Musings - June 27, 2011

The phone rang. John was over on the other end.

“Hey, brother,” the good-souled African said. “How you doing?”

“Good, man.” Michael couldn’t ever bring himself to tell John the whole truth. John knew this, but he never asked farther. The goodness and glory that surround John would not ever allow him to break down a wall. It endeared him to all he met, but it also hindered him more than he could realize. Michael had once tried to tell him this, but Michael’s heart sank when saw the look of the meek in John’s eyes. It was almost a tragedy for Michael never to know the entirety of the world because Michael felt he might be the one man good enough to save the world. And it would have been a tragedy had Michael flung the shutters open to him. “What’s up?”

“I need your help, brother.” This came as no surprise. “I am trying to make this document work but I can’t get Word to cooperate.”

“Word? What’s the problem?”

“Well, I just can’t figure out how to fill out the form.”
Michael rolled his eyes behind the wall of the mouthpiece, thankful that John was on the far side of town. All-in-all, though, he found it entertaining that this heartful African transplant was putting his all into getting his ducks in a row for his charity book drive, yet he needed remedial help, almost persistently. “Ok, John. How is it laid out? Is it actually in Adobe format? Is it an Excel file?”

“No, it’s Word.”

“It’s Word?” Michael asked again. “I’m not sure how to help you from here; it’s a pretty basic word processing program. It’s self-explanatory.”

“I know, I know. I need your help, my brother. It’s frustrating me no end.”

“All right, all right. Where are you?”

“Two minutes from your house.”

Pause. A languid smile etched across Michael’s face.

After a quarter-hour, John’s problem was solved. Satisfied, but wearily, he hammered away on the keyboard completing all his forms. Michael desired the quiet, but welcomed the company. So he occupied himself at his bookshelf. He pulled down Chronicle of a Death Foretold, flipped through it, but couldn’t bring himself to part with it. Next came All Quiet on the Western Front. He hadn’t read it since high 10th grade, but he had bought this copy from the used bookstore with noble intentions. “Besides,” he told himself, “I’m saving the kids from reading about horror, and death.”

Then he came across his book of Greek dramas. “This is good,” he thought. “It has comedies!” It didn’t strike him until he had given the book over to John that all the greatest Greek dramas were tragedies.

John packed his things to head home to sleep.

Michael held on for a moment. “If Death were knocking on that door right now, would you be scared to answer it?”

“I’m confident where I’m going,” replied the faithful man.

“Is it better than here?”

“Anything’s better than here. It’s like 50 Cent said, ‘Death’s gotta be easy because Life’s so hard.’” Even the righteous has a criminal for inspiration.

As John left through the same dark door, Michael imagined how beautiful ignorance could be. He quickly realized that knowing nothing brings no peace, for it is only the awareness of knowledge’s weight that allows one to image peace. And one must have a vision of peace before one can attain it. This is what made John so good. He knew peace on Earth is not reachable in this life, but he sought it anyway. He believed in his heart that one day the meek would inherit the Earth. So he battled on with gusto each day. It would have been a real tragedy if Michael had never known him.