Theory

I know that deep down somewhere inside of me is an amazing story waiting to burst forth and show itself to the world.  That story is so deep down inside of me though, that getting to it is going to take a world class excavation team, a few gazillion dollars and state of the art equipment to even make an infinitesimal dent in the walls and obstacles that have taken a life time to build.

Every human life is a story.  The story generally begins with birth and almost always ends in death.  Somewhere in the middle of those is a life, a journey from innocence and childhood to, well, whatever this is, adulthood.  In some stories this adulthood thing is full of wit and wisdom, but in most it just is.  The middle is an ode to mediocrity and boring sameness with little to differentiate it from the life story of the person next door or down the street or sitting next to you on the bus.

Okay, that is a bleak outlook and would make for a very sad story.  I don’t want to tell a sad story.  I want to tell a tale of love, laughter, adventure and spiritual growth.  A story where all the characters find their one true loves and the purpose that is their life goal under God.  I want the perfect infant growing up in the perfect home.  An angelic child born to two wonderful human beings that are honest and true and full of love for this adorable bundle of joy.  I want the most perfect childhood for this angel, with equal parts of joy, wonder and lessons learned in a good way.  This perfect angel would know about loss, sorrow, pain and grief by empathic connection to the world of it’s birth, but would not have had it’s life marred by any of those things.  And after the perfect childhood, the perfect adolescence and the smooth transition into a fulfilling adulthood.  All rainbows and butterflies and let’s throw in a Unicorn or two.

The only things I know to be perfect besides God, are blank paper and canvas.  Nothing mars the surface, they are perfect examples waiting to be transformed into something more than the sum of their perfect parts.  That is great, but it is also what my perfect angel is – blank.  No personality to speak of, no life experience to hone the senses, to craft the intuition, the fuel that creates wisdom and no real life.

Wait, is life only real if it contains pain, sorrow, loss?  Is real life defined by the negative things we experience as a people, as individuals?  If people never experience those things are they then not living a “real” life?  If my life is untouched by evil, by wrong-doing, by grief, strife, pain, is it not life?  Would I be living an un-real life?  Would I then have to classify my life as fantasy?  I wonder if it is possible to only know the good things by virtue of having experienced the bad things?  Would the giddy sense of being in love be impossible if one did not first experience the pain of apathy?  If one never is crushed under the heel of slavery will one never cherish the heady sense of freedom?  Must we suffer the anguish of unbearable loss so that we can celebrate the immeasurable joy of new life?

I want that fantasy life.  What!?  Why would you want to live a boring, mundane life? Everyday achingly the same, no surprises, no challenges, nothing to keep you fresh, alert, vital?

Interesting theories but, theories do not write the story.  Theories can influence the story, give the story a place to aim for, but not tell the tale.  But, and there seems to be always a But – what if theory is exactly the tale?  Not a story of something concrete, no killer hook in the opening, no well paced, rhythmic middle, no banging, blow your mind, never saw that coming twisted ending.  A tale that hinges on a theory, a possibility of truth, an equal possibility of falsehood.  Nothing pegged as right or wrong, just the meandering nonsensical spoutings of theory.  Theory can be anything about anything.  Is there life after death,  does life only begin after death?  Are we already dead and just don’t know it?