The God of Mischief

In two hundred years scavengers will find 

what appears to be the fire-ravaged image 

of a plaid-suited boy with magnificent bangs 

that has miraculously been spared, though 

his smaller sister’s face will have been lost.  

It is a cruel world in which this image is found, 

“hope” - a frayed rope down to just a few strands.  

A cult will be formed to honor this reckless boy  

with his big ears, missing tooth, and freckled nose.

It will be dedicated to Mischief-in-Good-Doing

as its grounding philosophy and touchstone.  

I hope to attain to such a great distinction and

veneration even in this life before the future runs 

with whatever it is that I have been unable 
to achieve in my own misguided way, selah.

***

The Machine

It was considered the highest priority

and they budgeted accordingly,

a machine to smooth the bumps

and clean the air of pollutants.

It roamed the landscape with 

wide tracks flattening the earth,

sucking in the dirty air and 

spitting out clean(er) air.

‘Cept the exhaust pipe propped 

on top, out of sight, put out 

a bit too much and some did 

not want their land flattened.

Regardless, it was the highest priority

and the machine was made bigger

by the year until the hills began

to disappear and darkness spread.

Fuel was consumed at an alarming

rate as the befouling escalated,

but its justification as a solution to 

a problem remained unchallenged.

People felt somehow safer with the machine

prowling around (in other people’s 

plots preferably) making it easier to walk, 

if not for the choking, but always elsewhere.

***

Combat Zone Correspondence

Subj: Another journal entry

Date: 11/19/2006 3:34:01 PM Romance Standard Time

From: zek18376@yahoo.com

To: JHForest@cs.com

8 November 2006

I had an interesting interaction with my colleague Captain H this morning. When we greeted each other in the staff room I said, “well here we are, another day.” She replied with, “yes, just like every other day. It’s like we are in a prison here.” We discussed the fact we wear the same uniform everyday, stay in the same area, live in small windowless rooms, and cannot see our families, etc. I put a positive spin on it (in my mind) by likening it to a monastery instead. It was my attempt at “reframing” her negative assertion as we are fond of doing in the mental health profession. She thought it a novel idea, but not necessarily much of an improvement I’m sure.

Anymore I think a lot in metaphors, especially when it comes to psychiatry and spiritual matters. It seems to me that what we are doing here in our “Combat Stress Control” unit in Iraq somewhat mirrors what happens when a pilgrim visits a monastery. A war is raging all around us and soldiers seek us out or are sent to us as a physical and mental respite, to learn new ways of dealing with the stress of a combat environment, and to refocus on the “mission.” We offer them a program in which they can explore their inner workings experientially through various group therapy settings and one-on-one counseling, as well as receive educational information.

In my experience this is not unlike visiting a monastery. I am in a constant battle with the passions that distract and disorient me. This fight can narrow my vision, constrict my mind, and threaten to overwhelm me as a result. Visiting the monastery gets me away from the routine flow of life for a time to reassess and retool for the job of battling the passions. This is accomplished by being involved in the corporate (or group) activity of worship in the divine services, meeting one-on-one with a spiritual father or mother, and spending quiet thoughtful time in educating myself by reading spiritual materials. In this way I can get back to the “battle” and be more effective.

Both have “healing” at their heart, though the great irony/tragedy of the first is that some are being sent back out to kill or be killed. It is also problematic that in the first case the enemy is external (the other) while in the second case the enemy is internal (the self). Maybe this is why Jesus says our battle is “not against flesh & blood,” to repudiate those who would justify killing those created in his image. And what to do with “love your enemies” and “return evil with good?” Living with this kind of dichotomy in a war zone requires a lot of humility and reliance on the mercy of God. Pray for me a sinner.


***

Third Grade Problems & Solutions

Anya has a new drawing book that I found on the dining room table over the weekend.  It sucked me backwards down the corridor of time to the third grade.  My teacher was an irritable old lady and everyone dreaded getting her class.  This was felt all the more keenly by the fact that the other third grade teacher was so nice.  

She was constantly on me for moving too much or talking too much.  Her way of handling it was so heavy-handed that my Mom and the Principal had to get involved.  There was a meeting of some kind (my memory is clouded by the intervening decades) but I seem to recall the Principal asking me what it was I enjoyed doing in my free time.

I told him I liked to draw.  His answer to the quandary was to have my teacher let me go to the library and find some drawing books to work on when my work was done so that I was not just sitting there getting into “trouble.”  It required some bending on the teacher’s part who expected kids to sit quietly at their desks when they were done with their work and do nothing, like cute little robots in pause mode.  She protested that she would have to let other kids do that too.  The Principal came back with “We’re not talking about other kids.  We’re talking about Aaron.”  My Mom told me she could tell that really got the teacher’s goat and the discussion ended there.    

I learned later that that was her last year to teach and no one else had to sit under her constant scowl after me.  I took credit for being the person who helped her decide it was time to retire.

And here is Anya’s drawing book with pretty much the exact same animals and how to draw them.  For years I had a drawing of a dolphin and shark in the ocean mounted on a sheet of blue construction paper stored away from this time period, but it was lost at some point and forgotten, until now.

***