Coping Saws

I keep telling myself I’m going to die.

But not for the reason or reasons you might think.

I tell myself I’m going to die because its the truth. I dig the truth.

Who has two thumbs and loves the truth? This guy [thumbs pointed at me]. 

I also keep telling myself that I’m going to die to get perspective. Knowing I’m going to die makes the two hour commute a little easier ya know.  Some things truly are small stuff and don’t need sweated (can sweated be past tense?) so letting go of the tension from jerk-offs (massholes they call them in the Bay State) that don’t abide traffic laws, makes good sense. So does the occasional mishap at work, or gaining a few extra pounds, or fight with the wife, or when you get the stink eye from other parents at the soccer game because you are being a little too, ahem, loud on the sideline. All small schtuff in the big scheme o’ things. And nothing sets matters to scale better than imagining your death. You know, how not living -at all- minimizes all the trivial/minor/ho-hum/molehill “problems” of life.  

Which begs the questions…

But wait, does it really beg the question? Maybe it slightly pleads or strongly encourages the question.

I digress, which begs the question: what are the problems that don’t benefit from imagining your death? Don’t sweat the small stuff I got, but for heaven’s sake, can someone tell me the big stuff I do need to sweat? Certainly the it’s all small stuff, while fun for a t-shirt or bumper sticker, is inane at best and dangerous at worst.

I mean to play devil’s advocate a tad: Because the masshole going 88 mph on 195 east while creeping into your lane is taking your life into his me-machine clutching hands while his oblivious-to-you eyes are texting out 

tom brady is the goat bro

Failing to get angry (sweating) about this -the possibility of death via lack of concern from Pat Patriot driving like a masshole -shows a disregard for your own life on a par with suicide. Does it not?

In the parlance of our time, distracted drivers are, kind of a big deal, because they take your life and death into their me-machine clutching hands and distracted eyes. This is certainly not small stuff, right?

Someone tell me which is which. Someone tell me what I should get fired up, angry, irate, upset about because I honestly don’t know anymore. Imagining my death cannot be a sustainable coping mechanism...if it means not caring a hoot about the guy stabbing me in the throat with a chinese throwing star or inserting a civil war era, rusty sabre through my carotid artery...right?

But how to cope with all of this, this, or these, people, and all the nasty, horrible stuff they do, commit, violate? Reminds me of the George Carlin question about exactly how humans have passed chickens in goodness. Consider that chickens don’t torture their own kind, only humans do that. Neato.

Still, George Carlin aside, how to cope?

How. To. Cope?

Small stuff ends where….worrisome stuff begins…?

I know it’s possible. Look at the life of Nelson Mandela for perspective. But I can’t get there when I need to get there. I can’t get there when I give a shit about something. When I feel mistreated or abused I can’t just tell myself that others are mistreated and abused, and sometimes far worse...can I? How would that mechanism work in the ole Kantian categorical imperative?

What if everyone just said “someone has/had it worse” every time some injustice was committed against them?

Seems like a recipe for disaster; seems like the recipe we’ve been following - maybe.

I don’t know man. Maybe I need a new paradigm? A coping paradigm. Current shit isn’t working.

(notice how Clooney pronounced it para-dine)

How To Talk To Your Children About Burning In Hell

Parents must, sometimes, have uncomfortable but necessary conversations with their kids. The birds and the bees come to mind. Often, the death of a family member can lead to a very real conversation about the d word: death. And its very discomforting corollary: burning in hell.

Thankfully, there are many, many resources out there to help you broach this topic with your children.

Youtuber and certain to burn in hell himself, Yves Gilvelvetstein has a series of instructional videos to help parents explain just what eternal damnation will be like. Yves is matter-of-fact, poignant, and even funny when it comes to covering the basics and more nuanced details of residence for the damned. With a following of over 12k and video views over 12 million, Yves has something to help most, if not all, parents.

Author and illustrator Brooke Bubez-Leeb has published a darling 3-book series, How Are You Hell? Nice To Meet Ya, aimed for early readers to tweeners that need the down-low on the down under (no offense Australia). Amazing illustrations of tortured souls in excruciating anguish alongside delightful, didactic prose will help even the most stunned children understand what hell has to offer. Parents rave about this series and many have commented that they feel very comfortable just giving these books to their offspring, knowing that the underworld won’t seem overwhelming.

Developmental psychologist Erlik Teufel has teamed up with theologian Luci Mephisto to offer a for credit online course entitled Hell: Everything We Need To Know. With videotaped lectures and weekly quizzes, parents can rest easy knowing that not only will they be prepped for explaining all aspects of hell to their children, they will also be earning college credit. And it is a complete boon knowing that it can all be done in just 5 weeks, asynchronously, from the living room sofa after the kids have gone to bed.

Last but certainly not least, there is Hell for Dummies from your local library.

“What’s an illusion Dad?”

Mom decided she wanted to go for a picnic. She rounded us up and told dad to go to the market to get some lunch meat. We drove out to North park. Mom unloaded the picnic basket as we waited at the table.

“Joseph!”

Whenever my mom called dad Joseph instead of Joe or Joey we knew the shit was about to hit the fan. We grew tense.
“Joseph,” she said again as she opened she paper surrounding the lunch meat. “What the hell kind of lunch meat did you get.”

We looked at each other as mom glared at dad then we looked back at dad.

“This lunch meat is all brown!”

Another glare-down and we didn’t dare move; watching mom stink-eye dad as he eyed us.

“Babe, you still got your sunglasses on.”

This story was told to me at a luncheon following a funeral for my wife’s grandmother. She was 98 years young. It was the best, most profound part over the two days of calling hours and a catholic funeral.

You see at this catholic funeral the priest used great grammy’s death to parlay her devout catholicism as more reason to follow jesus, believe in jesus, live a life in and through jesus, so you (we) can be reunited with jesus upon our death.

Mmm, hmm. They call it proselytising.

You probably think nothing of this.

But as I struggle, excruciatingly, with the baptism of my children, I can’t help but think of something else the priest mentioned at the funeral.

I picked up on it while no one else did because I studied Leibniz.

“god knew what Helen was going to do from the moment she was born.”

Actually father, god knew what Helen was going to do from the moment of creation, not just her creation.

Please see Leibniz and the Principle of Pre-Established Harmony. From the moment of creation god knew what every monad would do. Every. Monad. For eternity.

Mmm, hmm. We call it foreknowledge. No biggie right. But if I told you I was god and I knew what you were going to do would you feel like you had a choice?

What the hell does all this have to do with suffering the thought of baptism?

Baptism happens early so that there is not so much time to think, to ask certain, cutting questions about just how things work.

I seem to notice this much more than all my catholic in-laws but the words just seem to mindlessly flow by them at the xmass masses and baptisms and weddings and I don’t think it is because I’m the atheist in the room; I think it is because they have been hearing it from day one. It would be like questioning the alphabet.

Mmm, hmm. We call it indoctrination. And if you don’t start early the effects may not hold.

And I worry about how this will play out for my children. I want them to fearless to question and voracious for truth.

“How, what if I...but why not just...to whom, for whom…?

Can they get that after, well, you know....psst!... indoctrination?

Indoctrination is clothed in ritual. And ritual is the illusion of permanence.

“What’s an illusion Dad?”

“Christianity.”

Yeah maybe I’m full of shit but I do know this, not much of Helen’s humanity was mentioned at that funeral. Not much at all.

I liked Helen. She was always nice to me and we both liked to do crosswords and baseball. I don’t think that had anything to do with the rosary or jesus.

“You still got your sunglasses on.”

Take em off and see the light.