Wisdom comes to an abrupt halt when one's ego considers himself to be entirely wise. The casual admittance of one's own ignorance, however, carries the implications of true wisdom and intelligence.
Nor do the wise mock the ignorant, for wisdom is a learned state, forever questioning and forever growing. The wisest of all human beings initially possessed a child's mind.
How happy I am that I do not feel compelled to uphold an image of a person I desire to be. Life, already appreciably complicated, need not also pressure one to act out the role of a personage whose standards are determined by a certain group in society. I find utter humor in watching the "necessary" actions of certain people, such as businessmen in suited attire and professors with their obligatory beards and pipes. I sometimes wonder if they would continue their hopeless charade if they knew how comical they appeared to an impartial onlooker.
Even as a child I found it horribly ridiculous to do things solely to please others. The "others," as it is, could care less for you as an individual anyway. I felt as if I was not only cheating myself, but my true friends also, if I was any less than my true self. I remember observing in agitated silence as fellow students would deliberately trod on the less popular children to somehow augment their low sense of esteem. Though I was seldom bothered by their childish mockery, I pitied the hapless recipients of their relentless derision and marveled at the insensitive cruelty of their incessant gestures and remarks. This, I suppose, led me to believe that man is not intrinsically good, and that goodness is learned only as the result of the societal necessity to survive. If not for this stark realization, I truly wonder what would become of man as a whole. Would he be reduced to canine barbarism or would there still be certain bands of people who would break from this sheerly animalistic behavior to nurture a livable form of existence, complete with an intricate set of moral ethics?
As seen in my entries following the Grecian trip, I became depressed and frustrated as a rejoinder to the special diet. I felt constrained by hope, not freed by it, and was deeply relieved when six months had passed, for then I was able to return to what I had come to know as "normal." It was obvious that the Greek doctor had done nothing to cure my ailment, for the cancer continued its growth, manifested in my shrinking wardrobe vs. an increasing waistline. Because the waiting was over, there was no need to spend more of my precious time engaged in obligatory hope. I would forge onward. . . and forget the cures.
If nothing else, the Greek diet developed an interest in food and its preparation. Indeed, I was so obsessed with food that I was plagued by it; if a diet is so rigorous that it demands constant awareness to succeed, I believe that success is far more difficult to attain. Throughout the weeks of the diet, I baked with incomparable zest and learned a wealth of information about cooking. Bread baking was edible chemistry; it became easy to respect chefs and their tempting creations as I paged through cookbooks. In no time at all, I had a hobby which extended beyond the need to make natural food as specified by the doctor.
One slightly irregular recipe came to me through a book by Euell Gibbons; Violet Jelly. Yes, flower preserves. I'll never forget the day Norm and I went to the park and I picked a quart of violet blossoms. To be honest, I tried it to see for myself whether the jelly was as exquisite as he claimed. It was a lovely lavender flavored ever so delicately. . . and not objectionable to the palate.
Baking was not my sole enjoyment, of course. I loved to photograph wildlife and create still-life compositions. . . I enjoyed dining out and traveling to places both foreign and familiar. . . shopping was always a pleasure, with or without money… and the library, with its hint of musty volumes and quiet dignity, was also a favorite haunt. It was easy to be interested in many things, despite the fact that my plans often failed to cooperate with my bodily functions.
August 29, 1983… I have spent a good deal of time tonight feeling sick. For a while there I was really beginning to wonder if my Nutregrain would make a debut appearance in my clean toilet bowl (it didn't) so I will leave further writing for tomorrow. It is now 1:00 A.M.
I was used to feeling sick. Actually, I had forgotten what it was like to experience true health; stomach and intestinal difficulties had become a way of life. As time passed, however, I could not deny the damage that cancer progressively wrought upon my strength and general capabilities. Daily walks ceased after bowel complications (i.e., the immediate need for a bathroom) over-shadowed the enjoyment of the walk itself. Stress due to heat was also a great enemy that followed and preceded every outing or event, and between the two impairments, I grew increasingly more reluctant to pursue activities; I had to weigh the importance of the activity against the possible complications that might arise and thus spoil the engagement altogether. No longer could I say "yes" without mental hesitation; simple activities were not simple any more.