Once I decided to walk on fire, I felt a profound shift inside of me. Because I'm often like a friendly Saint Bernard that goes around licking everyone on the face, I know my exuberance can be a little overwhelming. In the past I would purposely squelch my enthusiasm in order to make those around me more comfortable. That seems impossible now. I want to share. I want to not just share my excitement, but I want others to experience this too. But why?
A few of the things that have had a profound impact on my personal empowerment have been extreme: kayaking, skiing and climbing (although I never got very good at climbing). When I did those things, the activity broke loose self doubts, because I was doing such extreme activities and conquering them (at least completing them without dying). An aspect that I didn't expect was how the empowerment translated into other aspects of my life. Of course kayaking would empower rafting or swimming, but what about public speaking or other seemingly unrelated activities? The truth is, it was ubiquitous. Skiing made me a better teacher. Kayaking made me a better writer. How?
By challenging myself to do what I was scared of I shrunk my fears and emboldened my courage. And what I discovered through that was that fear and courage are really at the crux of whatever we want to do. Do we lean on the fear side or the courage side? And to what degree? If you've faced down the fear of death in class V whitewater, giving a speech in front of your department chairs becomes undaunting.
So what? What does this have to do with faith, let alone fire? Here's what. When I did those various things my faith developed over time that I could do it. Practice, and execution over time gave me the confidence that I could do those things, but it was in the extremity of the action that I found the real catharsis. It was in exposing myself to my fear where I discovered my power. Learning to do those things had value. I don't want to diminish that. It fills you with a sense of accomplishment. But the catharsis of facing down your fears happens in a moment. It's a moment of do or die. This is powerful. This is transformative. This puts all of the meetings with crusty faculty heads into perspective.
This is why I'm so excited by the firewalk. The idea of walking on fire has the same principles of confronting a gnarly whitewater rapid or a ski slope with no visible bottom, but the required skill is, well, faith. You have to simply have faith that you can walk on fire and it will be okay. It's similar to the idea of skydiving in that the skill is faith, but the faith you have when you skydive is in the parachute. You have faith that the device works. With firewalking the faith you have is in yourself. The faith you cultivate comes from seeing that people have done it and those people aren't more amazing and magical and skilled than you are. They simply had the faith that they could do it, and they did it. It's easily witnessed on Youtube. People have been doing this for eons. I'm sure that any of us, with a little effort, can find someone we already know who has done it. And if we look around to find the people who have done it, we probably won't be surprised at who they are: they are the adventurers. They walk with confidence. They spend less time being tripped up by the trivialities of life. They are emboldened. The question becomes, are they me?
Namaste bitches
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Monday, September 22, 2014
Best Sellers List!!!
Look what I had the pleasure of seeing today!
Number 4!!!!
Namaste bitches!
for more please visit www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Namaste bitches!
for more please visit www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Sunday, September 21, 2014
FREE EBOOK FOR A FEW DAYS!
History Yoghurt and the Moon will be free as a Kindle ebook for the next 5 days. You don't need to sign up for anything. Just buy the book for $0.00.
http://www.amazon.com/History-Yoghurt-Moon-Jerry-Mooney-ebook/dp/B00N992JYY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409676827&sr=8-1&keywords=history+yoghurt+and+the+moon
Namaste bitches
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
http://www.amazon.com/History-Yoghurt-Moon-Jerry-Mooney-ebook/dp/B00N992JYY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409676827&sr=8-1&keywords=history+yoghurt+and+the+moon
Namaste bitches
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Friday, September 19, 2014
The Author's Paradox
I was recently asked about marketing by a fellow author and I feel like I'm a total newb in this arena. However, I understand its necessity and realize it is not as simple as beating potential readers over the head with the idea that you wrote a book and they should buy it. As such I've been delving into the discipline and wanted to share the response I wrote to my fellow author.
..... I just joined goodreads.com, so I have little to contribute as far as its effectiveness. I do share your observation that it seems difficult to reach readers. I think until one has 'arrived' it just is so. But I also think that this is a good resource to get your book out there, get it into the collective psyche of readers, and contribute to your efforts to magnetize your work. It feels like there is a paradox in selling books: there are zillions of book consumers so selling some copies should be easy. But there are a zillion books to choose from, so getting someone to choose your book seems impossible. What I'm experiencing is that people have this built-in fear of making bad choices. So it takes time to expose them to an idea before they accept it. That means that you can't just tell them, "Hey, I have the greatest thing on earth!" and expect them to pull the trigger, even if it is the greatest thing on earth. So, without some built in publicity or some stunt or providence that shines a bright light on your work it will probably take some time and effort to get people to trust choosing your book.
Let me share a story. A few years ago JCPenny was suffering from declining sales. They completely overhauled their leadership. They brought in new faces with new ideas to attempt to turn things around. What the new group discovered was that the previous sales model was insulting to their consumers. A pair of jeans that they had a price point of $15 would be on sale for 80% off...at $14.99. Everything was always on sale. In fact, if you ever bought something that wasn't 'on sale' you were really just paying for a very marked up item.
So, the new leadership introduced the truth and respect campaign. They were going to stop insulting their customers. Instead of a pair of jeans being marked down to $14.99 they were just going to price them at $15, not on sale. They got rid o the .99, because they felt it insulted their customer's ability to know the difference was a penny. So they proudly introduced all of these initiatives. They spread the word. They advertised on their new model. They worked for a new relationship with their consumers.
And....it failed miserably. It turned out that consumption was such and emotional experience that buying a $60 pair of jeans for $14.99 made the consumer feel like they got over on the store. They made a wise choice. They could pat themselves on the back for being so clever in their purchases. It didn't matter if that pair of jeans was always for sale and that was really the only price. There was no sense of intrinsic value. As such, most consumers bought, not for value or even need, but almost as a sport and buying things on sale meant they were winning.
So, what does this have to do with anything? I think it means that the uneasy truth about being an author is that until you get into the hearts and minds of readers you have to, well, get into the hearts and minds of the readers. And that typically requires more than just producing a quality product.
Namaste Bitches
find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
..... I just joined goodreads.com, so I have little to contribute as far as its effectiveness. I do share your observation that it seems difficult to reach readers. I think until one has 'arrived' it just is so. But I also think that this is a good resource to get your book out there, get it into the collective psyche of readers, and contribute to your efforts to magnetize your work. It feels like there is a paradox in selling books: there are zillions of book consumers so selling some copies should be easy. But there are a zillion books to choose from, so getting someone to choose your book seems impossible. What I'm experiencing is that people have this built-in fear of making bad choices. So it takes time to expose them to an idea before they accept it. That means that you can't just tell them, "Hey, I have the greatest thing on earth!" and expect them to pull the trigger, even if it is the greatest thing on earth. So, without some built in publicity or some stunt or providence that shines a bright light on your work it will probably take some time and effort to get people to trust choosing your book.
Let me share a story. A few years ago JCPenny was suffering from declining sales. They completely overhauled their leadership. They brought in new faces with new ideas to attempt to turn things around. What the new group discovered was that the previous sales model was insulting to their consumers. A pair of jeans that they had a price point of $15 would be on sale for 80% off...at $14.99. Everything was always on sale. In fact, if you ever bought something that wasn't 'on sale' you were really just paying for a very marked up item.
So, the new leadership introduced the truth and respect campaign. They were going to stop insulting their customers. Instead of a pair of jeans being marked down to $14.99 they were just going to price them at $15, not on sale. They got rid o the .99, because they felt it insulted their customer's ability to know the difference was a penny. So they proudly introduced all of these initiatives. They spread the word. They advertised on their new model. They worked for a new relationship with their consumers.
And....it failed miserably. It turned out that consumption was such and emotional experience that buying a $60 pair of jeans for $14.99 made the consumer feel like they got over on the store. They made a wise choice. They could pat themselves on the back for being so clever in their purchases. It didn't matter if that pair of jeans was always for sale and that was really the only price. There was no sense of intrinsic value. As such, most consumers bought, not for value or even need, but almost as a sport and buying things on sale meant they were winning.
So, what does this have to do with anything? I think it means that the uneasy truth about being an author is that until you get into the hearts and minds of readers you have to, well, get into the hearts and minds of the readers. And that typically requires more than just producing a quality product.
Namaste Bitches
find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Monday, September 15, 2014
Fire Walk
As many of you know, I am a seeker. The search has lead me to many amazing places and many precarious situations. Much of what I've done has often been referred to as mistakes by others, typically, not by me. I've been arrested in five countries. I did a weird mission for the CIA. I had a brief fling with the military. All of these things have added color to my life and sometimes deepened my spiritual understanding. When that happens I feel like I have profited most.
So, a year ago I was doing a sweat out in BFE, Idaho. Afterwards I was talking to Watomi, the resident shaman. He began to talk to me about fire walking. He was a strong advocate for the power it had to burn away vestigial baggage that people lug around, hindering their lives and development. Although his words sounded true and compelling, the idea of walking on 1100 degree coals freaked me the fuck out! I couldn't even entertain the idea in a hypothetical way. It was really terrifying to me to simply think about it. Now, I want to put this in some context. I'm not simply a giant coward. I've kayaked class V rapids, I've skydived, I've skied double black diamond slopes, I've climbed 5-9 pitches...generally, I've done some pretty scary and extreme shit. This crossed some boundary, though. I felt physically uncomfortable just hearing about it. When we left the sweat, it came up between Wendy and me and I tried to converse about it in a calm manner. I gave it the same amount of credence as I would someone who wanted to talk about their run in with Bigfoot. I might listen with curiosity, but I wasn't about to swallow the ideas whole. Besides, weren't there ways to burn away vestigial baggage without inviting yourself to become the guest of honor at a barbecue?
Over the last year I thought about how the idea of walking on 1100 degree coals terrified me. TERRIFIED ME! This felt very foreign and the magnitude of my terror caused by simply imagining it told me something: I had to do this! If something caused my psyche to do Olympic level backflips, I better take a deeper look. So I did.
When Jacob Nordby posted, http://yourawakenedself.com/igniting-your-inner-fire-with-heatherash-amara/
on his Facebook page I immediately felt those foreign pangs of acute terror. I decided to stare them down this time. I decided to commit to doing it.
What was weird was as soon as I decided to walk on fire, and I don't mean decided to think about it or decided to maybe do it or decided to talk about it, but decided to do it, I felt calm and powerful. I felt the future fire burning away my vestigial baggage. I felt the hypothetical future fire cauterizing my psychological wounds. I felt the burn of the flame cooling around me. I felt the relationship between quantum matrix and observer crystallizing. I felt the power of my mental projections, my stories, my mythology weakening. I felt like I was teleported to my center and there I found calm. I felt like I found the volume switch on life and was able to turn it down.
I felt all of these things from simply deciding. I hadn't even told anyone yet. I hadn't committed out loud. Technically I could change my mind and no one would know. But I didn't. I immediately told people. I felt like telling would make it even more real, even more of a solid commitment.
Now I've committed and I feel like doing so has had a profound impact. Of course the actually walk will certainly be even more so. However, I'm so impressed by the centering and powerful effect of simply deciding to walk. Because of this, I wanted to share, so that if any of you out there experience a similar terror from the idea of barbecuing yourself, perhaps this is an opportunity rise like a phoenix.
Namaste bitches
So, a year ago I was doing a sweat out in BFE, Idaho. Afterwards I was talking to Watomi, the resident shaman. He began to talk to me about fire walking. He was a strong advocate for the power it had to burn away vestigial baggage that people lug around, hindering their lives and development. Although his words sounded true and compelling, the idea of walking on 1100 degree coals freaked me the fuck out! I couldn't even entertain the idea in a hypothetical way. It was really terrifying to me to simply think about it. Now, I want to put this in some context. I'm not simply a giant coward. I've kayaked class V rapids, I've skydived, I've skied double black diamond slopes, I've climbed 5-9 pitches...generally, I've done some pretty scary and extreme shit. This crossed some boundary, though. I felt physically uncomfortable just hearing about it. When we left the sweat, it came up between Wendy and me and I tried to converse about it in a calm manner. I gave it the same amount of credence as I would someone who wanted to talk about their run in with Bigfoot. I might listen with curiosity, but I wasn't about to swallow the ideas whole. Besides, weren't there ways to burn away vestigial baggage without inviting yourself to become the guest of honor at a barbecue?
Over the last year I thought about how the idea of walking on 1100 degree coals terrified me. TERRIFIED ME! This felt very foreign and the magnitude of my terror caused by simply imagining it told me something: I had to do this! If something caused my psyche to do Olympic level backflips, I better take a deeper look. So I did.
When Jacob Nordby posted, http://yourawakenedself.com/igniting-your-inner-fire-with-heatherash-amara/
on his Facebook page I immediately felt those foreign pangs of acute terror. I decided to stare them down this time. I decided to commit to doing it.
What was weird was as soon as I decided to walk on fire, and I don't mean decided to think about it or decided to maybe do it or decided to talk about it, but decided to do it, I felt calm and powerful. I felt the future fire burning away my vestigial baggage. I felt the hypothetical future fire cauterizing my psychological wounds. I felt the burn of the flame cooling around me. I felt the relationship between quantum matrix and observer crystallizing. I felt the power of my mental projections, my stories, my mythology weakening. I felt like I was teleported to my center and there I found calm. I felt like I found the volume switch on life and was able to turn it down.
I felt all of these things from simply deciding. I hadn't even told anyone yet. I hadn't committed out loud. Technically I could change my mind and no one would know. But I didn't. I immediately told people. I felt like telling would make it even more real, even more of a solid commitment.
Now I've committed and I feel like doing so has had a profound impact. Of course the actually walk will certainly be even more so. However, I'm so impressed by the centering and powerful effect of simply deciding to walk. Because of this, I wanted to share, so that if any of you out there experience a similar terror from the idea of barbecuing yourself, perhaps this is an opportunity rise like a phoenix.
Namaste bitches
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Friday, September 5, 2014
My First Encounter With God
The following story was written in 1997 and was the foundational story behind History Yoghurt and the Moon. Of course this story only represents a partial truth in what happened and the real event shaped the book as well.
Skater
It was Fall and I was in my early twenties. I had just graduated from college, but ironically I was more confused than ever. College had not provided me the meaningful insight I was seeking, let alone place me in a high-paying job. I was confused about my career, my love life and just about everything. Pressing in my mind, however, and occupying the majority of my thoughts was my confusion about God.
I didn’t even know what to call it: God, spirituality, religion. I say God now, because I feel it works. That’s not to say that other names or descriptions don’t. But for now I’ll use 'God'.
My confusion was nothing new. I had been seeking for a long time and finding nothing. It seemed the more I searched the more I merely muddied the water. But suddenly I was a college graduate. I felt like I should have more answers, more insight. After all, I had lived in Europe. I had traveled to eleven different countries. I spoke languages. I was a college graduate, damn it! I was no dummy. Yet I felt dumb as ever.
What did it all mean!? I would cry to myself. Why am I here!? I would complain. Can no one or nothing provide me some answers!? I begged.
Seemingly, I always received the same results: nothing. Damn nothing!
I went to theologians, missionaries and priests. Did I receive answers? Yes. Did the answers quell my confusion or provide me with solace? NO! I hated hearing about faith. I needed proof. I was not about to base every direction and decision of my life on faith. Oh I could have faith, if I had reason for faith. But I had no faith in the humans that were telling me to have faith. So how could I have faith in their God? How could I have faith in their God when I wasn’t convinced they had faith in their God? Plainly, I couldn’t. Their answers seemed too convenient, too controlling, and too divisive.
I refused to give up, even though nobody seemed to be able to answer my questions with any real substance. Why I should get out of bed? Why I should continue living? Those were really the questions I wanted answers to. Whether God wore a robe or had 32 teeth or was Catholic or Muslim or played bingo or liked the Dallas Cowboys, those questions were irrelevant to me. I wanted to know why I existed and why I should continue. I didn’t care much for the idea that my life was a test, and upon completion I would either fail to Hell, or pass to Heaven. How transparent. How controlling. How undivine.
Oh, I cursed fate. I challenge God. I continued down an existentialist path. The only real meaning I could find in life was finding meaning in life. It wasn’t always easy.
At this time, I took a job teaching speech and debate at a small private college near where I graduated. At that same time, a freshman or first year student as we called them, enrolled in school where I was working. He wasn’t there by accident. I saw him compete in high school and I was very impressed. I recruited him very actively and sold him on the idea of coming to a school that would embrace his eccentricity as well as brilliance. He was an unconventional student and felt that I would be accepting of his unconventional ways. He was right about that but what I didn’t realize at the time was that, although he came to me to learn, ultimately, it was I who would become the student.
His name was John, but we called him Skater because he skateboarded everywhere he went. He felt the name suited him and he embraced it. He dressed in large pants, belligerent T-shirts and sported long hair to boot. He never wore a tie, even at the tournaments, where ties were expected. He looked like a skater, not a debater. His only means for compensating for his unconventional appearance was his outstanding research ethic and his absolute brilliance. In an hour and a half he could dissolve a judge's prejudices as well as convince the judge that he was ultimately right. For these reasons I found him very compelling.
He earned the largest scholarship awarded at that school up to that point. He was successful in most regions of the country, but, despite that, he remained unaccepted within the community and especially by our director of forensics.
One Saturday in October, Skater and I headed for the coast. We both needed a break from our worlds. We quietly ate a large breakfast in Seaside, Oregon and then walked to the beach. After a while of pensively and quietly roaming the coast and inspecting its treasures, we sat together on a large rock and stared at the magnificent ocean.
The large swells of water banged against the sand. Sometimes snuggling up to it, other times raising a violent fist, then smashing the shore. The gulls scavenged the beach while avoiding the shrieking children. The rhythmic crashing of the waves soothed the both of us. The children and the birds provided background music to the metronome of the great Pacific.
After a while I felt like the environment hypnotized me. I was peaceful for the first time I could remember. I turned towards Skater and asked, 'Do you believe in God?'
He smiled and answered knowingly, 'No… I know in God.'
I sensed no conceit or doubt in his voice or expression. He said nothing else.
I spent a few moments explaining my long search and how sincerely I had looked for answers and how the search for meaning had consumed my life.
He listened very intently and smiled. He nodded a few times but didn’t volunteer any response.
As I looked out into the ocean, I began to think about Heaven and Hell. Thinking aloud I asked, 'Do you think maybe the ocean is Heaven? I mean think about it, you play all day. You eat. Your world is a playground and a restaurant. I especially think its Heaven for dolphins. I mean, they don’t have any real enemies. They are faster and tougher than sharks, but they just play and laugh and eat. What a life. I even read that dolphins used to have phalanges. I mean with opposable thumbs, but they were smart enough to get rid of them.' Continuing as if I were really smart I said, 'You see, if you have a thumb, then you can use a hammer, then you can build a house, then you can build civilizations with taxes and mortgages and student loans. You know the dolphins were smart, leaving all that stuff alone. Yep, now they just eat, and play and laugh. That’s Heaven!'
Skater just continued to nod and smile.
So I asked further, 'You know in God, huh? What does that mean?'
He looked at me, scanned my body for worth. He squinted a little and looked into my eyes. He started to talk softly. He said, 'Can you see that bird flying?' I nodded yes. 'Can you see that same bird flying in the reflection of that puddle there in the sand?' I looked and nodded yes again. 'Can you see them both at the same time?' Again I nodded trying to follow him. 'Beautiful isn’t it?' I nodded more, this time more adamantly, raising my eyebrows to show my enthusiasm. 'Do you hear the ocean?' I continued to nod and resisted the urge to interrupt him. 'Do you hear the birds? Do you hear the children playing? Do you hear all of that, while you see the ocean and the birds and the children and the reflections of all that as well? Can you see the colors of the horizon? Can you feel the breeze on your skin? Can you smell the air?'
I finally said, ' Yah, I sense all of those things but…'
He interrupted, 'But, nothing. People want proof of God. They have proof. The problem isn’t that we lack proof. The problem is that people see the proof through the wrong eyes and hear the proof with the wrong ears and taste the proof with the wrong mouth and feel the proof with the wrong skin and we smell the proof with the wrong nose.'
In order for proof to register to us we need lighting-bolts and a thundering voice scaring the Hell out of us. What we fail to accept is that we have lightning-bolts and thunder and yes they are proving the existence of God. We haven’t stepped far enough away from the idea that God created the universe for us. We are too anthropocentric (human centered or obsessed). Because of that, we can’t see our part in the universe.' He paused. He adjusted his seating. He gestured to the ocean. He breathed the air joyfully. He sat contently and smiled a large and sincere smile. He continued, 'This universe here is an art project. You see, it’s about art and aesthetics. Not judgments and contempt. We’re not looking at the universe with the appreciation of art. It’s the same damn mental block that causes all those crazies to get all bent about art, about human art. You know how pissed off you get when people start talking about censorship? You know how fired up you get about how devoid of art our modern world is? It’s the same lack of ability to see art, the same blindness to art that blinds us to God. I thought you could see it. You love art. You appreciate the aesthetics our world. Now just apply that same filter to your eyes when you are searching for answers. God is a great artist. I mean look at the environment around you. It’s awesome. We don’t associate that with God because for so many years, God has meant fear and control and Hell. Even those who don’t buy all that are still blinded by it. They don’t ingest the crap, but they still fail to see. We just don’t see the intrinsic value in expression and beauty. Everything is about acquisition and accumulation to most. That blinds us to the subtle, esoteric evidence of our creator. Who would cower to a god who was just sculpting? No vengeance. No wrath. God’s just making some beauty.'
I was very impressed by this thoughtful diatribe, but something in me had to protest at first. I interjected, 'So how does that provide meaning to life? Why should I get up every morning? Why do I exist?'
Undaunted by this most salient chain of questions, he answered confidently and reassuringly, 'That is the meaning in life. Your life, like the universe is an art project. It is as significant as anything in the universe. Make it beautiful! That’s why you get out of bed. The same reason the whole damn universe exists, to express itself, and be beautiful.'
With a zapped look I replied, 'Huh?'
He paused and pensively looked at the horizon as if to organize his words. He continued cautiously. There are two purposes of existence: The first purpose is to appreciate the sculpture. What I mean by that is this; The Creator of this universe has been creating this universe for a very long time. It is very beautiful, I mean to the atom. The galaxies are amazing, the super-novas, the trees, the reflections, the refracted light, the rock formations the girls with bows in their hair, wing-tipped shoes, music, sounds, breezes, wit, humor, zebras and koalas and polar bears and baby humans and lady bugs. I could go on. It’s amazing! Be amazed! God created a damn beautiful universe. Revel in it! Rejoice! Suck it in! Feel it! Hear it! Taste it! That’s the first purpose. The second purpose is to help. I mean, be art! Don’t just be artistic. Be art! Your existence, like the supernovas and galaxies and zebras and refracted light is an art project. Be beautiful! Be funny! Be aesthetic! Create, with your life, good art.'
'That’s it? Be art?' I scoffed incredulously.
'That’s it.' He replied gently. 'You know how much you love art. You know how much you appreciate Michael Angelo as well as Michael Jordan. Those people took their lives and created beauty. It gave meaning to your life as well as theirs. Don’t fight it. The world is full of beauty, regardless of everyone trying to ugly it up. Take it in and then provide your contribution to it.'
He motioned out to the horizon with his hand. He put his hand to his ear, listening to the waves and the gulls and the children. He breathed satisfied. He said nothing more.
I sat there. His words slowly seeped into my body. The sound of the ocean reinforced his words. It was as if the ocean were confirming Skater’s words. Slowly, my senses relented. I succumbed to the idea that the world was in fact beautiful. I could find enough purpose in that to continue existing. My body was overtaken by an overwhelming joy. I was so happy I could laugh and cry at the same time. I shivered and smiled and laughed and jumped and screamed with excitement. Skater had uncovered the meaning of life, and he let me look at it too. This was the most meaningful day of my life, and it has permeated every other day of my life since.
On the drive home he looked at me as if he wanted to say something. I looked at him with the most radiant smile I could manage. He said, 'You’ve got it. You are one of the few. But you’ll lose it too. Remember I said this when you lose it. It will help you get it back.' I smiled and continued to drive. He finally said, 'Don’t forget your sense of humor. It’s part of the reality of the universe. When you do, that’s when you get in trouble.'
I smiled and asked, 'What’s the difference between a rolling stone and a Scotsman?' He shrugged. I continued, 'A Rolling Stone says, ‘Hey! You! Get off of my cloud!’ a Scotsman says, ‘Hey Mcloud, get off of my ewe!’'
We laughed and Skater finally replied, 'Do you see how many things had to happen for that joke. Isn’t it amazing?' I smiled, nodded and drove us home.
Skater
It was Fall and I was in my early twenties. I had just graduated from college, but ironically I was more confused than ever. College had not provided me the meaningful insight I was seeking, let alone place me in a high-paying job. I was confused about my career, my love life and just about everything. Pressing in my mind, however, and occupying the majority of my thoughts was my confusion about God.
I didn’t even know what to call it: God, spirituality, religion. I say God now, because I feel it works. That’s not to say that other names or descriptions don’t. But for now I’ll use 'God'.
My confusion was nothing new. I had been seeking for a long time and finding nothing. It seemed the more I searched the more I merely muddied the water. But suddenly I was a college graduate. I felt like I should have more answers, more insight. After all, I had lived in Europe. I had traveled to eleven different countries. I spoke languages. I was a college graduate, damn it! I was no dummy. Yet I felt dumb as ever.
What did it all mean!? I would cry to myself. Why am I here!? I would complain. Can no one or nothing provide me some answers!? I begged.
Seemingly, I always received the same results: nothing. Damn nothing!
I went to theologians, missionaries and priests. Did I receive answers? Yes. Did the answers quell my confusion or provide me with solace? NO! I hated hearing about faith. I needed proof. I was not about to base every direction and decision of my life on faith. Oh I could have faith, if I had reason for faith. But I had no faith in the humans that were telling me to have faith. So how could I have faith in their God? How could I have faith in their God when I wasn’t convinced they had faith in their God? Plainly, I couldn’t. Their answers seemed too convenient, too controlling, and too divisive.
I refused to give up, even though nobody seemed to be able to answer my questions with any real substance. Why I should get out of bed? Why I should continue living? Those were really the questions I wanted answers to. Whether God wore a robe or had 32 teeth or was Catholic or Muslim or played bingo or liked the Dallas Cowboys, those questions were irrelevant to me. I wanted to know why I existed and why I should continue. I didn’t care much for the idea that my life was a test, and upon completion I would either fail to Hell, or pass to Heaven. How transparent. How controlling. How undivine.
Oh, I cursed fate. I challenge God. I continued down an existentialist path. The only real meaning I could find in life was finding meaning in life. It wasn’t always easy.
At this time, I took a job teaching speech and debate at a small private college near where I graduated. At that same time, a freshman or first year student as we called them, enrolled in school where I was working. He wasn’t there by accident. I saw him compete in high school and I was very impressed. I recruited him very actively and sold him on the idea of coming to a school that would embrace his eccentricity as well as brilliance. He was an unconventional student and felt that I would be accepting of his unconventional ways. He was right about that but what I didn’t realize at the time was that, although he came to me to learn, ultimately, it was I who would become the student.
His name was John, but we called him Skater because he skateboarded everywhere he went. He felt the name suited him and he embraced it. He dressed in large pants, belligerent T-shirts and sported long hair to boot. He never wore a tie, even at the tournaments, where ties were expected. He looked like a skater, not a debater. His only means for compensating for his unconventional appearance was his outstanding research ethic and his absolute brilliance. In an hour and a half he could dissolve a judge's prejudices as well as convince the judge that he was ultimately right. For these reasons I found him very compelling.
He earned the largest scholarship awarded at that school up to that point. He was successful in most regions of the country, but, despite that, he remained unaccepted within the community and especially by our director of forensics.
One Saturday in October, Skater and I headed for the coast. We both needed a break from our worlds. We quietly ate a large breakfast in Seaside, Oregon and then walked to the beach. After a while of pensively and quietly roaming the coast and inspecting its treasures, we sat together on a large rock and stared at the magnificent ocean.
The large swells of water banged against the sand. Sometimes snuggling up to it, other times raising a violent fist, then smashing the shore. The gulls scavenged the beach while avoiding the shrieking children. The rhythmic crashing of the waves soothed the both of us. The children and the birds provided background music to the metronome of the great Pacific.
After a while I felt like the environment hypnotized me. I was peaceful for the first time I could remember. I turned towards Skater and asked, 'Do you believe in God?'
He smiled and answered knowingly, 'No… I know in God.'
I sensed no conceit or doubt in his voice or expression. He said nothing else.
I spent a few moments explaining my long search and how sincerely I had looked for answers and how the search for meaning had consumed my life.
He listened very intently and smiled. He nodded a few times but didn’t volunteer any response.
As I looked out into the ocean, I began to think about Heaven and Hell. Thinking aloud I asked, 'Do you think maybe the ocean is Heaven? I mean think about it, you play all day. You eat. Your world is a playground and a restaurant. I especially think its Heaven for dolphins. I mean, they don’t have any real enemies. They are faster and tougher than sharks, but they just play and laugh and eat. What a life. I even read that dolphins used to have phalanges. I mean with opposable thumbs, but they were smart enough to get rid of them.' Continuing as if I were really smart I said, 'You see, if you have a thumb, then you can use a hammer, then you can build a house, then you can build civilizations with taxes and mortgages and student loans. You know the dolphins were smart, leaving all that stuff alone. Yep, now they just eat, and play and laugh. That’s Heaven!'
Skater just continued to nod and smile.
So I asked further, 'You know in God, huh? What does that mean?'
He looked at me, scanned my body for worth. He squinted a little and looked into my eyes. He started to talk softly. He said, 'Can you see that bird flying?' I nodded yes. 'Can you see that same bird flying in the reflection of that puddle there in the sand?' I looked and nodded yes again. 'Can you see them both at the same time?' Again I nodded trying to follow him. 'Beautiful isn’t it?' I nodded more, this time more adamantly, raising my eyebrows to show my enthusiasm. 'Do you hear the ocean?' I continued to nod and resisted the urge to interrupt him. 'Do you hear the birds? Do you hear the children playing? Do you hear all of that, while you see the ocean and the birds and the children and the reflections of all that as well? Can you see the colors of the horizon? Can you feel the breeze on your skin? Can you smell the air?'
I finally said, ' Yah, I sense all of those things but…'
He interrupted, 'But, nothing. People want proof of God. They have proof. The problem isn’t that we lack proof. The problem is that people see the proof through the wrong eyes and hear the proof with the wrong ears and taste the proof with the wrong mouth and feel the proof with the wrong skin and we smell the proof with the wrong nose.'
In order for proof to register to us we need lighting-bolts and a thundering voice scaring the Hell out of us. What we fail to accept is that we have lightning-bolts and thunder and yes they are proving the existence of God. We haven’t stepped far enough away from the idea that God created the universe for us. We are too anthropocentric (human centered or obsessed). Because of that, we can’t see our part in the universe.' He paused. He adjusted his seating. He gestured to the ocean. He breathed the air joyfully. He sat contently and smiled a large and sincere smile. He continued, 'This universe here is an art project. You see, it’s about art and aesthetics. Not judgments and contempt. We’re not looking at the universe with the appreciation of art. It’s the same damn mental block that causes all those crazies to get all bent about art, about human art. You know how pissed off you get when people start talking about censorship? You know how fired up you get about how devoid of art our modern world is? It’s the same lack of ability to see art, the same blindness to art that blinds us to God. I thought you could see it. You love art. You appreciate the aesthetics our world. Now just apply that same filter to your eyes when you are searching for answers. God is a great artist. I mean look at the environment around you. It’s awesome. We don’t associate that with God because for so many years, God has meant fear and control and Hell. Even those who don’t buy all that are still blinded by it. They don’t ingest the crap, but they still fail to see. We just don’t see the intrinsic value in expression and beauty. Everything is about acquisition and accumulation to most. That blinds us to the subtle, esoteric evidence of our creator. Who would cower to a god who was just sculpting? No vengeance. No wrath. God’s just making some beauty.'
I was very impressed by this thoughtful diatribe, but something in me had to protest at first. I interjected, 'So how does that provide meaning to life? Why should I get up every morning? Why do I exist?'
Undaunted by this most salient chain of questions, he answered confidently and reassuringly, 'That is the meaning in life. Your life, like the universe is an art project. It is as significant as anything in the universe. Make it beautiful! That’s why you get out of bed. The same reason the whole damn universe exists, to express itself, and be beautiful.'
With a zapped look I replied, 'Huh?'
He paused and pensively looked at the horizon as if to organize his words. He continued cautiously. There are two purposes of existence: The first purpose is to appreciate the sculpture. What I mean by that is this; The Creator of this universe has been creating this universe for a very long time. It is very beautiful, I mean to the atom. The galaxies are amazing, the super-novas, the trees, the reflections, the refracted light, the rock formations the girls with bows in their hair, wing-tipped shoes, music, sounds, breezes, wit, humor, zebras and koalas and polar bears and baby humans and lady bugs. I could go on. It’s amazing! Be amazed! God created a damn beautiful universe. Revel in it! Rejoice! Suck it in! Feel it! Hear it! Taste it! That’s the first purpose. The second purpose is to help. I mean, be art! Don’t just be artistic. Be art! Your existence, like the supernovas and galaxies and zebras and refracted light is an art project. Be beautiful! Be funny! Be aesthetic! Create, with your life, good art.'
'That’s it? Be art?' I scoffed incredulously.
'That’s it.' He replied gently. 'You know how much you love art. You know how much you appreciate Michael Angelo as well as Michael Jordan. Those people took their lives and created beauty. It gave meaning to your life as well as theirs. Don’t fight it. The world is full of beauty, regardless of everyone trying to ugly it up. Take it in and then provide your contribution to it.'
He motioned out to the horizon with his hand. He put his hand to his ear, listening to the waves and the gulls and the children. He breathed satisfied. He said nothing more.
I sat there. His words slowly seeped into my body. The sound of the ocean reinforced his words. It was as if the ocean were confirming Skater’s words. Slowly, my senses relented. I succumbed to the idea that the world was in fact beautiful. I could find enough purpose in that to continue existing. My body was overtaken by an overwhelming joy. I was so happy I could laugh and cry at the same time. I shivered and smiled and laughed and jumped and screamed with excitement. Skater had uncovered the meaning of life, and he let me look at it too. This was the most meaningful day of my life, and it has permeated every other day of my life since.
On the drive home he looked at me as if he wanted to say something. I looked at him with the most radiant smile I could manage. He said, 'You’ve got it. You are one of the few. But you’ll lose it too. Remember I said this when you lose it. It will help you get it back.' I smiled and continued to drive. He finally said, 'Don’t forget your sense of humor. It’s part of the reality of the universe. When you do, that’s when you get in trouble.'
I smiled and asked, 'What’s the difference between a rolling stone and a Scotsman?' He shrugged. I continued, 'A Rolling Stone says, ‘Hey! You! Get off of my cloud!’ a Scotsman says, ‘Hey Mcloud, get off of my ewe!’'
We laughed and Skater finally replied, 'Do you see how many things had to happen for that joke. Isn’t it amazing?' I smiled, nodded and drove us home.
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