Dad, I'd like to talk.

Every summer, back when my dad was still alive, my parents and I would go to the Isle of Palms. This was a summer tradition. I didn't realize how lucky I was then, but by God I know now. Trips to the beach, to beautiful Charleston, to Patriot Points Naval and Maritime Museum. I have been aboard the USS Yorktown so many times, I could probably give you a tour.

My dad loved the aircraft museum. He was a quiet man, but he grinned like a kid when he'd look at the Hellcat in the hangar. I was partial to the F4J-Phantom. I think his love for the aircraft came from his Air Force days. Before he was a civillian pathologist, he was in the AF during the 50's and 60's. He was actually trained to fly a few larger aircraft, although his primary job was to practice medicine. Sometimes when I go to Tennessee, I go to the garage and I find his flight helmet. I pick it up. I wonder. He really loved the Air Force.



And of course I find his stethoscope. An old blood pressure cuff. Even a black doctor's bag. I brush the dust off of these things, and I talk to my dad.

"Why didn't you tell me this world was a mad house?"

OR

"How did you survive the death of your first marriage?"

OR

"I'm doing the best I can. I really am."

OR

"Thank you for being a kind, wise, loving father, and not a jerk."

BUT MOSTLY

"I miss you."

If you have a loved one who's died, it's likely you talk to them too. I don't suppose I'll ever stop.

These days I am trying to recover something from the past. I've always been interested in the past. Anyway, I've decided that the symbol of this "recovery act" is my own body. I'm trying to eat well. Trying to exercise. I've lost thirty-five pounds so far. This means I weigh about 268 pounds. In high school, when I played football and wrestled, I weighed in the 190-205 range. Dad got sick in April of 1996. Died a few months later. I kind of just gave up after that. But now I've decided a change in policy is in order.

I know that getting to 200lbs again won't bring my dad back. But this process, for me, is about bringing something of myself back. It is about a journey to a place better than Charleston... or ANY city. Walt Whitman wrote a poem entitled, "Passage to India." In this poem he celebrates the great technological accomplishments of humankind. Laying down telegraph wire across an ocean... circumnavigating the globe... You'll remember that centuries ago, Europeans were obsessed with a shortcut to India. Finding a "passage to India" was a symbol for progress, and indeed, Whitman heaped praise upon the advances made over the centuries. But he laid a bold charge down for the reader at the end. We are charged to take "passage to MORE than India." Despite the technological advances, Whitman felt that the last great frontier was spiritual.

I do hope to return to Charleston again someday. I hope to return with people I love. But my deepest hope is to passage to more to India... to go more deeply into my own heart... more deeply into the heart of God. I imagine that I bring my dad with me in this journey, and all the people I love. With such good company, I know that I will not fail. And who knows what I might find?

Anton's Syndrome

Today I learned about Anton's Syndrome. There are two symptoms of this stroke-induced disorder. The first is "cortical blindness." There's nothing wrong the eyes, it's that the part of the brain that translates what the eye sees is damaged, so that the person is blind. If it seems strange that a person with perfectly healthy eyes can be blind, then consider the next symptom... The patient is unaware that they are blind.

The doctor said that this was a less common syndrome. And truthfully, it's hard to imagine that it exists. Blind people who are not even aware that they are blind. So they will go to the doctor's office, and they will flat out deny to the physician that they are blind. So the good doctor asks the patient, "What does my tie look like?" And the patient answers. Of course, the description is wrong. He's blind, remember? But the patient actually believes he is seeing the doctor's tie. It's not like the patient is lying. His brain supplies an image for the "mind's eye," and it is as real to the patient as the brown dog I see lying at my feet. Of course, one could question the reality of my perspective. This goes to the old philosophical question of whether or not we are seeing "things in itself," or merely "representations of ideas." But that's not the dog I'm gonna send to go hunt. Not tonight anyway.

As I said, Anton's Syndrome isn't common. But I personally feel acquainted with it. Maybe you do too. Seems like we go about life, assuming that our common sense is actually common. We assume that we see things as they are. We're a practical people. And we trust our senses. But should we? Don't we all have "blind spots?" This can be particularly frightening if we are driving our cars. We prepare to merge into the next lane. We check our mirrors, we glance over our shoulder, and begin our drift... only to be honked at! A man drives by and you can't hear a word he's saying. But you know what he's saying. You know. And it scares us terribly... to be waylaid by unforeseen blindness.

As dangerous as this can be on the road, there is are places where eyes that normally see 20/20 fail to catch the light. That place is called "Love." Ain't nobody got an eagle-eye as far as Love is concerned.

This is because love involves people, and people are an ever unfolding mystery. Friendship is not dissimilar. Any type of relationship wiggles out of ability to apprehend it entirely. We see what we see... in others... in ourselves, for reasons we can scarcely comprehend. We see an enemy possibly because we have an enemy. Or maybe we merely need one. Maybe you know what I mean. We've all pointed an accusing finger at some whipping boy. "It's that bastard's fault I said... did... feel... etc." The opposite is often true. We need an ideal. A hero. Someone to adore. People do this to their ministers. We're expected to be "better," more pure. Our families are more orderly. We have calm, Spirit-rich lives. If we have any faults, they're laughable. We're Ned Flanders. We're sexless. I remember putting my pastor on a pedestal... with golden intentions. Of course, he never was a real person to me. He was a priestly function. An "enter" key that I could press to start a new paragraph.

We also do this to lovers. I was once accused to putting someone on a pedestal. She smiled when she said it. Joked with me and asked me if "Wonder Woman" had any faults. I smiled. I hurt. While I have put women on pedestals before, I realize now the pitfalls of such wide-eyed praise. When we elevate our Loves in impossible ways, when we refuse to acknowledge their limitations, their outright faults, or at least the things about them that drive us crazy, WE MISS WHO THEY ARE!

Wonder Woman's words hurt. I wondered, "Does she believe that anyone who really knows her would find it hard to love her?" And maybe my pride was hurt a little. I think I see things... people... pretty clearly. I believe I have the courage and the will to see others "as they are."

I know now that this is not always true. Sometimes, whether I'm pointing at a scape-goat or at someone I admire, I am actually pointing at my own blindness.

The heart is a dark place. We can barely know our own hearts, and it is faith that lets us feel like we can know another's.

Another word for "Faith" is "Trust." In the end, life requires a lot of Trust from us. It is a key ingredient in the recipe for love and/or friendship. It is essential for the reading of our own souls, because it's our soul that will tell us where to go, what to do. It is where God speaks. And even though we often see and hear God according to our own needs and conveniences, we "see through a glass darkly," as St. Paul says... we still catch a few glimpses.

The patient with Anton's Syndrome may not be physically able to trust the doctor's diagnosis. But we can accept our blind spots if we have the courage to acknowledge them. We might not ever see anything very clearly, but who knows... with a little trust, and a lot of love... we might get some of this Life stuff right.

Currency

I once met a dying actor. He enjoyed a "hey, it's THAT guy" sort a fame. Had a few guest roles in a few tv shows in the 80's. Was in a few B movies. Had a supporting role in one big movie. He had cancer.

"There is one thing I have learned," he said in a soft voice. "It's that money can give us a false sense of security." I was a CPE resident at the time, making half of what I make now as a professional staff chaplain, and what I make now makes me the poorest person you know with a Masters degree from Wake Forest University. So I was curious about this man's comment.

I had learned that a LACK of money gives me a very real sense of insecurity. Of course, I knew that money wasn't the panacea that our culture makes it out to be. If I had made money my goal, I'd have chosen a profession that commands a lot of bank. It's not that hard. Or it's no harder than what I do now. In any case, I feel fortunate. I have meaningful work, and I make enough. But when I was a resident, I did not make enough. Still, I listened to the patient.

"Take this cancer for instance," he said. "No matter how much money I throw at this, I'm going to die."

All of a sudden my mind is filled with literary and film references. Remember in the Jodie Foster movie Contact? She has a benefactor. A strange, some would say deranged, billionaire. He is riddled with cancer and as a last resort has paid for transport up to the Russian space station Mir. Apparently the zero G environment slows the progress of cancer. That's probably not factual (I mean, have studies been done on this? If I were an oncologist I would absolutely want to look into this, but only if it meant a trip into space). In any case, Mr. Twisted Benefactor of Jodie Foster ended up dying.

In the Michael Crichton novel, Next, there is, yet again, another billionare who runs into deadly health issues. He too, attempts to throw money at the problem. He owns a biotech company that does research on the cutting edge of gene therapy. At the end of the book, despite his mindblowingly vast resources, this man dies on the operating table.

Of course, this is fiction. It is also true. The movie star did eventually die, and his words have remained with me.

It strikes me that the acquistition of wealth is yet another attempt to control reality. To a limited extent, the wealthy DO have a lot of control. Certainly corporations "too big to fail," or those with money to invest in controlling our political leaders, have some degree of power.

But they still don't have the capital that really matters. They have a limping currency that only goes so far. Despite the "lording over" quality that many executives exhibit in their lives--just look at Donald Trump and his ability to make pronouncements for the world to hear, despite his lack of anything substantial to say--each of them will die. But even in the middle class, we live in the vale of illusion. Our climate controlled homes buffer us from the elements, our cars allow us a quality of convenience unheard of in the vast span of human history, our Medicine can temporarily pull us from the jaws of death... a person "dies" on the table, but medications and electricity can revive them. But what is any of this worth if no one considers the essential things?

The only currency worth a damn is love.

People living in abject poverty understand this. It is tempting for us living with air conditioning to sentimentalize "the poor" as merely salt of the earth folk. The truth is, they can be just as wretched as the rest of us, though their lives are shorter and more brutish than ours. I'm not going to go into Somalia expecting to find entire populations of centered, wise, contented people. However, there are people living in these hells-on-earth capable of experiencing and enjoying love. They have fewer distractions from mortality than we do, but some people have discovered that which makes life worth preserving and fighting for: Love.

We don't have much control over the universe. Despite the optimism of the movies, if an asteroid careens towards our planet, there is nothing we can do to stop it. Nuking a Texas sized asteroid is a fantasy. If said asteroid comes calling, we will be obliterated. If the sun goes beserk, we die. WHEN another ice age comes, many of us will die. Cancer will keep on coming, but even if we cure that... old age will surely get us.

Some people figure, "Hey, no problem. I'm going to Heaven anyway." But if THIS life didn't matter, Jesus wouldn't have spent his life teaching people how to live in. Whatever happens post-death... and no one knows for sure... we have the opportunity to love God, to love others.

So if you are tired of spending yourself for the woefully limited currency of money, consider investing yourself in Love. It's stock has never gone down, and it will prove more sustainable than Facebook.

But if you win the lottery tomorrow, remember the little people, ie, me. I'd love to try steak tartare in Paris someday.