There is a great line in Alanis Morissette's song, "21 things i want in a lover": "do you see everything as an illusion but enjoy it even though you are not of it?" (As an aside, by actual count I have 18.5 of the 21 things she wants in a lover. I'm still waiting for her call. Sorry, Cary, I love you but, well, you know. On the other hand I'll understand if you answer Prince's call when it comes.)
Many spiritual traditions hold that much, if not all, of the world is an illusion, an illusion that deceives us through our desires and our fears, keeps us trapped in the past and worried about the future, and prevents us from awakening to the eternal truth of the moment and being one with the universe. If this point of view is correct, we might actually view Las Vegas as a kind of spiritual boot camp.
I first had this thought five or six years ago when I went on a solo trip to the strip. At the time I was romantically unattached, struggling with a job I really disliked, feeling alienated from my young-adult daughters (whom I loved more than anything), rehashing the past, trying to figure out how to redeem what was left of my future, and not seeing, let alone, enjoying the sweetness of life. So what did I do? Well in addition to playing some blackjack, taking a flight over the Hoover Dam and Grand Canyon, going to see Cirque du Soleil's, "Mystere," and drinking lots of wine, I walked the strip. And what did I see? Over there fake New York City. Over there, fake Paris. Over there, fake Venice. How about a fake Arthurian castle? A fake Great Pyramid? Fake Roman Forum? There they are! Fake pirates and a fake volcano - wow! Real white tigers posed with a couple of scary German types with fake faces and hair. Small Mexican-Americans snapping and handing out cards with air-brushed women with fake boobs. And running through it all - like condensed, dark-side blood - greed, desire, fear, lust, laughter, tears, longing, and more. I walked and walked, listening to my iPod, and soaked it all in. It's easy to see how life is an illusion when you're in a place that is specifically designed to sell the illusion to you. It's easy if you take the time to look.
Last weekend I was in Las Vegas with some friends of mine to see the sun for a few days, enjoy some male bonding, and to lose some money on football's "big game." I knew it was an illusion, but I enjoyed it. I had my friend, Dave, take a picture of me near the fake canals of the Venetian hotel.
Back in April of 2007 I was in the "real" Venice with my daughter, Taylor, to celebrate her college graduation. She snapped a picture of me by the "real" canals of Venice.
When I think about my two experiences there is, in one sense, no comparison. I mean, come on! Venice? The food, the wine, the architecture, the gondolas, the unique (not always pleasant) smells, the shops. But, wait a minute - there were loud tourists, tacky souvenirs, chain stores, small hotel rooms and, yes, even Italian bedbugs. It wasn't always a perfect experience but, at its best, and when my daughter and I were most enjoying ourselves over good food and wine, or seeing some particularly beautiful site, it was a very real experience in a very real moment. And so was Las Vegas, in its own way and for its own reasons. My connection with Dave, Tony and Rick, the good humor, the good food, the good entertainment, none of that was less real - or less significant - just because we were in a place so obviously "fake." The moment - moment by moment - was exactly what it was supposed to be. All that was required by me was to be there (really be there) to witness.
Alanis, honey, do you agree?
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