some backward perspective

 

Billy looked at the clock on the gas stove. 

He had an hour to kill before the saucer came. 

He went into the living room, swinging the bottle like a dinner bell, 

turned on the television. He came slightly unstuck in time, 

saw the late movie backwards, then forwards again. 

It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War

 and the gallant men who flew them. 

Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this:

American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses, 

took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, 

a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, 

sucked bullets and shell fragments 

from some of the planes and crewmen.

The bombers opened their bomb-bay doors, 

exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, 

gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, 

and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes.

The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own,

 which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck

 more fragments from the crewmen and planes.

When the bombers got back to their base,

 the steel cylinders were taken from the racks

 and shipped back to the United States of America, 

where factories were operating night and day, 

dismantling the cylinders, 

separating the dangerous contents into minerals.

Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work.

The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas.

 It was their business to put them into the ground, 

to hide them cleverly,

 so they would never hurt anybody ever again.

The American fliers turned in their uniforms, 

became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, 

Billy Pilgrim supposed. 

That wasn't in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. 

Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, 

without exception, conspired biologically 

to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve,

 he supposed.

~ Kurt Vonnegut

from Slaughterhouse Five

photo: Dresden after WWII bombing

with thanks to love is a place

at the core of delusion

  

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.

~ Kurt Vonnegut 

from Mother Night

 

still I wonder: isn’t there a rock-solid unchanging

 “me” 

hidden somewhere underneath it all?

This unexamined self feels like an isolated, self-sufficient, permanent individual, 

essentially separate from others and all that surrounds it. Yet even a few moments

 of self-reflection suggests otherwise. My body is not the same as when I was eight

 or eighteen years old. If all humans are mortal, then my life will also end,

 exact time of departure unknown. Similarly, all my feelings of happiness and sadness

 come and go, arise and cease, changing gradually or suddenly,

 but always, inevitably, changing.

Looking closely, I also see that I’m not a self-contained, entirely independent individual.

 I need food, water, and air to survive. I speak and write a language generously passed on to me 

by others from long ago. I engage in everyday activities that were all part of my cultural training

 from childhood onward: brushing my teeth, exchanging greetings of “good morning”

 and saying “good night,” attending ceremonies, weddings, funerals.

Even at the most basic level of existence, I did not arise as a spontaneous,

 self-created human being. I was born and nurtured through the union and love 

of my parents, and they are also descendants of many ancestors before them.

 We are all “dependently related” beings, developing and aging in rapidly changing societies.

When we conduct our lives as though, all evidence to the contrary, we are separate,

 permanent, unitary selves, we find ourselves constantly living in fear of the large,

 looming shadow of change. Actions based on a mistaken sense of self, or “ego,”

 as an unchanging, isolated essence are filled with anxious struggle.

 We fight many futile battles against the way things actually are. How are they really?

 They are changing, connected, fluid. It’s as though we are standing waist-deep

 in the middle of a rushing river, our arms outstretched wide,

 straining to stop the flow.

This mistaken sense of self arises as a solidified set of beliefs about who we are

 and how the world is. When we proceed on that basis, all our life experiences are filtered

 through a rigorous, simplistic, for-and-against screening process:

 “Will this person or event enhance my permanent sense of self? 

Will this encounter threaten the ideas I’ve already accumulated?”

 

 Believing the inner voice of deception, we grasp and defend and ignore in service to an illusion,

 causing suffering for ourselves and others.

Letting go of the false sense of self feels liberating, like being released from a claustrophobic prison

 of mistaken view. What a relief to discover that we don’t have to pretend to be something 

we’re not! The initially surprising and challenging news of “no solid self” 

turns out to be a gentle invitation into a more spacious approach to living

 and being with others. Releasing fixation on permanence goes hand in hand

 with taking brave steps toward more communication and harmony in our lives,

 our actions, our relationships, and our work.

We might call this fluid inter-being an “open self,” one that is more sensitive

 to other living beings and nature. This open sense of self allows us to proceed from empathy

 and compassion for ourselves and for those suffering around us and elsewhere.

 With the dissolving of the seemingly solid walls of ego’s fragile tower, our experience is porous

 and permeable, less cut off and isolated. As we gradually release the old commitment

 to conquering the unconquerable, to denying the undeniable, we explore the many genuine

 and fresh possibilities in our ever-changing situation.

 

 

 

 

 

~  Gaylon Ferguson

with thanks to Lion's Roar

 

 

lucky mud

God made mud. 

God got lonesome. 

So God said to some of the mud, "Sit up!" 

"See all I've made," said God, "the hills, the sea, the sky, the stars."

And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and look around. 

Lucky me, lucky mud.

I, mud, sat up and saw what a nice job God had done. 

Nice going, God. 

Nobody but you could have done it, God! I certainly couldn't have. 

I feel very unimportant compared to You. 

The only way I can feel the least bit important is to think of all the mud

that didn't even get to sit up and look around. 

I got so much, and most mud got so little. 

Thank you for the honor!

Now mud lies down again and goes to sleep. 

What memories for mud to have! 

What interesting other kinds of sitting-up mud I met! 

I loved everything I saw! 

Good night. 

~ Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

(Cat's Cradle)

 

 

 

 

happy birthday Kurt