Are you finally old enough to stay in bed on a Sunday reading until noon?

I have had this guilt thing over doing nothing my entire life. It probably comes from my Midwest roots – roots deep into the mindset that if you aren’t working you are worthless. The mindset that whispers “if someone rings the doorbell you had better have a dust rag in your hand when you answer or the neighbors will know you are a slacker.”

But these cultural attitudes don’t come out of nowhere.

There was a reason farm people never stopped working: they never knew what “done” felt like. There was always something more that begged for their time. 

In today’s world of modern appliances, innovation and technology, we do have the luxury to simply kick back for a few hours now and then and not work.

I know I will always “look for work” (as a friend of mine recently said), because I love to experience what my work brings into reality. But I have decided that I can stay in bed on a lazy Sunday morning and read until noon.

Oliver Burkeman addresses this subject in the Guardian this week. He says it better than I just have. Enjoy!

As a young person, I suffered the butt-end of jokes about my skinny legs… and then Tom Robbins wrote the funny but serious book entitled Skinny Legs and All in the 90’s.

(I didn’t care what the book was about – it was just cathartic to see those words in print as they validated that skinny legs could have an “all”- at all!)

Skinny Legs is a wild and sexy book about Cherri, a skinny-legged artist whose red-neck-welder husband transports them in an Airstream to the NY art scene so she could become a famous artist. As the story goes: hubby becomes the better artist while Cherri waits table and belly dances in a deli owned by a Palestinian and a Jew.

It is all a setup up for a deep dive into the treatment of women, world religion and “what is this God-stuff, anyway.”  

Here are a few quotes that show the book is still relevant:

“Early religions were like muddy pools with lots of foliage. Concealed there, the fish of the soul could splash and feed. Eventually, however, religions became aquariums. Then, hatcheries. From farm fingerling to frozen fish stick is a short swim.”

* * *

“While the afterlife concept renders the masses manageable, it renders their masters destructive. A world leader who’s convinced that life is merely a trial for more valuable and authentic afterlife is less hesitant to risk starting a nuclear holocaust. A politician or corporate executive who’s expecting the Rapture to arrive on the next flight from Jerusalem is not going to worry much about polluting oceans or destroying forests. Why should he? Thus, to emphasize the afterlife is to deny life. To concentrate on heaven is to create hell.”

* * *

And something to consider when we think we can’t make a difference:

“We’re making it up.”

Who? What?

“Us. All of us. It. All of it. The world, the universe, life, reality. Especially reality.”

We’re making it up?

“We make it up. We made it up. We shall make it up. We have been making it up. I make it up. You make it up. He, she, it makes it up.” 

All of the above, dear Bittersweet Readers, is my way of leading you to Tom Robbins’ 1974 grad speech… which was featured this week in Stefano Boscutti’s post. You might debate Robbins’ premise… but it is perfect advice for women living the second half of their lives… and for you dude-readers? Consider kicking up some dust. We women love it when you “listen to the looney rhythms of your blood.”

Tom Robbins’ lost commencement address

Stefano Boscutti

Where were you on the evening of June 7, 1974?

Author Tom Robbins was standing at the podium at the Surf and Sands Country Club in Oak Harbor, looking at the expectant faces of a handful of graduates, ready to give his commencement address.

The students were graduating from the Off Campus School, an alternative program for students who had dropped out of regular high school. Press reports of the day called the program hotly controversial. Ideal ground for Tom.

Tom was already well-known. His 1971 novel, “Another Roadside Attraction”, which described the discovery of the mummified body of Jesus Christ at a highway zoo and hot dog stand, was a best seller.

Oak Harbor was no hippy wonderland or literary enclave. It was a conservative community shaped by the naval air station on its doorstep and the Dutch Reformed Church to which many of its original settlers belonged.

Tom cleared his throat, leaned forward and began.

I am often asked whether there is life after death. Certainly, there is.

There is also death after life, and life before death, and death after life. It goes on forever. There’s no stopping it. You will live forever and die forever. In fact, you already have.

As for heaven and hell, they are right here on Earth, and it is up to each of you in which one you choose to reside. To put it simply, heaven is living in your hopes and hell is living in your fears.

One problem with the notion of Heaven and Hell, is that although they are exact opposites, an astonishing number of people seem to be confused about which is which. For example, all over the United States on this very evening, commencement speakers are standing before audiences not greatly unlike yourselves describing hell as if they were talking about heaven.

Their speakers are saying things such as, ‘Graduating seniors, you have reached the golden age of maturity; it is time now to go out into the world and take up the challenge of life, time to face your hallowed responsibility.’

And if that isn’t one hell of a note, it’s certainly one note of hell.

When I hear the word maturity spoken with such solemn awe, I don’t know whether to laugh or get sick.

There circulates a common myth that once one becomes an adult, one suddenly and magically gets it all together. And, if I may use the vernacular, discovers where it’s at. Ha ha. The sad funny truth is adults are nothing but tall children who have forgotten how to play.

When people tell you to grow up, they mean approximately the same thing they mean when they tell you to shut up. By shut up they mean stop talking. By grow up, they mean stop growing.

Because as long as you keep growing, you keep changing, and the person who is changing is unpredictable, impossible to pigeonhole and difficult to control. The growing person is not an easy target for those guys in slick suits who want you to turn over your soul to Christ, your heart to America, your butt to Seattle First National Bank and your armpits to the new extra crispy Right Guard.

No, the growing person is not an ideal consumer, which means, in more realistic terms, he or she is not an easy slave. Worse yet, if he or she continues to grow, grows far enough and long enough, he or she may get too close to the universal mysteries, the nature of which the Navy and the Dutch Reformed Church do not encourage us to ponder. The growing person is an uncomfortable reminder of the greater human potential that each of us might realize if we had the guts.

So, society wants you to grow up to reach a safe, predictable plateau and root there. To muzzle your throb. To lower the volume on the singing in your blood. Capers all cut, sky finally larked, surprises known: SETTLE DOWN – settle like the sand in the bottom of an hourglass, like a coffin six months in the ground. Act your age, which means act their age, and that has, from the moment they stopped growing, always been old. Growing up is a trap.

As for responsibility, I am forced to ask, responsibility to what? To our fellow man? Two weeks ago, the newspapers reported that a federal court had ruled that when a person’s brain stops functioning, that person is legally dead, even though his or her heart may continue to beat. That means that eighty percent of the population of the Earth is legally dead. Must we be responsible to corpses?

No, you have no responsibility except to be yourself to the fullest limit of yourself. And to find out who you are. Or perhaps I should say to remember who you are. Because deep down in the secret velvet of your heart, far beyond your name and address, each of you knows who you really are. And that being who is true cannot help but behave graciously to all other beings – because it is all other beings.

Ah, but we must be responsible, and if we are, then we are rewarded with the white man’s legal equivalent of looting: a steady job, a secure income, easy credit, free access to all the local emporiums and a home of your own to pile the merchandise in. And so what if there is no magic in your life, no wonder, no amazement, no playfulness, no peace of mind, no sense of unity with the universe, no giggling joy, no burning passion, no deep understanding, no overwhelming love? At least your ego has the satisfaction of knowing you are a responsible citizen.

The only advice I have for you tonight is not to actively resist or fight the system, because active protest and resistance merely entangles you in the system. Instead, ignore it, walk away from it.

Turn your backs on it, laugh at it. Don’t be outraged, be outrageous! Never be stupid enough to respect authority unless that authority proves itself respectable.

So be your own authority, lead yourselves. Learn the ways and means of the ancient yogi masters, pied pipers, cloud walkers and medicine me

Get in harmony with nature. Listen to the loony rhythms of your blood. Look for beauty and poetry in everything in life. Let there be no moon that does not know you, no spring that does not lick you with its tongues. Refuse to play it safe, for it is from the wavering edge of risk that the sweetest honey of freedom drips and drips. Live dangerously, live lovingly.

Believe in magic. Nourish your imagination. Use your head, even if it means going out of your mind. Learn, like the lemon and the tomato learned, the laws of the sun.

Become aware, like the jungle became aware, of your own perfume. Remember that life is much too serious to take seriously – so never forget how to play.

Looking at you tonight, I know you are going to do just fine.

Today, Tom lives in La Conner and is almost ninety. Tom’s doing just fine.

The following is Jonathan Field’s May 27th column. It hit me between the eyes because I, also, had started to say to myself: “I just cannot… read about it, watch it, or listen to any of it…”

The wreckage of sanity in the US in the last few years has boggled my mind and heart. I feel angry and helpless. I want to put my head down and hide from it. But I can’t. Nor can you. No. We. Just. Cannot! 

SEETHING AND SOBBING

I. Just. Cannot.

How do we even begin to wrap our heads and hearts around the merciless unfolding of news about the loss of life, the loss of rights, the loss of humanity?

It’s just become one non-stop clusterf*ck.

Another thing that’s very important to me is kindness, and kindness over niceness. The easiest example I can give is that a kind person will tell you, you have spinach in your teeth and a nice person won’t because it’s uncomfortable, right? But the kind person is going to set you up for a much better rest of your day because you’re not running around with spinach in your teeth.”

Sarah Jones Simmer