8 minute read
Brilliant Thoughts
• The Voice of the Village • 7 – 14 May 2020 MONTECITO JOURNAL 27 Born London, 1933. Mother Canadian. Father a British civil servant. World War
II childhood spent mostly in Toronto and Washington, D.C. Berkeley PhD. in
American History, 1964. Living in Santa Barbara since 1973. No children. Best-known for his illustrated epigrams, called “Pot-Shots”, now a series of 10,000. Email ashleigh@west.net or visit www.ashleighbrilliant.com Brilliant Thoughts
by Ashleigh Brilliant
Dear God, N o doubt you know I don’t believe in you – but that’s OK, because, for all I know, you probably don’t believe in me either. Still, out of consideration for everybody else who may be reading this, I am obliged to respect you, not take your name in vain and even, to the extent possible under the circumstances, consider you holy.
So, let me first thank you for those things I am commonly supposed to be grateful to you for. I won’t attempt to list them, because most of us share the basic ones. But I do have a few special ones, such as my name – what luck to be born with one of the rare names which has so many good connotations! – also my intelligence (which I assume is a good thing) and my talent as a writer.
I suppose I should also be grateful for living in a very desirable part of the world, and in a relatively peaceful time – and for the relatively long, healthy life I’ve had, relatively free of terrible events – also for the mostly good people who have helped me on my way.
But now we come to the other side of the picture. And first of all, my biggest complaint is WHY? You have allowed us – at least up to now – to glimpse a vastness, both externally and internally, beyond our comprehension. We will die without understanding any of it. And, speaking of dying, this phenomenon called “life” is enough of a mystery in itself. And to me, one of its strangest and most horrific aspects is the peculiar system of life feeding on life – of living things eating each other in order to stay alive. I once read a story of which I can remember nothing but the last line. A large man, apparently facing imminent death, thumps his own body, and says, “What a feast for the worms!” At one of my colleges they used to sing a song which began “the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,” cheerfully mocking the process of decomposition. And of course, the most famous of college songs, going back to medieval times, and usually sung in the original Latin, is the one which begins “Gaudeamus Igitur, Juvenes dum sumus” (“Let us therefore rejoice, while we are young”) but ends with the mournful refrain, “Nos habebit Humus” (The Earth will have us”).
So thank you, God (I suppose) for allowing us, at least occasionally, to be so jolly about a truth so grim.
But my complaints don’t stop there. Why did you have to concoct a system in which not only do we all have to eat each other, and eventually reach a point at which we ourselves get eaten – but on the way, we generally suffer more and more losses, pain, and deterioration?
I can hear you saying, “Don’t forget about reproduction!” Yes, it’s true that, quite apart from the pleasures of sex, most people have children, and often grandchildren, which in itself is a form of rebirth and immortality. This forces me to get a little personal and point out that none of that applies to me. I will leave no descendants, not even any nieces or nephews – not that fecundity is any guarantee of happiness. I once (in my early twenties) wrote a poem called “The Atheist’s Prayer,” which was full of paradoxes, such as the very first lines: “God, who does not exist,
Help me to deny thee.”
And then there are all the other gifts you have sprinkled upon us – any number of disgusting diseases, disorders, and defects of the body and mind – enough to fill six pages of Roget.
But wait! There’s more! With all of these misfortunes, one might expect that, having so much in common, would draw people together. But instead, what do we get? – War, Crime, Violence, Hatred, and a whole catalog of Deadly Sins – most of them involving people hurting each other (and in some, also hurting themselves).
And ironically, as it would seem, much of the conflict in the world arises from different conceptions, God, of YOU! – different ways to imagine you, obey you, communicate with you. And to think that you are responsible for all this!
I once (in my early twenties) wrote a poem called “The Atheist’s Prayer,” which was full of paradoxes, such as the very first lines:
“God, who does not exist, Help me to deny thee
Lord of the lordless, give me faith to have no faith,
Give me the wisdom not to understand – and the power to doubt.”
I’m afraid that you, God, and my readers, won’t feel that I have come very far since then. •MJ LETTERS (Continued from page 8) touching no one, hugging anyone, standing no where near anyone, that will be the world we are returning to.
How do we live in that world. How do we form contacts with one another devoid of touch and for the most part facial identification. Going to be a big challenge. How much energy will be spent trying to figure that out, depends upon how much we value connection.
Myrna Fleishman, Ph.D What I Miss
On St. Patrick’s Day, May 17, 2020 I went in for hip surgery at Goleta Valley Cottage Hospital. I was one of the last elective surgeries they would perform for a long time. When I was discharged, I left what felt like a ghost-hospital, with only a few patients still waiting to leave and a cleaning crew swabbing down the halls. Sadly, on the way home, I couldn’t get my post-op meds at San Ysidro Pharmacy, so my prescriptions were phoned in to another, corporate, pharmacy. After much delay, due to many anxious people stocking up prior to the stay-at-home order, I was served graciously. It was an experience I will never forget, and a foreboding of the future.
After I had my medications in hand, my ride and I stopped at my dear friend Nina’s to pick up a care package of food and flowers. She was hunkering down and waved to us from a window as my ride gathered the booty from her porch. My heart swelled! I have seen so many acts of kindness, mostly over the internet of course, as these days of quarantine pass. I love the feeling of being part of a community. Our Little Village is a treasure that I hold very dear. Since that day I have been puttering around my place and doing generally just about nothing, except on days when I have to go into SB for Physical Therapy and a quick shop for food at Gelson’s where my ride prefers to shop.
That is why yesterday, when I was coming home from Physical Therapy, I had my ride take me to the Upper Village in order to do some errands, it felt so good to see familiar faces, or what I could see of them as they all had their masks on, and pick up and read the Montecito Journal and see the pictures of the MUS Parade!
It is said to write about what you know and what I know is that I miss my neighbors and my Little Village. I hope we all get back to normal safely!
Peace, Love and Music!
Michael Edwards Man’s Best Friend
Great and sincere article from Gretchen Lieff on Ron Brand and the loss of his dog McKenna! Dogs are always such comfort and especially at times like these… I know we certainly miss ours.
Jean Von Wittenburg Why Now?
Our politicians have made our lives miserable. Shopping at local markets for groceries or produce these past two weeks reminds me of how I feel at an airport security check line. There is absolutely no joy in the experience. It wasn’t this bad during the peak of this pandemic in March. The curve has been flattened, the hospitals are not overwhelmed and yet there is no end in sight of this oppressive lockdown.
The World Health Organization states Sweden is the model on how to handle COVID-19... why are we still on lockdown? Are our government officials not paying attention to the science?
Why now? Why the oppressive heavy hand in May? Our government is depriving us of living and I might add living safely. I learned this week that I cannot get my pets immunized. It is “unlawful” until the government lifts the restrictions. Seems irresponsible to me.
This past week I received a threatening letter from Supervisor Das Williams warning that I must obey or he will be “forced” to close Santa Barbara beaches. Am I his subordinate that he can take away my privileges with impunity? How did our politicians gain the power to run over our rights to live as free people?
Sincerely,
Cheryl Trosky •MJ A patient walks in to see his doctor. The doctor asks what’s wrong. What’s wrong? Can’t you see I’ve got strawberries growing out of my head? Is that all? Don’t worry I’ve got some cream for that.
