A grouchy man walked into Planet Care today. I don't know why he was grouchy. He just was. He walked past me in an aisle where I was running back stock. I looked him in the eye, smiled, and said "hi" as he approached me. He just looked at me with no response and walked on by. I thought nothing of it.
Immediately after that, a lady who was talking on her cell phone walked into the same aisle where I was running back stock and the grouchy man stood staring at cans of soup. She walked past me as she was talking on her cell phone. And then I heard the grouchy man say in a very loud and grouchy voice, "If you have to talk, please keep your voice down. It is very annoying."
At first I thought he was talking to me. And then I saw the lady with the cell phone looking at him, stunned.
"Excuse me?" she said.
"I said, if you have to talk, please keep your voice down. It is very annoying."
She was momentarily speechless. "I, I'm talking to my husband," she stammered. She began to whisper into the phone about the grouchy man who asked her to keep her voice down. "It's very annoying, he said."
I marveled at this scenario. First of all, the grouchy man stated, "If you have to talk," with emphasis on the word "have." What constitutes having to talk? Some people, it would seem, have an innate need to constantly verbalize their thoughts, feelings, observations, pontifications in a relatively stream of conscious manner. This seems to be driven by a biological predisposition to moving the mouth. Others may need to communicate critical information involving national security in a timely manner. Others may need to negotiate a top secret rendezvous. It seemed to me that this question was too subjective, hence open-ended.
Next, the grouchy man made the request, which was spoken more as a demand than a request, that the talker keep her voice down. Why? Because it was very annoying. What was annoying? Her voice? The fact that she was talking? The fact that she was talking on a cell phone? Did he ask every person he passed to stop talking? If so, how did he ever get anything done? What would he do on a subway in New York? Tell everyone to stop talking? What does he do in large department stores during the holiday season? Wear a sandwich board saying, "Don't talk?" What entitles him to demand people stop talking? The world is full of talking. We just have to put up with it.
The woman told the grouchy man that she was talking to her husband. She emphasized that point. Was she indirectly threatening grouchy man by suggesting her husband would kick his ass? Did it validate her talking any more to be addressing her partner, who, I feel it is important to note, is a man? Would it validate her talking if she were talking with any man? Or does it only count when the man is your husband?
Grouchy man scowled as he walked out of the aisle where I was running back stock and rounded the corner into the next aisle. The woman walked in the opposite direction. Did she think this would lessen her chances of running into the grouchy man again? It would seem to me that it would increase the likelihood since he would be walking towards her from the next aisle over.
Poor sad people. The grouchy man continued to seethe on into the evening, opening a can of organic soup and eating it unheated directly from its packaging. A scraggly cat begged piteously for scraps. After the man finished his meager meal, he put the empty can on the floor for the cat to clean and slouched down grouchily in his sagging armchair. The large house contained no other life save him and the cat, who loudly slurped up the residual bits of cream of tomato soup.
The cell phone lady drove her Miata to the country club where she complained to her masseuse about the rude man she encountered at the grocery store. She sat in a hot tub afterwards. The facial mask that had been carefully applied by an esthetician cracked around her mouth and furrowed brow as she related the story to her tennis partner, who later joined her for gin and tonics at the bar. She drank one too many and missed the chair she'd intended to sit in. She fractured her tailbone.
The grouchy man sits alone, wondering why he's so grouchy. Was he always this way? He thinks not. But he can't remember when things changed. He pulls himself up out of the chair and kicks the empty cans aside on his way to bed.
The cell phone lady lies in bed with an inflatable inner tube under her ass thinking of nothing at all as she flips through the channels on her wide screen flat screen deluxe screen t.v.
Showing posts with label existential crisis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label existential crisis. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Of Monsters and Money
I had a bad dream last night: a dream with terrible monsters. It's rare for me to have bad dreams and even rarer to have monster dreams. Needless to say, this rare phenomenon gave me cause to ponder the meaning inherent in the work of my subconscious.
I was with a team of investigators exploring a derelict old house. Our hope was solve a series of strange disappearances which had yielded remnants of human tissue but no substantial body parts. Foul play was definitely at work. And a grave sense of evil loomed over this ramshackle structure.
We wandered about the house finding residues of human blood and tissue. We collected samples of everything we found. But when we entered a room that was covered in gore, we stood paralyzed, wondering where to begin.
It soon became apparent that a supernatural force much greater than a mere mortal was running rampant - yet contained in a single house. Once a human entered this house, she was at the mercy of this force. This force - whatever it was - threatened not only to extinguish the life of any human in its presence, but to consume her soul. Thus, this person would be completely obliterated with no trace of her existence remaining.
The monsters that manifested in my dream had human form. But they were grotesque and hideous exaggerations of humans. They were zombie-like: mindless eating machines.
The Grunt monsters were the most immediately threatening as they were the ones responsible for actually killing the humans. But they had no reasoning faculties. So it was easy to confuse them. Once befuddled, they became ineffectual.
The middle and upper management teams plotted their evil take-over of all things good and pure, but were interrupted when the Grunts were stymied. It became necessary to motivate the Grunts anew. Overseeing this massive cluster fuck was the CEO / Deity monster, who lost patience and reminded his workers that the goal was complete devastation, loss and despair. Total annihilation.
In a moment of clarity, I realized that I was in a dream and I could change the course of my fate. I could, for example, conjure the power of flight. This awareness propelled me to climb onto a cement window frame and prepare to leap into the void and soar to freedom and safety. But as I perched on the window frame, I prevented myself from doing this. It was as if I had decided that total annihilation was my lot in life and I must accept that grim reality.
In trying to piece together some semblance of meaning to this bizarre dream, I wondered today whether a fear of death might be at the root of it all. Not my own death. I am actually not afraid of dying. I am, however, afraid of losing the presence of loved ones.
I cannot comprehend death. I cannot accept that the life of a beloved will one day cease and all evidence of their existence will remain in objects. But the quality of that being - their essence - will forever be removed from my experience.
For example, I have been thinking of Lee Wallace a lot lately. He is quite ill with pulmonary fibrosis. And there is nothing to do, apparently. Lee will die as the result of this illness. This awareness creates a great deal of distress at the core of my being. I met Lee just this year and have become incredibly fond of his unique manifestation on this planet. I selfishly wish to benefit from his presence for a while.
I am afraid of Lee Wallace's death. Because it would mean a cessation of his expression. His Voice - the manifestation of his Creativity - will be extinguished. Material artifacts reminding us of his Creativity will remain. But the experience of running into Lee at random places, conversing with him about nothing in particular and listening to him play guitar will be no more. This is inconceivable. It is just wrong.
I have a fear that all Truth, Beauty, Freedom and Love will ultimately be snuffed out by all the ills of the world. The ugliness, prejudice, pestilence and fear of this material world perpetually threaten the fragile beauty of the Creative World. Monsters annihilating Humans.
On a different level, it is curious that the hierarchy of monsters in my dream parallels the hierarchy at Planet Care. This begs the question, "Am I annihilating my soul by working at Planet Care? And am I resigned to this fate, unwilling or even unable to change my it?"
I frequently become frustrated with my life as a Grunt. I feel the need to free myself from the confines of the corporate artifice - not that anything is wrong with the corporate artifice. It can exist within the walls of the derelict old house. I would just rather soar into the fresh air and daylight of expression, allowing the manifestation of my own Voice and my innate, yet dormant, Leader.
But if I were to fly, where would I go? How would I make money? How can I justify leaping into the void when there are bills to pay and health insurance to be kept? I cannot answer these questions. And so, I step back into the house of carnage and accept my fate. Total annihilation. The stifling of my creative voice.
I suppose this dream may have been created out of the dread of an imminent customer service training class at Planet Care.
Periodically, the Grunts of Planet Care are expected to attend Planet Care pep rallies in which they are praised for a job well done and encouraged to do their jobs even better. One such rally is fast approaching. In a few days I will attend a mandatory two hour-long customer service training session. During this session I expect to be taught how to better serve the public. I expect to be taught how to be cordial, welcoming, helpful, and most of all, how to sell more products. Because the bottom line is this: by giving good customer service, we will increase sales.
I will subject myself to the stultifying effects of corporate jargon and attempt to escape alive and unscathed, soul intact. Yet as I sit for two hours, aware of the erosion of my mind, it will be difficult for me to avoid thinking of monsters that want to annihilate me. And me, perched on a window frame, free to fly away, but choosing not to.
I was with a team of investigators exploring a derelict old house. Our hope was solve a series of strange disappearances which had yielded remnants of human tissue but no substantial body parts. Foul play was definitely at work. And a grave sense of evil loomed over this ramshackle structure.
We wandered about the house finding residues of human blood and tissue. We collected samples of everything we found. But when we entered a room that was covered in gore, we stood paralyzed, wondering where to begin.
It soon became apparent that a supernatural force much greater than a mere mortal was running rampant - yet contained in a single house. Once a human entered this house, she was at the mercy of this force. This force - whatever it was - threatened not only to extinguish the life of any human in its presence, but to consume her soul. Thus, this person would be completely obliterated with no trace of her existence remaining.
The monsters that manifested in my dream had human form. But they were grotesque and hideous exaggerations of humans. They were zombie-like: mindless eating machines.
The monsters were organized into different strata, creating a monster hierarchy. Labor was divided into The Grunts, who mindlessly ran amok maiming and mangling humans. Then there were The Overlords: the monster supervisors. There were a couple of tiers of supervisors, kind of like middle management and upper management. Then there was the big CEO monster who was slightly deified by the middle and upper management monsters.
The Grunt monsters were the most immediately threatening as they were the ones responsible for actually killing the humans. But they had no reasoning faculties. So it was easy to confuse them. Once befuddled, they became ineffectual.
The middle and upper management teams plotted their evil take-over of all things good and pure, but were interrupted when the Grunts were stymied. It became necessary to motivate the Grunts anew. Overseeing this massive cluster fuck was the CEO / Deity monster, who lost patience and reminded his workers that the goal was complete devastation, loss and despair. Total annihilation.
In a moment of clarity, I realized that I was in a dream and I could change the course of my fate. I could, for example, conjure the power of flight. This awareness propelled me to climb onto a cement window frame and prepare to leap into the void and soar to freedom and safety. But as I perched on the window frame, I prevented myself from doing this. It was as if I had decided that total annihilation was my lot in life and I must accept that grim reality.
In trying to piece together some semblance of meaning to this bizarre dream, I wondered today whether a fear of death might be at the root of it all. Not my own death. I am actually not afraid of dying. I am, however, afraid of losing the presence of loved ones.
I cannot comprehend death. I cannot accept that the life of a beloved will one day cease and all evidence of their existence will remain in objects. But the quality of that being - their essence - will forever be removed from my experience.
For example, I have been thinking of Lee Wallace a lot lately. He is quite ill with pulmonary fibrosis. And there is nothing to do, apparently. Lee will die as the result of this illness. This awareness creates a great deal of distress at the core of my being. I met Lee just this year and have become incredibly fond of his unique manifestation on this planet. I selfishly wish to benefit from his presence for a while.
I am afraid of Lee Wallace's death. Because it would mean a cessation of his expression. His Voice - the manifestation of his Creativity - will be extinguished. Material artifacts reminding us of his Creativity will remain. But the experience of running into Lee at random places, conversing with him about nothing in particular and listening to him play guitar will be no more. This is inconceivable. It is just wrong.
I have a fear that all Truth, Beauty, Freedom and Love will ultimately be snuffed out by all the ills of the world. The ugliness, prejudice, pestilence and fear of this material world perpetually threaten the fragile beauty of the Creative World. Monsters annihilating Humans.
On a different level, it is curious that the hierarchy of monsters in my dream parallels the hierarchy at Planet Care. This begs the question, "Am I annihilating my soul by working at Planet Care? And am I resigned to this fate, unwilling or even unable to change my it?"
I frequently become frustrated with my life as a Grunt. I feel the need to free myself from the confines of the corporate artifice - not that anything is wrong with the corporate artifice. It can exist within the walls of the derelict old house. I would just rather soar into the fresh air and daylight of expression, allowing the manifestation of my own Voice and my innate, yet dormant, Leader.
But if I were to fly, where would I go? How would I make money? How can I justify leaping into the void when there are bills to pay and health insurance to be kept? I cannot answer these questions. And so, I step back into the house of carnage and accept my fate. Total annihilation. The stifling of my creative voice.
I suppose this dream may have been created out of the dread of an imminent customer service training class at Planet Care.
Periodically, the Grunts of Planet Care are expected to attend Planet Care pep rallies in which they are praised for a job well done and encouraged to do their jobs even better. One such rally is fast approaching. In a few days I will attend a mandatory two hour-long customer service training session. During this session I expect to be taught how to better serve the public. I expect to be taught how to be cordial, welcoming, helpful, and most of all, how to sell more products. Because the bottom line is this: by giving good customer service, we will increase sales.
I will subject myself to the stultifying effects of corporate jargon and attempt to escape alive and unscathed, soul intact. Yet as I sit for two hours, aware of the erosion of my mind, it will be difficult for me to avoid thinking of monsters that want to annihilate me. And me, perched on a window frame, free to fly away, but choosing not to.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Angel of the Lord
I've fallen into a bit of an existential crisis of late. This happens from time to time, it's nothing new and I know it'll pass.
My existential crises contain certain givens. I will worry about my True Calling, whatever that is. I will ponder my mortality. I will agonize about the power of money and the control it has over me. I will fret over how I might make a difference on this planet. I will contemplate my many health issues and the toll they take on all aspects of my life. And I will encounter a holy person.
Always, in the midst of an existential crisis, when I already feel like I've barely got a grip, a holy person will enter my world and shake it completely up. I marvel at the predictability of this and wonder how it is possible.
A couple of days ago a man named Jamaal came through my line with a case of dates. Fifty-some dollars worth of dates. I asked if he was about to through a party. He replied that he was in the midst of fasting - I don't remember for how many days - but he would break fast with dates and begin each day before sunrise with dates. I asked if this was Ramadan. He said, "You know about Ramadan?" I said I know some about Ramadan. But obviously I don't know when it occurs. He explained that this particular cycle is not Ramadan but another period of fasting with different fasting rules. I commented that this must require a great level of discipline. He said that "it builds discipline."
Jamaal told me that he is willing to give up food for the Lord. "And you know I love food!" Jamaal is an amiable man with a broad smile and kind eyes. And his robust body indicates he does indeed love food. He tells me that he would not give up food for his best friend. Not even for his mother. But for the Lord, yes.
I was taken aback by the level of devotion in this man's being as he spoke these words. I felt oddly underprivileged. I offered that I do not have that sort of relationship with God. I did not offer that I have never felt that degree of devotion to God.
Jamaal looked at me, smiling, and said, "Why not!?" I felt my eyes filling with tears, my chest constricting. "Kathy, why not?" He placed his hand on his chest and said, "This heart, every time this heart beats, God does that! Every breath you take, God does that! God gives you everything!"
I was momentarily stunned. What a staggering notion - there is some mysterious force at work inside this frame of flesh, blood and bone that we call "life" but could just as easily be called "God." Because it is just as mysterious. I mean scientists understand a good deal about how the body's systems work separately and together. But I venture to guess that they don't understand why a body works. What is at one's very source that causes the heart to beat and the lungs to respire?
And imagine for just an instant that God is the source of life in me. It would follow, then, that God is the source of life in everyone. So in each heart that beats, there is God. A generous, magnanimous entity in us all that connects us.
It was too large a concept for me to ponder for very long.
I thanked Jamaal for this reminder. I told him that I often forget these things. He said he will come see me every day to remind me if I need him too.
I was moved beyond measure. This stranger wants to come see me every day to give me a bit of magic? To stitch a thread of hope into the warp and weft of a dismal brain?
I felt a bit like the Grinch, whose heart grew three sizes at once.
In my existential crises, I lose God. I rarely have a firm sense of the presence of God, but I do have a spiritual nature. I do feel verklempt while watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas" when Charlie Brown throws back his head in despair and asks for the meaning of it all and Linus, in a pristine voice of childhood wisdom, says this:
Jamaal instilled in me a distinctly Charlie Brown moment. I would have cried if I had allowed myself to.
Whatever is touched on in moments like this, it is real. I cannot label it, nor do I care to. Sometimes our daily grind becomes such a chore that we lose moments of wonder, moments of brilliance and magic. Whenever I am in one of my existential crises, I am completely removed from the wonderment of living - which simply is. It simply exists. And it need not be analyzed.
How tremendous was this encounter with a holy person in the check-out line at Planet Care during one of my most pronounced existential crises! I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
My existential crises contain certain givens. I will worry about my True Calling, whatever that is. I will ponder my mortality. I will agonize about the power of money and the control it has over me. I will fret over how I might make a difference on this planet. I will contemplate my many health issues and the toll they take on all aspects of my life. And I will encounter a holy person.
Always, in the midst of an existential crisis, when I already feel like I've barely got a grip, a holy person will enter my world and shake it completely up. I marvel at the predictability of this and wonder how it is possible.
A couple of days ago a man named Jamaal came through my line with a case of dates. Fifty-some dollars worth of dates. I asked if he was about to through a party. He replied that he was in the midst of fasting - I don't remember for how many days - but he would break fast with dates and begin each day before sunrise with dates. I asked if this was Ramadan. He said, "You know about Ramadan?" I said I know some about Ramadan. But obviously I don't know when it occurs. He explained that this particular cycle is not Ramadan but another period of fasting with different fasting rules. I commented that this must require a great level of discipline. He said that "it builds discipline."
Jamaal told me that he is willing to give up food for the Lord. "And you know I love food!" Jamaal is an amiable man with a broad smile and kind eyes. And his robust body indicates he does indeed love food. He tells me that he would not give up food for his best friend. Not even for his mother. But for the Lord, yes.
I was taken aback by the level of devotion in this man's being as he spoke these words. I felt oddly underprivileged. I offered that I do not have that sort of relationship with God. I did not offer that I have never felt that degree of devotion to God.
Jamaal looked at me, smiling, and said, "Why not!?" I felt my eyes filling with tears, my chest constricting. "Kathy, why not?" He placed his hand on his chest and said, "This heart, every time this heart beats, God does that! Every breath you take, God does that! God gives you everything!"
I was momentarily stunned. What a staggering notion - there is some mysterious force at work inside this frame of flesh, blood and bone that we call "life" but could just as easily be called "God." Because it is just as mysterious. I mean scientists understand a good deal about how the body's systems work separately and together. But I venture to guess that they don't understand why a body works. What is at one's very source that causes the heart to beat and the lungs to respire?
And imagine for just an instant that God is the source of life in me. It would follow, then, that God is the source of life in everyone. So in each heart that beats, there is God. A generous, magnanimous entity in us all that connects us.
It was too large a concept for me to ponder for very long.
I thanked Jamaal for this reminder. I told him that I often forget these things. He said he will come see me every day to remind me if I need him too.
I was moved beyond measure. This stranger wants to come see me every day to give me a bit of magic? To stitch a thread of hope into the warp and weft of a dismal brain?
I felt a bit like the Grinch, whose heart grew three sizes at once.
In my existential crises, I lose God. I rarely have a firm sense of the presence of God, but I do have a spiritual nature. I do feel verklempt while watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas" when Charlie Brown throws back his head in despair and asks for the meaning of it all and Linus, in a pristine voice of childhood wisdom, says this:
And there were in the same country Shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, 'fear not, for behold I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you. Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger.' And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying 'glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.Maybe it is Linus' voice. Maybe it is the atmosphere created by Linus standing alone on stage in a follow spot. Maybe it is the familiar cadence and evocative language of the King James bible. Maybe it is Vince Guaraldi's soundtrack. But no matter how many times I watch this scene, no matter how old I am, I find myself suddenly filled with wonder and joy.
Jamaal instilled in me a distinctly Charlie Brown moment. I would have cried if I had allowed myself to.
Whatever is touched on in moments like this, it is real. I cannot label it, nor do I care to. Sometimes our daily grind becomes such a chore that we lose moments of wonder, moments of brilliance and magic. Whenever I am in one of my existential crises, I am completely removed from the wonderment of living - which simply is. It simply exists. And it need not be analyzed.
How tremendous was this encounter with a holy person in the check-out line at Planet Care during one of my most pronounced existential crises! I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)