A month or so ago I found myself standing out in the late November chill in front of the Fillmore Theater with a bunch of over intoxicated and probably doped up groupies after a concert who, I’m assuming, were waiting for a band who's name remains unknown and inconsequential to this story to appear after the show in the back alley.
My motivation wasn't to catch a glimpse and an autograph of some under talented and over appreciated rock star. I had been hit by a vehicle, a taxi, while trying to make my way in my car through the over crowded intersection this concert hall sat on. I was desperately trying to get his paper work jotted down so I could escape the east coastish cold and into my marginally warmer apartment that awaited me a few blocks down.
Fast forward a month and a couple of days and you'll find me making my way downtown in my mildly banged up and definitely underappreciated Honda Civic to the Denver County Court House where a State vs. Crutchfield case would soon take place.
Turns out my license and insurance cards had expired and while I did have insurance at the time of the accident, it meant a mandatory court date.
What joy was mine.
I've never been to court. I didn't know what to expect. I hadn't even been inside the court building much less on trial there. I wondered what it would be like. Would there be a long under lit hallway with a solitary bench where usurpers of the law sat to await slightly delayed trials and the summons of an overly stiff and self-proclaimed, under-appreciated judge who, with a deeply trenched, wrinkle laden face, would tell me exactly what I should have done differently while writing down the letters that would spell out certain damnation or at least inconveniently scheduled community service appointments?
Would they use language that existed only in dictionaries? Never meant to be issued from the tongues of men or at least uttered in the presence of common folk. Vernacular of the courts, a spoken mystery to the masses. Phrasing damning questions in such a way as to intimidate the broken hearted & crushed in spirit. Drawing confessions from the innocent like water from a leaking well; maneuvering judicial vocabulary in such a way as to leave no room for excuses or defenses. Only apologies, confessions and a languid acceptance of any and all consequences for infractions on the law whether performed by the accused or not?
No man shall be innocent – all will be guilty, none spared type of thing.
Anyway, once I found the right building and having gone through a quick pat down and security scan I was in.
I made my way down the stairs and into a crowded mess of confused families, shady characters who probably belonged in jail not to mention on trial and many non-English speaking people of all nations and walks of life. I imagine it looked a lot like heaven in this regard minus the shady folk, security guards posted everywhere plus the overall atmosphere of potential judiciary reprehension that was lurking behind any and all corners of this monolithic image of justice.
So this is where the long hard arm of the law came crashing down on those unfortunate enough to cross it.
As I made my way down a hallway that I assumed to be the right way according to my ticket a loud and shrill voice caught me in mid stride on the broad, wooded floor. I say "shrill" but this was probably the most obnoxious voice I had ever heard in my entire life. Think scratching on a chalk board encapsulated in human vocal cords. I turned and found a small, slight man looking up at me with coke bottle glasses and - I’m going by memory here - buck teeth, a misshapen suit that demanded to be cleaned or at least touched up by one of Parke Central Cleaner's steam cleaning Asians and a disheveled look about him in general. Unkempt hair and an ill fitting tie completed the visage of this legislative, chalkboard voiced, mouse of a man.
I can’t remember what he said exactly from that point on, in light of the invasive headache that manifested itself in my thoughts and head at that very moment but I could tell I was going the wrong way and that I needed to follow him in order to find my destination of interest. The point was made clear by his it’s-a-matter-of-national-security expression that I had gone astray and I figured it was the only appropriate thing to do.
He guided me to a nearby directory that explained in no uncertain terms that all traffic violations needed to go to courtroom 105.
Is that really who I am? A violator? That was my name in this place. I was surprised I wasn’t given a number in replace of my birth name upon entering the building.
“Excuse me Sir, take this piece of paper. It has a number that's issued to you and will be used to identify you from here on out during the length of your visit here. Should you be sentenced to a state penitentiary today you will use this number for the length of your sentence.”
“Cool, thanks. Aren't I supposed to get an orange uniform?”
”We’ve got a dressing room downstairs where you’ll be able to try on what we have right now...we get new shipments in every day so if you can’t find your size write down your number and we’ll contact you as soon as your size comes in.”
“Cool. How will you know where to find me?”
“Oh. We’ll know.”
The government knows everything about you I guess...especially when they strip search you, tell you where you’re going to eat, shop and live.
At this point I could truly say I had found a point of commonality with Bonnie & Clyde in light of our apparent affinity for all things less than savory by the United States court's standards.
I found my courtroom, walked in and, to my unbridled horror, realized that I was late for the role call. They’re on the “Ls!” They had already called my name!
All I could think about was prison food.
I sat down in hopes that they would make another go of the role call. They did, asking if they had missed anyone. After giving my name to the guy who sits in front of the Judge’s seat I sat down with the rest of my brothers in crime. Some had the I'd-rather-shoot-you-than-look-at-you expression but most looked like me. Probably a little confused and somewhat bewildered at the present circumstances they now found themselves knee deep in. Wondering how their lives could spiral down into the abysmal, criminal existence they now called their lives.
Orange? I’m more of a red kind of guy.
I used to think my old studio apartment was a bit cramped but I really do enjoy sitting on the pot with the comforting thought that, “no one else can see me right now." I'll leave the drawbacks to having a shower in prison to your imagination.
Anyway, that evening was incredibly fascinating. The most interesting social observance I’ve had in a long while. The expressions on people’s faces, the nervous twitching, the quick shifty eyes of the accused. Of those common “violators.”
I developed an affinity for these people. It was us vs. them. This was my fight alone no longer. These were my people and I was there’s. Together we would stand up together with fists of unflappable defiance and eyes burning with the resolution of our rebellious forefathers. Brandishing courage like shields and the declaration of our freedom like swords. We would not back down. We would fight until the last waning drop of our court house revolution was wasted on these grounds that would hold our impending defeat for the history books to find. Knowing that we would not fall here today with a number but a name; pressing forward with said resolution and the affirmative voice declaring that whether we are wasted here today or find tomorrow's embrace with breath in our lungs our spirits shall not be broken!
Not here, not now, not ever!
Images of an empassioned George Washington, Abraham Lincoln as well as other dignitaries and political martyrs of US history made their way through my criminal mind, knowing that without a cause we would all be lost. Without heros we would certainly perish.
Individuals all over the court room who's last names started with the letter "A" began standing as they were summoned to meet the unwavering stare of this black cloaked figure of justice. As men and women of quiet resolution. Knowing a foe that held the high ground but possessing the voices of many like them who carried the inner strength of urban, traffic-violating, warriors. Track jackets were our cloaks, briefcases our quivers. Brandishing the styles of our time like the uniformed soldiers of old.
"Basker"
"Bennning"
"Boon"
B's began popping up all over the court like weeds on a mid-summer afternoon in Georgia . I new my time was near. No longer did my ignorance strike a cord of fear in my heart. For I had a band of urbanite hoodlums standing firmly behind me. No matter what happened here, I knew I wouldn't be alone.
And then, with what seemed like a loud, booming voice the judge called my name. Fear seized me bodily and what resolve I had melted away into a puddle at my feet. My turn had come to administer a plea. I made my way to the podium. His bald head shimmering in the brilliant light of that court of appeal. It might as well have been the high beam of a Mack truck. The way I stood there like a deer staring down the resplendent throat of death baring down on me.
He asked a question and to my dismay I understood what he was asking...I answered. He asked for paperwork that proved I had insurance and a current driver's license. I brought the documents to his seat of power. Strategically placed in a position of dominance at the corner of the room.
He looked at my updated paperwork and then at me. I don't remember his stare very well to be honest. I think I was looking down at my feet. Perhaps in shame. A shame brought on by the understanding that I deserved all that would come down on me here, now. The fines, sentences, orange jumpsuits and prison time. All music of my own making.
But with judiciary splendor what he boomed next astounded even the court's audience. Amidst, I'm sure, the gasps and awes from the motley crew that sat behind me his assessment of my irrevocable innocences was issued for all to hear. Free. Without a fine, judgment or stray word of damnation.
That's it? There must be more. The slow realization that not all was lost took hold of my mind. That I would inhale another day's breath as a free man.
I started moving.
And without a second thought of the derelict desperados I was leaving behind to uncertain doom, I left with, had I not known better, a skip in my step. I suppose I was just happy to be out of there without a wardrobe consisting of and or limited to the color orange. Hallelujah, I’ve got a private bathroom with built-in walls and a fart fan!
For always it has been and ever shall my name be Nathan James Crutchfield and you can keep your damned numeric identification system!
Friday, December 23, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Assumed Truth
Assumption: Music as an art form, communication form, form of expression has an emotional effect on the listening audience. Music is by it’s very nature manipulative.
Assumed Conclusion: Worship within the context of music is inescapably manipulated whether to a very minute or flagrant degree. Willfully and/or subconsciously.
Assumed Problem: If one’s idea of worship is limited to what is experienced in a musical setting, the potential for misunderstanding the nature, catalysts of and/or outcome of true worship is greatly increased - potentially leaving a deficit in the individual’s worshipful existence.
Assumed Conclusion: Worship within the context of music is inescapably manipulated whether to a very minute or flagrant degree. Willfully and/or subconsciously.
Assumed Problem: If one’s idea of worship is limited to what is experienced in a musical setting, the potential for misunderstanding the nature, catalysts of and/or outcome of true worship is greatly increased - potentially leaving a deficit in the individual’s worshipful existence.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Thoughts Consisting of Today
1) The Bible exists, in part, to stimulate thought. Not to be a substitute for it.
2) Poetry is pretty philosophy.
3) Philosophy is man wrestling with his humanity.
4) I think I may have a cavity on my right upper molar.
2) Poetry is pretty philosophy.
3) Philosophy is man wrestling with his humanity.
4) I think I may have a cavity on my right upper molar.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Dreams, Crying & Broccoli
Walking seems to take a while in this place. Moving in slow steady sweeps. As if suspended in motion. Moving the air around my elastic frame. Air like water – rushing past my surging limbs, resting no where. Rewarded only with the notion that relief will not find my body here.
Dreams are strange. At least I'm not walking down the hall of my high school without any pants. A lot of people have those kind of dreams.
Instead I simply stay there moving but not going any where. My eyes paint me something a little off compared to what awaits me on the other side of the expanse. Colors of what initially seemed to be the true hues of reds, greens and blues are coated with a slick clear jelly. Moving and running ever downwards. Melting the color of this vision into a gooey, slushy mess.
Pain doesn’t exist but neither does hope. Neither does anger and neither does fear. Understanding is a lost cause all together. So I float. Waiting for time to release me from my prison of nothing.
This reminds me of crying...
Sitting there with water coming out of my eyes. The salty liquid sitting in my fleshy sockets long enough for it to build. Until it floods down my face. Dripping, running, oozing.
Sit. Drip. Ooze.
Sit. Drip. Ooze.
Its the pattern of sorrow. Normally the pattern of emotion. Today its the pattern of numbness.
The water liquefying my vision. Running the colors I see together into something that slightly resembles a Van Gogh painting I saw one time in a museum. Or was it in a textbook?
I feel nothing, I see nothing, I know nothing. Just an echo of a sorrow that led me down this road that seems to be leading me nowhere. Staring but not seeing anything at all. Sensing but feeling only the dripping and oozing on my face. I’m not sure what the point of all this is. I think it’s healthy though. Someone told me that once.
It’s like eating broccoli....
They say it helps you grow and it makes you healthy but you never really know that for sure. Since mom always made me eat it I can’t tell you how things would have been different. I probably would have grown to a towering 3’ 11” and weighed 90 lbs as a full grown man. My bones would have been as brittle as Saltine crackers and I would have developed a cough that would've made the smoker lady’s early morning hacking that we could hear from our house as she got the morning paper sound like a throat itch.
I probably would have lost some muscle control and my lower lip would probably have curled underneath itself allowing spit to have full and unbridled reign over my chin and your carpet. Maybe causing me to lisp in the process.
I would have admired other "little people" who had accomplished much in their lives. Take Yoda for example. I would have liked Yoda for his small stature while possessing immeasurable power. But I wouldn’t like him too much because he kind of looks like a little mutated brussel sprout. Which is closely related to broccoli which would remind me of my ever present plight.
I don't imagine my tastes would have changed too much. For example I would probably still like coffee. I imagine my favorite drink at Starbucks, whatever little people tend to get at Starbucks, would always come in a Tall size. Not because that’s all the caffeine my little, underdeveloped body could handle but because I would have developed an affinity for words like “tall” and “largish” and maybe phrases like “biggy size.” Especially "biggy size me." Dreams encapsulated in words. Dreams of what could have been had I only listened to my mom’s warnings.
I suppose crying and broccoli are pretty good things to embrace. Better yet dreaming about crying and broccoli. Dreams about crying while eating broccoli would probably be the most healthy dreams anyone could ever have.
This of course wouldn't be so much a dream as it would be a flashback to those fateful evenings that plagued my childhood.
Tears streaming down my 5 year old face as I came to the horrific realization that the only thing that stood between me and my after dinner snack was a soggy, miscolored bowl of broccoli that challenged a fat 3rd grader's lunch in regards to it's shear mass.
Yeah my life used to be hard. But that's only a distant dream now in my mind.
I've come to enjoy broccoli, providing it's colored appropriatly. Tears come when they're needed. Not in the most pleasant of times but at the right times. Dreams? Well I don't usually remember those. To be honest I'd rather not if they have anything to do with being naked at school.
Dreams are strange. At least I'm not walking down the hall of my high school without any pants. A lot of people have those kind of dreams.
Instead I simply stay there moving but not going any where. My eyes paint me something a little off compared to what awaits me on the other side of the expanse. Colors of what initially seemed to be the true hues of reds, greens and blues are coated with a slick clear jelly. Moving and running ever downwards. Melting the color of this vision into a gooey, slushy mess.
Pain doesn’t exist but neither does hope. Neither does anger and neither does fear. Understanding is a lost cause all together. So I float. Waiting for time to release me from my prison of nothing.
This reminds me of crying...
Sitting there with water coming out of my eyes. The salty liquid sitting in my fleshy sockets long enough for it to build. Until it floods down my face. Dripping, running, oozing.
Sit. Drip. Ooze.
Sit. Drip. Ooze.
Its the pattern of sorrow. Normally the pattern of emotion. Today its the pattern of numbness.
The water liquefying my vision. Running the colors I see together into something that slightly resembles a Van Gogh painting I saw one time in a museum. Or was it in a textbook?
I feel nothing, I see nothing, I know nothing. Just an echo of a sorrow that led me down this road that seems to be leading me nowhere. Staring but not seeing anything at all. Sensing but feeling only the dripping and oozing on my face. I’m not sure what the point of all this is. I think it’s healthy though. Someone told me that once.
It’s like eating broccoli....
They say it helps you grow and it makes you healthy but you never really know that for sure. Since mom always made me eat it I can’t tell you how things would have been different. I probably would have grown to a towering 3’ 11” and weighed 90 lbs as a full grown man. My bones would have been as brittle as Saltine crackers and I would have developed a cough that would've made the smoker lady’s early morning hacking that we could hear from our house as she got the morning paper sound like a throat itch.
I probably would have lost some muscle control and my lower lip would probably have curled underneath itself allowing spit to have full and unbridled reign over my chin and your carpet. Maybe causing me to lisp in the process.
I would have admired other "little people" who had accomplished much in their lives. Take Yoda for example. I would have liked Yoda for his small stature while possessing immeasurable power. But I wouldn’t like him too much because he kind of looks like a little mutated brussel sprout. Which is closely related to broccoli which would remind me of my ever present plight.
I don't imagine my tastes would have changed too much. For example I would probably still like coffee. I imagine my favorite drink at Starbucks, whatever little people tend to get at Starbucks, would always come in a Tall size. Not because that’s all the caffeine my little, underdeveloped body could handle but because I would have developed an affinity for words like “tall” and “largish” and maybe phrases like “biggy size.” Especially "biggy size me." Dreams encapsulated in words. Dreams of what could have been had I only listened to my mom’s warnings.
I suppose crying and broccoli are pretty good things to embrace. Better yet dreaming about crying and broccoli. Dreams about crying while eating broccoli would probably be the most healthy dreams anyone could ever have.
This of course wouldn't be so much a dream as it would be a flashback to those fateful evenings that plagued my childhood.
Tears streaming down my 5 year old face as I came to the horrific realization that the only thing that stood between me and my after dinner snack was a soggy, miscolored bowl of broccoli that challenged a fat 3rd grader's lunch in regards to it's shear mass.
Yeah my life used to be hard. But that's only a distant dream now in my mind.
I've come to enjoy broccoli, providing it's colored appropriatly. Tears come when they're needed. Not in the most pleasant of times but at the right times. Dreams? Well I don't usually remember those. To be honest I'd rather not if they have anything to do with being naked at school.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Technosexuality
Ricardo reminded me of a term I've not heard for a while but have indeed heard thrown around in the past.
Meet the Technosexual - a dandyish narcissist in love with not only himself, but also his urban lifestyle and gadgets; a straight man who is in touch with his feminine side but has fondness for electronics such as cell phones, PDAs, computers, software, and the web.
Meet the Technosexual - a dandyish narcissist in love with not only himself, but also his urban lifestyle and gadgets; a straight man who is in touch with his feminine side but has fondness for electronics such as cell phones, PDAs, computers, software, and the web.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Just
Why do we say "just" when we pray?
"Lord I just pray that you would heal this person" or "we just pray that you would move." "I just pray that..."
If you're like a lot of the people out there you'll probably find yourself uttering this four letter word at some point without thought or conscious effort. I've noticed this in myself because I don't really say it anywhere else in my verbal communication. I mean other than it's usual context.
Keep in mind that I'm assuming when people use the word it's contextualized by dictionary.com's definition as "merely or only."
Is it because we don't want to feel like we're challenging God too much? Do we want to keep God from feeling that we're asking for more than we should? Maybe we feel like it's some form of humility.
What are we suppose to do with coming "boldly" before God? What does that look like? And does anything we pray really qualify as just a "just."
This will probably ruin your prayer life for a while in light of the self analyzing, self consciousness that's bound to ensue. That is unless you are one of those who don't say it. But then you'll probably be listening for it in other people when they pray rather than actually listening to their prayer.
But hey, I'm just asking a question.
"Lord I just pray that you would heal this person" or "we just pray that you would move." "I just pray that..."
If you're like a lot of the people out there you'll probably find yourself uttering this four letter word at some point without thought or conscious effort. I've noticed this in myself because I don't really say it anywhere else in my verbal communication. I mean other than it's usual context.
Keep in mind that I'm assuming when people use the word it's contextualized by dictionary.com's definition as "merely or only."
Is it because we don't want to feel like we're challenging God too much? Do we want to keep God from feeling that we're asking for more than we should? Maybe we feel like it's some form of humility.
What are we suppose to do with coming "boldly" before God? What does that look like? And does anything we pray really qualify as just a "just."
This will probably ruin your prayer life for a while in light of the self analyzing, self consciousness that's bound to ensue. That is unless you are one of those who don't say it. But then you'll probably be listening for it in other people when they pray rather than actually listening to their prayer.
But hey, I'm just asking a question.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Life Times and A Moment
New like the morning sun
Life like this meadow we run
Wide as the sky’s array
Quick as this elusive display
Time like a ticking clock
The moment like a ticket we bought
Our existence goes slipping by
On this ship we have chosen to ride
Moving on water as reflective glass
The day will come and then to pass
This hour then to me is true
A depth like the deep deep blue
Life like this meadow we run
Wide as the sky’s array
Quick as this elusive display
Time like a ticking clock
The moment like a ticket we bought
Our existence goes slipping by
On this ship we have chosen to ride
Moving on water as reflective glass
The day will come and then to pass
This hour then to me is true
A depth like the deep deep blue
Thursday, November 03, 2005
He's In The Freezer
"Hilarious!"
This was brought to my attention courtesy of Brett.
The questions begs to be asked: Was this a metrosexual, an ubersexual or a good ol boy redneck doin his thing?
All I know is I've found a new hero.
This was brought to my attention courtesy of Brett.
The questions begs to be asked: Was this a metrosexual, an ubersexual or a good ol boy redneck doin his thing?
All I know is I've found a new hero.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Adam, Early in the Morning
Addapted/Inspired by: As Adam, Early in the Morning
By Walt Whitman
Adam, Early in the Morning
Adam, early in the morning,
Walking forth from the bower, refresh’d with sleep;
Behold me where I pass — hear my voice — approach,
Touch me — touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass;
Be not afraid of my Body.
Be not afraid of the rising of my chest;
Fear not the flurry of my existence.
Rising from the womb of my thought,
Refresh’d with sleep; alive from the flight of this dawn.
Sift your thoughts Adam of mine — Feel my presence.
Know the warmth of my face upon yours — Alive.
Your face is delightful to behold — Your adoration is what I seek.
Sing what is true of this life I have given you,
Hear the breath of my soul and know it to be — Beautiful.
This darkness I have lifted,
This light I have set on fire in thee.
Bring forth your music in it’s shimmering note,
Synchronizing it’s melodious sonnet with the rising of my chest.
Your voice and mine joining the sundry carol of this intrinsic palette.
Rest now Adam of mine. Rest
The moon leaps and the darkness embraces this world I have wrapped you in.
As the light fails you and my face is hidden from your eyes,
Understand my heart for you oh Mirror of my own.
While this darkness takes the celestial canvas and wraps it in mystery,
Know that my heart for you remains — True.
By Walt Whitman
Adam, Early in the Morning
Adam, early in the morning,
Walking forth from the bower, refresh’d with sleep;
Behold me where I pass — hear my voice — approach,
Touch me — touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass;
Be not afraid of my Body.
Be not afraid of the rising of my chest;
Fear not the flurry of my existence.
Rising from the womb of my thought,
Refresh’d with sleep; alive from the flight of this dawn.
Sift your thoughts Adam of mine — Feel my presence.
Know the warmth of my face upon yours — Alive.
Your face is delightful to behold — Your adoration is what I seek.
Sing what is true of this life I have given you,
Hear the breath of my soul and know it to be — Beautiful.
This darkness I have lifted,
This light I have set on fire in thee.
Bring forth your music in it’s shimmering note,
Synchronizing it’s melodious sonnet with the rising of my chest.
Your voice and mine joining the sundry carol of this intrinsic palette.
Rest now Adam of mine. Rest
The moon leaps and the darkness embraces this world I have wrapped you in.
As the light fails you and my face is hidden from your eyes,
Understand my heart for you oh Mirror of my own.
While this darkness takes the celestial canvas and wraps it in mystery,
Know that my heart for you remains — True.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The New Kid On The Block
So you probably know about the whole "metrosexual" gender label that's been going around for a while now.
Well apparently there's "a new man in town."
I never really felt like I wholly fit into the metrosexual category in spite of my propensity for having an opinion on and engaging in conversations covering interior decoration, fashion dilemmas (both for women and men), helping with wedding color schemes, emotionally charged films in general and Jan Austen films in particular and my apparent disdain for organized sports.
I just never knew where to place my more masculine traits such as my love for the outdoors, my inexplicable gravitation toward motorcycles in addition to the words “horsepower”, “meat” and “dude” the ever present desire to blow something up and the fact that I will always find farts amusing if not down right hilarious.
In relation to the article...can you really believe anything a book about "the future of men" has to say that 3 women wrote?
Well apparently there's "a new man in town."
I never really felt like I wholly fit into the metrosexual category in spite of my propensity for having an opinion on and engaging in conversations covering interior decoration, fashion dilemmas (both for women and men), helping with wedding color schemes, emotionally charged films in general and Jan Austen films in particular and my apparent disdain for organized sports.
I just never knew where to place my more masculine traits such as my love for the outdoors, my inexplicable gravitation toward motorcycles in addition to the words “horsepower”, “meat” and “dude” the ever present desire to blow something up and the fact that I will always find farts amusing if not down right hilarious.
In relation to the article...can you really believe anything a book about "the future of men" has to say that 3 women wrote?
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Martyrdom
The value in this social phenomenon is the emblazonment of one’s ideals and actions in life in the minds and hearts of the ones this hero left behind. The danger is that once gone stagnation can occur. The recycling of that said martyr’s accomplishment’s takes place. Innovation & transformation die and the once fertile ground of inspiration & change produces nothing different than yesterday’s fruits.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
What Does It All Mean?
Last night I dreamt I was Sheryl Crow.
I was at a benefit concert for some worth while cause or something and I was the main part of the show.
Anyway in the middle of the concert I realized I didn't know the lyrics to the song I was singing...
because I’m not really Sheryl Crow.
So I went into the back room to look up the lyrics in a three ring binder where apparently Sheryl Crow keeps all of the lyrics to her songs. It was kind of like a cheat sheet I guess. I tried to memorize the lyrics but I couldn’t so I brought the binder out onto the stage so I could read along while I sung.
I soon realized that this looked really stupid and besides, the song just wasn’t going as smoothly as if I were singing it from the heart.
So I stopped singing and the concert was over.
The End
I was at a benefit concert for some worth while cause or something and I was the main part of the show.
Anyway in the middle of the concert I realized I didn't know the lyrics to the song I was singing...
because I’m not really Sheryl Crow.
So I went into the back room to look up the lyrics in a three ring binder where apparently Sheryl Crow keeps all of the lyrics to her songs. It was kind of like a cheat sheet I guess. I tried to memorize the lyrics but I couldn’t so I brought the binder out onto the stage so I could read along while I sung.
I soon realized that this looked really stupid and besides, the song just wasn’t going as smoothly as if I were singing it from the heart.
So I stopped singing and the concert was over.
The End
Monday, October 10, 2005
Truth
The truth that all truth is God's truth is a beautiful truth indeed...
freeing us to catch glimpses of the creator in everything we see. In the things we do, in the people we meet, in the places we go, in the experiences we have. Not being afraid to see truth nestled in between the worlds falsity. Not being blinded to the truth being spoken from the liar's lips. Forcing us to redefine the concept of sacred.
freeing us to catch glimpses of the creator in everything we see. In the things we do, in the people we meet, in the places we go, in the experiences we have. Not being afraid to see truth nestled in between the worlds falsity. Not being blinded to the truth being spoken from the liar's lips. Forcing us to redefine the concept of sacred.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Titles
I've decided I want to be a progressively thinking, status-quo challenging, rule bending, life seeking and subsequently God searching, soul satisfied, follower of the way of Christ with a healthy dose of environmental & social justice awareness along with a passion for the underdog (both the born and unborn) that defies being placed in any silly political box and/or category, with a heart that wells up with compassion for anyone and everyone my life happens to wrap itself around, who's ideals refuse to bend under the most extreme pressures of society, knowing what he wants and has opinions that aren't easily moved but not impossibly altered along with a taste for the finer things, a love for the simple ones and a knack for finding value in the inconsequential moment.
What do you think?
What do you think?
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Back In The Saddle
Well I'm going back down south. This time to New Orleans. I'm leaving this morning. I'm pumped but not sure what I'll see. I realize I haven't posted anything on my previous trip other than pictures but I'll work on gathering my thoughts.
I'll be back in a week or so.
Keep us in mind when you talk to God.
I'll be back in a week or so.
Keep us in mind when you talk to God.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
The Reason Being...
It was recently stated that faith is the abandonment of reason. This is a misinformed judgment in my humble estimation. Faith is the understanding that not everything is understandable by our limited intellect and being ok with that. We do not serve an illogical God. One must only go so far as to observe the fact that there is a scientific and mathematical equation behind just about everything God did during the Creation process (I believe this serves to demonstrate the depth of God’s creativity not to mention mathematical and scientific brilliance). We may not understand His logic all the time but I don’t believe we are to abandon logic in order to call ourselves faithful to Christ.
Pursue logic and reason for as long as your intellect will allow you. And then rest in a faith that dictates that you trust a God that has a masterful grip on the institution of logic that you will never match this side of time and space.
Some of the purest forms of worship I have ever experienced have been found at the end of a road of logic that I have attempted to traverse for as long as I could only to wind up with a scrambled brain, a heart that is full of awe and an ego that has been dashed upon the rock hard fact that God is so much bigger than I.
Pursue logic and reason for as long as your intellect will allow you. And then rest in a faith that dictates that you trust a God that has a masterful grip on the institution of logic that you will never match this side of time and space.
Some of the purest forms of worship I have ever experienced have been found at the end of a road of logic that I have attempted to traverse for as long as I could only to wind up with a scrambled brain, a heart that is full of awe and an ego that has been dashed upon the rock hard fact that God is so much bigger than I.
Friday, September 16, 2005
A Child's Thoughts On God
I recently started going to a creative writing group to hone what little I have to start off with. Anyway this was an essay that I started in the group during our 20 minute writing time and have since completed:
I look at him. He’s strong. I remember how he would lift me up high into the sky as if I weighed no more than a thought. Lighter than snow, as inconsequential as the sun on my face.
I look at him. His strength is matched only by his understanding of the world. Not just any world. My world. I had questions. He had answers. Sometimes I would sit and try to think of a question that would contend with his knowledge of the universe. “Why is the grass green?” I would ask. “Why is the sky blue?” “Why do animals have fur?” “Why are you bigger than me?”
I think sometimes he would act like the question really challenged him. As if to say “That’s a really good question. You’re very smart for thinking of that.” But nothing really ever stumped him. By the time that big light in that even bigger expanse disappeared on another long, endless day of my youth's making he would have found an answer to the most challenging & profound questions I could conjure. And with a strong hand on my shoulder and the knowledge of the universe burning bright behind his big blue eyes he would set the world back into the embrace of a child’s understanding.
Until I thought of more questions to ask. “Why are clouds white?” “How do my legs work?” “Why do I sneeze?”
You see this man was my dad...as if you didn’t know that already. The beginning & ending of my existence. The one-stop-shop for all things, both questions and concerns. My fears & my hopes found their resolution in this hairy mountain of a man I called “Daddy”.
But over time my questions slowly changed. “Why do people die?”, “Why do we need forgiveness?”, “Why do we go to church?”
All of which he was prepared to answer. But my questions demanded more thought if one was going to attempt answering them.
Time made it’s cyclical way around my existence and at some point in it’s inevitably dictated events I found myself asking a different set of questions. Instead of “why do people die?” I was asking “why did my mother die?”, or “why did my friend have to die?”. Questions like “does God really love me?” and “who am I to an all-powerful all-knowing God?”. Questions that required deeper answers than what words pouring off peoples tongues could provide. Yes even the answers that issued from my father’s mouth could not satisfied the insatiable hunger of this man-child’s questioning.
Yet sometimes on those celestially planned days by someone bigger than me I find myself asking those funny child-questions again: “Why is the sky so big?” “Why are mountains so tall?” “Why does blood course through my veins?”.
I guess things don’t change all too much over time. I still have questions. But I also have a better understanding of what kind of answers I’m looking for...
...and only one can give me those kind of answers.
I look at him. He’s strong. I remember how he would lift me up high into the sky as if I weighed no more than a thought. Lighter than snow, as inconsequential as the sun on my face.
I look at him. His strength is matched only by his understanding of the world. Not just any world. My world. I had questions. He had answers. Sometimes I would sit and try to think of a question that would contend with his knowledge of the universe. “Why is the grass green?” I would ask. “Why is the sky blue?” “Why do animals have fur?” “Why are you bigger than me?”
I think sometimes he would act like the question really challenged him. As if to say “That’s a really good question. You’re very smart for thinking of that.” But nothing really ever stumped him. By the time that big light in that even bigger expanse disappeared on another long, endless day of my youth's making he would have found an answer to the most challenging & profound questions I could conjure. And with a strong hand on my shoulder and the knowledge of the universe burning bright behind his big blue eyes he would set the world back into the embrace of a child’s understanding.
Until I thought of more questions to ask. “Why are clouds white?” “How do my legs work?” “Why do I sneeze?”
You see this man was my dad...as if you didn’t know that already. The beginning & ending of my existence. The one-stop-shop for all things, both questions and concerns. My fears & my hopes found their resolution in this hairy mountain of a man I called “Daddy”.
But over time my questions slowly changed. “Why do people die?”, “Why do we need forgiveness?”, “Why do we go to church?”
All of which he was prepared to answer. But my questions demanded more thought if one was going to attempt answering them.
Time made it’s cyclical way around my existence and at some point in it’s inevitably dictated events I found myself asking a different set of questions. Instead of “why do people die?” I was asking “why did my mother die?”, or “why did my friend have to die?”. Questions like “does God really love me?” and “who am I to an all-powerful all-knowing God?”. Questions that required deeper answers than what words pouring off peoples tongues could provide. Yes even the answers that issued from my father’s mouth could not satisfied the insatiable hunger of this man-child’s questioning.
Yet sometimes on those celestially planned days by someone bigger than me I find myself asking those funny child-questions again: “Why is the sky so big?” “Why are mountains so tall?” “Why does blood course through my veins?”.
I guess things don’t change all too much over time. I still have questions. But I also have a better understanding of what kind of answers I’m looking for...
...and only one can give me those kind of answers.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Mississippi
I just returned from a trip to Mississippi & Louisiana to help in the Disaster Relief effort that's taking place out there. I have a few things to write about but don't have time as I've got a week of work to catch up with. Anyway check out the photos. I took a bunch of them.
Colorado Relief Team Gallery.
Colorado Relief Team Gallery.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
To Boycott or Not to Boycott....that's not really the question.
Just recently an article made it’s way around the church office. You may have seen the article. It basically attacked Starbucks for putting a Homosexual’s quote on one of their cups in addition to supporting the “homosexual agenda” in general. The bottom-line of the article was a call for Christians to fight (boycott) this onslaught of twisted and satanic cultural insurgence in the name of everything holy and good.
I understand that God disapproves of homosexuality as a lifestyle. But is that really the only issue that we’re facing today in our world? And should we really be talking about “going to war with homosexuality?” Those are really the only two issues you hear about in the church. That and abortion (these in my mind are no were near equal issues by the way).
Along the lines of boycotting though: How many corporations are we supporting who’s values don’t match up with our ideals and moral framework? What about sweatshop based stores. What about non-fair-trade type organizations. What about the diamond industry? How many women are out there who have diamonds on their rings who decide not to support Starbucks but decide to support the blood stones of the African diamond trade? It’s an issue of selective ignorance. And that’s my issue with the idea of boycotting. Boycotting doesn’t promote individual thought. An individual analysis of what one should or should not support. What it promotes is a bandwagon mentality. A blind movement forward in the dark without really understanding what one is achieving in doing so. We have only seen a growth in the visibility and the proliferation of the homosexual lifestyle in our society. One must ask the question...what exactly are we accomplishing?
Don’t misunderstand me. We have a national and social duty to act on the political level in moving this country in the most God honoring direction. I believe however that we have become too reliant on the legislative mandating of morality. Too keen on forcing a view point on someone who doesn’t believe the same way we do. But does this change people? Does a law change the heart?
The answer can only be no.
I understand that God disapproves of homosexuality as a lifestyle. But is that really the only issue that we’re facing today in our world? And should we really be talking about “going to war with homosexuality?” Those are really the only two issues you hear about in the church. That and abortion (these in my mind are no were near equal issues by the way).
Along the lines of boycotting though: How many corporations are we supporting who’s values don’t match up with our ideals and moral framework? What about sweatshop based stores. What about non-fair-trade type organizations. What about the diamond industry? How many women are out there who have diamonds on their rings who decide not to support Starbucks but decide to support the blood stones of the African diamond trade? It’s an issue of selective ignorance. And that’s my issue with the idea of boycotting. Boycotting doesn’t promote individual thought. An individual analysis of what one should or should not support. What it promotes is a bandwagon mentality. A blind movement forward in the dark without really understanding what one is achieving in doing so. We have only seen a growth in the visibility and the proliferation of the homosexual lifestyle in our society. One must ask the question...what exactly are we accomplishing?
Don’t misunderstand me. We have a national and social duty to act on the political level in moving this country in the most God honoring direction. I believe however that we have become too reliant on the legislative mandating of morality. Too keen on forcing a view point on someone who doesn’t believe the same way we do. But does this change people? Does a law change the heart?
The answer can only be no.
Monday, August 22, 2005
A Boy We Called Matt
His name was Matthew.
We called him Matt.
I’m not sure if that’s what he preferred or if that’s just what we all called him by default.
Matt was quiet. He had opinions though. I mean he had a personality. He wasn’t one of those guys where you could engage in the most impassioned monologue in front of and get nothing in return. Matt had opinions...it just took him a bit longer to share them compared to other people.
Matt listened well too. He wasn’t running his mouth all the time which gave him a chance to actually listen to what you were saying. I guess that’s kind of rare.
I’m not really sure when I met Matt. It’s one of those things that just happened sometime back...well you know, sometime back then. He was kind of one of those guys that I built a friendship with out of thin air...out of nothing. As if one day we came up to each other for the first time, hugged each other and started talking about...you know...whatever.
“Hey you wanna come over tomorrow?”
“Yeah dude. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, we could play video games. There’s this sweet movie out right now. You wanna go check it out?”
“Cool.”
That was probably what our first conversation was like. A conversation like that is the steel fiber that binds the hearts of two teenage boys together. There is no stronger bond. Of course our conversations got more open and vulnerable as time went on...
“Hey bro you wanna go to the mall?”
“Yeah bud, let’s do it!”
“Cool!”
(Note the terms bro & bud coupled with the indicative exclamation marks.)
You see Matt had a Jeep. I didn’t have a car. Matt lived 2 miles away from my house. It worked out well. I know what you’re thinking...don’t even go there. I didn’t use Matt for his car. It just worked out well that’s all.
Matt and I would get in these dumb conversations that would turn into even dumber arguments.
"Where'd you park?"
"I parked my jeep over near that Volvo."
"What did you say? Volvo? Dude, that’s not how you say Volvo.”
“Hey bro I know how to say Volvo...my family drives one.”
“Whatever dude.”
“Whatever dude.”
For serious. I have this argument on tape to this day.
Side note: I was in journalism and I carried around this tape recorder recording quotes for articles or whatever. For some reason I wanted to record one of our conversations. Maybe to listen to later on and analyze Matt’s strategy in order to ascertain a weakness in his argument model. Now that I think about it....that was kind of weird.
Then there would be this weirdness between us. You know the kind. The intangible, I-don’t-hate-you-but-I-don’t-really-like-you-right-now-and-I-probably-won’t-make-eye-contact-with-you-for-a-while type of weirdness that you have with any good friend from time to time.
I guess this would bother some people. But I knew that, come lunch time, I would make him laugh by being an idiot or he would make me laugh by saying something incredibly stupid yet incredibly funny.
Sometimes he would make these faces if he knew you were looking at him. He would make a face without looking at you and all you could think was, “you are an idiot”, and then promptly bust up laughing. I hated it when he did that. Especially when I was trying to maintain a cruel and solemn countenance in order to let him know that I was displeased with his contradicting me earlier on in the day.
It never worked.
And if by some chance we argued after lunch then I could count on Mr. Hurst’s 7th period CAD class to reunite the two tragically severed souls (Mr. Hurst was one of those teachers that seemed to have been handmade for the soul purpose of being tormented by smartass high school students). The cool thing was that he knew we were idiots but he also liked us because we were funny. We made him laugh and made him really mad for disrupting the class all at the same time. We were walking a razor sharp edge with a strong student/teacher bond on one side and a trip to the principles office on the other. To walk that edge was a skill learned over time. Rest assured I used my new found skill in other classes as well...I suppose that’s another story.
Looking back I remember there being a change in class. Things got...I don’t know darker maybe. It wasn’t just my CAD class. It was the second half of my Senior year.
When you’re a teenager in High school there is a lot of confusion. A lot of frustration with the way things are in your world and maybe a dose of helplessness since you can’t really change or do anything about it.
Years later I’m sitting here at my computer working on something inconsequential listening to a song that catapults me back to a time past....a time back then. It’s a song...well it’s a sad song. Some people would say it’s a happy song but it’s not. It was a song that was played at Matt’s funeral.
You see Matt got Leukemia late in his Junior year. It went into remission. We thought it was good. We thought it was fine. But then it resurfaced his Senior year. Not that that meant anything to us as his friends. People can’t die when they’re teenagers. It just doesn’t happen. You might as well ignore it.
“Where’s Matt?”
“Oh he’s sick again. It’s nothing big. He’ll be back soon I’m sure.”
I remember taking trips to the hospital to see Matt. Seeing him like that...all bloated from the Chemotherapy. Yellowish in complexion. It was like reality was trying to works it's cruel, eye opening fingers into our teenage worlds to show us that life is unforgiving and life is hard. It never really worked though. It never really made it into our concepts of reality. Not yet anyway.
And then one morning we all got a call from the school counselor. I don’t suppose I need to tell you what she said. It didn’t really mean anything to me at that moment. All I felt was numbness and confusion. Actually I didn't feel confusion...just numbness. Dad asked me if I wanted to stay home. I said no.
No that’s cool. I’ll just go to school and act like nothing happened. It’s all good.
I got to school and the 4 of us guys just kind of looked at each other.
“Did you hear?”
“Yeah I heard.”
That’s it. What else were we supposed to say?
They called Matt’s Senior class into the library...for what exactly I can’t remember. I guess to make the announcement. We all stood there looking at each other. Actually it was the whole class looking at us. Matt’s friends. Waiting for something. I don’t know what. What are you guys looking at? What are you waiting for?
And then I looked over at Aaron and he looked at me and by some force of nature that was beyond us we were drawn into each others arms and we started crying. The dam of numbness was opened and a 100,000 pounds of reality poured out on my head right then and there. And then I felt arms around me. At first it was our two other close friends but then it was the whole class.
Oh. This is what you were waiting for.
Those long groping tendrils of reality finally found us. Consider the disillusionment shattered.
Reality: 1
Disillusionment: 0
That was so long ago. So long ago. I don’t remember how my relationship began with Matt. I don’t remember exactly how it ended either. All I can remember was what we had in-between. That’s all that matters when you think about it. It's like an Oreo cookie maybe. It's really the frosting that you care about. The black stuff is just a delivery device. Beginnings and endings are like bookends. They hold what's really important to you in-between.
They say that Matt’s dad was with him the final hour he was alive. They say right before he died he squeezed his dad’s hand as if to say goodbye.
As if to say I’ll see you later.
I never got to say goodbye to Matt. But I know I’ll say hello again to him someday.
“Hey Matt...it’s good to see you!”
“You to Nathan!”
“Hey bro you want to hang with Jesus?”
“Yeah dude!”
“Cool...
...can I get a ride?”
---------------------
Goodbye Matt.
We called him Matt.
I’m not sure if that’s what he preferred or if that’s just what we all called him by default.
Matt was quiet. He had opinions though. I mean he had a personality. He wasn’t one of those guys where you could engage in the most impassioned monologue in front of and get nothing in return. Matt had opinions...it just took him a bit longer to share them compared to other people.
Matt listened well too. He wasn’t running his mouth all the time which gave him a chance to actually listen to what you were saying. I guess that’s kind of rare.
I’m not really sure when I met Matt. It’s one of those things that just happened sometime back...well you know, sometime back then. He was kind of one of those guys that I built a friendship with out of thin air...out of nothing. As if one day we came up to each other for the first time, hugged each other and started talking about...you know...whatever.
“Hey you wanna come over tomorrow?”
“Yeah dude. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, we could play video games. There’s this sweet movie out right now. You wanna go check it out?”
“Cool.”
That was probably what our first conversation was like. A conversation like that is the steel fiber that binds the hearts of two teenage boys together. There is no stronger bond. Of course our conversations got more open and vulnerable as time went on...
“Hey bro you wanna go to the mall?”
“Yeah bud, let’s do it!”
“Cool!”
(Note the terms bro & bud coupled with the indicative exclamation marks.)
You see Matt had a Jeep. I didn’t have a car. Matt lived 2 miles away from my house. It worked out well. I know what you’re thinking...don’t even go there. I didn’t use Matt for his car. It just worked out well that’s all.
Matt and I would get in these dumb conversations that would turn into even dumber arguments.
"Where'd you park?"
"I parked my jeep over near that Volvo."
"What did you say? Volvo? Dude, that’s not how you say Volvo.”
“Hey bro I know how to say Volvo...my family drives one.”
“Whatever dude.”
“Whatever dude.”
For serious. I have this argument on tape to this day.
Side note: I was in journalism and I carried around this tape recorder recording quotes for articles or whatever. For some reason I wanted to record one of our conversations. Maybe to listen to later on and analyze Matt’s strategy in order to ascertain a weakness in his argument model. Now that I think about it....that was kind of weird.
Then there would be this weirdness between us. You know the kind. The intangible, I-don’t-hate-you-but-I-don’t-really-like-you-right-now-and-I-probably-won’t-make-eye-contact-with-you-for-a-while type of weirdness that you have with any good friend from time to time.
I guess this would bother some people. But I knew that, come lunch time, I would make him laugh by being an idiot or he would make me laugh by saying something incredibly stupid yet incredibly funny.
Sometimes he would make these faces if he knew you were looking at him. He would make a face without looking at you and all you could think was, “you are an idiot”, and then promptly bust up laughing. I hated it when he did that. Especially when I was trying to maintain a cruel and solemn countenance in order to let him know that I was displeased with his contradicting me earlier on in the day.
It never worked.
And if by some chance we argued after lunch then I could count on Mr. Hurst’s 7th period CAD class to reunite the two tragically severed souls (Mr. Hurst was one of those teachers that seemed to have been handmade for the soul purpose of being tormented by smartass high school students). The cool thing was that he knew we were idiots but he also liked us because we were funny. We made him laugh and made him really mad for disrupting the class all at the same time. We were walking a razor sharp edge with a strong student/teacher bond on one side and a trip to the principles office on the other. To walk that edge was a skill learned over time. Rest assured I used my new found skill in other classes as well...I suppose that’s another story.
Looking back I remember there being a change in class. Things got...I don’t know darker maybe. It wasn’t just my CAD class. It was the second half of my Senior year.
When you’re a teenager in High school there is a lot of confusion. A lot of frustration with the way things are in your world and maybe a dose of helplessness since you can’t really change or do anything about it.
Years later I’m sitting here at my computer working on something inconsequential listening to a song that catapults me back to a time past....a time back then. It’s a song...well it’s a sad song. Some people would say it’s a happy song but it’s not. It was a song that was played at Matt’s funeral.
You see Matt got Leukemia late in his Junior year. It went into remission. We thought it was good. We thought it was fine. But then it resurfaced his Senior year. Not that that meant anything to us as his friends. People can’t die when they’re teenagers. It just doesn’t happen. You might as well ignore it.
“Where’s Matt?”
“Oh he’s sick again. It’s nothing big. He’ll be back soon I’m sure.”
I remember taking trips to the hospital to see Matt. Seeing him like that...all bloated from the Chemotherapy. Yellowish in complexion. It was like reality was trying to works it's cruel, eye opening fingers into our teenage worlds to show us that life is unforgiving and life is hard. It never really worked though. It never really made it into our concepts of reality. Not yet anyway.
And then one morning we all got a call from the school counselor. I don’t suppose I need to tell you what she said. It didn’t really mean anything to me at that moment. All I felt was numbness and confusion. Actually I didn't feel confusion...just numbness. Dad asked me if I wanted to stay home. I said no.
No that’s cool. I’ll just go to school and act like nothing happened. It’s all good.
I got to school and the 4 of us guys just kind of looked at each other.
“Did you hear?”
“Yeah I heard.”
That’s it. What else were we supposed to say?
They called Matt’s Senior class into the library...for what exactly I can’t remember. I guess to make the announcement. We all stood there looking at each other. Actually it was the whole class looking at us. Matt’s friends. Waiting for something. I don’t know what. What are you guys looking at? What are you waiting for?
And then I looked over at Aaron and he looked at me and by some force of nature that was beyond us we were drawn into each others arms and we started crying. The dam of numbness was opened and a 100,000 pounds of reality poured out on my head right then and there. And then I felt arms around me. At first it was our two other close friends but then it was the whole class.
Oh. This is what you were waiting for.
Those long groping tendrils of reality finally found us. Consider the disillusionment shattered.
Reality: 1
Disillusionment: 0
That was so long ago. So long ago. I don’t remember how my relationship began with Matt. I don’t remember exactly how it ended either. All I can remember was what we had in-between. That’s all that matters when you think about it. It's like an Oreo cookie maybe. It's really the frosting that you care about. The black stuff is just a delivery device. Beginnings and endings are like bookends. They hold what's really important to you in-between.
They say that Matt’s dad was with him the final hour he was alive. They say right before he died he squeezed his dad’s hand as if to say goodbye.
As if to say I’ll see you later.
I never got to say goodbye to Matt. But I know I’ll say hello again to him someday.
“Hey Matt...it’s good to see you!”
“You to Nathan!”
“Hey bro you want to hang with Jesus?”
“Yeah dude!”
“Cool...
...can I get a ride?”
---------------------
Goodbye Matt.
Brave New World
Last night I saw the sleeper movie of 2005. “The Island”. I saw the trailer for this movie online a while ago and decided I wanted to see it but never really heard about it again until yesterday when I saw it playing in the cheap theaters. It was a small child nestled between the monolithic giants of the summer silver screen I guess. It’s weird though I felt like there was a good amount of money that was poured into this film. Look at the cast list alone and you can see that.
Think Aldus Huxley’s “Brave New World”. The Island is a poignant commentary on some of today’s toughest scientific and moral questions. But they’re questions that need to be wrestled with if we’re to continue on the path we’re currently striding down. I can’t really divulge much else without giving away too much. If you check out the trailer you can probably figure out a enough and if you have read Huxley’s thought provoking work you can put it together.
Now this is the conspiracy theorist in me: I wonder if somehow the scientific community has enough clout with the Hollywood community to sway how much publicity a movie gets. I believe it’s only a matter of time before the issues that are presented in this movie are real issues we’ll be facing. Thus I could see large corporations that have something to gain from the technology discussed in the film using their corporate weight to push this movie through the money-making machine we as the consumer have created a bit quicker than other movies we’ve seen this summer. Just some off-the-wall but intriguing thoughts....I think.
Anyway great film direction. Great art direction. Great film processing. Great visual effects and even better action sequences. Only quips about the film: 1) The pacing drags just slightly in the middle but wasn’t a serious issue for me. 2) For a second there I thought the movie was going to end with the premise that the pinnacle of human existence is experiencing sex. Don’t get me wrong, this was a clean movie, but...well just watch the film.
Think Aldus Huxley’s “Brave New World”. The Island is a poignant commentary on some of today’s toughest scientific and moral questions. But they’re questions that need to be wrestled with if we’re to continue on the path we’re currently striding down. I can’t really divulge much else without giving away too much. If you check out the trailer you can probably figure out a enough and if you have read Huxley’s thought provoking work you can put it together.
Now this is the conspiracy theorist in me: I wonder if somehow the scientific community has enough clout with the Hollywood community to sway how much publicity a movie gets. I believe it’s only a matter of time before the issues that are presented in this movie are real issues we’ll be facing. Thus I could see large corporations that have something to gain from the technology discussed in the film using their corporate weight to push this movie through the money-making machine we as the consumer have created a bit quicker than other movies we’ve seen this summer. Just some off-the-wall but intriguing thoughts....I think.
Anyway great film direction. Great art direction. Great film processing. Great visual effects and even better action sequences. Only quips about the film: 1) The pacing drags just slightly in the middle but wasn’t a serious issue for me. 2) For a second there I thought the movie was going to end with the premise that the pinnacle of human existence is experiencing sex. Don’t get me wrong, this was a clean movie, but...well just watch the film.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
I Think I Saw Jesus Last Night
I wonder if he saw me?
I was standing in line at St. Marks' last night with a friend when a man walked in. He had long brown hair, probably mid back length with a beard and slight wrinkles on his face. Not old man wrinkles but wrinkles that serve as a sign of the weathered life he had thus far lived. He wasn't old, just weathered. I didn't take much note of him until he came up to the line and asked if "any one owned the sweet VW bus parked outside...their lights are on". He said it with a smile. Not the, I-am-looking-polite-but-I-really-don't-want-to-be-right-now smile we all have. Or the I'm-smiling-on-the-outside-but-I'm-not-on-the-inside-type smile we know we use sometime. It wasn't even a I'm-a-friendly-guy-and-so-I'll-smile-for-you-all type of smile. It had some other quality to it. Something different. It was a smile that was driven by an inner peace that has been found somewhere within the depths of his soul. A smile that's driven by a peace about one's self and one's place in this world. A peace-about-the-way-things-are-in-general type of smile. A smile that seemed to say that he was happy to be where he was at that very moment and to be with all of us strangers in this very place at this very time in history. I don't know...maybe I'm reading into things but those were my thoughts.
He was wearing one of those oversized llama wool South American type of shirts, sweat shop free I'm sure, some weird patterned pants that didn't match and what looked like tall rubber boots, the type you would see a fisherman wearing, as if to say that that whole promise not to flood the world thing was just a joke and that he was ready for hell and high water with his huge rubber boots. I don't know...maybe I'm reading into things but those were my thoughts.
I didn't have time to deconstruct all of this at the moment of course. After realizing I had no cash at a cash only type establishment I had to turn to my friend and engage in a "hey could you spot me until I can get some money" type of thing. I looked back and the fashionably challenged, coffee shop Jesus was sitting at a table in the middle of the room reading a book. I didn't read the title but I'm sure it was something along the lines of a “Loving People and Saving the World All While Promoting Small Businesses, Shunning Sweat Shops and Promoting Fair Trade" type of book. Or a "How to Hang With Movie Stars and Other Rich and Famous People While Maintaining a Fashionably Poor, Minimalist and Free-Spirited Lifestyle....For Dummies" book. I could even see him reading a slightly militant, "How to Break Up Parties With Home Made Weapons Such as Wips & The Like" type book. I don't know...maybe I'm reading into things but those were my thoughts.
Later on that night as I was laying in bed unable to sleep, thinking about my unexpected exposure to Jesus. I wondered what it would look like to come into a coffee shop and sit down face to face with Him. What would He say to me? If I walked in and the 2,000 year old carpenter was sitting there I don't think I would sit. I would be overwhelmed with everything in my life that made me unworthy to sit at his table. To sip lattes with the barrista of the universe. My only choice would be to walk up to His table fall to my knees grab onto his rubber clad calf and cry into His impenetrable knee high boots.
This would be kind of embarrassing to me if it wasn’t Jesus I was holding onto. He obviously wouldn’t be embarrassed. He would sit their with a small smile on His face. Not a, I-pity-you-and-your-embarrassing-emotional-outburst type of smile but a I-love-you-more-than-you-will-ever-know-even-though-you-do-wrong-more-often-than-you-do-right type of smile.
He would place a rough hand on my shoulder and hold on firmly, as if to keep me from spiraling into a black emotional abyss. As if to remind me that it was Him who created the world around me but He’s also the one who sought me out when I was lost.
And my mouth would open and words would come out. Whether I wanted them to or not they would come. I would apologize for being a sinner. I would say I was sorry for being such an asshole and then I would apologize for swearing but tell Him that’s what I am. And He would say that’s ok. Not so much a it’s-ok-if-you-swear type of ok but a I-understand-your-need-to-use-strong-terms type of ok. And a I-can-and-have-forgiven-you-for-all-of-this type of ok.
I would tell Him that I was sorry for not caring about others and not caring about whether they would die and go to hell if they didn’t know about Him. He would involuntarily squeeze my shoulder at this point, not because He’s angry but because what I’ve just told Him hurts Him more than words could say. But He would quickly recover because He knows there’s hope. He would see it in my heart and He would see it in my soul. He would see what I cannot. At least that's what I'm hoping. He would whisper something in my ear. I’m not sure what He would say but I’m sure it would be meaningful. Powerful. Heartfelt.
And as I cry into his knee I would tell Him how much it hurts to not have mom here. How much I missed her. I would tell Him that I didn’t understand why things had to happen the way they did. Why things have to be the way they are. I don’t think He would really say anything to me. I think He would just sit there with His God hand on my shoulder and cry with me. Because Jesus doesn’t have to have all the answers. I mean He does have all of them but that’s not what makes Him who He is. That’s not what makes Him God. All He has to do is be there. And everything is ok. That’s the power He has I guess. That’s the intangible Jesus factor I suppose.
I would like to think that we would talk long into the night...at least until closing time. It wouldn’t all be about spiritual stuff either. We would talk about everything. Both heavy and important and light and inconsequential. Cause that’s just how Jesus rolls. When God walked with Adam I don’t think they were talking about anything super important. At least not all the time. They were probably talking about what Adam was planning on calling those things that fly through the air as if they didn’t weight anything. Or those things that slip through the water like torpedoes. What about those things that have really long necks and spots? Those guys need names too. He would probably ask if Adam caught that awesome sunset the evening prior. “Hey Adam did you see that man? That was a ridiculous sunset!” He would then say in kind of a proud, slightly boasting way, “Yeah....I made that”.
I wonder if everything would be better after my talk with God? I wonder if everything would be set right? I don’t know what would change but I know it would feel good to just sit and talk.
I saw Jesus last night. I wonder if He saw me?
I don't know...maybe I'm reading into things but those were my thoughts.
I was standing in line at St. Marks' last night with a friend when a man walked in. He had long brown hair, probably mid back length with a beard and slight wrinkles on his face. Not old man wrinkles but wrinkles that serve as a sign of the weathered life he had thus far lived. He wasn't old, just weathered. I didn't take much note of him until he came up to the line and asked if "any one owned the sweet VW bus parked outside...their lights are on". He said it with a smile. Not the, I-am-looking-polite-but-I-really-don't-want-to-be-right-now smile we all have. Or the I'm-smiling-on-the-outside-but-I'm-not-on-the-inside-type smile we know we use sometime. It wasn't even a I'm-a-friendly-guy-and-so-I'll-smile-for-you-all type of smile. It had some other quality to it. Something different. It was a smile that was driven by an inner peace that has been found somewhere within the depths of his soul. A smile that's driven by a peace about one's self and one's place in this world. A peace-about-the-way-things-are-in-general type of smile. A smile that seemed to say that he was happy to be where he was at that very moment and to be with all of us strangers in this very place at this very time in history. I don't know...maybe I'm reading into things but those were my thoughts.
He was wearing one of those oversized llama wool South American type of shirts, sweat shop free I'm sure, some weird patterned pants that didn't match and what looked like tall rubber boots, the type you would see a fisherman wearing, as if to say that that whole promise not to flood the world thing was just a joke and that he was ready for hell and high water with his huge rubber boots. I don't know...maybe I'm reading into things but those were my thoughts.
I didn't have time to deconstruct all of this at the moment of course. After realizing I had no cash at a cash only type establishment I had to turn to my friend and engage in a "hey could you spot me until I can get some money" type of thing. I looked back and the fashionably challenged, coffee shop Jesus was sitting at a table in the middle of the room reading a book. I didn't read the title but I'm sure it was something along the lines of a “Loving People and Saving the World All While Promoting Small Businesses, Shunning Sweat Shops and Promoting Fair Trade" type of book. Or a "How to Hang With Movie Stars and Other Rich and Famous People While Maintaining a Fashionably Poor, Minimalist and Free-Spirited Lifestyle....For Dummies" book. I could even see him reading a slightly militant, "How to Break Up Parties With Home Made Weapons Such as Wips & The Like" type book. I don't know...maybe I'm reading into things but those were my thoughts.
Later on that night as I was laying in bed unable to sleep, thinking about my unexpected exposure to Jesus. I wondered what it would look like to come into a coffee shop and sit down face to face with Him. What would He say to me? If I walked in and the 2,000 year old carpenter was sitting there I don't think I would sit. I would be overwhelmed with everything in my life that made me unworthy to sit at his table. To sip lattes with the barrista of the universe. My only choice would be to walk up to His table fall to my knees grab onto his rubber clad calf and cry into His impenetrable knee high boots.
This would be kind of embarrassing to me if it wasn’t Jesus I was holding onto. He obviously wouldn’t be embarrassed. He would sit their with a small smile on His face. Not a, I-pity-you-and-your-embarrassing-emotional-outburst type of smile but a I-love-you-more-than-you-will-ever-know-even-though-you-do-wrong-more-often-than-you-do-right type of smile.
He would place a rough hand on my shoulder and hold on firmly, as if to keep me from spiraling into a black emotional abyss. As if to remind me that it was Him who created the world around me but He’s also the one who sought me out when I was lost.
And my mouth would open and words would come out. Whether I wanted them to or not they would come. I would apologize for being a sinner. I would say I was sorry for being such an asshole and then I would apologize for swearing but tell Him that’s what I am. And He would say that’s ok. Not so much a it’s-ok-if-you-swear type of ok but a I-understand-your-need-to-use-strong-terms type of ok. And a I-can-and-have-forgiven-you-for-all-of-this type of ok.
I would tell Him that I was sorry for not caring about others and not caring about whether they would die and go to hell if they didn’t know about Him. He would involuntarily squeeze my shoulder at this point, not because He’s angry but because what I’ve just told Him hurts Him more than words could say. But He would quickly recover because He knows there’s hope. He would see it in my heart and He would see it in my soul. He would see what I cannot. At least that's what I'm hoping. He would whisper something in my ear. I’m not sure what He would say but I’m sure it would be meaningful. Powerful. Heartfelt.
And as I cry into his knee I would tell Him how much it hurts to not have mom here. How much I missed her. I would tell Him that I didn’t understand why things had to happen the way they did. Why things have to be the way they are. I don’t think He would really say anything to me. I think He would just sit there with His God hand on my shoulder and cry with me. Because Jesus doesn’t have to have all the answers. I mean He does have all of them but that’s not what makes Him who He is. That’s not what makes Him God. All He has to do is be there. And everything is ok. That’s the power He has I guess. That’s the intangible Jesus factor I suppose.
I would like to think that we would talk long into the night...at least until closing time. It wouldn’t all be about spiritual stuff either. We would talk about everything. Both heavy and important and light and inconsequential. Cause that’s just how Jesus rolls. When God walked with Adam I don’t think they were talking about anything super important. At least not all the time. They were probably talking about what Adam was planning on calling those things that fly through the air as if they didn’t weight anything. Or those things that slip through the water like torpedoes. What about those things that have really long necks and spots? Those guys need names too. He would probably ask if Adam caught that awesome sunset the evening prior. “Hey Adam did you see that man? That was a ridiculous sunset!” He would then say in kind of a proud, slightly boasting way, “Yeah....I made that”.
I wonder if everything would be better after my talk with God? I wonder if everything would be set right? I don’t know what would change but I know it would feel good to just sit and talk.
I saw Jesus last night. I wonder if He saw me?
I don't know...maybe I'm reading into things but those were my thoughts.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Obsession Never Sounded So Sweet
You ever have a song that you've had for a while that you didn't really listen to when you first got it, it never really captured you or anything, and then discover it later on and all of a sudden you can't stop listening to it?
That's what's happening to me right now.
I'm going insane....and I can't stop.
What's the definition for obsessive compulsive?
How do straight jackets feel?
That's what's happening to me right now.
I'm going insane....and I can't stop.
What's the definition for obsessive compulsive?
How do straight jackets feel?
Thought Provoking Question #251
Why do people who shop at health food stores look so unhealthy?
Hmmmmmmm.
Hmmmmmmm.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
Who Do You Want It To Be?
It seems to me like we're all looking for something in ourselves. Specifically a definition. Who am I? What kind of person am I? What am I capable of? What do I desire? You know...that kind of stuff.
I wonder how much of a lost cause this is. I mean is there really a fixed definition of who we are? Isn't it always changing? Seems to me that as soon as we figure out who we are today we realize that it's just who we used to be. Who we are now is something we have to figure out tomorrow only to realize once getting there that those are just the headlines of yesterday.
Maybe the answer isn't in finding out who we are (or who we used to be) but in not caring who we are or who other people think we are and just being what we wind up being.
Easier said than done I suppose.
I wonder how much of a lost cause this is. I mean is there really a fixed definition of who we are? Isn't it always changing? Seems to me that as soon as we figure out who we are today we realize that it's just who we used to be. Who we are now is something we have to figure out tomorrow only to realize once getting there that those are just the headlines of yesterday.
Maybe the answer isn't in finding out who we are (or who we used to be) but in not caring who we are or who other people think we are and just being what we wind up being.
Easier said than done I suppose.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Television
I am a dumber individual than I was last night before 7:00.
You see I turned on my television.
It sucked me in.
Mind numbing "entertainment" ensued.
I felt like I needed to take a bath after watching all the media that silver box spewed out at me. Bath, shower, whichever. I figure the next step after my trip into a decidedly feminine post-wedding depression state is taking bubble baths with a loofah sponge while singing the theme to "The Sound of Music" or something (see the "Observations" post for more details. Cause you know you want to find out more).
Anyway I think it was kind of a good eye opener. I went from watching "Who Wants to Be a Hilton", a reality TV show that gives selfish, money grubbing 20 & 30 year olds the chance to become part of the materialistic Hilton family saga - or whatever, to watching a documentary on the struggles children are experiencing in India which include: child prostitution, starvation, disease and suicide. A lot of contrast.
Here's the deal with TV. It will suck you in. I guarantee you'll find something that's somewhat interesting. But is it really something that you needed to see? Is it really something you need to know? No. You know why, if you watch television you become dumber. I can't prove it medically or scientifically but I guarantee you're a stupider person for it.
Stupider, is that a word? Wow...I just proved my theory. I would have never said that yesterday.
You see I turned on my television.
It sucked me in.
Mind numbing "entertainment" ensued.
I felt like I needed to take a bath after watching all the media that silver box spewed out at me. Bath, shower, whichever. I figure the next step after my trip into a decidedly feminine post-wedding depression state is taking bubble baths with a loofah sponge while singing the theme to "The Sound of Music" or something (see the "Observations" post for more details. Cause you know you want to find out more).
Anyway I think it was kind of a good eye opener. I went from watching "Who Wants to Be a Hilton", a reality TV show that gives selfish, money grubbing 20 & 30 year olds the chance to become part of the materialistic Hilton family saga - or whatever, to watching a documentary on the struggles children are experiencing in India which include: child prostitution, starvation, disease and suicide. A lot of contrast.
Here's the deal with TV. It will suck you in. I guarantee you'll find something that's somewhat interesting. But is it really something that you needed to see? Is it really something you need to know? No. You know why, if you watch television you become dumber. I can't prove it medically or scientifically but I guarantee you're a stupider person for it.
Stupider, is that a word? Wow...I just proved my theory. I would have never said that yesterday.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
The Mountain
This past weekend a couple of guys and myself set out to climb Mt. of the Holy Cross. A beast of a mountain just past Vail near Minturn.
Our goal was set, our gear packed and our hearts focused on the great outdoors.
The approach to the peak was a long one with a lot of elevation change. In light of the fact that the other two members of our party had to work Friday we set out Friday evening and arrived at the base of our climb at around 9:00pm. This meant that our approach to our intended base camp would have to be accomplished in the middle of the night.
After hiking the trail by day the following afternoon I knew that the trail was difficult to navigate even in the broadest of daylight. Little did we know this at the time.
So with the strapping on of our head lamps and the mounting of our packs we set out on, what one member of our group would later describe as, the worst night of his life.
The hike was difficult to put it mildly. My pack was 60lbs...a weight that I was not used to carrying. The other two guys were much more seasoned and experienced in the hiking of fourteeners than myself. They were used to the altitude and the weight. They kept a grueling pass in which my pride demanded I match.
The drum beat was my pounding heart rate and the accompaniment was my labored breathing. Drenched in sweat, hammered by the pain in my lower back from an improperly packed bag and haunted by the thought that the next hill we were to climb would only reveal yet another pass that had to be conquered before our marked camp site would reveal itself. Every step was a prayer. Every movement a plea for divine intervention.
Mother nature was my enemy that night. It would seem that the great mountain we had set out to conquer had set it’s malevolent will against us. We were ants in the hands of a cruel and unforgiving monster.
Climbing is as much a mind game as it is a physical endeavor. Physically I was beyond any point I had taken myself in a long while and mentally – all I was thinking about was what the next ridge would reveal. I had to tell myself that liberation would be found in a summating of each ridge, each peak, each step I took on this God forsaken mountain.
After making our way through a vertically gyrating landscape for an hour or so we realized that we had lost the trail. At first this wasn’t a big deal. We had a map and compass and soon found it again. But after loosing the trail for the third or fourth time we began to get desperate.
One can navigate any landscape without a trail if they have a map and compass and the accompanying skill to read the two properly. While this was true we were in pitch black night and we were all extremely fatigued. Mentally I was feeling drained. It’s one thing to climb knowing that you’re progressing to a final destination. It’s something entirely different to be climbing a 60 degree slope with a large pack on your back and not know whether you’re going in the right direction. Going up a hill with the knowledge that you may be going right back down it while every muscle in your body is screaming at you to stop is probably a good picture of what hell is like.
We made our way to a rocky out-cropping which contained boulders that we had to climb hand and foot over. At this point I knew that I was reaching the end of myself. The end of my endurance, the end of my strength, the end of my sanity. I felt the creeping, groping fingers of nausea making their inevitable way to my stomach. I knew I was coming to a point of total and complete exhaustion.
I said as much to Josh who was with me at the point when it seemed a storm was about to break right over us. He yelled to Martin, the other member of our group, that we would be following a stream to the lake which was our final destination. Martin’s reply was that he thought he would try the upper ridge....at least that’s what it sounded like he said. Needless to say it’s never a good idea to separate in the wilderness....especially in these conditions. But separate we did. Josh and I followed a shallow bowl that seemed to contain a stream that, undoubtedly, would take us to the lake and Martin followed his intuition up yet another blasted ridge.
The rain began to fall.
Josh and I decided to set up our camp where we were. As soon as I broke out my tent the lightening began and all hope of setting up a mobile shelter was lost to the wind. By some miracle we happened to be 10 feet away from a small cave underneath a large rock. Cave isn’t really the right word. It was more like an overhang with a horizontal crack that led underneath this large rock. The overhang was large enough for only one of us to sleep under. One of us had to squeeze through the crack and rest somewhere within this slumbering giants bowls. Josh’s sleeping matt was with Martin who was lost to the darkness.
It was up to me. It took me forever to climb into the crack. Every movement took more energy than I thought I possessed. Some how I made it. Sliding along my belly. With a little flexibility, a lot of strength and a willingness to get dirty (which wasn’t a problem for me at this point) I made it into nature’s womb. I promptly emptied my stomach and rocked to sleep.
I slept better than I thought. The $60 I spent on my Thermarest was the best $60 I have ever spent. Period.
The next morning Josh went to look for Martin. He had given me a radio through which we kept tabs on each others progress. He wound up climbing the Mountain while I nurtured my body and my pride.
I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to make it back down the mountain so at about midday I decided to begin my decent while Josh was summiting. As I said before the trail was hard to track even in daylight. Patches of snow revealed tell tale signs of the path. Footprints of previous hikers were clearly seen in these small patches of snow.
I saw other things to.
I came across a print that looked like a bears. Interesting. Except it wasn’t a bear’s prints. Bears have long prints that come to a point. These were way too round. No, these prints belonged to a cat. A very large cat. These were the largest cat prints I have ever scene. The prints were going in the same direction as the hiker’s prints. I believe that it was at this juncture that I thought to myself, “you know that $12 you spent on renting that ice axe was probably a good investment after all”. My thoughts wondered to the crampons that were strapped to my back (spikes you attach to the bottom of your boots to gain traction on steep snow packed climbs). I wondered if I could manufacture some kind of barbaric replica of a ball and chain using crampons and my prussic cord in which I could wield against a large mountain cat.
After curbing my wild imagination and the freshly told story of a mountain lion tracking down and killing an unsuspecting backpacker in the mountains I pressed on. Ice axe in one hand, my hunting knife in the other and the thought of whether or not, if I was to be attacked, I would have the presence of mind to use either.
After loosing and finding the trail numerous times all while keeping a wary eye out behind me, I found myself looking across a stream. A stream I had remembered crossing the night before. I felt sure I was on the right course – everything looks different in the dark. Up until this point I hadn’t been sure whether I was on the right trail or not. I performed some sort of odd ballet. Crossing the river from rock to rock, it was truly a thing of beauty, I started the long trek back up the side of a large ridge that would take me down the final stretch of my journey back to the car.
One’s definition of the word “grueling” tends to be redefined as he/she experiences things that happen to be more grueling than their last grueling experience. My reinvention of the term was completed by the last stretch of uphill climbing I made on Saturday.
At one point I had to stop and verbally curse at the mountain a few times before continuing on knowing that the mountain's impenitent ears heard neither, word or emotion. For some reason I felt that if I screamed blasphemous names at this rock embalmed beast I could conquer it on some level.
I was reaching the pass that indicated that I was near the summit of the ridge when I heard a rhythmic slapping of something against something else. It sounded a lot like running. It was moving fast and it was right behind me. At the moment I was knee deep in snow. That combined with my heavy pack meant that I couldn’t turn around without loosing my balance. Of course I panicked. The vision of that giant paw print in the snow was seared into my mind. All I could think about was where I was going to hit this hairy abomination of nature. Would I go for the neck or side...or maybe it’s face as it came down upon my throat.
It was at this point that I realized that one of my straps had come loose on my pack and was flapping rapidly in the wind.
Idiot.
Upon reaching the car I took my pack off spasming shoulder muscles, blew up my mat, threw on some headphones and went to sleep next to the car. Josh showed up 2 hours later and Martin, much to our relief graced us with his presence by 5:00pm. The emotional Martin’s report included: sleeping in the rain the night before, virtually getting struck by lightning, sliding down the face of a near vertical cliff and in general almost dieing 6 times.
I decided not to inform him of the horse sized, man eating monster up in the hills that was no doubt chewing on his last victims femur as we spoke.
In some ways I felt like I went to hell and back that night. I definitely went to the edge of myself and found out what character is made of. I have a new found respect for nature. I most certainly have a new respect for owning a sidearm while backpacking in the wilderness.
It would be easy for me to consider this a failure. After all I never made it to my final destination. It would be easy to give up. To never go up there again and to never conquer my fear of pain and suffering in the midst of a cruel and harsh environment.
I have to go back though. Adventure is found up there. Life is found up there. Maybe the heart of a man is found in attempting to reach point B from point A. Taking himself to the edge of everything and staring the abyss in the face. We’ve told ourselves that in order to be men we have to reach B. That’s where our manhood lies. If we don’t we’ve failed in our quest to be men. But it’s a lie. Failure cannot conquer us. It mustn’t conquer us. If it does our only true failure will be our failure to see the growth that happened on our way up.
Maybe I will never reach B. But growth will occur on the way there. I know I’ll learn something about myself in trying.
Our goal was set, our gear packed and our hearts focused on the great outdoors.
The approach to the peak was a long one with a lot of elevation change. In light of the fact that the other two members of our party had to work Friday we set out Friday evening and arrived at the base of our climb at around 9:00pm. This meant that our approach to our intended base camp would have to be accomplished in the middle of the night.
After hiking the trail by day the following afternoon I knew that the trail was difficult to navigate even in the broadest of daylight. Little did we know this at the time.
So with the strapping on of our head lamps and the mounting of our packs we set out on, what one member of our group would later describe as, the worst night of his life.
The hike was difficult to put it mildly. My pack was 60lbs...a weight that I was not used to carrying. The other two guys were much more seasoned and experienced in the hiking of fourteeners than myself. They were used to the altitude and the weight. They kept a grueling pass in which my pride demanded I match.
The drum beat was my pounding heart rate and the accompaniment was my labored breathing. Drenched in sweat, hammered by the pain in my lower back from an improperly packed bag and haunted by the thought that the next hill we were to climb would only reveal yet another pass that had to be conquered before our marked camp site would reveal itself. Every step was a prayer. Every movement a plea for divine intervention.
Mother nature was my enemy that night. It would seem that the great mountain we had set out to conquer had set it’s malevolent will against us. We were ants in the hands of a cruel and unforgiving monster.
Climbing is as much a mind game as it is a physical endeavor. Physically I was beyond any point I had taken myself in a long while and mentally – all I was thinking about was what the next ridge would reveal. I had to tell myself that liberation would be found in a summating of each ridge, each peak, each step I took on this God forsaken mountain.
After making our way through a vertically gyrating landscape for an hour or so we realized that we had lost the trail. At first this wasn’t a big deal. We had a map and compass and soon found it again. But after loosing the trail for the third or fourth time we began to get desperate.
One can navigate any landscape without a trail if they have a map and compass and the accompanying skill to read the two properly. While this was true we were in pitch black night and we were all extremely fatigued. Mentally I was feeling drained. It’s one thing to climb knowing that you’re progressing to a final destination. It’s something entirely different to be climbing a 60 degree slope with a large pack on your back and not know whether you’re going in the right direction. Going up a hill with the knowledge that you may be going right back down it while every muscle in your body is screaming at you to stop is probably a good picture of what hell is like.
We made our way to a rocky out-cropping which contained boulders that we had to climb hand and foot over. At this point I knew that I was reaching the end of myself. The end of my endurance, the end of my strength, the end of my sanity. I felt the creeping, groping fingers of nausea making their inevitable way to my stomach. I knew I was coming to a point of total and complete exhaustion.
I said as much to Josh who was with me at the point when it seemed a storm was about to break right over us. He yelled to Martin, the other member of our group, that we would be following a stream to the lake which was our final destination. Martin’s reply was that he thought he would try the upper ridge....at least that’s what it sounded like he said. Needless to say it’s never a good idea to separate in the wilderness....especially in these conditions. But separate we did. Josh and I followed a shallow bowl that seemed to contain a stream that, undoubtedly, would take us to the lake and Martin followed his intuition up yet another blasted ridge.
The rain began to fall.
Josh and I decided to set up our camp where we were. As soon as I broke out my tent the lightening began and all hope of setting up a mobile shelter was lost to the wind. By some miracle we happened to be 10 feet away from a small cave underneath a large rock. Cave isn’t really the right word. It was more like an overhang with a horizontal crack that led underneath this large rock. The overhang was large enough for only one of us to sleep under. One of us had to squeeze through the crack and rest somewhere within this slumbering giants bowls. Josh’s sleeping matt was with Martin who was lost to the darkness.
It was up to me. It took me forever to climb into the crack. Every movement took more energy than I thought I possessed. Some how I made it. Sliding along my belly. With a little flexibility, a lot of strength and a willingness to get dirty (which wasn’t a problem for me at this point) I made it into nature’s womb. I promptly emptied my stomach and rocked to sleep.
I slept better than I thought. The $60 I spent on my Thermarest was the best $60 I have ever spent. Period.
The next morning Josh went to look for Martin. He had given me a radio through which we kept tabs on each others progress. He wound up climbing the Mountain while I nurtured my body and my pride.
I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to make it back down the mountain so at about midday I decided to begin my decent while Josh was summiting. As I said before the trail was hard to track even in daylight. Patches of snow revealed tell tale signs of the path. Footprints of previous hikers were clearly seen in these small patches of snow.
I saw other things to.
I came across a print that looked like a bears. Interesting. Except it wasn’t a bear’s prints. Bears have long prints that come to a point. These were way too round. No, these prints belonged to a cat. A very large cat. These were the largest cat prints I have ever scene. The prints were going in the same direction as the hiker’s prints. I believe that it was at this juncture that I thought to myself, “you know that $12 you spent on renting that ice axe was probably a good investment after all”. My thoughts wondered to the crampons that were strapped to my back (spikes you attach to the bottom of your boots to gain traction on steep snow packed climbs). I wondered if I could manufacture some kind of barbaric replica of a ball and chain using crampons and my prussic cord in which I could wield against a large mountain cat.
After curbing my wild imagination and the freshly told story of a mountain lion tracking down and killing an unsuspecting backpacker in the mountains I pressed on. Ice axe in one hand, my hunting knife in the other and the thought of whether or not, if I was to be attacked, I would have the presence of mind to use either.
After loosing and finding the trail numerous times all while keeping a wary eye out behind me, I found myself looking across a stream. A stream I had remembered crossing the night before. I felt sure I was on the right course – everything looks different in the dark. Up until this point I hadn’t been sure whether I was on the right trail or not. I performed some sort of odd ballet. Crossing the river from rock to rock, it was truly a thing of beauty, I started the long trek back up the side of a large ridge that would take me down the final stretch of my journey back to the car.
One’s definition of the word “grueling” tends to be redefined as he/she experiences things that happen to be more grueling than their last grueling experience. My reinvention of the term was completed by the last stretch of uphill climbing I made on Saturday.
At one point I had to stop and verbally curse at the mountain a few times before continuing on knowing that the mountain's impenitent ears heard neither, word or emotion. For some reason I felt that if I screamed blasphemous names at this rock embalmed beast I could conquer it on some level.
I was reaching the pass that indicated that I was near the summit of the ridge when I heard a rhythmic slapping of something against something else. It sounded a lot like running. It was moving fast and it was right behind me. At the moment I was knee deep in snow. That combined with my heavy pack meant that I couldn’t turn around without loosing my balance. Of course I panicked. The vision of that giant paw print in the snow was seared into my mind. All I could think about was where I was going to hit this hairy abomination of nature. Would I go for the neck or side...or maybe it’s face as it came down upon my throat.
It was at this point that I realized that one of my straps had come loose on my pack and was flapping rapidly in the wind.
Idiot.
Upon reaching the car I took my pack off spasming shoulder muscles, blew up my mat, threw on some headphones and went to sleep next to the car. Josh showed up 2 hours later and Martin, much to our relief graced us with his presence by 5:00pm. The emotional Martin’s report included: sleeping in the rain the night before, virtually getting struck by lightning, sliding down the face of a near vertical cliff and in general almost dieing 6 times.
I decided not to inform him of the horse sized, man eating monster up in the hills that was no doubt chewing on his last victims femur as we spoke.
In some ways I felt like I went to hell and back that night. I definitely went to the edge of myself and found out what character is made of. I have a new found respect for nature. I most certainly have a new respect for owning a sidearm while backpacking in the wilderness.
It would be easy for me to consider this a failure. After all I never made it to my final destination. It would be easy to give up. To never go up there again and to never conquer my fear of pain and suffering in the midst of a cruel and harsh environment.
I have to go back though. Adventure is found up there. Life is found up there. Maybe the heart of a man is found in attempting to reach point B from point A. Taking himself to the edge of everything and staring the abyss in the face. We’ve told ourselves that in order to be men we have to reach B. That’s where our manhood lies. If we don’t we’ve failed in our quest to be men. But it’s a lie. Failure cannot conquer us. It mustn’t conquer us. If it does our only true failure will be our failure to see the growth that happened on our way up.
Maybe I will never reach B. But growth will occur on the way there. I know I’ll learn something about myself in trying.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Observations
1. The weather effects my mood way too much.
2. Florida is really hot.
3. I’m way too sappy.
After going to Ricardo and Sally’s wedding I’m experiencing some post-wedding depression. Anyway last night I found myself watching “Father of the Bride”. I’m such a girl.
When I get engaged I’m going to drive my fiancé nuts with all the opinions I have about how things should be at the wedding.
I think I’ll watch “My Best Friends Wedding” tonight.
2. Florida is really hot.
3. I’m way too sappy.
After going to Ricardo and Sally’s wedding I’m experiencing some post-wedding depression. Anyway last night I found myself watching “Father of the Bride”. I’m such a girl.
When I get engaged I’m going to drive my fiancé nuts with all the opinions I have about how things should be at the wedding.
I think I’ll watch “My Best Friends Wedding” tonight.
Monday, May 23, 2005
The Dance
I don't know who I am, I don't know who you are and I don't know what this spirit is that binds us together. What does it mean to have a heart that beats with yours? What does it mean to have a fiery, unquenchable, unwavering passion for a God I can't see, taste, hear, smell or touch? You have a thousand names yet I can't see your face. You hold the world in your grasp yet I can't seem to hold your hand. You have laid your will out before me but I can't seem to find my next step. You have a voice to silence storms yet I can't hear your whispers.
You are a mystery and you are the answer. Both the climax and the resolution. You are a paradox and a monument of reason, the beginning and the end, my hope and my uncertainty. I place my faith in you and I doubt you. I want to see you and I run from you.
Who are you - who am I?
What are you - what am I?
Why are you - why am I?
How can you be - how can I be?
These equations have more to do with poetry than they do with math. A relationship more than answers. Byproducts of one's own perception. Degrees of emotion, whispers of thought. Your truth is a rock but our relationship is as dynamic as the waves of an ocean. Gyrating to an unknown rhythm, dancing to an unknown rhyme. What is this song we dance to? Who's guiding our steps? What floor do we move upon and what dance are we dancing?
The questions I have asked all my life, but never knew it, are now coming to the surface of my mind. The horizon is small and my reality is smaller still. Today is my world and the spanse of life is all but forgotten. The temporal is what I call significant and all significance has lost true meaning.
You created me from dust but your creation is not complete. Birth cannot begin and end at the point of your masterful conception. Continue what was begun, master what you have started. The glue by which you fasten yourself to your creation must be completed in me. I don't know what that looks like, and I don't know what that means...
all I know is that I need you to dance this dance within me.
You are a mystery and you are the answer. Both the climax and the resolution. You are a paradox and a monument of reason, the beginning and the end, my hope and my uncertainty. I place my faith in you and I doubt you. I want to see you and I run from you.
Who are you - who am I?
What are you - what am I?
Why are you - why am I?
How can you be - how can I be?
These equations have more to do with poetry than they do with math. A relationship more than answers. Byproducts of one's own perception. Degrees of emotion, whispers of thought. Your truth is a rock but our relationship is as dynamic as the waves of an ocean. Gyrating to an unknown rhythm, dancing to an unknown rhyme. What is this song we dance to? Who's guiding our steps? What floor do we move upon and what dance are we dancing?
The questions I have asked all my life, but never knew it, are now coming to the surface of my mind. The horizon is small and my reality is smaller still. Today is my world and the spanse of life is all but forgotten. The temporal is what I call significant and all significance has lost true meaning.
You created me from dust but your creation is not complete. Birth cannot begin and end at the point of your masterful conception. Continue what was begun, master what you have started. The glue by which you fasten yourself to your creation must be completed in me. I don't know what that looks like, and I don't know what that means...
all I know is that I need you to dance this dance within me.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
The Wind and A Rock
I have a friend who's mom is expected to die any day. She has cancer in her sinuses.
I told her I would pray for her.
One of the biggest things that I struggled with when mom passed away was understanding what prayer really does. I still don't know. I don't struggle with whether God can heal or perform miracles. I know He can and does. My biggest struggle is knowing whether He will. Basically this, I felt, undermined my faith. It became really hard for me to pray about anything. I felt like God would do whatever He was already planning on doing. I've never really understood prayer and it's effects on a omniscient, omnipotent God.
I questioned whether, if I had prayed harder or longer or more passionately, maybe mom would still be here today. Just maybe that whisper of a wind would move something big and powerful and the future would be altered forever.
Today I struggle with praying for my friend...I don't know if it will help.
A life is held in a teetering and precious balance and my ability to effectively pray for her has been shot to hell.
I told her I would pray for her.
One of the biggest things that I struggled with when mom passed away was understanding what prayer really does. I still don't know. I don't struggle with whether God can heal or perform miracles. I know He can and does. My biggest struggle is knowing whether He will. Basically this, I felt, undermined my faith. It became really hard for me to pray about anything. I felt like God would do whatever He was already planning on doing. I've never really understood prayer and it's effects on a omniscient, omnipotent God.
I questioned whether, if I had prayed harder or longer or more passionately, maybe mom would still be here today. Just maybe that whisper of a wind would move something big and powerful and the future would be altered forever.
Today I struggle with praying for my friend...I don't know if it will help.
A life is held in a teetering and precious balance and my ability to effectively pray for her has been shot to hell.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For
The debate on whether the band U2 consists of Christians has been a long one.
When U2 came out with the song "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" they experienced tremendous scrutiny and criticism from the church. After all, how could someone say, after finding Jesus, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for"?
I was saved at the age of 5 in Rauschenberg, Germany. I have grown up in the church and I have been raised on the truth of God's Word in a family that would be described as a "Christian home".
But I can honestly say that after 25 years on this planet I still have not found what I'm looking for.
When U2 came out with the song "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" they experienced tremendous scrutiny and criticism from the church. After all, how could someone say, after finding Jesus, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for"?
I was saved at the age of 5 in Rauschenberg, Germany. I have grown up in the church and I have been raised on the truth of God's Word in a family that would be described as a "Christian home".
But I can honestly say that after 25 years on this planet I still have not found what I'm looking for.
Forgiveness, Guilt & Love
Guilt is the state in which, after having arrived at the understanding that we are not good enough, we continue to strive for the elusive state-of-being called perfection in our own strength and power.
I think conviction differs in that when confronted by our own depravity we move past our inadequacies to embrace the grace and thus forgiveness that is offered to us.
Forgiveness is another word for love (People are always saying that in the original languages the Bible was written in there were many different words for love. I think we have a few...they’re just disguised).
Living in the state of guilt is the recipe for our own destruction. It is for this reason that I hate the word and the idea of religion. THE DEMAND FOR PERFECTION + GUILT - GRACE = RELIGION. Religion gave us the Crusades. Religion gave us the idea of “purifying” the un-saved through torture and murder.
Life is found in the acceptance of grace. Closely tied to grace is the idea of love and the acceptance of that love.
I don’t except love. I don’t believe people love me even when they show me and tell me. I don’t believe God loves me. I know that people and God love me in my head but I can’t except it in my heart.
This creates a tremendous (understated) void in my life that I haven’t fully grasped with far reaching ramifications that I haven’t even begun to discover.
The world calls these things “issues”.
I call them my life.
I think conviction differs in that when confronted by our own depravity we move past our inadequacies to embrace the grace and thus forgiveness that is offered to us.
Forgiveness is another word for love (People are always saying that in the original languages the Bible was written in there were many different words for love. I think we have a few...they’re just disguised).
Living in the state of guilt is the recipe for our own destruction. It is for this reason that I hate the word and the idea of religion. THE DEMAND FOR PERFECTION + GUILT - GRACE = RELIGION. Religion gave us the Crusades. Religion gave us the idea of “purifying” the un-saved through torture and murder.
Life is found in the acceptance of grace. Closely tied to grace is the idea of love and the acceptance of that love.
I don’t except love. I don’t believe people love me even when they show me and tell me. I don’t believe God loves me. I know that people and God love me in my head but I can’t except it in my heart.
This creates a tremendous (understated) void in my life that I haven’t fully grasped with far reaching ramifications that I haven’t even begun to discover.
The world calls these things “issues”.
I call them my life.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
DIESTRONG
Ummmm yeah. You know how Christians tend to create little bubbles around themselves to protect us from the evil, filthy, hell-bound world that surrounds us? This, for some reason, causes us to take this stuff we see "in the world" and modify it so that it falls in the category of "Christian". Well the latest and greatest from the Christian bubble machine just crossed my desk: DIESTRONG bracelets...
we have GOT to get out more.
we have GOT to get out more.
Nothing At All
I keep on thinking of things to blog about but I soon forget what I was going to post. Basically this has happened a few times these past couple of weeks.
I think I need a blog to keep track of what I want to blog about.
I've started messing around with photography. It's something that I've wanted to do for a while off and on but recently decided that it would really be a good thing to know - being a designer and all. It's amazing what you can learn on the internet. Anyway I'm thinking of posting photos that I take throughout the week here. It'll probably be random but I guess that's the mantra of this blog.
The fact that I'm an artist means that I'm a veracious monster that needs to be fed inspiration 24/7. But I have pretty much been starving myself over the past months. I think this came to a head a few weeks ago. Anyway I'm planning on trying to surround myself with inspiration. So if anyone wants to hit up a museum let me know. I'm sure I'll increase my coffee shop visits since, for some reason, they seem to be endless sources of inspiration for me.
In case you were wondering.
I think I need a blog to keep track of what I want to blog about.
I've started messing around with photography. It's something that I've wanted to do for a while off and on but recently decided that it would really be a good thing to know - being a designer and all. It's amazing what you can learn on the internet. Anyway I'm thinking of posting photos that I take throughout the week here. It'll probably be random but I guess that's the mantra of this blog.
The fact that I'm an artist means that I'm a veracious monster that needs to be fed inspiration 24/7. But I have pretty much been starving myself over the past months. I think this came to a head a few weeks ago. Anyway I'm planning on trying to surround myself with inspiration. So if anyone wants to hit up a museum let me know. I'm sure I'll increase my coffee shop visits since, for some reason, they seem to be endless sources of inspiration for me.
In case you were wondering.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Love
For the past few months Dad has been sending me copies of early love letters Mom sent to him. From early on in their courtship while they were going to Biola University to early after their wedding when they were separated while Mom was going through boot camp in Houston.
While I was down in Colorado Springs trying to make it through the longest 2 weeks of my life I told Dad that even after seeing him and Mom loving one another so faithfully for 24 years prior, the definition of love was never as clear to me as it was when I saw Dad love Mom through her sickness. Through the chemotherapy, her bald head and her pale complexion and the final weeks of her life.
I remember sitting on the porch of our house and hearing Dad say that in some ways Mom never looked more beautiful to him than she did then. When she needed him the most. I remember sitting there wondering how this could be. Trying to understand the language he was speaking. And I remember realizing that love isn’t some jolt of energy or emotion and it isn’t a quick burst of excitement. Love is more like a flower. A flower that needs nurturing and time. Over time the flower comes to the season when it gets to unfold and reveal all that that time and nurturing accomplished over the years. When the world is able to see that flower for all that it is and gasp at it’s radiance. It’s a time when people have no choice but to redefine love as something so much more than they originally thought it would or ever could be.
It’s in those 2 weeks that the love that my parents shared blossomed into full beauty before my very eyes and my definition of what love should look like was rocked to it’s very core.
While I was down in Colorado Springs trying to make it through the longest 2 weeks of my life I told Dad that even after seeing him and Mom loving one another so faithfully for 24 years prior, the definition of love was never as clear to me as it was when I saw Dad love Mom through her sickness. Through the chemotherapy, her bald head and her pale complexion and the final weeks of her life.
I remember sitting on the porch of our house and hearing Dad say that in some ways Mom never looked more beautiful to him than she did then. When she needed him the most. I remember sitting there wondering how this could be. Trying to understand the language he was speaking. And I remember realizing that love isn’t some jolt of energy or emotion and it isn’t a quick burst of excitement. Love is more like a flower. A flower that needs nurturing and time. Over time the flower comes to the season when it gets to unfold and reveal all that that time and nurturing accomplished over the years. When the world is able to see that flower for all that it is and gasp at it’s radiance. It’s a time when people have no choice but to redefine love as something so much more than they originally thought it would or ever could be.
It’s in those 2 weeks that the love that my parents shared blossomed into full beauty before my very eyes and my definition of what love should look like was rocked to it’s very core.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
A Cry In The Dark
So a group of medical personnel from our church came back from Indonesia yesterday. They worked with many people who were hurt by the tsunami. They met 1100 people's medical needs. The devastation is apparently beyond description of which the little video footage I saw 10 minutes ago testifies.
I think often my response to the incredible contrast between other’s suffering and my apparent ease of life is a special kind of self loathing. I don’t think this is a healthy or correct response. It isn’t my fault I was born into, what most of the world would consider, an incredibly wealthy home. It’s God’s fault. I think my response should be, first a gratitude for this blessing I know as my life that God has granted me with. And then an understanding of what is going on in the world around me and knowing that the phrase, the grass is greener on the other side of the hill could not be further from the truth.
This is what I’ve been struggling with over the past few months. Knowing what my response should be in the wake of terror and disaster around the world. Not just in Asia but in Africa, South America, the Middle East and everwhere else I look. I’m not really sure what my response should be. I only have so much money. But I guess I can always give more.
But is that what my heart and conscience are screaming for? Or is it something more?
I think often my response to the incredible contrast between other’s suffering and my apparent ease of life is a special kind of self loathing. I don’t think this is a healthy or correct response. It isn’t my fault I was born into, what most of the world would consider, an incredibly wealthy home. It’s God’s fault. I think my response should be, first a gratitude for this blessing I know as my life that God has granted me with. And then an understanding of what is going on in the world around me and knowing that the phrase, the grass is greener on the other side of the hill could not be further from the truth.
This is what I’ve been struggling with over the past few months. Knowing what my response should be in the wake of terror and disaster around the world. Not just in Asia but in Africa, South America, the Middle East and everwhere else I look. I’m not really sure what my response should be. I only have so much money. But I guess I can always give more.
But is that what my heart and conscience are screaming for? Or is it something more?
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
A Processed Thought Product
I love people watching. The airport is the best place to do this. You get such a variety of characters.
I was at a Home Depot a few days ago and I decided to pick up a hot dog at the vendor in front of the store and eat it in my car.
Well, while stuffing my face with this mysterious, processed, meat product sandwiched between a stale bun, I got some good people watching done and I’ve come to the conclusion that based on the clinical definition of insanity (someone who does something over and over again expecting different results) I think a vast majority of the populace is legally insane. Which is kind of a comforting thought because now we have a reason for doing all the stupid things that we as the human race have done and no doubt will continue to do until the end of time.
If you chew on that for as long as I chewed on that rubbery hot dog I’m sure you’ll agree.
Anyway that’s my deep thought for the day.
I was at a Home Depot a few days ago and I decided to pick up a hot dog at the vendor in front of the store and eat it in my car.
Well, while stuffing my face with this mysterious, processed, meat product sandwiched between a stale bun, I got some good people watching done and I’ve come to the conclusion that based on the clinical definition of insanity (someone who does something over and over again expecting different results) I think a vast majority of the populace is legally insane. Which is kind of a comforting thought because now we have a reason for doing all the stupid things that we as the human race have done and no doubt will continue to do until the end of time.
If you chew on that for as long as I chewed on that rubbery hot dog I’m sure you’ll agree.
Anyway that’s my deep thought for the day.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Change
Man keeping a blog updated with posts is difficult. At least for me. I know a few other people who have the same issue.
So I just moved. I hate moving. It's depressing. I think as I get older the fact that certain things are depressing to me doesn't change but I think the understanding that this moment won't last for very long becomes solidified in my mind. Change in one's life is like chapters in a book. Only in a book you pass from chapter to chapter without hesitation. For me these chapters of life require a lot of reflection. Sometimes this reflection causes me to relive the passing of chapters in my past. Which can be difficult depending on the chapter.
To bring it to a head I think that with every change that occurs in my life that takes me away from how life was when mom died causes me to feel like I am leaving her behind.
I wonder if that will ever become easier.
So I just moved. I hate moving. It's depressing. I think as I get older the fact that certain things are depressing to me doesn't change but I think the understanding that this moment won't last for very long becomes solidified in my mind. Change in one's life is like chapters in a book. Only in a book you pass from chapter to chapter without hesitation. For me these chapters of life require a lot of reflection. Sometimes this reflection causes me to relive the passing of chapters in my past. Which can be difficult depending on the chapter.
To bring it to a head I think that with every change that occurs in my life that takes me away from how life was when mom died causes me to feel like I am leaving her behind.
I wonder if that will ever become easier.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Tsunami
Interesting isn't quite the word but this is an eye opening site that features before and after shots of the Tsunami devestation. You've probably seen something like this before if you spend much time on the internet.
Before & After
Before & After
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Techno Envy
I'm experiencing some extreme techno envy right now I must confess:
http://www.apple.com/macmini/
It's not even as fast as my computer and I still want it.
Curse you Apple!
http://www.apple.com/macmini/
It's not even as fast as my computer and I still want it.
Curse you Apple!
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