ULTIMATE CONCERN (#3): The Final Stage

I have been retired twelve years now; understanding how these years reveal the final stage of the pattern is crucial. My retirement idea was to walk with my little dog Simon, read and reread all those good texts I know, like Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, Renaissance translation. Learn to be fluent in Spanish and Italian, and write. I have two Phone Poem books; I wanted to make a third, subtitled A Joyful Noise. Sigh. Man proposes, God disposes. I acquired a severe peripheral neuropathy 30 some years ago; add a severe rheumatoid arthritis; a pace maker for the heart problem (three months left on its battery now), and numerous other ills, like Uveitis recently, all of which make life somewhat difficult. Truth be told, very difficult. Then Simon lost the use of his hind legs, the dachshund problem. Instead of walking him, I carry him from bedroom to chair and from chair to bed. The operation to fix the problem is rumored to cost 8,000 dollars, and can’t be done in Lexington, close to home. Sometimes I think of my life in terms of crucifixion; more often I understand it in terms of Purgatory, the pattern or revelation embedded in the second part of Dante’s wonderful Divine Comedy. My life, I have come to understand, is essentially purgatorial; I am being stripped of everything I have been acquiring and holding on to, in effect all the things I filled my life with instead of the God I truly believe in.

Of course the basic problem is that things are visible and lovely, even if others don’t see their beauty. Things are tangible; one can hold and admire them, and so on. As far back as I can remember I collected things. The first item that I remember was the Advertiser-Tribune comic strip, “Alley Oop.” I suspect that I had a thing back then for Oola, but I would have to wait patiently till my parents finished reading the paper before I was allowed to cut out the daily comic and attach it to my collection. I collected match books at one time, and first day covers; I had a special album for the covers. I collected coins; I still get the walking liberty silver dollar once a year, though I intend to cancel that subscription now that I have the 2020 proof coin. They are 99% silver and stunning; but I still can’t take them with me, so at 80 years old, why bother. In fact I have realized that the only “things” I might be able to take with me are the things in my mind: poetry, stories, memories, friendships, loves.
Actually, while at Berea I made an extensive ad collection which I have no use for now, but still own. Ads are fascinating, especially those making use of beautiful women. My favorite in that area was the Virginia Slims cigarette ads; I have an enormous notebook full of those ads going back a number of years, as well as supplements I was sent because I joined their ad offers, and may have let them think I was a woman. I also have two metal VS signs that I found at a roadside secondhand store. 10 bucks each, maybe.
My ad collections were/are extensive. I would be willing to sell them all if anyone were willing.

I also collected comic books when I was a kid; gave them up for a long time until we acquired an English teacher at Berea who collected The Avengers. He got me interested, too interested; he and I went to conventions; unlike him, I could not buy just one, of course. I had to have many. Many were interesting. The first “expensive” comic I bought was a Conan #23 for six dollars at a comic convention. That was the issue that introduced Red Sonja. Six dollars was a lot way back when the boys were very young, in the eighties, probably. Much later I spent fifty dollars for a marvelous Vampirella cover and comic. Desire that stands behind these acquisitions is extremely difficult to resist; I found it almost impossible most of the time. Adding items to a collection was always more satisfying then simply having them.

Then there was the rock collection, which I dearly loved, but finally gave to my oldest grand son. I had a raw piece of tiger’s eye which I bought in Mexico; crystals are exquisite, still, but I managed to let go. And then there were the Hot-wheels. Perfection in a little metal model. My office was soon overrun with stuff; I eventually gave most of the little cars to charity. The problem in my case was that there was this need to acquire these things continually, as if each new acquisition would satisfy for a moment; but then I needed to find another—at Walmart, at the Rock Shop, at the Comic Shops (2 in Lexington), etc.

Illnesses are not fun, witness the current pandemic, but they can form a pattern in a life, my life for example. In my case, all the physical health problems have taken away the ability and desires for collecting things. The more I hurt the less I care about stuff to the point where it appears that the illnesses are Heaven sent. Illness means vulnerability and vulnerability means death. None of the illnesses is terminal, except perhaps the heart problem which is controlled by the pacemaker and pills. Besides my own health issues, I spend much of the day taking care of my little dog Simon. Gradually the health issues get worse: I can’t drive because I can’t feel the gas and brake pedals. Fine, I can walk several miles without much trouble. Well, I could, except that my legs have gotten worse and I am not certain that I can still walk a mile. So, once again it seems that there is something working in my life to make me better, to focus my attention on what ought to be at my center, rather than stuff. In Dante’s Purgatory the purpose of suffering is for each soul to get rid of the habit of sin, the ruts that the continual giving in to desire makes in one’s soul. I know about ruts. I am glad to see something working on them in my case, even if my right hand is crippled, hurts most of the time, and is almost useless.

One final thought: I have no idea what illness and pain mean in any life but my own. In my life I see God’s presence in the pains. I’d be grateful if they stopped, but I have come to understand that in my life, all is gift, even the things, perhaps especially the things, that appear bad.

Pattern or coincidence? My friend Fred and I read a Psalm a day, over and over. Yesterday’s Psalm was especially appropriate:

”Then I said, ‘Lo, I come;/ in the roll of the book it is written of me;/I delight to do thy will, O my God;/thy law is within my heart.’/

I have told the glad news of deliverance/in the great congregation;/lo, I have not restrained my lips,/as thou knowest, O Lord./I have not hid thy saving help within my heart,/I have spoken of thy faithfulness and thy salvation;/I have not concealed thy steadfast love and thy faithfulness/from the great congregation./

Do not thou, O Lord, withhold/thy mercy from me,/let thy steadfast love and thy faithfulness/ever preserve me!”

Psalm 40: 7-11

“I have told the glad news of deliverance in the great congregation.” (Ps. 40:9). [Bonus: beauty and the bug!]. Amen!

Simon, my almost constant companion, in the great chair. [My iPad wanted to write “congregation” for companion.]