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Here areTom's answers to a recent set of questions submitted to him
by members of the AFTRLife Discussion List. (Click on "Discussion"
in the menu to the right to find out more about the list.) Updated January
19, 2003.
Q: I wonder what you think about prayer. I like the
concept of prayer as presented in Octavia Butler's "Parable of
the Sower," prayer not as petition, but a vehicle to help shape
our reality. Do you pray, Tom, and if so how?
-- Amy
A: I pray every night without fail -- although not
to any of the usual suspects. The God at which I direct my prayers is
unnameable, unknowable and indefinable; it (never he or she) is the
Which of Which there is no Whicher, and to even call it "God"
is a matter of highly over-simplified shorthand. In any case, I've received
enough feedback over the years to be reasonably convinced that my prayers
are "heard." Prayer is a pretty good way of acknowledging
on a regular basis the existence of a higher dimension in the universe,
a level of reality far beyond our mundane preoccupations. It's
a convenient, low-key way to interface with the Mystery (as opposed
to the more time-consuming practice of meditation, or the more dramatic
-- and effective -- interface provided by psychedelic drugs). I agree
with Octavia Butler that prayer shouldn't be reduced to a litany of
pleas and solicitations. Expressions of gratitude and efforts at connection
are more appropriate. If God had a bumper sticker, it would probably
read: SHINE, DON'T WHINE.
Q: What has happened to America's sense of adventure?
-- Josie
A: Television. Americans who spend a lot of time staring
at TV screens are soon drained of those qualities that inspire and foster
a sense of adventure. Entertainment and consumerism are pathetically
wimpy substitutes for the rewards and romance of risk.
Q: When Gogol wrote "Dead Souls" he called
it a poem. When I read anything by you, Mr. Robbins, I consider it poetry.
I was in a conversation with a bigtime national book critics award poet
awhile back and he likened the state of poets in America to that of
the Indians -- mythologized and all that, but relegated to the reservations
called Academia -- pushed and shoved into little pockets without any
ability to reach any audience outside of themselves and a few transient
students every semester. I have lots of thoughts on this but . . . Do
you have any thoughts on the state of poetry today?
-- Jim Harris
A: Poetry has never counted
for much in modern civilization. Maybe that's because poetry, at its
best, is primal, which is to say, neither very modern nor very civilized.
And that, of course, is why we need it so badly. Language has a secondary
function -- to communicate -- and a primary function -- to reveal. Poets
are in the business of revelation, they operate in the psyche, not the
marketplace; in the incandescent imagination, not the domesticated intellect.
So, I'm sincerely flattered that you consider my novels to be big poems.
Thanks.
There's a plethora of pale, juiceless poetry
being produced today, as well as some pretty vile spews, but if you
want to take a thrilling ride on the language wheel, you can read Jim
Harrison's collection, "After Ikkyu," or "The Chicken
Without a Head," in Charles Simic's book, "Return to a Place
Lit by a Glass of Milk." Then, too, there are the song lyrics of
Leonard Cohen.
Q: I have been trying to apply Tom's "Joy, in
spite of everything" attitude and I find it very difficult; I believe
it's a process, a goal. It seems to me that the characters that have
this attitude, it comes naturally, they don't have to work at it. My
question is, do you personally have to
work at it, or is it just an ingrained part of your personality? Have
you ever been disappointed that you chose not to find "Joy, in
spite of everything"?-- Pat Newman
A:Essentially, "joy in spite of everything"
amounts to a kind of defiant attitude, a refusal to be victimized by
events over which one has no control. It reflects the belief that life
is too short to be wasted in the anger or lamentation that easily could
be generated by the era or area in which one, by circumstance, happens
to reside. We must recognize the injustice and suffering that abounds
in the world and do everything we can to alleviate it, yet in the same
instant insist on having one hell of a good time.Some individuals do
seem to possess an innate ability to be simultaneously caring and carefree,
but most of us have to work at it. It's easier for me now than it used
to be, though I still struggle with it, finding myself tested, for example,
every time an evil fruitcake like Mad John Ashcroft opens his nazified
yap.
A clarification from Tom:
In answering a question from Pat Newman,
I said that "joy in spite of everything" was the expression
of a defiant refusal to be victimized by external events. Then I confessed
that for myself that attitude is sometimes tested by the words and deeds
of men such as John Ashcroft.
Now it has occurred to me to point out
that "joy in spite ofeverything" also amounts to a recognition
that all existence is really cosmic theater,and therefore ought never
to be taken too seriously. From thatperspective, John Ashcroft is merely
another actor playing out his role. Sure,Ashcroft wants to turn America
into a Christianized Iran with himself as Ayatollah, but as dangerous
and reprehensible as that is, it's his role, and that rolemay well be
an essential part of the ongoing drama. From the Tao, we learnthat light
and darkness are perpetually revolving, and we cannot have one without
the other. From a cosmic perspective, it's a self-righteous mistake
toalign oneself with the light against the dark, to always think in
terms of"us" against "them". By all means, vigorously
oppose Ashcroft andeverything he stands for, but resist the trap of
becoming attached to that opposition, bearing in
mind that it is also part of the existential drama -- and its ultimate
purpose may be to help keep the "story" interesting.
-- Tom Robbins
(more
in the near future)
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