Toker Todd and the Easy Diamond
In the mid-90s, I worked with a guy named Todd. Less than 60 seconds after meeting, he offered me a joint right there in the cab of the work truck.
It was somewhat concerning that Toker Todd (barely seen through wafting reefer smoke, darkly) was the driver, and that my seat was an upended 5-gallon bucket wedged between the two normal seats in the cramped cab. There was no seatbelt, of course, although I’m sure they would have scrounged up a frayed bungee cord if I’d asked.
The cab was filled with the detritus of work days past: Fast food wrappers on the dash, congealed pools of unidentifiable tar in the cup holders… Old cigarette butts rolled on the floor, except for the ones that had been ground back to tobacco by heavy work boots.
It smelled like fresh sweat, turpentine, and moldy laundry piled up behind the seats.
When I declined the joint, he and our other helper, a large man whose name escapes me, had a hearty laugh. Handing the General Contractor’s son a joint was apparently the height of comedy. So, Todd passed it to Big Guy, put the old van in gear, and off we went to paint houses, breathe unfiltered lacquer and marijuana smoke.
Todd had perfected the carnal life. He was a chain-smoking, hard-toking philosopher of fornication. I was hardly a delicate little cherub at the time, but his bold carnality helped to propel me back to religion. There was no detail too personal or uncouth about his relationship with his top-heavy girlfriend to share.
But for all the scandal and grotesqueries, Todd and I became somewhat chummy. I learned to deal with his filthy mouth, and he learned to tolerate my preaching. When it was time for me to move on, he gave me a gift of inestimable value to him - one of his throwing knives. He offered it to me, solemnly, with two hands, and said, “May you have an easy life.” I’m embarrassed to admit I probably gave him a book by Peter Kreeft or something.
I’ve always remembered Toker Todd and his “easy life” invocation. It bothered me the moment he said it. Why? I think because even then, in my barely post-embryonic state, I sensed that it was more of a curse. Not intentionally, of course. It was the highest, most sincere hope he could express for another, probably because he had already seen more than a few hardships in his life.
You know how diamonds are created with pressure, heat and time? Therefore, the aphorism goes, we lumps of carbon are formed into diamonds with the same. Maybe it’s trite, but there’s a gem of truth in it. (Sorry).
I was chatting with the “abbot” at my “retreat house” the other day about the pressures of life. He told me about a time in his life when he thought about putting a lump of coal on the kitchen countertop. Because of a difficult family situation, there was so much heat and pressure in the house that he was sure he could “get a diamond out of it.” Things worked out in the end, but he was grateful for the struggle - in fact, he considered it a gift from God.
I don’t think there’s a single person who would actually argue that the path to enlightenment, or sainthood, or success, or wisdom, or strength and honor, or whatever, should be easy. But we sure act like it, don’t we? We resist any and all threats to our comfort, and we treat challenges and difficulties as injustices. In my customer-facing position, I’d say that well over half of the calls I take are from people who, on one side, face minor inconveniences which they elevate to civil rights issues, and on the other side, are enraged that they might be expected to own up to their own actions.
I’m hardly immune from this self-important entitlement myself.
I think most of us haven’t gotten the memo (and maybe most never will): Eden is gone. No matter how crafty we get, we’re not getting back into the Garden, at least not on this side of the Veil. We keep trying with our technology and our laws, but we end up creating Hell on Earth instead.
Should we bemoan the loss of paradise? That’s a hard “no” from me. Our idyllic origins were good. (It says so right there in the Bible. ;-)). But it wasn’t great. You can probably call me DJ Heresy for mixing up some theological errors here, and I apologize to the myriad wiser, more learned and holier men than me, but I think that having the opportunity to smile through the cannon smoke, as James Lee Burke often writes, is a gift. Not to prove ourselves apart from the divine wellspring of grace, but to choose for and in and with it. To choose again and again.
Nobility comes from the fight, not merely avoiding sin in a life safe from want and struggle.
At the end of the movie version of C.S. Lewis’ “Voyage of the Dawn Treader,” the mouse warrior Reepicheep says, “Ever since I can remember I have dreamt of seeing your country. I’ve had many great adventures in this world but nothing has dampened that yearning. I know I am hardly worthy, but with your permission I would lay down my sword for the joy of seeing your country with my own eyes.”
Aslan responds, “My country was made for noble hearts such as yours.”
So, no offense to Toker Todd, who undoubtedly fought many more battles in his life, but “easy” is not what I’m going for here.