ClIEnt DRV.Ha.110 - office hours

(Beep. Music fades in)

I learned a lot from you. In case you didn't know. Maybe I wasn't the best at putting it to use, but it's still in my head, waiting, even after all this time. Not that I'm not trying to put it to practice. Failures aside, I genuinely am. And sometimes necessity helps with it.

Because above all, you taught me to be thoughtful. That it was okay to be the way that I am: quiet, contemplative, bookish. In fact, it could be almost like a way of living. Or a style of it. Whatever made me happy. And I needed that, even though I don't think I ever explicitly said as much to you. Maybe you still knew. Maybe you figured it out, but that's not fair thing put onto you. I should have said it, and I'm sorry.

Do you remember what I said about the place I grew up and how it presented me with two equally horrible options for the rest of my life? There was unrestrained materialism and indulgence versus unrestrained submission to norms and plans laid out without any thought or concern for my welfare.

I guess it might have been common sense that there were other things out there I could do or try, but I did not get to experience much of the world outside the nest I was raised in. There was… always something else that needed my attention. And even when I finally left it was hard for me to let go of all I had known. There was some work that needs to be done first. Some steps I needed to take.

To be blunt and so that you can understand, I needed to be convinced that I should before I could figure out how. And the “should” wasn't your responsibility. That all happened before your class. Then came your class, you and your kindness. And the lessons you gave me about thinking that I still treasure and cling to.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I loved dropping by your office hours whenever I could work up the courage. And don't let that go to your head, I wasn't basking in the glow of your presence. However, there really was something comforting about being in the presence of someone who defied the restrictions that I was to I was bound by. Who was also still human. No offense on that last bit. I mean the existence of personal flaws are what they are. And they are something I have in spades. Certainly more than you do.

And I'm making everything so much worse, aren't I?

What I mean to say in all of that is that you aren't responsible or should I say burdened with my welfare. You only drilled the point home simply by being as you are.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

You wanted to pick my brain to see what was there. Because for some unimaginable reason you thought my thoughts would be interesting. And obviously yours interested me. But we never quite worked through that impasse. I know it's late, but can we compromise now, maybe? Maybe enough time has gone by that we can finally move past that stalemate.

Let me ask you something that might reveal a lot about me and my perspective, if you're paying attention. Because I want to ask you about something I remember learning about in my theology class. And who knows why it stuck with me. You always gave me the impression that religious beliefs did not interest you but the related philosophy did and the beliefs were part of that, in some regard. They were simply means to some sort of different but still crucial end, right?

Well, I want… I need us to go on a journey together. We need to get to this other side. Please.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Did you hear the one about the watchmaker? Bad set up. I mean this isn't a joke. This is a teleological argument dressed up as an analogy. It says the universe is comparable to a giant watch created by a maker who made it and intervenes from time to time, but other than that, leaves to our own devices.

Personally, I've always focused on that initial act. That the maker wound the watch and walked away. He supposed to come back. Or he has. Maybe not always. Maybe he thinks he isn't needed. I don't know why he would think that. Maybe he's just hurting.

Do you think the watchmaker should walk away. Ever. Do you think he assumed the watch he carefully constructed no longer needs him? Is that why he's gone? Is he gone? Why would he do that? What could make the craftsman forget about the scope of his work? Or the value of it all? So much so that he just gave it up? That he gave everything up?

(Music fades out. Beep. New music fades in)

I feel like this is a creepy thing to say, but ever since that first dream, I've been in awe of her beauty. Probably because there's aspects of it I could never hope to possess. She could enter a room and draw anyone and everyone in with her warm glow. But we weren't moths, and she wasn't a lamp trying to swallow us all up. She was just… I don't know. She was just her.

In the dream, you came in first. And my heart sank. Because I immediately knew what was happening. You see, these dreams don't feel like normal dreams. In them, I am participant to some outside narrative, pawn at the hands of an unseen but all powerful force, and observer behind what looks like a thin, white veil.

When you came into the room I saw you through the veil, and I was seized by a dread perhaps only you can understand. Panic led me to pause. And if it hadn't, I would have woken myself up. Or I would have tried.

But before I could pull myself together or fight for all the pieces of myself, she came in. And though there was no logical reason for it and I didn't really know who she was, I felt at ease. I felt at ease even looking at her. And my eyes were drawn to her. I couldn't look away.

And while I was focused on her, you must have slipped out of the room. I mean I don't know. I didn't see you leave.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It turned me to face a classmate from my high school days. His mother had died from cancer maybe a month or more before--from what I had heard. I'm not sure. We hadn't stayed in touch.

I tried to talk to him, asking him if he was alright. There was some genuine concern there, but part of it was because I had this almost malicious hope that this dream was about him and not you.

But then he said to me, “Didn't you see what just happened?”

Obviously, I hadn't. I turned around and saw a door behind me. I think you left through that door. Or it made sense to think that.

So I followed you.

(Pause)

That dream was a year ago. When maybe all of this started for you and her. I don't know what the timing was. I probably should have been recording every little detail of all my dreams, but I don't consistently. When I do, it feels like I'm fueling what I still sometimes hope is a delusion.

But back then the dream ended with you collapsing under some weight I couldn't see. And I wanted to run to you, to try to lift you, to at least console you. To do something, but I couldn't. I could only sit back and watch: take in a sight I knew wasn't mine to see.

Not that I should know about any of this. But I do. And the dreams haven't stopped.

(Beep. Music fades in)

Do you know the one about Biblical Abraham? (Pause) Wow I need to be more specific. He did a lot in the Old Testament, but I'm talking about the part where he begged the Lord to spare Sodom and Gomorrah if enough righteousness could be found. And he haggled hard for it. Lowering the bar as much as he could to give them a chance. And I know that in this context “righteousness” is a difficult term, but take whatever version of it you need. The details are irrelevant.

I mean to say that Abraham reminded his Lord of the value of his creation, of pieces within the whole even if the whole wasn't great. Or he tried to, but he did get the Watchmaker's attention. He got Him to take a closer look at His work and to not forget the whole. He got Him to come back.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I thought it would be clever to use a famous watchermaker's name right here. It was meant as a way to get your attention.

But honestly, that doesn't feel right. You aren't them. You are you. And that's the important thing.

(Music fades out. Beep.)