The Faux Pas Press #13: The Source of Gratitude

The Faux Pas Press #13

A Weekly Thought

By Jason Scott Chambers

26 October 2009

The Source of Gratitude

There is a God, and I have to believe that some benevolent intelligence conducts him, and, therefore, is also a force and powerful compass in the sailing of my ship, a ship that contains my little family. You may no longer find me preaching from a pulpit where shining faces of stupidity affirm each word I say with, “Amen.” You won’t have to worry about receiving a Saturday morning visit from me, ruining your morning coffee and what could have been hours of productivity. No, I won’t bore you with talk of farm boy prophets. You will no longer hear my story of conversion, and I will no longer tell you that I feel grateful for a holy book that was really taken from a shoddy piece of 19th-Century fiction. But today I feel grateful and want to say, “Thank You, God.”

I like God, I also like the gods, and I will further assert that I like no God at all. Because in all of it there is a lesson from the God who really controls me. This God is the Truth. The Truth sought through a life of service, artistic expansion, creativity, and the Scientific Method. This God can and will lead me to a life of meaning – how things really are and how things really will be. As you co-create this life and your work, which are one in the same, you will discover what success really means.

Deepak Chopra, the physician and author, defines success as “the outward expansion of happiness and the progressive realization of worthy goals (The Seven Laws of Spiritual Success).” Come at me with doctrine, a crafted impression of some eternal drama, come at me with your broken gods, your broken idols, your American Jesus, your presidential candidate, your favorite revolutionary rapper, your fucking Che Guevarra t-shirt, come at me with your inspired Watchtower Translation of the Bible, your arrogant, pathetic myths of creation and the recycled strife of the Ages, and all that I will see is you. I will see you and I will see only an impression of the Truth. Everything, every creation of time is homage to the thoughtless forces that use thought to paint an impression in time – governments, science, religion, art, and all the rest.

Yes, that is why I write. Fiction sometimes tells the truth truer, and mankind is inclined to seek the Truth. If we want more of it then we must simply use gratitude. Thank you. I bruise the impression that I carry about the Self. This is iniquity, spinning within and without, when I choose to be ungrateful.

Friday, the 23rd of this month, introduced a conversation with a guy that I will remember until the moon turns to blood and Shiva comes to end the suffering. I won’t mention his name probably ever but I will say that he has become a character in a novella that will be on Draft #2 by the middle of January. I call him the Source. I met him at a venerated military bar on historic Pearl Harbor.

“I have an unforgettable personality,” he said, expecting me to challenge the assertion. Perhaps, I will just pay homage to him in my own attempt at immortality. (The Source may just get what he is after.)

“I’ve never met anyone like me. I feel absolutely nothing. The people I’ve ever felt emotion toward can be numbered on one hand.” The Source, at this point and self-admittedly so, has entered the place in my mind that I call the Red Flag Zone, a place where the world must wait to discover all that it could be, a place like the Large and Spacious Building portrayed in Lehi’s Dream found the Book of Mormon, the most significant impression of the 19th Century. This is where great minds spend lives walking the lonely Iron Rod that leads to eternity while a Hoard of the unrighteous points the finger at pious and humble individuals. This is not an allegory to scoff at. The Source lives in the Large and Spacious Building, neither creating nor destroying.

“Control,” he reminds me, “is what parents are after. Having a baby, like you will, Jason, is your greatest shot at total control. Remember, that control goes both ways. The power goes both ways. The Controller is made subject to his subjects; the parent who fails to realize this lives in turmoil and delusion.”

I agree.

The Source, besides a childhood cohort of mine by the name of Miguel Gonzalez whose farts smelled of refried broccoli, is the only quantifiable genius I’ve ever met who can match my emotional intensity, but on one divergent point we find our relationship. This is the point of God and Gratitude. So, we must part ways.

I’ve got no conceited clothing to wear to the auditorium of disbelief, no war to be won by standing in the right, as far as I can see, there is nothing but repetitive calamity in the charged lecture halls of the West, and I don’t see any reason to be alive except for this. I believe that I can be grateful, and in so doing, teach others to do the same.

I awoke on Saturday the 24th to a telephone call from a friend who would take me to the Honolulu Airport. Now, I can not say how it happened, but probably because of my stupidity, the alarm on my cell did not blare. Have you ever awaken to the morning sunlight when shear panic sets in? Or seen you’re alarm clock and thought that your whole world might crumble? Me too.

Lola Isabella Chambers, the first installment, is due on the 28th, a Wednesday. The Truth? I spent Friday night at a cowboy bar and woke up to Dustin’s call at 6:37am. I had planned on getting up at 5:15am. I made my flight only because a loyal friend had my undeserving back. I am grateful.

“I don’t feel gratitude,” says the Source.

“I do,” I say. “I do.”

The cigarette stench and admission hand stamp stayed with me, and I’ve lost any self-importance. A baby girl will be delivered to our family. She gets a father who hangs in the delicate balance between wisdom and madness, a dad who will carry a debt his whole life, a debt that can never fully be paid. The only way to know the Truth is to be grateful. The only way to be happy is to be grateful.

Green Lights and Galactic Pulsars of Good.

Jason Scott Chamberswww.fauxpaspress.com