When We Are Most Alive

It's funny how much we take for granted, how much we assume. More and more often I am confronted by the hard, stoic fact that I know that I know very little. I mean I know that, but there are times when it goes much deeper than a casual nod of agreement, an acquiescence of the mind or even a conscious mental assertion. There are times when knowing I don't know reaches through my heart and grabs my soul. I find it strange that at those times I know I am alive.

When I was younger I worked at the Press-Enterprise in Riverside, California. That was the best place I ever worked because management recognized and acted upon the knowledge that their people were their future. That sounds good, but most of us know most business folks consider labor their biggest liability in more ways than one. If those who hold the reins of power and wealth understood their future and the future of their children's children resides in the very people they take for granted we would not have the wide spread unemployment we have today. What actor or sports star would make millions without the faceless masses? At that time at least, the Press-Enterprise knew where their future was.

I was downstairs where the massive rolls of paper were kept when there was a power outage and everything went black. That was my very first encounter with not being able to see my hand in front of my face. At the same time I could hear absolutely nothing. It was an area I was unfamiliar with so I knew I had to remain still least I step off the walk way. I wonder if we are most alive the instant before we die.

All my senses were heightened yet I could not see anything or hear anything except my breathing. I had no sense of direction because I was in an unfamiliar work area, but there was no fear in my absolute helplessness. Maybe if the low hum of the powerful machines had not started a few minutes later I would have become terrified, but for those few minutes I was more interested in exploring what it was like to be all alone, unable to see or hear anything, unable to feel anything because I dared not move.

I waited for the power to be restored. The source of my being alive was in my expectancy. My confidence came from what I expected to happen. Because the time between when the power went off and when it was restored was only a few minutes my hope in what I expected carried me through.

So what do we really know when the time between what we expect and what actually happens is extended? What do we do if the power, our resources, our strength, our health, is not restored? One day we all experience this for those we care about and eventually for ourselves. We will discover we really don't know much at all. Where or in whom will our expectancy, our hope lie?

Those who control the power and wealth in our country, in our world, are a surprisingly small group of people. They can restore the power, but won't until their own goals are met. I wonder what they will do in that moment when they too are most alive?