. To be fully human is to command respect, in one way or another.