Hiro

I met an old Man once; one at the end of his life. His name was Hiro. Hiro taught me to appreciate the others in front of yourself that make you yourself. He taught me to remember that it is those others that are ultimately significant, and that you are significant only because of those others. He taught me that care is not automatic, not genetic, and not perpendicular; but eclectic, fluid, and colorful. He taught me that roots derive partially from inheritance, partially from good fortune, and mostly from endurance. He taught me most of this without trying, and without saying more than a few sentences over the course of each time I met him.

A Place

I had a friend once, she said "why don't we go, somewhere only we know?" I didn't know what to say. Why? Well, for a couple of reasons. For one, I wouldn't know how to get to such a place. And, for two, if I did--would I want to go with her? I wasn't sure.

But, it is more tricky than it seems: It seems if you knew how to get to such a place--a place only we know--you'd want to go there with that person. But, it also means you have been there before (?), since only the two of you know about it.

When did you go? And how did you know how to get there? Much less both of you?

And, even worse: What if one of you thinks you went to such a place, and, wants to go back; but, you are pretty sure you've never been to such a place with them, and because of that fact, don't want to return, or go for the first time, rather?

And, one last problem: If one of you can imagine that the both of you have been to such a place, and be deceived in doing so, how is it that you--one or both--know when you will actually get there? Its a problem, because obviously no one else knows how to get there, and so any outside help is precluded from the beginning.

This was all a bit much, so she said, "This could be the end of everything."

And I said, "Yeah".

Episodes In, Outside of, but Never Out of the Smoke-Filled Coffee Shop: Love

Another day soon after that, I had quite an encounter. I was siting in the back of the Smoke-Filled Coffee shop mired in smoke and text. I was away in concepts, trying to move beyond them. A precocious student sat near me and decided he would do me a favor by imparting his knowledge on me. We chatted a bit and he asked what I was doing there. I told him I was mired in a sea of smoke and text, he nodded in understanding, or pseudo-understanding, or both--I couldn't tell. Anyway, he told me he had been learning about life as of late--of love and hurt, of eros and of passion. I said, "Great". He spoke some more.

"You see," he said "Augustine taught me that we all desire love. He also taught me that we all desire permanence. But, Augustine believed in a God I can't believe in, after all, 'God is dead', so I had to move on." Enthralled, I said, "Wow".

"Yes, so Marion taught me that the love and permanence we desire is not found in that old God of Augustine's. He taught me that actually it is found in the erotic desire and transcendence experienced with an-other."

Really excited now, I said "Didn't Augustine say something of memory?"

He replied eagerly, "Oh yes, he said the memory is a strange, strange thing. It is where God resides and doesn't. It is where the self resides and doesn't."

"And doesn't Marion say something of me?"

Jumping out of his seat now, "Oh yes, he says that me is given to me by the other. He says the only way I can be me is through the receiving of my-self from the other in the transcendence of the erotic."

"Hmm," I murmured. "I tell you what friend, maybe you can help me. I have a question about me and memory. You see, I wonder about those in my memory. The ones that I tried to love--the ones that tried to love me back. Where do they reside and why? I'd like to forget some of them, but can't. I'd like to misplace them, but it seems impossible. And, if they gave me me, can I ever be rid of them? What if I don't want to be the me they gave me? I'm just confused. It seems like they reside in my memory and give me a me I am not sure I want anymore. How does the hurt linger so deep and so long? And, how can I forget something I not only remember, but which is so essential in making me "me" even now?"

He thought for a minute, and then left.

Sitting in the back of the Smoke-Filled Coffee Shop, mired in a sea of text and smoke.

Episodes In, Outside of, but Never Out of the Smoke-Filled Coffee Shop: Embarrassment

I remember one day close to the end of the Old Man's life. We sat in the coffee shop, mired in smoke and conversation. After a bit, we decided to walk down to the shore. On the way, just outside the shop, at the edge of the boardwalk, he tripped and fell. He wasn't hurt to severely, but the Old Man had taken quite a tumble. It was strange to see him this way--the fall revealed how his body had become fragile, his strength had left him, and now he lay in the sand almost helpless. "You okay?" "Yes, goddamn', let me breathe for a minute." I gave him some room, eventually helped him up and we made our way down to the shore. It was striking how the esoteric, intellectual, slippery Old Man had gone from so intimidating, so transcendent to brittle and weak so quickly.

We sat on the shore for a bit, just listening to the pounding waves. There was a bit of awkwardness between us, something I had never felt before. I knew he could feel what I saw. He could feel that I saw through him to his humanness. He knew he had gone from a demi-god, to a delicate old man in a matter of seconds.

What came next solidified in my mind everything I thought about him. He didn't defend himself. He didn't act proud. No, he did none of that. He didn't talk about how he used to be a strong, robust young man, or how he had fished for days on end, battled large fish, or anything of the sort. No, instead, his words were filled with a vulnerability, an honesty, a humanness--weakness--which made him all the more transcendent to me:

"You know son, to be human--to sit here like this day after day--is to be embarrassed." "What?" I asked eloquently. "You see," he went on, "you can't tell me where you came from. You can't tell me why or how you were thrown into this world. You can't account for you. But, you can ask about you. You can't tell me where you are going. You can't tell me why you should go there. But, you can think about it--project it--anticipate it. You appeared here, but you can' stay here. You exist--before your choice--but someday you won't exist, and that is beyond your choice too. Yes, it seems the most personal things about you are things you don't know about and can't account for. And, even beyond that, you can fall down and it hurts. You are here in body and your body is you. You can't escape it, and even if you did there would be no more you. That body of yours--you--does things you don't want it to. It not only grows, develops and decays. It does more than that. It longs, desirs, tries, wants. It is attracted to others--other bodies--other 'mes'--and can't stop, can't explain, can't resolve. It opens itself to them--is hurt, is vulnerable, is devastated. In turn, it devastates, hurts, and exploits vulnerability. You are embodied and you not only can't escape it, but you wouldn't know what to do if you did."

I shook my head to signal that I was lost.

"You see son, to be human is to deal with this embarrassment every day. It is to walk around knowing you don't know where you came from, why you did, or what to do about it. It is to seek, strive, and aim to find a home for this body--you--in a place that doesn't seem to have one. To be human is to open that body to others looking for home and trying with them. It is visceral. It is embarrassing. It is, at most times, excruciating. But, it is human. I'm old. I'm embarrassed. But sitting here, watching this damn ocean, I don't know how to escape it and if I did, I wouldn't know what to do--because I wouldn't be me."

I loved that Old Man. I decided that right there and then. I'd never tell him. I'd never reveal that to him. I pretended not to understand and not to care. But, at that point, I was glad to listen and glad to try to be human (as if I had a choice).