you say yes, I say no....you say why and I say I don't know.

Fourth of July weekend in 2002, while wandering the landscape of Berkeley California, I finally gave the Beatles a proper listen. In all actuality I had little choice in the matter. My 10 neo-hippie roomates played on 10 separate stereo the local radio station's Beatles marathon: three days of non-stop choons from the mop-tops from across the pond. Always one to shave against the grain, I denied Paul, Ringo, John, and George my ear. Everyone raved about their albums: the hidden meanings, their musical prowess and lyrical genius. "You've got to listen to Sgt. Pepper's man, once sober and once stoned out of your head," might have been uttered to me on multiple occasions by dopey acquaintances long before I'd become hypnotized by Cannabis Sativa's Evil Spell. I was straight edge back then and the last thing I needed was a quartet of blokes bobbing to and fro, singing "I don't know why you say goodbye I say hello."Growing up, I'd listened to rock from the likes of the Beach Boys, the Talking Heads, Tracey Chapman, Elvis Costello and Chuck Berry. My parents never played Beatles tunes and that was just fine with me. I didn't want to be a part of the hype. If everyone else was raving about it, then it was most likely shite for the masses. On occasion, I'd catch Love Me Do or She Loves You on a random radio station, but never understood the appeal.

After arguing with my flat mates for the better part of an hour that fateful July weekend, I acquiesced, smoked a bong, and opened my ears and my mind to a musical landscape different from any I'd heard before. No longer were their songs, as I'd always perceived, simple goofy melody's of maladies and good times. Listening to lyrics like, " I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be" and "Michelle, my belle, sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble, tres bien ensemble," I became entranced, although it wouldn't be until some two years later before I'd finally rekindle the fizzling fire.

Two years ago, I mentioned to a co-worker that I'd recently finished East of Eden and was incredibly moved by Steinbeck's message. Scott was an engineer who caught heat for devoting his lunch hour to a course on John the Baptist at Wheaton College,a local Christian College. I knew he devoted his life to Christianity and was interested to hear his opinion on the matter. We discussed fate, surrender, free will and spirituality. The following day as I was rocking out to "The Ballad of John and Yoko," Scott handed me two books by the name of Mere Christianity and The Great Divorce, informing me that I might enjoy what C.S. Lewis had to say. I was a bit irritated by the gesture simply because I foresaw him hounding me, pushing his theocracy and trying to break a 30 foot shield of Agnosticism. To me the Bible, Jesus, and religion in general were all fairy tales imagined by lunatics thousands of years prior, and forced upon humanity to extort money and power. Everyone I knew at the ripe age of 10 was a Christian or Jew, which made little difference to me provided they were down to clown on some Nintendo till the wee hours of the morn. In my young mind, there was no meaning to life or to music or to literature. It was all an attempt to make sense of the nonsensical and provide hope to a hopeless situation. There was no God, Tom Sawyer was simply a tale about a boy, and the Beatles were four obnoxiously rich aging Brits.

Earlier this month, I finished my third book by Ipod: The Question of God: C.S. Lewis and Sigmund Freud debate God, Love, Sex, and the Meaning of Life. The imagined debate was profoundly interesting as it left me with a sense that I might have been wrong all along. Sigmund Freud's materialistic view of the world was, as I had been for 5 arduous tear filled years, depressing. The idea that once one accepted the fact there isn't an omniscient god in the sky, one will finally be liberated to live their lives to the fullest seemed contrary to human nature. By embracing such a pessimistic worldview, one accepted loss and defeat not as spiritual stepping stones rather happenstance or shitty luck. C.S. Lewis' vision of surrendering to the unknown was much more romantic and inspiring, indicative of the why as to mankind's innate desire for self preservation. Of course it took some 26 years for me to begin to see the world through this light. It was quite absurd of me to, on the one hand, claim myself as one who thrives off the juices of the Apple of knowledge, and on the other, staunchly deny discovery for the sake of being different from the pack. My self esteem balloon was inflated by the false confidence I felt as a young man who sat outside the proverbial box. Little did I realise how such a pretentious and insular worldview lent itself to my incessant, debilitating tristesse.

I've still not accepted Christianity as my doctrine, nor do I be live that "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" is the best album of all time (as decreed by Rolling Stone magazine). As I devour the art forms of those who've inspired millions of people to ponder, dance, make love and sing of romance, I begin to see that, quite possibly, love is all you need to set you free from the materialistic ties that bind. Influenced by everything from the Beatles to Steinbeck to C.S. Lewis, my vision of life's meaning is evolving, melting the shield separating seclusion from happiness, and delusion from a calling.

That being said, I offer you a quote from the great C.S. Lewis. Bonsoire mes amis.

jobe

"I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen. Not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."

C.S. Lewis