WHO ARE YOU?

© 2018 Bill MurphyMan Question
The first blank on any application is usually for your name. But name alone is never enough. After name comes mailing address, city, state, zip, e-mail address, etc., etc. But still, this truly doesn’t tell anyone who you actually are.

Perhaps to better understand who you are, we should first ask the question of what you are, beginning at the your beginnings.

No doubt, you were given your name at birth. But birth was not the beginning of what was to become you. Contrary to what some find difficult to accept, you began at the time of conception – when a single tiny cell from your biological mother joined with a single cell from your biological father. Nothing else was added to this initial union of two single cells to make you anything other than who and what you are today.

Around 9 months after your conception, you were born into this world. Welcome.

There are very few organisms which are more fragile, helpless, and utterly dependent than the human infant. Left unattended in the finest luxury hotel that money can afford, and surrounded by wealth and extravagant plenty – if none was there to care for it’s needs, the infant would soon die. This is what you are – a needy creature!

Our neediness continues. But we don’t want to think of ourselves as needy.  Yet we are.

9 months in the safety of a mother’s womb is only the beginning of our neediness. We are dependent upon others for educating us on how to survive and how to thrive. We must be taught to talk, encouraged to walk, and this is only the beginning of civilized social knowledge and indoctrination.

Usually around the age of 12 to 15, the semi-adult human begins to believe they know everything necessary to succeed in the adult world. They are confident they have all the answers. Instead, they’ve not yet begun to face all the questions they’ll confront in life.

This is a particularly difficult time in a youngsters life, especially in our modern, if-it-feels-good-do-it, permissive society. During the late teens and early twenties, countless painful mistakes are usually made, some which leave deep and ugly scars. Today, teen suicide and murder rates are at an all time high.

Sometime around the mid 30s or early 40s, a somewhat foggy understanding of just who they might be, finally dawns upon the human creature. We call this maturity.

It sounds as though I’m not painting a pretty picture of humanity, huh?

Sadly, this is often the case of who we are, or rather, who become! You see, this is not at all who we actually are, or who we should be.

There are two schools of thought as to who (and what) we are. The first generally accepted thought is that we are all one big lucky accident. According to this belief, at some far point in pre-human history, our ancestors were nothing more than a slimy mass of inorganic chemicals sloshing around on the ocean floor. And then by some stroke of accidental luck, a certain ‘critical mass‘ was achieved, and life happened. It was they say, one grand and monumental fluke. Then over the eons, this living, slimy mass of goo re-created itself by morphing (in stages) into something better – we added fins, backbones, legs, lungs, etc. A few eons later we found ourselves growing wheat and corn and having babies.

There was never a PLAN for this to happen. It was all one big happenstance… which has never stopped happening. So here we are today. We’re still having babies right and left, and buying and selling – or stealing – one another’s wheat and corn.

In the grand scheme of things, only today really matters. After all, everything is only an accident anyway. Tomorrow, POOF, everything might be gone anyway.

With no central plan, mankind faced a lot of unhappy chaos. So, to keep things well oiled and running as smoothly as can be in this accidental world of turmoil and self promotion, mankind saw a need for order and purpose. The slime that became mankind, felt a need for reason. So he created a false purpose, and imaginary reason, a pseudo understand of what and why. This calmed his spirit, and soothed his troubled mind. Now all oiled up and covered by reason, he suddenly felt comfort in this artificial security blanket that humanists call ‘religion.’ Intellectuals tell us that man created God.

So, what’s my point?

The point is, what’s the point in life? If it’s all one big temporary fluke anyway – what’s the point in that? According to ‘intellectual’ thought, you and I my friend, are nothing more than super-slime, living a dead-end life, a fleeting life with no rhyme or reason or purpose, and someday – poof – it will all be over. The end. Nada. Period. Then you and I will return to the chemical state where this life all began in the very beginning. What comes around goes around, nothing has really changed.

That’s a comforting thought, huh? NOT!

Call me a fool if you wish, that’s your prerogative. But… I choose to believe there is a reason and a purpose behind life, a reason for yesterday, today, and tomorrow – a rhyme, reason and a purpose – and a plan. I also believe that this plan is far larger than you and I can imagine. And furthermore, because of this simple fact that there is a plan in place, there must be, and there is – also a planner.

I cannot accept as truth that I am simply an accident. I am not a fluke. That’s like saying that if you put enough monkeys in enough room with enough pencils and paper – in enough years, one of them with write like William Shakesphere. No! I’m not an accident.

This is not a grandiose and prideful statement, for I believe the same about you!

I believe that all things are a grand CREATION, and that they were created by a supreme CREATOR. I choose to believe that I am some small part of all of this, and that He knows who I am! Some choose to call this creator God, or a ‘deity.’ I call Him FATHER.

The thing is, life is not some monumental accident, and neither am I. I have a reason for being. I have purpose. My Father has a plan, and I have a small part of His much bigger plan.

That’s who I am!

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PONIE

Horse copy© 2018 Bill Murphy

I was 12 the day that Ponie walked onto our property and into our lives. I was the first to notice the dirty, yet beautiful colt which came from who knows where, and was to alter or lives forever.

Ours was small dirt farm/ranch, mostly dirt, of 30 something acres, nestled in a small valley surrounded by low mountains. We were the only homesteaders in the valley, our closest neighbors over the hills were at least 30 miles distant. But we loved the simple farm-life, and quiet isolation. It was as if our family was alone on the earth.

Dad said that Ponie looked to be about a year old, give or take a few months. Obviously, she was well accustomed to people, because she approached us willingly. It was as if she was seeking us out. No doubt, she’d walked away from her own home. But who’s?

Trips into town were few and far between, and then a 2 day trip. On Dad’s next trip into town he inquired about any missing colts, but learned of none. He left a description of Ponie at several locations, taking care not to give too much detail, lest someone, using details they didn’t previously know, might come claim and take Ponie from us. There were never any inquiries.

We all loved Ponie. I thought her eyes were her finest feature… they seemed to be unnaturally large. ‘Cow eyes,’ Mom called them. But perhaps Julia, my older sister by 3 years, loved Ponie best. The two bonded quickly.

Julia had a soft and tender heart. Perhaps it was because of her frail and sickly early years. They say she spent her first 2 years almost constantly in Mom’s arms. Julia was a voracious reader, and wrote the most beautiful poems. She soon developed the habit of taking tablet and pen, and riding Ponie off into the hills to think, write, and as she put it: ‘to become’ – in peace and solitude.

Early on we learned that Ponie had one unusual trait. She was afraid of thunder – and terrified of lightning, especially if both were close. The first storm which visited our humble farm after Ponie arrived, reviled this. That summer night, over the thunder, we could hear her wails coming from the barn. Julia and I raced to her side. We found her cowed in the corner, trying to bury herself under the hay. Oh how our hearts broke at the sight. We snuggled next to her until the storm passed.

It was a freak storm which changed our lives. Far stronger than most, it roared over the hills to the northwest as if out of nowhere, suddenly, and with unbelievable strength. It ripping our land with terrible winds, while heavy rains plunged daylight into darkness. Yet this night appeared to flash into day – with every brilliant explosion of lightning. The accompanying thunder was deafening. And – Julia and Ponie were out there somewhere! Hours earlier, she’d ridden out to her writing place.

Dad grabbed his heaviest coat, and his lantern, and headed toward Julia’s spot. He was gone for hours, or so it seemed. The storm was just beginning to wain, when we saw Dad’s lantern thru the rain. Ponie followed close behind. As they drew neared, we saw Julia, draped across Ponie’s back. Dad stopped yards from the house, and shouted for us to stay inside, but Mom raced past me and to Julia’s side. I’ll never forget her agonizing screams. I thought they’d stand there in the rain forever. Looking back, I’m glad they did. The rain bathed most of the blood away.

Soon, Julia’s lifeless body lay on the table. She looked as though she was sleeping. It was the first time I’d witness a lifeless person, and this was my beloved sister! As I stood over her, not knowing what or how to think, I noticed the deep imprint of a horses‘ hoof on her forehead – Ponie’s.

I’d not noticed that Dad had walked away. There was another crack of thunder, but I quickly realized that it was the sound of a shotgun blast. I raced to the door, to see dad standing over the body of Ponie. I’d lost two of my closest companions that awful night. Mom and Dad were never the same again. They seemed to age daily, right before my eyes.

I was too young then to understand, but looking back now, I can see why Dad took Ponie’s life that night. We all do what we believe is best. We all act and react to events beyond us, and beyond our ability to change. Even Ponie had.

Julia had been compelled to ride out to her hallowed spot, to put on paper her thoughts, her desires, her plans, her hopes, and her prayers. Her keen focus on these things, I know, blinded her to the fast approaching storm.

Ponie surely reacted in terror to the sudden storm that summer afternoon, and in her inability to cope, she had somehow struck Julia. It was not something she would have done otherwise. Her action was simple in-bred reaction.

And Dad, in his helplessness to face the being which had taken his beloved Julia from him, had forever removed Ponie from his sight.

I now know that each one involved, Julia, Ponie, and Dad, were each simply doing that which they were apt to do, that which they were compelled to do, that which their hearts and lives led them to do. There was no right or wrong involved, no guilt or innocence. They were simply doing and being themselves.

It was a painful lesson for me to learn. We each have our personal lives, our unique dreams and ambitions.  If we were all alike, this would be a most boring world. But sadly, many people never learn this simple lesson. When I am just being myself, someone want me to be like them. They never realize that I perhaps, might wish that they were like me. Can’t we just be ourselves?

I miss Mom and Dad. I miss Julia. And I also miss Ponie. While it lasted, Ponie brought joy to all our lives.

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The illustration above that I chose to use for Ponie was painted by me, for my grandmother in Carthage, Mississippi in 1953, when I was 12 years old.  Bill Murphy 

 

 

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