It seems to me, from this very small, very deeply removed zygote vantage point, far, far from the land of the upright,
that humans are expert pretenders.
It's not just the costumed Halloween party-goer, the festooned Anime character at Comic-con; no, every grown up executive, every nerdish child and butt-crack wielding plumber share a deeply guarded secret: they play a Big Game of make-believe every single day.
Some props are obvious, like pop guns in little plastic holsters. Others take a more trained eye to uncover, like vintage Porsche 356's, horn rimmed glasses, or the dangled cigarette. All are calculated to produce a mis-impression to distract from a reality in which we are all trapped, where being a mere mortal is simply unacceptable.
Better to wear a statement.
Maybe one that says SuperMan lives here, or SuperWoman will save the day. Even the plumber with his butt crack can be proud now that everyone sports his hallmark! Whatever the preferred disguise, each one declares loudly that our eventual destiny is imminent! We will 'ARRIVE' soon, when
WHO we REALLY ARE will manifest magically thru the daily faithful wearing of the costume.
An ego universal, a necessary lie, altogether invented yet altogether expected and accepted.
No one wants to admit how every echelon, from kings right down to the homeless, reinvent themselves. Zygote used to sport a very smart looking pair of John Denver glasses, desperately expectant that guitar playing was my birthright, and fervently hoping that no one would catch me counting on my fingers.
Enter Dylan Klebold. Enter Eric Harris.
When I grow up, maybe I'll get to actually save a day, sport a cape, or do calculus in my head. And if I can manage to defy the demons who tempt me to "impress my public" with notions that I have a public, I'll have arrived at adulthood without a single visit to the costume shop.
Along the way, may God give me the time and insight to put my arm around a Dylan, Eric or James,
with simple words (but esp non-words) to convey how much He loves them. He loves all intensely, even the dispossessed in their full humanity or inhumanity; and died to save each from demonic fakery.
Only, will somebody please put their arm around me first?
Thankyou, A. Blackerby, for use of your blog images
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