Musings and occasional bruisings
Perception And Prodding: Did I Bury Paul, Or Is It That I'm Very Bored?
I remember very little about my eighth grade year of school. My father, who had divorced my mother almost a decade earlier and I had barely seen, died due to cancer. I don't know if I was in a fog because the time was so painful that I blocked most moments from memory as people going through what most would call a "life event" do, or if the raging hormones which were developing in me were clouding my perception, but there are few things I remember from that time. Flashes sometimes creep in, and while taking a moment to relax today I found myself thinking about perception and social studies.
I confront religious adherents on a fairly regular basis regarding the fictional nature of their beliefs. As I've written before, I've come to a point where I've survived and learned about what I consider to be too many years and too much history regarding religion's ability to addle minds with unfounded promises & outright lies, incite horrible acts of bigotry & violence, and limit humanity's intellectual progress. Today, however, a memory from that year crept into my awareness while I was considering the perception of a fairly eloquent sixteen year old who was writing to me regarding how he could not be "brainwashed" by religion since he studied it himself before choosing to be a follower and that he made his "own" choice to do so - albeit how convenient that his parents were of the same religion! - and that while he sometimes questions the voracity of scriptural stories regarding his faith, he's glad to be comforted by the church youth pastor who helps him through the tough bits.
Never mind the fact that when I asked him if he'd read the "bible" cover to cover, he said "No." Never mind the fact that when I asked him if his youth pastor had read the "bible" cover to cover that answer was ALSO no. He just KNEW that he'd been right to choose Christianity.
... but I digress.
The discourse got me thinking about my eighth-grade social studies teacher, Mr. Arashiro.
Mr. Arashiro was a small man, no more than five-foot-four. He wore simple wire-framed glasses, usually dressed in the same suit five days in a row (presumably to save on dry-cleaning, but I'd also wager it was a tribute to a trait I share with Einstein of buying multiple items of the same clothing in order to save brain power when deciding what to wear), and his thick, straight black hair usually looked as if it had not been washed for days.
I have to admit, I neither liked nor disliked Mr. Arashiro during the time I was his student. Being in the fog I was in due to depression over my father's death, combined with the raging hormones causing me to consistently notice that cutie Kari Hardcastle in the desk near mine, I remember very little from his class. However, one day came back to me vividly as I thought about the young man I'd been discussing religion with in a public internet forum earlier today.
Mr. Arashiro used to stand in the hall by the door to his classroom between periods. As the students entered and exited, he would sometimes talk to and/or throw pithy comments at former and/or current students as they passed. I walked in, he smiled as he usually did the times my eyes met his, and I noticed something unusual in his classroom.
A square, grey record player was resting on a small table in front of his blackboard.
I was very keen on music by the time I reached junior high, and I wondered what the device's purpose for being there might be.
I settled into my desk, placed my books in the storage compartment under my seat, noted that Kari's face & hair looked especially cute that day, and watched Mr. Arashiro close the door vibrantly with a short slam as I remember him usually doing when the school bell rang.
He spoke. He held up a copy of the Beatles record, "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." He explained that he wanted us to hear something but wouldn't tell us what it was. He played a portion of the record featuring multiple sound effects and voices at the end of the song "Strawberry Fields Forever." He paused.
"Now," Mr. Arashiro stated, "Listen to it again, and tell me what the man is saying when I point."
More garbled sound effects. The sound of a man talking, very unintelligibly, when he raised his finger.
"What was it?"
No one knew.
He said, "Listen for the man to say 'I Buried Paul.'"
He played it again. The scratch of the record, the sound effects, the garble of voices... there it was. The man was definitely saying, "I buried Paul."
Right?
Mr. Arashiro took another moment. He made it clear that we, as a class, had heard it incorrectly.
"Listen for the man to say, 'I'm very bored.'"
Wait a minute. He's right.
He repeated the exercise more than a few times, to illustrate the point.
Go ahead, get your copy of "Sgt. Pepper's" out and try it for yourself. It's nigh impossible to be absolutely sure which phrase the voice is saying. Beatles fans, as I learned some time later, have been dissecting the recording for years as it relates to a hidden story, a macabre "Easter Egg" as such things are called, whereby Paul McCartney supposedly died, was secretly disposed of, and replaced by a lookalike named Billy Shears.
The license plate on the "Abbey Road" album reads "28 IF," the age Paul supposedly would have been at the time of the release, and Lennon is dressed like a gravedigger, or so the legend goes... but again, I digress!
What Mr. Arashiro taught me at the age of fourteen was that in the absence of clarity, perception can be controlled.
Religious leaders will tell you the tingling you feel in what they call your "heart" is the touch of a deity. However, many have noted (myself included) that you also get the same feeling when a cool twist happens in a good film, or when an artist you like is playing a song you love at a rock concert, or when the person you've had your eye on tells you he or she loves you or wants to kiss you.
Keep in mind also, your heart has NO nerve endings Anything related to your heart is actually the constriction of muscles and/or blood pressue.
Unless mentally damaged, sociopathic, or utterly uncaring, most humans have emotions. We have emotional responses to much of what happens around us. If we are in a group and people are wailing and crying and saying they feel the "presence" of a deity, if we are inclined to believe in such a thing we may also feel such a thing.
However, no one has ever proven such a thing exists. In fact, what has been proven by scientists is that the muscles in the chest and throat contract when we are excited by something, and that we sometimes forget to breathe under such circumstances. The heart rate increases, pressure builds, and one feels a weight in the chest, neck, or face.
I can't help but notice that NO one has told me they have felt "god" in their hands, feet, or buttocks. FYI.
The first time I was told to ask "god" to come into my life, I did so with gusto. I believed the person who told me to do so for various reasons, and I described the event in an earlier essay. However, I felt nothing. When a warbling lady from the church I was at put her hand on my back and cried out to "god" to come into my heart (whatever that means), the only thing I felt was her hand on my back. But I am absolutely convinced that a person raised to believe in such a magical series of events could work themselves into an emotional state which results in the constriction/breathing problems described above and could most certainly convince themselves they felt the presence of a "god."
However - that does NOT make their beliefs true.
The young man I am discussing religion with on the internet believes he chose belief in a "god" of his own accord, but admits his parents have engaged in the very same religion he just happened to choose since before the time he was born.
I can't stop thinking about Mr. Arashiro flipping between orders.
"Listen for 'I buried Paul.'"
"Listen for 'I'm very bored.'"
Back. And forth. And back. And forth.
Here's the problem with religion, in a nutshell.... only ONE choice is given to young adherents; believe, or suffer.
It's quite easy to believe "I buried Paul" if that's the only choice you're told is the right one.
I'm very bored.
posted by Rick Sparks @ 11:41 PM
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