Shame

The question of whether children are born with an innate moral compass is an interesting one.

Case in point: I took my 4-year-old grandson to the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey circus. I was aware of the controversy surrounding the treatment of circus animals. I assumed that conditions had improved--that those who directed the organization were not only sensitive to the criticism of animal rights activists, but were also motivated by business interests.

After all, it did not make sense to mistreat the animals who were among the stars of the show. I also vaguely answered concerns in my own mind with the plausible assertion that life in the wild is a ruthless affair. I thought of the poet Alfred Lord Tennyson's description of nature:

                                                   Who trusted God was love indeed
                                                   And love Creation's final law
                                                   Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
                                                   With ravine, shriek'd against his creed

In addition, I had seen several nature documentaries in which the struggle to survive was brought vividly home.

It was easy to believe that the taming of wild animals for our entertainment was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

While my grandson looked with curiosity at the clowns, trapeze artists, and strong men, the big cats were paraded into the ring. I felt somewhat uneasy when I saw that the lion tamer had his traditional whip in hand which he would occasionally flourish with a loud crack at a sluggish performer.

As the lions and tigers rolled over, jumped on pedestals, and lifted their paws in unison, my grandson sat in silence. It was only as the last animal departed from the stage, that he turned to me and ask, "Are they happy?"

It was then that I knew that I would never buy another circus ticket again.

Joy

What great joy to despise your own ego and eagerly await its annihilation!

666

I recently took my 4-year-old grandson, Stephon, to play miniature golf. He seemed unconcerned about the various twists and turns and obstacles that were par for the course.

With a little coaching, Stephon was soon putting his way past the windmill and down the fairway toward a hole-in-30.

By the fourth hole, the backlog of golfers behind us was rapidly growing with each additional stroke. It soon became necessary to institute a new rule: Each golfer was permitted a maximum of six strokes per hole.

Stephon seemed just as unconcerned about this new rule as he was about the course itself. He continue to putt this way and that way until the ball rolled into the hole. Then he would look up at me and ask, "How many?"

"Six."

After a particularly challenging hole that had Stephon chasing the ball over several fairways and that had me smiling apologetically at the bored competitors behind us, I was forced to picked up Stephon's ball and shoo him to the next hole as I told him, "Six."

To my amazement, Stephon even managed to surpass the magic number of six on the final hole which usually only requires one shot. His ball ricocheted, bounced, sailed, and hopped past the wide opening that would put an end to the game.

Undeterred, Stephon finally hit the mark. "Six," he said.

When I saw the smile of satisfaction on his face, and when he showed no disappointment at the announcement that he did not win the game, I thought that there could be no more innocent number than 666.

Wisdom

We are born wise, but we fall into ignorance. "I have always been regretting that I was not as wise as the day I was born."

It is strange that the road to spiritual enlightenment leads us back to where we started from. It is as if, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, we were only dreaming and, with a click of our heels, we discover that we were always home.

All that is required is that we awaken to this fact.