In the same way that science is self-correcting, so too is nature. That's really what I mean when I wax theological and claim that we are all gods of a vast and incomprehensible uber-god, all working in tandem for the greater good. What that greater good is has yet to be defined, but I think it has something to do with balance, equilibrium. Of course in the end, entropy wins. What a bleak future that will be. It leads one to question whether the universe has a moral code... a question to ponder another time perhaps.
As living beings on a living world, we've got two main jobs to fulfill: (1) to eat, thus transferring energy onward and (2) to reproduce, thus propagating genes to carry life forward through time. Anything beyond that and we enter moral territory. And I'm not sure that morals, at least in the limited way that humans tend to think of them are a concern of God-nature. You might make the claim that religions offer the basis of a good moral compass, but there is plenty of evidence to the contrary.
So we're left with a big question - what does it mean to live a moral life?
The Hippocratic Oath comes close, but is pretty unrealistic. I think the best that we can strive for is to minimize harm. At some point, however, that becomes a subjective target - one that moves with the addition of more variables.
Recently, I was speaking with a friend, relating a story about my spawn and I remarked that my daughter is a better person than I am. There was an undercurrent of sadness in this statement, but it did not arise from inner self pity (as my friend believed), so much as reflection on control - the things within it and the things beyond.
Of course all children are better than adults - that is just as it should be - what with their curiosity, honesty and receptivity. As a mother, it is my job to nurture those qualities, to fail to quash her innate goodness. And sometimes I do. And sometimes I don't. (Thankfully, children are also resilient). She requires that I be(come) a better person. This is a good thing. But I don't always rise to the challenge. Sometimes I let the world break my spirit, to get me down, to quash my innate goodness. And when this happens, it's a chance to model for her how to climb back up out of the deep, dark hole. (Why do we fall Master Bruce?)
But all this is a bit naive because it neglects the fact that all people - especially children - are exceptionally self-centered and indeed selfish. I question every single day whether I have been selfless enough, while still standing up for and fulfilling my own needs. Because there has to be a balance - to find what serves us in our service to the world. To give and to take.
Am I a good mother? The proof is in the pudding. And most days, the answer is yes.
She learns. She grows. And she teaches me. All children do.
Last weekend we celebrated the fourth birthday of a dear friend at a local park that had the usual playground equipment: swings, slides, rock climbing wall. I was helping support my daughter against the downward pull of gravity - another force of nature that always wins - when out of the blue, we hear someone greet us: "hi." I looked around, but didn't see anyone. Then I looked up. There was a young boy smiling down at us, the blue sky a perfect frame for his cherubic face. He turned out to be nine - four years older than our girl - and not affiliated with the party. We returned the greeting and all resumed the climb.
A bit later, we were having more fun with gravity, this time on the swing. Like all good parents, I gave her a push to get her going, but then stepped back to let her have the full kinesthetic experience of pendular periodicity. And who should come along, but the little cherub.
He literally jumped into the saddle of the neighboring swing and began to pump his legs, fully aware that our daughter was watching him, wanting to go high like he was. He offered advice unobtrusively, mostly enjoying his own motion, but occasionally suggesting things to try.
I sat watching from a distance and noticed that at, some point, he closed his eyes. For a long time. Was he going to sleep? No... he began to move his hands as if conducting a orchestra. When he finally opened his eyes, you could see the wonder written across his face. After marveling for a few moments, he said to our girl "try closing your eyes for a long time. I'll tell you when to open them."
Hesitantly she did, though she opened them before he told her too. When he finally opened his eyes, he described how the colors all looked brighter, the greens more green and the blues more blues. And I was amazed at the deep wisdom that was surely growing inside them in that moment. Indeed, I was reminded of my own experiences falling in love.
Now, I don't mean to suggest that this was a playground romance. Hardly. And yet, you cannot deny that the world shines a little brighter when you are in love. It removes you from the mundane and invites you to see things in a new way. This is why I am grateful to be a parent. To be a teacher. To be alive. Everyday is an invitation to fall more deeply in love, if you can only remember to cultivate that childlike receptivity.
Surely, you have heard the story where a teacher asks a group of students to imagine they are holding a glass of water at arm's length. At first, all agree, it's easy. But after a minute or so, your muscles being to ache and burn. If you keep holding it up, pretty soon other parts of your body begin to tense in order to compensate. The analogy is of course that anything you carry for too long - even if it's not that heavy - is going to distort you with pain, agony, eventually numbness bordering on indifference. Perhaps you even forget that you're carrying it in the first place. But when you are finally free to put it down - Ah! Sweet release.
That's what this boy on the swing was doing. We don't usually think of sight as a burden, but spend four, six, eight hours in front of a computer screen, straining your eyes and you'll want to close them for a while. Sensory deprivation temporarily relieves us of a burden. When we reawaken to those senses, they are stronger and better resolved.
It's also why I prefer to run on hilly terrain. If you run on the flat for any appreciable distance, your whole body fatigues. Changes in topography demand that you shift your burden. Different muscles have to work. Different synapses have to fire. Different parts of your body get to stretch and bend in different ways. You have to adjust.
And so I suppose that all living things have a third job that they must do. They must change.
As we age, we are slower to embrace change. The wet cement of our minds begins to harden as we become more set in our ways. Children - especially our own - are the perfect mirror to show us how we fit in the world, and how we must change if we want to continue to fit. Truth is, we're all mirrors to one another, if only we choose to open our eyes.
