Waste or Largess and yet.

I few minutes ago I had a brilliant insight into life and the universe.  It may or may not interest you, so I won’t bore you.

It struck me deeply.  I sensed two possibilities for my insight.  It resonated through me.  The insight gave me joy.   The resulting feeling suspended me “up” in a long, draining week for seconds.

Again, I see two possibilities for my insight, for a depth of feeling and realization words fail to convey.

Possibility one.  All we are today results from a profoundly long series of random outcomes, against the Second Law of Thermodynamics, gathering star-dust from millions of extinguished stars to donate elements farther down rows of our Periodic Table to fire-form a planet within a hair’s breadth of distance from a correct sun needed for incredibly sophisticated RNA and DNA to take on a job of blindly evolving past millions of blind alleys to get to us.  “Us” who can write, laugh, love, hear and even sometimes understand each other; and die.  All of my memories, depths, and sharing now a meal for worms blindly eating either my corpse or plants enriched by my ashes.  In a generation, at most, any who interacted or shared with me; join me in oblivion, as will we all.  A remorseless universe neither taking note, caring or laughing.

Possibility two.  A God described as having infinite capacity created the thought of me before assembling the iron and nickel for a core for Earth.  He brought my mother from her birth family to an adopted family so she could marry and unite again with my father after two miscarriages to birth me.  And so, minutes ago, this God shared my brilliant insight into life more intimately than even my wife could hope for.  And if all that’s written of Him is good, when I die I am resurrected out of time into eternity to get this — share that insight with Him and possibly at the same depth with those purchased by His grace — around a dinner beyond compare before we get back to work.

How it all works is above my pay grade.

Possibility one says as a terrorist dies, it holds equal lack of value with the deaths of Jesus, Gandhi — the named and the forgotten.  From nothing formed, and to nothing returned.

Possibility two gives me Hope to hold to values. I choose P two.  Probably as it demands more of me in faith, giving to, making a difference, loving and weeping — living.  If Hope is a crutch, then inscribe mine with the name for me in Heaven I don’t even know, yet.

See?  I can now say, “yet”!

The truth about heroes

Jill and I have been fantasy and sci fi buffs since Asimov, LeGuinn, Omni Mag and other ways to date yourself.  We are a minority.  We thought the Postman short stories and even the movie were pretty cool.

We have noticed two things about heroes, and I needed to remind myself, and possibly you, about true heroes.

We noticed that heroes are increasingly, routinely, regularly expected to come back from the dead, have superpowers, run for days without rest performing at astonishing levels of tenacity and genius, and can fire guns, kick butts, and kill villains in endlessly creative ways.  And they are all deeply flawed, marred souls with insurmountable things to overcome.

Real heroes are a little harder to spot.  They blend in with our worlds for a very simple reason: they are the substance, the substrate on which our world has been constructed.  Real heroes are consistent.  I trust that they are the same person with me as with crowds, as in private.  You see, we build our homes and our lives from consistent, lasting, sustainable materials and relationships.  They are overcomers, but do it with an ineffable grace and pinache so you don’t even see them sweat.

Heroes are all flashy as bricks and mortar, 2×6 studs, great shingles, and insulation.  They make a safe, reliable, consistent shelter from the storm, lee against the winds, warmth against the nuclear winters the world creates.

Mike was one of my heroes and he left us unexpectedly on Friday morning.  So, now I have to go tell a couple of other heroes thanks for being there, thanks for being a friend — constant — because I didn’t say that to him when I almost did on a Sunday morning week before last.  And now I will have to wait to say it to him personally.

Could be you need to tell one or two of yours thanks as well.  Even the constant ones get yanked into eternity when you least expect it.