Friday, September 22, 2006

Meditations: safety

I used to brush my teeth immediately after disembarking from an airplane. Steering myself towards the bathroom, I'd whip out my toothbrush and remove the grime from my mouth. A clean mouth feels refreshing after the dull ick of travelling too close to other people on a stuffy airplane.

Now I don't even get to carry toothpaste in my bag. In return for foiling a major terrorism plot, we lose the ability to carry the items we need to clean ourselves. Or moisturize ourselves. Or quench our thirst.

Travelling by air has long become a demoralizing, joyless experience. Sitting for hours on a dingy airplane dizzyingly close to inevitably annoying people with disgusting habits like picking at their nails or sucking on their thumbs or smelling bad or snoring or taking the armrest when everyone knows that the poor schlub in the middle seat gets BOTH armrests!

Landing and brushing my teeth was my personal way of putting aside the experience of flying. a small private ritual. Which has been replaced by the empty security line rituals that only strip away our meager travelling dignities. We are left with bare feet and empty laptop cases, scrambling to gather our things (but not toothpaste!).

Really, neither ritual leaves me any safer. Scrubbed teeth don't keep annoying people away, and I don't think removing my shoes will actually prevent a determined someone from blowing up a plane some day. And yet I keep flying.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Know Your Saint Marys: St. Mary the Slave

An early Christian during the Roman era, St. Mary the Slave was tortured for being a Christian. According to catholic.org, she suffered "unspeakable horrors." Although she survived her torture, she is still celebrated as a martyr for her intense suffering. Imagine the perseverence Mary must have had to withstand and even survive torture. Her life was not even her own, and yet she kept living for Christ. An inspiring example.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Meditations: Calamity

It seems to fall from the sky, and you expect it to end as suddenly as it seems to have begun. Oh, but calamity continues, and continues, and continues, until it is a river running through your life through which you must wade. Somehow, I used to imagine tragedy as a flashbulb, a big, bright, sharp moment, but only a moment. And a moment you can live through.

But a river? It is so long, and always rushing, rushing me while at the same time moving interminably slowly. I don't know how to face it down. And perhaps that is the point. To allow calamity to wear us down to something smoother, simpler, with fewer implacable demands. To imagine being smooth sits well with me. After all, our calamities, large and small, continue on in our lives with their rivulets unending. I certainly hope that there is something valuable and meaningful in that.