#106: The Fat Lady Also Rehearses (Meaning)

Let's Say You've Weathered The Elements,
And You've Wrestled Your Pasts And Presents,
Or Banged Your Head Against Cement . . .
But Are You Sure That Subsequent
To All That Torture And Torment
You Know What You Are Doing?
And It's A Peanut Gallery-Type Comment,
But Just 'Cause It's A Philips
Don't Mean It's Not A Screwing!

So maybe it was 'Doing' that
might be the strategy,
while executions go beyond
the truth, conceptually.

And as we simply sat there with
our Buggy fast asleep,
we started thinking all those thoughts
you might consider deep.

Perhaps we fell into a trance,
or took a needed nap,
but we were dreaming, that's for sure,
and not just any crap.

The concept was of all mankind,
and whatever does it take,
to make us be the pastry that
our recipes would bake.

I guess I might describe it here
just like a cineplex,
where three large screens played movies, but,
from different movie decks.

The first depicts a man whose self
is pictured as a list
of all the things he might acquire,
with wit or will or fist.

The second, then, depicts the man
whose concept of his best
is more a picture of the state
in which he feels at rest.

The third and final screen showed us
the man whose self depends
solely on the notion of
his actions toward those ends.

Jo-Mima looked at me and spoke
with deepest reasoned thought,
"I think I've got a notion of
the things we're to be taught.

It's all about the way we look
upon ourselves, you see . . .
whether we are Havers, or
we're Doers, or just Be . . ."

"What?" I sighed, exhaustedly,
not trying to keep up . . .
and tired of drinking all that much
from metaphysic's cup.

"Yes," my friend continued on,
"it's easy if you look.
People tend to see themselves
like characters in a book.

Some of us see Having stuff,
and picture life to mean
more whenever it provides
enhancement of that scene.

Some of us are more content
to see our lives fulfilled
in Being, as in spiritually,
grounded or distilled.

And some of us must Do to get
a picture of our form,
living out some meaning, and
above the common norm."

"Whoa, my friend, you know that now
you're layin' out some shit,"
I sighed at Jo, and did my best
at keeping up with it.

"So, tell me if I've got it right,
as far as you'd agree . . .
you're saying that we've got three things
to help us get to 'Me' . . .

that one of them is what we Have,
and one is what we Are,
and finally, there is what we Do,
if that don't go too far . . ."

"Yes, and when you think of it,"
my friend said, "I would guess
it's Doing that will best allow
man's self to coalesce."

By now, no wary reader needs
anymore treatise on
our feelings at the hearing of
that growling, rumbling sound.

Louder and louder, it bellowed forth,
until we both believed
we'd really done it wrong this time . . .
the Voice seemed really peeved.

"At times, I really had my doubts
you boys would graduate.
I sweated your survival through
almost every State.

But, sure enough, you've pulled it off,
and almost on your own.
You've almost got the secret here.
You're ready to move on.

You learned some lessons very hard
for most folks to come by . . .
that not just years are fleeting, but
your life is on the fly . . .

that action scripts the play of life,
but bare, the stage will stay,
unless the actor recommits
to action everyday . . .

that quality and quantity
are equals as you live,
and your receipt of either one
is based on what you give . . .

that your most vital hours are
the ones you fully burn . . .
that precious stones are only those
you choose to overturn.

Your dollars are but paper 'til
you choose to see them spent.
No melody is ever heard
until an ear is lent.

No heart was ever warmed with love
without emotion's cost.
No souls rejoice in Heaven that
the bodies were not lost.

And it may always seem so hard
for mortal men to learn . . .
that Meaning in your lives is not
something you can earn.

And certainly, I trust that you
will see before you leave . . .
that Meaning is no trophy, or
badge you can achieve.

It's not a rank you earn like stripes,
or tenure based on years . . .
and even less, some destined gift
for enduring early tears.

The pendulae of mortal life
will always swing an arc,
from one side to the other . . . yes,
there is a light for dark.

But somewhere, there, along the line,
man's trial of night and day
was traded for some Hollywood-esque
notion of equal pay.

And so, in lines, like Puritans,
most men will pay their dues . . .
and though you pluralize that word,
you think that you can choose . . .

to make some grander payment,
of heritage or skill,
or hairy shirt, . . . like meaning is
some kind of cosmic bill.

And while a man's investments might
be viewed as R. O. I.s,
it's hard for one to understand
investing 'til he dies.

So, with the odds so greatly stacked
against the slightest chance
that you might ever find the path
that helps a man advance . . .

you found the way to Meaning is
much more than living's start . . .
that only living constantly
brings life lived from the heart.

And pursuit of any concept is
a missing of the point.
You might as well go try to find
the loudest music joint . . .

the finest restaurant in the town . . .
the highest mountain perch . . .
the ocean's deepest mystery . . .
the most religious church . . .

the prettiest flower in your yard . . .
the smartest kid in class . . .
the hardest piece of concrete, or . . .
the clearest piece of glass . . .

It's not about the things you do . . .
that's all Level 1.
Connecting with some Meaning is
beyond what can be done.

It's not about an object of
an action or event.
Meaning comes when you provide
the doing with intent.

So, Level 1 is where you live,
and drive your car and work.
And Level 1 is 'bout as far
as mortals ever look.

You've both been on a special tour
of concept Level 2,
made from all the concepts that
support the things you do.

At Level 3, you got the chance
to feel your spirit burn,
where fires of your concepts can
occasionally return."

And then the Voice, in kinder tones,
spoke to the inner mind . . .
"Deeper answers might exist,
though probably not the kind . . .

that men are usually searching for . . .
some ultimate relief,
some reason for their living, and
their dying and belief.

And even though they might exist,
though maybe, just in Heaven,
I'm not allowed to talk about
Levels 4 through 7.

The point is that the answer to
your being, physically,
is simply, you must think and do
the best that you can be.

There is no magic secret to
your life at Level 1.
There's just the spirit that you give
to getting living done!

But I tell you both, and hear me say,
no punches will be held,
you've seen the ironies of how
the concept States can meld . . .

and things that man believes to be
so different and apart,
are really just the same when one
peers deep into a heart.

And some things that you think are just
the same, but for decor,
are total contradictions when
you see them at the core."

Just then the ground began to wave,
and shake and fall apart,
and for a minute there, I thought we'd look
a mile into its heart.

I thought I heard the Voice exclaim,
and almost like a child . . .
I thought I heard it trailing off,
but things were going wild.

"I still don't get it," I whined a bit,
my voice was getting thin.
"Why can't you just point us to
our way back home again?"

"Take a look around you, boys.
Sure, His work is grand,
but it's not capricious magic.
That Dude has got a plan.

And among omniscient reasons, and
within eternal time,
He did elect to share with you
some meter of His rhyme.

Don't think this trip was nothing more
than fakey, greased-up vadges.
And don't waste time stabbing your chests,
putting on your badges . . .

'cause Meaning isn't just about
your doing every day . . .
but doing all your life, and more,
in some peculiar way.

And yet, He does expect you to
let all your learning show,
now that you've come to recognize
there's lots that you don't know.

And that is why, in Faith, you learned
believing precedes sight.
And don't ask why it's true for you . . .
for all of us, it's right.

Even knowing requires your faith . . .
where underpinnings end,
and you come face to face with rips
that faith, alone, can mend.

So, this is where He's given you
all the tools you need . . .
the ability to understand,
believe, and dream and bleed.

Whoa, oh my . . . look at the time!
Sorry, boys, I'm done.
I hope you liked my stand-up bit . . .
you've been a bunch of fun!"

Jo and I just stood and stared,
exhausted by the feel
of the Voice's interpretation of
whatever might be real.

"So, what was that? A simple joke . . .
"my friend volunteered.
"It joked, it cried, it yelled at us,
and then, just disappeared."

Without another word, we knew
that we both felt the same.
The time had come to leave this field,
and call it all a game!

"Thank God we have experience,"
Jo-Mima seemed to preach,
"had we not come away with that,
I'd sue because of breach.

Our footsteps and our fears, and fun,
may very well entail
all the learning we can claim,
if we complete this trail."

Jo-Mima's voice then softened like
the wind had caught his sound.
We saw a forest, full of trees,
rise up from underground.

It was pretty clear that Jo was done.
The sky was turning dark.
And then, I looked to watch my room
take shape out of that park.

The trees enclosed, becoming walls.
The flowers shaped a bed.
Jo-Mima faded out the door,
but, with no sense of dread . . .

I sat down, my arm out-stretched,
and knocked my night stand phone.
Immediately, I called up Jo,
to see if he was home.

My bedside light then flickered on,
and I became aware
I had awaken from a dream . . .
and not been anywhere.

With phone in hand, I hurriedly
punched the quick-dial port
that rang through at Jo-Mima's house,
his new one, Royal Path Court.

I wasn't surprised at all when he
picked up, and said hello . . .
I couldn't figure the reason why
I'd telephoned him though.

"Uh, Jo, I thought I'd ring you up,
uh, just to say 'Good Night.'
You know how some dreams tend to sneak
right up and take a bite."