I absolutely, categorically, and
without exception reject reality. Well,
perhaps there are a few exceptions but for the most part I do, in fact, reject
reality most of the time. Here are some
exceptions to my reality rejection rule.
The earth is round. That appears
to be an irrefutable reality that I do not reject. We’ve seen the pictures from satellites and
space shuttles. And apparently some guy
named Eratosthenes sometime between 276 and 194 Before the Common Era figured
out that the earth was round by measuring the way the light fell straight down
a well in one city but at an angle in another city and somehow came up with the
notion that the earth was round. So I
get it that the shape of the earth is real and I accept that. I also accept gravity not necessarily because
some guy named Isaac Newton said that it exists but because when I release my
hold on a book it falls to the floor. So
gravity is another reality I accept. For
the most part though, I do reject a lot of reality. Well not a lot necessarily but some. I reject some of reality.
Because of
this rejection of reality it might be said that I live in a state of
denial. Denial is an ego defense
mechanism. I utilize denial to help me
get through the day. There are a lot of
other defense mechanisms: Displacement
helps me slam a door when I’m angry instead of hitting someone. Intellectualization allows me to focus on the
mechanics of a funeral instead of feeling grief. When I use the defense mechanism of
projection I am able to tell someone else that they are stupid instead of
feeling stupid myself. I use
rationalization when I tell myself its okay to eat that donut because I only
had coffee for breakfast. The defense
mechanism of regression tells me its okay to throw a temper tantrum when I
don’t get my own way. I can use
repression to forget traumatic memories.
I can use suppression to accomplish the same thing.
So you see,
I have a lot of tools to help me reject reality or at least the one reality I
have to reject.
I’m not the
only person who rejects that reality.
You do, too. All of you. Each and every person here spends a whole lot
of time and energy avoiding the reality of our lives because if we didn’t
reject that reality we’d have a really difficult time getting through the day.
I’m not
talking about the reality of paying bills or studying for tests or staying on
diets or getting regular exercise or meeting work related deadlines though we
certainly do our share of avoiding those realities on occasion.
I’m talking
about a much bigger reality and most of us most of the time use whatever
defense mechanisms we can come up with to pretend that that particular reality
doesn’t exist. The reality we spend so
much time avoiding or ignoring is, of course, our own mortality. We are each and every one of us going to
die. We will not survive life. We will not make it out of this alive.
Knowing
this, how can we possibly make it through the day? Knowing that I will die, how can I even get
out of bed? And so – completely ignoring
this hard, cold ultimate truth – I do get out of bed and I do make it through
the day. So do you.
Death is a
reality almost impossible to contemplate.
And yet this holiday, this Yom Kippur, is devoted to death.
G’mar
Ha’timah tovah. May be final writing be
for good. May I be inscribed in the book
of life. On Rosh HaShannah it is
written. On Yom Kippur it is sealed. Who shall live this year and who shall
die? Who shall live? Me, me, me, me. Who shall die? Surely not me because I’ve already said that
I reject the reality of death. More
specifically I reject the reality that I will one day die so none of those ‘who
shall’ things can possibly apply to me.
Yet here I
am in the middle of this day of death forced if only one time each year to face
the reality I so studiously avoid. Here
I am facing death.
The day has
given me opportunities to drop my guards – my defenses – by asking me to if not
completely fast at least to do the best I can so that as the sun sets there
will be little left of my reality rejections – of my primitive ego
defenses. I will if for no other reason
simply be too tired to not ‘get it’ that one day I will die.
And then to
really drive that point home I will – as the sun sets on my day and
metaphorically on my life – recite the death bed confession that ends Yom
Kippur – Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Ehad. Baruch shame kvod malchuto l’olam vaed.
Adonai hoo haeloheim. Hear Oh Israel. The Lord is our God. The Lord is One. Blessed is God’s Kingdom for ever and
ever. The Eternal Lord is God.
Perhaps
then during that moment before the final gasping blast of the shofar ends this
day of dying I may let in the sobering reality that my days are numbered. And if I can withstand the terror of that
moment I may truly as the gates of heaven close dare to walk away from my
deathbed confession and my long day of dying to a life more urgent and more
real than that lived before this day began.
That is the
purpose of this day of awesome dread. We
begin it proudly wearing our suits of denial like the Emperor and his new
clothes and we end it shrouded in the humble knowing that life is precious and
oh so very short.
The gates
are still open on this day but let’s go ahead and put aside all of the defenses
and denials and rejections that keep us from deciding what we want and must do
with our – in the words of the Mary Oliver poem read last night -- one precious
life knowing with absolute certainty that it will end.
Right
now. Let’s put aside all of that and get
to the work of this practice dying. Once
a year we get to ‘get it’ and then and only on this day walk away from our
death bed confessions to lives hopefully changed for the better.
Today is
our pretend death day. What we do with
it is our choice. What we do with our
precious time after the final shofar blast of this year is also our
choice. We decide our final
inscriptions.
Gmar
hatimah tovah. May my final inscription
be for good. Gmar hatimah tovah. May your final inscription also be for good. This dying day belongs to each of us. So, too, does the choice of how we live our
precious days belongs to each of us.
Gmar
hatimah tovah. May the final inscription
be for good.
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