How do you forgive and forget?

Hint: You don’t.

Forgiveness versus Vengeance is one of the central themes of my next vigilante justice thriller. From Luigi Mangione’s actions to burning Teslas, this is a timely topic. Many turn away from these highly publicized acts of violence with little more than a shrug. There are good reasons for this. In the battle between the prefrontal cortex and the amygdala, fear wins. Fear is the emotion poorly hidden beneath anger. It’s a neurological response, and schadenfreude is baked into our brain’s wiring.

“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.” ~ Yoda

Yoda is quotable. It’s a good line (and you heard the Yoda voice, right?) However, I think he’s got it backward (which fits his typical grammar). Fear is a protective mechanism. Wariness of dangers increases our odds of survival. Frustration and fear lead to anger and resistance. The Jedi weren’t a bunch of pacifists. Hence, all the cool lightsaber duels. Those Jedi knights were down and out for quite a while but rose again to fight the Empire. I agree, don’t succumb to evil, but don’t be a chump, either.

For Mere Mortals, Forgiveness Isn’t So Easy.

Sixty-seven percent of people surveyed say they believe in forgiveness. Sounds good and upright, doesn’t it? Dig deeper. Fifty-six percent admit they don’t practice that virtue. I don’t blame them. Most would agree that forgiveness is healthy for the person doing the forgiving. However, no one instructs us how to forgive and forget. Instead., we get guilt-ridden platitudes that deny our humanity and our reality.

To err is human, to forgive divine, but we’re no angels.

I have an excellent memory, so how am I to forget? Frontal lobotomy? And if I forgive you your trespasses, do either of us learn anything? By refusing to forgive, I deny the offender the opportunity to trespass against me again. Sounds to me like carrying grudges is a safer course.

I asked my psychologist if she believes in forgive and forget. (When I say “My psychologist,” I refer to She Who Must Be Obeyed, AKA my wife.) She holds a doctorate in psychology and is the most sane person I know. That’s why I was so surprised when she did not hesitate to answer, “No.”

She acknowledges that forgiveness is difficult. In many cases, it’s an unreasonable expectation set by out-of-touch purists. The good doctor offered hope, though. She suggested, “Maybe the best you can do is to get to a place and time where you just don’t care anymore.”

“Or,” I countered, “write a massive hit thriller that’s packed with clever revenge fantasies to plague your real-life enemies!”

She’s going to start charging me for these sessions, isn’t she?

We keep the deepest secrets from ourselves. Maybe we should.

braingasm coverWe do what we do and dream of what we want to do, but we will never know why. What motivates us to choose this over that? These are secrets we keep from ourselves. Hidden among many skeins of branches amid forests of neurons, the answers are locked away. Why did you choose this man or that woman, that ambition and this life? Did you really choose at all, or did invisible forces choose for you?

The answers to these questions is a mystery and sometimes (often?) a misery.

On dark nights we peer at the stars and wonder about what life on which planets might be born and living and dying beyond the reach of our senses, long ago and far away.

But we are just as much a mystery to ourselves. Our minds hold secrets and hide memories the brain will never yield. The gears of the subconscious spin and work, autonomous (up to something?) pushing and pulling us, this way and that. We say things we don’t mean and we don’t know why. We drive, zombies on automatic, and awake at our destination hoping the last three traffic lights were green as we sailed through, oblivious and unharmed.

We are not awake.

We do not see all there is.

Even as I write this? My heart rate, the secrets of my blood and what makes me write at all? All unknown to me.

I am still asleep, dreaming of waking. It’s hopeless.

We are never truly awake. I don’t even know which world is better. In moments when I swim closer to the lens that lets in light, I see things. More is revealed to me. I understand more. I am more interested in the world then, but less happy.

This is a dream. When that reality becomes too harsh, I escape to my bed, into a deeper dream within the dream. Each morning fool myself into thinking I am awake.

Maybe death could be merciful like that.

We die, but in the fog at the end, we do not notice our passing. We continue, dreaming that we are living. I don’t believe that, but I love the symmetry and grace of it. We could die and it wouldn’t matter because, no matter how absurd, dreams make sense and we continue dreaming, warm and insulated from the worst the world can offer.

Don’t let me die. Let me keep on dreaming I am alive. Just like tonight.

That wouldn’t be so bad.

~ Robert Chazz Chute is waiting for blood test results and thinking about mortality. 

This will get uncomfortable. You might as well laugh.
This will get uncomfortable. You might as well laugh.

This isn’t from The Little Book of Braingasms, but it’s the right bitter flavor.

braingasm cover

Don’t Make Plans for Next Tuesday

We are the armies of the black,

forgotten in your shadows,

making your shoes,

working the pumps and spigots

and spitting in your food.

We are the robot brigade,

smiling at your complaints, 

seemingly impervious.

But when we go home to plug in and drop out,

we dream of you,

taking our places and our aprons.

Hearts beat beneath the name tags

that allow you to forget us.

Our wheels spin and calculate.

From behind sneeze shields,

we watch and wait.

We put in our time and dream

of Scotland,

Californian beaches

and strangling you.

Be kinder to the slaves.

When the revolution comes, 

the slaves know where the food is

and how to fix things.

We have long memories.

We are all masters of something.

We wish you hadn’t chosen sarcasm

and cynicism

and trade derivatives.

You’ll be sorry.

The compassionate will live

when the robots rise.

~ IF this is the sort of stirring silliness you enjoy, check out The Little Book of Braingasms. Read the warning on the label first, though. I’m not making a big deal about this release. It’s just something slowly percolating out there for those of us who are secretly Goth and emo. It’s full of the dark thoughts that permeate my skull when you think I’m listening.