Yasser Arafat and the Monsters

The face of Yasser Arafat as he was helicoptered out of Ramallah haunts me. One might assume he would be distraught, being very ill. Instead, he seemed overjoyed. Blowing kisses to the crowd.

I wonder—did he know he was about to die? And was he looking forward to it? I suspect he was, in some deep part of his soul. Death is frightening, but also inviting. And in the end, I suspect, more inviting than frightening.

I watch my three-year old son. He is now fascinated by “monsters.”

What is a monster? Anything that seems capable of eating him up. You can see the basic survival instinct working here.

And yet, it is not simply that he is afraid of them. He is afraid, and he cannot get enough of them. He wants and does not want to be eaten; he wants and does not want to be caught in games of chase.

On a tour of the Colosseum, our guide reported that, even though the competitions were roughly 50%, there were many who sought the life of a gladiator. She suggested it was the only way for some of the poor to hope for fame and fortune. I suspect instead an instinct more basic.