“
‘The Lizard And The Goblet’: A Parable That Speaks To These Awful, And
Uncertain Times”
08/23/13
To
my very, very dearest friends, and loyal, kind, and constant readers,
There are many times a day…and sometimes nights that
I think of you; I always wish you wellness, of course, and sufficient security
on which to live most comfortably. And,
along with my most sincere hopes for days of no pain, or…at least of
much-lessened pain for you, or those you love or care about.
I also wish you love, contentment, and happiness,
for without happiness—no matter how else you may be feeling—life becomes (and
remains) both a chore, and a bore. To be
genuinely unhappy in part, will most likely cause you to be unhappy in all; and
with a lingering happiness, I also wish you peace, as endless worry and
depression will off-color all your days, until life is reduced to an
unbearability of simply ‘being’. Of
existing. Of merely living breath to
breath.
And while adult life is filled—enough—by
responsibility, financial problems, health problems, with often severe pain;
and in seeing nothing change for the better, one eventually tires of searching
for the better.
This state of disenchantment and despair fills our
lives to overflowing, and affects all others around us; this is why long-time
friends flee, and family members become more distant, for fear that such an
overbalance of negativity will make us extremely unpleasant to be near, be
contagious, or somehow, ‘rub’ off on them.
And, to that end, only the very brave and loving
stay close to us, with endless patience, caring, and concern. Be thankful unto God for them, for else you
would be doomed to live a life, alone, with needs as yet unmet; hopes that fade
with time; dreams that slowly die; and relegated to intense suffering quite
without ever knowing why.
I fully understand, and realize how difficult it is
to have to live with a hundred agonies, yet try to smile when presented with
some, small kindness. I know how pain can distance you from everything, making
even the slightest effort impossible; I know how pain can make one long for a
far-away and untroubled Past, or to try to flee a horrible, abusive one; to
regret those things whose ‘Sell Buy’ dates have passed us by. To find no comfort in the Present, with its
worries, and dread. To find that current
pain and distress can rob one’s will.
And I know the pain that makes one cry.
I know how pain can make you rage, and to lash out
at anyone within lashing distance. To
those who would be closest to us, I can even understand some jealousy you might
secretly, or…unsecretly harbor against them for their health; their ability to
move, to leave, or to just pick-up and ‘go’, without a second’s care; their
ability to sleep soundly, snoring by us, as we roil in bed, in pain, unable to
get comfortable, watching as the clock mutely announces time’s passage of
another, fitful night. And yet, the mind
does not pause in its never-ending contemplation of all that was; what might have
been; knowing—only—that the morning will reveal no delights.
Only a darkened house of nightmares and pain…always
the pain, that guarantees a day of sluggish tiredness, along with a wearied
shame at how disappointing we have become.
Often, in our heart of hearts, we wonder what did WE
do, to end up in such a tormented place?
Of course we all have a hidden roster of deeds from our more unpleasant
selves; the unkind word; the needless lie; the moment of neglect we opted for.
The cruel and pointless deed. The chance
to—perhaps—get ‘even’.
However, I cannot apportion blame to you; we have
all been both deceivers and deceived.
Nor, can you ever be blamed for your genes and chromosomes, or perhaps,
some past exposure to a set of pathogens that caused in you your illnesses; Of
conditions we were born with, or else, developed later; of all the deficiencies
of our immune systems that now have failed, and turned on us, making us
helpless in our pain, with ‘conditions’ that are incurable, that can only be
addressed—palliatively—by more and more medications.
For then, it would clearly seem that our responsibilities
begin and end with attention to our own care, while ever trying to not alienate
those closest to us. Granted…it is a
battle that prescribes our days; and in this regard, there’s much forgiving to
do…first, for yourself, then others.
And, my dearest friends, please allow me to clarify:
there is NO forgiveness warranted by those who have abused you. I can only pray that—with help, and God’s
speed—you will be able to escape such a living nightmare. Only distance—not capitulation—will ever
truly help you. For someone who has hurt
you, your forgiveness of them is your eventual option, not a requirement.
And so, my precious friends, as I pause—again—to
think of you, please allow me to share with you a little story; a simple tale
that—to me—somehow seems most appropriate to these times. I am grateful to you for having befriended
me, and for being faithful in your friendships, of caring for my welfare as few
actually do, and of forgiving my excesses, and of reading my diary
entries…which gives me rare pleasure, as when you leave your comments, for
which, I thank you with all my heart.
“
‘The Lizard And The Goblet’: A Parable That Speaks To These Awful, And
Uncertain Time”
Part
One: The Lizard
In my kitchen, the sink is placed in the corner;
behind it is a triangular shelf of paneling (it is a mobile home, after all!),
and they lead to the kitchen walls, where—in forming a ‘V’ are two small
windows that look out over the back yard.
Of course the windows are hard to reach, and when—such a long time ago,
now—my dear, late mother made curtains for them, they proved almost impossible
to hang.
In homes such as mine, the windows form two parts,
with a bottom pane opened by two, little clips near the sill; usually, most
times whenever I find myself at the sink, my gaze looks through the windows to
see all the greenery outside, and part of my neighbor’s yard which is fenced,
has citrus trees growing at the fence’s border, and a garden there, and lots of
chickens…AND, two roosters (which start to crow at 3:15AM; I know, because I
timed them, and they drive me crazy). It
remains—though—for one who is too often too agoraphobic to venture out, a
beautiful scene, with trees moving to the breeze, and casting shadows on the
window panes.
About a year ago, one morning, while starring out
the window, some movement caught my eye.
Perched upon the metal window frame was a tiny
lizard, no more than two-and-a-half inches long, including tail. It was lying there, soaking up the morning
sun that warmed the window’s frame, head darting side to side, as it looked to
catch little bugs. Since it was a baby,
and as lizards are cold-blooded, being trapped inside an air-conditioned house
usually means they will freeze to death in time.
I tried without success to somehow capture it to
toss it outside, rather than find it dead—somewhere—in the house. He leapt away from me, and hid down in the
curtains. “O.K.”, I said, you’re on your own, buster.”
I fully expected it to die in a day or two, but
somehow, the window was warm-enough, with little bugs-enough, to keep the
little thing alive. Days passed, and
weeks passed. And while I can hardly
explain it, it was like a gift to have another, little, harmless life in the
house. I just wondered what it could possibly find to eat.
But every morning, no matter how horrible my night
had been, no matter what my awful pain, when I finally stumbled to the sink to
make my mid-morning coffee, there it was; I never gave it a name, but, I found
myself telling it good morning every
day, and was so glad that it had survived.
I don’t know why it seemed to cheer me.
Once, a very large wasp got into the house, and into
the kitchen. In time, it hit the curtains, and its course of flight brought it
nearer and nearer my little friend. Now,
I am very deathly allergic to insect bites, wasps being among the worst.
My little lizard seemed to give it some thought of
making of it a lunch, but in realizing that the wasp was just too large,
scuttled down the bottom of the curtains, where—you might know—the wasp would
errantly follow.
There ensued a comical review, with me—with my
girth—standing on a stepstool—light-headed, and wobbly--flyswatter in hand to
chase the wasp, and whap it before it could either bite me, or, the
lizard. In wielding the flyswatter like
St, Michael’s sword, I could not help but scare the lizard. But soon, I managed to kill the wasp, and let
my lizard alone to recover; later on in the day, it was perched on the
window—again—as apparently content as such creatures can be. And I was glad that we ( Daisy [for my
dearest, ‘pooch’, was still alive then] lizard, and I) were safe.
Part
Two: The Goblet
I have a cousin who has become a very, very good,
and kind friend to me; actually, both he and his wife have been ever
thoughtful, and decent to me.
When our schedules allow, he comes over once a week
to visit me, perform some very needed repair of computer adjustment that I
cannot do; he brings me a couple store-made-ready sandwiches, and we have a
couple of beers while we kibitz, and in general, just ‘hang out’. I always enjoy his visits, and am grateful
for all his kind help; after all, it is he who has assembled probably 95% of
all my new furniture you can see, shown at my profile.
He also brings along a little hip flask of vodka
(which I do not drink because of my many medications). For him, I found a simple, pretty, little
goblet for him to put ice in, and afterward, the vodka. I doubt the ‘drinks’
can be more than four ounces, and it looks better than using a water glass for
the purpose.
Because of my often global pain, and severe
lower-back pain, I must admit I am slack on washing dishes, leaving them for my
dear C.N.A., or kindly neighbor to do, which she does not mind, and when the
drain board is full, she’ll put the clean, dry dishes away, or, if she’s out of
room, will stack some of the cups, and glasses on the space just behind the
sink, where I quite often forget them, especially my cousin’s, little goblet,
which, with shelf space a premium, I just ignore.
One morning—though—as I again staggered to the sink
half awake, and already in a rush of pain, I looked, but could not see my
lizard friend. Oh well, I thought, it’s
off on the hunt, looking for tiny bugs, and hiding behind the curtain. I seem to recall that my cousin was
due—soon—for a visit, and, as an afterthought, picked up the goblet to make
sure it was clean.
And there it was, my little lizard friend, having
somehow fallen into the goblet—not able to escape its glassy sides--lying there,
contorted in death.
It was such a tragic end to a cute and harmless
life; as I looked at it, suddenly (please do not ask me why), I began to cry…in
silent, tears of utter misery. I felt so
sad for it, myself, and, for all of us.
Had—perhaps—I had found it earlier, and still alive, I might have been
able to let it go back to its window-kingdom.
Could I be blamed for my neglect?
Or, is it but the realization that we all live such
truncated lives, and to have them thus filled by pain seems—to me—to counter,
“Why we are here?”
As adults, we all know that things die; friends and
loved ones die; dreams and hopes unrealized die before us, and litter our years
with their deaths. Eventually, we—too—will
die, and return to a silent earth the sum of all we were. To have lived, and died, without notice, or
purpose.., what can that mean? Or does
it mean anything?
This is why—perhaps—so many cultures around the
world have their own “After life theories”.
I would not in my current place in time, dare argue with any of them.
I would like to think that, rather than
fall—unnoticed—into a slippery goblet, unable to return or be free, that our
lives are marked—instead—by what we do WHILE alive. What kindness can we show. What compassion. What radiant goodness. What unselfish love. What purity of spirit.
And when we finally die, is it to an endless, dreamless
sleep? Or falling into an oblivion of
hellish nightmare, and never-ending torture, far far greater than the sum of
all our earthbound pain?
Or, else to be catapulted out among black galaxies
with their cold, and lifeless stars?
Or should we—instead—with wings of joy ascend to the
full explanation of our Bliss? For these are but possibilities, questions to
which I have no ready answer. For
that—my very dear, and wonderful friends, I gladly leave the matter up to you.
Please
know—however—two things of which I am very certain: that I think of you so
very, very often, and that, as always, I love you dearly!
‘Zahc’/Charles
