Freedom from the Past

Safe at last.

Frodo and company have passed into Rivendell, escaping the pursuing Black Riders.  Rivendell, popularly conceived of as a safe house, is much more correctly viewed as a fortress.  Through a blend of Elf magic and geography, Rivendell is easily defended from outside invaders.  It provides Frodo with an unprecedented level of safety since he set out.  Finally, he can rest his weary feet.

And yet, Frodo is not idle.  The title of this week's chapter is "Many Meetings," and indeed this chapter is full of them.  Frodo is reunited with Gandalf, and he meets Elrond and Arwen as well.  He takes a meal (A feast, really, thrown in honor of his recovery from the wound he took at Weathertop) next to Gloin, one of Bilbo's companions on his own journey, and they speak at length about their histories.  Later, Bilbo himself shows up and he and Frodo have a joyous reunion.

Bilbo tells him he knows of Frodo's journey, though he's not precisely sure what the big deal is: "Fancy that Ring of mine causing such a disturbance!".  Bilbo asks Frodo if he could see the ring again, and Frodo (reluctantly) obliges him.  When he sees it, Bilbo reaches for it and Frodo withdraws it and "He found he was no longer looking at Bilbo; a shadow seemed to have fallen between them, and through it he found himself eyeing a little wrinkled creatures... He felt a desire to strike him.  The music and singing round them seemed to falter and a silence fell."

Perhaps to our surprise (Given how immature Bilbo can be), it is Bilbo who breaks the shadow.  "Bilbo looked quickly at Frodo's face and passed his hand across his eyes.  'I understand now,' he said.  'Put it away!  I am sorry, sorry you have [inherited] this burden: sorry about everything."

The text continues, "Frodo hid the Ring away, and the shadow passed leaving hardly a shred of memory.  The light and music of Rivendell was about him again."

Frodo is in one of the safest places in Middle Earth, and he and his beloved uncle are reunited after years being apart, and yet a distance arises between them.  The Ring causes Frodo to see his beloved uncle as an ugly being whom he wants to harm.  The potential chance of losing the Ring causes Frodo to miss out on the wonders around him.

When is a time we have allowed a shadow to fall between us and those we love, such that we want to strike them?  Such that we begin to miss out on the beauty around us?

When Lindsey and I were breaking up, my desire to keep our relationship in tact caused me to see her as an enemy.  Of course, that's absurd.  If she doesn't want to be in a relationship and I do, then we're almost by default not in a relationship.  But my hurt caused me to see what she was doing as "against" me.  "She is behaving this way because she is mad at me."  In fact, she was breaking up with me because she wanted something I wasn't able to give her.  She needed something I couldn't provide.  It was unfair of me to ask her to stay with me.  Instead of seeing the possibility that, if we split up, we could both find the kind of fulfillment we wanted, I became focused on saving our relationship, not realizing that it was that very thing which was making us unhappy.

We both wanted to enjoy our life.  If our relationship isn't contributing to our happiness, why preserve it?  Well, for so long our relationship had made me happy.  Therefore, losing my relationship with her would mean losing my happiness.  Rationally, we can see there are many sources of happiness. However, my viewpoint was rooted such that keeping my relationship with her felt like the only way to be happy.

However, focusing on a single object (tangible or not) can give one tunnel vision, obscuring the big picture.  Frodo and Bilbo, however temporarily, both desire the Ring for themselves, forgetting that the ultimate goal is its destruction.  The Ring is a means to an end.  The burden of carrying it is peripheral to the Quest.  And yet, as long as it exists, this kind of internal conflict is possible.  The Ring must be destroyed not only to vanquish the Enemy, but also to alleviate tensions within.  Such with Lindsey, ending things would not only vanquish the relationship that was keeping us unhappy, but also open the possibility that the bitter feelings between us might melt away, too.

But our last conversations were so cruel and angry.  I was mad at her for deciding to break up with me, and I think she was resentful that I wasn't as accommodating as she wanted.  Our final conversation, truly, was me blocking her Facebook and phone number.  But that wasn't me destroying the Ring - that was me finding a safe haven.  I finally could move on with my life without her randomly texting me.  But my fury was still there.  When she came up in conversation, it still hurt.  Of course, time pressed on, and I moved on more and more.  Talking about it has become a non-issue.  But I've always wondered: what would happen if I saw her again?

I recently stumbled upon some pictures of Lindsey online.  We still have some mutual friends, and one of them posted some pictures of her.  After the initial shock of seeing her, I let it sink in.  She was with some friends and having fun.  My life has moved on - why not hers?  Would I feel so much better if I saw she was miserable?

Somehow, between then and now, my fury had disappeared.  In a decidedly undramatic way (because I can't pinpoint the day this happened), my anger had left me.  I had gone to Mount Doom, taken the Ring off my neck - the anger which had burdened me for so long - and thrown it into the fires.  And I could, again, see the music and the light of the world around me.  And while I'd been moving forward for quite a while, seeing those pictures made me feel like I had some kind of closure.  I had come (digitally) face to face with her, and was able to acknowledge her existence, privately wish her well, and move on to seek my own happiness.

Why are the Free Peoples working to destroy the Ring?  It is not just to defeat Sauron.  Rather, they hope to have a world without it.  There is more to existence than fighting Sauron. Once he is destroyed, Middle Earth can grow and evolve in ways that are impossible now.  To get to that point, the Ring must be destroyed.  In our lives we all have old burdens that must be cast off before we can build anew.  If we don't, we cannot grow.

We all know people who define themselves only by their past accomplishments (or miseries).  All their life revolves around moments that have already happened.  They do not build new memories.  Instead, they spend all their time glorifying (or hiding) their past.  One can only go so far in building a life like this.  Rather than expanding their life, they merely raise it up (or bury it).  Everything comes from one foundation.  Growth is severely limited.

(I do not, in this moment, mean to target victims of traumatic events.  In fact, part of PTSD is an inability to move forward because of the trauma of the past.  Certainly, situations like that are to be treated with extreme delicacy.  And yet, we must acknowledge the importance of helping one who suffers from PTSD because, until their condition is managed, they cannot effectively build new lives. The PTSD anchors them in the past.  Without belittling the difficulty of the task, we must help them haul their anchor up.)

In Rivendell, Frodo is safe at last.  But safety is not the ultimate goal.  The true goal is to destroy the threat.  Safety from a threat is good.  Freedom from it altogether is better.  Don't work to avoid shadows from falling between you and your friends, veiling the light and music of the world.  Find the sources of those shadows and conquer them. 

Become free at last.

Routine: Boring or stabilizing?

This week's chapter is called "Flight to the Ford."  Frodo has been stabbed by the Black Riders, and though he has survived, the wound seems to have more than physical effects.  The wound seems to heal, and still Frodo is very weak and must be borne on one of the company's ponies.  Strider, at some point, declares that there must be some curse or poison at work.  He says he cannot cure it, and that they must get to Rivendell.  The Ford to which the chapter title refers is the Ford of Bruinen, which marks the border of Rivendell.

As the company goes eastward, Frodo's health fluctuates, sometimes lucid, other times hoping for nightfall because the light of day is too much to bear.  During one of his upswings, Frodo hears Strider talk at length about Elves and Rivendell.  He speaks up:

'Have you often been to Rivendell?' said Frodo.

'I have,' said Strider.  I dwelt there once, and still I return when I may.

There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace.'

But it is not my fate to sit in peace.  What does this mean?  What does it mean to "sit in peace," anyway?

Building something gives one a great feeling.  Having nothing, and then having something.  Or having the parts, and then having the whole.  These are the things that drive us.  The goal to take the world and improve upon it.  To make where there was naught.

Alternatively, destruction can also give the same rush.  Vandalism and graffiti must give the culprit some level of satisfaction, or else they wouldn't do it.  That satisfaction doesn't excuse the crime, but nor does the fact it is a crime negate the positive feelings one felt when engaged in the activities.  But destruction can also be positive.  Destroying an unjust system, taking apart a machine to see how it works, or even just burning mementos of an old relationship.  The world has no need for such things - we're making room for something new.

Creating and destroying are seen as opposites, but they both allow for people to be an agent of change.  "The world will be different, for better or worse, because I was here."  I will have a lasting effect.  I will make a difference.

But you know what doesn't feel good?  Something that nobody likes?  Maintaining.  Maintaining something, without improving or harming it, is difficult.  It isn't difficult physically (because maintaining something is at least as difficult as improving it, and sometimes destroying something would take more work, too).  It is emotionally difficult.  There is no joy from seeing the same thing work over and over again.  Eventually, it becomes dull.  Not because of the actual thing, but just by virtue of it becoming a routine.

Relationships are the easiest example.  Whenever anyone wants to "spice up" or "breathe new life into" their relationship, that is a sign the relationship has become routine.  Not bad, but profoundly unsatisfying.  Why?  Let's say you were single, and you wanted someone to spend the night with.  You find that, but then that becomes routine.  You want something more - someone to go on dates with.  You find that, but then that becomes routine.  You want something more - someone to share a life with.  You find that, but then that becomes routine.  You want something more - to create a new life.  Etc etc.  At all points, having received what we wanted, we desired more.

Thus is "sitting in peace" revealed to us.  When one sits in peace, one enjoys what one has, but without affecting change upon it.  How can we enjoy something without needing to change it?

It is not Strider's fate to sit in peace, but nor is it any of ours.  Nor would we want to.  We read new books, go new places, eat new foods, take new jobs.  Culturally, new experiences are always a positive.  We understand there is more to the world than what we know.  What we know is food, but it can become wholly boring.  It is difficult to "sit in peace."

This is why, when 50 Shades of Grey came out, so many outside the kink community were drawn to the book.  It was exciting and new.  But to those within the kink community, it was a boring and tame version of what they do.  That's because, to them, what is shown in the book is routine.  But, to someone who's never experienced it before, it was tempting and thrilling.

I recently ran into a friend of mine from high school in the city.  She builds AI.  I remarked that sounded cool, and that I wished I did something like that.  Her boyfriend responded, "But you direct a whole after school program - I don't direct anything!"  To me, directing an after-school program has become part of my routine.  It isn't exciting.  Similarly, to her, building AI is just part of her job.  Routine.

It would be easy to draw from this chapter a that we should just appreciate what we have.  But I don't think that's useful to say.  After all, routine is boring.  Routine can make you see an old, good thing, but only notice how old it is.  The desire to break from routine can cause us to break the old, good thing, in return for a new and exciting thing.  But new and exciting doesn't always mean "good."  And once the good thing is broken, it is gone.  But simply being told to appreciate what we have suppresses the nature in us that wants to be an agent of change in the world.  We can't change our nature.

So how can we direct this emotional need to affect change, even when nothing needs changing?

I'm not sure.  I have an answer that sort of work for me, but I won't propose it will automatically work for you, because I'm not even sure it works for me.  Almost paradoxically, the way we affect change can, in fact, become routine.  We must always be on our guard that, when something becomes unsatisfying, we must take action to change it, lest our nature rise within us and cause us to do something regretful just to break the bonds of routine.

Here's my solution:  Set goals.  Set small goals.  Set goals that are beyond what you've achieved, but are almost definitely achievable.  Set goals you have not achieved because you have not tried - not because you have tried and failed.  And then do them.  The experience of trying something new might brighten your outlook on the world.  And, when you return, you might appreciate the routine and structure of your life that you had despised, focusing on how good it is, rather than how old it is.

But do not break your routine in a way that you wreck all the things about it.  For example, for the past few weeks I have been fighting a deep desire in me to buy a trailer and live as simply as I can.  Such a move on my part would have enormous consequences.  I don't want all of those.  But that need tells me I'm bored with living comfortably in a nice house.  Now, that's one hell of a First World Problem - but it is still a problem.  If I don't address it, I may not feel fulfilled as a person.  So what do I do?

Every the weekend I do my best to get out of the house and wander the city.  Yesterday I walked to the marina.  I ate food from places I'd never eaten before.  I bought a stranger a cup of coffee.  I had a Salvadorean dish called a Pupusa.  I happened to run into an old friend from high school.  And then, at the end of the day, I came back to my comfortable house, and was more thankful for it.

There is a large hill I can see from the corner of the street I live on.  Today, after I post this, I am going to go to find a way to the top.

We all feel bored with life sometimes.  It is not our fate to sit in peace.  We must seek the new and the exciting.  We all want adventure and joy.  But that doesn't mean we need to wreck our routine.  After all, let's not forget the rest of this week's quote:

"I dwelt there once, and still I return when I may.  There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace."

See your routine, rather than a jail that traps you, as a place that comforts you.  Go out of it, get out of your comfort zone, but don't destroy it as you leave.  You dwelt there once, and your heart is there.  Return to it as you are able.  Bring your new experiences into it.  But it is not your fate to sit in peace.  Peace is like salt, and must be seasoned among the excitement and danger and joy and sorrow of life to be appreciated.  Otherwise, peace will be like a mundane prison that grips you, rather than an embracing sanctuary that welcomes you.

Humanizing the 'other'

There's a quote from later in our tale that goes something like this.  Pippin brings up to Gandalf whether, due to all of his power, he is dangerous.  Gandalf replies, "Dangerous?  Surely not to all.  But certainly those who I oppose would call me that."  I've always liked that quote.  It is difficult to say whether someone is kind or cruel without taking context into account.  I can be - and try to be - both.  Nice to those I know who are my friends, and fierce when that, too, is necessary.  I have difficulty respecting people who can be described as "Wouldn't hurt a fly."  There must be times when we need to be able to act harshly.  Kindness is an attribute; it shouldn't be a whole personality. (Which is also why "nice guy" is a meaningless phrase.  But if you want to know more about that just click the previous link)

In this chapter, "A Knife in the Dark," Strider leads Frodo and company through the wild towards Rivendell, their current destination.  Along the way we hear stories and begin to understand the deeper complexities of Middle Earth (and Strider).  The company comes to rest at Weathertop, a high hill that has served as a watch tower in the past.  They get a lay of the land from it, and then decide to camp there.  They also find some firewood nicely piled.  But Black Riders are spotted.  Sam tells Strider they should leave.  Strider says, "There is still hope," he said, "You are not alone.  Let us take this wood that is set ready for the fire as a sign.  There is little shelter or defense here, but fire shall serve for both.  Sauron can put fire to his evil uses, as he can all things, but these Riders do not love it, and fear those who wield it."

"Sauron can put fire to his evil uses, as he can all things."  There is nothing inherently evil about fire, nor even destructive.  A fire can be used as both a shelter [from cold] and a means of defense.  In our time, coal and wood burning are a way to make energy, which can be used for all sorts of things.  But fire can also be used for evil, such as arson.  It's a tool - there is no morality attached to its existence.

Gandalf's quote from above deepens this idea - applying it to people, not things.  In battle, the Free Peoples are just as fierce as Sauron's armies.  We can call the Free People's 'determined' and 'brave' and 'clever,' and the hosts of Sauron 'stubborn' and 'reckless' and 'manipulative,' but the latter words denote a morality.  To Sauron, the Free Peoples are stubborn in fighting him, reckless in sending Frodo with the Ring into Mordor, and manipulative by pretending the Ring is elsewhere (as Aragorn will in Return of the King).  Gandalf and Sauron are both dangerous to their foes.  But we tend to see Gandalf as being dangerous when he needs to be, and Sauron as just being dangerous.  The text, with the exception of a few quotes from wise characters, also reinforces this.  Sauron exists only to bring harm to the world - Gandalf can also do fireworks.

Thus we come to the application to our world.  We know our community, our city, our country very well.   We are aware there are layers.  But "other" nations do not earn this sort of discerning view.  Here I don't even mean just enemy nations, though certainly there is that.  For example, we may believe Al Qaeda exists only to destroy the West.  More than that, our culture teaches that.  While there may be strength to be earned in building a community around an 'other' that is antithetical to our own, there are obvious moral problems.

More learned folk may realize Al Qaeda must have some constructive goals, even if those goals are not known to us.  Even if those goals might not see constructive to us, they believe they are being constructive.  In college I went to an event sponsored by the Chabad House (A very religious sect of Judaism) which encouraged students to marry Jewish women or else Judaism will cease to exist.  But as upset as I was by that idea, they thought they were doing the right thing.  They thought their ideas were constructive.

But even outside of our enemies, we do this.  We can know the faults of our society and we may in fact despair at them.  We see other societies or nations and don't see the same problems, and so we long for them.  In doing so, we similarly gloss over the faults in that society.  We are used to a set of problems and because we don't see that exact set of problems we assume there are no problems.  This is best applied to dating: it is very easy to become focused on the faults of our current partner, and so when we meet someone new without those faults we assume there are no faults.  Of course, we can all realize this is ridiculous.  But even the wiser of us, when we are with someone and meet someone who is not wrong in the same way, there is a moment of "Ah!  If only so and so was like this person!"  We may eventually realize that's a useless thought, but there is always that moment.

Humanizing the 'other' usually refers to the enemy.  We need to see our enemies as human beings.  This is true.  But we also need to see our heroes, as those who seem faultless, as human beings.  Here's a visual:

Evil-----------------------------------Humans-----------------------------------Perfect

If we view someone as evil, we must raise them up in our mind and realize that we are only seeing their "dangerous" side.  They are not this way to their families.  If we view someone as perfect, we must bring them down in our mind (off the pedestal, as it were) and realize this person, by definition, has faults.

I realize, looking at the above spectrum, that I have put 'evil' on one side with 'perfect' being its opposite.  But imperfect does not equal evil, nor does good equal perfect.  But I can't figure out another set of words to use.  Our heroes are perfect and our enemies are evil.  I'm sure there is a whole other post exploring that idea, but for now I'll leave it at this:  Perfect means there is nothing more that needs changing.   If one is evil, therefore, a lot of change is required on their part before one stops being evil.  But usually the burden of change is put upon the evil person.  A lot of change is required on YOUR part before you stops being evil.  Let's flip that.  If we view someone as evil, WE must stop viewing them as that.  A lot of change is required on OUR part so that we don't see them as evil.  Everyone, not just the "good guys," enjoys fireworks.

Age is greater than beauty

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

Timeless, aren't these words?  They convey, if there must be one, the central tenet of these texts.  They does not shed light on the plot.  Their truth runs deeper than that. This is one of the Creative Wizard's core lessons:  Don’t judge superficially.  Age gives validity.

The poem alerts us to this through its lyrics.  It does not say “All that glitters is not gold;” The lesson there is to be wary of deceptions.  As written, it urges us to take a careful look at all we see.  We cannot judge it quickly.

How can you know if a wanderer is not simply lost unless you observe for a while, finding patterns and purpose where originally none were apparent?  How can you say the old does not wither, unless you wait for it to be older, still – just in case time was wanting.

Ashes appear only where fire once was.  “Renewed” & “Crownless again” both imply the future shall mirror the (glorious) past.  Our text will not end with a new era – it will end with an old era that was interrupted being re-established.

In honor of the Gettysburg address’ 150^th anniversary I will keep this post to 272 words (poem included).  These words speak for themselves.  It is a poem of great worth.

Addressing the important - not just reacting to the urgent

"The shadow of the fear of the Black Riders came suddenly over them again.  Ever since they had entered the Forest they had thought chiefly of getting back to the Road; only now when it lay beneath their feet did they remember the danger which pursued them..."

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In this week's chapter, "Fog on the Barrow-Downs," Frodo and company leave Tom's house, get attacked by a Barrow-wight (A kind of wraith which was originally supposed to be related to the Black Riders), get saved by Tom, and then finally return to the Road.  They have spent 3 chapters in the Old Forest, which is half of the time (measured by chapters) they've spent on their whole journey.  So far as the Hobbits are concerned, the Old Forest is as big as a part of their adventure as anything else!  So it is no wonder, as they reach the end of the Old Forest, they believe the hardest part of their journey might be done.  But in fact, they only recall the danger from which they first fled.  As it is said, "From the frying pan and into the fire."

A friend of mine taught me an important distinction.  Lots of things are important, but sometimes some are plainly urgent.  They don't just need careful and focused attention, but they need it now.  In fact, action is needed almost more than attention.  The situation must be resolved.  And if I do nothing, the situation will still be resolved, just without my input, and therefore likely not in a way I'd desire.  If I wish to have an effect, I must act immediately.

When the hobbits were in the Old Forest, the evils it contained became urgent.  The trees and the barrow wights were the danger they were facing.  Even though the inhabitants of the Old Forest have no idea about the Ring, and probably don't really care (Tom Bombadil is actually immune to it - he doesn't turn invisible when he wears it and, when Frodo puts it on and vanishes from the sight of his companions, Tom can still see him as if nothing happened), they are still barriers that must be surmounted.  They cannot be ignored.  Even when the Black Riders are on the minds of the hobbits, they are relegated to a position of potential threat, rather than present.

How many times have we needed to prioritize dangers and goals and hopes and evils.  We cannot deal with them all at once, and we are not always in control of them (indeed, it would not be problem if we had control over it).  Sometimes one takes over our present life and must be dealt with at that moment.  Let's imagine your wedding is falling apart.  This is important.  But then your car breaks down on the road.  That becomes urgent, even if we can all agree it probably isn't as important.  An urgent issue is one that must be addressed (and keep in mind: ignoring an issue is still a way to react to it, even if it is a particularly poor one).

But an urgent issue can cloud our judgment.  The idea of coming home to someone, even someone you aren't in love with, might be look doable after dealing with a broken car.  And indeed it is doable.  Sometimes urgent problems have a way of making important problems seem negligible.  Your car had to be dealt with at that moment.  Your marriage has been falling apart for a while.  No rush to get out.  Dealing with the car was exhausting.  Why address another crisis?

Before the text tells us Frodo and company remembered the true danger they faced, it tells us this: As soon as the hobbits return to the Road and are out of the Forest, Frodo remarks:  "Well, here we are again at last!"  'Again'.  Why again?  They've never been to this part of the Road.  Personally, I'm uncertain as to why they know this is the Road.  Is it common knowledge there is only one Road (which would explain why that word has been capitalized these past few chapters).  What does Frodo mean when he says "again"?

We understand his meaning when we realize he does not mean the Road.  He means the Quest.  He means the danger, the important danger.  Urgent Vs Important can be a helpful dichotomy, but it can also be distracting.  If you only deal with the urgent, you may ignore the important.  And how does something become urgent?  Usually there are signs a problem is coming.  If you deal only with what is urgent, you are never in control.  You are always aiming your hose at the latest blaze, rather than the source of the fire.  You are fighting the tentacle of the octopus closest to you, rather than aiming your sword at its head, thus rendering all tentacles useless.

Read the first paragraph again.  The phrase "shadow of the fear" implies a kind of dread - it is an emotional impact.  They realize this danger, the danger of the Black Riders, is now urgent.  But Frodo has already acknowledged the danger on his own terms.  "Again, we are facing the crux of the problem.  Again, we are facing evils we know nothing about and are nearly powerless against.  Again, we are back to the important problem."

"Well, here we are again at last".  Why at last?  It is not as if they've been here before, as previously shown.  So what at last?  Again, Frodo means the Quest.  Frodo has been yearning for this.  Frodo, we can deduce, has always known the Old Forest has just been a digression.  Frodo, throughout the book, has shown remarkable focus to the Quest - he does not get distracted.  He bravely tells his friends he must leave when he might have remained in Buckland, he presses Gildor for information even though it is clear Gildor does not want to say too much, and then Frodo leaves the safety of Tom Bombadil's house.  Frodo has never lost sight of his goal, and he seems to understand the gravity of it.  Frodo is relieved to be back on course 'at last'.  Frodo is invigorated, not exhausted, at the opportunity to tackle it.

May we be like Frodo, who faces urgent problems with vigor and then, when he can face the important problems, breathes a sigh of relief, not because the urgent problems are no more, but because the important one can finally be addressed.