My Dog Rex Has Lunch

I have a head full of valuable memories that I care for. They must be good for something. Hmmmm. Maybe.

When I was in my teens I was hitch hiking far from my home. I was on the road somewhere in the country and it was dark and raining. There were no street lights, no moon or stars and no breakfast, lunch or dinner. There was a warm spot between my shoulders where my canvas knapsack kept me dry. Out of the dark came a hatchback Volvo at very high speed. I stuck out my thumb and got a ride with a mad man. I got into the car. It was steamy and hot and filled with cigarette smoke. The windshield was covered with mist and the rain was hard and steady. The cab was warm and humid and smelly but it was warm. He took off as soon as I was on the seat driving as fast as the car would go. It was impossible to see the road even when I was standing on it so I knew he had no idea where it was. He wanted to talk to me as he drove and he kept taking his eyes off the mist filled windshield to see the effect his words were having on me.

I felt the strangest combination of relief, terror, and embarrassed politeness. I knew he was going to crash. I was grateful that he had given me a ride. I was glad to be out of the rain. I was starting to smell bad as my clothes and I warmed up. I tried to make insane calculations as to the possibility that I could get somewhere with him before he crashed. On the other hand I had no idea where I was, what road this was, what the next town was or what I would do when I got there. Still I made the calculations based on wishful thinking and discomfort and some insane desire to avoid being impolite by asking to slow down and or let me out.

I would remember that combination of feelings. I had felt it before and I would fell it again but right then and there in the speeding Volvo, the feelings were distinct. I saw each one. At one second the fear would be stronger, then warmth was so soothing, then I was trying to find some way of asking to be let out, then I was trying to see out of the windshield and on and on. Few things are simply monolithic and unitary, there are depths and tangents and it is easy to get lost and die while you try to make sense of it.

We had dogs. Most of the dogs we had were called Rex. One dog, a most remarkable dog and good friend for years was called Dusty, I still miss Dusty but this is not about him yet. This was before Dusty.

In the back yard, against the house was an old discarded refrigerator. Granny kept the dog’s meat in it. The particular dog at the time was something like a German Sheppard. I watched as granny fed Rex during the summer. I was too young to do this. She opened the door of the fridge and took out the meat. It had been in the heat for days it was often maggot filled and ripe. Rex was always hungry and ate it. He was a practical dog and did what he had to. Maybe he liked it that way. Seeing granny feed Rex with that rotting meat and the maggots crawling over it has stayed with me. I asked granny why she didn’t keep the dogs meat in the fridge in the house. I don’t know what she answered.

Years later in the Sinai Desert after one of the wars we came across a pile of dead Arab soldiers. They had been covered with sand but most of it had blown away. There was a foot sticking prominently out of the pile at about chest height with the pant leg flapping and the boot still on. It was so odd. All the other bodies seemed to have become a part of the pile, blending in as it were to avoid attracting attention.

The smell reminded me instantly of feeding time for Rex. I could feel his hunger. The movement of the loose clothing in the pile, I guessed, was the feeding of the maggots. Once again a combination reminiscent of the Volvo car ride rose up. Again came the relief and terror. The embarrassed politeness and desire to escape. The curiosity and desire to be seen as brave and the whole sad mélange that arises when something seemingly far from your reality finally breaks through and screams “HERE I AM! I HAVE BEEN HERE ALL ALONG. NOTICE ME’.

Once in my travels during the rain I found myself in a small town at night. Again cold and wet. Again with a small warm spot in the middle of my back. I was very tired as usual and very hungry as usual. The last place I had tried to find some shelter and rest in was, in what I thought was an empty house. I got lucky and saw shadow of the neighbor and his gun before he saw me. I saw a stairway to a loft in a church yard and climbed it. The small storage space was used for the costumes and things for plays. There were manikins with clothes on them and props of all kinds. I lay down in the isle between the boxes and looked at the figures in the loft by the light of the lightening.

After a while the rats lost their fear of me and began test to see if I was good to eat. They would run along the rafter above me and thump their feet. Then they would drop and to and try to bite. Again the multiplicity of responses and again the search for the way to choose the right thing to do among them. Once again the certainty that no matter what the choice, in the end, it just doesn’t matter. No one cares, in a short time even I won’t care.

Finding a place to take a shit is often very hard. Even harder, is to try and wipe yourself clean after. Avoid barbed wire. You will get infected by the slightest contact with it and getting treatment is often impossible. Infections are very scary. I once walked and hitchhiked half way across a small country with a foot infection from barbed wire. Quite aside from the pain which keeps you alert is the fever from the infected wound. That will mess you up. But the strangest thing is the smell and the flies as the infection gets worse. Feeding time for Rex. Trip in a Volvo. Sanctuary in a church loft.

Try to never pass up a hot shower in cold weather or a cold shower in hot weather.

When you remember, take a breath. Notice it coming in. Watch it go back out. If you can, repeat.

The Calculus of Wisdom

Some of our mental tools only appear to be useful. They are not actually good for anything. Here is an example. I was reading an article in which the author said that a recent talk he had heard was ‘filled with wisdom’. It may be that he was able to discern wisdom. It may be that he was also able to discern that the speaker was able to communicate that wisdom, but how was he able to quantify the volume of wisdom in a talk? For that matter, how was he able to calculate the total holding volume of the talk?

A little further in his article he refers to a statement as being ‘very wise’. So I deduce that wisdom has classes that can be compared. There might be trivial wisdoms and superlative wisdoms. Do they take the same amount of space in a talk?

The question also arose in my mind, if I receive a wisdom while listening to a talk, is the talk less full than it was before? Also if wisdom has volume, I need to be careful to only take the highest quality, low volume wisdom to prevent myself from being over burdened by it.

The author made no mention of the effectiveness of a wisdom. For example if I take a good quality wisdom and place next to, or in contact with a good quality idiocy, what happens? In other words, what is the volume of good of all the wisdoms? Do I need a certain quantity to do something, and is it used up in some way?

These quantitative and qualitative examinations of wisdom don’t yield much in terms of a volume if insight.