I began questioning what I
had assumed to be reality at the age of seven. At that point I wasn’t so aware
of a dilemma involved in human existence or that any particular choices were to
be made. My awareness was one of recognition of other dimensions of existence,
beyond that which I had understood to be real. In addition the different
reality of other people and how they affected me became very apparent. Three
events occurred that affected me deeply, causing me to want to know and to
understand what life was all about and who was I in it.
First, after moving into a “new” house in Albany, New
York, in 1954, I awakened one night to see the figure of a man standing at the
bottom of my bed looking down at me. He was very tall and wore a dark
pin-striped three-piece suit. His head was tilted to the right in an extreme
angle, his tongue hung out of his mouth to the side, his eyes protruded like a
frog’s, and his arms hung limply at his sides. I was so horrified that I was
paralyzed, unable to utter a sound or to move. A few nights later, the man
returned, but not visually; rather, as an invisible presence with a soft voice.
He apologized for frightening me, for he realized quickly the effect of his
visual presence upon me. In time, he became my friend and close companion,
returning almost every night for probably two years. We talked and discussed
many philosophical points about life and living and what it was to be human. He
also comforted me when I was in pain. Much later in my life, when I was
twenty-one, I was motivated to research in the local newspaper, the
Times-Union, and found an obituary and a short news article about a man who had
committed suicide at the house I moved into with my family, six
months before we moved in. He was a banker whose wife and children had left him because he drank too much. One day he came home and hung
himself in what probably was his bedroom, now my bedroom. He was very sad but
very kind and knowledgeable. I never told anyone about him until I was
twenty-one. When I finally told my mother, she was aghast, and asked, “How did
you find out?” That is another story I will tell in due time.
Second, my father, who was a decorated World War Two
“hero,” and who had been in the Medical Core, serving on D-Day at Normandy Beach
and in the Ardennes Forest in the “Battle of the Bulge,” had been through the
profound horrors and confusion of war, and, though undiagnosed (as was the norm
for most returning veterans from that war in those times) probably suffered by
PTSD. He often saw me as a “defiant child,” though I probably suffered from a
degree of autism as a result of being born six weeks premature. I exhibited
various signs of autism and was slow to develop verbally and auditorily; in
other words, I didn’t hear adequately and therefore was slow to respond, thus
seeming “defiant.” My father lost patience of my “defiance” and began taking a
belt to my back, not stopping until he was either too exhausted or he drew
blood. At these times, which were extremely frightening and painful to me, I
couldn’t understand why he was doing this to me. I knew he loved me and could
not comprehend why he was doing this. In time, though, I did understand. I
would see in my mind bloody, deafening, explosive battlefields in which men
were dying and bodies and parts of bodies were strewn upon the ground. I felt
absolute fear and confusion and paralysis. I wondered why I was having these
thoughts and then I realized that I was seeing into my father’s mind, into his
thoughts. I also realized that in his mind he was on that battlefield that I
was seeing and reacting to. I understood that my father was “somewhere else”
when he beat me. This didn’t lessen the physical pain or damage but it did
diminish my inability to understand what was happening with him. And though I
had an understanding, I still harbored much resentment that he somewhere within
himself chose to take his rage out on me, his small child. I realized that
other people, even if they loved you, were capable of utmost cruelty. At these
times, I would try to flee into the safety of my bedroom closet, where my
mother kept her fur coats hung upon hangers but reaching down to the floor. I
would curl up in the fur coats like a small wounded animal. My friend, the
“ghost in my room,” would talk to me at these times and console me, telling me
that my father was a “victim of war,” that I should forgive him, that I was
“good,” and would “get through it and be ok.”
Third, in the fall of 1954, I got very sick, probably
with a flu, though I’m not sure what it was. I lay in my bed in my room gazing
out the window at a cold, orange sunset. I had a very high fever. As I lay on
my left side, looking upon my body covered by a blanket, I saw a mountain range
in the setting sun. As I watched, clouds came and enveloped the mountains,
pouring down endless rain for an eternity, after which the mountains were
totally washed away. I lay there now seeing nothing where my body had been. An
eternity had passed and my body no longer existed. Even my ability to “see” had
vanished and I found myself in a state that was without any senses except an
awareness of self. I assumed it must be “my” self.
Who is to say what causes a person to “question
existence”? Each of us has his or her own causes, reasonable or unreasonable,
conscious or unconscious. There is much that has occurred during my life that
has led me in many directions. I have thus sought to “understand the dilemma of
human existence,” for I do see that the many directions offer many choices, or
even just two choices, both of which must be understood to be co-existent. It
may be possible to “transcend” physical existence while living in a human body,
and to do so makes a certain definite sense, however, such an “achievement” may
be “pure nonsense.” I have been living in this question ever since I arrived at
the “age of guilt,” a result of Roman Catholicism indoctrination during my
childhood. Even beyond religious teaching and belief, the issue of “spirit vs.
matter” is certainly ancient and modern, without solution, but understandable
in its paradox and irony. In due time I will get to its gnostic roots and the
damage done to the human psyche. But damage without destruction may be seen as
evolutionary change. If one believes that what happens is “meant” to happen,
that omens are not necessarily ominous, and that each of us is part of and
integral to our own fate, then one may learn to be able to ride upon the
“horns” of the dilemma of being human.
I am writing this in what is
to be book form because I do not believe that electronic transmission will be
permanent but will, sooner or later, abruptly end. At that point we humans may
all abruptly end, but, if not, someone may read my book and find something of
value in it that might aid him or her in the living of their life. I want to
“leave something” of what I have learned in this life and this is one way to do
it. There are other additional ways, such as living by kind and loving example.
In this book there is a smattering of knowledge, including cultural and
philosophical correspondences, some of which seem to be beyond what is
generally or even specifically known, at least as far as I know. There is some
“tongue in cheek” in my writing, which is my way of expressing my particular
anecdote: “Too much irony makes one overwrought.” If one person smiles, it will
all have been worth it. If one laughs, I get my wings. My references indicate
my age and generation: old.
Much of this book is taken from my journals and from
essays and “putting together of information” I’ve written over the years,
arranged by different themes and topics. All of it relates to “understanding
the dilemma of human existence.” What else is there, anyway? I will try to
provide connection and explanation when it seems necessary, and may become
quite tangential at times, as the spirit moves me. I will also let the spirit
speak whenever possible. I might just as well have asked, “What is real?” or
“Who am I?” We each have our own questions that come to us and for which we
seek to understand an answer. And, while it may be quite true that legions of
people do not question at all, preferring to avoid all discomfort and to
believe contexts presented to them, be they business or religion or sheer
survival, are able and willing to contort themselves to fit and to belong
without question or even apparent awareness, these are those many others who
find themselves unable and unwilling to do so.
In my own life I have always tended to write down these
choices made to not fit in and often the pain involved as a result of not being
part and parcel of the “world,” that is, of the way in which life is “expected
to be lived” by the greater majority. Some of us are aided in our eventual
understanding of such a situation by what happens to us in life that is
seemingly much beyond our control. For instance, I refer to my own premature
birth “forced” upon me by my mother slipping on icy stairs, “breaking her
water,” thus forced against the time of nature itself, to bear her baby six
weeks early. From the beginning, then, I was not quite “normal” and spent the
first two months of my life in an “incubator,” a small container with a light
bulb for warmth used to hatch motherless chickens. I was so small and frail,
for my father chain-smoked as well, that I was not touched or held except by
nurses when they changed my linens and diapers. “Human touch” was infrequent
and without love, warmth, or gentleness. Physical touch became overwhelming,
uncomfortable, and even painful to me. I squirmed like an animal to get away,
kicking and screaming and flailing; in time, people were not intimate with me
and I felt safe though always alone, always different. Then, thirty-four years
later, when my daughter, Sarah, exhibited signs of profound autism at two or
three months, I understood how that was for her, and she understood that I
understood. A very close bond was formed between us. I kept a detailed record
of my own thoughts and feelings and still do almost thirty-five years later.
I have also always read different sources, particularly
of philosophy, religion, and history so that I might have some kind of
understanding of what human beings have to say about themselves, their lives,
and their worlds. I have sought to see what they have done and how they acted
throughout history all over the world. Their thoughts over time and their
consequent actions taught me much about what it means to be human, both for
better and for worse. Much of what I have read has resonated closely with me,
had “spoken” to me clearly, and has explained, in some respects, not only how I
“hold” the world or “see” it, but why whole cultures have come to do what they
have done and why they still hold such views of God, themselves, and humanity.
For we are not so separate as we may think we are; we actually operate as a
whole, especially now with the technology of the internet which provides an
immediacy without time or space to give us a chance to weigh and to think, to
reason. Much of what I include in this book is a result of my thoughts, some
with particular purposes to bring new thoughts or evidence to light especially
to specific audiences. There is much here that therefore sounds rather
“academic,” containing footnotes and sources for the quotes I use. If, in my
reading, I find that someone else has come quite close to articulating my own
thoughts or something quite close to them, I have no problem in letting them do
much of the speaking for me. Sometimes they are so well-spoken, in fact, that
it would be a disservice to them for me to even attempt to paraphrase them. And
the fact is that I find myself “in” various historical views and even in those
who spoke them, as if I actually were the person who articulated them. I do not
quite know just what will be included in this book, but whatever lends itself
to an “understanding of the dilemma of being human or of human existence” is
apropos. For, if something “speaks” to me, it may speak to another as well. The
beauty that I am fortunate to be able to see may possibly be seen by another.
The questions and needs that well up from my own soul and my own heart may very
well reflect those of others, just as the questions of the most ancient
philosophers are questions that I too have asked before I ever even knew of
them.
My writings here, then, will cover a spectrum of that
which is quite personal, such as my own life, to that which is very abstract,
such as my philosophical thoughts on cosmological topics. Some will be
paraphrased renditions, primarily through the use of quotes, of various
historical narratives or overweening points of view, such as the fascinating
mythologies of the various Gnostic schools of early Christianity and from what
they are derived. For, to understand the reasons how things are now and the
foundations from which they arose does provide an understanding of current
human nature and thought which is utterly vital if we are to survive and even
thrive in our current world. The primary cause of the problems humanity is
faced with throughout the world is a lack of historical and therefore
foundational awareness. Those who do not know history are bound to repeat it in
their overweening ignorance. To know history is to know oneself.
Central to this desire and
need to understand this “dilemma of human existence” is the need for context,
for a context for ourselves in which we may “belong” and thus “be a part of
life.” Without context, we are lost; we do not even know what we are, much less
who we are, or even why we are. Context most often takes the form of a story of
ourselves in some way. It may be a story of our “people,” our race, our
religion, our society, our nation, our family, or it may be more individualized
into a story of “my spirituality,” my relationship with the universe, with God
or gods, with the earth, with my “true nature.” And so we may spend our lives
searching for stories, for cosmologies, that “resonate” with us, that “speak”
to us, in which we can find ourselves. We may, in fact, discover many such
stories that, themselves, overlap in so many ways, with us able to find a bit
of ourselves in each and consequently coagulating them all into a still greater
story, a still greater context and place of belongingness in which we are able
to exist as we are, though still always searching for still greater boundaries.
It is similar to Siddhartha moving from one guru to the next, absorbing what
each teaches and presents, but then having to discover the next guru with the
greater teaching. Each time he is filled to the brim and realizes that reality
is bigger and more inclusive than he has been able to hold; he must
consequently expand himself, his own reality to be able to contain that which
is to come. I have gone to many religions, many philosophies, many ways of
seeing, many experiences of being, often enough then returning, able to
traverse a higher spiral of that particular story, and noticing that, at a
certain point, the stories become much more entwined in the same spiral. The
Gnostics present incredible “creation” stories, differing according to the main
schools, but with quite similar results. The Plato-Christian stories, though
different in the telling, also have quite similar worldviews and virtue. The
Buddhist and Hindu and Daoist are not so different from the Plato-Christian,
though they are utterly different in their telling and even in their
conclusions. Then, of course, there are the philosophers and the mystics who
also skirt and parallel the religious correspondences. Their various
“movements,” from those of Blavatsky and Bailey, to Krishnamurti and Steiner
are fascinating and amazing, all as sparks of intelligence and great heart
permeating all existence. They all sit with me here in my library, waiting
patiently to “hold company” with me, weighing the issues closest to the human
heart and its existence with the human soul and divine spirit in the same body.
If people but knew what they had to convey of their own experiences and their
understanding and interpretation of that experience, they would not be the
same. I am not the same. The gods and the God have spoken and continue to
speak, but we do not believe that we can hear them any longer, and so we do not
listen. But I have listened and, in the most profane and prosaic moment, have
heard. It is not so much what they say but the fact that we realize that they
have spoken to us; that they, as the ancient Greek “pagans” and Christians
believed, walk amongst us still. Such realities, which we now hold to be more
“sentiments” than truth, are noted in the NT, as when Christ says, “You shall
find me in the very least of my brethren.” He is being both metaphorical and
literal, which is exactly how both the Greek “pagans” and Christians believed
that the statues or images of the gods and of God were “alive” with the
presence of the god and God. Such statues were placed in locations where not
only could they be visited by people, but where they could walk, frolic, make
love, and otherwise romp in the absence of human beings.
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