Ezekiel

I know how the residents of Jerusalem must have felt. As Ezekiel took one third of his hair and burned it, struck one third with a sword (a comical image, if you ask me), and threw the remaining third to the wind, what could they possibly think except, "What the fuck is he doing?" The book which bears Ezekiel's name is bookended by two scrupulously detailed and mind-bogglingly pointless accounts of prophetic vision. Normally, description is used to highlight meaning, not to replace it. But by the eighth chapter of temple measurements, "From the gate to the vestibule was fifty cubits," and so on sin terminus, I had given up waiting for him to get to the point. He seems to expect that the distance from the nave to the pilaster is sufficiently interesting by itself. I disagree.

Which is not to say the meat in this boredom sandwich was not highly comestible. If one discards the aforementioned beginning and ending narratives, Ezekiel actually borders on the inspiring. For instance, JEHOVAH promises through Ezekiel, "A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh" (36:26). "Please!" was my spontaneously verbal response upon reading this passage. How nice it would be for God to grab me by the leg and shake me until all my broken ideas and feelings spill out of my pockets. He then could fill his promise, "I will take you . . . and bring you into your own land. I will sprinkle clean water upon you" 36: 24,25). Please, Show me where that land is, and I shall meet you there.

Terry McAdam: Very Much Alive

At first, I resisted reading this book on principle. My Grandfather presumed to recommend it to me on the assumption that I needed bolstering after my accident. The author happens to have been a professor of his forty-odd years ago at Washburn University, and also happens to have been a parapalegic. My immediate reaction was to assure myself that I didn't need any power of positive thinking, Lifetime made for TV movie, inspirational recounting of some guy's pathetic life. But eventually I relented on the grounds that the book is only 150 pages long.

Hidden between the invective about funding for veteran's hospitals and stern admonition to do one's best and keep a stiff upper lip, there is one chapter that I actually found relevant and touching. It seems that one nurse in his recovery ward was particularly beautiful and inaccessible. Wonder of wonders! She fell in love with and married one of the patients, a parapalegic. She actually managed to convince the man that she was attracted to him, and didn't care a sow's nipple about his infirmity. Those of you who know me or have read some of my blog may realize how nice I would think it if a man were to say sincerely, "Now, no more foolishness about [being damaged goods]" (121). I wonder if I will believe him.

Zora Neale Hurston: Their Eyes Were Watching God

This is what Toni Morrison would like to write when she grows up. It has all the rich characterization and colloquial creativity of Beloved or Song of Solomon, but--will wonders never cease--with thematic continuity. One would think, with Hurston's background in antrhopology, that it would be she who errs on the side of interesting, but disjointed, ethnic folk-tale. Not so. Regardless of the turns the novel takes, she keeps one finger pressed on the heart of Janie's quest.

It is this quest which gives this novel its soul. Janie "had found a jewel down inside herself and she had wanted to walk where people could see her and gleam it around" (90). I can think of no embellishment that would make this a better mission in life, except perhaps to say that the jewel at each of our centers could also use polishing on occassion.

The chief scholarly curiosity of Hurston's work lies in its ill-reception during her life. Modern theorists decry Langston Hughes and his cadre of so-called progressive black intellectuals, but I can see their point. Hurston is (I decline to write 'was', for she is more alive today than many with whom I have daily contact) a woman out of her time, and as such she certainly had no place in their Harlem Reidentification. She did not belong in the 20's, and if I had my druthers I would resurrect her and watch gleefully as she snatches Tyra Banks' weave off of her insincere head, and tells Maya Angelou to lighten up, for God's sake.

Sun Tzu: The Art of War

I suppose if I was into fighting, this would be a remarkably useful book. It manages to avoid confinement to Warring States period China, and could certainly be applied to modern warfare. In fact, given the tendency to turn everything into a battle, it could also find a home in the boardroom, on the football field, in various political think-tanks, even on the nightstands of married couples. I resent, however, the implication that "War is the road to survival or ruin . . . It is mandatory that it be thoroughly studied" (I.1). Although this is a common modern notion, namely that "freedom ain't free" and "someone's gotta fight fer our liberty," I contest it. I happen to think that an impressive military is not necessary for any nation, especially in our world of devastating missiles and other unmanned weapons. The entire culture of war is corrosive to the universe. It perpetuates a win-lose mentality that leaves mankind far short of its potential.

Which is not to say that I didn't glean anything whatsoever from "The Art of War." Sun Tzu does not pull his strategies out of thin air; they are based on a solid observation of what works--not only in war, but in general life. Therfore, when he says, "Weigh the situation, and then move" (VII.15), he could just as well be speaking of marriage or finance as of battle. He returns often to the idea that a battle must be won before it is engaged. "A victorious army wins its victories before seeking battle" (VI.14). What could be truer of life than that one must avoid instant gratification and weigh choices well in advance? Likewise, Sun advocates constant change. And in life, one must always be prepared to use cheng, normal forces, as well as ch'i, extraordinary ones, and to shift from one to the other at a moment's notice. One must be prepared for constantly shifting circumstances, and also to change approaches the moment they become ineffective.

Perhaps life is a battle. Perhaps the point is, after all, to win. But for now, I choose to see life as a journey, a path upon which all can walk simultaneously without competition. For to reach the end alone doesn't seem like any victory at all.