Octavio Paz wrote a book called The Labyrinth of Solitude. One of the chapters in that book is a gem about love. I read most of that prize-winner years ago; this past week, that chapter came to mind.

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If we were strong enough as a society, which we are not, we could live in a world without imposed rules. Here in America, we think we are free. We think we can choose, unrestrained. Is this really the case, anymore?

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Though we are allowed to believe as we like, no thanks to the gods of marketing much of what we believe often has no basis in sound fact. And, these beliefs color everything we do.  While this may be the Information Age, how far have we really come?

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In addition, though living things have structure and form, we artificially impose both on our every breath – instead of allowing each its own, to live out place and purpose.

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There are billions of us, and new ones born every day, yet we tend to submit to the alleged importances of the moment with little thought whence they came. We assign each, sometimes even listing them, in a heirarchy. And, then we carry them out. When the sun sets, we assess our having addressed them all by some notion of “success”, and then we sleep – preparing our bodies for the next 24 hour opportunity to do it all again.

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But, then, something really monumental happens. Perhaps some kind of convergence. Something that we could not have predicted, or planned, or even entertained in the realm of our infinite imagination. Something that pulls us toward the light, that lures us with the promise of the revelation of the deepest truths. Something that feels “right.”

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Yet, even when we recognize its power, we pull out all our stencils of belief, the structure we think should be applied, and we search until we find a place to put this occurrence, this event, this happening. And, then we put it – there – so that we can proceed with everything else that is before us. Somehow, we turn away, in some act of preservation.

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Except that, after we have done so, we often feel bereft. We look down, like the fabled Emperor, and see that we are not wearing any clothes.

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We may even feel wistful, as if we had just said “goodbye” to a treasure that had been waiting for us all along. Some may do this consciously, others merely out of habit. But, we all do it. Why?

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Knowing right from wrong, we tell our children, is vital to survival. How we determine what is right and what is wrong depends on our willingness to submit to a template for that survival.

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I could never understand why man allegedly turned away from his creator God. In Sunday School, we learned that all mankind, including women and children, were to be punished eternally for the first man’s having disobeyed God’s orders. The fact that, accordingly, Jesus had to come to earth and submit to the cruelest form of death to pay the price for all this was beyond my realm of comprehension. Why all this pain? Why all the punishment? Every moment was a beautiful affirmation that we were all alive, and able to experience joy and beauty and rapturous amazement and wonder. Wasn’t that enough?

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Apparently, not.

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How I wish, nevertheless, for a world wherein we can accept and trust when something beautiful meets us at our doorstep, unannounced and unexpected. How I need to know that there exists a world wherein I could welcome such an event with open arms, without fear or pain or a second thought, and then to hold on with my every breath.

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Some say believing will make it so. Perhaps, then, now is the time to believe anew.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo 12/19/14

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