Jan. 29, 1984... Today in the afternoon the Waterloo threesome (Todd, Debbie and Bonnie, Debbie's mother, plus the canine, Bandit) were the first to depart. Todd drove my little red Swinger; I hope he will keep it looking nice. I must simply let go and guard my sanity; it is not worth tearing yourself into emotional rages and tatters, however, I've never been able to rationalize having nice things if one doesn't care for them. Sharon seemed to need to stay a while longer. She was upset over so many concerns accompanying a loss of such consequence. I hope she will be able to find peace within herself. Perhaps it is easier to do so in her own home.

Nights always bring out the spooks which I conjure up inside my brain.

I decided to lightly illuminate Norm's room to allow the shadows to disappear. We also decided to leave the door to the upstairs open; I'm frightened of noises sounding like gasps or snorts of air, as they remind me of the way in which I was alerted to Norm's predicament.

I'm not afraid of his spirit, but rather of the nightmares which might evolve from the trauma of finding Norm and the inability to help.

Jan. 30, 1984... In the afternoon I ventured outside and mailed a few thank you letters. It had snowed about 6 inches last night and I woke up to a beautiful landscape. I walked down below the house a ways, not going into the woods because I have difficulty climbing back up even in the summer. The new snow left a track which could easily be followed, leading me to think that an individual could never truly be alone when traversing a snow laden landscape; he could easily be detected even if solitude was what he sought. Once inside, I attempted to write a poem about my thoughts, beginning with this.

A solitary foot path...

Solitary Footprints

A solitary foot path Upon the fallen snow Betrays the quiet secret Of whither I might go.

Through spring's bouquet His footsteps pa.s.sed, And summer's veil of green.

He watched the autumn leaves Sail down And winter skies Shed cloaks of white.

His path, each day, The snow betrayed While strolling through The woodland brush, A h.o.a.rd of prints Which marked a man Whose spirit melded With the land.

Taken in the grasp of night, The man no more Will trod the snow.

I searched by day To find his path, So quickly did he steal away.

But nature masked His many tracks, As winter oft will do, And I remain To softly ponder Whither he has gone.

The steadfast essence of the man I carry in my soul, But mine shall be the only prints Upon the winter snow.

Lauren Isaacson January 30, 1984

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Chapter 38 Personal Belief

"Why was it so necessary to nail down as truths those aspects of life which had no answers?"

" . . . I did not even touch the vastness of Being and even less the essence of nonexistence."

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

My Personal Belief

If through the very mysteriousness of life one is able to grasp a sustaining faith, perhaps this alone is proof of an undeniable presence in the heavens. I am humbled by knowledge, and simply through that which I shall not understand, I have developed the belief that existence on earth is only a mere wisp of that existence which shall follow one's death. That I do not know what will occur after death does not worry me; at best, I hope for a unity with an all-encompa.s.sing ent.i.ty, yet I would not reject the thought of eternal rest. What peace I have comes through hope and limitless possibilities; it does not rest in an established faith. If there was ever a working force to sway my personal beliefs toward a more a.s.sured stance with respect to an eternal life, it was after the death of my brother. I was the only one present at the moment of his death, and his long expiration was followed only by peacefulness. His face was that of a young man at rest. There was nothing to fear in that silent face, and my grief was only for myself.

Two days pa.s.sed, filled with anguish, when a quiet peace settled in my chest and I realized that he never really left my inner being. In me he lived on.

Following weeks and months brought dreams of Norm, some of which were given the quality of messages rather than mere conjurings of my own mind. Thoughts never before conceived in my conscious mind appeared in my dreams concerning after life; also within my dreams were those subjects about which Norm had dreamed. It was as if he was living through me; in my actions, I saw through his eyes.

Many people think of death as the worst occurrence which they shall have to bear, especially when their lives have been relatively without pain. Death is no menace to me in itself; the unpleasantness of ill health or the grief of losing a loved one is that which, for me, evokes the wary antic.i.p.ation a.s.sociated with death.

Given the basis of Christianity, it seems amazing to me that some of its followers so desperately fight death. They believe in a life everlasting, where in heaven they shall reside, cleansed of sin, forever with G.o.d. Yet despite this promising array of unearthly splendor, they seek to prolong life with vigor rather than celebrate their nearing death. If indeed, they are so certain of heavenly bliss, there should be no need for fear and death should be more valued than life.

I do not truly consider myself to be of one established faith for I detest labels, as it immediately implies their inherent limitations.

Moreover, my religion is a very personal thing, not bound to a certain mode of thought; labeling would only provoke attention... some of which is difficult to manage.

I recall several conversations centering on religion in which each of my questions was countered with a quote from the Bible. I soon felt as if I was talking with a programmed robot rather than an intelligent, capable human being. They all seemed bereft of opinion. "But what do YOU think?" I'd ask, agitated. "It says in the Bible that..." I knew it was futile to continue. They had been robbed by their own church denomination; it seemed to me a terrible injustice.

I am unable to accept the Bible as the whole truth, for I feel existence and its counterpart cannot so easily be explained. While there are those who profess to believe wholly and completely, I think certain individuals find it easier to accept their religion's creeds as truths to avoid the unanswerable questions brooding deep within their minds. This one problem of life is solved. Perhaps, also, some individuals are fearful of fostering doubt toward G.o.d and salvation, lest they be turned away on judgment day. To these people, thought is sinful; yet I believe one is given an exquisite mind with which to reason and evaluate stimuli; it is a natural function to be inquisitive.

It always bothered me when people would state as a fact that which was only faith. Why was it so necessary for them to nail down as truths those aspects of life which had no answers? Despite my thirst for knowledge, I reveled in the endless possibilities, knowing that I did not even touch the vastness of Being, and even less the essence of nonexistence. Since either belief or disbelief toward a given thought could be one day proven entirely wrong, I found no malignancy in uncertainty.

I do not feel that living a "good life" should call for a reward in after life; an indestructive and morally objective existence should be a reward in itself and should not need the impetus of a reward to live righteously, for that implies one would live in a lesser degree of goodliness if he was certain no reward would come in a later form of being.

The thought of reincarnation into another earthly being after one's death is, for me, an unpleasant thought. I look upon each being as an individual which is part of an ultimate whole, and in that belief, reincarnation has no part. The only indication which could be attributed to reincarnation are those instances when a person speaks in a foreign tongue and laments an historic occurrence; the spirit of another speaking through a living person. To a lesser degree, there is the inexplicable, yet common feeling of de ja vu. If a person has never been in a place before, how could he feel that he has seen it in another point in time? As mysterious as these happenings are, I would rather think of them as earthly contacts made by uneasy or tormented spirits, rather than any sign of reincarnation. Then I would hope that there is nothing but rest after death, although the reality of this wish certainly is not augmented by tales told of those who have, so to speak, departed and then have later been revived. I would be quite annoyed if, after lapsing into a serene dreamland, I wake, only to find myself deposited on earth in the form of an infant, destined to bridge the tide of humanity once again...

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Chapter 39 Reminiscence