BARBWIRE
by
 Everyone comes with a fairly well-defined expiration date. We thus readily
accept death among the elderly. Premature departure is usually defined as
the demise of anyone younger than yourself.Early checkouts are usually eulogized as having had such great promise, so
much more to give, too much zoom for the tomb. But they remain nonetheless
gone. Dead. History.In our conceit as the self-anointed chosen of some vaguely defined
almighty, we constantly search for divine motives in the message pad of
mother nature. When we become so bold and conceited as to presume to know
the mind of god, we commit the forgotten sin of presumption. It may be
arrogant, but it's understandable.Mankind accepts only gods made unto man's image and likeness. By looking
at the tiny world of our everyday experience, and the tinier world within
our midgety minds, we presume to play Sherlock Holmes and draw conclusions
about some unseeable, unknowable entity which must know more than we do. Do
we ever have a case of low self-esteem.We commit the sin of presumption in a blind search for faith. We want to
believe in something greater than ourselves, but are willing to place our
trust only in someone just like ourselves. Politicians take advantage of
this all the time. Hence, ludicrous spectacles such as Yankee George Bush
wearing cowboy boots and munching pork rinds (he actually preferred
snacking on popcorn), or nuclear physicist Jimmy Carter selling himself as
a humble peanut farmer.I don't know about you, but I don't want to vote for garden variety people
who will try their best to be like me or the guy on the streetcorner. I
want superior talent in public office. And I expect much more of a Supreme
Being. The giants of Mount Olympus or the Charlton Heston lookalike on the
ceiling of the Sistine Chapel may cut it for some folks, but their numbers
are dwindling.In our arrogance or ignorance, we use ourselves as proof that something
"greater than us" must exist. Then, we look to our flawed selves for clues
or reflections of that something. That's the philosophical equivalent of
trying to get through a door by bricking it up.Older deities become lesser gods as faith in previous explanations erodes.
UFO believers and churchgoers reached parity long ago. This at least
demonstrates a belief that perhaps our little minds can indeed grasp the
unknowable no matter what the orthodoxy preaches.In 1952, writer Arthur C. Clarke wrote a screenplay about a smalltime
hoodlum visited by a weird woman making an even stranger offer. For
$200,000 cash and absolutely no risk, would he steal some priceless art
treasures from the local metropolitan museum?Sure, but how? The mysterious client loans him a high-tech bracelet which
allows its wearer to move faster than a hummingbird on steroids. The
bracelet provides a personal fast-forward zone invisible to the rest of the
world which still moves at its regular pace.The crook steals the art, then offers half his pay to keep the bracelet
for future thievery. His client agrees, but informs him that she was sent
from 1,000 years in the future to retrieve as many of our cultural
treasures as possible before the end civilization via nuclear device. The
cataclysm will take place within 60 seconds of his removal of the bracelet.Of course, if he keeps it on his wrist, he can live to old age—alone in
a world of fleshy mannequins frozen in time.I never forgot that story because we are that man. We all wear that
time-twisting bracelet. This planet has circled our minor star for about
4.5 billion years. Reduced to a 24-hour day, the existence of mammals would
take only the last five or six seconds. The lengths of our lifetimes, no
matter what their durations in months or years, don't amount to the bat of
a hummingbird's eyelash, steroid-enhanced or not.Our lives at times seem slow and tedious, although we circle the sun at
more than 65,000 miles per hour. That tedium is only a personal prison of
our own construction.Every so often, it does us good to step back and look at ourselves in
terms of the thief with the bracelet.Which reality do you prefer? Do you have a choice? I've lately seen some
encouraging signs that times are changing."Time passed, time went on, and it did so by turning on itself like a
wheel," wrote English art critic and novelist John Berger of the French
farming village he called home. "Yet for a wheel to turn, there needs to be
a surface like the ground which resists, which offers friction," Turner
concluded.Our quickly-burning lives are the result of the friction between our
particular times and time itself. All around me, I see people slowly
recognizing that reality.I know a community activist who's learning the therapeutic benefits of
just saying no. He's resigning from a few of the many boards and
commissions upon which he has long served. His family told him they've
missed him.I know a successful, high energy entrepreneur who's finally going to see a
doctor about his tingles and chest pains. And maybe stop smoking.Collapse is not a necessary prelude to revelation. Take a moment each day
to remember those who died younger than you. Learn from them. I learned
from my friend Bert, who went out to celebrate his 25th birthday and drove
into the terminal end of a telephone pole.I remember my high school best friend's big sister who supposedly died of
a ruptured aorta after being thrown from a horse. Actually, she was the
victim of a back-alley abortionist, a secret the ashamed family harbored
like a festering cyst for the next 25 years.I remember the disk jockey who died at 53, exercising in a gym between
cigarettes. I remember several media personalities of my acquaintance who
drank themselves to death.I remember and I analyze and I try to learn. I try to take advantage of my
time inside the bracelet-born time warp. I rejoice in the people I've
known, the places I've been and the things I've seen.On this early summer Sunday morning, take a little time to reflect on your
times. It will better prepare you for the inevitable moment when you hear a
voice whispering the words of e.e. cummings:"There's a hell of a good universe next door. Let's go."Be well. Raise hell.
Andrew Barbano is a Reno-based syndicated columnist and 28-year Nevadan.Barbwire by Barbano has appeared in the Sparks Tribune since 1988. This column originally published 6/29/97.Nevada Instant Type in Sparks and both Office Depot Reno locations. |
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