As mentioned last week, I was given David Dark's book, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything. Thus far, I've read one chapter and listened to another on mp3. Thank God for technology, though I'm continually rediscovering how shallow I must be.
I'm not dumb. I don't know the guts of a computer or which part of my Geo's engine is the carbeurator (nor do I know how to spell carborator, though if I try carbureator enough times, I might get carbuerator right once). I never had much for musical aptitude, and the intricacies of finer arts (opera, ballet) completely elude me (for which I have no complaints).
I feared I'd have to reread page after page, and now that I'm two chapters in, I fear that I'll have to relisten and relisten. Ugh. My mind apparently operates on a lower plane. Or a bus.
Is it possible to be intelligent and not intellectual? I grasp the book's assertion that religion is how I live, and if someone wants to know the way I believe, they need only hear and see my words and actions throughout the course of a day. Kinda makes me feel crummy, and some perverse motivation stems from that to see if later in the book I'll find some method of feeling better. Which isn't why the book is written. Thankfully, the author intersperses Michael Scott and Homer Simpson between Kafka and Salman Rushdie. Unfortunately, my brain can only wrap around the former. Have I been so diluted by society and the lack of learning that I can't open my mind enough to encompass these higher thoughts?
Do I want to? Nope. Not really.
The better part of the last three years of my life have been devoted to the idea of simplification. Less may not be more, but it is better. Easier. And then I throw grand concepts like religiosity in? What the hell am I [not] thinking?
I expect this will become one of those books I recommend to smart people without ever reading it myself. I'll listen to the end, bitter or not. I'll hold out hope that I'll find inspiration. But I'm mostly happy staying dumb. I'm smart that way.
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