Seeing the Model

Gutzon Borglum, the sculptor who created Mount Rushmore, knew that those hundreds of stonemasons and laborers working on the details of the huge faces of four great Presidents carved into South Dakota granite, might miss the whole scope of his plan. So he carved models of the great heads and set them up at the sculpture site, and every day the workers could see the scope of the whole work, and stay interested as they bent over jackhammers and chisels and slow ground cold stone into art.
We work and trudge through our days, working on seemingly trivial details, hammering, chiseling. We occupy our free time dreaming of what we’ll do if we win the lottery, or if some previously unknown wealthy relative leaves us a million dollars. We lose ourselves in immense dreams of glory. And we miss the masterpiece that we’re working on every day; the real life that we began while we were busy dreaming.

Dreams are powerful things. They can motivate. They can inspire. They can be romantic, extravagant, wild, fanciful. But often, too often, they can betray us. They can distract us. They can break our hearts. Dreams they are, but they are not hopes, for hopes are what allow us to endure.

Each day, we climb a mountain of The Same Old Thing. We are bent over our desks, our computer consoles, our hammers and our chisels. But the mountain we climb is the sculpture upon which we work. The granite we carve is being crafted under our hands with every day we live, every hope we summon, every friend whose hand we take, every kindness we share, every little moment of happiness and beauty we carve from our mountains. And when we are done, when we reach the point where, finished or not, the work we are doing comes to its inevitable end, we hope to find that when we finally step back to view the whole scope of our work, we will see that the Great Artist has created a masterpiece…even if some of the gritty details aren’t quite so perfect.

Even if the model was….

Just another bowling ball…

 I was reading beholdthestars blog this evening, and wrote a comment there, and…well, it just started me off, so I will continue it here:

A commonly-used expression in my part of the country (and probably also in yours), in discussions of rights, is “Your rights end at the end of my nose.” I would have more faith in those who use that phrase if they didn’t so often act upon this aphorism as though their rights begin at the end of MY nose.

There’s an old movie that runs every now and then, Sam Elliot in Travis McGee: The Empty Copper Sea. In the midst of the movie, Sam/Travis is sitting at the bar as his voice narrating, says something about how the world is “full of people that are like bowling balls, always looking for someone to knock over.” As he finishes his narrated observation, the bartender gives the waitress a hard time. “Another bowling ball” growls McGee before taking the bartender to task (with suitably gleaming private detective eye). That movie was made in the eighties, the novel it was based on…in (at least) the seventies if not earlier. Apparently there are still a lot of bowling balls in the world.

We each have a great power to do good in the world…and a corresponding power to do great harm, if not great evil. The difference lies within the choices we make, and the obligations we have, and the rights we recognize. And upon never forgetting that we have the power to make those decisions.

Each day we encounter situations in which we can decide to follow the rush of our emotions and say or do something that might be at the least harsh and at the worst, hurtful to those with whom we interact, or to step back and consider a better way to express ourselves, or to act with or upon others. How often do we…do I…jump into our reaction with both big flat feet, and stomp all over the spiritual and psychic health of those with whom we work or live?

In my case, far too often. Oh, I could blame the steroids…with some little truth…but long before I was on immunosuppressants I was a bit…short…with people at times. And all too late, I come to realize it. As I have aged, I’m not sure that I’ve gotten any better about it, but it isn’t through lack of trying.

One thing I have learned through the years is that there’s no such thing as “I can’t help it.” There may be “I can’t control it”, but “I can’t help it” is a no-go. We can always help it; we can always make it better, if only by apologizing sincerely.  And then fulfilling our obligation (thanks, Stars…and Ms. Weil) that our initial callousness has brought upon us.

I guess this is all a part of that “doing unto others”-thing, and all part of that “being part of a community”-thing, that too many of us have forgotten, along with the simple fact that our rights end at the end of our nose, too. Beyond that are our obligations, to be free and to take notice, and care, of others.

Thanks again, Star.