I stare at the fire near the end of a winter day. The house over-warmed for a while, but these glowing coals are still welcome.
Ten years ago, I journaled about the cost of healthcare beginning to soar. I framed it in January ’00 as an actual problem discovered in the new century. Remember the concern, leading up to that new year, about Y2K? Computers, people worried, might not be able to recognize the proper dates once the millennium turned. But the geeks and experts figured things out in plenty of time.
Now we’re coming up on 2012, a date people worry about as the end of things (I might see the movie this week at our discount theater). It’s becoming a joke, as Y2K did, and rightly so. We never see the big things coming. There are always signs, but not often an accurate announcement.
I read a heartbreaking essay, by a woman who taught high school English in Los Angeles. She longed to encourage, even protect a boy who could write well. There was no way to do either, where the system is in complete chaos.
The author admirably includes herself with the whole culture that has failed. Her students refuse to list what they think they will be doing in 10 years. They’re sure the world will end by then. Their poverty is not one of abject starvation and want, because they receive aid from the proper agencies. Their lack comes from an impersonal society where no one really cares and there is nothing left to hope in.
Am I fostering a world in which kids don’t have hope, when I keep the wheels turning that allow them a bare respite from physical suffering? What I mean is, I hate to think there isn’t enough hardship in the world to fight against, to give us hope.
Staring at my fire I sometimes forget to turn on lights as the day grows dark, and then I realize I don’t want to. I bring out matches and light our oil lamps and candles. In their glow I become less tense as anxieties lift.
If there were no electric fixtures, my existence would be harder. But would I, dwelling closer to reality, hope for more? Perhaps I would give more of myself to others in this life. (Probably, I would need to receive a lot more from others in terms of help to survive – maybe not a bad thing.)
I’m not saying electricity’s the problem, or the only one, or that we should or can go back to “simpler” times. Maybe, though, what those kids from L.A. wish for is a bolt from heaven that would take out the rush for funds in bureaucrat-heavy schools and snatch away prevailing adult distractions from their sundered families, so they could come together, even in darkness. If only they could live unafraid to write down good stories and recite them of an evening by a candle’s flickering light.
Yes, yes, yes. You have said this so well. It is not the PC way of expressing things these days, but sometimes I think what we (Americans) really need is a good dose of suffering (perhaps by the REMOVAL of government assistance) to bring us (Americans – especially my generation and the upcoming ones) to maturity and a true zeal for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Good reflections, Deanna.
The red-hot fire in the wood stove made me think your post would be about hell. And in a way, it is. “Their lack comes from an impersonal society where no one really cares and there is nothing left to hope in.”
Seems like many adults are scratching their heads wondering why the young have no inspiration to motivate them towards living meaningful lives. Many of the kids say they ‘don’t want to end like mom and dad’. The generation gap is bigger than ever and the funny thing is, most people can’t even see it.
Seems to me the best thing to do is live a genuinely interesting life which naturally exhibits wisdom, personal fulfillment, happiness, creativity, contentment, curiosity, challenge, love, and most of all Spirit, a life of hope that will attract the attention of the young who see and hear only despair. Perhaps, in this Gordian Knot of a world, lives well lived are just the quiet hope a brutal, foolish world needs to restore the “maturity and a true zeal for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” of which Marianne writes.
Lives well-lived season the world with grace, a precious commodity.
We can ALL do better.
Thanks, Marianne. One thing’s for sure, I’m glad I’m not in charge of the story, deciding when the big things should happen to our culture and world. I don’t think we’re made to want things to go badly for ourselves and everyone else, and I know you’re not saying that you do. History shows, though, that people find purpose when there’s friction (often terrible stuff) going on. Of course, some people become hopeless then, too.
Like you basically say, Cherie, learning to live well can be a message and help. The continuing practice of that, whether by candlelight or computer glow, is probably the most an individual can hope to offer.
I see so much suffering and lack in people’s lives already, I sure wouldn’t wish any more on anyone–alas, there’s plenty to go round right now, and bound to be more on its way–but rather I would wish for an increase in our awareness of how to tend lovingly to our own and one another’s suffering.
How can I increase my own compassion and decrease my own aggression?
How can I shed more light and warmth?
How can I help, and not hurt?
Not sure if that’s what you were getting at, Deanna, exactly, but those are the questions that arise in me in response to your post…
Good points, Fresca. There’s the “big picture” musing I was all about in this post, that says, if only something could benefit the most people at once in the current situation, what might it be? Then there’s a more rubber-meeting-road approach, when I’m faced with another person’s real suffering. I was made, I think, to want to help decrease suffering. There’s a disconnect between what I want, though, and what is – in the world and in me – and I discover over and again the suffering caused by (or that’s at least a by-product of) even the best intended plans to alleviate it. That doesn’t mean life’s hopeless, because I live more fully in the light and warmth of others, even while paying suffering’s toll.
I may write more about these thoughts this week. I appreciate each response for the help in my processing. (on and on we go…)