I spit on your book!

Heroes and the inspiration they give or leave us with, (even after they are gone) are not always what they seem. 

In fact, one could easily argue that in this age of creative information clarification and obfuscation, they are seldom so.

Further, bibliophiles and etymologists (whether casual or serious) might take note that the word "inspire" is rooted in the Latin (14th century) word inspirare, from in- + spirare -- which means, simply -- to breathe.

"And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." (Genesis 2:7 KJV)

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."
~Emma Lazarus

In brief, inspiration, whatever the source or form, analyzed and deconstructed brings to the forefront a strange apprehension and often repeated (though seldom spoken) question:

"How will  I  be remembered?"

Of one modern day hero, the exchange on a new biography (or epitaph) between coach/friend and author/executioner (as excerpted and posited over on a Yahoo Sports blog here) is interesting.

Coach Mike Ditka defending the legacy of Walter Payton:

"If you're going to wait 12 years after somebody's passed, come on. This is the sign of a gutless individual who would do this. Totally gutless who would hide behind that, and that's what he's done."

Journalist Jeff Pearlman defending his craft:

"You are a journalist, trying to paint the full picture. The FULL picture. You have to, in the name of honesty; in the name of authenticity. Otherwise, why have biographies at all? Why look back at the lives of JFK and Ronald Reagan and MLK and Malcolm X and Jim Morrison and Marilyn Monroe and on and on and on? What's to learn … to understand … to appreciate if all we do is turn the deceased into unflawed icons?
What's the point of history, if history can only be approved talking points?"

 The greatest ever?

And what's the point of one person's life (be they me, a family member, friend or foe) at all?

After all is said and done, whether passionately, impassively, musically, cinematically, lyrically or just "in your face"; human beings remain a very incongruous and discordant lot.

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, whom I've not mentioned much, of late, would surely agree.

For as the somber refrain of old Russian folk of certain (gulag) memory goes:
 

"Men have forgotten God; that's why all this has happened."

And here we all still are, whether of the flesh or not.

Good and bad, similar and opposed,

Here we all still are.

Spit, cry, smile or sigh;

for once within our own

grave or pyre,

not even one

remains a liar.