Paradoxes

December 4, 2011 by Leave a Comment

I’ve become a student of paradoxes, those apparent contradictions that occur and puzzle us because those opposites can’t possibly be true at the same time, but somehow they are. I don’t see them in the same category as political paradoxes where a candidate will flip-flop or contradict himself in different speeches, or when he or she makes a pronouncement with contradictions where one is obviously not true. I’m talking about paradoxes that highlight our limited understanding of life and its complexities. Some examples:

Exercise: I find it interesting that the more we exercise and tire ourselves out, the greater capacity for energy we have. The more you use; the more you have.

Love: We tolerate curmudgeons, but we love lovers, those full-of-life energists who exude such good vibes that we feel happier just being around them. The more you give love; the more you have.

Failure: Ignoring the ego pain it causes for a moment, there is a contradiction in that sometimes a failure is the best thing that can happen to us. It is the seed bed of greater success. The greatness of Michael Jordan was born during his sophomore year of high school. Edison, Twain, Lincoln, Washington, Einstein, and I (in high school and as a writer) point to the value of the grand failure.

I suppose I could think of a dozen more examples, but then this would be too long for a blog. What I really think is that all of these point to the creativity, freedom, and wisdom of our Creator, who seems to be telling us in many ways, “It’s all good. You just don’t see it.”

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Bunburying

November 13, 2011 by Leave a Comment

Oscar Wilde, in The Importance of Being Earnest, created an all-occasions excuse for anything his rascal characters didn’t want to do. They couldn’t make an appointment because a dear imaginary friend Bunbury was so ill and near death that he needed immediate, indefinite attention. I think the use of such a response ought to be enlarged to meet any situation, not just requests for engagements.

Consider for example…. Many questions asked by a wife put a husband on treacherous ground. “Does this make make me look fat?” must be answered with an immediate “No!” and the answer must be immediate and emphatic. Any pause or slip will telegraph an uncertainty, and therefore, it does make her look fat, and you’re insensitive for saying so. On other occasions, though, I have found my own Bunbury.

Two years ago, I had cataract surgery, a ten-minute outpatient routine, followed by a day of blurred vision and a week of eyedrops. It was no big deal but became a great catchall. “Kurt, what do you think about this color? Do I look anaemic?” “I had a cataract, so I have a fake lens and my other eye is growing a cataract, so I can’t say for sure.” Soon, this was shortened to “I have a cataract.” For more serious questions, I have a backup.

Five months after cataract surgery, I had a detached retina. Today’s medicine is amazing and the surgeon reattached it, followed by two months of blurry vision, and a permanent need for glasses and a wavy-line effect on far away objects because the back of my eye is no longer perfectly oval. For serious questions, such as “Is this where we turn?” I now say simply, “Detached retina.” This excuse is supported by the surgeon’s warning that I can no longer get into fights, which means no wifely boxing. I am such a lucky man.

Consider:
“You call yourself a writer? Didn’t you see those typos?” “Detached retina.”
“Didn’t you see that the washing machine was full of whites?” “Cataract.”
“What was the name of the guy who sold us the scratched refrigerator?” “Sorry. Cataract.”
“Have you seen my keys (glasses, book, purse, scarf, gloves, travel mug)?” “Cataract.”
“Should I wear the blue sweater or the green?” “Detached retina, sorry.”
“When do we have to leave to get to the play on time?” “Cataract.”

I will admit that you have to have the perfect wife for this system to work, but if you do, then Bunbury away. Everyone should have a Bunbury.

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The elasticity of time

November 6, 2011 by 1 Comment

At 2 a.m. we moved our clocks back an hour last night. This is a large-scale social event with many ramifications people may not think about. Let’s take a few minutes to think together. First of all, 2 a.m. is a construct, an agreed-upon social event. Other animals don’t follow it. Birds and flowers have their own clock, and biologists have spent a lot of time trying to read their clocks. The time is not really about the time; it’s about us. An hour spent in the dentist’s chair is much longer than an hour spent opening Christmas presents. I would argue that it is not only our perception that is different; it is the actual time.

How is this possible? We already know from Einstein that time can slow as one approaches the speed of light; we also know from string theory that the most basic energy of the universe can change, and because of the “observer effect,” even the most basic energies may alter according to our expectations. Time is elastic.

Where can we see this? Pro baseball players say that a hitting spree is often based on their ability to “see” a ninety-five mile per hour fastball or the actual spin on a slower curve ball. For them, the instant slows down. When they are not hitting, they can’t “see” the ball as well. Has the ball changed? The speed? No, it is their focus, intention, and ability to slow time. Michael Jordan spoke about being in the “flow” of a game. When things were going well, all else slowed down for him and he could “ride” the game. Time may be surfed.

I love to flyfish and meditate. To me, they are the same. It matters not whether I am in the flow of a stream or the flow of meditative time. Minutes pass as seconds; an hour passes as a minute. When I meditate, I have to set a timer or time will become irrelevant. I need something to bring me back in half an hour or forty-five minutes.

What if the same flexibility would apply to longer stretches of time? I don’t see that a life is linear, a dipping in a stream that moves on and is never the same. The conservation of energy tells me that nothing is ever lost. That ought to include time. A life is a many-layered thing. A person may be 60, as I appear now, but I am also 35, 18, 12, and even 2. Flashes of those realities, occasionally re-emerge. It’s not a second childhood. The first one never really disappeared. Watch an elder person open a present. Watch closely. Is there really any difference between that wise granny and a six-year-old? I suspect that we may not all live for the same number of the construct-we-call-years, but we may all experience the same layers. The layers may not have the same thinckness for us all, but we all experience what we came here to experience, no matter what the number or length of years.

If I am correct, and time is layered and nothing is ever lost, we may someday have the means to access whatever we want in history. We have devised machines to send and interpret radio waves. Why not a “time reader?” Mr. Lincoln, we appreciate your Gettysburg address and have found it even better “live.” Internally, we already do this. Think of the last time you were caught in a “loop,” the reliving of a difficult moment or a great joy, what you said, what someone did. Its energy, feeling, sounds, and effects are still there. When Shakespeare wrote that there is more to the world than dreamt of in our philosophy, he may just as well have admitted we have senses we ourselves have not developed or understood. We may do that someday.

The beauty of creation is that we have a hand in it. Time is one of the mounds of clay given to us. We may mold it. We may see it as a dirty, useless pile of sticky earth, or the means of creating a face, a statue, a mug. I don’t go to the dentist’s chair in the same way anymore. I may sit in a dentist’s chair every six months, but when I am there, I am actualy flyfishing in Black Earth creek, and a trout has just risen twenty feet upstream. I see the hatch of blue winged olives, the waving of rununculus, and the chirp of a robin in that crabapple on the left. Ah the water is so layered and as deep as I want it to be. Are you with me? Can you see it?

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Hello world!

September 20, 2011 by 1 Comment

As a writer and a musician, I’ve come to believe that one of the world’s greatest needs is for more humor, inspiration, and positive points of view. I thought about calling this blog simply “Up,” but there is already something out there with that name and it doesn’t really lead anyone up.  Flannery O’Connor had it right: all things that rise must converge.  We need convergence, but even more than that, we need an alternative to the thoughtless soundbites, anger, criticism, and manipulation that passes for modern journalism.  We need more truth, and I believe the truth is good and we need not fear it.

Let’s begin with something basic. Yesterday we went to a local coffee shop on Monroe Street in Madison and saw a young couple walking with their toddler between piles of leaves.  The little one wore her green flannel dinosaur costume, complete with pointy ears and tail.  Halloween was two days away.  I congratulate those parents.  It’s okay for life to be one-third anticipation, one-third wearing a costume, and one-third not worrying about what others think. I like it that life is not linear but layered.  When we are 60, we are also still 40, 21, 16, and 8.  It’s all still there, and I still have a dinosaur costume in my mind.  I can feel it, see myself in it, and be excited about Halloween.  I think I’ll put it on right now.  There, that’s better.  ee cummings was also right.  There’s a better world next door; let’s go.

We are what we want to be.  As a writer, I also want to be a blogger.  There, I am.  I’ve taken off the dinosaur costume and put on a writer’s tweeds.  What do you want to be today?

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