Poetry & Blindfolds

I generally don’t write about being an atheist, in the same way I don’t write about being left-handed.  Both are fairly engrained in who I am, so writing about them seems a little indulgent.

However, I wanted to at least address the former (the latter will have to wait for another time), as the secular voice in the world is still clearing its throat and could use any sliver of encouragement I could give to it (and those who are searching for it).

One of my final concerns – after well over a decade of dealing with other concerns – about adopting the ‘atheist’ title was: what was I going to be left with?  After I officially dismiss religion, spirituality, theology and all other god-isms, what’s in it for me?  The word on the street is, after all, that atheists believe in nothing, have no basis for good and evil and are generally untrustworthy.  Ultimately, though, any living, breathing adult is aware that things are rarely what they seem.  Columbus discovered America and everyone was happy?  No.  Pat Tillman was killed by the enemies of America?  No.  The Vatican would have had nothing to do with the Nazi Party?  Oh, yes they did.

The most beautiful benefit I have found in my atheism is that, aside from finding I still believe in things, have a good basis in right/wrong and am trustworthy, is that my philosophy makes it impossible to acquire and adopt eternal superiority.  Specifically, there is no person, alive or dead, who I would conclude will suffer for eternity because of their behavior on Earth, while my eternity is self-evidently assured to be posh and full of rainbows, wine and no weight gain.  Further, there is no entity I can draw on to reach the same conclusion. 

With atheism, I am backed into the corner of being a peer.  I cannot be more and I cannot be less. 

Jews, Christians or Muslims will neither triumph over me nor will they suffer because of my philosophy – and I like that.  I cannot be dismissive of the concerns of gays, women or minorities (even if, at my straight-white-male core, I may wish to, upon occasion) without an artificial philosophy – and I like that, too.  Atheism makes intolerance of human beings very difficult, yet makes empathy an effortless experience.

One of the reasons I did cling to Christianity once upon a time was that I simply wanted to be on the winning team.  I wanted all bad people in hell and my family and I in heaven.  The bloodlust to be a “winner” while others are deemed “losers” is a VERY male trait, often sold wholesale to women.  And it is very difficult to shake.  However, shaking it did open the door for me to make the leap of no faith whatsoever.  And what could I conclude?  Not having the ability to “win” or “lose” is a distinctly humbling honor that can be enjoyed thoroughly. 

I try my best.

In order to fully convey my own position here, I have to disclose the following: when I heard the term ‘Ground Zero Mosque’, my first thought was ‘how dare they!’  Quickly on the heels of this notion were feelings of disdain, the indignation of being insulted, not to mention out-and-out pissed off.

Slowly, the facts revealed themselves to me through a series of articles, editorials and, most importantly, NY-based friends.

• It’s not a mosque, it’s a community center (“Park51”).
• It’s not at Ground Zero, nor can it be seen from Ground Zero.
• Park51 is to be built in a building that used to house a Burlington Coat Factory, but which has been abandoned for nearly a decade.
• Other buildings just as close or closer to Ground Zero as Park51 include: a place for off-track betting, McDonald’s, Burger King, Dunkin Donuts, a Vitamin Shoppe, and the famous New York Dolls Gentleman’s Club.
• The fellow behind Park51, Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, is a noted advocate for religious tolerance and has been supported and funded by both the Bush and Obama Administrations to promote religious tolerance in potential “hot spots” all over the world.
• The same fellow was invited to and spoke at the memorial service for Daniel Pearl, the journalist who was executed by Islamic extremists in Pakistan.

Even as the facts came rolling in slowly, a few other ideas re-introduced themselves to me:

• The US is proud of its freedoms, including freedom of religion and expression, two things that are purposefully absent in intolerant and disrespectful countries.
• Osama bin Laden, who, as far as I know, is not investing in Park51, has gone on record numerous times advocating no tolerance of other beliefs, including any attempt at creating societies with co-existing belief systems. 

And, finally, from my fellow satirists, both known and unknown, came a series of joke articles that helped inch the proposition well into perspective.  The texts of these articles are, happily, neatly summed up in their titles:

• “Protest Over Mall to be Built Near Native American Hallowed Ground”
• “Furor Over Church to be Built Near Day-Care Center”
• “Outrage Over Plans to Build Library Next to Sarah Palin”

Taking all of the above in (and the above barely scratches the surface; see links below for more insightful information), there’s no way I could find myself in opposition to Park51.  Sure, I am not a fan of religion or its practices, but I am less a fan of censorship, xenophobia, bigotry and willful ignorance.

I look forward to my next sojourn to NYC when Park51 is complete.  I will no doubt want to go there, do some shopping and play some basketball.  And, kids, this is the most important bit: the terrorists won’t win.

Really good links:

“Taking Bin Laden’s Side” by Nicholas Kristof, New York Times [http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/22/opinion/22kristof.html?src=me&ref=general]

“How FOX Betrayed Petraeus” by Frank Rich, New York Times [http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/22/opinion/22rich.html]

“Three Reasons the Ground Zero Mosque Debate Makes No Sense”, by a writer for Cracked.com [mirror link: http://aznor99.wordpress.com/2010/08/20/three-reasons-the-ground-zero-mosque-debate-makes-no-sense/]

It’s been nearly three weeks since we bought and moved into our house and I find my feelings continue to vacillate between being awed and not being awed.  On one hand, it’s remarkable to be able to walk through the backyard at night (though the “yard” part of “backyard” is extremely wanting at this stage), yet it is another feeling altogether to look up at this vast building, standing in the middle of other vast buildings lined up like cruise ships that never leave port, and wonder what I’m doing with such a thing.

Conversations at work have changed just as violently as my living arrangements.  Gone are the days of casual conversation about weekends and whether the day in which we chat was worth thanking God for; instead, I am inundated with good-natured yet baffling advice about what to do now that I’ve joined the ranks of being a homeowner.  It is like going to a foreign country and being advised to make sure I go to this restaurant in that town and ask for the chef special; by the time the conversation is over, I have forgotten everything except for the “you will want to make you that you…” part.

I keep on trying to lure people over to see the damn thing to gage how far I have to go in improving it.  This weekend, I had my ex-brother-in-law-to-be Keith Lamb over (I was engaged to his sister long ago, but he and I – and she and I – have remained friends) and gave him a tour.  He nodded a couple of times and said, “cool”.  This says to me that there’s a great deal more work to be done.  I want a “wow” or “awesome” or even an enthusiastic “neat.”

My office is wide and spacious and is plonked down in the basement, although it is not dingy or dank.  The carpet is relatively fresh and there is a 3 foot by 6 foot window beyond my computer where I can gaze out onto a limited yet happy slice of sky.  If I am to write a Great American Novel, I can think of no more suitable place than one that is permanently subterranean. 

Thinking of writing has, after a long respite, finally worked its way back into my mind.  Should I direct another sketch show?  Perhaps some improv?   Perhaps a drama or tragedy?   Perhaps I should see about licensing Albee’s “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” or  Aykbourn’s “The Norman Conquests”?  Should I just direct?  Should I just produce and let others direct?  I confess, as I inch a bit older, the idea of producing and letting others get on with the directing and acting is increasingly attractive.  As I have said often, I adore live theater, if it weren’t for those fucking actors.

I can’t really blame actors for being the emotionally needy, painfully damaged egomaniacs that they are.  After all, in the legal profession, law is the common language.  In design, complex mathematical theory is the common language.  In theater, emotion is the common language.  So it’s no wonder there’s so many actors who proclaim their friends are the best friends ever, their significant other is the best significant other ever and their shows are the best shows ever.  They are constantly auditioning.  They are only dangerous when they get the role.  There hasn’t been a show I’ve produced in 17 odd years that hasn’t been infected by a Problem Child, who either feels compelled to fuck around on the set or, worse, fuck someone else in the cast.  Dealing with that once more – and usually getting some blowback from said Problem Child when I try and say, “maybe this isn’t the way you ought to be doing things” – is one of the core reasons I have avoided diving back into the craft.

Still, I am heartened by my little office and like the echoey clickity-click of the computer keyboard as I type.  I just have to figure out which of the bits on the creative buffet to put on the plate first.