Author: frankisemptiness

April 1st, 2020

“You saw courageous Caesar next
You know what he became
They deified him in his life
Then had him murdered just the same
And as they raised the fatal knife
How loud he cried “you too my son!”
The world, however, did not wait
But soon observed what followed on
It’s courage that had brought him to that state
How fortunate the man with none”

from the song “How Fortunate the Man With None” by Dead Can Dance, based on the poem 1928 “Die Ballade von den Prominenten” from Bertolt Brecht.

 

One time, when I was sitting with Hans, he told,

“You know, Dad, we Iraqi War vets will probably be forgotten. People won’t remember what we did when we were over there.”

Hans said that with some sadness in his voice. I don’t think that he wanted any kind of huge recognition for fighting in Iraq. He wasn’t looking for a parade. I think that he just wanted somebody to think occasionally about him and his comrades-in-arms.

Now that I have a great deal of additional free time, I have been doing more reading. Actually, I have been re-reading books that I own. Some of them have been patiently sitting on the shelves for decades, waiting for this moment.

I grabbed a copy of “August 1914” by Solzhenitsyn. It is the story of the Battle of Tannenberg at the beginning of the First World War. Since the book is a Russian novel, it is impossible to keep track of all the characters. However, it is a good narrative and I find it to be deeply moving.

One of things that strikes me is how distant the events described in the book are from us. How many people, besides military history buffs, know anything about the Battle of Tannenberg? For that matter, how many people know anything about World War I? All the people involved with the battle are dead, and their bravery and folly is no longer of any interest to the world.

Who will remember Hans’ war? Nobody. It is already forgotten by most people. Only those who have been directly affected by the Iraq War will remember. Hans remembers. I remember because I love Hans, and I have seen the damage done to him.

Yesterday, Hans’ wife, Gabby, sent us pictures of Hans trying on his old Army uniform. He joked that he was going to wear it and demand that people turn over their toilet paper to him. I’m not sure that’s why he put it on. I think that, maybe, it was to remind himself that what happened a few years ago was real.

When I graduated from West Point forty years ago, I had a class ring. Every graduate of the military academy has one. I kept mine for many years. I never wore it, but I kept it hidden and safe, kind of like Gollum did with his ring. It was a talisman. It was a physical reminder of a part of my life that was gone forever. I eventually gave the ring to Hans. I have no idea what he did with it. It doesn’t matter. It’s not mine any more.

Hans does not have many physical reminders from his time in Iraq. Most everything was destroyed in a house fire at the end of 2015. It was a fire that killed Hans’ friend, Tom, and that killed Hans’ dog, Fritz. Nearly all of Hans’ possessions burned in that house. Almost all of his past burned there too.

It might be best if Hans could forget about Iraq, but that can’t happen. That experience is an integral part of him. It will always be with him. Always.

 

 

 

March 29th, 2020

“O God, if I worship you in fear of hell, burn me in hell. If I worship you in hope of paradise, shut me out from paradise. But if I worship you for your own sake, do not withhold from me your everlasting beauty.” —Rábi‘a (717–801), Islamic mystic and poet

Every morning I wake and I wonder if a certain young woman is still alive.

I go to her bedroom and peek in the door. I try to be silent. I look to see if she moves. I feel bad about invading her privacy, and don’t want to wake her, but I want to know that she is breathing. Once I see any motion, I leave her to continue her sleep. I relax just a little bit.

The young woman had a drug relapse on Friday, and I’m not quite over it. Neither is she. She’s had relapses before, and they are always traumatic. The episode itself is intense and loaded with adrenalin. The days afterward are like emotional hangovers. This latest event has long term consequences, including physical injury. This hangover will not go away any time soon.

For years and years, Karin and I belonged to a Bible study group. Almost everyone else in the group was some flavor of Baptist. They were all wonderful, loving people who espoused a truly wretched type of theology. Everything good that happened in life was a gift from God. Anything bad was entirely due to human sin. Really?

Carl Jung wrote a book, “Answer to Job”, where he tried to tackle the issue of human suffering. He noted that we often pray to God to save us from God. Some Christians blame all the evil in the world on Satan. Okay, why not? But who created the devil? If a person follows the trail of suffering far enough they will find that it always leads back to God. Then the question becomes: why is He doing this? Maybe the question should be: why is He allowing this? No faith tradition has a good enough answer to that question. The catechism of the Catholic Church has a long essay regarding suffering in the world, and eventually, after much verbiage, concludes that it is all a mystery. The Church could have said that in one sentence. It’s not hard to say, “We don’t know.”

We are now in the season of Lent. For Catholics and many other Christians this time period is all about suffering, sin, and repentence. It is a time to meditate on paradox. It is a time to accept things that are perhaps unacceptable. It really is a time of mystery.

Some of our Evangelical friends would go into default mode by shaking their heads sadly and sighing, “It’s a fallen world.” That means absolutely nothing, but somehow it explained everything to their satisfaction. “Fallen world” basically implies that our entire universe is screwed up due to the first sin of our primordial ancestors. That idea is unjust. It is also irrational. Every time I consider that notion, my mind screams, “WTF?”

I fall back on Zen at times like this. Buddhism is at least honest enough to shrug its collective shoulders and say, “Don’t know.” Zen encourages people to see the world as it is, and then just deal with it. I find that to be difficult path, but still acceptable.

Is the young woman going to die in our house some day? Maybe. Don’t know. The idea terrifies me, but it could easily happen.

All we can do is accept the possibility and love her as best we can, while we can.

 

 

 

 

 

March 28th, 2020

Karin and I came home this morning after making a trip to the grocery store. We had also stopped at Walmart to pick up an espresso maker. The young woman and Karin were excited about being able to make espresso and cappuccino at home. When we got into the house, I called to the girl to let her know that we were back.

No answer.

I went into her bedroom. She was lying on the floor, drooling and moaning. She had a can a keyboard cleaner in her right hand. I pulled the can out of her hand. It was frosted over. That happens when a person sprays it for too long.

I walked into the kitchen. Karin was putting groceries away. She looked at me. I showed her the can. I told Karin,

“She was huffing again.”

Karin asked, “Is she okay?”

I started to say, “I think so…”

Then I heard a strangled cry from the girl’s bedroom. When she huffs, her voice comes out in a distorted and uncanny way. The sound is very disturbing, and easily recognizable.

I rushed back into the bedroom. The girl was on the floor again, unconsious. She had a another can. I took that one away.

I got the phone. I told Karin,

“I’m calling 911.”

The dispatcher answered my call.

“Where is your emergency?”

I gave the dispatcher our address.

“What is the problem?”

“A young woman is unconscious in her bedroom.”

“Is she breathing?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“The girl was huffing keyboard cleaner. I think she is starting to come around.”

“Do you want us to send somebody over?”

“Yes.”

“Is anyone there coughing or having difficulty breathing?”

“No.”

“We’ll get somebody there.”

The paramedics arrived shortly. They were all wearing face masks.

They went back to the girl’s bedroom. They checked her vital signs.

I heard them talking to her, but I couldn’t hear all of her responses.

One of them told her, “You were huffing this cleaner. You know that’s an asphixiant? Your brain isn’t getting enough oxygen when you do that. You understand that, right? Do you want to come with us to the hospital for help?

She said no.

They asked her questions to find out how coherent she was. They asked her again if she wanted to go to the hospital.

She declined to do so.

They left. She went to take a shower. I called her parole officer.

I told the PO what was happening. I explained that things were out of control, and I had no idea what to do. He said that he would call the young woman.

After a while, the young woman went into the basement to wash some clothes. Karin and I were sitting at the kitchen table. Then we heard that awful wail.

We both went into the basement. The girl was curled up in a corner, clutching a can and moaning. I took that one away from her too. Then I called 911 again. I needed those guys back here.

The girl staggered upstairs to change clothes. Then she went back into the basement looking for her phone. She couldn’t find it. She freaked out. Karin and I went upstairs to see if the phone was in her room. We couldn’t find it, so I went back in the basement to check on the girl.

She was standing next to the water heater, a fourth can of keyboard cleaner in her hand. Her eyes were closed and she was swaying. Then she toppled over like a dead tree in a windstorm. She hit the concrete floor face first.

I turned her over to see if she was still breathing. She was. The young woman was bleeding from her mouth. The was blood on the cement.

I yelled up to Karin for her to watch for the paramedics, and send them downstairs. I tried to keep the girl from moving around. She pushed me away.

The paramedics showed up. One of them looked at her and asked,

“You want to come with us to the hospital this time?”

She nodded. Then she put her hand to her mouth and screamed.

“MY TOOTH! MY TOOTH!”

She had completely broken off one of her upper teeth. There was an ugly gap.

The paramedics took her upstairs while she was howling about her tooth.

One of them took the can from me. He said,

“Maybe I’ll take a picture of this, or I’ll just take it along. Then they know what chemicals are in this.”

I nodded to him. He left.

I followed the paramedic upstairs. The cops had arrived. I called the PO again. He wanted to talk with the policeman. I hooked them up. The ambulance took the girl to the ER.

I went down into the basement and washed up the blood.

I found her tooth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 26th, 2020

Yesterday was a beautiful day. It certainly one was in a meteorological sense. Wisconsin is much like Siberia, ot at least a bit like eastern Europe. We don’t really have a spring. We have a brief gap between the horrors of an endless winter and the intensity of a brutal summer. There is no easing into it. It is like falling off a cliff.

A young woman lives with us. The “us” refers to Karin and myself. In normal times (whatever “normal” means), this young woman is busy with therapy sessions, 12-step meetings, and part time work as a barista. In normal times, this young woman would be slinging coffee, and giving some philistines a necessary class about painting and art. But these are not normal times, and this young woman is stuck in our house, watching Netflix, staring at her phone, and possibly losing her mind.

This young woman is not alone in losing her mind. I am actively doing the same thing. What is happening is that the current activities of our society are destructive, not just disruptive. Keeping people physcially apart makes sense in a way. I understand that. However, it makes people a bit crazy. It makes me a bit crazy.

This young woman decided to walk a couple miles from our home to Bender Park. There she could view the movements of the waters of  Lake Michigan. Her actions freaked me out. She was gone for a couple hours. The young woman did not answer her phone. She did not ask for any help.

I walked Shocky, the young woman’s pet. I walked the dog, over and over again.

I came home. The girl was lying in bed. She was wounded. Her head was bruised and bleeding.

She had fallen off the edge of the bluffs near the lake. She fell off a cliff.

The girl is still alive.

So am I.

 

 

 

March 24th, 2020

I had been awake for a couple hours before Karin got up. I tend to rise early. Karin likes to sleep in, especially now, when there really is no hurry to get out of bed. I knew she was up when I heard the toilet flush. That’s an unofficial announcement that she is starting her day.

I walked into the bedroom and said, “Hi.”

Karin looked up from her phone and eyed me warily. Then she asked,

“How are you this morning?”

I mumbled, “Okay.”

She kept looking at me, and she remarked,

“Last night was pretty bad, huh? That was probably the worst one ever.”

I replied, “Yeah.”

Karin turned and looked our bed. In particular, she was looking at my side of the bed.

Without turning back toward me, she said,

“Usually, I can wake you up by only calling to you once. Last night I had to shout your name over and over.”

“Yeah.”

She faced me and went on, “You were yelling so loud, and you were punching into the air, and kicking like crazy. You were really fighting something.”

“Yeah.”

“What was it?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

I really don’t know.

I get night terrors. They are described thus:

“Night terrors are a form of sleep disorder in which a person partially awakens from sleep in a state of terror. A sufferer of night terrors experiences an activation of his or her fight-or-flight system.”

That is a very understated definition. Night terrors are incredibly intense. Karin generally wakes me up before I do any damage. I remember very little after I am conscious. All I know is that my heart is pounding and my throat hurts from screaming so loud.

Karin often ask me about the dreams. I find them difficult to explain. There is a pattern to them. I am always in a dark place, and I am threatened by someone or something that is even darker than my surroundings. I never know if this thing is human. All I know is that it is malevolent, and that it wants to hurt me. I don’t feel scared as much as I feel angry. The thing flits around and attacks me from all sides, and I strike back at it. Karin sometimes first becomes aware that I am dreaming when she hears me shriek,

“C’MON MOTHERFUCKER!”

That is a clear indication that I am deep into it.

I don’t know what triggers the dreams. I don’t think that they necessarily have much to do with events in the outside world. I have had them for years, at least since I was in the Army. My demons come whenever they feel like it.

But it makes me wonder. I dream about a threat that I can’t see or understand. In the dream I don’t know what I am fighting. All I know is that something is out to get me.

That sounds a bit like the situation in the waking world.

 

 

 

March 23rd, 2020

Peter is the abbot of the Great Lake Zen Center. After meditation practice, he sometimes gives a brief dharma talk. When discussing why we spend time silently sitting on cushions, he often says that we do it in order to answer the following question: “How can I help?”

A person needs a clear mind to know how best to help somebody else. In theory, meditation clears the mind. Then the individual can see what really is, and act accordingly. There are times when it is difficult to see through the chaos.

Now is one of those times.

The whole world is scared and suffering at this moment. Maybe it is always scared and suffering, and it is just more obvious now. At present, the problems surrounding us seem overwhelming. What should we do? Where should we start?

The Catholic Church has something called “The Corporal Acts of Mercy”. It is a list of seven ways to help others. The list seems simple and straight forward. Maybe it is. However, right now, I find it hard to put some of these actions into practice. I need to think about it.

This list is as follows:

1. To feed the hungry.
2. To give drink to the thirsty.
3. To clothe the naked.
4. To shelter the homeless.
5. To visit the imprisoned.
6. To visit the sick.
7. To bury the dead.

 

Since the guidance of our government is for citizens to avoid being in groups larger than ten people, some of the actions on the list are difficult, if not impossible, to do in traditional ways. For instance, “feeding the hungry” has often meant me helping at a meal program (soup kitchen). A meal program that is run by a church or other charitable organization requires the efforts of dozens of participants. People need to get together to cook and to serve meals to potentially hundreds of poor and homeless persons. It is obvious to me that a typical soup kitchen cannot function like that now. So, how does it operate? The poor and outcast are still hungry. Where do thesse people go now? How are they fed?

I don’t know, and I’m not sure who to even ask. The organizations that typically run these operations can’t get together, at least not physically. The new rules are only a week old. Has anybody even had time to brainstorm ideas? Can food pantries hand out free bag lunches? What happens now?

The coronavirus crisis has forced us to exist as isolated pockets of humanity. Okay, let’s work with that. In our case, Karin and I are providing food, drink, shelter, and transportation/health support to a young woman who we love dearly. This person was in prison just two months ago. By assisting her, we are covering some of the items on list, and doing it up close and personal. Maybe that is our calling for the present time. Maybe we are most needed here, as opposed to some place else. We have to do what we can, where and when we can.

Paradoxically, it is often more difficult to help somebody close than it is to help somebody at a distance. I mean this both in geographical terms and in an emotional sense. It is sometimes easier to serve a meal to a stranger far from home than it is to help somebody who lives in the same house. I can ladle out spaghetti for a couple hours at a St. Vincent de Paul meal site, and then walk away from it. Love is tested in close proximity, where a person can’t just run away from problems. Helping sometimes involves open-ended commitment.

A friend of mine, years ago, defined love as being sacrifice. I think that is an accurate description. Love means giving up the things I want in order to provide the things that someone else needs. That’s a bitch.

Maybe this current crisis will teach me how to love.

 

 

 

 

March 22nd, 2020

Hans called.

Right away he said, “I saw something today that I thought I would never see.”

I mentally braced myself and asked, “So, what did you see?”

Hans seldom gets directly to the point. He always has to set the stage before he tells me a story. Maybe it’s a southern thing. A friend of ours from Texas, Delphia (God rest her soul), once told me, “Down here, we tell you what we are going to say, then we say it, and then we tell you what we just said.”

That’s pretty accurate.

In any case, Hans had my attention. He told me,

“Dad, you know how in some of the grocery stores they let the old people shop first?”

“Old people?”

“Yeah, you know, your age.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, anyway, we were at Walmart, and these old folks had been looking for toilet paper and such. The shelves were almost empty, so they couldn’t find any of what they needed, and they were walking out the door empty-handed.”

“Okay.”

Hans drawled, “Well, I’m watching these people, and this young black guy stops his car near them. He talks with them a bit, and then he hands the old folks a plastic bag filled with some rolls of toilet paper and hand sanitizer. He doesn’t charge them anything. He just gives it to them.”

“Okay.”

I could hear Hans lighting up a Pall Mall. He continued,

“Well, this black guy, he’s doing the same thing with all the old people coming out of the store. If they ain’t got any toilet paper, he just gives them some. His car is packed with the stuff, and he’s just giving it all away.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

Hans took a drag, and said lazily,

“Yeah. I talked to the guy for a while. He told me that some people in his family had bought up a bunch of toilet paper and hand sanitizer. They were hoarding it. The guy told me that he got into a big ole fight with his family about it. They finally got tired of listening to him yell and carry on, and they told him to take half of the stuff and do whatever he wanted with it.”

“So, he’s just giving it to whoever needs it.”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

Hans said, “It restores my faith in humanity…a little bit.”

“Yeah. I can see that. Good.”

“Hey Dad, you know, down here, the liquor stores are still open.”

“I guess that’s good too.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 20th, 2020

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is lost. The best lack all conviction, while the worst are filled with passionate intensity.” – W.B. Yeats

 

Hans called me from Texas today to wish me a happy birthday.

We talked for a while. Hans was calling from his car. He was bored. It was raining outside. His wife, Gabby, was in the clinic for her physical therapy session. Hans was hanging out with their fifteen month old son, Weston.

I asked Hans, “Did you get your shotgun?”

He replied, “No, they didn’t have the one that I wanted. Instead I bought a short-barrelled model that holds five shells. It’s really easy to use. You just have to point it.”

“How many shells did the other shotgun hold?”

“Fifteen.”

“How long does it take to reload the gun you bought?”

“Hmmm, maybe two seconds.”

“That’s not bad.”

“No.”

Then Hans went on, “I got the house set up.”

“How so?”

“Well, the shotgun is by the washer, so it’s close to both the front and back doors. But it’s not out in the open, where somebody breaking in might find it.”

“Okay.”

“The .40 is in a cabinet in the kitchen.”

“Yeah.”

“I got my Glock in my nightstand. The .45 is in Gabby’s nightstand.”

“Are any of these guns accessible to Weston?”

“No.”

“Good answer.”

Hans said, “Even if they were, none of them have a loaded magazine in them. I got the magazines separate.”

“Okay. So, you’re ready for the zombie apocalypse.”

“Yep. Dad, you ever watch any of those zombie movies?”

“Uh, no.”

“You know what usually starts all that trouble?”

“No.”

“In the movies they run out of toilet paper.”

“I guess a lot of people have been watching those movies.”

“Yeah. You know what else is strange?”

“No. Tell me.”

Hans told me, “Well, some of my liberal friends are calling me up to ask me what kind of guns to buy.”

“You have liberal friends?”

“Well, they’re not exactly friends. They’re, you know, acquaintances; people that I talk to to maybe once a year.”

“I guess they know your area of expertise.”

Hans said, “Yeah. It’s a little late for them to be shopping for guns. There aren’t many left out there.”

“True.”

Hans went on, “I got the .357 in my truck. Whenever I drive our car, I bring along the Glock.”

“Why?”

“Well, you never know. People might get crazy.”

Hans, “They already are crazy.”

“You know what I mean. I mean like the crazy in New Orleans after the hurricane (Katrina).”

“Well, you’re ready.”

“Yep.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 20th, 2020

There is nothing like spending a lot of time in close proximity with my loved ones to make me realize how dysfunctional I am. The members of our family get along well…for short periods of time. After a while, people tend to get on each other’s nerves, and it gets a little nuts. We aren’t used to the idea of being together for an indefinite amount of time. This is new.

Up until now we have lived together, but not necessarily spent that much time together. Karin would go out to her knitting groups. I would do volunteer work. The girl we love would go to meetings and therapy sessions, and then spend time at the gym. So, we would actually be in the same place for only brief periods. We had enough time to interact, but not enough time to piss each other off. When we did hang out, we often did in places away from home. We didn’t feel shut in. It all worked pretty well.

Well, that lifestyle is over for now. We have to be in the same house most of the time, and we have to deal with each other. Each of us has carved out some personal territory. Sometimes we do things together. Sometimes we act like we were all on different planets. It will take us some time to adjust to social distancing.

The flip side of the situation is that we are separated from friends, many of whom are nearby. We can’t go to the Hillside Coffee House and hang out with our buddies. We can’t go to daily Mass with people from our church. We can’t just get in the car, go some place, and spend time other humans. This sucks.

I am told that I can interact with all sorts of people online. This is true to a certain degree. I guess I am trying to do that right now. However, going on Facebook or writing a blog post is not at all the same as sitting across from a person and having a freewheeling conversation. There is more spontaneity involved in a face-to-face interaction with another person. There is more soul. There is more intimacy.

Isaac Asimov wrote a book called The Naked Sun. It was a science fiction novel about a planet called Solaria. There were only 20,000 inhabitants of this planet, and none of them ever had any physical contact with anyone else. They viewed holograms of each other when they absolutely had to communicate. Asimov’s description of the population of Solaria was in a way prescient. He was explaining what it would be like to live in a world that took social distancing to its logical conclusion. The book was very disturbing to me. It still is.

We are not to the point where we totally keep away from other humans, but we are getting there. I remember, when I was still working, that there was a woman in the office who would rather send me an email than walk three steps from her cubicle to speak to me. How often do we text somebody rather than call them or visit them?

This coronavirus crisis encourages us to dig ourselves deeper in our individual cocoons.

When it’s all over, will we come out again?

 

 

March 19th, 2020

I took a young woman to her therapy appointment yesterday. Since most everything is shut down, going there was the highlight of the day. Her session lasted for almost an hour, so I had time to kill. All the restaurants and coffee shops are closed. I had to search for a place to hang out. I thought I would go to Half-Price Books and see what was there on sale.

I got out of my car just a woman was coming out of the shop. She looked at me and said,

“Oh, I’m so sorry. The store is closed to customers because of the virus. If you want, you contact us by phone or online. We can find what you want, and then you can come to pick it up, or it can be delivered to you.”

Great.

Having only takeout or delivery defeats the purpose of a bookstore. I never know what I want when I go into a bookstore. I wander through the stacks and tables, looking at covers. I might pull a book from a shelf and page through it. I might read a synopsis of the book. Then I might put it right back. This process may be repeated a dozen times before I actually take a book up to the sales counter. If I knew exactly what book I wanted to read, I would just buy it online and be done with it. Going into the store means that I am interested in exploring. I am looking for something that is new to me.

I guess the same things goes for many of the stores I enter. There are times when I am on a mission, and I grab what I need and get the hell out. Other times, I want to roam and linger. I want to discover something. Now there is no place to do that.

Almost all the houses of worship are closed. I like to hang out in those places too. I don’t necessarily go to these locations to attend a specific liturgy. I don’t often mingle with the other people even when I am in my own church. However, it helps me to just be with others when I pray or meditate. When I am in church, or at the synagogue, or in a mosque, or at the Zen Center, it is better when I am not completely alone. Spiritual activities are by their very nature communal, even if everything is done in silence. Some people say that a person can have the same experience online. I doubt it.

I like sitting in coffee shops. Once again, being an introvert, I don’t usually want interaction. Mostly, I just want to sip a drink and observe. Just watching the people come and go is stimulating. It makes me more alert.

Now, the only outlet seems to be grocery shopping.

I wonder how long that will last.