F O U N D

LOST ended on Sunday to a mixed bag of reactions. Some thought the ending left too many questions unanswered. Some thought the loose ends weren't enough to overcome six wonderful seasons, even if the last ten minutes seemed like a cheap cop out and an acknowledgment that the writers had no idea what they were doing. I, on the other hand, loved the ending and thought it was the closest thing to perfect writing that I've seen in years (loose ends and all).

Part of my love of this ending is based on a very intimate knowledge of the writing process. I don't rank myself amongst the great writers or even the mediocre ones, but you can't work on a novel for five years without at least gaining an understanding of how this craft is done - even if I can't do it successfully. I quickly surmised that the writers couldn't possibly explain every little mystery by the end of Season Six. It wasn't that they didn't have answers, or that they didn't want to ruin the ending by revealing the answers; it was the fact that entertainment sometimes requires that readers be left in the dark. The same people complaining that LOST didn't give them the answers they needed are the ones who complained when George Lucas did give the answers in Episode One. The answers weren't nearly as fun as the story that was being told. How does King Kong get from Skull Island to New York? In the original film, its done with a Fade Out and Fade In and no further explanation. We don't really need to know that to enjoy the story. Many of the questions that had been generated over the years on LOST were of that variety. A few, deeper, questions were answered by seasons end because they were necessary to tell the bigger story but the vast majority of these questions were more of the variety best left to Behind The Scenes Featurettes on a DVD. That's just the name of the writing game sometimes.

I also loved the finale because it spoke to a greater truth than most stories have in years - we all need a certain amount of faith and mystery in our lives. Why did someone have to protect the Island? Because they did... you just have to have faith in that. And faith requires belief even when the answers aren't forthcoming. I suspect that many of the people who had problems with the ending of LOST also have problems with issues of faith.

I think the final reason I found myself loving LOST's finale was that I realized that I have changed a lot in the last six years. Even as I sit and write a meticulously plotted and planned novel that has every i dotted and t crossed, I find that personally I no longer need such an elaborately spelled out plan in my own life. In the last year or so, I find myself opening up to the possibilities of things I previously couldn't have imagined - like traveling to Kenya, for instance.

For years I read the Bible voraciously looking for some clue as to what it all meant. I figured that intellectually there had to be something in there that leapt out at me, that made sense to me, something that I could hang my hat on - some bit of knowledge that had eluded me in the past. I was looking for God in thought and equation, in details and answers. I wanted, more than anything else, for the universe to make sense. But God isn't in the details. God isn't in the answer. He is in the question. He can't be made sense of with a book, or a poem, or a film, or anything in human understanding. How can you explain a mystery without revealing the reason for the mystery? How can you explain God with human understanding?

I have come to embrace the idea of mystery, of NOT knowing, and, as a result, I have discovered more of God in one year than in the ten years previous. Those who were waiting for the last episode of LOST to explain all the mysteries like it was checking them off a list might have had their answers, but the final episode would have felt even more artificial than any other artistic effort in recent memory. Those who were disappointed missed the point. There were no answers coming. There never was going to be. The whole story of LOST was about characters who had been searching for answers all their lives finally realizing that none of it made sense and that it also didn't matter. What mattered, what was important, was loving one another.

I'll take that conclusion over some "answers" any day of the week and twice on Sunday's.

Practice vs. Preaching

What does Freedom of Speech mean to you? Is it something worth defending, or only worth defending when it isn't offensive to you personally? This is one of the biggest questions I've had to deal with in my life. As a writer, I've been preaching the gospel of Freedom of Speech since I could understand the concept. But at times, although its been very difficult for me, I've actually had to practice it as well. That's usually a lot harder to do.

I just received a call from my brother. He had just heard the news that they are planning to build a mosque at Ground Zero in New York. He was quite upset. And to be perfectly honest, I don't blame him. The thought nearly curdles my stomach. I am all for Freedom of Speech and Freedom of Religion, but a mosque? There? I don't see that as a powerful statement of forgiveness or a way to build bridges, I see it as a direct provocation to all Americans - even Muslim Americans. However, despite the way it makes me feel personally, I have to defend their right to build a mosque right there. It is important to the concept of Freedom of Speech and Freedom of Religion that they be allowed to do so.

When I was in the Navy back during Gulf War One there were a few virulent protesters in Hawaii who decided as a sign of protest to smash the personal vehicles of US servicemen. They called us warmongers, baby killers, that sort of thing. You can bet that we were not too happy with that. I dare say that there were many of us who wanted to go down and do some forceful realignment of their beliefs. But one of our Gunny Sergeants reminded us that we took an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States of America and that as part of that oath we had to defend the rights of those individuals who said the very things that we hated the most. These knuckleheads were trashing the very people who were protecting their rights to say the things they were saying. Though it seriously sucked, we swallowed our anger and went about our jobs. It didn't change the fact that we hated everything they were saying, but we had to defend their right to say it.

That's a pretty powerful thing to absorb at 18. But it has taught me to be even more protective of one of our most sacred rights as Americans. There are times when I think we allow this freedom to go too far... but those are exactly the times that those freedoms were created for in the first place.

So, do we practice what we preach even if it breaks our hearts to do so? That, ultimately, is the question.

And as citizen practicing my rights, I really hope those people reconsider the building of a mosque at Ground Zero. I can see nothing good coming of that.

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in

I've been away on some amazing trips the last couple of weeks. My mind has wandered over hill and over dale, from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, and over the river and through the woods. It has taken me down rabbit holes and through wormholes. It has sent me on flights of fancy and ne'er-do-well such as I have not seen in years. But it hasn't taken me anywhere that I wanted to go. For me, it has been all about the journey.

Like most journeys, I have found much that wasn't worth writing about. I've been watching my life pass by like so much scenery while I remained in cool, quiet comfort inside contemplating other things. The concerns and frustrations of daily living have fallen across my face like the shadows of girders on a trestle bridge I happened to cross. The echoes of conversations have flown around me like the sound of a highway passing underneath me at high speed - thadump, thadump, thadump - as I crossed the speedbumps of life.

I did have one observation over the weekend - one of those types that can only occur to you after you have climbed quite a distance on your journey to the mountaintop. I was traveling up notoriously slow 19th Avenue on Saturday and I was watching a MUNI bus crawl through the traffic as well. It occurred to me that had I been on board the bus, I would have been tempted to get off at the next stop and run the rest of the way - like I used to. This was followed by a realization that I was certainly in no shape to run, much less run faster than a MUNI bus (whether stuck in traffic, parked at a curb, in the bus yard, or undergoing repairs ;). At which point I had one of those mind-altering conversations with myself.

Me: I'm in no shape to run ahead of a bus like I used to. I wonder why that is?

Self: Your no longer as impatient as you once were.

Me: Really? That wasn't the answer I was expecting. Why am I no longer impatient?

Self: Remember all those times God taught you patience. Do you remember what you used to be like before - how your life was such a mess because you were always so impatient to get somewhere that you tried every shortcut in the book and then some?

Me: You mean God made me patient and as a result I can no longer outrun buses?

Self: I mean that God made you patient and you no longer feel the need to outrun buses.

Me: I wonder what other things I no longer feel the need to do...

Self: Well, that is the question now, isn't it?

Me: Hmmm...

Hmm, indeed. I'm looking for an off ramp now - someplace to find rest from this wandering, some place to set up camp again intellectually. But for now, I'm just going to enjoy the journey for as long as my patience holds out. After all, I've got some new things to think about now.