Yesterday I finished the third, and final, book in the His Dark Materials trilogy. With 20 pages left to go I began to sniffle, with 10 a tear of two, with a page full on weeping. I cried for the loss Lyra and Will accepted. Lyra, the brave little 12 year old girl who left her world to save the universe, the Eve figure, the center of the retelling of the creation story; Will the uncared for boy who takes up the tool which can sever worlds. Of course the broad strokes are familiar: a grand journey filled with truth devices like the Althiometer and knives that cut into worlds, where children matter and understand something adults do not. But the details were breathtaking at times: Will's battle for the “subtle knife,” “god’s” thrown in heaven, animals who travel on wheels, brave male angels in love, and the grand reconstruction of the fall. Friday, December 14, 2007
A Re-creation
Yesterday I finished the third, and final, book in the His Dark Materials trilogy. With 20 pages left to go I began to sniffle, with 10 a tear of two, with a page full on weeping. I cried for the loss Lyra and Will accepted. Lyra, the brave little 12 year old girl who left her world to save the universe, the Eve figure, the center of the retelling of the creation story; Will the uncared for boy who takes up the tool which can sever worlds. Of course the broad strokes are familiar: a grand journey filled with truth devices like the Althiometer and knives that cut into worlds, where children matter and understand something adults do not. But the details were breathtaking at times: Will's battle for the “subtle knife,” “god’s” thrown in heaven, animals who travel on wheels, brave male angels in love, and the grand reconstruction of the fall. 
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Have been thinking about this post. I find myself unable to be rational, at the moment, about discussions about God, atheism, etc., so will say this: I really responded to these books, to the threats the book delineates and to the books' moral dilemmas. I too felt moved by them. And I love the way your post ends. Brevity is true no matter what else you happen to believe. I am all about that lesson these days.
I have got to stop PUI (posting under the influence). ;)
Sorry about the deleted responses. The first was just too much, and the second was a PUI. All this celebrating near the holidays...
Anyhoo, I was entranced at the idea that if god were dead, it wouldn't change the profoundness of the love we feel for our children (how Neitzian). How marvelous existence is that, in our short time, we experience such moments.
We took the kids to see the movie last weekend. It was alright. My son has read the series and was not impressed with the movie much.
To you, your family, and our family of fellow bloggers I wish you a Merry Christmas, A Peaceful Solstice, A happy Kwanzaa, and A cheerful Chanukah!
HH
I thought your original PUI was great! Now you've cut the raw emotions and the weeping.
Beautiful post Ron, I believe I'll need to pick up this series for my oldest. He's only nine, too young perhaps? Of course I read your post through my post mormon lenses. I wish I could take those off! Is it possible not stop comparing current beliefs with past beliefs? But as I consider these thoughts you evoked in your post and the image of you and your sleeping wife, I wonder is it possible to really feel the gravity of death and mortality if you are also holding tight to the belief that death is a momentary separation? That this life is just a test, a stepping stone to a far grander existance? I remember attending my grandma's funeral when I was fifteen, she died fairly unexpectedly with a sudden onset of a really bad cancer. She was healthy and vibrant, just got married again (her third) and then just like that she was gone. (she wasn't sick in bed for years to rightfully earn the statement that "death was a blessing"). I remember being at the funeral and wondering where all the mourning was. Why weren't they openly sad? Why was there laughter? Where were all the tears? If she was sick for years or had been really fragile, I could understand why there wasn't mourning, her death would have been mourned long before it happened. But this wasn't true for my grandma. Her funeral felt just like a ward party. Maybe this is just my family (maybe J. was right about the shallowness comment he made at dinner a few months ago) but I think it's easy to bury your grief under a blanket of comfort named, "families can be together forever". This idea now seems incomprehensible to me. That I will be with my family for an eternity. That feels so tiring! It doesn't really bring me comfort. I love my family. I love my boys. But what "feels" right is the thought that I am priviledged to have relationships with people I love and if I don't treat them well, if I don't enjoy it, if I don't work hard RIGHT NOW...then this train will have left the station and I will have missed out. It makes my life feel far more precious than I had ever imagined when I was wearing my different lenses. Having sad that...I think I'll shut off the computer now and go play a game of Uno with my youngest!
SE: yes, yes, yes!! and thanks for getting me thinking about all this in a different way.
On a community, global or philosophical level, this is a real conundrum. Because I can see how someone can be motivated to do better thinking of "grander" consequences to their actions; I mean I guess I can or could or maybe never could. I don't know. Maybe it's that I can see how this is at least potentially rational, though I have to admit it never made any sense to me emotionally. I was never, to my knowledge, motived to do better, to do good, because I could then enjoy an eternal life with my family. Well, except maybe on my mission--but was I really doing "better" doing "good"? All I know for sure is that facing the reality of death (death as the END) has given me more of an appreciation for life.
Funerals. An interesting specific example to explore this issue I think. Again I have mixed feelings--on the one hand I clearly see religion distracting us from reality, putting a defensive wall to protect us from our crushing feelings of loss. And what a loss this is to not experience the depths of pain, of loneliness, the raw reality of knowing you will never see this person again.
I think much good can come out of this--it can inspire us to do what's difficult (could be confronting them but could also be letting a riff go) with others we love. And I think great art can come out of this pain.
On the other hand, I'm afraid of what we might do as a community if everyone faced this reality. I'm afraid because we do not have sufficient (if any) rituals to mourn which do not rely on blunting the END through mythology. We would need to have some hardcore rituals which would help us work through the pain, to feel ok about expressing it so we would not merely soak it up or put it away in a corner. And of course I have no idea how this would ever happen because of course it has happened over and over again AND the clear answer for most is to choose religious mythology over "mere" experiential/emotional ritual.
I had an older friend, mentally handicapped, who died suddenly when I was 12.
I stole his hat during sacrament meeting. I still had it when he was involved in a motor-vehicle accident. He used to sit next to us "deacons" during fast and testimony meeting. His speech was slurred because of disarthria and intellectual delays. We used to laugh "at" him.
Sitting with my dad and brother during his services there was a stoicism within me. I didn't cry or express my pain as the banal diatribes rambled on and on during the services.
When I got home I grabbed his hat, sitting atop my closet. I held it and wept. I felt like an ass. For the first time "regret" made sense in my short life.
That hat still sits atop my closet. I have made peace with my friend. He was a decent and wonderful man.
Having lost religion, my pain is still the same. No need for ritual. He is at peace. Now, thanks to my experiences with him, so am I. Thanks for the post Ron.
Trav
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