Halloween is all about the dead - and the ephemeral nature of life.  Edgar Allen Poe wrote a short story, something like "The Red Mask of Death" where upper class society was having a masked ball in a mansion while the peasants outside died of a plague.  Turns out that one of the masked guests was Death itself - and so the story ends.  

Death is not only about fear and rot, but masks - psychologists call these masks the "persona" behind which resides - lurks - the "shadow" of the persona, and behind that, depths that plunge into the strange, pathological, or remarkable.  Societies have their mask, too, and we see them reflected in our beliefs about the age.  I, for one, cannot shake the idea that we are at the apex of knowledge; that we have shucked off the stupidities and bigotries of the past, and are now on the threshold of Truth.  But that can't be.  We look at the silly costumes that we wore in the 60's or 70's - we called it fashion - and laugh at ourselves.  We look at the sitcoms of the era and the pictures of women in bufonts and are amazed at our former simplicity.  We see the adds and popular stories of 50 years ago and wonder how we could have been such rubes.  

Well, we are still such rubes.  Our shared mask of reality has us believe that we are done with all that silly stuff now - NOW we know better.  Yet, you can bet that we don't - that our car styles, our fashions, our ideas about the world and justice will all seem silly or even dangerous in years to come.  We will undoubtedly find that the mask that was our self at, say, 20 - which we now see as immature - will be mirrored in the mask that is our collective persona.  This has been standard for a few centuries - since the great modern era reached to include nearly everyone - and there is no reason to believe that it will not continue.  Consider yourself obsolete.  


That is easy to understand.  What is harder to convey - perhaps impossible - is that the end - the time beyond the mask - has already been reached.  Personally, this means that we are, in a subjective sense, already dead.  What I mean by this is, just as you are sitting at your desk now, so you were sitting at your school desk 30 years ago - and so you will be starring at the hospital ceiling breathing your last.  The present of then, now, and the future are the same - we are there.  We are, in a sense, walking zombies, already at the grave, yet continuing as if we are not.  Time separates the events, but time is, subjectively speaking again, a mask in itself.  The red mask of death is already here, dancing with us though we can't see it.  


This idea terrified Poe - he was more aware than most that death was already a partner in his life, here and now, as ever.  In all honesty, when this idea really hits, I am not too comfortable about it myself.  But we know it, really, just as societies realize their own collective shortcomings -their mask - in the face of eternity.  We know, in effect, that we are crippled and incomplete and mortal, even as a collective whole.  But we also know that what is beyond death is also already here - that it is not the end.  The eyes of the pumpkin were meant to scare - or entertain - the spirits of the dead who would come to the north people just before the death of winter set in.  They knew then, as we do now in our own way, that we cannot separate ourselves from the spirit world, not really; that in Halloween, we are talking to ourselves, to our fear of what is already in us - the after-death.  Already here - yes, we know.  It is the eternal that lies beneath all the masks.  It is fear that keeps us separate from it, and fear that we must all overcome.  Light the pumpkin and relax - the end is already here, and you can handle it.  Outside of the ballroom, in the great darkness beyond the mansion, you already have.  FK                           

On to Roeker's comment: that is: that we think too much about what the truth is - that this causes most, if not all, of our problems;  that we should stop thinking and accept what is. 

As this is taken from Marilyn of Northern Exposure, I suppose I should just shut up and end this blog! (such, if you know her character, she would probably demand).  Now, in this classic drama-comedy,  Dr. Fleishman was the epitome of the man of words, of pure rationalization.  This is who his secretary, Marilyn, typically was chastising.  But he was NOT a man of thought or over analysis - he was rather a man of this world, as unreflective in his scientific view of medicine as he was in his need for money and prestige.  He needed, I would say, a good talking too - and a few hard experiences to shake him up (which he did get often enough).  And that is the question we have concerning the mind of today: is it really too caught up in analysis, or not concerned ENOUGH with trying to figure itself out?  I would say the latter - like Flieshman, the common mind set is caught in a vicious cycle of need that is seldom satisfied by what it thinks it needs - and so continues needing.  A decent self-analysis might help break this cycle.  But certainly, not challenging the status quo in some manner will lead not to the Eagle's flight, but rather to a whole lot of useless wind, signifying nothing.

To continue with Northern Exposure, we had over-analytical Chris, who WAS trying to find out what it was all about.  He was interesting and annoying, but he was trying - and slowly, getting somewhere (he had been a career criminal who had done hard time).  Then there was Minifield, the big-boss who relied upon the staus quo for his power - and was almost beyond any self-analysis and knowledge.  Marilyn was one of the few characters who seemed to be as this Eagle was - and in no need of inner help. Everyone else was - and telling them to do nothing about it - to let it flow - would not have helped.  

I read someone recently who said that getting someone to sit down and meditate for any amount of time was more painful to the average person than real pain itself.  One may tell them that they have to quiet themselves down to find their Buddha nature, but they will not.  Instead, as Jesus knew, we need parables - lessons on the nature of life.  In other words, words, and analysis of words for their meaning.  It is through them that we might come to know that which is beyond words and analysis.  It is, as the mystics know, what religion is about - the format is to train the mind to accept certain non-ordinary premises (through various forms of persuasion) - leaving it to the more serious minded to go beyond words.  But those people are few.  For most of us, words - and analysis - of and by the wise help.  Otherwise, when left on our own, we often do not find our true nature, but rather are enslaved by common nature, the superficial winds of need and desire.   FK  

Very interesting comments recently by Roosen and Roeker.  Roosen sees in innovation the end to privacy, and thus the end to deceit - and thus a utopia born, with tongue-in-cheek, for it would take away a lot of fun as well as  lot of misery.  But the reality is, this vision of the future is not that fanciful - exterior privacy is becoming a thing of the past, as technology allows for more in-depth surveillance on a massive scale, something beyond anything Mao or Stalin could employ.  And in truth, it will not lead to utopia - the fly in the ointment, as is often with things concerning modern times, is that the hierarchy of surveillance will continue - that is, that MOST will be spied upon, but others will be protected - including those at the top of the surveillance enterprise.  This would produce more unequal power relations - a master/slave template, repeated now in totalitarian nations, something that the world knows all too well.  

What Roosen may or may not know, however, is that the evolution envisioned by spiritual futurists (as opposed to the conservative perennialists) does include the overall loss of privacy - but through the development of telepathic abilities in general.  I first read of this in Arthur Clarke's "Childhood's End, " a beautiful book, at least for someone in his mid-teens when I read it.  Arthur Clarke also wrote the screen play for the movie, "2001," where the floating fetus at the end of the picture was meant to represent our rebirth as a new species, as different from what we are now as the ape was from the proto-men who learned to use tools.  Recall that there was always this black slab standing in the background when a new species-changing revelation was made; this was symbolic of the subliminal field that Fred Myers had discussed.  Clark, in Childhood's End, posits an intelligent alien presence as the benign caretakers of our evolution, but we should not confuse them with the primal source, or mover, of evolution.  That  Clark leaves to us; I call it God - and yesterday I posited the more neutral term "arch glue" of the universe.  

Regardless, this development of general telepathy (also seen by Myers as a dip into the subliminal ocean - Clark himself saw reality as the ocean floor, where we individuals were islands, apparently alone in the ocean, but connected down deep) would, of course, end privacy - but on a level entirely different from mechanical surveillance.  For one, it would not be hierarchical - leaders and the lead alike would be exposed.  Sneaky politicians and hedge-fund cheats would not be able to operate.  Crooks and molesters would stand out like beacons.  It would be a safer world.  But it is much more than that - we would at last understand, as Jesus advised, that our brother is ourselves.  We would see the inner workings of ourselves and find that most of us were operating on the same level - which is exactly what makes us part of the mass called humanity.  We could not oppress or despise groups  - and even would have to find sympathy for the psychopathic, for their deficiency would be broadcast to all as what it was - a deficiency.  Indeed, the futurists generally agree that telepathy must be a major component of the new humanity.  The negative side would not exist as we could think it - privacy would be seen as a loss, a blindness; personal inspiration should still exist, as a joke told around a camp fire is usually offered impromptu - and the intent of humor would be well understood.  But it goes well beyond that - it would be a mass participation in the subliminal, and, just as with what happened to humanity in Clarke's book, we would be whisked away to another level of  reality, this present one having served its purpose.

I don't know - I like the idea and use this website to constantly push individuals to attempt to reach the subliminal.  In fact, as is often enough stated, I believe such individual achievements are crucial for our survival.  But the whole human race?  True, as Clarke clearly put in 2001, we once DID make such a leap of consciousness, from reactive animal to thinking being. But that this will happen again in our lifetime?  Can we be that lucky (or cursed, as some might think)?  Clarke thought so, because our technology has led us to the possibility of self-extinction, making  the change necessary.  We have to wonder what Clarke thought was leading us, though - is the super intelligence behind the subliminal that concerned with us that it would come to our aid at the right time?  Or is it rather that we are unconsciously connected to the subliminal already, and are personally reacting to our superficial level from our inner nature - and therefore, this saving evolutionary change would be quite possible, even logical?

In thinking of it, I agree with Clarke - en mass, we probably ARE lead by the subliminal aspect of our nature.  But can I believe it?  That it will happen, this fantastic change, in our time?  The signs are there, yes, but really?  Still, we press on despite our doubts - what other way is there?  (Roeker will have to wait for another day)  FK 
             

                    

In the evolution of humans, it is common knowledge that for about 200,000 years - since the start of archaic Homo sapiens - we had lived as hunters- gatherers, without herds or cultivated plots.  There certainly were innovations - the spear thrower, the bow and arrow, a more refined tool kit - but these developed over thousands of years, slowly increasing the ease of hunting, but not the lifestyle itself.  It was, the story goes, the neolithic revolution of about 10,000 years ago that everything turned on a dime, in a relative sense - with agriculture, and to a lesser extent pastoralism, boundaries became more firmly set, dependable yields of excess food came into existence, and with that, armies could be fielded, and budding states could support specialists - which led to the refinement of government, mathematics, philosophy, hierarchical religion, and pretty much all we have grown used to in the modern world.   Curse or blessing, we were transformed, and the spiral of specialist knowledge has, with a few glitches, increased at a nearly incalculable speed.

Now, we might define "genius" as an idea that is unique - not necessarily absolutely new, but innovative in a hugely transformational way (for instance, we've always had fire, but it was the control of fire that was revolutionary and led to evolutionary change).  But where does genius come from?  According to Fred Myers, it arises from a subliminal level that is accessible by all, but understandable in its initial stage by only a few (interestingly, revolutionary ideas usually strike more than one person at a time, - as if people had become primed for the new innovation).  Most important to the position to be taken here is that "genius" ideas arise from the vast, open field of the subliminal - a fact that most people regularly endowed with genius take for granted (that is, they understand that the ideas come to them not from careful rational thought, but suddenly, fully or nearly fully formed, as is from nowhere).  This leads us to speculate that the ideas and transformations were intended by a super-intelligent source,  and then directed to appear at some point in time.  Which is to say, that our current situation - and plight - is, at least in part, supposed to be.

Why, then, have these new ideas so often led to bad ends? One might say that we have taken these great innovations and used them for evil, or unintended purposes, but could the ultimate intelligence not guess that this would happen?  Given that this is probably so, does this intelligence then wish that the power of these innovations will force us, on pain of extinction,  to make the right choices?  And is this part of the grand scheme, as Myers and de Chardin think?  And will this, then, lead to a new species of Homo (TRULY) sapiens, as they also think?  

This argument has surfaced in the blog before, when highlighting the differences between the spiritual evolutionists (like Teilhard de Chardin) and the conservative perennialists, like Frithjof Schuon.  To the latter, the transformative genius of today is essentially anti-spiritual, and as such a dark thing,  which brings an advancement of the material at the expense of the "ultimate" - and is intended to cause our fall in the great cycle of being as pictured by the Hindus. To the former, the spirit advances with the material innovations - or at least is supposed to, as our survival is dependent upon it.  To them, we are given a choice by genius - a choice to either advance socially and spiritually with innovation, or destroy ourselves or at least our social fabric with them.  

We are then faced with the inevitable questions - is our survival a 50/50 thing, something of real choice?  What are the odds that the transformational notion of the good will rise in the masses along with material progress?  Is it just as likely or more so that this subliminal vision will be smothered by materialistic success, where we succumb to age-old selfishness within a limited, superficial view of reality?  

I think it is at this point that we have to look again at the Will of God - or, for those opposed to such an idea - at the will of the force behind the Subliminal, the arch-glue of the universe.  Why have ideas come out now, and at such a rate after hundreds of thousands of years of near stasis?  And is it the purpose of this knowledge to force us to direct our own evolution, pressed to do so for our own survival?  In a world of infinite possibilities, it certainly seems so.  Of the odds of our success  I cannot say, but we must try to access that "arch glue," of that I am certain.   FK                          

In a book I read recently about Fred Myers, an early 20th century psychologist, he discusses "subliminal" knowledge vs the "supraliminal" or daily (regular) sort, using the phenomena of genius to show what he meant.  He is right - their is a human ability to understand this world in far greater depth than normal, which might arise either through chance or practice - and usually some of both.  What we normally see is a facade - not an "unreality," but an extremely limited reality that could be, for teaching purposes, said to be unreal, as the Eastern mystics do.  

We might say, then, in the parlance of old religion, that a veil separates us from the depths of this greater reality; and "veil," a light covering that can be brushed aside, is an apt description.  But what about the "veil" that separates the living from the dead?  This was Myer's greatest quest - to show that the living continued to live (in a different manner) as separate identities, after death, and he used various sorts of mediumship to demonstrate that there was much evidence for this.  

For me, however, the "veil" between life and death is more like an iron curtain.  In recent years, when people I have known well have died, I have been struck by the feeling of absolute emptiness: of total departure.  It has been usual for me, since childhood, to have dreams with the recently dead, but I do not really consider this to be a lifting of the curtain - it still remains uncertain whether these encounters had anything to do with the actual dead, or were merely dreams made up about them for some reason or another - or just because the memory lingered on.  

There is a Puerto Rican friend of mine, however, who consistently has seen this separation of the dead from the living as a thin, movable veil, and she insists it is a cultural bias on my part that I do not.  Visiting a host of mediums in an area of Venezuela with her, I saw her point - while I had fear about some of the freakier rituals, it was all normal to her.  She also had a practical experience with this that I witnessed which strengthens her point:

While doing fieldwork with her in deep central Venezuela, cut off from all news from the outside, she had a dream about her grandmother.  She could not see her clearly, only in outline, for she was hidden behind a veil, but she could hear her perfectly well,and the grandmother stated what was obvious, that she was no longer in the same room as her, but "behind the veil," and would not see her again as before.  The woman immediately understood that the grandmother was dead.  A few months later we left the field, and she did indeed find that her grandmother had died a few months earlier.  To this day she dreams "with" her, as she says, fairly regularly, and gets advice.  All normal as far as she understands it.

And so what is a veil to me might be an iron curtain to you - and what is that curtain to me might be a light, permeable veil to others.  It seems it might be based on our conditioning. I certainly fear encountering the dead; why, then, would this curtain part for me, unless it came (as it sometimes does) from a deeper source that simply to powerful to block?  

And it is this about seeing beyond the veil, however that might be, that should be kept in mind.  Our current mainstream culture of materialism repeatedly denies anything that is beyond the senses in one way or another.  We are conditioned not to see beyond the normal to a degree that might be without cultural precedent.  But that does not make what is beyond any less real.  And ultimately, it might be fear that keeps us locked in this flat, unexceptional speck of reality.  I think that we might want to - perhaps might have to - have more courage and see beyond the veil and even beyond the iron curtain.  FK                    

     

Today, a new essay, "Architecture of the Spirit," under Essays in the web site.  FK

The initial opening of the "great man" topic has raised so many questions that it is difficult to deal with one without another and another.  In a democracy, is the great man normally a "user" or is he ultimately the used?  Would he trend towards corrupting power, or keep his eyes on the history books?  Is there a personality type for leaders in general, and is it helpful or harmful to society?  With each question, others are raised, but I will try to stick to these three:

One: is he user or used?  To answer this question, I have to move on to number two: is he corrupted by power or controlled by the opinion of history?  Taking Kennedy as the prototype (as this is the man I am reading about) we can say that the democratic leader is both user and used.  He is a user, as he uses others for popularity and self-aggrandizing power.  Of this there is little doubt.  In a former blog, I mentioned that the current pope, Francis, seems every bit the man who does NOT want his position, but sees himself as obligated to do the best he can.  But that is not the case for president - he has to fight hard to get the nomination and harder to win the actual position.  He is driven - and it is seldom because he feels himself pressed reluctantly into service by God.  This may be the case with Washington, but I can recall no others.  Generally, they have a grandiose impression of themselves and a need for this to be fulfilled through others.  

But, then, they are used - to be adored by the people, they must give the people what they want - that is, their 51% of the people, those who have elected him.  It is here where the president is often humbled - recall the broken image of LBJ when he had to pass up his second bid for the presidency because of Vietnam.  All, eventually, are used, for they cannot give everything that the electorate wants, and in so doing, must see themselves as failures in some light (George W, I think, is a good example of this). This is particularly painful, because (#3) the personality type is almost without exception egotistic, narcissistic, and perhaps sociopathic.  It is to this later trait that I alluded to in yesterday's blog concerning Kennedy, and it is this point that I find the most important - for spiritual purposes.  

By sociopathic, I mean: unconcerned, or beyond, the normal emotions of the individual.  Kennedy, according to the author, really did not love - and perhaps he didn't even hate.  Overall, JFK, like I suspect of many presidents, had no conscience.  For leadership, this can be a wonderful gift, for conscience distracts from purpose.  Machiavelli's "The Prince" emphasizes this point - the successful ruler (or politician) must never let principles divert him from his task of consolidating power.  And here is where leadership and spiritual evolution come into into opposition.  The primary change that Christ brought to humanity was the development of the conscience, done in two important ways: one, to have us see the other guy as our self, and , two, to have us look beyond the law into our hearts for the "right" way to live with our self and others.  

This may bode well for villagers living among themselves, but is a disaster for "the prince," the man who wants to get to the top of the power structure.  True two-way empathy, and doing what is right, is too time-consuming and enervating for a leader.  He must be able to read others, but not to succumb to their emotions.  If anything, he must be able to find the kernel of discontent in the people, and emphasize it, posing as the sole source of its solution (Hitler a classic example). But in this, the leader is an anachronism, a throw-back to warriors beating their breast-plates with their swords.  He is, by and large, the obstacle to spiritual development, the shadow side of the populace even as he extols himself as the white knight.  

The problem is, how could a system change so that it elevates the person of the future, the pinnacle of spiritual evolution?  And how could this person deal with the Machiavellian leaders that surround him?  More later, FK        

Am back to reading Nigel Hamilton's book, "JFK- Reckless Youth," and have been struck again and again by how different JFK was from the rest of us.  Of course, that may be the writer's bias - although he uses dozens of quotes from JFK acquaintances, girlfriends and friends.  And there is the knowledge that all of them had that he DID become president, and a particularly famous one at that.  Still, in light of considering other presidents and people of exception, it does seem that there is something fundamentally different about those who become "Big."  One difference I think they all share is an unwavering fascination with their specialty - this includes politicians and saints alike.  Another, though, would be more particular to men (people) of power and that seems to be: detachment.

This detachment has been noted, to the best of my memory, of nearly every famous president of the 20th and 21st century, including  Woodrow Wilson, FDR, Kennedy, Nixon, Carter (if he can be called famous), Reagan, W. Bush  and now, particularly, Obama.  With JFK fresh in mind, the author notes again and again his lack of deep involvement with others - including, especially and notoriously, his lovers.  Said one woman who was in love with him while he went to Stanford (before US involvement in WWII), "I felt that he would choose a woman to be his wife based not on affection, but in how she would fit in with his larger designs" (paraphrase).  And although he was loyal to male friends, most were aware that they were there to help him have fun or reach certain goals, not for emotional attachment.  On religion, he thought most of it was nonsense, although he knew that a facade of Catholicism could help him win elections.  

In short, he, like so many other big name politicians, was a user, perhaps even somewhat sociopathological.  But can we really say that all of them suffered from some sort of pathology?  Among mystics, for instance, it is always recognized that the personality complex that we call "ourselves" is extremely superficial and reactionary - almost animal-like in its trajectory, moving from one sense of need fulfillment to another without deeper thought.  Could it be that some power "greats" are really that much deeper than the rest of us?  That by easily seeing through the facade of personality, they can grasp these elementary motives and thus easily manipulate people - from individuals to the masses - for their own ends?  And while this may seem a matter of sociopathology on a genius scale, what if the motives were actually for the good?  What if the man of power were really operating from a deeper level for the betterment of human kind?  A sort of power-saint?

It does seem possible and even probable.  The trouble is, these "power saints" are often so flawed.  They more often than not hurt people on their way to the top, and then continue hurting people - and using them (JFK was a great example of this regarding women).  But does a flaw undermine the overall greatness of the man and his calling?  Is hurting or using others a sign of evil, or simply a sign that the power-saint has not yet arrived at beatification (that is, he is on the right path, but still is marred by human flaws)?  

We also have to add to this the uncertainty of the path itself; was, for instance, FDR's great changes to American political power, and eventually to American society itself a good thing?  Were these changes even made with an idea for the good, flawed as they may have been, or were other things, such as power itself, in greater consideration (that is, were changes made primarily to give government greater power, whether or not it would help in the long run)? 

Beyond all of these considerations, when one reads about a man like Kennedy, his destiny, admittedly in hindsight, seems striking, almost a certain thing.  There are practical reasons for this, but, above and beyond, are we given certain leaders?  We may not always get the leaders we deserve, but in a democracy we generally do - but still, there is a magic to the process.  Do the leaders we get reflect our own flaws, or is there something more in them?  Was there something more to Kennedy, for instance, than a need for women and power?  Was he called to use the great power of the US for a destiny that few can see, but that was planned from a much higher source?  And for what purpose: to eventually humble the nation that reaches for power, like the Third Reich, or to elevate it to a greatness that serves a higher purpose?  Or are one or the other solely  determined by what is in the collective hearts of the masses, the leader an unwitting sacrifice to a self-made fate?

For me, it seems a combination of the two: that our leaders reflect our greatness and flaws, but also are given for a certain destiny, one that might take time to accomplish.  This is impossible to prove, but I think we can move from our own lives in particular to the general.  In our personal lives, there is a design, but we may refuse to accept it.  In social life, there is a design, and we are going to get it: the collective, like any herd, can only move in one direction without chaos.  And so, yes, our national lives are directed, but as a collective with millions of lives, the goal may not be realized for many, many generations.  Thus our leaders may be leading us to a greater life, or the disaster necessary to bring about this greater life.  And this may only come to be known by the fruits of the seeds that have been sown.  FK         

I had lost the sense of time with the jet lag and rush of our tour, but suddenly it was Wednesday and time to see the Pope.  We had by this time self-assigned seats in the tour bus, and soon we were going around the circles that were Rome traffic on our way to Vatican City, the smallest country in the world.  It was early - not 8 o'clock yet, but we were told there would be 100,000 people there, and when we were left off at the gate we found that this was no lie.  As had become usual, we queued up behind our effervescent tour guide, Anna Marie, and followed her car antenna with a daisy that reached above the crowd through the walls and into the city itself, St Peter's Basilica several hundred yards away, a platform set at the entrance where papal dignitaries moved about like tiny puppets before the seething crowd.  We shuffled about in maddeningly irregular lines before we were ushered through some temporary side gates and into the actual plaza, where decrepit plastic chairs had been set up by the thousands, and then we sat, far to the rear, to wait.  The Pope would not make his appearance until 10:30 and we had nothing to do but watch as throngs from everywhere filled the seats and then every space not blocked off in between, truly 100,000.  It was then that I got nervous: what if I had to go to the bathroom?  As I thought about it, I felt I DID have to go to the bathroom, and spotting several port-a-potties over to the left tried to make my way over.  But nothing doing: for some reason, large tracts of the plaza had been placed off-limits by more temporary gates, and like an imbecile rat in a maze, I had to admit defeat and head back to our group.  

Ah, but there was a way!  Over to the right was another corridor that I could access, and asking polizia along the way, I found that there was a  bathroom way, way towards the front, just to the side of St Peter's.  I made the long  walk - perhaps 250 yards, and then was stopped cold by the lines.  Several hundred other people had had the  same idea, and we stood, hopeless, knowing only that we had about an hour and a half to go before the Pope appeared.  What, I thought, would I be doing anyway but waiting?, and so I stood, jostling from one foot to another as the line moved soooo slowly.  I began to resent the women in the line - women take so much longer to go - when someone else in our group who happened to come along (a woman) began to talk with the man next to us who, with a little discernment, we found was an American priest with a parish in Germany.  He told us of his difficulty - that what was once East Germany was the least Christian country in Europe, and how he had to try to spread the word - the vision - all over again, like a missionary to a lapsed parish in 19th century Angola.  Was there any hope for Christianity in Europe?, I had to ask.  Well, yes, we always have hope, he said, and with God's help...until somewhere, along the line, the Father said, "and the US needs a national health-care system like Germany."  But there is no money for that, I said; but there IS, he said; but we baby boomers are making it impossible, I said - there is no way the dwindling number of tax-paying youth can support us when we get older.  I knew, I said, because my mother was now taking 10's of thousands from the state - and, even though the government had taken her house, she would STILL use more money than they would get.  

We drifted apart in the line, he talking to some German parishioners and I not asking this, but thinking: is it the state that must take care of us?  Isn't that how East Germany became pagan in the first place?  But of course, neither of us really knew the answer.  So many millions in need, one day including ourselves; so many people and not enough - not enough in a free society anyway, and maybe just not enough.

In the mean time, the toilet line had finally divided into male/female and then I knew we had hope.  An hour had gone by and I had only half an hour left, but maybe now...the polizia were getting tougher as some people began pushing; one man shoved his way into the female line with his wife: she really had to go, and go now!  People yelled, and the polizia pulled the man out and threw him against one of the fences.  He and his wife were ordered out, or something, and while I watched, several of the Germans cut in front of me.  But it was all right - I was near the end, men are fast, and soon  was relieved.  Gratefully, for now some cardinals were speaking from the podium, and I made my way back to the seats.  Minutes later, the women who had gone showed up, too, and I was surprised: how did you get through so fast?  "We didn't.  We'll just have to wait."  Ahh.  

But now the ceremonies were beginning; papal dignitaries called out parish groups one by one in their language, a list that took over half an hour, each group called letting out a yell in the vast crowd, with some singing songs or playing with a band. Finally it was our turn, and we had 5 seconds to yell as they called, "From the United States of America..." and then on to others and others,  in Greek, in Russian, in Croatian.  

Then -was there a silence? - someone said, and then another, "there's the Pope!  There he is!"  Several of us stood on our seats and strained towards the basilica and there, after several seconds, I found him - a tiny, distant figure, hat-less, dressed in white, who drifted at the far end of the crowd like a specter, his motion too fast and smooth for travel on foot.  Of course he was on a vehicle of some kind, but that could not be seen, and he drifted, waving white-clad arms that must have had hands, were I closer to see. This, I surmised, was all that we would see, and I was not surprised - it was enough, and expected.  There was the great man, the new humanist who would bring the Church into the new century!  There was the man with the common touch who slept in the side rooms alongside others, refusing the papal refuge, who always had lived with, and like the poor!  There was the man for the age!

But there was more: those corridors had been put there for a reason, and soon we realized that his vehicle was to take him along all those ways, through the middle, past the back, along the sides, and that we would get to see him up close.  And we did.  Kissing babies along the way, soon he was almost within arm's touch, his white-white face shining his pleasure to be in our presence.  He was a real man.  He was that close.  Round and round he went, not once, but several times, waving, smiling, beaming so that all who wanted could get what they had come for - a close-up of his presence.

After some time, he appeared on the podium and spoke. Translated, his message was one of trans-national tolerance and understanding, of bringing God to everyone, for that was every man's job - to help others along the way, their way, any way that would bring them to God.  And the world, too; the world to God.  By the time the translations were over, his voice was almost a whisper.  He was now just a small, tired old man.  His beaming smile had cost him, and it became apparent: he was the Martyr Pope.  This was not his hope, his dream, this office, but his cross.  So many people in need!  Such an impossible task!  Worlds of people pushing and shoving on this planet, each ready to fight for his place in line, his place in the queue, all on the verge of panic for their needs.  All this, all these people, ready to explode; and only God could help - and he was His emissary. An impossible task, but he must have hope - he had to have hope.  We could do it, we must do it, we could do it with our faith in God.  But there was so little time.  The hours were closing in.  And he had to be there, it was his cross, his impossible task, it was his, and he was tired.  

The crowd was silenced as we were blessed, and then he was gone and we were one of thousands again, pushing to get back to the streets of Rome, hoping to find one restaurant that was not so crowded, one small restaurant where we could find a seat.  FK                                           

Going to Italy is not like Livingston at Victoria Falls - it is, rather, a mundane thing now, but we learn from every experience that is even remotely beyond habit.  For me, what was learned falls into two large categories: faith and hope, and despair.  Of the former I will come back to again and again, for I have not yet been able to fully process it, and writing gives that opportunity.  What I can say so far about it is that something fundamental was tweaked there, and it had to do with religion, and yet was also outside religion.  I can say that I may be a stronger Catholic because of it, but I am not sure: amid the manifestations of Catholicism, amid a people who are unashamed to pray or express their religion, there were also the manifestations of the power and excess of the old Church of empire.  This is not something new in the least - many who hate religion often point to the excesses of the Holy Roman Empire, and it hits home.  On the other hand, there was, for those open to it, a manifestation of the power of faith - of how it has moved people to tremendous bravery, to breathless acts of charity and self-sacrifice, and to miracles of the more material kind, all beyond any reasonable doubt.  It is there in spirit, and in taking it in, one cannot help but feel strengthened in faith - not in the power of hierarchy, but of what lays beyond it - a truth far greater than any skepticism.  It is this sense, in those who are the geniuses in the field of faith, that has saved the world and continues to save the world.

And in that comes the second part - despair.  Despair at he sameness of the world; despair at the shocking and undeniable truth that the world is becoming far too small and far too uniform in its ugly display of technology, both in external structure and in the structure of the mind.  This does not come from books - books cannot give that sense of doom, of closing in, of the ultimate claustrophobia of feeling trapped everywhere on Earth.  

One must balance out the other.  In faith is the infinite and wondrous; in the crowded, uniform brave new world, there is no wonder at all beyond the latest I pod or high speed computer.  Those without faith may not understand the hell on earth they are creating; those of faith do, because they can see the contrast.  

And so I am left with faith, hope and despair.  Perhaps that contrast has always ruled the world - but it has become a lot clearer of late, at least to me, clearer still with world travel.  And each creates its own environment: one, of immortal beauty, and the other, of its poor imitation, further and further removed from the source.  And while it is true that there are enough saints to save the world, we must also pay for the "sin" of our despair.  And so we are: in a world of concrete and wires and crowded, ugly cities, so we are.  FK