Mr. Jones and Me, we’re gonna be big stars
by Stan Faryna
I have struggled to find and share beauty through this blog. And I have failed. Often and persistently. A hundred or so failures for each paltry success. On the other hand, the traffic is fine – I remember when I also bemoaned having less than 10,000 readers in a month.
This is not a tragedy.
This is a joke. [grin]
But I am not joking! My effort and lack of success is the joke. Blogging is a comedy – sooner or later.
Laugh with me.
This is a ridiculous adventure. Absurd. Don Quixote is less foolhardy and he is lesser the fool. But I can not help myself. Perhaps, you find yourself in a similar predicament – unable to stop some foolishness or other. And if, perchance, you did or do…
Smile with me.
My failure as a blogger reminds me also of my failure as a novelist.
Laugh with me. Please.
My conceits are as boundless as my ambitions. And, perhaps, yours too. If so, laughter shall be our greatest solace.
Which brings me to Milan Kundera – a handsome man in a brutal manner. His face is fit for a Federal period scultpture.
The Czech author of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera, explains in his The Art of the Novel, that what defines a novel most of all is that it asks important, eternal and urgent questions.
Kundera recommends Don Quixote, a 17th (?) Century novel, written by Miguel de Cervantes. What I remember of the story, it asks, do I belong in a world in which virtues are irrelevant?
My unfinished novel passionately rejects Cervantes’ question. If we are here, then we belong here . Obviously, here is inescapable.
Even at the end of the world! Even in the midst of outrageous fortune, death, desperation, pain, fear and disappointment.
If you’re in hell, keep going.
Winston Churchill said that. Right?
If Mr. Churchill is right, how exactly do we keep going?
The enquiry does not recommend finis humanevitae. Instead, it leads me to further questions. …
They are not original questions, however. But they may resonate in the human heart. And I must admit that it’s very possible that no answer shall fully satisfy our curiosity, desperation and hope.
Who am I?
What can I hope for?
What must I do (not knowing – with any certainty – who I am and what I can hope for)?
Perhaps, writing them for you here – makes you want to click away. But if you ever sat or lay upon the ground with salty tears streaming down your face – don’t go yet.
Because I approach these timeless questions as they present themselves through opportunities and defeats on unwitting adventures of self discovery and our clumsy exploration of the world, others and the sacred. I search for these opportunities and defeats within the context of the human drama with all the passion, confusion, sound and fury of our experience as persons.
So, yes, there are explosions, the crack of an axe on exploding concrete, sex, love, hate, and everything else.
But I remain afraid to finish the work. I postpone yet another failure to connect, share, contribute to a community of servant hearts, and, ultimately, collaborate with others – to make this a better world and a world of we.
I remain afraid to fail yet again. As if I could pick and choose my failures!
Obviously, we do not.
I’m also reminded of some lines from a song by the Counting Crows, Mr. Jones.
Believe in me.
Help me believe in anything.
Cause I want to be someone who believes [that we can make a better world]
Yeah – keep going.
12 March 2013