Tom Desrosier
Much of what we believe about ourselves, our world and our politics, we learned from someone else.
Sometimes, years later, we still cling to this stufff, long after its proven wrong.
Go figure...
Email Tom
Technorati Profile
Message
We all have a message -It’s how we justify our very existence. Our message says to the world, “I’m alive because…” Driven inexorably by the concomitance of our beliefs, hopes, and aspirations, our message is heard by others through our words and deeds. And the more of our words and deeds are observed, the clearer our message becomes. Yes, the ever- important message; clamoring to be heard, yearning to be understood; for indeed, what else do we have?
But our message.
Iggy awoke. His eyes fluttered, a slight moan emanated from dry parched lips as he slowly turned his head to stair at the white ceiling above him. Lo, the rhythmic beeping of a nearby heart-monitor; its many tangled wires, disappearing under his blankets. And the jumble of clear plastic tubes attached here and there, bringing life-giving elixirs to his tired, worn-out body.
Because Iggy was close to death.
At bedside, his wife and son, perched solemnly upon molded plastic chairs. Both looked up when Iggy stirred; aroused from their private thoughts. There was no talk; Iggy was never one for talk. Just sit quietly; just be there for him - that’s all Iggy wanted.
True, true, Iggy was all about the doing, never about its contemplation. No idle chatter, no lofty thoughts, no amusing anecdotes over a cold beer with friends… Not Iggy - “What you see is what you get!” That’s what people said about Iggy. “Just a plain talking man who took life head on! Never tiring, fiercely tenacious, always hard-working, that was Iggy.”
And so on.
Iggy built things all his life; and he built things right. No half measures, no wishful thinking, no genius ideas about cutting corners or cost - just old-school “do it right the first time.”
Once again his eyes closed; the slow, even rhythm of his breathing returned. Iggy was back to sleep.
“Sleep, sleep,” my dear Iggy, his wife thought. “Get your rest now; your life has been exhausting.”
we are what we believe ourselves to be.”
Yes, deep within that quivering mass of brain jelly, where resided the very essence of Iggy, a far more revealing view. Oh sure, Iggy’s message was always consistent and easily headed by all. Indeed, the world saw what he wanted them to see: a tough, but far minded man given to the practical; a man who got things done. Yes, Iggy wanted people to see his life as worthwhile because of his worthwhile deeds.
Don’t we all?
But inside… Where the light of others never shown; where the door was sealed shut, marked, “private”, against the clamor of humanity, Iggy had a different notion of himself. And upon this, his deathbed, with his body seemingly calm and serene, his thoughts raged as always with staggering ferocity. It was his greatest fear - that these thoughts, these idle, despicable thoughts, would alas be overheard, and all that he had done, all that he attempted to become, would be lost forever - his real-self blanched nakedly in stark, cruel light. Sometimes whimsical, sometimes non-sensible, yes sometimes even dark; but always raging, never ceasing - such were his thoughts. And all the hard work, all the things he had wrought - it was the doing that had kept such at bay and under his tight control.
And about the listening, the idle chatter, the so-called man of few words - he was simply incapable; his brain unable to concentrate on the minutiae of such simple human discourse. And finally the often cold logic of his decisions and actions - each had been at least partially driven by fear - his fear of seeming vulnerable, soft, unworthy of his message.
Iggy slept; the turmoil safely hidden within, until his last breath.
“Iggy, it’s me your creator,” I called softly across the ether, from mind to mind, from creation to created.
He paused in mid-thought, startled to alertness.
“Who’s that?”
“It is I, your creator.”
“look Iggy, I know you are both ashamed and proud of who you are… Ashamed of the parts you hid; proud of the parts you allowed to shine forth. I know that you took responsibility for all of it as well - the good and the bad. But Iggy, these were simply the cards you were dealt - the cards I dealt to you. It was I that made you short or tall, dark or light; disciplined or not; it was solely my doing that you were born into the circumstances that became so formative to you in adult life. Yes Iggy, it was I who jointly crafted and honed the message that you uttered every day of your life.”
Iggy, you have truly been the quintessential messenger; with a vital and important message: one piece of a cohesive and undeniable whole; a message that resonates throughout humanity; and that message simply this: we are, each of us, absolutely, stunningly, stupendously, unique in every way; and each of us carries forth a small piece of our creator’s heart, our creator’s mind, and tells the story:
What if God created such a being as me?”
“Thank you Iggy - thank you for telling our story.”
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Blog, blog, blog, blog, blah…
Read this article yet? The author enjoins us to get on board and be more blog-savvy. He wants us to know that 40,000 blogs are being created everyday.
But that’s ok… Of those 40,ooo, a mere hand full are worth reading. The rest are crap.
Crap.
Meanwhile, a Pew Research Poll recently found that only about 29% of us even bother with blogs. You’re in the 29% of course - why would you be reading otherwise.
And so on…
But what I found most important in this article was the reminder of how blogs are the beginning of stupendous change for humanity. Think of it - for the first time in history, anybody, indeed, everybody, can participate in the humanity’s conversation. Yes, any content can be published, read, contemplated… No longer is what we read or see controlled in smoke filled corporate board rooms, or in television and radio newsrooms, or by book and magazine publishers… Now everyone can make the decision about what is relevent and what is not.
They’ve been disingenuous you know - the so-called mainstream media: Here’s what CNN looks like inside according to Chez Pazienza who was fired for blogging, CNN always exploited the news to conjure an overarching message. The message, not necessarily being the truth.
On and on it goes; humanity shaping the story of humanity according to thier own views. And no where, no where - can we find those hard, immovable pillars of truth, that weather every adversity and human storm.
Nowhere.
Yeah - truth… Made up, twisted and molded, bent like a pretzel by each of us - but hey! Truth none the less. At least I think its is.
Tom
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
