7 June 1958

7 June 1958

One lays around during a deal like I have been going through and has plenty of time to evaluate and think, think and evaluate. I guess that’s what Rev. Nichols meant in New York when I was ill. I was too confused at that time to understand what he meant. I couldn’t think clearly, because even then I was heading for the emotional catastrophe which overtook me before and after my mother died.

All that is past history now. Perhaps I’m a bit more mature and knowing. Nevertheless, now I can understand his words better.

Well at any rate I guess I’ve seen both sides of the mirror – – – extreme mental anguish, and now, the hell of physical pain.

What is it all about? I don’t know. Perhaps it is not for me to know.

Let’s just say I’ve lived a little.

Maybe in some strange way I am richer than many people. I’ve drunk more deeply of the cup of life.

There have been so many times when I cursed my creator for bringing such misery into my life.

Why? Why? I’ve asked myself a thousand and more times.

I wonder if pattern will become clearer or more understandable to me is age. Sometimes I feel I have some understanding of how blessed are those who know something of life. Then, especially during the pain-wracked weeks of the recent past, hate filled my soul at the torture and pain of human living, and I’ve wondered about any benevolence in a creative force that can so rack a human being with mental and physical torture, sorrow, frustration, defeat, disillusionment, the whole galaxy of human suffering seemingly carelessly wafted over the human being.

I think of people… How thoughtless, arrogant, wicked, and expedient they are, and I wonder what malevolent force created such monstrous beings.

I think of nature, how cruel it can be, and wonder again about the force that created the world and its inhabitants.

Then, Mrs. Harding brings me a bouquet of roses and I enjoy the delicate odor.

I think of Elizabeth Kardos and the rainy Wednesday planter. And I think of those who befriended me during my growing years – gave me a bit of understanding – Helen’s brother Al . . . The period of helpful friendship with Betty Rish during my early adolescence. The various people in New York were kind to me at various times . . . Earl Wilkins, his mother, Rev. Nichols, Ben Williams, Mr. and Mrs. Randall . . . To mention only a few.

Then I’ve had Kurt, Nancy, and Bill (although Bill has caused the difficulties which come partly through his adolescence, inexperience, and youth).

There have been times when I have been so lonely in the world of people I could cry my heart out.

Then there have been times when I’ve been very fortunate to have had good fortune and people around me who sustained me.

Yes! . . . I’ve lived a little.

So Christ hung on a cross for a few hours – so since when is that such a much. How about people who suffer pain for months and months . . . Physical, mental pain, torture, a whole raft of sufferings. How about them? Polio sufferers, those with incurable, painful diseases? How about them?

I guess it was just the injustice of the crucifixion that fixed that hearts of men during a period in history, in a small little spot on the world where man had been pushed to the brink, that created the concept of Christianity.

Yeah! How about Socrates and his hemlock? – How about Galileo? How about a lot of other misunderstood men?

Man’s inhumanity to man!

I guess the difference with Christ was his interest in people, and their problems. In a way this applies to men like Socrates, to, sort of.

Also, some people who suffer a little or maybe a lot just get to be nastier people. (The crud* in women’s Hospital for instance.) There is a character for you! It all depends on depends.

There is no pat rule of thumb.

*(This was the character who expected all the attention from all the aids and anyone handy. The one who while reading a book (quite comfortable) wiped his nose on his arm – then held it out without a word – the aide was supposed to wipe his arm.)