When I was in college, a friend of mine who was studying physics told me about an interesting theory. It posited that if you dropped an infinite number of eggs off a two-story building, ultimately one of those eggs would not only not shatter on impact but would actually bounce back to the point from which it was dropped. When I asked him where he would get an infinite number of eggs, he supposed from an infinite number of chickens. When I then asked him what came first, the infinite chickens or the infinite eggs, my friend looked like he wanted to drop me off a second story ledge.
I mention this story to underscore my own benign sense of skepticism about pretty much everything. This isn’t something I readily came to, this realization about my own doubt. And for all my resignation over my stance, I still want to believe. But in the absence of the ability to move myself to action, I’m relegated to my routines and habits and the ruts they form. In those moments, change seems impossible. I conform to the image of the person I perceive myself to be despite my need for something essential. For that most intimate form of human revolution: the personal revolution waiting to be declared.
But for me, that is a concept drained of all meaning. The revolution indeed won’t be televised if only because it’s not going to happen. And every day becomes nothing more than a two-story drop off an edifice that bears my own name.
Unless and until...
Last December, I received an e-mail soliciting money for a young man who, in an act of civil disobedience, infiltrated a government auction of gas and oil leases in Utah. His name is Tim DeChristopher. Tim is a 27-year-old college student. On the day in question, he was taking part in a protest of the aforementioned sale, an event that various environmental groups recognized for what it was—the Bush administration’s version of a Blue Light Special in aisle six. (For those of you who haven’t been to a K-Mart in awhile, apparently aisle six is where oil and gas are stored, beneath Natural Treasures that we bestow with the title "National Park.")
When Tim arrived at the march, the mood was one of grudging acceptance. The protesters were no more than countless eggs, being dropped from a height guaranteed to dictate a messy and inevitable conclusion. After years of activism on behalf of the environment, Tim had reached that juncture where his feelings intersected with his actions. He saw a gap, and in a flash of inspiration, he decided to fill it by going into the auction.
Once inside, he was asked if he was there to attend the auction, and if so, whether he was going to be a bidder. He answered yes to both questions, was issued a bidder’s paddle, and directed into the auction.
Once there, he noticed that bidding had already commenced. Though he wanted to disrupt the auction, he didn’t know exactly how best to do that. Should he make a speech? Or should he just scream his objection to the events unfolding around him? In that instant of not knowing what to do, Tim was just another egg, hurtling through space toward the ground, awaiting a foregone conclusion.
Wielding his bidder’s paddle, he began bidding on land, driving up the price on numerous plots with a mere flick of his wrist. But that wasn’t enough—he decided it was time to save the land by actually winning the bids. He went on to win 13 plots of land, totaling 22,000 acres, at a cost of $1.8 million. Not surprisingly, he was detained by authorities.
The money that I contributed was to help cover the amount due to the Bureau of Land Management as an initial payment on the land Tim had won. My contribution seemed paltry, so I volunteered my services as a writer on Tim’s behalf. I wrote a post for his website, www.Bidder70.org, but that too felt lacking. So now I am taking steps to align my feelings with my actions.
Though I am painfully aware that none of this feels revolutionary, I endure it because of Tim’s example and what it has taught me. In the past, whenever I thought of revolution, I would envision large masses of people, whipped into a frenzy, committing heroic acts to overthrow that which was wrong and outdated. And the plain truth of the matter is that for that group to exist, individuals must undergo their own personal revolution, one egg at a time.
Tim threw himself off a second story ledge that day he bid on those parcels of land, much like he had been doing every time he acted on behalf of the environment. But this time he did it to save pristine red rock desert for generations to come. This time he did it to align his feelings with his actions. And in so doing, Tim didn’t shatter. He bounced back. Tim became the Infinite Egg.
Since then, the Department of the Interior has voided the leases sold in the auction in question. Despite that fact, by the time you read this, Tim will have faced indictment. Speaking with him recently, I know his own revolution is ongoing and that it has sparked even more upheaval as forces gather to support him and his efforts. Despite the myriad ways people have endorsed his actions, Tim’s biggest hope is that he will spur others to their own revolution.
In a small way, I hope this piece is a step in that direction for us all. Studying Tim’s example, I finally understand that until we embrace our need for personal revolution and unless we are willing to align that need with real action, we're all just another egg, waiting for a bounce that we haven’t yet earned.
For information on Tim DeChristopher go to www.Bidder70.org. Michael Raysses is a writer/actor/National Public Radio commentator living in Los Angeles. E-mail him at MichaelRaysses@hotmail.com.