TheBearJew
03-25-2010, 05:59 PM
I had written the first sentence to this one about two years ago, and slowly, I've added more, and understood where I wanted to go with it more and more. Here's what I currently believe to be the final edition, but I'm still open to changes, and would appreciate all feedback, be they positive or negative.
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I was 14 when I began searching for heaven.
When people ask me what I do, they often laugh at my response. They slowly observe my sincerity, and frown momentarily The frown is then replaced by an awkward smile and accompanied by raised eyebrows to express their discomfort with having de-legitimatized my life’s goal with their chuckles and snorts.
They think to themselves: He looked odd, but not quite so odd. What a fool I was for dismissing him with that laugh, but what could I have been expected to do? Who would believe that any man would be irrational enough to live so foolishly?
Then, most of them leave. It isn’t a sudden departure, so as not to come off as rude, but all of their actions are simply means to an end of our conversation. They usually coerce themselves to ask a few questions, sometimes even share some personal information. But they always leave, the conventional thinkers.
But there are the few that stay. That isn’t to say that they don’t find my occupation peculiar, rather that it piques their interest so greatly, that they push their doubts of my mental state aside to find out more.
Still, even among the more liberal types, most of their interest stems from mere curiosity as to what I mean when I say I’m searching for heaven. They usually assume that they misunderstood, or that I didn’t mean it literally. And then, they too eventually leave after determining my sincerity.
It’s rare that anyone stays past that point. But, those that do are highly intrigued by my pursuit of heaven. They usually do whatever they can to keep me around to tell me stories about myself and my quest. I savor the rare admiration, and happily oblige to sit around and talk to them. Don’t be fooled; I am not seeking confirmation. It’s just that, with a livelihood such as mine, it is nice to be treated as part of the regular world once in a while.
There are also those who attempt to dissuade me. Once, a man and his daughter sat next to me on a particularly long train ride. We got to talking, as people do when stuck with each other for extended periods of time, and he asked me what I do for a living.
His daughter was entranced by my unswavering faith, and was hanging on to my every word. Her eyes lit up as I answered her questions, and delivered her a gift she had never thought possible. Here was an adult arguing against realism and for fantasy. For her, I was proof that her dreams and hopes weren’t child’s play. Proof that the fantastic is as realistic as the ground we walk on
As for her father, he was shocked by my apparent naivety. My way of life became his proverbial back itch that he could never quite reach. But that didn’t stop him from trying.
“Don’t you realize that you’ll never succeed?”
He asked me this as I was walking away from the train at the last station. He had already missed his stop, so disrupted by my being that he couldn’t bear getting off without trying to convert me to his thoughts, convinced that a little more effort or clarity in his argument and he’d have me. He shouted, his voice strained by desperation.
I stopped for a second and turned around, knowing he needed, for his own sake, one last shot to persuade me.
“Don’t you get it? You’ll never find heaven. It doesn’t exist; it’s a story we tell children when their grandma or dog dies to ease our ears of their sobbing. It’s a myth we tell ourselves to purge our minds of fear of everything simply ending. A euphemism. Can’t you see that which is so clear?”
He stood there, staring at me, even more angered by my smile. “You’re right,” I replied, calmly assuring his fury.
Though he attempted to suppress it, one could see the triumphant delight in the blushing of his ears and the edges of his frown. He mumbled something, and with a pat on his daughters’ back, to summon her to follow, he turned to continue on with his daily affairs.
I was still smiling. As I turned away to leave, I could still feel his daughters’ glare on my back. It was too strong. I turned my head back, meeting her eyes, and with a pursing of my lips and a sad nod of the head, I apologized. I had led her on and betrayed here, this we both knew. She had come to count on me to stand up to her father, and provide undeniable evidence proving heavens’ existence.
But I couldn’t. She furrowed her brows, and turned to her father. I hoped that one day, she’d remember her fathers’ frown, and my smile, and understand.
I was 14 when I began searching for heaven. Today, I’m 63, and I’m still searching.
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I was 14 when I began searching for heaven.
When people ask me what I do, they often laugh at my response. They slowly observe my sincerity, and frown momentarily The frown is then replaced by an awkward smile and accompanied by raised eyebrows to express their discomfort with having de-legitimatized my life’s goal with their chuckles and snorts.
They think to themselves: He looked odd, but not quite so odd. What a fool I was for dismissing him with that laugh, but what could I have been expected to do? Who would believe that any man would be irrational enough to live so foolishly?
Then, most of them leave. It isn’t a sudden departure, so as not to come off as rude, but all of their actions are simply means to an end of our conversation. They usually coerce themselves to ask a few questions, sometimes even share some personal information. But they always leave, the conventional thinkers.
But there are the few that stay. That isn’t to say that they don’t find my occupation peculiar, rather that it piques their interest so greatly, that they push their doubts of my mental state aside to find out more.
Still, even among the more liberal types, most of their interest stems from mere curiosity as to what I mean when I say I’m searching for heaven. They usually assume that they misunderstood, or that I didn’t mean it literally. And then, they too eventually leave after determining my sincerity.
It’s rare that anyone stays past that point. But, those that do are highly intrigued by my pursuit of heaven. They usually do whatever they can to keep me around to tell me stories about myself and my quest. I savor the rare admiration, and happily oblige to sit around and talk to them. Don’t be fooled; I am not seeking confirmation. It’s just that, with a livelihood such as mine, it is nice to be treated as part of the regular world once in a while.
There are also those who attempt to dissuade me. Once, a man and his daughter sat next to me on a particularly long train ride. We got to talking, as people do when stuck with each other for extended periods of time, and he asked me what I do for a living.
His daughter was entranced by my unswavering faith, and was hanging on to my every word. Her eyes lit up as I answered her questions, and delivered her a gift she had never thought possible. Here was an adult arguing against realism and for fantasy. For her, I was proof that her dreams and hopes weren’t child’s play. Proof that the fantastic is as realistic as the ground we walk on
As for her father, he was shocked by my apparent naivety. My way of life became his proverbial back itch that he could never quite reach. But that didn’t stop him from trying.
“Don’t you realize that you’ll never succeed?”
He asked me this as I was walking away from the train at the last station. He had already missed his stop, so disrupted by my being that he couldn’t bear getting off without trying to convert me to his thoughts, convinced that a little more effort or clarity in his argument and he’d have me. He shouted, his voice strained by desperation.
I stopped for a second and turned around, knowing he needed, for his own sake, one last shot to persuade me.
“Don’t you get it? You’ll never find heaven. It doesn’t exist; it’s a story we tell children when their grandma or dog dies to ease our ears of their sobbing. It’s a myth we tell ourselves to purge our minds of fear of everything simply ending. A euphemism. Can’t you see that which is so clear?”
He stood there, staring at me, even more angered by my smile. “You’re right,” I replied, calmly assuring his fury.
Though he attempted to suppress it, one could see the triumphant delight in the blushing of his ears and the edges of his frown. He mumbled something, and with a pat on his daughters’ back, to summon her to follow, he turned to continue on with his daily affairs.
I was still smiling. As I turned away to leave, I could still feel his daughters’ glare on my back. It was too strong. I turned my head back, meeting her eyes, and with a pursing of my lips and a sad nod of the head, I apologized. I had led her on and betrayed here, this we both knew. She had come to count on me to stand up to her father, and provide undeniable evidence proving heavens’ existence.
But I couldn’t. She furrowed her brows, and turned to her father. I hoped that one day, she’d remember her fathers’ frown, and my smile, and understand.
I was 14 when I began searching for heaven. Today, I’m 63, and I’m still searching.