~Chapter Five~                                                                           A LOOK BACK--- "A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. " ---Longfellow        Long fellow? Obviously, what psychologists call the "inner child" is still very much alive in me. When I'm with kids, they just sort of stare at me.  I'm not talking about the look I get from adults either.  It's as if they're not sure if this is a grown up they're looking at, or if it's a kid like them who happens to look old (or 40, which when I was a kid was old).  That makes it easy for me to call back into consciousness the formative years.  When tracing my life back to when I was just a wee lad, I'm forced to admit not all that much has changed since then for me.  Except that now, I can eat as much cookie dough as I want.  Who has the patience to bake it first?     What it comes down to is, how much of our original innocence are we able to retain in adulthood? How much of the child in us is programmed away? Most of us would agree that our priorities change dramatically, once we absolutely MUST have to become responsible adults.  When a kid comes into the world, his or her first words are indicative of the things that have the most meaning to them.  Ma- Ma, Da-Da, those big, milk producing orbs --- things of that nature.       As kids get a little older, suddenly they're expected to start acting more like an adult. I guess our cuteness tends to wear off once the toilet training begins.  At some point, parents are ready to get on with their lives.  They no longer have time or patience for our childish behavior, so they implore us to just snap out of it.  Once this happens, we're supposed to start planning for our futures.  For whatever reasons, pre-pubescents are asked (way too early in life) what it is that they'd like to do when they grow up.  Before we ever learn how to make a bank deposit, we're asked to move it along to adulthood.      I was just now thinking, as I imagined my remote control to be some kind of rocket ship zooming past my cat's head, that maybe I've managed to avoid adulthood so far.  I remember a time way back in 6th grade, when I was asked to choose a profession for myself.  It was called 6th grade recognition.  This at an age when the only thing I ever really recognized, was the difference between bird hipped, and reptile hipped dinosaurs.  That's all that mattered to me then.     When ever a kid's asked such lofty questions, the child in them is irrepressible.  They proudly proclaim their little kid fantasies.  With great enthusiasm, their fanciful ideals come spilling out.  They want to be firemen, ballerinas, lion tamers, or in my case, a paleontologist.  But later in life, these kinds of dreams get less passionate for most of us.  We're summarily forced to choose something more realistic. There's not a great deal of money to be made as an astronaut for example (not yet at least), so all fanciful notions get put on hold.  That's why the child in all of us then weeps. There's nothing wrong with having a child-like mind.  The mind is a remarkable device, a time machine really.  It permits an occasional trip backwards.  It's no small miracle what the mind in action is capable of giving us, and with but the merest thought. A thought can transform us.  It can become just as real to us as the here and now.  But a thought, no matter how powerful, can be suppressed by the barriers of a society that fails to be inspired by such a gift as pure, naked thought.  Ours is a world of limitations, and repetition. Everyone seems to have settled for a common denominator, leaving little room for the expanse of consciousness.  What poets have called "the music of the spheres" is being drowned out by static.        I detest repetition, which explains why I've become so weary of late. We live in a society that adores it. A sanctuary for me has always been my music.  It's also, among other things, one of the ways that the intellectual climate of a culture can be measured.  Music is after all, one of the few existing universal languages.  This  holds especially poignant in our world of mass media.  An alien civilization would be able to tell a lot about us simply by monitoring our movies or television broadcasts. They could also peruse our bookstores, or view our art galleries.  In short order, a pretty accurate picture of what we hold as sacred would emerge.     By far, the most promising information about us would be carried in the form of our radio waves.  What would they think of the homogenized, dehumanized, and bland fare that chokes our air space today? All that music being created, without so much as a single instrument being used.  Apart from a rhythm machine, a bass dial,and a few sampling keys, where's the human factor?     Where has the music gone? You don't even need to be musically gifted nowadays to make tons of money.  While pop culture prophets make their millions by spinning 2-d plastic fantasy, here I sit here trying to imagine what it would be like to turn over the ignition of my own car.  Not that people like myself are any more deserving than the rest, but are we any less? Forever the optimist (although that's probably hard to believe at this point), at least by not having a car, I'm not contributing to a rising global climate I guess.     Yes, I'm jealous.  Everywhere I look, I see people no smarter than me, driving their kids to school , buying over a hundred bucks worth of groceries at a time, or pulling into their two and three car garages without giving it a second thought.  Of course they're probably up to their barely floating assets in debt, but even that is quite a concept.  Imagine, being able to make enough money to be able to get a loan. I tried it once.  When asked what I had for collateral, I asked, "I dunno.  What's a kidney worth on the open market?"     Look at the people who are rewarded (moderately, since it's only money that matters to most).  Consider athletes for example (or as they're called here in the mid-west, ath-uh-letes).  Slam dunk a rubber sphere into a basket, and the world is on its feet praising your name.  Is this talent? A jack rabbit with a hyperactive thyroid (race has got nothing to do with it) receives hundreds of millions in contracts and endorsement deals, based on an ability that anyone with such freakish height might have.  I'm not saying that there's not a certain amount of raw ability there, but how about giving the rest of us a chance?     Sorry about the venting, but I think it helped a little.  Anyway, it's not so much the money that I have a problem with.  It's only that I wish people of equal merit could get some of the attention once in a while.  One of the few times you can catch a glimpse of passion in people's eyes, is often while they're engaged in a hot debate over who's going to get the pennant, or what team or other is most likely to play in this bowl or that.      To some extent, I can understand why such interests are so appealing.  It gives people a chance to feel a little control over their lives by escaping vicariously into the lives of others.  We all need to escape from all the disorganization to be found elsewhere, so why not forget our sorrows through organized sport? In a world with so little to believe in, not even in one's self, the idea of "hero-worship" is understandable.     But enough already.  Take a look at schools today (this book was compiled before the recent school shootings that continue to escalate).  Ask any student who the cool kids are, and I'll wager my eternal soul that it won't be the kids on the honor roll, or president of the chess club, or the most likely candidate to win the science fair (do they still have science fairs?).      No, these would be the losers, the nerds, the geeks.  Subjects that are by the way, very close to my own heart. In this society, nobody likes a wise guy.  In our youth, we're discouraged from learning too much, and we're then allowed to stop learning altogether after our cookie-cutter education has spit us out onto the streets. No wonder people are so uninformed today, or so it appears.  There's a feature on a late night talk show that hints about how clueless Americans can be.      They're asked painfully simple questions, and at least the ones that make the final cut are completely unable to give the correct answer.  Granted, only the stupid ones are going to be included in the bit, but I can't help but think the show's producers had little trouble in finding the dumb ones.  All you need to do in order to find them, is try driving for about 5 mins.  Either the idiot in front of you is brain dead, or he's been making a left turn for the last 30 miles.  On the t.v. spot, this guy was asked "how many sides are there in a triangle."  The response? "There are no sides in a triangle."  Does the prefix "tri" have any meaning to them? Some are amused by such a display in ignorance.  I'm appalled.      It's just that in this day and age, being intelligent isn't necessarily a plus.  Intelligence can get you into trouble.  When I look at how little respect is paid to being clever, I wonder if a trade is possible.  Given the isolation some intelligent souls sometimes feel, I wonder if anyone would be willing to exchange smarts for acceptance.  As for me, I'm still hoping for some kind of blunt head trauma.  At least then, I could feel like part of the crowd.  Did I type that out loud? There's this story about the sack of troubles.  It's  suggested that if you were to put all of your troubles into a single bundle, throw it under the nearest tree, and then run like hell.  On the surface maybe, this is s a tempting thought to be sure.  The only catch is (there's always a catch, isn't there?) you have to pick up a bundle of someone else's troubles in return.  You figure no one's problems could be nearly as bad as yours (barring some horrible illness, or being born an artist).  So, you're happy to pick right up, another's sack of woes.  Now, these kind of stories are always so predictable, and you know something will go wrong.  Predictable, maybe--- but the true meaning of such a tale is lost on most of us. That is, until we find it one day being suddenly applicable to our actual circumstances.  Then you're really forced to consider what the story is saying. As you might expect with the sack of troubles, after carrying around someone else's burden for a time, you come to actually miss your own.  You can't wait to start facing your own life's challenges once again.  You might have more obstacles to overcome than anyone you've ever heard of, and yet you always go running back to the tree to reclaim your own bundle of bane.  Why? Because they're yours.  You're familiar with them, and it's through them, that you've become defined.  They have built the person that you've become through facing these problems.  Maybe you don't like the person you've become, but your faults and weaknesses are unique in the way that you've come to perceive them.  Don't forget what they say about familiarity.  Whether it breeds contempt or makes the heart grow fonder, we could all learn a lesson from each other.  That's because overall, our challenges are the same.     All this sweet and sentimental talk is sort of making me nauseous.  Bear in mind also, that diabetes is prominent in my family.  Talk like this makes me wonder if I should start stocking up on insulin with all this sweet talk. Just not accustomed to it yet I guess.  I feel shame for being so negative all the time, so I thought I'd give something more positive a try.  Not as easy.  More familiar with dark and skeptical.  It's who I am, or who I've  become.  It took me a long time to get this jaded.      They're my troubles, and I'm finding it hard to give them up.  They're what've protected me from getting hurt for so long now, and aren't easy to let go.  Especially when you take a quick look at the rest of the world, it seems as if we're all willing to keep lugging around the same old problems.  Only difference is, now we no longer have the option of picking up another sack, because we're all carrying around the same one.  The burdens we bear today are all the same.  That means there's got to be an antidote for all of us. We used to believe that you have no choice but to play whatever hand you've been dealt in life. But this adage too, is in need of an update. The hand being dealt today is effecting every life on Earth, and we're all getting ready to fold.  We need to figure out how to get a better deal (and better dealers).  Pretty simple, isn't it? If the cards have been stacked against us, it's time to request another packet.  It sometimes works in Vegas.  Put on your best poker face if you must, but some of us aren't very good at hiding things. It would be much more effective, if we could just throw all the cards on the table for all to see.  Games are important, but not at the expense of ruining the fun for everyone else who's been cut from the deck.       As I look over my hand, there's this one card that I'm never able to deal away.  It's the manic-depression card, which is always wild.  What I've tried so very hard to do is, make it work for, rather than against me. Part of any such disorder is the chance that delusion can't necessarily be counted out as part of the game.  If the words that eventually find their way onto the page are such delusions, then that's fine by me.      Thoughts and feelings, whether or not they be born of delusion or of heightened awareness, can still be made just as real as any others. Part of this reality is that truth can be found all around us.  One need only recognize it long enough (for like anything else that's of value, it can only be glimpsed briefly) to be able to pluck it from the subconscious mind and make it your own.  Truth though, like everything else, is just as relative to experience as one's perception of it.  Which really only means that since we're all forever separate, we're still locked within the chambers of our own minds.     But we will, very soon, begin to transcend these boundaries. We will all start making that connection we're all hoping to make.  This is a single mind talking to you now (even though it's been split into two, remember?). As you already know, it's no more perfect than yours, but it's just as unique. We're still in need of finding that common thread that links us to each other, and to the grander universe of which we're a part.  It's just that the thread may be getting frayed a bit.  It's time to get a move on,  before something snaps. This is an awkward, even unsettling place to be.  Here we are, poised at the edge of this single galaxy, trying to look deeper than anyone before.  As we dare to see those things that others may have missed, or dismissed, we look outward.  For the believers in pure empiricism, that's good enough.  But there are those times when a glance inward is just as crucial.  You come to discover that one is merely the reflection of the other.  One way to see more clearly than before, is to employ a method of perception called "bilateral thinking."  Believe it or not, it's not as tough to do as you might think.  Most of us do it every day.  You've experienced this phenomenon whenever you have something "on the tip of your tongue."  The more you attempt to call a concept or an image to the front of your brain, the less likely you'll be to succeed.  So you drift on to another, unrelated matter.  Suddenly, the formerly lost thought magically comes popping back into your mind. This is bilateral thinking.  The tip of the tongue syndrome. Well, as a species we face a similar dilemma now.  We're perched precariously at the ledge of this insurmountable void, whether it be the gulf in your own life, or the one you see as you look up at the stars filling the night.  No single part makes any sense, and you feel lost.  But when viewed as a whole--- you know that this is a place you've been before.  There's something familiar about all of this, but you can't quite place it.  We're being purposefully enigmatic right now, in an attempt to capture the grandeur of a simpler truth that will hopefully pop into focus later.  As much as we might wish to jump into the mix, there's still quite a bit of chaff we've gotta sort through first.  As we sift further, a pattern emerges.  Soon, we start feeling like maybe we can finally throw this cake into the oven. Time to start cooking. You've been here before, and your gut affirms this.  That's the connection you're feeling now, of which we're all a part, and for the time being, from which you're apart.  But how to consciously make that connection to all else? That's something you'll learn how to do on your own in time, but this hypothetical should help to clarify it for you. It reminds you that not only are you still here, but in one way shape or form, you always have been.  That's the enigma we call consciousness.    While looking at the night sky all of this expanse from our quaint point of view is humbling to say the least.  When I look up at the stars (an activity that our species has sadly given up since we left the great outdoors behind), I personally feel privileged to be a part of it all, no matter how small a part that likely is. But if I wish to get to the very heart of something as vexing as creation, I sometimes use the aforementioned process of bilateral thought.      As I look up and out, something happens within too.  I find myself wishing I could be out there someplace, far away from the human race.  Then I realize that I already am, not in some vain or simplistic way, but literally, there I am.  I am bathed in starlight.  Its light catches up to me.  I needn't go flying off to catch up to it.  The light that's being converted into bio-electrical data somewhere in my visual cortex, has been sent to me from hundreds of thousands of light years back in time (we're talking about what we can see with the naked eye here). This is yet another way we can all become time travelers.  All you need to do is look up, and there you are.  Inwardly, there's the already mentioned time machine, the brain. With its many convolutions (a way nature has figured out how to cram something so big into our small skulls), it effectively stores every collective experience you've ever had.  Within the confines of a single mind, resides a veritable universe.  That's why a memory seems so real to us, and is often presented to us in the form of dreaming.  With our dreams, comes a whole new version of reality, and they are perceived as such.  Who's to say they aren't in fact, a parallel reality?       Mom used to always quote one of those "truisms" from one of her self-help books:   "Every thought is a prayer.  Every thought infused with        belief, is and answered prayer."      As I'm so often inclined to do, I dismissed the quote as so much sentimental drivel.  But I couldn't get the pesky thought completely out of my mind because, as it turns out, it started to make a little bit of sense as the years progressed.  It's essentially true, if you stop to consider how the brain is (according to some) pre-wired to be able to access realms that we tend to relegate strictly to the imagination.  With respect to dreams, to most of us, they're only just dreams.  But as you dream, as Jung once said, you're scarcely aware that you're asleep.  During the course of a dream (which as sleep studies have indicated, only last for an average of a couple of minutes), you're immersed in what could literally be considered a new reality.     This could be delusion talking, but I think that as you dream, it's your soul being allowed a small furlough from the body that imprisons it while awake. Again I must remind you that we're operating under the presumption that the soul exists.  It exists somewhere in the brain I should guess, and continues to do so after the physical cessation of the body. Sure, why not?     The conflict of trying to understand causes my hackles to raise once again.  I've always used my love of science to gauge my place in the world, and will continue to do so now.  But in the old days (which are still here until we put them behind us), talking about souls fell strictly within the jurisdiction of the churches.  Here, only the trite tribune offered by myth gave us an explanation for how the universe, and our place in it, came to be. But such stories are too vague (they, and the men who wrote them). All the important details were just sort of glossed over.    You're expected not to ask how such a thing could have been done, and you're to take comfort simply in knowing that it was.  "Ours is not to question why, ours is but to do or die," comes to mind once again.  That just won't do for the more inquisitive among us.  We have to know why. In many ways, science picks up where myth left off.  It can be looked at as a kind of cookbook, written for us by the ages.  It gives us all the ingredients needed to take matters into our own hands.  But there's that pang of guilt again.     Mary Shelley took this attitude to heart, and she made Frankenstein her modern day Prometheus. The titan of Greek myth who defied the Olympian gods, was punished for giving us fire.  He would have to endure an eternity of having his liver being eaten out by a great scavenging bird.     Shelley had a less than gentle fate in store for her daring doctor as well.  Her ribald tale of man daring to create man in his own image captures horrifically, how such an act will surely blow up in your face.  It's my guess that if Shelley had not lived in Victorian times, with its ultra-conservative climate, her book would have ended very differently than it did.  The Dr. might have been allowed his transgression.  The monster of his creation might have been welcomed into a more forgiving world.     Knowledge (which we already know is forbidden in the parameters of myth), was not put into our genes only to tempt us.  It's a naturally occurring well spring for us to do with what we will. As Frankenstein fatally discovered (not to be confused as he so often is, with the being he created), when such a great gift is misused, a huge toll is exacted. A reasonably appropriate side note:  Barely a century after the immortal classic was written, the plans were in place for our world to usher in the atom bomb.  A more contemporary companion to Frankenstein, it supercedes any myth or fable. It keeps all of us on your actual brink.  The message here remains intact to the extreme--- that too much ambition, coupled with reckless power, is a potent combination indeed.  It's verified when so much power is placed into the hands of a overly zealous few, and temptation becomes a credo to take the ball and run with it.  An interesting thing, power.  Is it feasible that as a species, we're just not yet ready for it?     Myth has always resounded and abounded with warning.  Frankenstein was really nothing more than a retelling of the Eden myth, only more entertaining.  In the original vision of an Earth-bound heaven, in Eden too, knowledge was forbidden.  Some would say that the bible gave us a first account of this questionable lesson.  They'd be wrong of course.      Let's not forget the Greeks who gave us Pandora.  Here too, the woman was cast as the heavy, the embodiment of evil.  According to Greek myth (it was considered the word of divine truth until Christ came along), the world's first mortal woman was created from fire by the metal smith, Hephaestus.  She was possessed of grace, but she too was given a chance to screw things up for the rest of the world with a box containing all the evils.  Her temptation was to open it up out of curiosity, and we've all sampled the results of her thoughtlessness to this day. Thank Zeus she managed to close the box back up again, leaving hope locked away until someone else dared to open the box up again.      All in all, we're pretty miserable in one way or another. Why do man-made religions or myths (I'll be fair, and actually make distinction between the two) always paint such an unflattering portrait of women?  Anyone who's ever been turned down by a desirable woman could hazard a guess, I'm sure.  In fact, if you go back far enough in human history, you'll see this same theme being repeated over and again. Maybe the role of women in mythos is the result of all those powerful men simply not willing to share the limelight.     Beyond the sexist ramifications, the moral is the same as well.  Too much knowledge discovered too soon, can have deadly implications.  At least that's what those in power wish us to believe.  We're taught from the very first breath to just leave well enough alone.  This in turn makes us passive, and much easier to placate.     We're told that we're simply not meant to know certain things, and that we're to resist any form of temptation. Before you know it, our hand is in the cookie jar. As any good parent can tell you, telling your child what not to do is the surest way to guarantee that it will be done.  No living thing can resist temptation, because it's worth the risk if it might lead to growth or change.  Maybe even a chocolate cookie with a creamy white center.