Lost In A Masquerade

Did we, like the Emporer, assume that we were grandly dressed in our new clothes? And now, somehow, an ugliness has been exposed as we’ve seen ourselves in the mirror of South Carolina and Birmingham before that. Now social media is lit up like Vegas over a Supreme Court decision. Loaded words and vitriol.

I’ve been trying to find my own words, but are they needed? It seems like there are too many out there already. So maybe this is just for my own peace of mind and soul.

Early this morning I was out for my walk. My earbuds were in and my playlist reached the letter T. The list was:

• Take Five by Dave Brubeck
• Teach Your Children by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
• That Spirit of Christmas by Chuck Brown and Eva Cassidy
• Things Have Changed by Bob Dylan
• This Land Is Your Land by Woody Guthrie
• This Masquerade by Leon Russell
• Tight Rope by Leon Russell
• The Times They Are a-Changin’ by Bob Dylan
• Try A Little Tenderness by Florence and The Machine
• Turn! Turn! Turn! by The Byrds
• Turpentine by Brandi Carlile

As I listened and walked and thought and cursed the neighbor’s yippin’ little dog, I was struck by the poetry of each of those songs, and each held words that helped me find mine, making some sense of all this. Especially the first few lines of Leon’s masquerade song:

Are we really happy with this lonely game we play
Looking for words to say

Searching but not finding, understanding anyway
We’re lost in a masquerade

Both afraid to say we’re just too far away
From being close together from the start

We tried to talk it over, but the words got in the way
We’re lost inside this lonely game we play

Are we “just too far away”, too polarized? Does it seem like when we do try to talk it over the words get in the way.

Not to point out the obvious but polarization leads to isloation, and isolation to aloneness, and Leon is right: “We’re lost inside this lonely game we play.”

So I’m an old guy with a blog; which is just more words. Most of my words come out of me feeble attempt to accept growing old with some style and grace. Sometimes though I see the telltale signs of geezerhood. Like the other day, I think I actually said out loud, “Looks like we’re all going to hell in a handbasket.” Another of those signs of senior adulthood is to blame it all on the next generation, i.e.: they keep changing everything and screwing everything up.

As I’ve recorded here on this blog, our youngest son just finished infantry training. As we visited Fort Benning for his graduation, I asked him if everyone he started training with finished. Unfortunately, no. Some were injured, some dropped out. “You can do that?” I asked. “Yes, their ‘less than honorable discharge’ is called ‘Failure to Adapt.’”

Maybe that’s my state: “failure to adapt”. Dylan’s song is still right: the times are a-changin’. The pace of the change is such that it is hard to adapt. But adapt we must. All of us. We live together. All of us. On this big ball.

Several years ago, a guy named Robert Fulghum wrote a book he called, All I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten. [Spoiler Alert] Here’s his list:

These are the things I learned (in Kindergarten):

1. Share everything.
2. Play fair.
3. Don’t hit people.
4. Put thngs back where you found them.
5. CLEAN UP YOUR OWN MESS.
6. Don’t take things that aren’t yours.
7. Say you’re SORRY when you HURT somebody.
8. Wash your hands before you eat.
9. Flush.
10. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
11. Live a balanced life - learn some and drink some and draw some and paint some and sing and dance and play and work everyday some.
12. Take a nap every afternoon.
13. When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
14. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Stryrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
15. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.
16. And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK.” 
― Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

Maybe we could put that on a monument in front of the Oklahoma State Capital. (Get real Pops. Even that would piss off at least a few people.)

Sometimes I think I learned all the theology I will ever need in Sunbeams. For those unfamiliar with southern baptist tradition, Sunbeams was a community for little baptists, where we learned that “Jesus LOVES the little children! ALL the children of the World! Red and Yellow, Black and White, they are precious in His sight. Jesus LOVES the little children of the World.”

See this picture? The one of the beautiful little African-American girl holding her homemade poster? A few days ago, I stood in a museum in Memphis, inside the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King, JR, was shot. This photo was on the wall there and I stood and stared at it for a long time, pondering her question. The answer is blindingly obvious—isn’t?! The answer is an unequivocal “NO!” Right? If there is any doubt about that; then I have a failure to adapt.

If Jesus didn’t really mean it when he said, he greatest commandment is this: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and, Love your neighbor as yourself,” then I have a failure to adapt.

If we’re going to reduce everything to black and white to the point where someone can’t fly a rainbow flag, where African-American churches are being burned, where Righteousness for some means inhumanity for other… Are we “lost in a masquerade”?

That's it. I’m out of words.

So, let me leave you with someone else’s. This is from an interview with Mallory Ortberg and Carvell Wallace following the slayings at the church in Charleston:

These folks were praying for peace and expressing forgiveness by letting this dude into their church when they were slain. Their pants were pulled up and they weren’t “challenging authority.” And they still got killed.
 

Number 3

MAYBE BECAUSE IT’S FLAG DAY… If we were to do a survey on the streets where I live and asked, “Which is your favorite of the 10 Amendments listed in the Bill of Rights?” I’m just guessing, but I think we might get some of these:

• The Bill of Whats?
• Thou shalt not commit adultery.
• Definitely #2.
• I like them all, but if I had to choose one, I would go with #2.
• Which one is the one that says I get to keep my guns? [That would be #2.] Then #2, for sure.

I like #2 as well. Search my house though and you’re not likely to find evidence that I like #2. Oh, in case you’re wondering #2 is this one:

A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.

The only “arm” I have is a Red Ryder BB gun. Some might advise that I shouldn’t publish this publicly as it could make me a target of ne’re-do-wells or worse. Be forewarned, if there is a BB in my Red Ryder, I will shoot your eye out; unless I miss, the BB ricochets and I shoot out my own eye; as we were all warned could happen.

I have to say that my personal favorite is #1. Maybe it comes from my time at the University of Tulsa as a journalism major. Maybe it’s because I can still feel the rush of joining an all-night campus protest following the shootings at Kent State University, May 4, 1970. Maybe it was from a wonderful sense of simple freedom that came when we thought we were redefining “church” during the “Jesus Movement.”

Whatever it is or was; I love #1. All of it. Here, read it:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Isn’t that beautiful?! But this blog post isn’t about #1 or #2. This post is about #3. The one that is often called the “runt piglet” of the Amendments.

It goes like this:

No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

I guess they call it the “runt piglet” because it is the least cited section of the U.S. Constitution and no Supreme Court decision has ever used the Amendment as its primary basis. According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, “as the history of the country progressed with little conflict on American soil, the amendment has had little occasion to be invoked.”

And I’m not about to start invoking it now. Other than the occasional visiting brothers-in-law, I’ve not been faced with the issue of quartering soldiers in my house.

The reason #3 is fresh for me right now is that in a few days, with button-busting pride, we’re headed to Fort Benning, Georgia to pick up our soon-to-be-graduated U.S. Army Infantryman. And this new soldier can quarter at our house anytime, in time of peace or not. 

I have always leaned to the dove-ish side, politically speaking, and even more so now, with a son standing ready to deploy. But if war should come, help us God; I am honored to have a son who has raised his hand and said I will go and defend this country, it’s Constitution, it’s Bill of Rights with it’s ten Amendments and all the rest too, along with the people who enjoy these rights, even the Ss-Of-Bs that won’t stand up off their fat asses and take off their filthy hats when our flag passes and our National Anthem is played.

Well that’s not exactly the oath… just saying.

O Brother

WHEN I THINK OF CALLING SOMEONE "CREATIVE", I think of someone who has artistic leanings: visual artists, musicians, quilters, storytellers, poets, etc. I know there are creative people in the business world as well. I’ve met many of them. I work with some. Obviously, creatives can be found in other fields: science, education, church, sports and more.

Here are some other things I know about “being creative”:

From The Daily Artifact project by Corey Lee Fuller

1. There’s some of it in all of us. Believe what you will about the Creation narrative, but the fact is that we are created in the image of God, and the first thing we learn about God is that he/she is creative.
2. If getting our education system further oriented toward math and science at the expense and even demise of meaningful programs and classes in music, art, drama, creative writing and the humanities, we are doing irreparable damage. Because,
3. A product of “creativity” is beauty, and we need to be in awe and wonder sometimes.
4. Creative people are often compelled to depths that are often dark and darker.
5. Despite that fact, I long to do creative work; not to be labeled “creative” necessarily, but because I will not be satisfied otherwise.

One of the many on-going rhetorical questions in my own mind is, “Would I be willing to be at risk of some state of mental anguish or dis-ease in order to be optimally creative?”

Remember the Faust story; the whole “Selling your soul to the devil” storyline? One of my favorite versions of that theme is in the movie, O Brother Where Art Thou. In this movie, three prison escapees are on the run in a stolen car. They see a guy standing at a crossroads—literally and metaphorically. They pick him up and ask him his story. He explains that his name is Tommy Johnson, and that at midnight, he met the devil at that crossroads and bargained with him: his soul for the ability to play blues guitar.

If you know your Blues lore, you might think that that story belongs to Robert Johnson, who wrote the song “Crossroad Blues”, which was later wonderfully covered by Eric Clapton and Cream. 

The first line of the song goes:

I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
Asked the lord above “Have mercy, save poor Bob, if you please”

But in the movie, the soul-seller/guitar player is named “Tommy Johnson”. I assumed that the writers didn’t want to directly attribute the story to Robert so used the name Tommy instead. It turns out though that in all likelihood the story is true for Tommy Johnson, but maybe not Robert.

If you’re interested in that whole saga, I highly recommend you listen to this episode of RadioLab (it’s pretty long so you might want to save it for later).
CLICK HERE for the story about Robert and Tommy Johnson on Radiolab: 

In the O Brother movie, two of the three convicts have just been saved and are still wet from baptism when they come across Tommy, the hitch-hiking guitar player. They discuss their respective Crossroads experiences with the third convict, played by George Clooney, claiming that he, having chosen neither God nor the devil, “remains unafiliated.”

But as Bob Dylan (who attributes Robert Johnson for inspiration) wrote:

You may be an ambassador to England or France
You may like to gamble, you might like to dance
You may be the heavyweight champion of the world
You may be a socialite with a long string of pearls.

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
You’re gonna have to serve somebody,
It may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.

Click on this movie poster image to see a clip from the movie.
 

So back to the conversation I have in my mind: “Would I be willing to be at risk of some state of mental anguish in order to be optimally creative?”

The question comes up in my discussion with myself because there are times when I wonder if maybe I AM a bit crazy. (I heard that.) I often find my perspective and thinking to be so different from the mainstream that I don’t feel normal.

It turns out that maybe the leap from creativity to craziness is a short one:

“Psychological theories propose that the schizophrenic spectrum is accompanied by a decrease in practical reasoning, as schizophrenia patients outperform controls in logical deduction that is in conflict with practical reasoning. Furthermore, it has been suggested that those less restrained by practical cognitive styles may have an advantage in artistic occupations,” study researcher Robert A. Power, MD, of deCODE Genetics and King’s College London, and colleagues wrote. “These results provide support for the notion that creativity and psychiatric disorders, particularly schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, share psychological attributes.”

CLICK HERE to read more about this research.
 

We just saw the new biopic Love & Mercy. It is the story of the song writing genius, Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys. 

The IMBD Database describes the movie this way:

“In the 1960s, Beach Boys leader Brian Wilson struggles with emerging psychosis as he attempts to craft his avant-garde pop masterpiece. In the 1980s, he is a broken, confused man under the 24-hour watch of shady therapist Dr. Eugene Landy.”

CLICK the image to see the movie trailer

Now put on a really good pair of headphones, close your eyes and listen carefully to The Beach Boys sing “God Only Knows”. Listen again and hear the french horns, the jingle bells and that amazing bass line. Listen one more time and hear how Brian uses amazing chord progressions, unique rhythms, and those tight Beach Boys harmonies to create a masterpiece.

You can’t get stuff like that out of a normal brain any more than you can get The Starry Night out of Van Gogh’s.

If I could interview Brian Wilson, I would ask him, “Would you have traded your ability to write “Good Vibrations”, “Sloop John B”, and “I Get Around” for a more sane existence?

WHY?!

I'VE BEEN THROUGH INTERROGATION BEFORE. It was seventh-grade. Unwittingly, I had been swept up in an organized crime ring. (That was my story then, and I’m sticking to it.)

We lived on the south edge of Tulsa, but in the Jenks school district. Jenks was then a thriving small town. Most of the stores along Main Street were open for business (before Wal Mart), except for the movie theatre which had long been shuttered.

One afternoon after school, I was invited to climb the fire escape on the back of the theatre building, to the roof where there was a hatch door into what was the projection booth. Word was, there was free soda pop there. What I didn’t know at the time was that the pop had been stolen off a Pepsi® delivery truck sitting at Parker’s Grocery at lunch time.

The fun lasted for several days until one day; boy by boy, summons were issued from the principal’s office, and the interrogation began: who, what, where, when, WHY. Claims of innocence fell on deaf ears. And Mr. Burchett’s paddle fell on my backside. Despite his prophecies, I have never served hard time.

Last week, (maybe in payment for past sins, ha) our two oldest Grand-Girls (six and three) came to visit while their parents took a well-deserved vacation. We had a great time, but by the time we watched the taillights of their mini-van disappear in the distance, I was feeling the weariness of interrogatives:

• Why can’t I have an ice cream sandwich for breakfast?
• When will it be my turn? Why?
• What are you doing? Why?
• Why can’t I have some of your special, old grape juice? (Just kidding)
• Why can’t we swim when it’s lightening?
• What’s a crispy critter?
• Once, I rolled out the old tried and true: “Because I said so. That’s why?” To which the six-year-old replied, “Oh Pops, you’re silly.”

My last resort answer to the unanswerable “Why” was: “Maybe someday you’ll understand.”

[graphic by Molly Hennesy]

Saturday, we attended a memorial service for little twin boys, the children of some very, very special people. This memorial service was on what would have been the one-year birthday of their brother, had he lived. I am not making this up. Even as I type this, it doesn’t seem right in any sense of that word. This amazing young couple I’m sure, has been haunted by the question that they undoubtedly hear regularly from their beautiful three-year-old daughter, “Why?!”

I know they are people of deep faith, but I don’t presume to know what they are going through. There is no way I can begin to understand.

I do know this: for me, sometimes, faith doesn’t answer the Why question. It just says, “Maybe someday you’ll understand.”

God. I hope so.

---

Here are the lyrics to one of my favorite songs. It’s by a band called, Jars Of Clay. I encourage you to give it a listen.

SILENCE

Take, take ’til there’s nothing
Nothing to turn to
Nothing when you get through

Won’t you break?
Scatter pieces of all I’ve been
Bowing to all I’ve been running to
Where are you?

Where are you?

Did you leave me unbreakable?
Did you leave me frozen?
I’ve never felt so cold

I thought you were silent
And I thought you left me
For the wreckage and the waste
On an empty beach of faith, was it true?

Yes I, I got a question
I got a question, where are you?

Scream, deeper I wanna scream
I want you to hear me
I want you to find me

Yes I, I want to believe
But all I pray is wrong
And all I claim is gone

And I, I got a question
I got a question, where are you?

And well I, I got a question
I got a question, where are you?

Where are you?