OLD USENET HANDS WILL HAVE an easier time than others with this one, but:
1. Go to alt.fan.starwars.
2. Select the thread “A New Hope.”
3. Enjoy.
Yes, it’s “just” two guys typing the first Star Wars movie at each other, but remember: One man’s timesink is another man’s religious act.
AFTER MUCH CONSIDERATION, I HAVE come to the conclusion that of all God‘s creations or man’s adjustments thereof I should most like to be a rock; not so small as to be skipped by errant boys nor so large as to make the blind stumble, smooth enough to sit on but too rough for graffitti, blended with the landscape yet not so much as to be entirely unknown, not so corporeal as to be uninteresting but solid enough to watch the world slide by for a few thousand millennia. Slow rock thoughts — bird chirps and rainsfall and mountain chains rising like silent supplicants — and under all of it, the constant whirling thrum of Earth’s viscous spin.
Let others become astronauts and firefighters, nurses and movie stars: I shall be a rock, simple and content, my inside like my outside, one with the passing stars and the clinging lichen. (After all, one needs someone to talk to.)
(Inspired by Rabbi Rami Shapiro‘s 4/2/10 Facebook post.)
… DIFFERENT FROM ALL OTHER NIGHTS? Well …
Aside from each evening — each moment — being unique and therefore different from any other before or since: On all other nights, the world rotates from sunlight into darkness. Tonight the world will rotate from the sunlight into candlelight, as millions (B”H) of Jews light the Pesach festival lamps in a wave of 24 one-hour slices. (Some say this low-frequency, high-amplitude wave is the secret of Jewish survival. Considering Pesach’s generational emphasis, that’s a difficult point to refute.)
However you celebrate — full-blown seder or full-moonlight revel — and however mired you may be in your own personal Egypt of depression, worry and stress, may this season of freedom bring you opportunities and opening doorways.
“Next Year In Idealization!”
A FUNERAL IS A GROUP of people standing around talking about someone they’d rather be talking to.
I’M PUTTING OFF WRITING A eulogy. Doesn’t everyone?
Linda Tomback is a good friend who used to attend our Saturday morning Torah study. Her death is the eighth in our congregation in the past two years; the first two were also regular members of our study group — a cantankerously proud “old-school Reform Jew” named Larry Giller, and big enthusiastic ba’al teshuvah (returnee to Judaism) Steve Surtshin.
Then Richard Bien, with whom I enjoyed some intense Torah and life discussions but didn’t know as well as I would have liked; Esther Norton, whip-tough and smart and motherly generous; Paul Habas, tall and formal, devastating sense of humor; Margaret Laybourn, cherished by many friends but someone I only saw across the oneg table; and the gentle yet formidable Richard Newman, who taught me why we have principles — and how to live by them.
“Each man’s death diminishes me,” John Donne wrote. True, it’s our common fate — less evitable even than taxes, since we share it with everyone fish or plant or fungus — but when it happens within a small social group within a small historical moment, Donne’s truth rattles rather loudly.
Linda’s funeral is this afternoon. I have not attended any of the above friends’ funerals either due to medical complications (mine), privacy (the family’s), or ignorance (again mine); in fact the last funeral I attended was Jim “Sputnik” Gjerde‘s in 2003. He was about the best friend I had, of 24 years through high school and young manhood and whatever our particular manhood is; as Shakespeare might have said, our lives were seated on the ground telling ribald stories of the lives of kings until we rang the chimes at midnight. His death undid me, and frankly rather soured me on the whole prospect. “Death? Pfffft. What else is on?”
Funnily enough, I said a few words at Sputnik’s funeral too.
Torah study is a lot like golf, in that you can really get to know someone while you’re doing it; it demands openness and honesty and the sort of integrity that’s perhaps better called consistency. I didn’t know Linda long — only two years or somewhat less — but she was a lot like Sputnik: intense, smart, funny, kind, instantly easy to hang out with, generous beyond measure, unselfconscious in her approach to God and Its mysterious ways.
Maybe those ways are less mysterious to her now, and she’s hanging out with Sputnik and Larry and Steve and Richard and Esther and Paul and Margaret and Richard and whoever it is that you miss, when you think of conversations you can’t have. I don’t know; I don’t think I will know until my own death, and perhaps not even then. But I have told you their names because, according to one voice of Jewish tradition, they contain our souls, and thus live on with each mention, and who knows but that might be true, in some sense. May we all partake of this, or similar, immortality, or at least the comfort that pondering it may bring.
MORE ON THE EFFABLE FRAMING of ineffability: Back in November, I wrote a flashfictional fable (or, if you will, a flashfable [term (c) 2010 Neal Ross Attinson]) “Awe and Inquiry”. I called it that because it seemed an apt metaphor for one variety of spiritual experience (plus, I like the way it sets up the punchline).
Once it scrolls off the front page, I tend to forget what I’ve written. Imagine my pleasure to find “Awe and Inquiry” being read, not once, but several times — onvce a day for the last couple weeks, in fact. According to my .log files, it’s sweeping Eurasia one computer at a time: England, Sweden, Denmark, Ukraine, Moscow, the Netherlands, Korea, Saudi Arabia, Iran and, just this evening, Prague.
I have no idea why, but it doesn’t seem to be a series of globetrotting bots so much as a closed connection within the (real and original) Matrix. To everyone who’s wandered by here, including the Brit who found me while Googling “Robert anton wilson recipe golem” on his or her iPhone: thank you for reading. Really, thank you. After all — it’s why I write.
UPDATE (3/28/10): I just had a closer look at my logs; %$#@!ing spammers is what it is, bouncing off of various anonymizers. Which is still interesting, but more depressing in light of my original take … especially in the sense of my baby “Awe and Inquiry” being understood by anyone but me. Ah, well. Back to the keyboard.
FUNNY THING ABOUT DEFINING GOD: Despite the impossibility of the task, it does draw one’s imagination and eloquence (or directness, if you’re lucky). I made a stab at it in http://metaphorager.net/working-definition/, tried to understand my understanding in /four-points-of-contact/ and reflected on how I got there in /judaism-as-art/. But waking from a nice Shabbat nap this afternoon, the thought occurred:
“God is the face of the Universe looking back at us.”
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