The Mind Is a Cruel Prison

“Soon you will see that there is no good or bad, only an interpretation of what is. You will realize that your whole experience is based solely on your interpretation of external events that are completely neutral. You will understand that you have nothing figured out and that all the things you thought you knew are only imaginary constructs of your mind. You have so much talent and potential inside you that is not coming through because your mind has imprisoned you.”

-- Mateo Tabatabai, author

What happens when you live a full life and come to the end?  What if you approach that end, fearing the judgment of the omnipotent, only to find the sentence has already been read... and you're not dead?  What cruel irony exists when one finds hell in a living body with a mind which imprisons them in a world so much different than they once reveled in?  A world where understandable speech escapes them? A world where they feel abandoned, alone, and tortured by the very angels sent to assist them.  Is this what we mean when we speak of "hell on earth?"  Is it a massive "stroke" of bad luck, or might it be a lesson in disguise... for someone?

I look down at my father, suffering the aftereffects of his third major stroke, and I wonder who he pissed off, knowing he wasn't any saint but still wondering why he deserved this particular fate.  Then, I think of my sainted grandmother, who suffered the same fate, knowing she certainly didn't piss anyone off.  I look at the genetics of it and absolutely know I have not been a person to which God might show favor, not comparing my life to that of any saint of which my father would even have more in common.  I wonder what I would be thinking, were I in his place.

“Blame has one function and one function only: to deny responsibility of your present moment because it is too painful to realize you are in fact responsible for the hurt you are feeling.”

-- Mateo Tabatabai, author

"Blame has one function and one function only: to deny responsibility of your present moment because it is too painful to realize you are in fact responsible for the hurt you are feeling."  I'm not sure my father would understand this, or wish to own it.  Perhaps, in the end, it will make some sense to him.  For my part, I realize it all too well in the present.  I see myself lying there in fifteen or twenty years, maybe less, God forbid.

I wonder how I will handle it.  With grace and a sense of decorum?  A modicum of dignity?  Will I be even aware of how I will act, or care?  When the life you have enjoyed is taken from you, what is left?  I wish my father had enjoyed philosophy as much as me.

“When patterns are broken, new worlds emerge.”

-- Tuli Kupferberg, poet, author, singer, cartoonist

I have lived a life full of changes. I've lived on the Pacific coast, the eastern mountains and the great Northwest coast of Washington State, and in the deserts of California and the Middle East. I have seen the best of mankind and the absolute worst. I have shaken hands with the great, the near great, as well as crippled beggars. The moment I think I understand, I realize I understand nothing at all. Socrates said it best: "I am wiser than this man, for neither of us appears to know anything great and good; but he fancies he knows something, although he knows nothing; whereas I, as I do not know anything, so I do not fancy I do. In this trifling particular, then, I appear to be wiser than he, because I do not fancy I know what I do not know."  I would trade none of the changes I have experienced for a lifetime of stability.  Change is, after all, the only constant in the universe.

We live our lives and become used to a certain pattern we mold around us.  When that pattern is changed we tend to become upset that the rhythm of our life has missed a beat.  But, what do we do when the rhythm permanently changes from our comfortable genre to something horrifying to our senses?  What if our mind is locked away in a body that refuses to cooperate?  Do we simply give up?  Do we fight?  And what if we sense, somewhere in our corrupt computer, the fight is an exercise in futility?  Then what?  Maybe, instead of fighting a losing battle, we may find we're better off reprogramming the computer.  If the world you enjoyed is gone, try finding joy in the new world you've been forced into.

“Seeing is not believing; believing is seeing. You see things not as they are, but as you are.''

-- Eric Butterworth (1916-2003), minister, author, inspirational speaker

If "depression is living in a body that fights to survive with a mind that tries to die," then the total realization of self must be living in a mind that survives in a body that tries to die, right?  I would like to think, if I had the cognizance to understand my world was not going to change, not anytime soon, I would find the strength to "suck it up" and move forward with what was available to me.  I'd like to think I would, in the words of Dylan Thomas, "rage against the dying of the light."  For someone with the inability to move, eat, or communicate, perhaps happiness might be found in the beauty around my circumstances; things like the warmth of the sun, the sounds of rain, thunder, and music, and the smells of flowers and the food I might never taste again.

Faith tells me this body is simply a containment vessel for our soul to occupy while we traverse this particular life in a physical dimension.  Perhaps, when we become trapped in a "failing" vessel it's simply because we haven't learned to let go of this existence.  Fear of loss can be as significant as fear of the unknown.  Some people seem able to simply close their eyes and move forward into what comes next.  Wouldn't it be nice to simply say, enough is enough?

I will go to the convalescent home today, and I will try to be selfless.  I will hold my father's hand while he sleeps and I will pray he either finds some semblance of normalcy or finds some peace after 89 years on this earth.  This is all I can do, as his fate now lies with God.

Never let a day go by that you don't tell those around you how much you love them.  Always revel in each and every day you are gifted life.  Find the beauty and goodness in everything.  Most of all, dance like everyone is watching and you simply don't give a shit.  This is happiness.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-- Dylan Thomas (1914-1953), "Do not go gentle into that good night"

Editor's Note

(Re: disclaimer cum "get out of jail free" card)

Before you go getting your panties in a bunch, it is essential to understand that this is just an opinion site and, as such, can be subjected to scrutiny by anyone with a differing opinion. It doesn't make either opinion any more right or wrong than the other. An opinion, presented in this context, is a way of inciting others to think and, hopefully, to form opinions of their own, if they haven't already done so. This is also why, occasionally, I will present an "opinion" just to stir an emotional pot. Where it may sound like I agree with the statements made, I'm more interested in getting others to consider an alternate viewpoint. 

It is my fervent hope that we keep open and active minds when reading opinions and while engaging in peaceful and constructive discussion, in an arena of mutual respect, concerning those opinions put forth. After over twenty years with military intelligence, I have come to believe engaging each other in this manner and in this arena is the way we will learn tolerance and respect for differing beliefs, cultures, and viewpoints.

We all fall from grace, some more often than others; it is part of being human. God's test for us is what we learn from the experience, and what we do afterward.

Pastor Tony spent 22 years with United States Air Force Intelligence as a planner, analyst, briefer, instructor, and senior manager. He spent 17 years, following his service career, working with the premier, world renowned, Institutional Review Board helping to protect the rights of human subjects involved in pharmaceutical research. Ordained 1n 2013 as an "interfaith" minister, he founded the Congregation for Religious Tolerance in response to intolerance shown by Christians toward peaceful Islam. As the weapon for his war on intolerance he chose the pen, and wages his "battle" in the guise of the Congregation's official online blog, The Path, of which he is both author and editor. "The Path" offers a vehicle for commentary and guidance concerning one's own personal, spiritual, path toward peace and the final destination for us all. He currently resides in Pass Christian, Mississippi, where he volunteers as lead Chaplain and Chaplain Program Liaison, at the regional medical center.