In Which I Forget Where I Am
Saturday, January 8, 2011 at 03:01PM ;)
Let us begin the topic at hand by creating a character; I will arbitrarily call him Jason. He has lived a hard life: born, enlisted in the army, recruited as a part of a special CIA program turning him into a heartless killing machine, now suffers from headaches and severe amnesia. On a cloudy day somewhere in the former Soviet Union, fighting a headache and wondering who he is—his amnesia is especially bad today—our hero finds himself suddenly captured, blindfolded and flown around the world. But, being the specialized CIA killing machine that he is, he escapes and immediately runs to the nearest embassy official and poses a question under threat of giving that official a heady dose of his fist. The question is this: “Where am I? Huh?! Tell me!!!” If the embassy official does not oblige, our hero usually disposes of him and uses other means to figure his location. I tend to feel a tinge of sympathy for the poor official being interrogated. How was he supposed to know this man is a rogue agent who has lost his identity, but not his mad fighting-skills? He could not know, poor man. Our hero, Jason finds that he is in Switzerland and in grave danger of being shot. From Switzerland he trains to Berlin where he finds that he is in grave danger of being shot. Form Berlin he flies to Morocco, where he finds two men with guns waiting for him, forcing Jason to conclude he is in grave danger of being shot. But alas, the rest of Jason’s story must to be shrouded in mystery, because he has served my current purposes, and done a beautiful job. To find out whether the grave danger of being shot proves a fatal one, go watch some movies; I am sure there is a story similar to Jason’s somewhere out there, maybe.
Jason and I share a common experience. Mine was less violent and more subtle in nature, but equally horrifying. My month of travels on mainland Europe was at an end, and I was spending two relaxing days in Oxford, England. I purposed to relax because of the stresses I had put my mind and body through by all the train rides, strange sleeping arrangements and lack of sleep expected from an economical traveling tour. I slept in despite my loud hostel roommates and spent the day seeing the antiquated sights of Oxford, exercising and eating good pub food. My traveling companion and I had parted ways in Bordeaux, France, so my time in the old university town was spent on my own, but I was not lonely. It was the evening of the first day; I had just eaten at a pizza shop downtown, and was making my way back to the hostel on a dimly lit street. This street was of the narrow, pedestrian-only kind, and I remember being one of the only pedestrians on it that night. Krakow, has many sections of down-town closed to cars as well. This creates the effect of the buildings surrounding you seeming older and much more grand. Nothing detracts from the romance of antiquity like a traffic jam. There was nothing unique about this street in Oxford except that I was on it, which becomes rather an important detail in the lines to come.
Douglass Adams’ book The Restaurant at the End of the Universe tells of a chamber used to induce madness in which the subject is exposed to the vastness of entire universe and then shown a giant arrow pointing to the tiniest of miniscule dots in that universe’s midst. Above this dot there is a friendly sign reading, “YOU ARE HERE.” The realization of absolute insignificance in proportion to all creation is supposed to drive the individual mad, but I believe Mr. Adams had this chamber wrong. If I were to be exposed to the vastness of the universe, the first thing I would desire would be a personal location within that universe. Location creates identity. That miniscule dot would be the only thing standing between myself and madness; it could not possibly cause madness. Outside of that dot, I would be nowhere, therefore—logically—no one. Adams argues, "In an infinite universe, the one thing sentient life cannot afford to have is a sense of proportion." But I say that in an infinite universe, the one thing sentient life cannot afford to have is no location!
As I was walking down this scantily lit street I forgot where I was. I did not just forget the street I was in, or the town I was in or the shire I was in or the region of England I was in; I failed to access every subconscious indicator of location in my brain. For five agonizing seconds I looked around me wildly trying to find a landmark that would tip me off. I knew that was a street lamp, and I knew those were cobblestones; I knew those were humans, and I knew the color of every building around me. But none of that mattered, because I had no place in which to put these things. I had no place in which to put myself. My mind raced from one place I had been to another, Krakow, Budapest, Bordeaux, Mechelen, Vienna. I stopped walking to focus.
Every now and again I look up at the stars and wonder where I really am. But as a Christian I know. We learn so many truths about life from God’s revelation to man by the written word, but three that apply to my current thought process are these: we live on a material world created by a supreme being named I Am; it is surrounded by celestial bodies also created by Him; He loves us. The Bible has much to say about who we are, but it also tells us where we are. Where is the atheist located, and what comfort does it offer him? (Truly, He is falling, falling into the hands of the living God, and it is a dreadful thing). Humans have spent vast amounts of capital and energy to map the known universe, and yet we have no power to create reference points outside our own imagining. Every star and planet has a name of human fabrication, but we—as Christians—believe in a universe named by its infinite creator, not its finite inhabitants. Our location is secure; in this we can find hope, comfort and a reason to thrive.
Just as suddenly as I had forgotten where I was, I remembered. A flood of relief filled me. My tight nerves slackened, and I laughed out loud telling the cobblestones, “I’m in Oxford, England!”
-Eric Tippin
In Newton, KS
January 7, 2010
Travel in Eric Tippin, Essay
Reader Comments (4)
Ah, the third paragraph is the absolute crux and I like it. The knowing the names and colors around you yet without an understanding of placement reminds me of the first time Emry noticed a big round thing in the sky and asked what it was. I said "the moon." I had learned its name from the last generation.
"Heady dose of his fist."
This is great, Eric! I remember the day you called me and said that you'd forgotten where you were... It's fun to read this after hearing the story before. I especially like how you applied it to Christianity here.
I feel like I should end this in some clever way, so....
Cheers!
Beautifully written Eric. Honestly, what are you an English Major or something?