I often run into old friends who also knew UG and ask them what they are doing? We talk for awhile and almost always end up saying we have no idea what we are doing, or what will be our next move. We look around at others and notice that they too seem to have no idea, just that they have a better story line. If you ask, they will come up with something that sounds like a plan or a strategy for getting through the next phase of life, but they really in truth have no real idea.
My old friend Bob, who should know better, often asks me this question of what am I doing. His view of me would probably be that, even when he first met me 30-some years ago, I seemed to be somebody who didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. And even now he might have the same impression!
But I would counter by saying that it's not really 'real' for me to think that I know what's happening, now or in the future. I could fake it if you push me into a corner, but otherwise...
UG once suggested that "...maybe there really is no meaning to life. Why should it have a meaning or a purpose?"
Recently I helped Vee go through a long illness and then her death. I was there with her right to the end. She had a tremendous courage all through those days, and even though her body suffered a lot she somehow didn't sink into depression or terrible fear that her life was ending. But I did see that she held on to a few last ideas and images, particularly of herself continuing in some other form. And she had a great drive to finish her book, working on it up to a few weeks before she died while she could barely stay awake. This drive to continue, to keep going as oneself, is so strong that I don't think it leaves us until the very end of life. Which of us ever really gives up anything gracefully?
Whatever state UG was in allowed him to give up all things, especially himself, even to the point back in 1967 when it all collapsed on him and all was taken away. I remember feeling and thinking all those years I knew him that some kind of death lingered always around him, like either he or you were in danger of ending. And even though I was thrilled to spend time with him, there were times when a feeling would come to me that 'I' was struggling to keep myself together. This feeling was so unnerving and frightening that I would always immediately push myself back into the shape I knew as me, I would talk to myself and speed up the thoughts as my way of recovering. I knew then that I, and anybody I knew, would never voluntarily go further than this point. There was such an immense and strong urge to avoid my ending that I would have done anything at that moment.
So, does all this have a meaning and purpose? What about the years and years of spending time with a man like UG? I have often asked myself and others this question. I don't think I want the answer.
My old friend Bob, who should know better, often asks me this question of what am I doing. His view of me would probably be that, even when he first met me 30-some years ago, I seemed to be somebody who didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. And even now he might have the same impression!
But I would counter by saying that it's not really 'real' for me to think that I know what's happening, now or in the future. I could fake it if you push me into a corner, but otherwise...
UG once suggested that "...maybe there really is no meaning to life. Why should it have a meaning or a purpose?"
Recently I helped Vee go through a long illness and then her death. I was there with her right to the end. She had a tremendous courage all through those days, and even though her body suffered a lot she somehow didn't sink into depression or terrible fear that her life was ending. But I did see that she held on to a few last ideas and images, particularly of herself continuing in some other form. And she had a great drive to finish her book, working on it up to a few weeks before she died while she could barely stay awake. This drive to continue, to keep going as oneself, is so strong that I don't think it leaves us until the very end of life. Which of us ever really gives up anything gracefully?
Whatever state UG was in allowed him to give up all things, especially himself, even to the point back in 1967 when it all collapsed on him and all was taken away. I remember feeling and thinking all those years I knew him that some kind of death lingered always around him, like either he or you were in danger of ending. And even though I was thrilled to spend time with him, there were times when a feeling would come to me that 'I' was struggling to keep myself together. This feeling was so unnerving and frightening that I would always immediately push myself back into the shape I knew as me, I would talk to myself and speed up the thoughts as my way of recovering. I knew then that I, and anybody I knew, would never voluntarily go further than this point. There was such an immense and strong urge to avoid my ending that I would have done anything at that moment.
So, does all this have a meaning and purpose? What about the years and years of spending time with a man like UG? I have often asked myself and others this question. I don't think I want the answer.
