Haven't posted for a while. My scar *still* itches a lot.

I've physically survived a trauma that some people have not; my friend Tom the former coroner has looked at my scar and told me that I was lucky to be alive. The reality of that still seems really abstract. A few have suggested that I should go out and buy lottery tickets; the implication is that I am blessed with good luck. Yet I don't feel that way - at all. My actions and behavior have always been influenced by a sense that the odds are somehow stacked against me, a sense that's been with me since childhood. I've pondered the possibility that this set of circumstances might prompt me to revise my perspective; even if the worst possible thing does happen, it's not going to kill you, which should in turn raise my level of confidence.

I've been re-reading Chesterton's Orthodoxy. When I got to chapter 2 "the maniac" my first thought was that this might help me gain perspective on my attacker; when I share the details of my attack, the common response is that my attacker is at some level non compos mentis. And I believe that I have. Chesterton is right when he claims that maniacs have not lost their reason, they have lost everything BUT their reason. The issue is that while their minds are frantically analyzing and re-analyzing, they are drawing from an insufficient universe of facts. The circle of facts may be perfect, but it is of exceeding small diameter. And one's conclusions can only be as complete and accurate as the facts used to reach these conclusions.

But the answer is not about facts or truth. The actuality is that everyone has an emotionally vested interest in maintaining the size of their universe and as a consequence, our intellectual arguments are tainted by our emotions. Scripture describes this as having our hearts hardened. On a Tuesday night about a month ago, one of the members of the group that helps to serve food, reacted to a sudden movement nearby. When I commented on it later, the person commented that yes, he was more watchful but it wasn't out of fear. I saw the look on his face at the moment he flinched. It was not the look of someone who was somehow casually more vigilant. But I saw little value in pressing the point, even though the person also left the group around that time. However, it does prompt me to ponder whether my el Cid behavior in some way shamed people into coming along for the ride, or that my business as usual approach discouraged other people from doing what they needed to do to deal with this and be able to move on. I honestly don't know.

But there's another train of thought prompted by this chapter, going back to the first paragraph in the chapter, which discusses the fallibility in the concept that success, should be expected of people who truly believe in themselves. It's especially applicable here in LA where it seems half the waiters/waitresses are people who truly believe in themselves in being future actors/actresses, aspiring screenwriters, filmmakers who just aren't going to make it. The question becomes, if not in himself, in what is he to believe?