Human Condition

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Voice

That which is inside the soul must find its way out. For every one of us, expression is a dire and deep desire.

Some constrain it, allowing it to become anger or disappointment, while others cannot contain themselves and sing like nobody’s business.  Many dread to express themselves for fear of being thought the fool. And just as many loose their feelings on the world, embracing foolishness in all its cockeyed glory.

With age our voice finds reason in a variety of forms. But to me the voices of children are the most beautiful of all. To speak out with innocence, candor, and the spontaneous purity of expression is a gift I wish we could all have held onto into our adult years. Never were we more genuine than when we spoke in our youth.

I cringe still when I think back on all the archaic utterances of grown ups who snapped, “Children should be seen and not heard.”

Beyond being callously dismissive, there is hardened cruelty in such a remark. The damage it does to children is immeasurable.

Our voice finds expression in behavior as well as words. Some of the most beautifully eloquent people I have ever known made the very best use of their silence to demonstrate the finest emotions.

For the most part, as true human beings, we need the nuance, warmth, tenor and tone of another person’s voice.

Finally there are the little voices. The whispers that are privy to none but you. Sometimes they terrify and fill you with doubt. But if you listen to the sound of your own voice, your inner voice, you can rise above doubt and judgment.

A few years back, a very dear friend who was a raconteur, singer and performer was about to undergo throat surgery. His vocal cords were his life and there was a distinct probability that this procedure might well leave him mute. In sympathy for his terror and anguish at going under the surgeon’s knife, I composed a bit of verse for him. It goes like this:

A VOICE
(© 2013 Michael J. Cahill)

A voice —
A fertile, fragile thing
It makes to laugh
It makes to sing

It calls the dog
It greets a friend
Its tone can brighten
Or offend

It brings to life
The charm, the wit
Occasionally
The idiot

It makes mistakes
It makes amends
It gets a face slapped
Now and then

But what’s important
In he end
One’s truest voice
Comes from within

A clownish dance
A comic pose
Your underwear
Outside your clothes

An understanding
Nod or stare
A sparkling smile
A poem, a prayer

So fear not
To be absent of
That voice I have
Come best to love

The voice that best
A friend defines
Is found between
The spoken lines
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By the way, my friend survived the surgery handsomely.

And now he won’t shut up. C’est la vie.

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Useful

A year ago a close friend was lamenting the suicide of her 16-year-old nephew. In his crushing despair, the boy had hanged himself. “What a waste”, my friend said. “When my time comes, I hope that my death isn’t in vain.”

No one among us was ever meant to experience a merely commonplace life. Just getting by is not being alive — it is poverty.

I agree it is difficult to identify what we’re intended to do. But I do know in my bones that every living thing needs a sense of purpose or it cannot survive.

I am reminded of some Native American cultures where an elder who has been identified as someone beyond their purpose simply wills themselves to die. And when I worked for the railroad many years ago, I recall countless older engineers who simply lived for their work. But, one after another, when they were forced into retirement at 65, within a week or two of leaving their service, these perfectly healthy men were dead.

For human beings, purpose is everything.

And just making money, kids, is not a purpose and has precious little to do with the quality of any life. I laugh at the bumper stickers that read, “Whoever dies with the most toys wins.” Just try taking those toys with you or cashing them in for a family that loves you.

Monetary gain is the ideal deceiver of a person’s true worth. The sticker should read: “Whoever dies with the most toys is still dead.”

So what’s the secret? How do we discover our true north? Well, ask yourself this one question: “What would I do if I wasn’t afraid?”

When you finally arrive at an answer that makes sense of this question, then you will have found your life’s purpose.

While that discovery is no easy feat, of course, that new information becomes your jumping off point to greater things. Ralph Waldo Emerson held that, “The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”

Examining the fears that hold us back is key to identifying our purpose. Personally I have known the pain of loss. Without that knowledge I’d have no compassion for others.

All of us have a place in history. Whatever happens to even the smallest among us becomes a resource. Our humiliations, misfortunes, losses and gains — these are our contributions to a history of mankind.

When people tell me they’re unhappy, my first reaction is that only people with no purpose are unhappy.

I contend that what I am living for and what I would die for are really the same question. When I reach the end of my days and look back, I will know if my life had purpose by one simple measurement — whether I have lived in despair or not. If I have followed my heart, then I trust that I will have found and fulfilled a purpose. Hopefully a noteworthy one.

The final measure of a person’s sense of purpose hasn’t so much to do with where we are but rather in what direction we are headed. One of my favorite definitions of devotion is this: Love is not two people looking into each other’s eyes. It is two people traveling in the same direction.

That communal sense of forward momentum holds in itself a glorious sense of purpose. If we are only meant to just be there for one other person — for some that is purpose enough. I know personally many folks who are worth it.

Passion is your finest barometer for your purpose. Whatever it is in this life that excites you to do your best work, let it lead you to your purpose.

My friend’s lament that her nephew may have died in vain made me wonder about the absence of purpose in his life.

For me the greater sin would be to have lived in vain.

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Traveler

When she was four and a half I took my daughter to her first movie in a theater. Disney’s “The Fox and the Hound”. Five minutes into the film the momma fox is hiding her pup in the forest to protect him. Upon hearing the approach of hunters, she dashes off to lead them away from her little one.

The cute, confused face of the baby fox.

A distant gunshot.

And silence.

Uh oh….

Courtney looked up at me, unblinking. “What happened to the mommy, Daddy?”

Do I lie? God, look at that little face. I want her to be able to trust me. No, I think she can take it. She’ll understand. Be honest — gentle, but honest.

“She…… died, honey.”

“Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

There was no consoling her and we had to leave. So much for candor.

The disappearance of a dear one from our life will never be a feat of ease for those who must reckon with it. About six months later we found a dead finch in the yard and she started asking me about death.

“Am I going to die someday?”

“Every living thing has a beginning, a time to be, and an end. It happens to everyone, sweetheart.”

“Are you going to die someday?”

Do I break her heart again? Those adorable eyes…..

“Yes.”

Long thoughtful look at my face. Then finally, “Where will you go when you die?”

“Well, I’m kinda hoping I’ll get to go to heaven.”

“Where’s heaven?”

And that kicked it all off. I thought she would have been satisfied with a stock Sunday school answer. But she had to take it further and I was suddenly on unsteady turf.

At this point in my life I hadn’t really warmed to any kind of faith and her question got me thinking. There she was with those precious, searching eyes, waiting for an answer. Barely five years old and so curious about the big issues. When I was five I was lucky if I could figure out how the bathroom doorknob worked.

But still, that’s the eternal question, isn’t it — Where do we go? The answer I finally gave her is the answer I still hold to today.

When my mother passed away two years ago, I kept hearing my daughter’s question returning from 21 years before — “Where’s heaven?” For weeks after the funeral I could only think of all the wonderful things my mother had been to me — a personable, kind, morally decent, insightful, generous and witty woman who read aloud to her children. Also the single funniest person I ever met.

In my reminiscence of her, I tried to consider how Mom might have answered my daughter’s question had I been sharp enough to ask it of her myself. This is how I imagine she would have explained it…..

Going Places
(© 2013 Michael J. Cahill)

“Where Shall We Go?” has always been
My favorite game with you
When you were small upon my knee
What traveling we would do

The yard beyond our windowsill — ?
An icy mountain steep
Or a Viking ocean full of storm
Or a jungle forest deep

The universe was ours to roam
By land and sea and air
By hawk and mule and rocket fuel
What journey’s we would share

There is one voyage separate
From all that we will take
But oh, my love, though by myself
I will not you forsake

Yes, by and by, one day I’ll die
As all God’s creatures must
But I shall spend eternity
As something more than dust

And if I go to heaven
We will not be far apart
For don’t you know, my darling child
That heaven’s in your heart

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Restraint

In our youth the best of our teachers encourage us to reach for the stars. Still others caution that a man’s reach should not exceed his grasp. Personally I am all for star reaching, otherwise heaven no longer seems possible.

I believe we should be guided by our goals, to be strong and push ourselves into the world with enterprise and audacity.

But all ambition aside, where is the wisdom in relying solely on the forceful thrust of unbridled drive and forward momentum? None of us wants to come across as the proverbial 800 pounds of angry pot roast gracelessly slamming through a china shop. A degree of restraint is wise in every endeavor, professional and personal.

Police actions have much to learn from the tragedy at Kent State. Anyone in a position of power owes as much of their leadership ability to strength as they do to a coolness of temperament. When strength is moderated with restraint, civility invariably prevails.

My daughter has remarked that she is drawn to bad boys, though it hasn’t always worked out to her advantage. I would offer the best kind of bad boy attitude would be one of potential. If the potential were the dominant factor, then perhaps the restraint behind it would carry the sex appeal. There’s something alluring in the awareness of someone’s danger and intensity while trusting they have the self-possession not to act on it.

It breaks my heart that few of her bad boys have possessed that restraint.

I agree that balance is very much the fundamental factor in deciding between discretion and zeal. A charitable organization asks why we do not give in all directions? Might it be for fear of losing ourselves? As Henry Miller noted, “Until we lose ourselves, there is no hope of finding ourselves.”

On the other hand, I have to smile at Mae West’s observation that, “I like restraint — if it doesn’t go too far.”

Of course the old adage still applies — that the secret to being a colossal bore is to tell everything. One of my favorite authors, Orson Scott Card, said, “Among my most prized possessions are words that I have never spoken.”

Though a sparing tongue will serve you well, the human heart has only so much wisdom when it comes to what to say — or more importantly, whether to say it at all.

I hesitate to offer advice to anyone when it comes to matters of the heart. But I did write this poem as a cautionary tale to myself that restraint is a scalpel and a sword with the power to both heal and harm.

UNSAID
(© 2013 Michael J. Cahill)

Benny Beluga
Thought brevity nice
If he queried you once
He would never ask twice

Bonnie Belinda
Was painfully shy
Though she wanted to speak
She would let it go by

When Benny met Bonnie
They both felt the same
That Beluga-Belinda
Would make a nice name

But Bonnie and Benny
Were never to wed
Though they both loved each other
It was always… unsaid

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Quintessence

Art is merely perception that challenges existing concepts in a novel fashion.

Okay, then.

Now, I don’t really know what that means but it sounds vaguely artsy. I find it difficult to engage in such broad generalizations. If you want to sell me on a concept I much prefer specifics. Details.

And context. Context carries with it all the importance in the world.

For example, if you were to say to me, “It is better to create than to learn. Creating is the essence of life”, I’d probably think that was an okay bumper sticker.

However, if you then told me that particular quote is by Julius Caesar — well, stop the presses, kids!

This from the guy who created tens of thousands of corpses and oppressed entire nations to build a massive empire, but never learned not to kill people in the process?

Okay, he did give us aqueducts. Hats off for the aqueducts. But otherwise the ludicrous nature of this quote makes it hilarious once you know who said it.

Giving it context makes all the difference.

Einstein was more pithy and succinct: “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” Now that’s a bumper sticker. Knowing its author really adds gravitas to the words, especially if his picture is on it.

For me the essence of the creative act is a dismissal of all rules save one: Integrity. We are drawn to the creative act because it is so telling of our deepest and most hidden truths.

It is monumentally difficult to create. Most people are stifled by the intimidation of it all. And for those who try and fail, it can be more dispiriting than mere defeat. It is a theft of all enthusiasm that amounts to a wringing out of the soul.

And yet those are the people I admire most. Because they tried.

The ones who continue to try, and then try again and again — those with longing in their bones who open their veins and investigate the depths and still seem to come up dry. Their expression may not discover an audience but it makes their effort no less valuable and their art no less sincere.

I have a weakness for the tryers because I’m of the same cloth. Nothing takes more time or effort or blood or madness or bouts of screaming frustration than trying. No other crushing of the spirit can match the deadening heartbreak of standing in the shadow of true creativity and feeling empty handed.

And still the tryers try.

I do admire them.

They move among us. They’re our neighbors, friends, and dear ones, ever longing for fruitful expression.

That very hunger is the quintessence of art and it drives every creative soul.

Though we may rarely recognize the bloom they have labored to produce, I take heart in the words of A. A. Milne who noted,… “Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.”

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Pray

It is commonly presumed that only people of faith have a deep connection with prayer. But the act of meditative communication should not be shoehorned into the box of religion. Our minds needn’t be spiritually inclined to benefit from the thoughtful act of one human being reaching out to the universe in some indefinable manner that brings ease and comfort in a weary world.

Exercise and traditional meditation may adhere to structure, posture and discipline, which are wonderful in and of themselves. But to be by oneself and settle the mind into a hopeful state, simply asking for a bit of relief, a sliver of help – this requires no training or association with anyone other than oneself.

I have had my doubts about God, like everyone who is honest about their faith. It’s actually an important part of wrestling with that whole human-and-deity relationship. It’s healthy to question in search of reason. Some of the most devoted, loving and spiritually inclined folks I’ve ever met are simply not convinced there’s anything out there. On occasion I can be one of them.

And still, whether you believe in God or not, praying is one of the finest things we can do for ourselves. Because as people we are not meant to handle everything alone. My pastor says that a Christian life is a life lived in community. I agree it’s important for us to rely on others, not only for social interaction but for a frame of reference to whether what we’re doing in our lives is the best we can manage for ourselves. Another person can comfort you, hold you responsible to yourself, or offer some insight that guides you back to where you wanted to go in the first place.

Community is good. Relying on others is good. But when we’re feeling wounded and in need of peace and solace, there are few things within our grasp that can top a bit of prayerful time alone. 

One of the very coolest things about praying is you can do it anywhere and without adult supervision. There is no wrong way to pray.

For me the most important thing about it is this — prayer is no more dependent on religion than our need to eat is dependent upon where we dine. One is a need – the other a convenience. The thing that facilitates a need should never be confused with the need itself.

There’s an old saying that goes, “Religion is for those who don’t want to go to hell. Faith is for those who have been there.”

Isolation is never good. Reaching out is one of the most human things we do. If there is nobody around when this need arises, I never feel I am alone. Somewhere in the spiraling void around us is a heart that will listen.

And isn’t that all any of us really wants anyway — to know that we’ve been listened to?

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Levity

Respect is a pretty big deal in anyone’s book. Respect for a person, an environment, a life style or institution. Even a situation.

Levity is an appropriately satirical remark in an inappropriate environment.

A whispered bit of observant humor at an overblown funeral is one thing. But when an assailant sticks a weapon in your face and says, “You respect me now, don’t ya!” — are you really going to tell him the truth?

“Just because I respect what a gun can do, doesn’t mean I respect the fool holding the gun.”

No. That’s the kind of pithy reply that gets your vital organs shut down for you.

Extreme instances aside though, I actively seek out any and every opportunity for levity. My desire to illuminate the ludicrous or ridiculous is surpassed only by my need to laugh. I can’t resist poking fun at those who genuinely deserve it.

However, I would never make a joke at the expense of someone else’s dignity. That is cruelty, plain and simple, and I should not want to stoop to that kind of humor.

But when an inconsiderate, self-important individual or entity presumes it’s okay to behave in a manner disrespectful of others, I am compelled to react.

A couple years back, one such popular and still-too-common practice inspired in me a bit of satire. It resulted in my creating this fake commercial. As of this writing well over three and a half million people on YouTube have approved. It’s called “Cell Phones In Church”:

Like I said — appropriate response in an inappropriate environment.

Across the board, ordained clergy of every stripe have praised this bit of satire and many ministers and pastors have asked for their own copy to play for their congregations. I am always happy to accommodate and have received some lovely responses.

By the same token, I’ve also been hit with a good deal of hate mail for this bit of fun. There are those who have protested this video so vehemently and scorchingly with cries of “Blasphemy!” — really, blasphemy — that I am left to imagine these poor souls must either have been born without a sense of humor or had it surgically removed.

This video in no way disrespects the church or religion. It does however satirize the disrespectful nature of people who blithely ignore the courtesy of silencing their electronics in a public forum, whether it be a church, lecture hall or movie theater.

It’s not about religion — it’s about rudeness in any environment.

To be clear, I do not disrespect their negative points of view and I have not censored these scathing tirades. Indeed every comment that is fit to print, both pro and con, has been clearly posted beneath this video on YouTube. Only those remarks containing foul verbiage have been removed, and there have been quite a few. I never imagined church folk to be so handy with vulgarity.

I do however take issue with some viewers’ ludicrous accusations that this video means I must hate the bible. My NIV is a marvelous collection of 66 books containing a nice mix of history, poetry, literature, and life lessons. It is a volume I happen to read regularly and admire greatly. Though for some passages, I still prefer the more poetic translation of the King James. But no, I do not hate the bible.

It baffles me to receive such dire and serious comments such as, “Jesus wouldn’t allow such things”, “It’s unchristian to send people to hell”, and “You shouldn’t be doing that!”

Frankly I can’t decide whether to recommend these people put more fiber in their diets, or just thank them for their conviction that I can manage what the video suggests.

Levity is a tricky animal because when you pull it off you often run the risk of upsetting a portion of the populace.

I remain convinced that it’s not only important, but actually our duty, to observe some degree of vigilance — to draw attention to injustice and demonstrate the ridiculous nature of those who thrive on abuse at the expense of others.

For my money though, laughing at ourselves is the finest kind of laughter. When our own folly is made clear we can finally acknowledge we are not more important than the next guy. It’s what George Carlin called the laughter of recognition — things that are funny because they make us see the same failings in ourselves.

One of my favorite quotes happens to be from scripture. It urges us to “make a joyous noise.” What more joyous noise can there be than good-natured laughter?

In the spirit of levity, another of my favorite quotes is from the writings of Hunter S. Thompson:

“When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”

Folks, when dippy fundamentalists are convinced I possess the power to actually send people to hell, it doesn’t get much weirder than that.

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Kindness

For years I’ve seen bumper stickers that promote random acts of kindness. I absolutely get the concept they’re going for and the phrase moves well across the palate….. “Random Acts of Kindness.”

But from a strictly clinical perspective, an act of kindness is anything but random. Real kindness requires genuine consideration and the very deliberate execution of a heartfelt deed.

To me the words “Random” and “Kindness” constitute an oxymoron. The two terms are mutually exclusive, kind of like “Blind Faith” or “Microsoft Works”.

Maybe I’m too much of a literalist but all these phrases have troubled me for years. Yet everyone still embraces their core concepts — as well they should. Kindness and faith are always well worth promoting in any form, although maybe not so much the Microsoft thing.

Being kind falls squarely within the province of the human experience because it demands compassion. Other animals in nature can be nurturing by instinct but behavior-wise, the similarity ends there.

Only people can be truly kind, or for that matter truly cruel.

I think I identify easily with kids because I recognize their compassionate behavior more readily than I do that of grown ups. That’s not to say adults are unkind. I am personally acquainted with many sweet-tempered, accommodating folks who are the very soul of kindness. At the same time we’re so much more concerned with how a considerate gesture might be misinterpreted.

Adults are just too weird to get an honest read on them when they’re being nice for no apparent reason. Modern Americans have sadly devolved into a rather untrusting breed, which makes grown up kindness a little harder to spot, and a bit more of a challenge to pull off, even though it’s still very much alive out there.

Kids on the other hand, have no problem being candid with their feelings, which is really the essence of being kind. Still, when you teach them to share and they want to offer the neighbor’s Rottweiler a lick of their lolly pop, that’s when you have to start reining them in a bit. The impulse is right but it has to be tempered with sound judgment.

Although I missed getting to know my older daughter until she was grown, I dearly enjoyed teaching my younger one about being kind when she was small.

Children mimic behavior instinctively and are adept at learning by example. So demonstrating kindness as an adult is critical to a child’s interpretation of how to treat others — and how to be kind to themselves as well, an equally crucial part of their upbringing.

Occasionally kids take our lessons too literally. Once when Courtney was four, she wouldn’t let me apply a plain band-aid to a cut on her elbow.

I didn’t want to force it but I didn’t have time to explain about bacteria and infections. I wanted to be gentle — gentility is a big part of how kindness works.

“Why do I need that sticky thing on me?”

“Band-aids hold the kisses on, sweetheart.” She loved that idea.

Of course she knew where we kept the band-aids and the next morning I found she had applied six or seven of them to her cheeks and forehead — every place we had kissed her good night.

When she didn’t want to eat cucumbers I sliced some up and told her, “They’re garden cookies.” She’s almost 28 now and she still calls them garden cookies.

Kindness. It’s the great convincer that you really do want the best for them.

I suspect all of us are born with the germ of kindness already inside. It only requires the encouragement of expression and a positive direction.

Though I’m not particularly a fan of her novels, many years ago I did enjoy a slender volume of philosophy by Ayn Rand titled “The Virtue of Selfishness”. One of the key precepts of the book is that, when we do something inherently selfless for another person, like bringing flowers to your mother or girlfriend, your true goal is to make them happy so that you can enjoy the feeling of wellbeing that comes from their happiness about your thoughtful act. This is a good kind of selfishness. And while it can be construed as a bit self serving, there’s really nothing at all wrong with the enjoyment we derive from being nice to others. It’s healthy.

Following that logic, sort of, I also endeavor to be kind to as many people as possible for no more reason than to simply confuse them. You provide a welcome service, exercise a Christian value, and entertain yourself all at the same time. It’s great fun, especially if it’s someone who’s been really mean to you and knows they don’t deserve it. They get all perplexed and start looking around like someone moved their food dish.

Ultimately, I thoroughly enjoy going out of my way for someone very deserving who didn’t see it coming. That’s the best.

Now that I think of it, perhaps I was wrong about random acts of kindness. Could it be it’s not the kindness that’s random, but rather the person, time and place in which I choose to act?

Wow.

I love it when I talk myself into this stuff.

But I’m standing my ground on Faith and Microsoft.

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Jest

In accordance with the military code of conduct, it is a prisoner of war’s sworn duty to attempt escape and, if possible, to help others to escape also. I believe that should be our own personal maxim as well. When held at the mercy of our own anxieties, we must obligate ourselves to flee to an internationally recognized safe haven — laughter.

Human beings are among my all time favorites when it comes to carbon-based life forms, and amusing ourselves is something at which we excel. Entertaining others is even better. While it is commonly accepted that everyone who wishes to should be able to enjoy themselves equally, I know of a few syndromes that prevent some people from the physical demonstration of joy. Since I am so deeply reliant upon my own need to laugh, I was immediately struck by, and sympathetic to, this little-known portion of our populace.

In the spirit of the jest, I have chosen to explore this topic through verse.

DEADPAN THE JESTER
(© 2013 Michael J. Cahill)

There once was a boy unable to smile
With his features all frozen in place.
From birth, though his family prodded and tickled,
A frown would remain on his face.

As a child he was pleasant and always polite
Never crying or making a fuss.
But likewise he never could manage
A happy demeanor like any of us.

Believing that he was the saddest of souls
No one tried to make friends with this boy.
And yet, though his face could not possibly show it,
Inside he was bursting with joy.

The world as he saw it was brimming with fun
Yet people were so disenchanted.
How many, he thought, of these unhappy souls
Take the gift of a smile for granted?

It’s true that what’s awful and hurtful and sad
Is never that far out of reach.
Yet one thing that few of us manage to learn
Are the lessons a smile can teach.

Simply choosing to chuckle or let go a grin
Or to laugh right out loud at a joke —
The joy that is shared by a happy expression
Can brighten the saddest of folk.

As a young man he threw himself into the role
Of a fool on the people’s behalf.
Never mind why the people were laughing at him.
All that mattered was he made them laugh.

As he grew he perfected his gags and his stunts
And improved with each pratfall and jest
Yet, despite all the laughter his antics inspired,
The reaction inside was the best.

For any who wanted a reason for joy
There was much to be found as he’d seen it.
Deadpan swore that if ever he managed to smile
He would do so each day — and mean it.

Through the years he would learn how to easily turn
All his foes into sisters and brothers.
By bringing such joy to the saddest of souls,
He had smiled….. through the faces of others.

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Harmony

My brother is a professional magician. He’s very good at it too. Back in the 1970’s he was Master Magician at Busch Gardens Florida. I visited him one summer.

Between engagements, as he sat with me in the arena stands watching an elephant act, something remarkable happened. In mid-performance a crew member rushed on stage, positioned a snow shovel under the animal’s tail and, as if on cue, the elephant deposited a load of dung into the waiting scoop. The fellow curtsied and disappeared with his catch. The audience roared their approval and the act went on.

I sat there baffled. “How did they know to do that?”

My brother just smiled. “Let’s go ask ‘em.”

Back stage George introduced me around. When I met the elephant performers they shared their secret. Not to be indelicate, but it seems there’s a hanging pocket of loose skin circling the outer rim of an elephant’s rectum. About ten seconds or so prior to relieving himself, the pocket firms up and juts outward. This puckering is a clear physical cue that a delivery is imminent.

Makes perfect sense. But here’s the part that slays me — during every performance there is one crew member whose entire job it is to watch the elephant’s anus. If a delivery is forthcoming, he’s there in a flash. For the rest of the day I couldn’t get my mind off the shovel bearer. What kind of job is that for a person? How do you even write the resume’ on that?

At this point let it be said I am primarily a visual thinker, as well as being ever on the lookout for a life-elevating metaphor. Sure enough, a winner showed up — “If you don’t want to get dumped on, keep your eye on the a**holes.”

Perfect analogy.

I used my snappy new line on all my friends until one of them replied, “How much does your life suck if that’s your best view?” I was 23 and thought I’d been so clever. But he was right. The elephant’s anus analogy was fun in an adolescent sort of way. For about ten minutes. But it had no value beyond that of a raunchy bumper sticker.

Is it fad, fancy or simple desperation that diverts us to the darker things in life, when all the while we are up to our bow ties in blessings? Our planet is a stunner. And the people on it are a staggering spectacle of high-octane personalities more flamboyant than any African sunset. How do we not marvel in that every waking minute of our day?

I think of such miracles and balance the many stupidities and missteps of my youth against the good people and good things around me today. Any real quality I may enjoy in my life is found neither in perfection nor perdition. Somewhere in the middle of it all, suspended between the despicable and the divine, if I look for it, there is harmony.

These days I no longer dwell on the shovel. Rather I am simply happy that I can appreciate the elephant.

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