Posted on 01/16/2002 1:25:44 AM PST by Mercuria
A dear acquaintance of mine is an employee at one of the tonier eateries here in the greater Los Angeles area. He's a hard and cheerful worker. He was recently reprimanded, a rare occurrence in his over two years of employment.
As a customer was leaving after having had lunch my pal called out, "Have a great day!", with sincerity, and within the owner's earshot. The owner quickly spun around and said, "Darling, you have no right to tell someone what kind of day they should have." The term of endearment did nothing to melt the ice of the delivery.
One of my closest friends recently gave birth to her fourth bundle of joy. Her last month of maternity was filled with the drama of several false labors, embarrassing to such a pro, though quite amusing to her family and friends. As she went in for a checkup just before her due date, her husband -- as in supporter of her and the first three babes and payer of the monthly insurance bill -- called the hospital and asked that he be notified if they were going to consider inducing the birth.
When she arrived for the appointment she found herself being treated rather rudely, dismissively. When the doctor walked into her curtained-off-cubicle his first words were, "It's your body, you know. You can make any decisions you want on your own." She had no idea what he was talking about, but his disdain failed to dissipate and by the time she walked out to her car she was in tears.
A week later the baby was born, healthy, hearty and handsome, a genuine gem amidst the generic of the modern-day maternity ward. As my friend was checking out she said to the head nurse, "Why is it that this is labor and delivery, but it looks like a prison? Pastel paint can't cost more than gray, but it's much more cheerful."
"Not all women keep their babies," replied the nurse. But her tone was saying, "Duh!"
By now most people know about the homage to political correctness the New York Fire Department and assorted groups are planning on raising in commemoration of the sacrifices made at the World Trade Center on September the 11th. They're commissioning a sculpture based on the world famous photograph of three firefighters raising the American flag over the rubble that ruinous day, but in a paean to relativism over reality, the faces (and bodies!?) of the actual actualizers have been retooled to reflect a more diverse display. The flag, the former focus, is an afterthought.
It is now an Ode to The Outcry; The Outcry That Almost Wasn't. The clay model was unveiled several weeks ago, on December the 20th to be exact, to all the mush that is the mainstream media. The revision wasn't worthy of mention then. No, once again, it took individuals to fuss and fret and foment at the fabrication. Now it's news. But only because The People made it so.
The three men who raised that flag -- Dan McWilliams, George Johnson and Billy Eisengrein -- probably didn't set out to become global symbols that day. They look like three ordinary guys who needed to be inspired; yet they ended up inspiring millions. No, they weren't perfectly sinewed, they weren't a rainbow coalition, they didn't look like stereotypical heroes, but few true heroes ever do. But they were who they were, they did what they did, and they deserve recognition in whatever permanent position their actions eventually inspire.
But like the cheer of a person paid to greet and bid adieu, or the bliss of a new mother, let not their simple happiness be sustained, lest it be contagious or, worse, lest it remind someone else that it is not their own personal delight.
Henry Miller, in Sexus, put it so much better (yes, it seems someone almost always already has):
Tears are easier to put up with than joy. Joy is destructive: it makes others uncomfortable. 'Weep and you will weep alone.' What a lie that is! Weep and you will find a million crocodiles to weep with you. The world is forever weeping. The world is drenched in tears... But joy, joy is a kind of ecstatic bleeding, a disgraceful sort of supercontentment which overflows from every pore of your being. You cannot make people joyous just by being joyous yourself. Joy has to be generated by oneself. It is or it isn't. Joy is founded on something too profound to be understood or communicated. To be joyous is to be a madman in a world of sad ghosts.
Have whatever kind of day you wish.
Mercurial Times exclusive commentary. Reprints must credit the author and Mercurial Times.
Stay well - Stay safe - Stay armed - Yorktown
Nurse Ratchett is not referring to stillbirths, miscarriages, or adoption. She's referring to pre-natal homicide. Most hospitals are involved in that despicable industry.
AB
Kids do turn out depressingly uniform these days, do they not? Scary.
(P.S. I took yet another set of black and white photos of Salina, Kansas my last trip out there and caught a gaily-painted pint-sized "JOY BUS" out back of some Baptist church ... probably the most adorable this Okie reared in the Bible Belt had ever seen. Weeks later one of my grandmothers was looking through the photos and says, "Ah, a joy bus. You understand Joy, don't you? Jesus ... Others ... and then You." =)
This, I think is the key: the idea that though not an act of rebellion, joy is both subversive and liberating, a pledge of allegiance to another world and life. Leading us out of this world, subversive joy overturns not only the slavery imposed by the world, but also self-forged bonds of despair, self-pity, bitterness, and melancholy.
Surely discomfort in the presence of joy is the response of a sensibility not more alive to the world, but more hobbled by envy or bitterness. Though it arises in the solitary heart, when that heart is responsive joy does unite, almost demanding to be shared. Willy-nilly it finds an outlet, refusing to be thwarted.
Heaven must be the place where everyone is joyous.
Enough! the Resurrection,
A heart's-clarion! Away grief's gasping, ' joyless days, dejection.
Across my foundering deck shone
A beacon, an eternal beam. ' Flesh fade, and mortal trash
Fall to the residuary worm; ' world's wildfire, leave but ash:
In a flash, at a trumpet crash,
I am all at once what Christ is, ' since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ' patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
Is immortal diamond.
G.M. Hopkins, from "That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection"
IMHO this is not necessarrily true. I believe that it is possible to share in another's joy. Unfortunately, society(public schools)teach children to be suspicious and jealous of anyone who appears joyous or contented and that they are entitled to a piece of that which makes the person happy without actually having to work for it themself.
"You cannot make people joyous just by being joyous yourself. Joy has to be generated by oneself. It is or it isn't. Joy is founded on something too profound to be understood or communicated. To be joyous is to be a madman in a world of sad ghosts."
It is so easy to let oneself be drawn into the tear shedding world of self/corporate pity. It is just part of our nature to want to belong with a familial group even if it means again getting into the ruts of these sackcloth wearing hypocrites. First and foremost, it is a choice; but it is not too profound to be understood or communicated. If this were true then I would not have understood the words of a 'true' friend when she was telling me the gospel. And I would have never understood the meaning behind the words telling us to be "a peculiar people". Being seen by a world of sad ghosts as a "madman" is to me a verification of my joy.
Is it madness to have joy that so many friends also share your joy in the face of an ungodly world? Is it madness to have joy over a belief that those who have gone before and professed the works of Christ will be met again in the fullness of time? In my lights it is not madness but is seen by many as mighty peculiar. Wonderful! It gives them something to ponder and to talk about. Hopefully with a JOY filled person.
Shoot, I'll go out on a limb here and say, I hope you both have a joyful day!
I say, HAVE A GREAT DAY, EVERYONE! Leave the WTC memorial true to the photo. If New York wants to commisson an artist to make them a diverse satue, than so be it. But leave history alone.
A regular Theda Bara! :-)
I'm fighting the PC morons in my own little way here at work. I have literally wallpapered my office with very un-PC photos such as Shrillary on top of the WTC with the plane coming in, Rudy about to push her off into the path of a subway, etc. I also have very un-PC things like a cartoon of a firefighter with the inscription, "The biggest heroes didn't hit over 70 home runs this year (and they didn't ask to be paid more than $10 million)" all amidst my co-workers who comprise a VERY liberal and VERY sports-minded bunch of people.
I also have a copy of the flag-raising as it REALLY happened displayed prominently. The funny thing is, although I get some very surprised reactions and comments to my "wallpaper" none of the higher-ups has asked me to remove it.
One small step versus the world of PC......
(( hug ))
Tra la la la la...
"Henry Miller, in Sexus, put it so much better (yes, it seems someone almost always already has):Wow. What a great quote from Henry Miller!
Tears are easier to put up with than joy. Joy is destructive: it makes others uncomfortable. 'Weep and you will weep alone.'What a lie that is! Weep and you will find a million crocodiles to weep with you. The world is forever weeping. The world is drenched in tears... But joy, joy is a kind of ecstatic bleeding, a disgraceful sort of supercontentment which overflows from every pore of your being.
You cannot make people joyous just by being joyous yourself.
Joy has to be generated by oneself. It is or it isn't. Joy is founded on something too profound to be understood or communicated.
To be joyous is to be a madman in a world of sad ghosts."
And ANOTHER excellent essay from AnnaZ!!!Thanks for the flag, Mercuria!
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You're a "night owl". At least I hope so.
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