Puzzle

There is a puzzle in a box that sits in a corner, almost forgotten.  The pieces, now faded and amber hued from age, were once young and bright.  They are unique pieces, unlike the pieces you would find in most puzzles.  These shapes fit together in many ways, which has often led people to feel they had solved the puzzle, though their unsatisfying end result was not something they could understand or appreciate.  In truth, that is the complexity of this puzzle; not to simply jam together the pieces that fit, but to take one’s time and inspect each piece and learn how it is connected to the others and why.  To assemble the work, not to conform to what you wish it would be, but as it was intended to be, even when you cannot understand the pattern.  Once this is done the puzzle will be yours and yours alone, as you and you alone will understand the truth its collective pieces speak.  The final mosaic shares a secret truth that is still bold despite the puzzle’s fading and scarred pieces.  The puzzle possesses neither pride nor envy.  It simply waits to be solved.  Each day that passes, each person who gives in after a failed attempt, each year of lost allure adds only to the value and singularity of its sacred humble secret.

What The World Needs Now

In an age of mob mentality, vengeful theocracies, wars against concepts and constants, and a predominantly jaded western mentality best described as a passive aggression, the salvation of the human spirit has become the task of Rogues.  In an age ruled by the incredulous, the inane, and the insane, governed by wrath, greed, and gluttony, and misguided by the fear of conflict born of contrast and the false hope we place in failing solutions, a true and noble warrior class is what we must promote.  In many ancient societies a select group of educated and determined leaders either took or were given power with the understanding that it was to make the world a better place.  In many cases the fall of those civilizations came shortly after relegating those arbiters to a mere position of title.  Now we look back at the tales of their deeds in disbelief, we call them myths and folklore.  Historians tell us now though, that upon inspection, many of these tales were true.  The few stood against the many, the small and hearty triumphed over the lumbering giants, and princes spread noble truths, which brought the world light in its darkest times.  I fear now, that dark times are upon us once more, and that without the effort of honorable rogues, all that we have struggled for in this world will be lost and forgotten, only to be recalled in the fairy tales of a mythical world where people were free from the tyranny of God-like corporations, corrupted domineering politicians, and organized religions. 

This is not my manifesto.  This is not a declaration of intent.  This is not a personal commitment of any sort, for I have already begun down my path.  This is a call to arms, a call to station.  This is a request for all who have means to assert themselves in this world.  Find a problem and fix it.  Search for the helpless to rescue.  Lend help to those who already struggle to improve the world.  Guard yourselves from the attacks of the ignorant multitudes, and take a measure of pride in the knowledge that people standing above the rest are often the easiest to shoot at.  If you find yourself exhausted but happy at the end of the day; if you strive to make something better, and to not hurt others in any way; if you fall and stumble time and again but continue to stand and start over time and again once more, you are among the counted few who deserve to enjoy the benefits of the paradise you are building.  This paradise, you may never see, your children may never see, but if you spend your life in this most noble of services, and inspire others to do the same, someday the children of your children’s children may enjoy a life blessed in such a way that this society of ours will seem as archaic and barbaric as it truly is.  If these distant offspring follow your example they may even deserve the world you have built for them, as we only deserve what has been given to us by taking full advantage of it and committing our actions to making it better. 

I ask you to rebel against the hypnotic chanting of the mob.  I ask you to swim against the flow.  I ask you to push the envelope, bend the rules, break the law, and walk other path to do what you can see must be done.  Tyrants and plagues are not merely maladies of the past.  They still bleed us and beckon our descent into despair, only now so many of them have mastered the tricks of popularity and fed us the seeds of indifference.  Seek out one of these dragons, these chimeras, and slay it.  There are plenty.  Go forth and be the hero you dreamt of as a child.  Give the world what you owe it, a life spent striving to cultivate health and happiness.

My Gratitude

My inspirations for this have come from William Blake’s “Invictus”, Rudyard Kipling’s “If”, the war memorials I recently visited in D.C., and most importantly my own family and close friends.

 

~~~

 

In this chaotic life, I find myself often lost and wandering.  If this realm is made and ruled by some intelligence, then I thank whatever God or gods may be for my blessings.

 

I, like many others, should give thanks for everything I have, and all the sadness I have been spared, but I won’t.  There is something more, something at the heart of all the goodness in my life, and that is the one thing that I am grateful for most of all.  I thank the gods for my noble blood.  My family boosts warriors and healers, educators and problem solvers, hard workers and masters of fortune.  Where others are meek, we are bold.  Where others accept the rule, we push the boundaries for the greater good.  My close friends are of the same nature, and I am deeply happy that I have been able to find such good people in my life. 

 

As I think of the warriors in my family, a Soldier, a Sailor, a Marine, and those who came before them, as I stood before the monuments, as I think of all the good accomplished by others in my family, I feel insignificant.  I feel humbled in the best way possible.  While I am so very proud of what they have done and what they will do, I know that their accomplishments are not my own, and it sparks a fire in my soul to do what I must to make their sacrifices worthwhile.  I find myself drawn to be the best citizen I can, to give all I can, when I can, and to those truly deserving.  To divest my burden of ego and entitlement, and invest my potential entirely in making this world a better place. 

 

As I wander through the chaos I take comfort in my heritage, I think of the good examples of my family, and I follow the divine spark within me, given to me by my family, that leads me to live with honor.  In my dark and lonely moments, the thought of ensuring the innocent laughter of my family’s next generation lightens my heart and focuses my conviction.

 

My Oath

 

To help when I can,

To act when others stand idly by,

To thank those who also help,

To lead when others would only follow,

To pass the credit to those who truly deserve it,

To stand after falling,

To try again and again, until trying becomes doing, and the task turns from daunting to accomplished,

To work this hard, not for trophies or ceremony, but the simple humble praise conveyed in the handshake of one who understands the struggle,

To speak thoughtfully, and ensure my actions lend credit to my words,

To love those deserving of my love, and let them know that they are loved,

In the end, to earn and justify the life and love I have been given so generously.

 

 

Doing nothing

Doing Nothing

 

A man drives through town on an overcast afternoon.  He has a lot on his mind, and he has been buried in these thoughts and questions for several days now.  Life is both hectic and boring at the same time.  Only a few weeks ago everything was moving so fast it was a blur, and now so much has stopped that it still seems blurred and some things are still moving, or need to be moving.  This seems so cryptic, but it is the best way he can describe the general feeling of confusion he has.  Lately it seems that the hours drag but the days fly.  Today was his day to burn, to write, to focus, and to relax.  He woke early, watched the sunrise, went for a hike, went to get a haircut, and now he is on his way home to write some more of the book he is working on. 

 

He comes to the road, close to home, where they are making repairs.  Son of a bitch.  This just adds to the frustration he already has in his mind.  It shouldn’t, he has no reason to rush home, but it does because that is the mood he is in.  Frustration, like misery, loves company.  He takes the detour, following the short line of cars to a four way stop sign.  Before he gets there though, he hears a horn and a loud crunch-bang over the music of his radio.  Great, just great.  Why can’t the retarded shit-bags of this town learn to drive, or what to do at a four-way fucking stop sign?  As he comes to the intersection, other cars continue driving by and he sees what has happened.  A small SUV has been T-boned by another bigger SUV which smashed into its passenger side.  Why does everyone need to drive a goddamn tank?  A hundred thoughts and questions flash through his head as he pulls over and turns on his emergency blinkers.  Cars continue to drive by, going on their way to wherever, paying little mind to the tragedy in the intersection. 

 

As he gets out of his car and approaches the accident he sees that half a dozen people before him have come to stand and gawk at the cars, to do nothing to help.  Apparently the family in the larger SUV is fine, as they have gotten out of their tank and are standing there, shaking their heads and trying to describe what happened to each other.  As he approaches his mind becomes clear, sharp and decisive.  A training he had almost forgotten kicks in, and blood rushes adrenaline to his heart and brain.  He looks the scene over for hazards like live wires, sparks, or spilling fuel.  The scene is safe. 

 

As he walks past the onlookers he asks loudly and clearly if anyone has medical training.  Nobody says anything, they continue doing nothing.  There is a young man trying to look through the driver’s tinted window.  “Can you see anything?”  He asks.  The young man says “No, it looks like just the driver, the door is locked though.”  Apparently the side-impact airbags were set off and the air-pillows were blocking the young man’s view.  It’s time to take control.  “Has anyone called 911?”  Three different women say they have.  Good.  He walks around to the passenger side.  This door is locked too, but the window has several cracks spidering out from the point of impact.  He takes off his jacket and wraps it around his arm.  He smashes the window in with his elbow and reaches in to hit the unlock button. 

 

Walking back around to the driver’s side, he pushes the young man gently aside, and opens the door.  The driver is a balding man in his mid 30’s.  His eyes are closed and his head is lying back against the headrest.  This is good.  This means the Samaritan can check vitals without having to move his neck and risk complicating a spinal injury.  He wraps one hand gently around the man’s throat, to stabilize his neck, and feel for pulse and breathing.  With his other hand he grabs the driver’s wrist to feel for pulse.  He sees a metal plate bracelet on the wrist.  Great, a diabetic with about 50 allergies.  The EMT’s will have fun with this one.  The driver’s heart beat is strong, a bit erratic, but healthy considering the circumstances.  He takes his hand from the driver’s wrist and lightly slaps him on the cheek, while holding his head stable with the other hand.

 

 “Hey!  Asshole!  Wake up!  Come on buddy!  You are fine!  You just need to wake up!” 

 

Another light slap to the cheek. 

 

“Wake up, you lazy sack of shit!” 

 

The driver opens his eyes and coughs a bit.

 

 “Hi, buddy.   You have been in an accident.  I need you to not move around ok?”

 

 The driver says ok.

 

 “Can you hold your head still?” 

 

Yes.

 

“You are in shock but I need to know if you can feel any pain” 

 

He starts to gently probe the driver’s torso, and the driver tells him that nothing hurts.  Good.

 

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

 

Two?

 

“Right, can you do the same?” 

 

The driver holds up two fingers. 

 

“Now with your left hand” 

 

The driver holds up two fingers on his left hand. 

 

“Good job, chief!  Now squeeze my hand… Good.  I want you to sit still and count all the retards standing in front of your car doing nothing ok?”

 

The driver smiles a bit, calls him an asshole, but consents and begins counting shit-bags.

 

As he turns around a youngish woman is walking up from her car.  She says she is a nurse and asks the baffled gawkers what is happening and what has been done.  Sirens approach in the distance as he waves her over and explains to her the situation and the driver’s medical bracelet.  She nods and goes to check the driver for herself.  Finally, someone who isn’t utterly useless. 

 

“He’s yours now.  The ambulance will be here in a couple seconds.”

 

The nurse nods to him as she checks the driver’s pulse again.

 

He picks up his jacket and walks back to his car.  He doesn’t want to be noticed.  He doesn’t want handshakes or congratulations from anyone, if they would even be given.  He doesn’t want any connection with any of them.  He didn’t do anything really.  He didn’t save anyone.  As he gets in his car, two ambulances arrive.  They’ll be fine.  He is not without pride though.  He goes home to write.  He writes about this.  Then he goes back to doing nothing, and thinking about everything. 

 

… This happened.