indirect ontology

The opening line to the Godfather rolls around in my head. “I believe in America. America has made my fortune.” Like a tune that gets stuck in your brain, I hear it over and over again. I don’t know why it’s there. I try playing out the rest of the scene in my minds eye thinking that this might somehow quell the flow. No avail. Apparently watching the Godfather is not the cure. I don’t know what is. I don’t know why it is there. I suspect it has something to do with all of the political rhetoric that is in the media these days. Like the line stuck in my head, I wish it would all go away. Every time I hear a politician speak, it reminds me of how divisive the country has become. Maybe its always been this way and I just didn’t notice, just like all the tunes of all the songs you ever heard are in there somewhere, but you don’t notice till one wants to stand out.

Typing this, I am acutely aware of all the sounds that are around me. I can hear someone rummaging though the drawers in the kitchen. A fan drones from a bedroom. The little girls are bickering; I catch snippets of the conversation. It sounds ugly. Most likely I can hear these things because I want to concentrate, and each little disturbance is a disturbance in the force, so to speak, each one a little microcosm that beacons me to join. I try to force a separation between these different events, as in Buddhism where each moment in time is separate and distinct, where consciousness is like a string of pearls. But these moments collide into one another and influence one another. The harder I try to concentrate the more consciousness looks like pearls shot through a particle accelerator. The bickering in the next room gets louder and then abruptly stops, there are a few tears, and then the sound of play begins again. The cycle has reset itself. The children like actors on a stage preparing for act two.

Everyone is bored. The long hot days of summer are beginning to take their toll. To hot to go outside, the children pace through the house. “I wonder why they let out school in the summer” My therapist asked. “It seems like winters are much nicer and would be a better time for children to play outside.” The obviousness of this question hits me. Though the answer is probably equally obvious. Like everything else, I imagine it probably has something to do with tradition.

“I believe in America. ”

 I was brewing beer yesterday with my friend Chris when the topic of politics came up. “I’m not a political guy” he said “but something tells me it is going to get a whole lot worse before its gets better.” As he was talking I imagined Congress as a bunch of drunks trying to hit bottom before they could get sober. “You’re probably right” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders, the mute bodily perception of an overarching truth. In the background the aroma of hops and sugar fills the air with a sickly sweet stench. “You’re probably right.”