The Call of Wonder– At West End Gallery
I feel ancient, as though I had
Lived many lives.
And may never now know
If I am a fool
Or have done what my
karma demands.
— Gary Snyder, Four Poems for Robin (1968)
Does the fool know he is a fool?
I mean, I would like to say that, for the most part, I have done what karma has demanded of me, that I have both benefitted and paid for the decisions that have shaped my life.
That I have not been fortune’s fool.
Can we ever know though?
Are we fools for even asking the question?
Maybe our self-examination, though it sometimes feels like a blessing, is actually a curse. Maybe those who live without questioning who and what they are or the decisions they have made are living life exactly as they should. Maybe they are achieving their purpose and meaning in this life simply by not thinking about it?
Those of us who ask questions we know cannot be answered, that seek meaning and purpose in a life that sometimes seems devoid of it– are we the true fortune’s fools?
I remember an incident in high school. Not even an incident really. A moment. There were these two kids in my class who were good buddies, always seemingly together. They were both nice guys, friendly and not abusive to anyone. Both were not what you consider bright guys. You could see that their future lives were going to be somehow limited by their intelligence and their circumstance. I can’t remember exactly where this took place at our school, but I overheard the two of them talking.
One said to the other, “I am a nothing. A big zero.”
It wasn’t said lightly or in jest. I was looking at his face when he said these words and his face was blank and absolutely forlorn as though he had total self-awareness of himself and the limitations he faced in his future life. He recognized at that young age that he was fortune’s fool.
It broke my heart in that moment over fifty years ago and it breaks my heart now. I can still see the total despair and lack of hope in his face.
Just to let you know this not a totally tragic story, I ended up working with him years later at the Perkins Restaurant where I worked before the accident that led me to this life. I didn’t recognize him at first. He was busboy/dishwasher and was a fairly happy soul who joked around and worked very hard. He had a family and found things that excited him outside of work, things that made him very happy.
Things that gave him a break from the self-awareness that hung with him like a curse, showing itself every so often in the restaurant.
He didn’t recognize me from school. I had a way of blending in that often made me feel invisible– a valuable skill in high school– which was sometimes a curse and a blessing. I never brought up that moment years before. I always was exceedingly kind to him, joked a round with him, listened to his exploits, and almost always overtipped him when cashing out after my shift. It wasn’t much of a gesture, far too little actually. But it felt good when he smiled in recognition of any kindness given. Just not seeing that face he wore many years before was ample reward.
I wasn’t planning on sharing that story today. Actually, never. But it has long lived in me and it seemed to fit whatever the hell this post is supposed to be saying. I don’t even remember how this whole thing started, to tell the truth. Almost wished I hadn’t started writing it.
I have to go now. Said too much and not enough.
Maybe I was fortune’s fool all along and just didn’t know. Would that be so bad?
No song fits this moment. You’ll have to git without exit music this morning.