CRUEL SUNSET

Over the hills the sunset is cruel—a dull glow through low clouds—not the perfect ending to this day. If it were perfect, the sun would be flaming orange, a haughty disc, descending nobility above the crowd of tree tops struck golden with its rays. The sky would be a cloudless blue and brilliant, like the light-filled thoughts that had crystallized for her not long ago. Still, she feels perfect contentment, the lush spring grass at her feet, crammed with violets.

“I have always loved you.”

Was it only this morning she quit her job, left her lover, grew wings? It seems ages ago now, with remembrance of herself then—another being, in another universe, chanting a mock litany walking to her car after work each day: “unholy ones, speakers of lies, self-deceivers, clueless children of darkness.” She had never believed it was in her nature to have such thoughts, to assign derisive names to others, or to just walk away—as she had today.

She no longer lives in that universe. It began falling in on itself the night the rains came, transforming her world, unraveling it into wider and wider spirals, outward to infinite nothingness, or whatever universes do when they expand then collapse. It was an image she had placed before her as a way to understand it all.

When she left her father not more than a month ago, he was breathing heavily, his eyes closed, his hands restless, his fingers moving rhythmically in strange gestures. Those movements and murmurings were as if from some arcane ritual. She sang to him, read to him, recited poetry, though she knew he couldn’t hear her, at least not in the usual way. When she spoke the line, “I will arise and go now,” he moaned and lifted his head.

The next day, after some hours of quiet struggle, he died. She had not been able to bring herself to hold his hand, or rest her head on his shoulder, as did her sister. Instead, she remained at the foot of his bed all the while, not fully present in the solemnity of death, with dullness of mind and numbness of soul. As his breathing got quieter, her father’s face paled and went grey like a sad sky. Then his eyes opened wide and gazed up to the right, as if looking at whomever he had been communicating with the night before—his mother, his wife, his son—all gone before him.

She didn’t believe, though she wanted to, that in an afterlife souls reunite with loved ones gone before. Did she even want to be with anyone she had known in this life, after she herself crossed over to another world, if there is another? It wasn’t that she hadn’t cared about her family, yet she had resentment, remorse, regret, and there was love, too—all mixed together.

Still, she sometimes wondered if, in a dream-like state, souls recognize each other’s higher self—the one they may have only sensed or glimpsed in life. Do they agree to come back together over many lifetimes in various constellations of relationship to live out the karma they themselves create—little universes coming into being  and dissolving over and over until all manner of things are well?

She was only sixteen when it was arranged for  her child to be given up. She thought she had accepted the why and wherefore of it. What else could she do, her life ahead of her, and having brought shame upon herself and her family? Back then, it had not occurred to her that there was only blame, no comfort offered, no empathy expressed, no emotional preparation to cope with the thing she had to do. How could she have known what it would mean to live in the silence of sorrow and bitter shame ever after, to have the memory of going into labor, not knowing what to expect?

She had asked her father, “Do you still love me?”

“Let’s just get this thing over with,” his response.

    How could have known what it would mean to be anesthetized at the sacred moment of birth, so she would not remember it; what it would mean to relive the burning memory of having looked into the eyes of forever as she handed over a tiny being to a stranger—to she knew not what? And the reverberating in her heart of a silent goodbye to flesh of her flesh—a green and tender limb torn from a living tree.

Time passes; life goes on, doesn’t it? The father of her child went off to college, and they drifted apart. And so she was alone in the evening to weep into her pillow so as  not to be heard—a cruel and unusual punishment to have been a young girl grieving, with small hands pressing on her heart in the dark, until they pressed in so far, she couldn’t feel anything.

Until the rains came.


Then all through the nights she listens for what could have been heard, hears what should have been said, and all that could have been forgiven—or not. She recalls the hours before her father’s death—how her sister closed the dead man’s eyes, the pain of a lost child, and the years of silent grief. Day and night her mind wide open, overflows and drifts in worlds of love and loss—her futile wish to be cherished by her lover—enough to leave his wife—a promise made so many times. The sound of rain pounding through the cold silence from long ago found a home in her heart, a feeling in the blood of each beat, awakening with clarity all that had been, and all that had not.

Out of death-piercing loss and yearning, she opens to everything rising before her in the dark, breaking the silence, formulating the questions, speaking them out loud, penetrating through to the hard-shelled seed in her, heart, with no way to sprout or blossom.

During the weeks of the rain, she is changing, how she doesn’t know, into another truer form of herself. Without sinking to the depths, how can one rise to the surface? A cold heart is warming; the hard shell watered with tears is opening. A bud is forming, burgeoning to blossom into the balm of compassion—for the love that remains, which can never be given to the lost child, but only felt, and for the young girl she had been, and the woman she has become.

Then, one morning she awakens to quiet, in the golden light of a May sunrise. She feels clean and bright—her senses cleared—a hard-won knowledge grasped in an awareness of all that was, and all that wasn’t, the irreconcilable past separated from what is possible and awaiting. She thinks of the wisdom she had heard so often, but never understood how to live it:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven …. A time to be born, and a time to die …. a time to break down, and a time to build up ….  A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance …. A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together … a time to keep silence, and a time to speak.

She knows what she has to do to redeem her former self to emerge into what has yet to be created.

No one notices when she comes into work late, or that she is a different being from the one they think they know. No one except her boss, her lover, who meets the newly-hatched being without feathers who will no longer remain in a dead-end job and relationship, who will live more in freedom than bondage, more in joy than sorrow, who now flies into his office to tell him she will not see him this Wednesday, or any other Wednesday, not ever again, and please pick up your things on the front walk of the apartment. Today!”

She takes pleasure in the thought of his taking away the few things he had given her over the years, along with the an unkept promise. Let him take them back to that house she had so often driven past on the other nights of the week to gaze at the warm light shining through the windows, imaging the lives lived within—apart from hers.

She tells him that she knows that he knows she had kept his company from going under time and again. Was that the reason he granted me one night a week—as recompense instead of a raise, or a kept promise?

“I will no longer be here to cover your inadequacies and inabilities, financial and otherwise,” her last words to a story she could not have dreamed a short time ago would end with satisfaction instead of with sorrow.

On this new day, she returns home, makes French toast and coffee, goes into town to buy a new white coverlet and two bright printed pillows for her bed, walks on a wooded path, picks purple and white wild flowers, has dinner at her favorite restaurant, content to be alone and free.

Walking home on a trail by the river, she sees geese gathering on the still water and watches as they wheel up into the grey sky in clamorous farewell. And there, on the horizon, she observes the imperfect sunset.

It comes to her that the litany of names she used to assign to others were really names she might have called herself—the self she used to be—light years ago, before she told the violets she loved them.

Now she imagines herself a deity preparing to assign true names to all things in her new universe.

*“I will arise and go now” from “The Lake Isle at Innisfree” by W. B. Yeats.

* “To every thing there is a season…” from Ecclesiastes 3:1-7 The Bible, King James Version.

Common Sense

What is common sense, other than the title of Thomas Paine's historic pamphlet "Commn Sense" that was pure genius, making the case for the American revolution? Although my little contribution here does not compare to Paine's efforts and impact, I still hope hope that an awakening of some kine would make common sense more common! Not holding my breath.
     I wonder if common sense can be learned or taught, or is it something that just comes naturally to some people? IF we could think about it, consider how important it is to our lives, and begin to look for it around (or realize it is missing), maybe, just maybe, we would be persuaded, as the Colonists were, to "do something" with what we have learned and begin to acquire it ourselves to our benefit and to the benefit of others.
    Although in leadership and decisions of import we also must consider the facts, research, data many other factors, common sense may appear first, and ususally in a simplified, straightforward approach, without the need for elaborate reasoning, statistics or facts, though there is always a logic in it. It is more of an immediate, "gut" response than something thought through in the moment. 

    Children often display a remarkable capacity for common sense. Everyone who has been around children probably has a story about a child coming up with a solutions, making wise observation, or reacting to situations with more common sense than most adults. Could common sense be a capacity with which we are born, but over time are "taught" or conditioned not to use, especially through formal education and the media?  

    Formal education does not seem to foster common sense approaches or responses. Education often has all of the answers or the right questions to ask.  Did you ever read or have to respond to those dumb questions at the end of chapters in text books or novels? I prefer to formulate my own questions and encouraged students to do the same. There is also a lack of common sense in standardized testing, which has been the main gauge of students' abilities for college application, though this may be changing. 

In fact, possible common sense “answers” from creative, more imaginative students (ones who don't think in straight lines) may also be valid, but considered “incorrect.” Students have to be trained to take certain tests and to use certain strategies which help them score better. In other words, children have to learn how to take tests to be more likley to give the only correct answers. Such practices diminish the capacity for common sense and essentially teach what to think, not how to think.Hopefully there is othere opportunity in the classrooms for encouragement to use different kind of thinking, perspectives or solutions to a problem. 

    One might also consider the media's and social medias' roles in deleting common sense forever from our menu of options. The daily and relentless news tips regarding medicine, food, diets, and lifestyles create a complex, confusing and contradictory landscape of possible panaceas, or disasters waiting to befall us. In addition, the so- called reality shows have had people wading in sewage, eating maggots, vying for romatic hook ups and, maybe soon, selling their children, if it means "winning"--all of which makes us less likely to believe that people have the sense they were born with. Then there are the video “games” giving us the opportunity to participate as grand theft auto felons, hikers to nowhere, shooters and other actions that make the case that life indeed imitates art.

    Radio and television talk show hosts rant and rave in narrow rhetoric, espousing extreme positions and all manner of unfounded conspiracies to gullible followers. Common sense suggests that these "gurus" can't be right all of the time (and the"other side" wrong) and would also reveal that such hyperbolic hosts (e.g. the infamous, dytopian, but influential Steve Bannon and Alex Jones) are essentially entertainers, provokateurs and moral midgets (raking in the cash) not journalists or fact-finding fellows. Common sense would also tell us that the pros and cons of other opinions, beliefs and perspectives need to considered to see the whole picture of people, places, events and are to be logically considered, debated, and understood in order make judgements, decisions and solve problems. But forget that approach in the current zietgiest fraught with division and bizarre conspiracy theories held on to with religious fervor. 

    Social media, like it or not has become a source (maybe the only one for many) of news and views which also should be tested, expanded upon, in some cases held suspect until proven otherwise, yet again, currently, is not the case, even if what is given out is proven bogus, false with no evidence or proof. Being exposed to all of this nonsense can make us despair that common sense may never be valued as not only a desirable, but also a vital and necessary human capacity. How are we to foster and develop common sense so that we are not at the mercy of an education system with often inane procedures and policies in effect discouraging common sense, or the fears of censors who indiscriminatly and ignorantly ban all manner of historic and/or classic literture (e.g. Cather in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Diary of Anne Frank) that would/could challenge readers to learn about the human condition, and think for themselves. These kinds of fear-driven decisions not only suggest that there is no faith in common sense, but such efforts prevent others from acquiring a broad and deep cultural literacy and developing the resources to make assessments and decisions a variety of subjects.
    Even though things may seem hopeless in many areas these days, common sense is probably not something that can be totally annililated, despite the lack of it all around us. If children are not getting what they need to think or have common sense experiences in their classrooms, parents can consider home schooling to that end. Unfortunatley, sometimes home schooling is thought of as a way to protect children from what is feared most "free thinking' so they trade what they think is one kind of indoctrination to the indoctrination of their choice. 

    Ideally, home IS a place for discussion, debate and oppotunities to explore various ideas and perspectives. Parents have a crucial and necessary role in identifying, encouraging and affirming common sense. They can praise when they hear or see common sense displayed or spoken. Parents and teachers can make reading and visual materials available that encourage thinking rather than preventing it, and they can also be examples of common sense themselves and/or point out examples of it in history, literature, films, social situations, etc. If we look we will see practical situations and solutions as examples aboundng in history, science, inventions, research and in every day life. Parents can also discuss with their children examples of lack of common sense when the opportunity arises. 

    Not to put all the responsibility on parents, all the above can also be and sometimes is done by caring and thoughtful teachers, family, neighbors and friends, who also may have a role in limiting TV, screen and computer time, which may allow children to tap into and use their own imagination, hear their own voice, their own questions, formulate or seek out their own "answers," play inventively and creatively, rather sources replete with banal and watered down versions of life with stock characters spouting sentimental and/or sarcastic language in tone and meaning.

    Let’s all try to revive and affirm common sense whenever and wherever we can, encourage it and hope that is not gone forever. 

    And here ends my little blog "pamphlet" contribution to the need for Common Sense and ways we may at least begin to think about looking for it, identifying it, fostering it and using it.