Happy Birthday

Thus have I heard…

Happy Birthday

“There are two great days in a person's life—the day we are born and the day we discover why.”

-William Barclay

Another birthday is approaching, and because of the times in which we are living, the facts demand something a little more meaningful, purposeful, and constructive. We may be witnessing firsthand either the natural unfoldment or unravelment and collapse of our so-called civilization. I have thus decided to devote the time leading up to my birthday to the same purposes which all times have necessitated due to Man’s personal and collective unknowing. Namely, greater observation, reflection, and concentration, with the endearing hope to become a little less ignorant by so doing. Although in the current climate of present-day events there may be greater inclination to, “Wave you luck as I wish me goodbye.” That may have been in jest, however, this is nonetheless in earnest; “Give me a smile I can keep all the while.”

Therefore, I am writing a birthday essay as my gift to self, being a reminder of things as they have been, things as they should be, and things as they are. Not insofar as particulars are concerned, for so long as I continue to dwell on past failures or future successes, then I simply never arrive anywhere. Living in a state of perpetual mental limbo, residing indefinitely in the proverbial half-mind house. It is not specific achievements or errors, anytime or otherwise, but fundamental verities which are of the greatest importance. And because the ratio and quantity of the former depends entirely on the quality and application of the latter, my reasoning has thus been demonstrated. If I am to merit the right to celebrate this birthday then I must consider the previous year carefully. I must ask myself this question: How well or poorly have I lived those values which underpin the footings of my personal philosophy of life?

The answer is private. Not for any sinister reason, but rather it is only by means of my own honesty with self that I may discover if I have grown as an individual or withered as a person. My grandfather was a prudent man and a man of principle, and responded rather adroitly to dilemma, “To thine own self be true.” It was not until much later in life that I finally understood his message and its meaning. It does not just mean being honest with oneself about what one has done. It also means knowing why one has done what he has done, and further, understanding why he should or should not keep doing what he has done. But most of all, it must include the realization that if he has not applied solutions to inferior conducts, if that is what is necessary, then the truth part of the equation has never come into the picture. And in like fate with all other profound and practical assertions, it ends up a magnificent platitude.

Intent on vanquishing this kind of indifference the plan for this person nearing another birthday is simple. To consider whether I am living life well, or not so, living truly, or at least true enough. To be right is to be humble, gentle, thoughtful, loving, kindly, and compassionate. Thus possessing the right to be right, I can find no valid excuse, reason, or defense, not to be all these things. Or, at least, give a good try at achieving it. If I have not, I will not say that I cannot do. If I am not, I shall not say that I do not know. For I know that if I do, then what I also do is forfeit a placid mind and a happy heart. And if I do forego these personal blessings, which are my natural birthrights, then I must reconsider carefully those things that define who I have become.

If this definition of me is untrue, if it is semantically unsound, if it includes compromise, conceit, or pretense, then it is unacceptable. And a reexamination into and reevaluation of this thing called self is therefore unquestionably necessary. A kind of Selfietymology. This being the study of the origin of self and the way in which its meaning has changed throughout one’s life. If I cannot be sure of, or at least hold a rational idea about where I have come from, where I am going, and why I am here, then how can I be certain of anything much? If I do not know the answer to these things, at least to some degree, then how could I construct either a reasonable attitude or a rational thought? Let alone, build upon a solid foundation of what is actually me by using words or ideas to explain who I think is me?

Be that as it may, “It is better to fail in a cause that will ultimately succeed than to succeed in a cause that will ultimately fail.” Perhaps, I should ask, alas, is this the purpose of my birthday? However, instead I shall say, lo! Is not this the purpose of my birth, in spite of the day!? I have good reason to suppose that it is. But how to confirm such a thing, for if I could, then surely, this must lead to clearer motives, stronger vitalities, and greater inducements. Thus ensouling the natural endeavor to strive fervently toward that which is nearer to Truth and closer to the Real. For it is more important to know that which could be made right, than trying to make right that which should be unknown.

When it comes to the discontinuation of doing what is wrong, it is the same atavistic problem accompanied by the same fashionable story. The Heart says no but the mind makes excuses. The Soul says no but the body justifies itself unanimously. Occasionally, the will might even have a go at it, but the passions can never be conquered by the meek. The better parts of me say, this I should not do, while the lesser parts of me say, do it anyway, it is easier that way. Meanwhile, I am forever stuck between a rock and a hard place.

At times, there is acceptable psychic motivation accompanied by an adequate endowment in spiritual and mental faculties, so this should stimulate ample potential to not continue doing what is bad for me. But this constitutes just enough potency to convince everyone else except myself. For when it comes to I imposing this apostate will upon itself, there is seemingly never quite enough volition or impetus left to do what is necessary. The I thinks, therefore it am. And because it can say “I am,” it immediately extrapolates this according to its profound wisdom. I then assumes that what must naturally follow is, “I am always right.” And the moment I speaks, it knows whatever it said has to be right. This is how I knows that it cannot be done. And so, the mental aberration remains—self-conceit only supports and sustains the delusion.

I simply say, “I do not have to do anything I do not want to do.” And I am quite right. I also do not have to be obnoxious and hubristic, but I insist on that too. Probably not because I want to, but because I have not learned how not to. And anything I cannot do; I make sure that I do it well. When the devil stands on one shoulder with the angel on the other, the personality referees, mediates, umpires, and then judges rightly. Of course, this right judgement is always erring on the side of its own splendid favor. It seems to me the reason my judgments are always right must be due to my supreme intellect. And the reason I cannot do anything about it owes to a marriage of internal pressures and intensities that sustain such ideas, and an abundant supply of crystalized false ideological convictions and values which guard those concepts. All puffed up and nowhere to go. This equation hitherto summarizes most of my impromptu existence.

If folly and ignorance are the problem, it is only natural that experience and wisdom must be the remedy. The combination of the latter two produces a sense of value which ultimately sustains itself. And the endangered principle is always going to be wisdom, as it is simply impossible to avoid experience altogether. Even when I attempt to be nothing, nothing is still trying to do something. Unless wisdom as value reaches a point where principle outweighs compromise, it is the perpetual losing battle. Failing to eliminate gratification of appetites or surrendering to let desires win, however I may look at it. Or I may not look at it, as may turns into dismay, so I choose instead to look the other way.

There is an extent to which the collective experience of the eternal oversoul agrees or disagrees with the selective experiences of the temporal mind. The degree of awareness or accounting of this depends on tendencies and developmental intuition. As my sensitivity to strife increases, my perception of personal insufficiency also increases, unless I make a fetish out of self-martyrdom. The more knowledge and insight regarding causes that I attain, the greater I establish an irresistible consecration to value and immovable determination to actually live it. The more I learn from experience in terms of my mistakes, the stronger my sense of value becomes, and hence, the more powerful the capacity and prospect to act rightly. No longer according to impulse but according to integrity and truth.

In other words, once I have decided to begin living a purposeful life and do it, I find the more days that pass, the less capable I am of living any other way. Each day I become slightly more sufficient. Each day I more ably produce good decisions quickly and accomplish necessary things next. We could argue that this will depend heavily on what my idea of necessity is. But this is a moot question. By the time I catch up to where I ought to already be, I will have outgrown these immature attitudes. No longer will I constantly be getting in my own way; that was due primarily to always wanting my own way. Before, I could not move away from the notion that the most essential thing in life was to do exactly as I please. Later I cannot get close enough to the conviction that I now only please to do that which is right.

All good and well, but where do I begin. I may know what to do, how to do it, and so on, but how do I move from not living well to living better than what I can. The reason this remains an insoluble problem is because it is the wrong question. “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” I simply cannot do it which is precisely why I do not. This is because the I that is me is not real, and so long as it is believed otherwise, it remains a permanent impotency and inconsistency to action. It may be as straightforward as changing the way I speak to myself. Rather than saying, “I need to do washing the dishes,” instead say, “Washing the dishes needs doing.” They do not need to be done by anyone; they just need to be done.

I can affirm until I am blue in the face that I do not like washing dishes, but it is very difficult for me to deny that the job needs doing once I exhaust all manner of kitchen implements. When I have no clean cutlery, glasses, plates, pots, or pans left, I realize that it would be easier to just do those things which are necessary. But instead, I resort to outsmarting myself again. I drive ten miles to buy three days’ worth of fast food and as many disposable knives, forks, and plates as I can. In this way, I manage to avoid cleaning dishes for the next decade, but I must now live off canned corn beef and beans for the next 9 years 362 days. I believe I have achieved something glorious here because I am convinced that obstinacy is the virtue favored most by the gods.

I am right back where I started. Am I to think that which Ned Kelly spoke before he was hanged, “Such is life?” Pete and Repeat, were walking down the street, Pete got run over who was left? Repeat. To relinquish such fates as these I must sincerely remind myself that as another birthday approaches, the notion of putting on the party-hat without further thought, is to live life as a potato. Perhaps it is true, maybe the potato sometimes thinks a little straighter than I. Maybe the potato is blessed after all. For where I cannot stop thinking and make a bad situation worse, the potato cannot begin thinking and therefore must leave a normal situation as it is.

This would present a problem as I thoroughly enjoy the contemplative life. I would mourn terribly for thinking if she disappeared altogether from this one’s mind. But if I am to be better than the humble potato, I must be willing to learn something from the potato. It takes a lot more energy to think than it does not to think, so the potato is either very lazy like me, or extremely cunning. If I am going to do a better job than the potato, whatever energy I use must bear constructive or beneficial results for a greater number of people than only myself. If I am going to think, then it must be purposed towards manifesting a greater positive output than the sum of all expended energies. Unless I learn to master personal cold fusion, the potato is indeed both smarter and more cunning after all.

On this birthday, I do not wish to celebrate being a potato. Instead, I want to recall both the things I have done well and the things I have done ill. From these records arises further superior desires. To work closely with these memories in order to reveal how I could have done better those things I did poorly. And from this, to learn how to constructively apply remedy, and therefore learn how to live well, or at least a little better. Creating less new yet best forgotten memories and honoring more the memories of the past, simply by learning something valuable from them. Then, more so as I pass from one birthday to the next, I shall recall ever more doing only that which is good. Hopefully, reducing the habit or the need to forget so many things.

As humans, we seem to enjoy reminiscing, reproducing, and reliving those moments which have previously occurred in our lives, those things which have made us feel joyful and content. For happiness impresses our psyche almost as much as catastrophe, almost. Thus, we can always rely on old faithful, the birthday. It is personal, it includes everyone both lucky and unlucky enough to be born, and does not discriminate or differentiate between races, creeds, clans, or castes. It could be quite profitable depending on how numerous and wealthy one’s circle of friends happens to be. Or it could be a day dedicated to quietude, reflection, and contemplation of those things which can be done better within and without.

The curious thing about birthdays is that generally we have no memory whatever of our first few, and after the first thirty or forty, one begins to get that haven’t we been here before feeling. The reason I find this humorous is because actually, each human being only ever has one birthday per life, and that is the only one for that life. And, furthermore, when an organism is born, the person that later celebrates that birth did not exist at the time of that birth. In other words, if a person wants to celebrate his true birthday, he should celebrate that day in which the illusion of I-ness became a fundamental part of his early self-hypnosis. In my humble opinion and according to these premises, birthdays would then be not a day worth celebrating anything much. Maybe commiserating, but not celebrating.

There is nothing wrong with enjoying life and celebrating those things most worthy of our attention and appreciation at the appropriate time. But I know that my revelries, merriments, and celebrations are often nothing more than an escape from boredom, misery, trouble, and the like. Nature has never made a law out of difficulty, but I quickly make policies out of such things in order to satisfy my ignorance, and then I throw a party to forget about where the difficulty began. The backyard only gets cleaned up in order to host an event, then when it is over, it remains a mess until the next time.

The only nonreason I ever have for cleaning it up at some later time, is so that I can party again to forget the troubles once more. And so, false patterns keep right on fractalizing interminably. If I kept things clean, not in the sense of puritan but “tabula rasa,” I would then not need to find a way to forget the chaos as the only thing available for remembrance would be order and necessity. Albeit I would first need to do it in order to remember the fact. But as Mark Twain observed, “When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it happened or not….”

I know that it is possible for me to be good. But unfortunately, what is most probable is typically least plausible. And if my good is not so, then continual overindulgence of any good thing will have the regrettable effect of leaving ever less in terms of quality of years, and ever more in terms of quantity of them. Being an old man gifted at intemperance is not a gift leaving much prospect for the next life. Seneca said, “A gift consists not in what is done or given, but in the intention of the giver or doer.” And that is solidly true. But, au contraire, “Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works.” Nonchalance to disillusionment will decide whether I graduate cum laude in the class of entirely misspent bygone years.

As I can recall, by the time I was old enough to fully appreciate the celebration of my birthday, it involved things like friends, general singing and dancing, musical chairs, cake, gifts, and, of course, The Farmer in the Dell. Oh, how time has passed me by, and that I wish I could be thirty-six again. Now, these things are gone, but the game is still pretty good. “Hi-ho the derry-o the cheese stands alone.” I cannot imagine how I shall feel once I reach four score and ten. Mayhap that was a little optimistic and I should say, “If I reach that age.” Or if I were a hard-boiled realist I might say, “God forbid if I should reach that age.”

If I do not find some means whereby I can turn my will around and direct it inward more so than outward, all that has gone before will be in vain. Not only the contents of this essay but all the sufferings of a squandered life. Self-incapacitation and weakness will become the miserable autobiography of a man who was less than a potato, even less than a lonely cheese. And the more birthdays I have, the less I will be able to celebrate them. And they shall in turn become nothing more or less than an unkindly annual reminder of the fact that I am certainly getting older but not growing any wiser.

Should I be celebrating? Have I earned the right to enjoy this illustrious hypothetical occasion? I can find no rationale where anything other than wisdom, as a reason to celebrate a state where ignorance rules by majority, could be considered tenable justification. Thus I shall stick with what I know, which is very little and therefore also very dangerous. I will neither celebrate nor will I not celebrate, that is, in the traditional sense. I will not assign great social importance to being born, nor will I behave as expected during holidays. Rather I shall celebrate by using my faculties to realize value within myself, bolstering my capacity to apply this to everyday living.

Even if the birthday itself was only a commemorative day dedicated to the fact that I exist, how could I enjoy celebrating anything if I have not learned how to exist properly? Eventually, when I realize and can affirm that I exist, I should at least try to make the most out of it. Not by exploiting it but learning to live by living to learn. And loving to grow by growing to love celebrating, not for its own sake, but for the sake of beauty, art, poetry, literature, music, dance, and the sciences, philosophies, and religions of the world. I cannot accept that the mere purpose of celebrating birthdays lies in the recognition of the fact that I exist. Rather I suspect that the purpose of continually reliving the birthday itself is to remember, revitalize, and respect the fact that I am here to learn how to exist well. And the reason for celebrating this is to acknowledge, not that I exist, but why I exist.

Purposeful living can only be realized and vitalized by each individual for himself. If he attains greater understanding, it need not be preserved or protected. Insight protects itself because it can never be less than itself. Wisdom is such that it burgeons through learning by means of its own application. The only requisite condition is to cling to the ceaseless practice. These capacities are naturally bestowed to all of us the moment we are born. I may utter it in this way: To love the Beautiful, serve the Good, and venerate the One. For others may hold different beliefs and speak different languages and put things in their own terms. And this is perfectly proper. But there is not a single person alive today who does not know in his heart what love, beauty, goodness, unity, and truth are and what they really mean to him, thought and speech notwithstanding.

These values lead straight to happiness and security. I may be deservedly happy when celebrating a birthday, or Christmas, or whatever. But this happiness should not be the result of one day’s meaning alone. For if happiness can be truly appreciated and enjoyed on a few special days, it must be possible to maintain it every other day too. To achieve this however, like all other things of special importance in life, it must be earned. Through just motives and right actions I can know with certainty I have only set in motion valid causes. The exercise of understanding and virtue naturally merit their Lawful effects, namely, wellbeing and happiness. As such my various celebrations can be based on the joyful fact that Universal Law is an eternal, immutable, and beneficent friend.

This means that every time we recognize beauty in another, we shall recognize it in ourselves. It means every time we do good, we shall feel good. Every time we realize that unity of purpose exists everywhere around us, we also find it deep within our own inner life. And I think that if a few of us can discover some of these values within and without and put them to good use, then we will be able to sincerely enjoy all future birthdays and appreciate all that is past. And there is no greater gift than the present. Therefore, the moment we achieve this is the same moment bearing the fruits of that which we have sewn—greater wisdom and health, inner peace and security.