October 9, 2003
I have actually received a few responses to the challenge of July 19. The majority of these responses reminded me of one central issue. The reason I do what I do is not because the world is such a deserving place (a concept I will address further down), but because it is my nature to do it, and if I didn't I wouldn't be the same person.

This may or may not be true. I have spent an inordinate, perhaps unhealthy amount of time pondering my own nature as of late. If I do something that is utterly contrary to my nature, does that fundamentally change my nature? If I behave like someone else, do I start to become someone else? The question was raised once by a friend. He was contacted by a woman whom he had admired greatly when they were both in High School. At that time in their lives, she had no interest in him, as he was a quiet sort of boy and was not given to the sort of rowdy, boisterous, attention-garnish behaviour to which girls in his school seemed to be attracted. At this more mature stage in their lives, now that he was married and had a daughter, she had sought him out via email and appeared to have taken interest in him. He was somewhat tempted to see just where this would lead. After a discussion over a few beverages, we brought him to the following conclusion. The reason this woman had taken an interest in him, we surmised from the exchange of messages, was that she had matured to the point of disinterest in rowdy, boisterous, attention-garnish behaviour, and the men who behaved in such a manner were generally unfaithful and narcissistic. Should he decide to follow the path of infidelity, he would no longer be the kind of man she was now seeking, and would not only fail to keep her interest, but likely lose his family in the process.

As for whether or not the world is worth saving, I suppose I should clarify that I mean the people of the world. Are people, humanity as a collective, worthy of the expenditure of heroic efforts required to keep them from global warfare?

Check back with me in a few days. I have some thoughts on that, but I'm out of time now.

October 1, 2003
I didn't think so.

July 19, 2003
I am traveling this week, on business. I find myself in one of the several parts of the world in which people feel the need to shoot at each other with substantial quantities of explosive force.

Like the majority of poets, and people, for that matter, I find myself constantly amazed at man's near-infinite capability for cruelty to others. Long ago, we killed each other over "noble causes": religion, loyalty to king and country, human rights, that sort of thing. Later, we lowered our standards, but still fought for grander purposes: political ideology, geographic priority, expansionism, mineral rights.

I spoke to some armed men the other day. They told me that they waited for a large crowd of children to gather, then threw a candy bar into the crowd so they could watch the kids fight over it. This wasn't simple schoolyard pushing. Some of these kids had knives, and knew how to use them. I have seen school age boys that could break down and rebuild an AK-47 faster than the majority of professional military personnel I know.

Recently, I was at a truck stop in America, where I saw a fellow on television called Jerry Springer, who I hear is in the running for some government office in the US. He brings people out on stage, in front of a crowd and television cameras, to discuss humiliating and degrading topics, the title of this episode being "I am pregnant with my brother's child, part 2." Although the topic was revolting, and the vitriolic reaction of the crowd was horrific, I think what was most disturbing was that this was "Part 2,? which indicated that there was more than one group of people who wanted to discuss this topic on camera.

We have Extreme Fighting on international television. We have Faces of Death parts 1 through 15 or so in the video stores. We have "reality television", in which we offer people the opportunity to fall in love with a complete stranger, and then offer them a million dollars to reject this person they have put so much effort to charm.

I say all that to say this: I, even I, the most optimistic, Pollyannaish person I have ever known, who loves everyone and always finds the good in others, am beginning to despair for this world. I spend my time saving the world for a living, and it is becoming more and more difficult to summon up the will to pull the world's fat out of the fire. I am, therefore, making this challenge; if anyone is actually reading any of this, here is how we play our little game. Just as Abraham pleaded for Sodom, I ask you, the invisible universe of people around me, to tell me why this world should be spared. You have my address on the introductory page, and the Guest Book for additional responses.

I await your answer.

March 8, 2003
It's beginning to seem that I only have time for writing about once a season.

I live in the Northern Hemisphere, for the moment. Time has taken the strength of Winter once again, and Spring, the impetuous season, has begun laying out swatches and samples for her annual redecoration. Neighbors, Druidic in their passion for green and living things around them, are beginning their rituals of lawn care and hedge trimming. I am contemplating what seeds I will not get around to planting this year, as the community around me once again makes the transition from one season to the next.

We enjoy the seasons, and even the thought of the seasons. What we dread are the transitions. All the world loves the Spring, and all the world has fond memories of the Winter. But we dread the thaw; too cold for one set of pajamas, too warm for another, all the runoff from melting making a mess of things, the weather becoming as unpredictable as Aunt Harriet after she reached that certain age. The same sentiment can be said of the other seasonal transitions. Change, after all, can be such an accursed inconvenience.

It's also interesting to note that, once we have made the transition, we begin growing impatient for the next season to begin. We complain that the commercial outlets begin their holiday displays too far in advance, but they wouldn't do so if no one were buying the products. We buy our swimwear in the winter and our coats in the summer, all because they give us the opportunity, if only in our hearts and minds, to be in that future season. Seldom do we ever find ourselves satisfied with the moment in which we find ourselves.

"So," you say, "what's the big deal? We've known for years uncounted that we, as a race, are generally unsatisfied with our present lot, whatever that lot may be. Are you really just getting around to discovering this fact? How old did you say you were?"

Actually, I didn't mention my age, nor did I say that I found the concept of greener grass in some other pasture to be a new and novel idea. It does make me wonder, though, what good all this dissatisfaction does us. Yes, I realize that the struggle for improvement in one's lot in life is a major force in the vast majority, if not all, of human progress. But, for all our striving, there is one thing we have not developed. We can, essentially, change anything in our lives that we find the least bit irritating, from the climate, to the location, to the choice of life partner, to our physical structure, to include our organs. But, for all our clever inventions, we have yet to discover contentment.

They say that the ability to invent is what separates us from the animals. If one were to spend too much time thinking on the subject, one might come to the conclusion that inventiveness is only a symptom of the real point of separation, which is the ability to be discontent in spite of a perfectly habitable environment.

November 11, 2002
It has been quite some time since I have made an entry into this journal. Not for lack of material, though. Simply because I have been doing those things which I do, and which, additionally, contribute to my desire for anonymity.

Now that I finally have a moment, I have a cup of yesterday's coffee, and I am contemplating the near future, in which I will be hosting a small gathering of my family. Ramadan is upon us, Chanukah approaches, Thanksgiving draws near, Christmas is around the corner, and Kwanzaa is also in the pack. At no other time of year are we so frantic to show our abilities as gracious hosts, our lofty generosity, and the good will with which we hold all mankind (provided they look similar tu us, practice roughly the same religion, and don't commit the unpardonable sin of supporting a rival football team). This is just about the most sacred 60-day period in our calendar.

Why?

There are those who would say this time of year inspires more holidays because the nights are longer, and ancient people needed the comfort of celebrations to help them endure the dreary and sometimes dangerous winters. Such people have never spent December in Australia. Others believe that the celebrations are a natural function of the end of the calendar year. We forget, though, that the cultures that brought us these celebrations have a variety of different calendars. And so, they finally throw their hands in the air, out of sheer frustration, and say, "Fine, E. Why don't you tell us, since you're so gosh-darned smart."

Well, here's something you won't hear from me very often. I don't know.

Before you get fed up and close your browser, thinking that this rambling is of no use other than filling space, let me get to the point. The fact of the matter is, this time of year is special, for whatever reason, and regardless of the culture from which you approach it. That is, unless you are an Atheist from the Western hemisphere, in which case you are riding the peace and goodwill coattails of the Judeo-Christian tradition and contributing nothing to the reality of peace on Earth and are, instead, taking this opportunity to enrich the pockets of the local Toys R Us and Harry & David.

But I digress.

I don't know why this particular time of year is so sacred to so many cultures (I know Kwanzaa isn't strictly a religious observance, but there is still something of the sacred about the season, don't you think?), but it seems clear that it is, and I don't put a lot of trust in coincidence.

Whatever your value on this time, and whatever you may hold sacred, keep them both close to you during this time. Embrace your beliefs, whatever they may be, knowing that the morals and values that come from our own minds are transient and flexible, and the only constants in out lives must come from without.

July 7, 2002
Tonight, I am alone.

I am away from my home on business, and there are no friends or relations near from whom to gain support. I?m in a place in which I ordinarily do not find myself. Let's call it Mars.

When you have time alone, it gives you time to be introspective. I haven't indulged in that particular pleasure in some time (as you can probably tell from the quality of my writing). Since it's late, and I'm expected in early tomorrow, I won't bore you with all the tedious details of this journey of self-discovery. But since this is a journal, I would like to share a few things I discovered while waiting for a pizza.

When I was a child, I had heroes. In my dreams, I wanted to be a crime-fighter. Publicly, I wanted to be a nuclear physicist from the time I was old enough to spell the phrase (about five and a half, if I remember correctly). There was a part of me that thought I could do both.

Later in life, I had more trouble finding heroes. The living people I had once admired had, one by one, proved themselves all-too human. The imaginary heroes took too much time and money to keep up with.

Are heroes important? Do we really need them? I think so. Heroes give us goals. They feed our imagination and inspire us to reach beyond ourselves. They cause us to ask ourselves questions from the perspective of someone else, someone we would be like if we only dared. And whenever we can find a way to become less egocentric, we have open a door to a larger world.

I said all that in order to say this; once upon a time, I had a desire to become the man my parents wanted me to be. Once I reached adulthood, I found out I had become someone I was not proud of, and would not have liked if I didn't have to share his limbs and organs. But, over time, things have changed. By the grace of God, I have become the man I had dreamed of as a child. I am a hero. And I am saving the world. Okay, so maybe I can't fly unaided, and I don't have anything out of the ordinary on my utility belt, and there isn't a cape on my uniform. Those aren't the things that make a hero.

"So," you say to the monitor, "tell us, Mr. Schmarty-Pants, what makes a hero?"

If you don't know, then you must not have one.

June 11, 2002
By now anyone that has access to this site has already seen Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones, so it should be safe to talk about. Of course, what I am thinking about doesn't have much to do with the plot, so I won't be spoiling anything.

People have been asking me, "So when does this Anikin guy turn evil, anyway?" Look closely. He's already there. He just doesn't know it yet. Evil people seldom realise they are.

I can recall the day I understood that I was evil.

By that time, I had gone through some major changes. It was only with hindsight that I realised the truth about myself. I hid it pretty well. You see, I wanted to be a healer, which is certainly not evil in and of itself. Healing is a noble profession, and I have immense gratitude for the doctors, nurses, PAs, paramedics and others that give of themselves to relieve the suffering of others. And I was eager to count myself among those who pursue such a noble calling.

But when I looked within my heart, I realised that my motivation and attitude were wrong. I didn't want to help mankind out of love for my fellow man. I wanted power, and the power to heal the sick and injured is great indeed. It's easy to say the right words out in the open when you are pursuing something that does so much good for so many. It's almost as easy to fool yourself. But you can't lie to yourself forever. And, eventually, the attitude of the heart will betray itself through the words of the mouth or the actions of the hands.

That is why I am not in the medical profession now, although I was at one time. When I understood why I had been drawn to it in the first place, I was glad I left.

So what does all this have to do with Star Wars?

There is one pivotal scene that stands out in my mind, where one character is asking if Jedi are allowed to be in love. Anikin replies that he believes that service to the galaxy is unconditional love, and so it's ok.

In spite of all the critics' opinions about the wooden performances in this movie, that one moment is the one I would choose as the most real. Look at his eyes. He's rationalising. Love has little to do with either his pursuit of knighthood or of Amidala. This man wants power. Maybe I can see it better because I have been on his side of it, but others would be well-served to learn the lesson the easy way; Noble pursuits are often a mask for ignoble hearts.

May 9, 2002
While working in my garage today, I noticed several packages of seeds for various types of vegetables and flowers. They were lying on the clothes dryer, dormant, as life carried on around them.

I paid about half a fistful of coins for the whole lot of them. I was beginning to think that it was rather a waste of perfectly good pocket change, but then I had a thought (rare as that may sound).

Every year I buy several packets of seeds with a fistful of coins. Every year one thing piles upon another, and time makes it's usual escape from my grasp. Before long, the planting season has passed. There is a hole in the sod in my lawn, and several packages of seeds avoid their final destiny. Why do I continue to do this? Surely someone could put the seeds to better use, and my lawn could be spared for a year.

I have come to realise that, when I buy seeds, I am not buying future vegetables or flowers. I am buying the fantasy that I have time to garden. For a fistful of coins, I can buy the idea that I can actually grow a plant from a seed, and participate in, at the risk of sounding cliche, the miracle of life. It is true that only God can make a vegetable, but He occasionally allows us to participate.

All in all, it seems a remarkable bargain.

I wonder what I won't plant next year ...

April 5, 2002
Life is a vast learning experience.

If you have even a modicum of wisdom, you can spend your entire life learning, and never get any closer to the attainment of all knowledge. The self-absorbed, the small-minded, and those who are so incompetent that they don't realize they are incompetent are the ones who cease to learn when they leave the classroom environment. If you are spending any time reading this, you at least have the curiosity to keep looking for knowledge, so that keeps you in the learning crowd.

There are things that I learned at an early age, for which I am grateful.

• Crayons, while brightly-colored, have an unpleasant aftertaste.
  
• There is nothing wrong with an afternoon nap now and then, provided there isn't something really interesting going on at the time.
  
• Chocolate is not only an effective stimulant, but it is also legal for use at any age.
  
• If you have no friends where you are, you can always make some more.
  
• Everyone has been picked last for a team at some point in their life.
  
• A good laugh with someone you love is better that just about anything money can buy.
  

There are also, unfortunately, some things I wish I had never had to learn.

• You don't change the system, the system changes you.
  
• There really are people who hate other people because of the color of their skin.
  
• No matter how rich, cool, popular, skilled, etc. you become in your life, the memory of the stupid things you did while trying to make it through puberty will haunt you forever.
  
• There are people that not only are willing to hurt other people, they actually don't care whether or not they do.
  
• Some people hit children. With whatever they can lay their hands on.
  
• You will never be so smooth and suave that someone in this world won't laugh at you just at the very moment it hurts most.
  
• There are more fatal addictions than drugs and alcohol.
  

I'm sure none of this is a sruprise to you. Life is filled with unexpected disappointment and harsh reality.

But, then again, it is also filled with those moments that you can be suprised by joy. The sruprises aren't big. They are small, nearly insignificant things, like a rose growing through the crack in the concrete, and a prism of light on the subway wall. There is beauty and laughter and light all around, even in your darkness, if you can think small.

April 5, 2002
Life is a vast learning experience.

If you have even a modicum of wisdom, you can spend your entire life learning, and never get any closer to the attainment of all knowledge. The self-absorbed, the small-minded, and those who are so incompetent that they don't realize they are incompetent are the ones who cease to learn when they leave the classroom environment. If you are spending any time reading this, you at least have the curiosity to keep looking for knowledge, so that keeps you in the learning crowd.

There are things that I learned at an early age, for which I am grateful.

• Crayons, while brightly-colored, have an unpleasant aftertaste.
  
• There is nothing wrong with an afternoon nap now and then, provided there isn't something really interesting going on at the time.
  
• Chocolate is not only an effective stimulant, but it is also legal for use at any age.
  
• If you have no friends where you are, you can always make some more.
  
• Everyone has been picked last for a team at some point in their life.
  
• A good laugh with someone you love is better that just about anything money can buy.
  

There are also, unfortunately, some things I wish I had never had to learn.

• You don't change the system, the system changes you.
  
• There really are people who hate other people because of the color of their skin.
  
• No matter how rich, cool, popular, skilled, etc. you become in your life, the memory of the stupid things you did while trying to make it through puberty will haunt you forever.
  
• There are people that not only are willing to hurt other people, they actually don't care whether or not they do.
  
• Some people hit children. With whatever they can lay their hands on.
  
• You will never be so smooth and suave that someone in this world won't laugh at you just at the very moment it hurts most.
  
• There are more fatal addictions than drugs and alcohol.
  

I'm sure none of this is a sruprise to you. Life is filled with unexpected disappointment and harsh reality.

But, then again, it is also filled with those moments that you can be suprised by joy. The sruprises aren't big. They are small, nearly insignificant things, like a rose growing through the crack in the concrete, and a prism of light on the subway wall. There is beauty and laughter and light all around, even in your darkness, if you can think small.