Biutiful - and the Age of Reason

Yesterday was the warmest day for the year here in New York (almost 60 degrees) and the city was buzzing with activity. Getting off work a little early, I took the opportunity to see the last movie on my list, Biutiful. It had a gritty, oppressive tone - small spaces, the tightly wound emotions of the players, each desperate in his own way. I loved Javier Bardem in this movie. He played the father of two who manages groups of illegal workers in Barcelona, becoming emotionally attached to several individuals in the process - an oriental woman who works in a sweatshop, and a North African street vendor dealing in counterfeit handbags. Bardem's character Uxbal is terminally ill, separated from his bipolar wife and worried about who will take care of his children after he is gone. He is also a spiritual medium, sought in his community to aid reluctant spirits in their transition to the afterlife.  Every character in this movie harbors a secret, even the dead ones. There was urgency and tragedy at every turn with very little redemption. Yet, I emerged onto Times Square afterward feeling refreshed.
 
The unrest in Bahrain and elsewhere in the Middle East has begun to weigh on me - and I wouldn't be surprised if people in general just don't have the emotional energy to sustain an interest in all the protests to come. The conflict in Egypt fit the formula for American consumption: a peaceful, righteous protest, a skirmish which kept everyone on the edge of their seats, the unlikely onset of mercy and reason, high hopes followed by dashed hopes followed by a miracle denouement. With relief, many will have dropped Egypt like a hot potato by now, satisfied that they'd seen it through, and wishing that the rest of the process would unfold smoothly, quietly and out of view. The conflicts in Bahrain and elsewhere may not be as clear cut, the rulers may not roll over, the military powers may not be as sympathetic toward "the street", and overstimulated western observers may not have it in them to care as much this time around. 

Last night my son wanted to talk. Every now and then he announces "I'd like to have a little chat". Sometimes it's a funny observation or a question about something he doesn't understand. Last night it was both.
"You know mom, I was sitting in class looking at the letter A and suddenly it hit me - why is an A an A?" 
"Because that's what we were taught, that's why" he answered his own question.
"I've been thinking about it all day and that's the only reason I could come up with." he said.
I agreed with him - and we talked about both the limitations and the usefulness of names; the fact that they are necessary compromises that help us communicate - indeed, that help build unity and understanding on both interpersonal and global levels.
Or cause governments to fall like walls. "The people", "the street" - these are names which have taken on new meaning for the world in recent weeks. The people have become noble and the street has become the pulse, the cornerstone, the truth.

As we conversed I could see that my son, still shy of thirteen, was trying to sort out what he really knows or can prove to/for himself, and what he has to take or accept as true.
After a pause he said "I have been wondering about something else." 
"Why am I here, and what is my purpose in life?". I smiled, and we continued talking on a practical level about what that could be, and how we might begin to get clues about it. 

In truth, I don't know the answer, but this is one of those questions that signals deep awareness just by virtue of being asked. As his mother, I was quietly jubilant. As his fellow human, I was overcome with love and compassion. Welcome to the world.