Sprinter or Marathoner?
I chuckled all the way to the running trail this early morning when the late summer sun didn't yet start making its ascent on the east side of town behind the mountain range. Once the run started, the chuckling stopped and the reverie began. My body went into a default mode of putting one foot in front of the other at a pace not much faster than that of a power walking while my mind went into a free association.
A stupid fool exhorted his fellow fools not to argue with me about whether or not God exists. You cannot argue with me anyway, pal. You are a dim-witted, superstitious, ignorant fellow that really doesn't have a functioning brain.
The little twit even reminded his fellow twits that I am a "communist". Wrong! Your grandpa is a socialist, maybe even a Marxist, but never a communist. Communism is a bankrupt, outdated, unworkable ideology. Everybody knows that. And nobody follows it now. Grow up, get on with the times. Follow the news. Use your head, whatever you have in it. I hope yours is not completely empty and functions only as an echo chamber for your religious and political brainwashers.
Remember, one can tell who and what you are from the way you write. So, be careful, my little twit. Do you know that it is you who are suffering right now? You suffer from self-righteous anger and ignorance. Like so many of your fellow twits and nitwits, you are suffering without knowing that you are suffering. That's how sad and pathetic you are.
As I have written time and time again, I don't hate you guys. Not really. I just pity you. Having been born as human beings, you guys are so dim-witted that you cannot behave like true humans. Instead, you lie, smugly believe in superstitions, and hate genuine, authentic, enlightened human beings, like me for instance, who don't share your superstitious beliefs, the kind of beliefs to which only fools and slaves subscribe.
Worst of all, in your everyday behavior you cannot even follow the teachings of the founder of your religion. You have no Love in you at all, based on the venomous Hate I see dripping from your fingers when you type. Learn to love, and you will feel better; you will understand what the man said right before his death, “Father, please forgive them for they do not know what they're doing".
I don't practice the same faith as you do, but every freaking day when I meditate and listen to the chant Om Mani Padme Hum, my being is full of Forgiveness and Peace. I forgive you and your ilk because you guys don't know any better. You guys are dwelling in Darkness and Ignorance.
Guess what? I don't call myself a Christian, but I am a far better Christian than all of you put together. You guys are just Christians in name. You live a hollow life.
I recognize Jesus's good points, especially his message about Love and Forgiveness. I just don't believe in his divinity. I am an atheist, remember? Maybe I am biased and prejudiced but I look at all theists with askance, with a jaundiced eye, and think that there must be something wrong with the brains of all these people. Something must be missing in there; something having to do with a rigorous way of thinking that demands hard proofs, strong evidence, and logic before believing in something or some being. Instead of saying Jesus was a Son of God, or God in the flesh, it would be far better to say, here was a good, decent man who cared about poor people, who was full of Love, despite his occasional temper tantrums, and should be an example for others to follow his way of behavior, you guys just elevated him to be a God and made a mockery of human rationality, human ability to reason, to think.
Frankly, all my previous “essays” had a powerful, intriguing beginning, then problems started piling up. This essay, with a weird but catchy title, "Sprinter or Marathoner", may suffer the same fate. We will soon find out.
I looked at him: olive-complexioned; intelligent, dark set eyes; thin lips; beard and a goatee quite common where he came from; chiseled facial features; cold, impassive expressions. He spoke excellent American English, with a slight trace of Oxbridge accent. He tried to pass himself off as an American. He should not sport the beard, however. The beard and the Oxbridge accent betrayed him. But I kept my mouth shut. I played the fool. I shook his hand firmly and said, "Glad to meet you. I've heard so much about you."
"The honor is all mine", he said, looking straight at my eyes. "Thanks for inviting me into your home. Based on what you told me over the phone, and meeting you here in person, I don't know, I don't think you need my help. You did the right thing to practice Silence. You spoke enough, maybe more than enough. You have fulfilled your duties as a patriot.
The world has been going crazy in one way or another from Day 1. Man is a strange, self-conflicting, self-destructive animal. Look at yourself. Look at me. Look at everyone around you. Very few are well-integrating, balanced, happy, caring, loving people.
If you want to test people, ask them to spend money or time to help you. Also challenge their ego; make them angry. See how they respond to your testing them. That's when their true colors come out.
I am one of a very few good folks around. That's a truth not well known. My guiding lights of conduct /behavior are Truth, Justice, and Love.
Most humans have a fragile ego and tend to lash out in anger. They want to hurt and to retaliate. They employ sarcasm and mendacity as weapons. That's their defense by default. That is not to say that they are all bad and rotten to the core, but simply that they are weak-minded individuals who can't take criticism even if it is valid. Their first instinct is to throw back the criticism to the face of the critic. They act as if they were an echo chamber. That's childish and stupid. They fail to grasp a cardinal truth that any valid criticism is a godsend, an opportunity for them to be better. In the final analysis, Love is the best guiding light. Actually it is the only guiding light you need. Truth and Justice are just different dimensions of Love, if you really think about the issue. If you are full of Love, people will flock to you like bees to honey, not to necessarily exploit you, but to bask in your presence of Peace and Trust. Understand what I'm trying to say? No? Well, let me tell you a sad, but illuminating story. Perhaps it will help.
A female physician with whom I was infatuated when I was a merely lad of 17 and she was a pretty girl of 18, visited the U.S. with her fellow physician husband from somewhere on this planet Earth. There was a getting together for dinner for former high school exchange students under the AFS program, in Huntington Beach, CA. The coordinator of the event who knew of my infatuation asked me if I would like to be there. I declined on account of my inability to break a prior engagement. I haven't seen her since 1967. And it's very unlikely that I will ever see her again. Something is better left unsaid and some woman is better unseen in order for the adolescent magic to be preserved.
She was a source of several beautiful (though full of bathos) poems in English. She was the first woman that moved my heart, and maybe the whole being as well. She inspired me to work on my French. She went to a French high school where the medium of instruction was French. I went to an indigenous school, and had only three years of French as a secondary foreign language. I could now speak, read, and write French in a somewhat acceptable fashion thanks to her going through, briefly and fleetingly, my life. She served as a model for all the subsequent women in my life.
I used to dream about her all the time during my 20s, 30s, and 40s. Eventually, the dreams tapered off and stopped coming. My heart learned to heal itself. Puppy Love is a mysterious, splendorous thing. I keep telling myself that I must constantly work on myself, physically, intellectually, and financially, in order to not sully the mystery and the splendor. Put it crudely, if an individual cannot respect and love himself, nobody else would either.
You see, in my quest for Love, in the past I made a fool of myself, time and time again, but each time I learned from the experience. Then one day I met a woman who truly loved me. A week before she died of a massive heart attack during dinner, she said to me, ‘Omar, listen to me real good. Nobody loves you like your mother did while she was still alive, and like I love you now. Nobody. You are not easy to love because you are difficult to understand. Stupid women would never understand you. They might be attracted to your looks, your body, your money, and your mind, but they don't know what you think and how you really feel about certain key issues. Anyway, take good care of your money, don't give it away to women like you did before. If you have no money, nobody, man or woman, sister or brother, would respect you; everybody will definitely treat you like shit. Of course, don't be a miser, but don't be foolish with money. Stop talking about buying a Mercedes or a bigger house, and all that crap. Live simply and within your means. After I die, which I don't know when, but soon, I just sense it—you know I'm blessed with having a “sixth sense”—by all means go out and date women, have fun but cling onto your money. Don't let any bitch rob you of the money you worked so hard for. Don't fall in love. A man of your age and personality must avoid Love like a plague. If you feel lonely, get a dog.’
Anyway, you see, Roberto, in my profession I've met many kinds of people. Some are so incredibly dim-witted and ignorant beyond imagination. But the funny thing is that they think they are smart and informed. That's so funny about it, so funny that I feel like puking every time I have to interact with them. They’re having the Dunning-Kruger Effect. And I often wonder why they bother to live on this planet. They don't contribute anything to human progress. They just pollute the human gene pool and waste the resources. Yes, I believe strongly in eugenics.
I know I have to cultivate the ability to love them, but it's very hard to love the unlovable. I suppose that's why we have mayhem and murder and madness in the human world. But I am telling you, for your own good, you must observe Silence. You've talked too much, way too much already. Don’t you think so? One last advice. You’ve heard of Sigmund Freud, the doctor in Vienna, right? Anyway, he didn’t always treat people with sex problems. He also occasionally saw clients with Common Sense problems, rather, clients that had no Common Sense. One day he told a client of his that “Du must never go to bed with someone who's got more problems than du." Remember that, Roberto. Keep that counsel. Don’t you ever forget that. Don’t have sex with any woman who has more problems or less money than you. Don't be stupid. Have Common Sense. Be realistic. Otherwise, you will get hurt. Life is really simple once you understand its rules. Like everything involving humans, Life is a game that has strict rules. You must abide by the rules if you want to survive and prosper. “
After that long speech, he embraced me, patted my back, and then walked out of my condo, after saying “Take good care of yourself. Be alert”. I was pensive after his departure. I kept thinking of the conversation that we had. I grabbed a Heineken from the fridge, a jar of unsalted nuts, and retired to my study. I took a book from the shelf and started reading about shamanism, ayahuasca, and curanderos while smoking a joint. I was playing it safe. My body has been familiar with weed. I know weed is safe, if used in moderation. I don’t want to try ayahuasca. I don’t need to bring myself to a different consciousness that I can’t handle.
I am complex enough. I have a mystical, transcendental side that most people don’t know that I have. Unlike others, I realize that in denouncing others, we all need to stick to the facts, not lies. As regards the language employed in the denunciation, it should not be too excessive to the point we would be ashamed of ourselves later on. There is nothing that exceeds like Excess. We are only as big as our words and actions.
One of the most endearing teachings of Jesus (and others) is that we all need Love and Forgiveness. It takes a really strong man to love and forgive those who have intentionally hurt him. Life means nothing if we have no Peace. So in order to have access to Peace, I tell myself that I am a Yogi-cum-warrior-cum-seeker of knowledge-cum-shaman, brujo, and curandero. We are what we think we are. What we think, we will act on it. Thought is the mother of Action. A sensitive, intelligent, brave person knows who he is and can cure himself of any mental and emotional ills and almost all physical ailments if he knows how to use his mind. Take it from me. I’m speaking from my own experiences, and not from any empty unsubstantiated theorizing. Most, if all, emotional pains are due to emotional immaturity which is closely tied with low level of intelligence and awareness, including self-awareness.
For decades and up to about 6 years ago, I stupidly gloried romantic love. Then I came to a realizations that although romantic love does exist, you have to be minimally qualified and prepared for it. That means you must have a job, some money, decent looks, pleasant personality, and lots of luck of finding a woman who is interested in sharing a life with you, and not taking you for a ride. Very often, however, you are not qualified and/or have no luck in meeting a woman you want, and thus have to settle for second, third, or even tenth best, and end up getting divorced a few years, or twenty, thirty years down the road later. The moment I recognized the true nature of romantic love, I ironically became less romantic and no longer entrapped in the snares of unscrupulous women, although I still fantasized. Fantasy does wonders to my flirtation with words. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you about Stacy. Did I ever tell you about Stacy? No? Never? Good. Well, then, you’re in for a treat. This woman and I had a brief, Freudian fling. Gosh, it must be more than 40 years ago. I didn’t remember her at all. I didn’t even think of her. She was just a ship passing through the night. Then, one day, about two months ago, I got a note from Apple’s Messenger Service saying that there was a Stacy wanting to talk to me. I had to wreck my brain to remember who she was. Anyway, she said she was missing me! And she was looking all over the Internet for me. Flattered, I exchanged a few notes with her and even copied her on some of my emails in which I pontificated and bellyached just about everything under the Sun. And guess what? She dropped me a note telling me to take her off the mailing list. I didn’t even bother to answer her. Of course, I took her name off the list. See? Women are like that . They want to play games. You’ve got to remember that.
So, what I learned from this sad Stacy episode is that Life in its essence is about power relationships. Every man and every woman out there want to exert power over you, if you let them. Everybody pays lip service about Love, but what they mean is Power. That’s why people lie, cheat, and betray. I think Man lives for pleasure, power, and self-actualization (you are what you do). Those are the three interpretative tools. Everybody wants Love, but I don’t think they live for Love. That’s why Loneliness is endemic and rampant among humans. Everybody wants to use everybody else in the name of Love and Friendship. Man is a conniving, crafty, dishonest, controlling, power-hungry animal. If you view human dynamics in that framework, you will not get hurt, you will not get disappointed. Disappointment derives from unrealistic expectations. That’s why we treasure Humor. Humor makes Life tolerable. We laugh because we accept the Nonsense and the Absurd. We’ve learned not to take anything seriously, not even Life. Life, if you really think about it, is a Unfunny Joke. We were born so that we will die. What’s the point to be born if we will have to die? Ever thought about that? I do. All the time.
Anyway, today is the first day of the year 2018. It’s cold outside, even at the desert where I reside. It’s overcast, too. Gray is ruling the sky where it is normally intensely blue with no cloud cover at all. In fact, it looks like it might rain. The forecast is calling for sixty per cent of precipitation.
It’s cold inside, too, inside my heart that is. Ever since the Stacy episode and the stupid conversation I had with one of my ex-wives, the second one, on Christmas Eve, I have felt something in me dying. I was trying to be nice. I called her to wish her a Merry Christmas since she and I had maintained a cordial relationship after we went separate ways. But somehow this time, she was curt and hostile and told me to cut the bs and stop calling her. Stunned, I simply said, “Sorry”, and clicked off.
Afterwards, I felt furious, infuriated, enraged, and pissed off. It took me several days before I was able to cool down and shake off the shock. Since then I have been thinking that there must be something wrong with the way I behave because it looks like I don’t have the respect due to me. Oh well, it’s simply a thought worth dwelling on, but not getting hysterical over. After all, my mentor Nietzsche never ceased reminding me that to be great is to be misunderstood (ha! ha! ha!). In the final analysis, however, it’s not so much other people respect us or not as whether or not we respect ourselves. Public adoration does not mean much if we hate ourselves, if we think we are really bad because of our private sins and misdeeds, the kind of sins and misdeeds are known only by us and won’t leave us sound asleep at night.
I must confess that I sleep quite well these days. I have made Peace with my Conscience. Now and then, however, I do have long recurrent dreams in which I wrestle with my demons. When I wake up and realize that I still try to come to terms with my suppressed sorrows, a consciousness is dawning on me that I am at heart a marathoner, not a sprinter. I run slow and long in a solitary journey to find Meaning and Purpose of my Life. I jog, not sprint, so I have time to reflect on the reasons why I chose my avocations: physical fitness, language and knowledge acquisition, literary creation, and poker. I don’t run away from my problems. I run so I can deal with them. I think of them, of ways to deal with them when I run. I run my problems into submission.
Wissai
January 2018
