Jonathon Livingston Seagull Vs. While I Lay Dying

I was out in my garage trying to repaint the old cat run boards and cut them to fit with my old saw. Now why didn't I just move my car out to give myself some room? Why didn't I unpackage the new saw given me for my birthday by Midori and her husband? Why, when once again the shop light shorted out when I merely touched it to a metal trap, did I then resort to trying to cut straight with an old saw by dimming flashlight, with the board propped amidst tons of other garage stuff, with one end on a live trap, instead of moving out the car, getting some light in there, and maybe building a sawhorse out of other old cat run boards?

At some point, with the dull old slipping saw blade grinding to a halt, having achieved its two minute overheat limit, while straining to see, a tiny splinter of wood flicked up and hit my eye.

I thought to myself "Oh shit, I'm going to lose an eye over this." Fortunately, I flicked the splinter out quickly.

My stupidity turned my mind to an old book I read long ago: Jonathon Livingston Seagull.

Jonathon Livingston Seagull was no ordinary Seagull. He wanted to go where no other seagull had gone before. He was going to take what a seagull can do, that is fly, to the limits of possibility.

What does this say about the human race, about me, in my inevitable path to injury or worse? Jonathon's quest was to shake the inevitable fate bequeathed him, as a seagull, the sojourn from birth to death, grinding away in the never ending marching line of earning a seagull living, flying, mating, breeding, finding food and dying.

Stepping out of that marching line bequeathed him as his seagull duty and fate was unheard of. Such dreams fuel the rebel yell of youth.

Don't we yearn, especially when just breaking from our parents, to step out of the line of everybody else marching down that inevitable depressing progression, doing what is expected, living within the boundaries of what we believe is possible of us as humans. And yet, we march the path to destruction as a species, unless the Jonathan Livingstons' dare to be more.

Jonathon's only recourse for salvation was flight. There were limits to his possibilities even if his flight achievements might prove spectacular.

The book was on every seventies trendy list. So I read it then. I still think about it now, although I don't remember many details.

I think of the humans species demands upon the dreamers to stop dreaming. Unless of course the dream is pre-approved, a religious or workaholic or exploitative light bulb that will, in the end, march us to the end at an even faster pace. The boundaries placed upon the acceptability of experiments off the marching path are tight.

"Do not go an inch too far left of the path or an inch too far to the right or be branded, labeled and maybe jailed, as well, certainly drugged for your own good, and ours."

On we march, our fate sealed. Unless there be Jonathon Livingston Seagulls out there, pushing the limits from the updraft off a secret cliff.

While I Lay Dying is a hysterical work of literature. It was loaned to me when I was recovering from back surgery. I could not smother the giggles, that of course would start my freshly opened back to jiggling and hurting, but I didn't care. While I Lay Dying is the antithesis to Jonathon Livingston Seagulls message. It also portrays exactly the same philosophy I exhibited today in my garage.

Go read it. You'll laugh. Then, if you're like me, you'll start seeing yourself behaving the same way sometimes, when I know I want to be catching an updraft off a distant cliff.