trying . . . idealistic as hell . . . nice fellow, too. Oh, why do I have to suffer with this revolving brain? Why can’t I sleep? What was it he said? Oh yes, came in and told about his terrific drunks, his trips up here, this same thing I’m going through. Yes, he’s an alcoholic all right. And then he told me he knew he was cured. Told me he was peaceful . . . (I’ll never know peace again) . . . that he didn’t carry constant fear around with him. Happy because he felt free. But it’s screwy. He said so himself. But he did get my confidence when he started to tell what he had gone through. It was so exactly like my case. He knows what this torture is. He raised my hopes so high; it looked as though he had something. I don’t know, I guess I was so sold that I expected him to spring some kind of a pill and I asked him desperately what it was.
And he said, “God.”
And I laughed.
A ball bat across my face would have been no greater shock. I was so high with hope and expectation. How can a man be so heartless? He said that it sounded screwy but it worked, at least it had with him . . . said he was not a religionist . . . in fact didn’t go to church much . . . my ears came up at that . . . his unconventionality attracted me . . . said that some approaches to religion were screwy . . . talked about how the simplest truth in the world had been often all balled up by complicating it . . . that attracted me . . . get out of my mind . . . what a fine religious bird I’d be . . . imagine the glee of the gang at me getting religion . . . phooey . . . thoughts, please slow down . . . why don’t they give me something to go to sleep . . . lie down in green pastures . . . the guy’s nuts . . . forget him.
And so it’s the mad house for me . . . glad mother is dead, she won’t have to suffer that . . . if I’m going nuts maybe it’d be better to be crazy the way he is . . . at least the kids wouldn’t have the insane father whisper to carry through life . . . life’s cruel . . . the puny-minded, curtain hiding gossips . . . “didn’t you know his father was committed for insanity?” What a sly label that would be to hang on those boys . . . damn the gossiping, reputation-shredding busybodies who put their noses into other people’s business.
He’d laid in this same dump . . . suffered . . . gone through hell . . . made up his mind to get well . . . studied alcoholism . . . Jung . . . Blank Medical Foundation . . . asylums . . . Hopkins . . . many said incurable disease . . . impossible . . . nearly all known cures had been through religion . . . revolted him . . . made a study of religion . . . more he studied the more it was bunk to him . . . not understandable . . . self-hypnotism . . . and then the thought hit him that people had it all twisted up. They were trying to pour everyone into molds, put a tag on them, tell them what they had to do and how they had to do it, for the salvation of their own souls. When as a matter of fact people were through worrying about their souls, they wanted action right here and now. A lot of tripe was usually built up around the simplest and most beautiful ideas in the world.
And how did he put the idea . . . bunk . . . bunk . . . why in hell am I still thinking about him . . . in hell . . . that’s good . . . I am in hell. He said: “I came to the conclusion that there is SOMETHING. I know not what It is, but It is bigger than I. If I will acknowledge It, if I will humble myself, if I will give in and bow in submission to that SOMETHING and then try to lead a life as fully in accord with my idea of good as possible, I will be in tune.” And later the word good contracted in his mind to God.
But mister, I can’t see any guy with long white whiskers up there just waiting for me to make a plea . . . and what did he answer . . . said I was trying to complicate it . . . why did I insist on making It human . . . all I had to do was believe in some power greater than myself and knuckle down to It . . . and I said maybe, but tell me mister why are you wasting your time up here? Don’t hand me any bunk about it being more blessed to give than to receive . . . asked him what this thing cost and he laughed. He said it wasn’t a waste of time . . . in doping it out he had thought of something somebody had said. A person never knew a lesson until he tried to pass it on to someone else. And that he had found out every time he tried to pass this on It became more vivid to him. So if we wanted to get hard boiled about it, he owed me, I didn’t owe him. That’s a new slant . . . the guy’s crazy as a loon . . . get away from him brain . . . picture me going around telling other people how to run their lives . . . if I could only go to sleep . . . that sedative doesn’t seem to take hold.
He could visualize a great fellowship of us . . . quietly passing this from alcoholic to alcoholic . . . nothing organized . . . not ministers . . . not missionaries . . . what a story . . . thought we’d have to do it to get well . . . some kind of a miracle had happened in his life . . . common sense guy at that . . . his plan does fire the imagination.
Told him it sounded like self-hypnotism to me and he said what of it . . . didn’t care if it was yoga-ism, self-hypnotism, or anything else . . . four of them were well. But it’s so damn hypocritical . . . I get beat every other way and then I turn around and lay it in God’s lap . . . damned if I ever would turn to God . . . what a low-down, cowardly, despicable trick that would be . . . don’t believe in God anyway . . . just a lot of hooey to keep the masses in subjugation . . . world’s worst inquisitions have been practiced in His name . . . and he said . . . do I have to turn into an inquisitionist . . . if I don’t knuckle down, I die . . . why the low-down missionary . . . what a bastardly screw to put on a person . . . a witch burner, that’s what he is . . . the hell with him and all his damn theories . . . witch burner.
Sleep, please come to my door . . . that last was the eight hundred and eighty-fifth sheep over the fence . . . guess I’ll put in some black ones . . . sheep . . . shepherds . . . wise men . . . what was that story . . . hell there I go back on that same line . . . told him I couldn’t understand and I couldn’t believe anything I couldn’t understand. He said he supposed then that I didn’t use electricity. No one actually understood where it came from or what it was. Nuts to him. He’s got too many answers. What did he think the nub of the whole thing was? Subjugate self to some power above . . . ask for help . . . mean it . . . try to pass it on. Asked him what he was going to name this? Said it would be fatal to give it any kind of a tag . . . to have any sort of formality.
I’m going nuts . . . tried to get him into an argument about miracles . . . about Immaculate Conception . . . about stars leading three wise men . . . Jonah and the whale. He wanted to know what difference those things made . . . he didn’t even bother his head about them . . . if he did, he would get tight again. So I asked him what he thought about the Bible. Said he read it, and used those things he understood. He didn’t take the Bible literally as an instruction book, for there was no nonsense you could not make out of it that way.
Thought I had him when I asked about the past sins I had committed. Guess I’ve done everything in the book . . . I supposed I would have to adopt the attitude that all was forgiven . . . here I am pure and clean as the driven snow . . . or else I was to go through life flogging myself mentally . . . bah. But he had the answer for that one too. Said he couldn’t call back the hellish things he had done, but he figured life might be a ledger page. If he did a little good here and there, maybe the score would be evened up some day. On the other hand, if he continued as he had been going there would be nothing but debit items on the sheet. Kind of common sense.
This is ridiculous . . . have I lost all power of logic . . . would I fall for all that religious line . . . let’s see if I can’t get to thinking straight . . . that’s it . . . I’m trying to do too much thinking . . . just calm myself . . . quietly . . . quiet now . . . relax every muscle . . . start at the toes and move up . . . insane . . . wet brain . . . those boys . . . what a mess my life is . . . mistress . . . how I hate her . . . ah . . . I know what’s the matter . . . that fellow gave me an emotional upset . . . I’ll list every reason I couldn’t accept his way of thinking. After laughing at this religious stuff all these years I’d be a hypocrite. That’s one. Second, if there was a God, why all this suffering? Wait a minute, he said that was one of the troubles, we tried to give God some form. Make It just a Power that will help. Third, it sounds
