Recreational reading and other wastes of time

Anyone who knows me knows that I like to read. Anyone who knows me well knows I like to read a lot. And anyone who knows me really well knows that I'm rarely without my nose in a book whenever I find the time to put it there.

Most people who know me know that I'm a fairly eclectic reader. Most of those who know me better know that I'm more than casual reader. And most of those who know me even better know that there has rarely been a book printed that I would not be willing to read.

Yes, I'm one of those kind of persons who, when someone says, "Hey, you really should read this book", I reply with "Give it to me and I'll give it a shot." I won't deceive you into thinking that I've read every book I've ever had in my hands through from cover to cover. It's not necessary with some (say, have you ever tried reading a dictionary from cover to cover?), it's not possible with others (like when you're trying to decipher a text written with green letters on purple paper), but at least I'll give it a try. Who knows what might be in there? After all, someone went to a certain amount of trouble to ensure that the text got around. The least that I can do is honor the effort, even if I can't grasp what's being talked about. I am more than willing to openly admit that there are some texts that I simply don't get.

Truth be told, I wish I had more time to read, but there are only 24 hours in a day. Consequently, I always try to have more than one book going at any one time. I like to vary genres (non-fiction and fiction, poetry and spiritual texts work well together) and languages (in order to keep up my German which I so arduously learned, I like to have at least one book in German going at any given time). Another confession I need to make is that whatever I read on the internet (be it Facebook or any of the online groups with whom I'm affiliated) doesn't count as "real reading": the primary mode of internet communication is the written word, but that, to me, is a lot like a phone call. It may or not be communication in any meaningful sense of the word.

And so, the question naturally arises: what do I have to show for all of this reading. And, the answer is really rather simple: not a helluva lot. There are lots and lots and lots of interesting ideas out there floating about. No doubt about that. But what is every bit as necessary as reading all of this interesting (and, not-so-interesting) stuff is that you need time to reflect upon it. Reading is one thing. Digesting what you read is another. And I have found that quieter times, such as Lent, when, if you're into the spirit of the season, you kind of slow down just a bit, you can more easily find a fleeting moment here and there (even if it is as a change of pace to the normal monkey-brain-chatter we usually put up with before going to sleep) to think about what you've read.

What I miss sometimes, though, is someone to talk to about what I'm reading, but readers don't always read the same things at the same times. In these internet days in which we live, the neighborhood reading circle is an institution of bye-gone days. I am participating in an online reading group right now, for which I'm more than thankful, but that's a rarity, as most of you know. (The folks organizing and promoting the read are young people, however, and if their efforts are successful, I can only hope that they'll be encouraged to continue in the future.)

Still, all of those silent readers out there may one day be moved to speak. I just want you to know, I'm willing to listen.

The myth of sanity

Over the course of the last several posts, I've been using the word "myth" in its most current, generally accepted meaning: an understanding that is at odds with actual reality. We like to think that things are a certain way. We continually tell ourselves that they are that way. We might even go so far as to maintain that things should be that way. But, in the end, things are like that at all. They are quite different, but we have difficulty admitting that in reality, things are much different.

We like to think that we're our own persons, but for the most part we're not. We like to think we take personal responsibility for our actions, but more often than not, we don't. We like to think we're self-sufficient and that others have just as many chances and opportunities as well do, that we share that believe and similar values, but we don't. We like to tell ourselves that justice is blind, that we're all in this together, that we're safe and free because of the things we believe and hold dear, but in each and every instance over these last posts, we have seen that it really doesn't take much effort at all to break down the facade, to unmask the truth, and to that things aren't like we think they are, and they are certainly not like we would like to believe they are.

And therein lies the dilemma which we are considering today. Our common understanding of myth is very similar to our understanding of the term "fantasy". There is a sense of wonder and make-believe that flows in here. We make up our own version of what-is because, let's face it, it makes everything so much easier to deal with. Life's tough. It's not getting any easier. The number of issues and problems we are confronted with is getting larger not smaller. We'd like to be cut a break. We then tell ourselves that things aren't all that bad and that we're really not all that far off the mark, but at night, before we fade into sleep, we are nagged and haunted by doubts and uncertainty. We suspect, regardless of how much we tell ourselves to the contrary, that what we believe in, what we would like to be true, is, in fact, unreal and not true at all.

We keep on believing anyway. We lie to ourselves. We deceive ourselves. We act in some strange accordance with our beliefs, but our beliefs let us down. We can only hope, and many have given that up as well. But acting on the basis of a fantasy, not reality, is what is medically considered and what everyday common sense tells us is insane.

When we do look "out there" what are we confronted with? Crime, violence - both sanctioned and criminal - murder, rape, pillage, plunder, extortion, hostage-taking, kidnapping, scruplessness, greed, anger, hate, lack of empathy for just about anyone or almost everyone. And so we retreat even further into our illusions: I accepted Jesus so at least I can a Go-To-Heaven-Free card (or not), my military is protecting me, the police are keeping me safe, and the Huxleyan drug we're fed to keep us in line is called Fear, pure and simple.

If all this isn't insane, I don't know what is. To believe we're still sane may be the biggest myth of all.

Outta

This last trip "home" was very short: a mere sixteen days, but time enough for at least one impression every 24 hours:

Out of sight, out of mind.
Out of place, out of time.
Out of rhythm, out of tune.
Out of bounds and not too soon.
Out of power, out of gas.
Out of hope that couldn't last.
Out of money, out of funds.
Out of luck that never comes.
Out of give, out of take.
Out of sleep but not awake.
Out of up, out of down.
Out of square, out of round.
Out of happy, out of sad.
Out of angry, not out of mad.
Out of thinking, out of thoughts.
But with ideals that can't be bought.

OK, it's not a travelogue, but it's not supposed to be.

Eleven pipers piping

On the eleventh day of Christmas, we yearn even more
for the wonder that's coming, that approaches the door.
We make our hearts ready, and hope we're prepared
for the gifts that the Other again with us shares.

The Christmas season, the time between the years, is a wonderful opportunity that most of us let slip by year after year. It is too easy to get caught up in the hectic, the commercialism, and the celebrating. Let's face it: resisting is practically futile, given that the advertising and marketing assault starts earlier and earlier each year. If there ever was "proof" that we have exchanged our society for an economy, it's Christmas. Of course, it needn't be that way. Oh sure, it takes a good deal of effort, but I'm sure there is not a one of us who has not uttered that plea of desperation: "It just can't go on like this!" at one time or another. But to do that, we are going to have to change and therein lies the rub.

Who wants to change? We think it's great when others do. In fact, we're generally very much in favor of that. One of the points that I've been trying to get across the past two weeks, though, is that we're in this all together, and because we are, each of us has to do our part to make things different. Nothing will ever change if we refuse to change ourselves. And, we can never change ourselves until we change the way we think.

In the English-speaking world, we learn that John the Baptist, the precursor to the one whose birth is the center of the celebrations this time of year, admonished us to repent. What most folks don't know is that in the original Greek text, that's not the word that he used. No, good ol' John was crying metanoeite which means more "change your mind", "change the way you think". Now, as then, we are being called upon to re-evaluate just how it is we are looking at the world around us. We are being asked to re-examine whether what we think is the best we can do. We are being challenged to not just take care of business as usual. No, if we change the way we think, we actually change the world.

I know you have all heard all of this before. I never claimed to be saying anything new. My job, as I understand it, is simply to remind us of what it is we already know and what we may have forgotten in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. And it's because of that turmoil that we should really make the effort, at least once during the year, to stop, look, and listen to what is going on around us, to slow down long enough to engage someone else, to talk, to be together, to reflect, to reconsider, and maybe even re-think a few things. This is what the turn of the year, the end-of-year celebration, should be about.