I love that quote. Ever since I heard it, it kind of stuck in my head, sloshing around like melted snow. It is true, in its own way – skydivers know that best of all. But it also hints at something more, some deeper meaning. I don’t know whether the author really thought about this being misconstrued as a metaphor for life. But I like to think that he did; he just refused to explore it further, just letting it dangle there, for the world to see.

Oh yes, we think we’re flying. Some higher, some lower, some faster, some slower. Look at us go. Look at us, flapping those arms, going through the motions! Look at those fluffy clouds, man! Ground? What ground? We can see no ground from up here, and anyway, for us, the ground is just some theoretical abstraction that those folks of a philosophical persuasion thought up. Why, they say we’re all going to hit it sooner or later, and it’s “goodbye, flying” from there on.

Other folks say you’ve got to keep light while you’re travelling, ‘cause when you hit that ground, you’re going under! But just keep light and then, well, there’s a chance you’d bounce right back up, all the way to heaven. There’s even folks saying you just hop like a frog, depending on your baggage, and that your purpose in life is to get just the right weight to stop altogether.

As for myself, I know we all are falling. I’m guessing I’m about half way down, give or take a few years. If all goes well, that is, and I don’t hit some Everest. Like an idiot. If I steer free of mountain ranges in general. Who knows, maybe I’ll find me some good old chasm and ride this thing down for all it’s worth. Hey, if I’m really lucky, there might be some zero gravity zone at the end of it.² But I don’t get my hopes up. All I’m aiming for are some nice barrel rolls along the way.

So. Wasn’t that a waste of a good metaphor? *ahem*. Welcome aboard Air Destiny. Fasten your seatbelts and enjoy the ride.

1. This is what Steven Moffat, one of the great screenwriters of our age, tells us in the – quite grand, to be honest – finale of the second series of “Sherlock”, a modern take of Arthur Conan Doyle’s beloved character.
2. That would be what some of you good folks are calling “The Singularity”. Kind of like a Heaven for nerds.

Which is not something I would care to say about the euphemisms in the natural language.

At best, euphemism is metaphor’s retarded cousin. And justifiably so, because a metaphor still leaves some room for the imagination, whereas with an euphemism everyone knows what you intend to say. Semantically, it doesn’t make any difference if you replace ‘hell’ with ‘heck’ each and every time. Rest assured, people will know what you mean. We just do the reverse substitution in our head. You know you’re swearing, we know you’re swearing, so why pussyfooting around that one four-letter word? It may have sounded cute in kindergarten, but you’re an adult now. Either assume your fucking swear words or refrain from swearing at all.

There are only a few valid reasons for employing an euphemism instead of the actual word. The most remarkable is the use of formal or diplomatic language, which is almost as precise as a programming language in nuances and accents. Given that this code was born out of the necessity to communicate a monarch’s wishes to his hated adversary while kneeling within decapitation range, it is no wonder that those glorified messengers tried to convey as little offence as possible. Therefore obscenities and profanity are simply not included in this highly specialized construct. You have to admit though, they would have ensured substantially juicier WikiLeaks disclosures.

Another reason is speaking in front of children. This is still a valid use in my view, because children typically assume and repeat adult behaviour without completely understanding it, which can lead to them being hurt or shunned for no reason. An adult can be reasonably expected to assume responsibility for his utterances – that is, barring exonerating circumstances such as acute Tourette’s syndrome. It is not fair to ask the same of children, especially when they do not discern the true significance and weight that society places on such words.

Other than that? I do not see the point. I’m certainly not advocating swearing like a sailor in polite conversation, but if you feel like swearing either abstain or do it properly. ‘Piddle’ is not currently registered as a swearword. Neither is ‘poppycock’.

Come to think of it, some of the most used swear words of today have begun their career as euphemisms. How sad is that? The aforementioned ‘hell’ is actually an euphemism for ’underground’. In the Norse mythology, Hel is Loki’s daughter, and she’s in charge of – who would have guessed? – Nilfheim, the lowest of all worlds, apparently also populated with evil dead. ‘Cock’ means what you expect, a male mature bird, but it also denominated the firing mechanism on muskets. The expression ‘going around half-cocked’ comes from this latter context, and it actually means having a weapon that is not ready to fire. As for ‘fuck’, the word every prude loves to hate, its original meaning was ‘to thrust’, which explains rather neatly why it was so suitable for describing – euphemistically, of course – the act of sexual intercourse².

In fact, I have recently encountered said word it in quite polite company. It was used in Jack Vance’s 1966 Nebula award winning novella, ‘The Last Castle’³, from which I’d like to quote the full paragraph:

Xanten looked up toward the heavens, kicked at the turf. He drew a deep breath and approached to Glys Meadow-sweet. He noted that she had fucked a flower into her long loose hair.

After a second or two she looked up and searched his face.

“Why are you so angry?”

Xanten slapped his thigh, seated himself beside her.

” ‘Angry’? No. I am out of my mind with frustration. […]”

Jack Vance has a keen interest in language; in fact, languages take centre stage in another one of his masterpieces, ‘The languages of Pao’ where he examines how linguistic relativity could influence a nation’s world view⁴. You can hardly accuse him of bastardising his beloved English language. And, as a lover of language, I’m sure he cringed at every ‘gosh’, ‘geez’ or ‘golly’ that happened to cross his path.

Note the frustration of his hero, Xanten. Perhaps he too had to deal with one euphemism too many.

Note: This post was inspired by the encounter of one ‘heck’ too many in  the SCPJ Study Guide book that I’m supposed to study for my Java certification exam. Who says procrastination can’t be fun?

1. I know, I know, I oversimplified things. I’ll see your union and raise you a reinterpret_cast<>
2. And it also has precisely four letters! How convenient!
3. The linked article is more of an author review, but you’ll get the idea.
4. A topic that is making a come-back nowadays in the field of neurolinguistic programming in applied economics, and consumer behaviour in particular.

Image © Andreas Neumann, used with permission.

Dar sfârșitul lumii fiecăruia nu ne interesează. Dimpotrivă, ne petrecem o bună parte din viață de parcă am fi nemuritori. Ne pierdem timpul în felii, în zile, luni și ani. Amânăm. Așteptăm. Lăsăm pe mai târziu, de parcă acel târziu ne-ar fi garantat prin literă de lege. Sfârșitul nostru nu ne interesează decât cel mult episodic, un subiect nedorit și neinvitat în arena preocupărilor noastre.

De ce atunci această obsesie a sfârșitului lumii? De ce acest voyeurism cataclismic, această fascinație a finalității, reflectată din paginile Bibliei până în superproducțiile holywoodiene cu monștri, alieni, supernove, explozii solare, zombie sau viruși superletali? Anihilarea reciprocă printr-o iarnă nucleară, distrugerea stratului de ozon, inundații catastrofale datorate încălzirii globale – fiecare dintre ele un scenariu escatologic, și în consecință un captatio benevolentiae garantat pentru editorii de știri de pretutindeni. Asteroizi, gripă aviară, furtuni solare. “Fear sells”, spun americanii; frica se vinde, și nu există o frică mai mare decât cea a punctului final, indiferent cât de improbabil ar fi el.

Sau ne e așa de frică de uitare încât ideea că după noi se trage cortina este infinit mai preferabilă unui spectacol perpetuu în care nu putem fi nici măcar spectatori?

“It’s going good, Laur, My child. Not great, mind you, but it cannot be helped for the time being.”

“What can I do for you, Oh God?” I asked.

At this, He laughed even harder. His laugh is contagious, like watching April lambs cavorting in new grass. Maybe that’s why they go on and on about The Lamb of God.

“That’s a funny question to ask, My child”, He said. “Usually people just tell Me what I can do for them.”

“Oh, you’ve been good to me, Oh God, I have no complaints. Or maybe I do, but I’d like to try and fix them myself first, if You don’t mind. And with a little help, of course”.

God’s really full of mirth these days.

“First of all, stop with that «spaketh» nonsense,” He said. “And the capitalization. It’s distracting me, and it is a bit pretentious. I don’t need capitals to remind people of who I am.”

I must admit, he has a point there.

“Of course I do, I am God after all.” She smiled at me. “Now, don’t be flustered. How would you like to work for me? At least for a little while? There’s a prophet position coming up, and I think you might be a really good fit for the role.”

“Prophet, Oh God?”

“Oh yes. It’s no big deal, really. Just tell the world what I’m about to tell you. Get some tablets of stone and a chisel and take this down.”

“How about I post it on the Internet, Oh God?”

“That could work too, I guess. Now write this down.”

“I am.”

“Don’t interrupt now, prophet of mine. Where was I? Oh yes. Paragraph. Don’t write that down, will you?”

Message from God

Hello World! It’s been a while since you last heard from me, and you’ve grown quite a bit in the while. You’re no longer small children who need to be spoon-fed and led by the hand, so I’ll say it to you straight. Pay attention.

1. I am one God. You gave me so many nicknames over the years you tend to forget this small fact. I don’t care if you’re calling me Allah, Yahveh, Lord, Higher Power or Immutable Natural Law. If you all understand this, you’ll be better for it in the long run. Trust me. I am your God.
2. Regardless of the name you chose for me, don’t take my name in vain! And I don’t necessarily mean swearing. I’m talking about killing people in my name, hurting them in my name, hiding your petty ambitions and awful nature behind my name! I’m referring to just a few of you, praise be to me. You think that by killing in my name you get rewards in the afterlife? Rest assured, we’ll have a word about that when you get there.
3. Be decent towards one another. I would have said “be good”, but that may be pushing it a bit. Just be decent, it’s good enough for me. Go ahead and be good if you want to. Just don’t be jerks, that’s what I want to say.
4. I have no beef with religion. If you want to worship me, fine – I like being worshiped. One little request though: don’t assume you know me and my will just because you’re religious. See 1, 2 and 3.
5. I don’t require people to believe in me; I am not Tinkerbell. I will be here regardless. As a matter of fact, atheists that are good, decent people just because that’s how they are and not because of some church-induced fear of everlasting punishment are in for a nice surprise. Don’t tell them I said so though. They won’t believe it anyway.
6. Let it be known that I am not, nor have I ever been, against science and knowledge. By all means, learn about this beautiful universe. I take pride in my work.¹
7. What I speak, everyone can hear. Few choose to listen. Do listen for my voice every once in a while.
8. Which reminds me. To those of you who write down what I say: please remember, you’re only writing down with your mind a memory of an interpretation of a voice that spoke to your soul. Please do not claim it is the absolute truth. You don’t even have words in your languages for some of the things that I say. Maybe someday you will. Readers, beware.²
9. I have many, many, many sons and daughters. You Earthlings are all my family, and I love you just as much as I love all my other creations. I sure hope one day you get to meet each other. Keep investing in NASA, you got a good thing going there.
10. There has to be ten of them, right? Thanks, Moses. Anyway. As long as you get what I’ve said in the previous nine, you’ll do fine. For the rest, do what you will. Take responsibility for your actions. Oh, and “Thou shalt not kill.” I’m still rather privy to that one.

I guess this is it, world. Enjoy your life, don’t spoil it. I will be seeing you all later.

Love,

God

1. “Plus, some of your physics theories really make me laugh”, he said. “Don’t write that down.” “Not even as a footnote?” “Ok, fine.”
2. “Besides, what do you think would happen if I would give you the absolute truth on a platter? That would kinda spoil everything, right? Searching for it is oh so much more fun!”

Aye, it feels good when we say it. When we’re standing there, blood coursing through our veins, high on adrenalin and spite. We won. I won. You lost – the argument, the fight, the competition – you bowed your head and just gave up. You loser. My anger reigned supreme.

It’s only after we cool down that our conscience kicks in. Regrets that come too late, after all that’s been said and all that’s been done. Some of us – the lucky ones – bow their head in shame, their lesson learned, and suffer through the consequences of their anger. Others are not that lucky.

It’s easy, giving in to a sense of righteousness. A post facto justification of all the things we did. “It wasn’t really that bad”, we say. “The other had it coming anyway”, we say. And pieces of our heart wash away – our good, kind heart, the one our mothers saw in us when we were little – and they’re replaced with cold, dead stone. A little bit more callous every day. A little bit more uncaring. So easy, walking down that road. Becoming just a hollow shell, loose pebbles rattling in from time to time.

I only wish my 16 year old self would not despise the man I have become.

No matter what you do afterwards, be it work or leisure, there’s always that sweet taste in your mouth. You can’t fail. You lead a charmed life. Once more for the home team! Properly managed, that feeling could carry you onwards like a wave, reinforced with each new success, rolling over small failures – just flukes, really, this here is my day, sonny. It feels so good it’s addictive, and I bet many a gambler are doing it just for that total glow they get when everything feels just right and, like Mel Gibson in Maverick, you don’t need to look at that last card. You know it’s the ace of spades.

The funny part? We narrowly avoid thousands of disasters daily. The misstep you recovered from and promptly forgot about. The tailgater that hit the brakes just before you did. The revolving door that missed your hand with a fraction of an inch to spare. The freshly infected H1N1 carrier that remembered to put his hand over his mouth when he sneezed next to you. But none of them count, because we notice none of them.

Sometimes I wonder if luck has anything at all to do with it. What if luck is genetic, is something we got from ancestors with a history of being in the right place at the right time for some of the time, and in the wrong place at the right time for the rest of the time? What if that fabled human intuition – of which women are supposed to have loads – is a genetic characteristic reinforced by the natural selection of the luckiest bastards of the bunch?

That might explain why we laugh at the narrow escape. It’s nice to know our luck still holds.

1: acting in accord with divine or moral law : free from guilt or sin

2 a: morally right or justifiable <a righteous decision> b: arising from an outraged sense of justice or morality <righteous indignation>

Tomes have been written about the first interpretation of the word. According to some religions, there are no righteous people in the world; we are all sinners here. Some of us became sinners just by being born. Others are working very hard on it as we speak. It is an interesting topic, and I might come back to it on another occasion.

No, it is rather the second meaning of the word that I would reflect upon in the following lines. It’s the “morally right and justifiable” deed that “arises from an outraged sense of justice or morality”. An outraged sense. Righteous. Right.

And when did outrage ever led to anything even remotely positive? A lynching mob may consider itself righteous in its outrage, no doubt fuelled by a keen sense of justice, or perhaps morality. The only problem is, justice and morality are subjective, relative values. Being an abhorrent human in the name of your outrage is never a good thing, regardless of how righteous you might feel. Because, believe you me, the feeling will pass. And if you have a shred of human decency, you will shoulder your burden of guilt for whatever outrageous deeds you enacted in your righteous rage. Righteous people are bulls before the cape. They’re blind to the consequences.

In Rwanda, 15 years ago, we saw again the rise of the righteous. Neighbours killing neighbours. Friends killing friends. One million people died under the knives of those who imagined that truth, justice and indeed, divine right were on their side. Let us all spare them a thought this day.

And next time you feel that righteous anger bubbling in your throat, take a moment – and consider the consequences.

The door is ajar, moving slightly…  just a trick of the eye, perhaps. Soft pale light frames the opening, pulsating gently in an irregular pattern. The handle is still warm, but cooling fast. I think it will be ice cold by morning.

The empty room beckons me, but I dare not enter. It is your room — it says so right there, on the door. Scrawled hastily with a nail file, one word — your name — and a dire warning. Lasciate ogni speranza…

I steal a glimpse through the slight opening. A wall: whitewashed, neutral, reflecting light in tune with the broken bulb. Upon it, a spider built its nest, and now it’s waiting. Waiting in vain, for there is only I who’s left alive, and I’m not coming in. The spider is staring at me.

Half a vase crawls into view, within it a dozen dried roses. They used to be red. I can see their leaves, almost crumbling, frozen scream around the last evaporating drop. They’re brown now, the colour of old blood. The colour of nails endlessly scratching a brick wall.

I used to know this room. In my mind I can almost see it. The vision is hazy and incomplete though, like the glimmer of distant mirages glimpsed through the midday sun. I open my eyes. The spider mocks me silently. I think it’s already dead — chitinous carapace stuck in its own dusty web, moving gently with the current. Death is ironic nowadays.

There’s an empty room, sanctified in your name.

Who are you?

I cannot remember.

We carry our borders within us. What we know, what we lived so far, the world we see and feel and touch, our friends, our families, our experiences — that is our territory. Sometimes we go out, conquer something new. “I didn’t know I could do that…” “I just found out that…” These are words, formulas, they’re spells that we invoke when we extend our borders.

But sometimes there’s no need to walk through there. We look, we see, and what we cannot see, we can imagine. All the world’s stories are means of introspection, for a good story has within it the magic to transport us within. We walk in the heroes’ shoes, we see through their eyes and feel with their hearts. We shudder at their cruelty, we cry their tears and laugh their joy. We live their lives, if only for a time. And thus we learn. “Would I have done that?” “What would I have done?” This magic helps us scry beyond our borders.

The way we are dictates the way we walk, the way we conquer. Some of us wonder far and wide, amassing lands, never stopping in wonder of what lies beyond the wall. Then there are others that erect huge towers, from which they can see far and wide. They never walk, for they don’t believe it necessary. They can see just fine from up there. These are the most extreme, of course — most of us will do both during a lifetime. Sometimes our friends do walk ahead us, and we follow. Other times not, because we see the pit they fell in, or the lions they encountered. And so we live. And learn.

And then there are the times when life throws us off balance. We’re wondering content within our borders when a tornado drops us into Oz. Everything’s new, everything’s different, and all we ever knew is now long one. In times like these one learns about oneself. To one’s  glory, or perhaps to one’s dismay — for even the cruellest of the tyrants are heroes of their own story, and no one likes to see a villain in the mirror.

Indeed, most of us walk through life without ever having to ask ourselves the hard questions. Look in the eyes of the next stranger you meet — can you see his potential? Can you see yours? Did Hitler imagine the horrors he’ll cause when he was just a corporal in the Austrian army? If a tornado would tear you from your cosy little world and drag you into an Inquisition court, would you side with the cardinal? Or with the witch?

We can only imagine.