Who doesn’t love autumn? And by “autumn,” of course, I mean mid-fall when all of the leaves on the trees have turned to gold and amber and rubies. But what about late fall when the limbs are bare and the skies have turned to steel? Few covet “fallter,” the transition from fall to winter when all the world seems to die.
But does it? No, it cloisters. It gathers itself, preserves its inner life and warmth, and prepares to burst forth again in the spring. Look again at those empty limbs, and see the story within them, the story of overcoming. There’s a stark beauty in that story–not of life on display, but of life preserved.
The same story can live within us if we choose to nurture it. And then, when all the world seems to die, people will see our story. It will show them how to preserve their inner life and warmth, and prepare to spring forth once again. People need to see…
The beauty within us.
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“Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion. Life is like a train of moods like a string of beads, and as we pass through them they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,
And rainbows have nothing to hide.”
~Paul Williams and Kenneth Ascher
“Illusion is Reality’s coy lover who cheers him when he is grim. Illusion is cunning to his wisdom of ages, sweet oblivion to his knowledge.” ~Kresley Cole
“I’ve looked at life from both sides now,
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall.
I really don’t know life at all.”
~Joni Mitchell
For people like us who believe in physics, the separation between past, present and future has only the importance of an admittedly tenacious illusion.” ~Albert Einstein
“God, listen to the absurdity within us and raise us from the illusion!” ~Sorin Cerin
“And so, let us not fix our eyes what we can see, but on what we cannot see. For that which we can see is temporary, but that which we cannot see is eternal.”
~2 Corinthians 4:18
Expectations are the mortal enemy of happiness. The simplest solution, of course, is to lower our expectations of “how things will go.” But the far better solution is to banish them altogether. Banishing our presumptions is necessary for complete happiness. And it’s the prerequisite for even greater things. Things like: Discovery, wonder, and joy!
Why has pizza been called the world’s most perfect food? Because it includes every taste and texture we crave, all in one dish: sweet, savory, chewy, crunchy. Oh yeah, and cheese, tons of cheese. What’s not to love? And yet, when I first tried pizza I didn’t like it. My primitive kid-buds preferred squishy-sweet canned spaghetti.
But I rediscovered the world’s most perfect food a million new taste receptors later. By the time I was a teenager, 19th century beer-hall-themed “pizza parlors” had become a thing (go figure). People sang along to tack-pianos, while crunching their way through big, crispy communal pizzas. Pizza parlors were tailor-made for groups. And in my case, that meant high school drama geeks.
We’d just finished opening night of the anti-racist musical Finian’s Rainbow. In it, I played Og the leprechaun, and my buddy Mike played the leader of a black gospel group. Just for fun, we decided to go to the cast party at our local Shakey’s Pizza Parlor–in full costume and make-up.
Our little suburb had no Black people. But Mike’s Greek complexion and nearly-African-American hair-itage (along with some subtle make-up) made him a believable and rather dapper black man.
There were no openly gay people where we lived either. So, when a black dude and his white, cross-dressing “boyfriend”—decked out in green eye-shadow and cute, pointy little shoes—walked in arm-in-arm, well…let’s just say the music stopped.
We sat down amid the after-football crowd, who began to rumble. Loudly. But then we got up and moved to the theatre crowd table. Our fellow actors roared with delight. Our drama teacher Mr. Baker, whispered, “Gutsy, boys, very gutsy.” And then he grinned. Loudly.
As a young adult, I discovered a wide world full of chewy-thick, crunchy-thin, chunky tomato-y, smooth Alfredo-y, garlicy pesto-y, profoundly cheesified pizzas to love, and began eating it every Friday night.
I eventually found a woman who was equally passionate about pizza, and took it as a sign from heaven (or maybe Italy). So I married her. A few years further on, each of our toddler daughters tried their first solid food–pizza–on a Friday night. And each, having inherited their mother’s superior taste-buds, fell instantly in love with it. And why shouldn’t they? After all…
It’s the world’s most perfect food.
P.S. I’m on a brief hiatus from the My Real Memoir series normally posted on Tuesdays. It will return soon.
“Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that.”
~Galatians 6:4 (MSG)
“Now this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”
~John 17:13
Last week, I wrote about being attacked by yellow jackets while blowing leaves near their underground lair. And about the far more disastrous results of my defense campaign. Result? Several days later, my wife Trudy and I committed full-scale waspicide. Still, I must admit feeling sympathy for the little devils.
We waited until dark, when the entrance was unattended. And then we sprayed a megadose of bug killer into the hole and dropped a slab of cement on top of it. We completed the assault by building a rim of dirt around the newly-installed headstone.
I had mixed emotions. I knew it was necessary, but it also seemed a bit macabre. “Maybe we should say a few last words,” I suggested. Trudy punched me in the arm and told me I was too soft-hearted (I suspect she meant “soft-headed”).
The next day, the Great Tomb of the Wasps was haunted by two lone yellow jackets. They’d apparently been on reconnaissance during Waspmageddon, and were the only survivors. They looked so forlorn wandering around the sepulcher. After another two days, I put them out of their (and my) misery with the sole of my shoe.
Then I said a prayer. Go ahead, laugh. I may indeed be a soft-headed sentimentalist. But I can’t help feeling an innate sense of respect for all Creation, even the so-called “pests.” Could it be some indwelling sense that “all creatures great and small” have a greater role than we understand in the Grand Scheme?
Anyway, like a Cheyenne warrior thanking the spirit of the buffalo he’s just slain (too over-the-top?), I spoke words of gratitude and remorse. I couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the little devils. After all, one day “the lion shall lie down with the lamb.” And so too, perhaps, the yellow jackets shall live peaceably with the humans. Or, well, not “with” them per se, but preferably…
In a different part of Paradise.
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