The Diary of a Fool
Is Ignorance Bliss?
Sir Judas Wilson was considered the biggest fool in Rockheart City, the city of dreams and dreamers. He was a man of words, not action. The only things he was ever any good at were women, rum, and gambling, and even then, he failed miserably at women and gambling. An unapologetic gambler and world-class drunk, his body craved rum like an insatiable well. Yet, the words that flowed from him seemed touched by something divine, an incomprehensible force from within or above, compelling even simple minds to stop and ponder. He was a gifted storyteller. He could have been a successful writer, teacher, public speaker, or even a preacher. He could have changed the world if he wanted to, but instead he chose to squander his gifts.
He conned many into believing he was the lead star of THE HIGH PLAINS, a hot western TV show that aired on cable television some thirty years ago, because of the resemblance between him (in his prime) and the star actor. There was no way of knowing for sure if he was telling the truth, because he was a pathological liar. Lying was second nature to him — like breathing. He often carried a poster of the TV show around in his jacket, telling people of a studio conspiracy that sabotaged his career, in order to gain their sympathy and extort money from them. He often spoke the lines he had rehearsed from the TV show, and he spoke them EXACTLY LIKE THEY WERE on screen and so they believed him.
He lived alone in a 2-bedroom apartment in the suburbs of Constance Avenue, spending his mornings at newsstands, and the rest of the day loitering — the subway, the parks, the bridges, and bus stations. He lived off scraps from the bins at Kentucky Fried Chicken, MacDonald’s and Subway, and sometimes carried alms to beg along the avenues of the city.
He had no job. No friends. No money. He was a bum.
It was a warm summer afternoon in August 2021 in Fransisco Valley, when Abigail, a young woman who had just graduated with a degree in Psychology received a call from Teresa, an aged woman, who claimed to know her biological father and wanted to meet.
At first, she resisted the thought, The last memory she had of the man was when he dropped her at the entrance of an orphanage home, telling her he would return, but never did. She was eight years old. Now, she didn’t want to meet him or know anything about him.
She politely declined, but Teresa was persistent. She pleaded with, and persuaded her, until she agreed to meet. Teresa revealed the news that Abigail’s father had suffered a stroke in his home and passed away. The man had no family but her. Abigail wouldn’t hear it and was about to take her leave.
“Before you leave,” Teresa said,
“Your father wasn’t a good man. For goodness sake, I don’t know what kind of man he was…”
“But…”
“My husband made him a promise to find you, and give you something important. My husband is no longer with us. I’m here to fulfil that promise. Do have pity on an old, ailing widow.”
Abigail paused for a moment.
“There are moments life leads us in a direction we may not want to go, but these paths often lead to something greater than we could ever imagine.”
“Come with me to Rockheart.” Teresa urged.
Later that week, Abigail relented.
A few days after arriving Teresa’s home in the city, Teresa’s family lawyer read Abigail’s father’s will and testament. It revealed a grim financial situation. His debts equaled the value of his entire estate: the apartment Paul bought for him, some clothes, and an antique jacket he often wore. Everything would be sold to settle the debts, leaving nothing for inheritance.
Abigail despised the man even more. She had been brought here to settle the financial mess of a man who abandoned her — a man she didn’t know and didn’t care to know, a man who wasn’t a father to her. And on top of it all, no inheritance.
But the will mentioned something intriguing — a box left behind in his safe, specifically for his daughter. It was accompanied by a painting of New Jerusalem, an ode to St. Augustine’s City of God.
Teresa took her to his apartment, and upon entering, Abigail’s eyes caught a portrait that had fallen from the shelf. She knew instantly, from the dark green eyes staring back, that this was her father.
His hair was black and curly, and so was hers. The books on the shelf were like a reflection of her own soul— history, philosophy, art were all subjects she greatly resonated with. They were echoes of each other, separated by time and gender.
For years, she had craved answers about her parents, about the gaping hole in her past. Now, standing in her father’s apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of his life, a whirlwind of emotions swirled within her.
“Your father made many mistakes, but he tried to amend them at the end of his life,” Teresa said softly.
“He wanted you to have this,” she added, handing her a small, black box.
“What’s inside?” she asked,
“I don’t know…but it’s something important. It was his most cherished possession.”
“He was a strange man.”
Abigail retreated into one of the rooms, trying not to shed any tears, she shut the door behind her, and opened the box. Inside lay a small, leather-bound journal, odd-looking and covered mildly in dust. It looked like it existed long before she was born.
She placed her palm over the cover and opened it.
Written on it was his name, in his handwriting, Judas Wilson, and a note,
“I have only ever loved one woman. It was your mother.”
She turned the pages over,
“I met a man who became my friend, Paul. He was a joker like me, until after a motor accident left him crippled. He then sought to put his life together and found solace in Christ, spending his days reading the Bible and his evenings in quiet meditation, gracefully noting down the miracles of each day. He died after a brief stint with a chronic infection. He is survived by Teresa, his wife. Despite our differences, I miss him terribly.”
“The drink numbs the pain.”
“What is foolish and what is wise? They are two sides of the same coin, but a wise man knows the difference. But what man can tell who is a wise man from a fool, for both are labelled by the world as crazy.”
“There is an unseen magic in life, found only in the still moments, when we are bathed in the unquenchable waters of the spirit. Therein lies the mystery. Who can explain these things?
We will never be able to understand them.”
“These are memories I cherish. I have saved them like the tears of Jesus, sacred to speak for eternity, waiting to be found by someone in time. They will cherish them, and believe that Truth really existed, and we are its messengers.”
“I suddenly remembered today the night we escaped from the dorm room, to have drinks and watch Luna White perform. She may have been the greatest musician that ever lived. Life is to be purely enjoyed. Nothing else matters but the cruise. All things exist for our enjoyment.”
“My spiritual awakening occurred in the middle of the night on Friday the 2nd of August. Quite odd for an old man. It was a shift in my thinking, that of all these years, I had been looking for something that didn’t exist in the material world, and that truly my life had been wasted.
It’s an omen for death and I must be right, and maybe this is the Creator giving me one last chance to right my wrongs. He must have been pursuing me for a long time because this presence feels familiar — like a gentle pat on my back, a gentle whisper that has been nudging me all my life to leave my ways — abandon these paths that lead nowhere. I’m telling you so that you recognize Him and believe that He is in this world with you — and that you are not a mistake. Find comfort in knowing you are not alone. There is a spirit that guides and protects you. I will be gone, but not He. I have failed you, but not He.”
We think of eternity as a world beyond — it is. But it also begins here. The eternal life that seems only to be a dream placed in our hearts, does manifest itself in moments if you simply open your eyes. For many years I didn’t know what I was looking for, and didn’t find it, because I was searching the wrong places, for the intangible in what was tangible, the sacred in the secular, for light in the darkness, the Truth in the lies. Only the intangible births the tangible.
“It’s pointless trying to explain why I did the things I did, or telling you about myself, but I want you to know how much I love you, and though I disappointed you, and betrayed you, You have someone who will always be with you. He will never hurt you. You will always be my little girl.
Please follow your dreams. You must be far gifted than I ever was. Make the world a better place for others. Greater is the giver of love than the receiver. Give love, and forgive. I have no right to tell you these things, but I consider this the greatest gift I can give to you — planting the seeds of Truth in your heart so that they manifest as great beauty, bliss and healing power from within your soul.
Through my life I tried to find eternity in these orgasmic moments, these highs that are an escape to a world away from here, but they only brought me greater pain. I wish I had time to amend my mistakes, but I am afraid I do not. I am sorry.”
Here are some of these moments when I truly recall Eternity.
- As we walked together down the park, and I kissed her on the cheek and she blushed. With her head close to my chest, I was moved deeply. The moment I fell in love with your mother.
- Your mother, when we were together and our souls and bodies became one.
- When your mother died in my arms, when she was taken by cancer.
- Eternity was the day you were born. The miracle of your birth.
- Eternity was when you took your first steps, and called me “Dada.”
- When I wept under the oak tree at Grimson’s Park the day I dropped you off at the orphanage.
- Eternity was those evenings I wheeled Paul along the gardens and he spoke some deep truths into my heart.
- The first time I entered the Saint Peters Chapel and they sang the hymn, “Then Sings My Soul.”
- Eternity is the moment I die. Although I do not know when.
I had a dream of a man in a robe who touched me. In this dream I was blind and stumbled, and fell and injured myself. I was falling down a sloping mountain when he appeared to me, clothed in indescribable beauty and dazzling light.
As I looked into the skies, I experienced the miracle of joy. It seeped through my insides and I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. The trees spoke to me, the birds sang to me. I finally understood. Eternity was with me all along. It’s in the small moments — it’s the fleeting moments. It most certainly exists elsewhere. But it is here.
“I hope you can look at your life and find Him. I won’t be here for long, but I hope you see the One who calls out to you, and accept when He reaches out to you. He is Eternity.”
Paul was right all along. One’s faith is a compass for eternity, and if eternity is real, then faith is the greatest compass for Truth.
After reading these, it was dawn. The sun was starting to rise. A new day had already begun.
Abigail wept.
