Sad

Last week I had a package waiting for me. I hadn’t ordered a package. I didn’t give my new address to any company.

And yet, here was this package: a manila envelope from a company that knew my address, containing something unknown.

It was a book.

One originally written in the 1960s.

Within is a transcribed dialogue between an Indian teacher and a crowd he fields questions from, hitting on various aspects of Philosophy, Religion, and Psychology.

An excerpt: One of the most difficult things in life is not to be bound by an idea; being bound by an idea is being consistent…what does it mean to be consistent? To be consistent is to have a mind that is unvaryingly following a particular pattern of thinking—which means that you must not do contradictory things: one thing today and the opposite tomorrow…it is like a [person] building a wall around themselves and letting life go by.

It’s not a book I would normally read, but friends tend to see parts of us we’re rather unaware of. And if the friendship is healthy, the challenge for the other to better themselves is offered by both sides. We continually grow into the person we’ll eventually become.

In this past year, I’ve called many cities and countries home: Southfield, Michigan; Amman, Jordan; Chisinau, Moldova; New York City, New York and, most recently, San Francisco, California.

These places I’ve seen…I’ve yet to decode the urge within me that’s brought me to each one. It’s not articulable, but it seems like a restlessness within my anatomy that produces the urge to travel. I’ve confronted many things I didn’t want to (in a single week: children hurtling rocks at stray dogs; seeing those same dogs dead days later; teachers spitting on those same children), and I’ve become painfully confused about things I once held as truths.

I’ve been given the opportunity to behold different cultures, approaches to life. I’ve experienced acute loss and have been witness to much suffering. And we have all seen even greater suffering brought into the lives of people we’ll never know.

The Paris attacks…I’m not sure what I want to say. It would probably unwise to fully process that on this platform. Emotions are still rampant. I’ll just say it’s heartbreaking, tragic, and all the synonyms that go along with maddening.

Voltaire comes to mind: Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.

My heart goes out to Paris.