The Lightbox

2009-03-17T08:39:00.000-07:00

Amen.

Yo

2008-07-06T20:08:00.001-07:00

Yo.

Return

2008-06-02T05:47:00.000-07:00

When I left the country on April 27 it seemed that snow was still a constant threat. The trees where still uncertain of Spring. I've come back to incredible colors of green, full blooming trees and a complete sense that summer is here.

I've been gone for a long time.

It is good to be home. Still, I can feel the post-trip blues coming on.

The Road To Dahab

2008-05-16T07:48:00.001-07:00

The backdrop in which this story unfolds needs to be understood in order for you to fully comprehend how I found myself believing I had been kidnapped by the Taliban.

Ever since arriving in Egypt on Sunday evening I was a target. As a westerner and furthermore a single westerner I was hard to miss and I imagine hard to pass up for anyone who had any interest at all in taking advantage of someone unfamiliar with the seemingly backward way Egyptians go about doing things.

The entire week I was in Egypt I had been the target of shady dealings and outright cons. By the end of my trip I was on edge and extremely suspicious of everyone. All of which came to a crescendo at the end of my trip in Alexandria when my camera had been stolen by a guy I had spent the evening with.

And so on the last leg of my travels in Egypt I was wanting to relax but didn't find it at all easy to do so. I was at the Taba border, the crossing point between Israel and Egypt. I had just endured the 7 hour bus ride from Cairo and was weary of travel. I had one last leg of my journey to go, the 2 hour ride from Taba to Dahab which was my final beach front destination in the Sinai Desert on the coast of the Red Sea.

And so after having found a taxi that was willing to drive such a distance for a reasonable price, or so I thought (another story), I sat back in my seat for the long and I hoped relaxing drive along the Red Sea coast line.

All was well for about thirty to fourty minutes. While the cab driver drove a bit fast on the winding road I had long since become accustom to the wild insanity that is Egyptian driving.

After about half an hour a white unmarked van flew past the taxi, pulled in front of us and slammed on its brakes forcing us to slow down. The van pulled over as did my taxi driver leading me to believe that this was to be expected although entirely confusing to me. It was fruitless to inquire too extensively into the matter as the driver spoke very little English.

Immediately two men jumped out of the car, decked out in burkas and head coverings. This in and of itself wasn't all that unusual in the Middle East though it was uncommon for taxi drivers to be wearing them. It was also strange that there were two men in the car as this was also uncommon for drivers. One man came up to the driver side window clasped hands and greeted the taxi driver with the customary kiss on the cheek between close friends. They obviously knew each other. The other man went to the back and grabbed my backpack. The taxi cab driver turned to me and stated in broken English, "you switch cars."

I'm taken aback at this point as this had not been customary behavior at all for taxi drivers even on long rides. I'm sure my voice carried an edge and wary quality as the taxi cab driver responded to my inquisition with another broken statement, "it's ok, he's my brother."

You may know the feeling, a sense of sinking downward. Sinking into a situation that you have absolutely no control over. A situation that has no certain outcome but one that seems to be defined by an overwhelming sense that whatever it is it can't possibly be good. I walked from my taxi to this van, weighing my options. You may also be familiar with the feeling of uncertainty over being suspended either over a deadly cliff or what amounts to nothing worth being afraid of. I could have demanded that the taxi driver take me the whole way or take me back at that point but I was caught in a feeling that, despite my uneasy sense, I was being overly dramatic. I was aware that the previous weeks events were probably weighing on my mind.

After having boarded the van the driver threw the vehicle into gear and sped down the highway. As I continued to weigh my situation I noticed the Koran nudged up against the windshield on the dash. Not a big deal you might think, after all I was in the Middle East. While they may have been present, I had yet to note the presence of the Koran in any Taxi I had ridden in thus far. Arabic music was blasting out of the speakers from the front of the cabin where the driver sat throwing periodic glances at me from the rear view mirror. I remained uneasy about the situation until the van suddenly pulled off the main road and started heading up a mountain pass away from the coast at which point I went from feeling uneasy to feeling outright alarm about my circumstances. While I hadn't been to Dahab before and thus didn't know the way, I did know it was on the coast...not in the mountains.

The man riding shotgun turned to me for the first time and asked me, "where are you from?" in a heavy accent. Stupidly I replied, "America." He gave me a knowing nod and said something to his counterpart in Arabic. "Stupid" I said to myself. I should have said anything but that. While accents may be easy to pick up for anyone who speaks English as a first language, I could have easily said anything I wanted and they probably would have believed me.

This all may come across as an over reaction but its difficult to paint an accurate picture of how the week had seemed to culminate to that day. At that point in my journey to Egypt I think I was more on guard than I have ever been in my life.

Soon the horrific imagery of the home videos of the executions committed by various terrorist groups started flicking through my head. Again, while this may seem extreme it made perfect sense to me in the moment.

It was at this point that I decided to start taking proactive steps to ensure I had the best chance of survival. I realized that, if I needed to jump out of the van side door I wouldn't get far as I was wearing flip flops. My pack was only one seat back and at the top of my pack were my shoes. Ever so slowly I reached over the back seat, undid the strap and pulled out my shoes. I carefully slipped off my flip flops and replaced them with my shoes as slowly as possible as to not attract attention from the drivers.

After about five minutes I was ready to book it across the Sinai desert had my drivers proved to be malevolent. I then started visually examining the windows as the thought occured to me that they very well could have engaged the child safety mechanism on the sliding door preventing anyone from opening it from the inside. It would be tight but I knew if I had to, I could squirm out of the window. The landing would be rough however.

We had driven for about 40 minutes before we finally passed a sign that said "Dahab - 40 Kilometers." Despite the positive sign I remained on edge until I saw Dahab for myself and in due time the front door of my hostel.

This all may seem strange to you but I grew increasingly edgy as my time in Egypt wore on. I've seen amazing things in Egypt. Probably some of the oldest and most mysterious things I've ever seen. I've really enjoyed my time here. But I think I would have enjoyed it more if I had someone watching my six.

Around The World

2008-05-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Cairo, Egypt and the 80s classic "If You Don't Know Me By Now" just came on.

This is so weird...

Planned Obsolesence At It's Finest

2008-01-14T16:06:00.000-08:00

What is it with these light bulbs man!

2008-01-09T10:59:00.000-08:00

Oooh. Looks like I could sell some ad space to google on my blog and become filthy rich with all of my readership.

Shall I sell my soul?

Another Quote...

2008-01-09T10:54:00.000-08:00

Come on, you know you like um. This is yet another one taken from "The Life Of Pi". If you can't tell, I do like this book...though some have told me that it was a bit slow for them at least in the middle.

This one really makes sense to me right now...

"The worst pair of opposites is boredom and terror. Sometimes your life is a pendulum swinging from one to the other."

This Weeks Proof Of A Psychosomatic Disorder

2008-01-05T15:46:00.000-08:00

I've been listening to "Suspicious Minds" by Elvis

Over...

&

Over...

&

Over...

A Paperless Trail and Necessitated Circumstances

2008-01-03T10:43:00.001-08:00

Doing something via the internet that would otherwise have to be accomplished through writing a check and the eventuality of involving the postal service seems to put an extra spring in my step.

I just updated my car registration online and now can rest easy that my car will not be towed away.

Which brings me to another point: After a year of not having a car I think I'm going to breath new life into the old girl. I wanted to leave her in peace but, I've come to see this as an unfortunate necessity.

Another thing that gives me an extra spring in my step: Not contributing to environmental decay via keeping my overall CO2 emissions to a minimum.

Untitled

2007-12-29T11:03:00.000-08:00

"For this must be my lot, to dream of a mysterious strength that will never find me. Never tug at my sails. I have been locked away in a cage of my own making and I shall never find the key."

Reality's Defense

2007-12-27T18:49:00.000-08:00

"There are always those who take it upon themselves to defend God, as if Ultimate Reality, as if the sustaining frame of existence, were something weak and helpless. These people walk by a widow deformed by leprosy begging for a few rupees, walk by children dressed in rags living in the street, and they think, "business as usual." But if they perceive a slight against God, it is a different story. Their faces go red, their chests heave mightily, they sputter angry words. The degree of their indignation is astonishing. Their resolve is frightening.

...The main battlefield for good is not the open ground of the public arena but the small clearing of each heart. Meanwhile, the lot of widows and homeless children is very hard, and it is to their defense, not God's that the self-righteous should rush."

The Life of Pi
–Yann Martel

Site Of The Day

2007-12-20T12:21:00.000-08:00

Site Of The Day

Slippers

2007-11-15T13:13:00.000-08:00

It's truly unfortunate that only crazy people can get away with wearing slippers out in public.

Untitled

2007-10-21T19:39:00.000-07:00

This is going to be one intense year.

Facial Boredom

2007-10-12T12:40:00.000-07:00

Do you ever get bored with your face? I get bored with my face.

I get bored with looking at the same person in the mirror all the time. Sometimes I make faces in the mirror just to spice things up a little. But it inevitably and irresistibly returns to the same old slack expression that was looking at me not 30 seconds earlier.

And to address the screaming truth, yes, this is a weird post.

Again, sorry if you were expecting more.

Phone Book?

2007-10-11T14:43:00.000-07:00

Do people seriously still use phone books? There's about a trees worth of paper bagged in plastic sitting in front of my building promising to hold valuable information about my city, buried between a billion useless ads. Not that Google couldn't provide me with the same info in a fraction of the search time. Plus I don't even have to get up from my seat. Not to mention the fact that trees shan't suffer because of my search efforts.

Who's responsible for this? It really needs to stop.

Sorry this is my first post in months. You may have been expecting something more but...whatever.

The Twenty Dollar Peach

2007-07-17T16:24:00.000-07:00

I was eating a peach today over my kitchen sink and noticed a brochure sent to me by World Vision International informing me of the widespread starvation taking place in Sudan right now. There was a picture of a little boy looking longingly towards me and my peach. I had to turn the brochure over in order to continue.

I like to think that I'm not choosing ignorance, apathy, or blindness in this scenario -if one can choose such things-but you never can tell really.

I think I'll send them $20.

News?

2007-06-10T15:07:00.000-07:00

Please tell me there's something more news worthy happening in this world than Paris Hilton's temper tantrums in court.

Collateral Damage

2007-06-10T08:30:00.000-07:00

It would seem, when God wages war on the ugly and dark things in our hearts, there's always collateral damage. That having been said, be careful what you pray for. God is more interested in the whole package, our wholistic health, than he is in the specific trial we may be facing in the moment.

Coming

2007-05-23T21:02:00.001-07:00

Trust Jesus in the midst of these tempests. In the face of this onslaught.

Trust Jesus in this great blindness. You know that he sees you in spite of this darkness.

Wrench free with weary hands from a dry throat, with all power and resolve the words of hope, the voice of joy from your broken mind. In this scattered expanse you've not been lost. Not forgotten. Hope springs forth like a great cry, no sooner released from your lips it seems to roll down your cheeks backwards. Almost lost amidst the torrent, but not lost.

Trust Him as you once did. For these are the times your heart will grow in strength and wonder at this One who remains. Faithfully.

He will come. He will come.

Salvation

2007-04-06T09:21:00.000-07:00

The center of salvation is the Cross of Jesus, and the reason it is so easy to obtain salvation is because it cost God so much. The Cross is the point where God and sinful man merge with a crash and the way to life is opened – but the crash is on the heart of God.

- Oswald Chambers

Technology

2007-04-05T13:46:00.000-07:00

It was agreed upon last night over a PBR and chai that the direct effect of technology on humanity is the simultaneous creation of couch potatoes and terrorists.

Church Militant

2007-03-16T08:40:00.000-07:00

"I do not assert nor have I ever asserted that every Christian must be a martyr, even though I think that every true Christian should - and here I include myself - make the humble admission that he has been let off far more easily than true Christians in the strictest sense. Without authority, Christianity now creeps around in worn-out, shabby clothes, and we do not know whether we should take our hats off to it in the name of progress, or whether it should bow to us, whether we need its compassion, or wether it needs ours."

-Kierkegaard

The Persuit of God

2007-03-15T15:01:00.000-07:00

Taken from A.W. Tozer's "The Persuit of God"

"The idea of cultivation and excursion, so dear to the saints of old, has now no place in our total religious picture. It is too slow, too common. We now demand glamour and fast-flowing dramatic action. A generation of Christians reared among push buttons and automatic machines is impatient of slower and less direct methods of reaching their goals. We have been trying to apply machine-age methods to our relations with God. We read our chapters, have our short devotions and rush away, hoping to make up for our deep inward bankruptcy by attending another gospel meeting or listening to another thrilling story told by a religious adventurer lately returned from afar.

The tragic results of this spirit are all about us: shallow lives, hollow religious philosophies, the preponderance of the element of fun in gospel meetings, the glorification of men, trust in religious externalities, quasi-religious fellowships, salesmanship methods, the mistaking of dynamic personality for the power of the Spirit. These and such as these are the symptoms of an evil disease, a deep and serious malady of the soul.

For this great sickness that is upon us no one person is responsible, and no Christian is wholly free from blame. We have all contributed directly or in directly, to this sad state of affairs. We have been too blind to see, or too timid to speak out, or too self-satisfied to desire anything better than the poor, average diet with which others appear satisfied. To put it differently, we have accepted one another's notions, copied one another's lives and made one another's experiences the model for our own. And for a generation the trend has been downward. Now we have reached a low place of sand and burnt wire grass and, worst of all, we have made the Word of Truth conform to our experience and accepted this low plane as the very pasture of the blessed.

It will require a determined heart and more than a little courage to wrench ourselves loose from the grip of our times and return to biblical ways. But it can be done. Every now and then in the past Christians have had to do it. History has recorded several large-scale returns led by such men as St. Francis, Martin Luther and George Fox. Unfortunately there seems to be no Luther or Fox on the horizon at present."

Christmas?

2006-12-27T17:55:00.000-08:00

I thought I saw a flash of light there for second. A flicker almost vanishing before I could capture it with my eye.

It's as if Christmas had been strapped to a giant rocket en route for the turn of the year and there was nothing I could do to slow it down. It would seem that Ol' St. Nick has turned in his whimsically archaic, mammal driven, flying contraption that has flown threw children's stories and imaginations for decades for a metal tube of flying, exploding keratinocyte propane and fiery wonderment bouncing through the month of December at mach 6 leaving nothing but a smoldering wake of broken boxes, torn wrappings, pine needles scattered about our living room floors and the disillusionment that questions whether commercialization really is the best way. The only way.

Yes my calendar was full for months. Especially December. These boyhood memories of Christmas set free in my noggin but caged within the inescapably accelerated, contextualization of my adulthood sensibilities.

But I wanted to do so much more. I wanted to ice skate underneath pine trees adorned with blinking Christmas lights. I wanted to snowshoe on a remote mountain somewhere with only the steady crunching sounds of my feet falling through the thick layer of snow and the blinking and unadulterated stars above to keep me company. You should see the stars. I wanted to walk through a mountain town decorated in such a way that only small, quant mountain towns can pull off. I wanted to sip hot chocolate as I sat at the base of a big, blinking and beautiful Christmas tree adorned with the eclectic ornaments acquired over the years, each telling a story of their own. Imagining what wonderful surprises were trapped within the cardboard walls of the boxed gifts underneath the tree. I didn't even give the holiday staple "A Christmas Story" a proper viewing this year.

Each of these thoughts having the canned response, "maybe next year" clipping closely at it's heals. Ah yes. "Maybe next year." It's a phrase you start hearing as a child from your parents. It's a phrase you learn to hate only to realize that you've been uttering it to yourself ever since 20 or so.

In spite of it all – it was a good Christmas. For an adult anyway. The snow storm that hit Denver just before the holiday shopping rush was just right. It was incredibly bothersome initially of course but it did serve to slow everyone down. Forced everyone to look each other in the eye. Take long sips of soup while watching romance movies. Help each other push their cars out of the snow. Forcing people to create makeshift snow shoes out of bookshelves and bungie cord. You know the drill. It's a wonderful thing, getting cabin fever right in the middle of the city. We were stranded together – my friends and I – some would say by choice but we might I've said that it was for the sake of our own sanity.

I got to spend Christmas with the guys. That's what my family is called now, "the guys." Because that's all there is. I can sense the lack of a female presence. But it's ok. For now anyway. We manage. In the name of memory Dad plots his course, perhaps to uphold tradition and perhaps to remember what it was like before mom died. Our Christmas was as it has been for as long as I can remember. No, there was no squealing of boyish delight at a newly discovered treasure under the tree and there wasn't an early, crack-of-dawn kind of wake up call but there was a familiarity about it all. And for this I'm thankful for Dad's unwavering dedication to what has been referred to for years as, "Christmas as usual."

I imagine the idea of Christmas is simply taking on a sort of hibernation. Like a big bear or something. For a reason of which I can't be entirely sure of. Perhaps it lies in wait for that day when the inner child comes running through this facade of responsibility and rational like a thin wall made of paper to proclaim in a loud and impish tone, "Surprise! You miss me!? You thought I was gone right? But here I am!"

And then again, and I suspect this is true either way, what Christmas is truly lying in wait for is the day when I have children of my own. When they rush in to show me the Christmas tree ornaments they made in school, or the day when I get to play with them in the snow or recite Christmas stories to them as they fall asleep – I imagine it's then when I'll relive my own memories as a child through my own children. Anticipating with them all the wonders that this magical day holds for them. I suppose that idea alone holds enough reason to be excited for the future days of Christmas.

Another Run In With The Law

2006-12-14T17:36:00.000-08:00

I suppose it's safe to assume that the less that takes place here, on this blog, signifies an abundance of happenings in my world out there. So don't make the mistake of assuming that my life is boring ok?

Take this afternoon for example. I make a bad judgement call behind the wheel of my trusty Honda Civic and cause an accident involving a motorcyclist. No one was hurt thankfully. I did get a mandatory court date for not having updated proof of insurance. I've got insurance but I just don't have updated proof of it.

I'm sensing a pattern here. This court date oddly enough closely matches my run in with the law last year. And it's for the same reason! Granted with a little less fan fare.

Scattered Thoughts - Because that's all that makes sense to me right now

2006-11-15T09:51:00.000-08:00

1. If someone where to ask me how I was doing these days I would have to say that a week ago might as well be years ago, tomorrow can't come soon enough and today holds enough to think about for a lifetime.

2. It's a terrifying thought - that Jesus really means what he says.

3. I find it interesting how often God does actually listen to my internal monologue. I'm reminded of a time, perhaps a year ago, when I read in "Red Moon Rising" about people smuggling Bibles somewhere - can't remember where. I remember thinking about how cool that would be. I find this interesting in light of recent events.

4. Hope is so powerful. Hope has power in this world.

5. Fear is so binding. Blinding.

6. I've spent all this time growing up only to find that God want's me to return to my childhood.

7. There's been an ever intensifying correlation in my mind between Christianity and running head long and full speed into a wall of fire. How self destruction can spell out certain life is beyond me.

8. Dying for God is one thing. Asking me to give up that 4 hour time slot that I've designated as my own time for someone else is something entirely different.

9. Right now I find that there is so much to say and not enough words to say it with.

Untitled

2006-09-30T17:40:00.000-07:00

In my estimation, life is a sundry collection of meandering discoveries and relearned truths.

Nice Tat J.C.

2006-09-27T08:46:00.000-07:00

In conversing with a friend recently the question of what kind of tattoo would Jesus have if he had one came up....because what else would we be talking about right?

So would his sun darkened, leathered skin display the holy ideologies of God's directing or would it simply be the latest catchy phrase of the B.C. Jewish culture? Would he wind up getting something that seemed cool at the time but would be irrelevant and possibly dated after a few years? Think swirling Tasmanian Devil equivalent of his time. Or possibly an 80's styled rose.

------

As he leans over to multiply a few fish or restore the crumpled leg of a broken man his robe slips down ever so slightly revealing the phrase "No Fear" emblazoned across the small of his neck. The onlooking crowd gasps then snickers to themselves knowing that anyone with such a tattoo could only wish they never got the thing done in the first place. The disciples look at each other with looks speaking to their ever increasing doubt that this really is who they hope it is. Questions pop up in their minds like "Is this really the Son of God?" or "If Jesus is the Son of God couldn't he have used his powers to take a peak at the future cultural landscape and discover that such a tattoo would cease to be cool a few years down the road?"

Jesus would quickly recover I'm sure. Possibly muttering something about being young and stupid or creating some sort of distraction with a well placed miracle of some sort.

"Hey look! More fish!"

I'm sure this wouldn't wash the image of a tattoo splayed across Jesus' neck from the disciples minds entirely. It would only serve to delay the inevitable. Later on as the disciples inch closer to the fire, fighting off the chill of a dessert night, the topic would resurface.

"So....."

...awkward silence would build as if to gather it's strength, eventually culminating into a statement that spoke to what was on everyone's mind...

"...what was that on Jesus' neck?" Grunts of agreement to the question's relevance would be heard all around the camp fire.

--------

And I'm thinking about all the Christiany types of things I've seen people tattoo on themselves. I don't think Jesus would relish the idea of a cross enough to make it on his list of good things to have tattooed. The tried and true Jesus fish thing would really just fall short. WWJD could really come across as self aggrandizing. Not that Jesus didn't have every right to self aggrandize but I just don't think that's a route he would have taken. Come to think of it, I wonder if Jesus ever asked his disciples when they were about to do something stupid, "come on guys....what would I do?"

A scripture reference would probably really work for Jesus since he was always quoting them. Especially since he could just come up with something new on the spot if nothing that had been written up to that point suited his fancy.

Would Jesus get a tattoo? Who knows. Lately I've been picturing him with wooden ear rings but that's just me.

I wonder if guys in the 70's pictured him with an afro? I guess that's the thing about Jesus. Being without a face, we're able to interpret his appearance in whatever way makes the most sense to us. I think he's able to bridge social, cultural and economical boundaries in this way.

Take this picture for example:

Pretty standard really. It's funny how the most widely excepted portraits of Jesus, in reality, couldn't be further from the truth. For many people the picture of a middle class, well groomed, white Jesus is the most comfortable way to see him. Whatever works right?

Then there's this one:

Now this is a bit too Back Street boysish for my taste but I'm sure it makes sense to someone.

Or what about this one:

This comes to you curtousy of CNN who somehow figured out what Jewish guys looked like back in the day. Think confused caveman. Personally I find this portrait kind of ridiculous. It's not working as far as I'm concerned.

There's the black Jesus:

You've got the latest rendition:

and then there's this guy:

This was brought to my attention courtesy of Kate. This depiction actually answers a number of questions:

1) Jesus would indeed get a tattoo
2) We now know what tattoo he would get
3) We also get a pretty good idea of what Jesus would look like were he born in a trailer park somewhere in rural Oklahoma.

I guess I could show you portraits all day. Images that have, over the years, popped up in our gallery of icons. Man's ongoing attempts to put a face to someone who at times seems more like legend than historical fact. Then again at times Jesus seems more real to me than anything else in this world.

-------------

I'm not sure how I wound up showing you portraits of Jesus but there it is. I guess this whole post is driven by my underlying desire to think of Jesus in a humanistic way. I believe theirs a lot of tension between Jesus' deism and his humanism. It's easy to sum him up by what he's been recorded saying in Scripture. I don't think this is a wholistic picture of God's Son however. It's the really important parts of course but his day to day life is all but lost between the cracks.

I guess this is me trying to fill in those cracks.

It's Fall...and winter kind of

2006-09-24T14:02:00.000-07:00

While it does feel like fall it really felt a bit like winter this past weekend as we went up to the mountains. The pictures will suffice in the explanation of why.

Beautiful indeed. The milky white interrupted with explosions of intermittent veins of fiery yellow leaves. It was one of those trips that you couldn't have planned if you tried. No one had an agenda and no one was in a rush and everything seemed to fall into place. It turns out that lazy meandering conversations, mountain coffee houses, snow and yellow leaves packages surprisingly well.

I love autumn.

FWD:

2006-09-21T16:39:00.000-07:00

Have you ever met someone who seems to be a great person?

FWD: George Bush Prays for Peace

Someone you actually like? Someone, after developing a reasonable comfort in your relationship, you decide to initiate email contact with for the first time.

FWD: Emergency recall on Baby Formula

After a few pleasant cybernetic interactions a pattern emerges.

FWD: Is Your Virus Filter Fighting Against You?

After what would seem like, thousands of email forwards, jokes and internet hoaxes later you realize with great trepidation that you've been the victim of over communication. Except its not even communication. It's more like pollution. Inbox pollution. Communicative abuse.

FWD: Who Have You Prayed For Today?

FWD: Rock Star Believes In God

Countless emails emerge describing Bill Clinton's close encounters with marijuana, a local hero's funeral in Lakota, Swiffer WetJet warnings and a withdrawal of said Swiffer warning after finding out that the whole thing was a hoax but not before sending it to thousands of recipients. And you have to ask yourself...where is Lakota anyway?

I guess I'm here to tell you that I'm the latest victim of the ongoing communicative abuses of our society.

Jesus The Dentist

2006-09-20T14:46:00.000-07:00

MMMMMMM...minty. This was the thought that entered and exited my mind susinctly after a 3 inch needle was jammed into my jaw rendering unmerited pain throughout the face.

And then numbnesss.

You know, dental work isn't a bad racket. For the ones behind the needle of course. The deal goes something like this: If you ram needles the size of those fat toothpicks you can get at old 70's diners into my mouth and use tiny hooks to pry my gums away from my teeth and spray me in the eyeball with lukewarm water and warp my cheeks with over powered vacuum tubes I will give you no less than $487 dollars.

I do believe the only appropriate response from any dentist worth his dental school tuition will replay with an emphatic "with pleasure."

I write all of this with the standard post dental visit two-faced feeling. Half of my face - just fine. The other half, well it doesn't exist. I can see it in the mirror of course but...you get the idea. This leads me to run my tongue along the numb inner side of my cheek and flick it off the edge of my mouth making a juicy, flapping sound.

It's not that I enjoy the sound, it's just that I want to make sure it's still there.

All of this , for no explainable reason, brings me back to a line of thinking I had early this week. It could be easily stated that one who truly follows the ways of Jesus has some sort of twisted addiction to pain and discomfort. I find that the more I want to follow Jesus the more he introduces me to these things that terrify me the most. It's a process of deconstruction I suppose. You find that you've been running away from these things your whole life and never knew it until you walk beside Jesus and he mentions some of them. Which makes me think that Jesus is somewhat socially inept. I mean that isn't exactly pleasant dinner conversation. I wonder if Jesus ever talked about the weather?

And then he tells you to run straight for those terrifying things in your life. "Face your fears" type of thing.

Which leads me to the idea that Jesus isn't a very cozy person. If you think he is you probably don't know him all that well. If you think you want to know him just be prepare for stinging needles and a vacuum thrusted down your throat as a warm and calculated voice tells you to "tilt your head and close your mouth cause this is going to get messy."

Snow Mass

2006-08-22T10:36:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago I went on a backpacking trip with some friends. I was good times. Anyway I just got around to putting the photos together.

By The Way...

2006-08-22T10:21:00.000-07:00

I quite my job. I'm working at Starbucks and I'm doing freelance design work in hopes to sustain my wildly extravegant lifestyle. It's a strange transition. I don't work around a regular schedule. And my paycheck is as equally irregular. Its kind of scary I suppose. I felt this was the right step though. You can always second guess I guess. Even if at the time you were certain beyond all shadow of a doubt that it was the right course of action. There's always room for doubt. Ideally hope sneaks it's way in a bit more often than the doubt but you can never be sure that's how things will turn out.

So I hope I dont wind up on the streets of Denver. I hope I can make my rent for next month. In theory I'll have more time to post here but, again, that's just a theory.

Weak

2006-07-24T11:26:00.000-07:00

It's good to admit that you actually do need people when so often you lie to yourself, saying you don't. It takes a lot of energy to be fortified against one's weakness. I'm not sure where that lie came from. This notion that self reliance is sustainable. "No man is an island." So they say.

I wonder when my idea of community became synonymous with the idea of weakness. And then in an ironic twist I realize that they probably are one in the same. That is to say, in community, individual weakness paves the way for communal strength. A strength and stability much stronger than anything you might have experienced out there on your own. It's funny how an eclectic concoction of weaknesses creates something very strong. A bunch of weak parts making up something complete.

Being vulnerable is dangerous we must admit. It's not something most people probably relish. And yet that's what we desire to be. It's hard to deny that something in you longs to be known. And the only way to be known is to be vulnerable. To depend on others.

Mix all this in with the fact that people hurt us. It's a sad truth, yes. The instruments that deliver the most excruciating and destructive pain are the very things that bring us closer to life. It's an unfortunate paradox to be sure. Much of life is made up of these unfortunate paradoxes. We're left with a decision: Shall we deny the truth that we actually need others and live what would initially seem like a life of relative ease and comfort? Some might tell you that you may not be living life at all should you take this route. Or shall we take company in the presence of the weak exposing our brokeness and, in effect, taking in a much deeper breadth of life. The potential cost is severe but it may pale in comparison to the life you could potentially live.

It's funny how often the idea of being strong and courageous drive our actions. This often molds our ideas of and draws us into independent living. I find that a relationshal life lived in the context of vulnerability takes more courage than any other way of life I can think of. And sadly, so often it takes more courage than I can summon.

Untitled

2006-07-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

Hear the prayer of the broken. Know the voice of the one who fails you time and again. The one who grows intimate with the force of his own self-destructive nature. Moving deeply into the heart of something much darker than your company. Knowing the life of one who embraces a movement away from your fold. Away from your heart. Failing. You know this as well as I. Remove this life far from me. This spirit that looms overhead and deep within. As far as the distant points on the horizon, tear this evil from me. Leaving not even shards of the old. Nothing but newness and life. Bring conviction as a testimony to your whisper. Do not be silent. Your recompense is thorough and will be complete. Do your work masterfully. Do your work.

Today

2006-07-10T13:27:00.000-07:00

At some point in your life, you have to come to terms with the fact that, in just about every way, nature is a much better designer than you are.

-Kalle Lasn

Found in the book "Design Anarchy." From the looks of it, this is a must read for any designer.

A Swaying Suitcase Full Of Angst

2006-07-06T14:01:00.000-07:00

Airports. There is no better place to witness our deep-seated nuances and idiosyncrasies. Splayed out like a genetic & socially crafted deck of cards for all humanity to see. This is, in my mind, a perpetual source of pleasure.

The young and old. Rich and poor. People of all nations and walks of life. No where else can one go to catch such a full breadth and variety of life in quite the same way. A million different paths crossing a million different stories. All collating here. It's where waiting lines form and patience tested. More often than not the more noble virtues take a back seat to one's own personal convenience. This being the nobel cause on everyone's mind of course. Pushing and shoving. Unsavory words left lingering in the air after disputes irrupt and subside as quickly as they begin with the firm voices of those in charge announcing that no one is going anywhere soon, "So everyone just settle down now, OK?"

I'm flying standby. Initially this stood out as a good idea as it only set me back about $60. Initially. The problem was the airline I was flying only went to Palm Springs, a 3 hour misfire from my final destination of Escondido, CA. I knew this could add a little complexity to my trip. I also understood that taking the bus as an additive means of travel to get me to this final destination might add a few additional complications along the way. But depending on who you ask, one man's complication is another man's adventure.

That's all well and good until you find yourself neck deep in adventure with no signs of a way out.

The Palm Springs "International" Airport is little more than a plaintive outpost nestled somewhere in the middle of the Californian desert. In spite of my 9pm arrival, as soon as I stepped off the plane I was greeted by a blast of what could easily be described as the sweltering breath of an oven hard at work. After being in Colorado for so long it's hard to believe that the humid air other people breathe elsewhere in the States is really something you breathe so much as suffocate on. Needless to say I was instantly wet as much as I was discouraged at the idea of hiking through town under such conditions. Because I obviously wasn't going to pay the exorbitant prices the taxis charge for a negligible 3 miles worth of hiking. I am a Colorado boy after all.

If you can imagine a sweat drenched me walking through a deserted part of Palm Springs at 10 at night with a Cool Blue Ice Poweraid in one hand while dragging roller luggage in the other you might get a pretty accurate picture of what was going on at that point. I might add that it seems clear to me now that my luggage was designed to continually attempt to topple itself over. Especially at the most inconvenient of times. Add to this scene the expansive swath of lightless buildings of an industrial quality and a vacant blotch of desert beyond as far as I could see and you'll have the establishing shot for the events of the evening.

If I was honest with myself I really didn't have a clear plan in mind. Part of me believed that I could sleep at the bus station upon arriving until my 9:50 departure the next morning. The plan seemed simple enough albeit a little under thought.

What was earlier described as industrial soon turned into glamorous a mile into my sweltering hike. Resorts appeared out of seemingly nowhere. The Palm Mountain Resort abruptly appeared on the right hand side of the street. The chinsy blue under glow of the neon lights bouncing out of pools and bathing the cheap imitation Sphinxes in front of the resort was a welcome change in scenery. A bit strange, yes, but welcome. It wasn't long before casino/resort/club like establishments crowded in on either side of the street in The Middle of Nowhere, CA.

It was at this stage of my journey that I was introduced to "downtown" Palm Springs. I was marching through the epicenter of the Palm Springs tourist industry with my swaggering luggage in tow. I soon found company by way of window browsers, clubbers, street bums, and drunk people desperately trying to sound like Don Henley at a nearby open faced karaoke bar. Honestly I was slightly tempted to pound a Gin and Tonic and join the motley crew of 40-somethings in their attempts to capture the allusive lives of a Rock Star they probably dreamt about in their younger years.

Can you imagine singing the third chorus of "Desperado" in a town you just arrived at, with people you don't know in the middle of the California desert? I found the whole thing surreal even though I chose not to participate in the silly pass time I could never really understand.

It's just humorous to think about.

While I had directions downloaded from Mapquest – which were wrong – and about 10 different people telling me where the Greyhound bus station was – all varying slightly and at times completely contradictory – I could not find the station had my life depended on it. I had first taken a left when I should have taken a right per Mapquests direction bringing me to what I would later call a mile in the wrong direction. Up and down, back and forth I went crisscrossing Palm Springs like the distressed stitching on a broken down pare of chaps probably worn by the guys who discovered this forsaken stretch of land. Asking everyone I came in contact with: security guards, late night shoppers, cops and drunks, which may explain the contradictions in the directions I was given. I should say I tried to ask a cop. I guess the moral of the story is: Don't ask for directions from a cop who's in the middle of busting a couple of guys for possession. You won't get far.

Every time they told me with absolute certainty where this place was located and every time I felt I was getting closer. At some point I conceded to the fact that I had been beaten. I was burdened under the haunting idea that perhaps I'm just incredibly stupid. The notion that something is way easier than what you're making it out to be is a difficult notion to operate under. Especially at 1:30 in the morning. After dismissing the compulsion to simply plop down on the meticulously trimmed lawn of one of the local businesses and go to sleep I found myself checking into a Best Western.

And my margin of savings shrinks.

As I made my way down the Palm Springs strip the next morning, I kid you not, I saw the Greyhound bus sign about 500 feet away. Granted the building wasn't the largest or the most distinct structure around but I'm sure you could understand my consternation.

Oh and by the way, had I found the station the night before it wouldn't have mattered. IT WAS CLOSED!

A racially charged fight, a blood smeared phone, a severely delayed bus, a root beer float, a pack of cloves, 4 bottles of vending machine junk and 10 hours later I finally got to Oceanside at 7:00 in the evening. Apparently there was a fire on the highway which derailed the bus drivers plans on getting us to Escondido placing us in the next town over. This worked out fine in the end however. My day ended with a hot meal and pleasant conversation with a friend I've known for over half my life along with his very pregnant wife. Not a bad way to end the day at all.

It was a pleasant trip to be sure. A much needed vacation. It was good to see old friends. While I didn't really save a whole lot of money I did experience a little adventure along the way which, I think, makes it worth the cost.

Oh, and if you're ever in Palm Springs looking for something to do, I've got a few ideas.

Current Read

2006-06-21T07:39:00.000-07:00

I'm reading a book called "Blood Diamonds" by Greg Cambell right now. It's incredible. I started the book Sunday evening and got all torn up inside. It's a weighty matter to be sure and it sent me into something of an introspective and poignant mood that demanded a response but left me at a loss in knowing what I really should or could do about the whole matter.

This is one of the most aggravating moods to be in by the way.

While I'm debating on whether or not to quote some of the book here I'll go ahead and assert that you really need to read the book. Inform yourself on the subject of conflict goods. The diamond industry influences most of us in light of the fact that at some point you're probably going to either receive a diamond or purchase one for someone else.

I'm going to hold off on quoting the book. While I could probably shock and horrify by telling you some of the stories Cambell came across first hand as he trekked through Sierra Leone, it would be more important for you to understand the context of the situation. Suffice it to say that even if one was to purchase a "conflict free diamond" you really have no idea where it came from as the whole identification system of a diamond's point of origin is a running joke.

One thing the book will do is paint a completely frustrating picture of how thorough and far reaching corruption can be as the victimized can quickly become the victimizer in such an arrantly corrupt and broken down state many of the African countries currently find themselves in.

Related Topics:

Boycotts

Art

2006-06-15T12:25:00.000-07:00

Art moves. Bridges the gap. Fills the void. Brings together light and dark, beauty and hate. Uniting unexpected ends and shattering predictable means. Art fills the soul and challenges the mind. It often questions and seldom answers but always moves us along the journey. Its a sail to the wind, breath to the thought, motion to a stagnant mind and paints a truer picture of what we call life. Without art a voice of God would be silenced. The mountains would crumble to the plains, the ocean would puddle and the stars would fall from their throwns in the black canvas sky. Without art the heart would break and the mind would crack in the cage it would soon discover this life to be.

The Highlight

2006-06-14T08:34:00.000-07:00

It's only 9:00 in the morning but I'm pretty sure I've already hit the highlight of my day.

I've paid off the credit card debt I've had since college.

Fear

2006-06-13T07:40:00.000-07:00

I went on a 4 day backpacking trip with 17 people this past weekend. Not the ideal number to be backpacking with but surprisingly nothing went seriously wrong. Our trip leader is an engineer and detail oriented to a fault at times but honestly it was probably his attention to said detail that kept things smooth.

We climbed a 14,000 foot mountain called Snow Mass out near Aspen. Beautiful. Pictures will soon follow this post of course (providing they turned out) but suffice it to say that when you're standing in the shadow of God you tend sense something you may have missed back in the city.

It took three liters of water and plenty of swearing but I made it to the summit. I might add that I kind of forgot to eat which was a mistake that made itself readily apparent to me soon enough. Try hiking through snow on fatigued limbs while fighting the urge to spew what little you put into your stomach back out. Add to that the fact that I was fighting some mild diarrhea on the way back out the last day and you could say that I was a broken creature indeed.

------------

I experienced fear on this trip. I've never felt it quite the same way before. The day we made it to our 11,000 ft base camp I stood at the foot of this great monument we set out to conquer and I knew fear. The cold hard rock breaching the snow laced crown. Wind tearing across the heights, lifting wisps of snow high in the sky. From that distance it looked like little puffs of smoke. As if the peak chose to fire up a cigarette before the sun rested it's weary eye in the west. I know from past experience that when you see snow erupting off the peak by wind you can be sure it's blowing with combative force. It's nothing to smirk at.

I went to bed that night thinking about how frail humanity is. How untamed this wilderness was that we now found ourselves. As I crawled deeper and deeper into my sleeping bag, embracing the warmth that surrounded me, I could hear the wind tearing through the trees that night, across the crystal clear lake and up the massive peaks that loomed over our tents but underneath the brilliant stars that shone high above. I knew fear.

When the darkness in the forest at night takes hold in a way never known to the cities far below, you can see stars...many stars. Spiraling. Like celestial satellites. As if watching. Measuring. Like a billion mysterious eyes. A tension exists here. You can sense it in the cold. Warmth, the desired prize in the ongoing struggle to survive. As if nature's long fingers poke and search for a way into this frail humanity. Cracking and breaking. Protecting itself from our innate curiosity.

It's curious to me that this fear doesn't turn me away. Send me running into the embrace of a strictly urban existence. I suppose in a wildly unpredictable outcome it's this fear that draws me here. I guess fear isn't always a bad thing.

I'd imagine we'd be afraid of God if we stood in His shadow. It's a strange tension though. To be so afraid of something (or someone) but feel an intrinsic need to run toward it. I've come to understand that often fear is an element of respect. I respect the wilderness. I don't suppose I can hope for an equal respect in turn. After all I am pretty small. But as you reach the summit of a peak or the depths of a darkness you've feared for so long you learn that it's this respect that keeps you alive. Keeps the weights in the scale. You understand this unseen tension a little bit better and maybe realize it's what reminds you that you're truly alive.

CNN & Us

2006-06-07T08:47:00.000-07:00

So do we control the media or does it control us? What we get fed at 5 and 10 at night...was that what we asked for?

I'm becoming progressively aware of the tension between what we call news and what we call entertainment. Meshed together in that ever present, grey, media blender we call our television. I wonder, in the world of media buy-outs, corporate ownership and media saturation, who's actually making the calls on what we hear, see and feel. Who makes the calls on our reality?

In the media's defense no one wants to come home after a long hard day of work and hear about how the world is going to hell in a hand basket. But where does that fall in line with the idea of painting an accurate and unbiased picture of the world in which we live?

Perhaps it has something to do with the idea of relevancy. So what's relevant to us? What directly effects us? As participants in the global community is there anything that happens on this planet that doesn't effect us in some fashion? To a certain degree.

An idealistic turn of events in my mind in regards to the news networks methods of broadcasting would be an initiative to really tell us what's going on in the world with a call to get involved in some way. If there's something going on in Uganda then that's what they tell us and they would follow that up with some information on how we could make a difference.

Maybe I'm being naive and overly optimistic.

The quicker the internet destroys television the better. But then again can the internet be bought?

Suspicion and paranoia take flight!

Thought #405

2006-06-05T12:53:00.001-07:00

30 is the new 20.

Truth & Legislation

2006-05-31T10:34:00.002-07:00

Kate posted a comment in return to the previous post that served as a catalyst in regards to this topic.

Are we relying on the government to enforce our point of view and/or enforce a so-called shift in paradigm in this country?

If all of a sudden the government outlawed abortion, prohibited gay marriage, forbad euthanasia and gratuitous sexuality, the use of marijuana, etc. etc. would America be a more God fearing nation?

If people looked more like Christians would they be any closer to being Christ followers?

What is the relationship between Truth and legislation? Love and legislation? Can they have a relationship?

I challenge the idea that legislating the WWJDs of politics brings us any closer to God. That it's anything more than a band aid on a gushing wound. I guess my under riding question is how do we reconcile the fact that we are the sons and daughters of God and our American citizenship?

I think what I'm really getting at is that perhaps maybe we've placed control and/or hope in the hands of the wrong entity.

Truth & Politics

2006-05-25T09:43:00.000-07:00

I had some really good conversations with friends last night. Inevitably President Bush made his way into our discourse and specifically Bush's use of the terms "absolute truth" & "faith" in his speeches. Brett referred to an article/book that was recently published by the Former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright. She challenges the President's usage of such terms and voices concerns as to the visibility of his faith in general during his time in the office.

A staff member sent me an article today in regards to this issue. An article from the conservative right side of the issue.

I suggest reading the article before continuing.

It's pretty interesting. The idea of compartmentalizing our faith is ridiculous of course. If one holds to a Faith you would expect that to influence a person thoroughly. Influence every action and position. Politically, socially, economically, privately, publicly etc. etc. If this wasn't the case then I would seriously question whether the individual believes what he says he does. Whether you're talking to a Christian a Muslim or a Nazi. I would expect these individuals to be influenced thoroughly and inseparably by what they believed if they truly believed them.

I don't believe however that President Bush's call to war comes anywhere close to resembling "absolute truth" however. Just because someone tells you they were called to do something doesn't mean they were. Or that we should blindly except what ever that calling was as being true.

I also have a problem believing that God is universally on America's side. The whole idea is skewed. We're supposed to be on God's side...not the other way around.

Wether Albright would agree or not, I believe that Bush's faith should be visible in the actions he takes in leading this country. But I don't believe that the President should be able to use ideas like absolute truth to back up his actions without them being challenged by the church and/or anyone else.

Truth isn't a club you beat someone over the head with. It's not a manipulative tactic to be used to enforce a view or stance. Truth does not legislate well. I'm concerned that our use of truth has led to a certain arrogance in the church. A "we're right and you're wrong so deal with it" or "come over to our side" types of things. Truth isn't a weapon of mass intellectual dominance. It's a reflection of who God is and what he's told us in the past and continues to do so today.

When we divorce truth from love we will surely fail to fulfill Jesus' charge to "speak the truth in love." Further more if we wind up divorcing truth from Truth...that is to say separating the words spoken by God from the very nature and quality of God then we have clearly missed everything.

55+

2006-05-01T09:27:00.001-07:00

I wrote this months ago. We were supposed to write from the perspective of a senior citizen.

I've decided to pull it out for such rainy days as these.

--------------------------

They say I’m old. Being 85 I know they’re wrong.

I’m really old.

The TV reminds me of it everyday. My grandchildren don’t let me forget. Our societies addiction to youth – it’s painful sometimes. The feeling that I've been left behind.

It’s funny how words change overtime. Words are the product of the times they find themselves in. Always changing. I don’t know what they'll change into. I do know what they have been and I know what they are now.

Take the word "cold" for example. When I used to say the word I meant 30 degrees. Now I mean that if the mercury dips below 78, contrary to the words of science, I’m sure I’ll experience mild to moderate hypothermia.

Or the word "time." If this were the currency of life I used to think I was a millionaire. My life was a casino and I slammed the coins like Ol' St. Nick shoves gifts. Squandered is the word I’m looking for. Not cherishing the moment. That kind of thing.

Now the moment is all I have. And even that’s touch-and-go. They say I have a disease that causes me to loose track of the moment. Every day a few more hours fail to show up for the days role call and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to discipline these unruly hours back into my recollection.

It’s not just time but memories too. Sometimes I spend time just looking at old memories - pictures - and pray that I will know them tomorrow.

I don’t drive. I travel by foot on good days and by chair on the not so good days. My roads are the halls of this nursing facility they call my home but known to me as society's doggy bag. Containing the leftovers no one wants but would feel guilty if thrown away.

I don’t really walk. I’ve developed a shuffle that defies the term walk and embraces something that resembles more of a gliding motion. Except without the elegance that you might associate with the word "glide." What allows me to glide are my trusty, worn down slippers. They have holes but I have tape. I'm suspicious that I may have developed an attachment to my slippers that's closer related to the feelings my granddaughter, Elie, has for her Teddy Bear rather than the typical man/shoe relationship.

Fast - Then, 90 - 100 mph. Now, if I can get my right foot in front of my left in under 4 seconds I told Henry, my chess mate, that I may just have to tape a racing stripe on the outside of my slippers.

Sweetheart - When I used to say this word it meant that I was probably trying to woo the heart of some "angel" I had met at the bar.

Now when I say sweetheart I’m usually referring to my daughter.

My precious daughter.

She visits me sometimes. I like it when she brings her kids. My grandchildren. Theres a light in their eyes that reminds me of what I might have possessed years ago. That light fades with time though. Like the sun setting on a soul's reason for living. My daughter still has this light but it’s fading. I remind her to hold on to this precious light but I fear the voice of necessity, bills, career, the relational stresses that are typical of marriage these days are starting to crowd it out.

“Hold on to the light sweetheart. Hold on,” I tell her.

This world is too fast for me. I know this because whenever I turn on the television the images on the screen seem to move too quickly. I’ve written Pringles many times to inform them that if they want me to have my primary care giver buy their product they're going to have to slow there advertisements down so I know what’s going on.

So far no response.

Plots move too quickly as well. They’re underdeveloped. I remember when I was young the plots on the radio shows I listened to took weeks to develop. It gave you time to agonize over the potential out come. Now they're over before they begin and they really aren't that good anyway.

Whippersnapper – I’ve never said this word. Contrary to the common understanding that all old men use the same slang words...they don’t.

Old – Then, 30. Now, me.

I talk to myself a lot. I find that I’m the only one who understands me these days. I knew someone who understood me once, be she left.

Love – Then, something that made me feel good about myself and reduced those guys I called my friends to an afterthought. It was something that had the shelf life of cottage cheese and was as deep as those blow up pools you inflate for your children on a Sunday afternoon.

Now, in a word, Shelby. She was my beginning my middle and my end. The words that left my lips in the morning and the dream that found a place in my waking world. She was were the idea of me and the idea of her vanished. My life was the meadow and she, the wildflowers it contained. She was the Guinevere that made me feel like her Lancelot.

She was the deep end of a real pool.

They say I lived 27 years before I met her, I can’t remember a time before January 12, 1953. The day I realized that poetry, grace, radiant life all could be found in a person. I'm not sure how I wound up with her but I did. By some miracle...I did.

And my life was never the same.

I said words change with time. Love above all else. But it doesn’t simply change. It grows. Its something that makes trying to describe seem pointless. You just need to see it, feel it, know it, be it, for yourself.

And your life will never be the same.

It’s a sad irony that the happiest day of ones life and the saddest can revolve around the same person. Shelby left me. I couldn’t find her. A disease took her without asking for an opinion. I cried and I got angry. I yelled at God but he never yelled back so I stopped yelling. Eventually I stopped talking to him all together. Shelby never came back. Out of loneliness I started talking to God again and I was surprised to find him were I left him.

God - Then, a gumball machine. You put your coin in and you get what you want out. Now he's more like a pinball machine. You put your coin in, you have fun for a while, you feel like you're in control and everything feels great. Until the ball gets launched into some cornor of the machine where it sits there for what would seem like an eternity. It sits there until it gets launched out at lightning fast speeds into a bumper that sends it into another bumper over and over again until you wonder if you're playing at all. You eventually realize you're not in control. You never were.

When you get this old you realize that the friends of all those years, the good, the best and the forever types of friends have all gone. Its when it becomes clear that forever isn't as long as you thought it was. It's when those you love have all gone over to the other side. Some people call death the great mystery. When you're this old you tend to see it more like a party bus. Promising to take you to were they are. The ones you love. The one you love. Were your heart truly resides but hadn’t realized it until about 79 or so.

And so I wait. content with the bird's songs in the morning, the shadows of the evening and the memories of long ago at night to keep me company. Sometimes I feel forgotten. But that’s ok. I know my family loves me. They’re busy.

It’s impressive what I don’t remember these days. It’s a miracle if I can remember to use the bathroom myself.

But the beauty of what I do remember is beautiful enough for me.

Adolescence

2006-04-22T14:08:00.000-07:00

Words role off the mind slowly these days. Spirit burdened beneath what I must do rather than what I'd rather do.

Some might say this is synonymous with adulthood. I should resist this idea.

Shall we dare to dream? No. We shall dare to dream and give those dreams legs.

Meet the new adolescence.

They're Green

2006-04-10T14:29:00.001-07:00

So we've started up our annual mountaineering course a few weeks a go. We have a huge class. Larger than it has ever been.

Anyway I've come back this year as an assistant. If they aren't scared they should be.

I take photo for you.

Live

2006-04-03T15:37:00.000-07:00

I'm taking it upon myself to remind you to live.

Take a breath.

Breathe it out.

Know that there is no tomorrow. Only today. You're life does not exist in the future. You've only been given these hours in this place. Where a whole lifetime swings upon the hinges of a moment.

The test of your life is not on how you answer tomorrow's problems, for you can only answer the questions that have already been asked of you. And those questions are asked every second of every hour of every day:

How then shall you live?

And They'll Know Us By Our Video Games

2006-03-27T14:49:00.001-08:00

Ouch.

The Tortoise and The Hare

2006-03-16T11:02:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine is struggling to feel like she is loved by God. This was part of an email I wrote her. This concept touches on many facets of our lives I think.

Sometimes in life our minds need to follow our hearts. And then other times our hearts need to follow our minds.

It's often that I find my heart racing ahead of a mind that's struggling for breath miles behind me. My mind the tortoise and my heart the hare. Sometimes my heart can be as misguided and unsure as a child. Following rabbit trails and gullies of all sorts. Not holding to the true paths. It would seem our minds are much more apt at following the straight and true trails in life. The one's that follow in the line of what's real. Telling us of this truth that's independent of what our hearts seem to say. It's just that if our minds lead us too often we fail to see the beauty around us in our journey. Perhaps causing us to miss it all together.

If our hearts lead us along we may see much beauty in this world but it'll be elusive and temporal without an anchor. I can't comprehend a more torturous prison. Sensing the beauty of something one minute only to have it robbed the next by a straying child.

For me the mind is often were the anchors in life are found. Keeping us anchored in to what we know to be true. Perhaps this should be the foundation of our existence. It's in our hearts where the beauty of our journey is witnessed however. It's where the passionate fire of our souls deepest longing is kept. We mustn't forget to involve our hearts in the journey. But it's a balance. It's a balance to the most intrinsic and monumental degree, holding the key to a complete life in it's grasp.

Passion

2006-03-15T08:24:00.000-08:00

Passion is probably not something that comes and goes, skittering across the landscape of our hearts like some elusive and extraneous breeze. I suppose if passion isn't blowing with the thunderous noise of a 100 mile an hour gale force it isn't something one might expect to stick around.

---

Can one choose to be a passionate individual? Or does passion choose them?

Is passion a choice? Produced from the depths. Or does it spring forth from a vessel of it's own election? Maybe it's the product of many years of seeing lies or wrong doings. Maybe discovering that one is no longer bound by the chains of his or her own making. Of other's making. A reckoning of what's broken with an impulse to fix it. A passionate existence being that revelation's full on expression.

Want

2006-03-13T09:57:00.000-08:00

It's a rat race this life is and so much information and so much to comprehend and so much to grasp with so little time and we're running, always running and you say what's relevant what's authentic but what do they mean what's fashionable-what tastes sickly sweet what's hip cool and slicked out of it's mind that glossy coating of all we hold dear we have information but haven't the minds to dissect it and we have news shows and podcasts and billboards all telling us what's true and so many books all disagree but all supposed to help us understand and televisions as our feeding troughs ensuring informational obesity preventing us from getting up from our plush couches and promising nothing but lies and disclosing all but what's important to a dead world but in complexity whats uncomplicated is needed and I want a simple humanity a simple philosophy a simple moral standard ethical code want what's true what's right what's good...

and

I

just

want

to

breath.

New Orleans

2006-03-09T07:43:00.000-08:00

It was a good trip.

Did Someone Say Beads?!

2006-03-06T14:56:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the silence. I went down to New Orleans to help out with yet another disaster relief team this past week. I'm currently working on recounting the whole ordeal and will not speak another word of it here until I'm done.

I see an ocean.

2006-02-14T13:09:00.000-08:00

It's depth scares me so. And I know this fear well. Crashing upon this shore. Surging forth with power beyond this creature's reckoning. The thunderous collision of it's strength. Beautiful? Yes with beauty. Moving about with clever grace and mystery.

I feel the ocean.

I feel the ocean but I can't touch it. Salty drips of liquid mockery collide with my face as if to pronounce, though I may feel its breath, I may not swim in its place in this world.

You are there and I am here. Why these tethers? Why not the handshack of our bodies? You splashing, me running. Jumping at the drum of my bare feet on your shores. The pounding of my heart beat, the thundering of your liquid applause. A union of bodies - your's massive, mine oh so small.

And I hear the ocean.

I hear the ocean but I see mountains before me. Insurmountable I called them once and call them still. Menacing they claim to be. And I know it well. I cannot climb their snow caped crowns.

And to my knees I falter. Ocean come to me! I hear, I see - no I feel you. I know you're there. Come to me I cry. For this ridge I cannot tame, this peak I've failed to conquer. Is this fate now mine? This legacy, the collision of faltered hopes and failed dreams.

For you are there and I am here and I fear that never shall the two meet.

Minus 20

2006-02-13T12:39:00.000-08:00

The wind was like a thousand knives peeling, cutting, detaching my skin from my body.

It was minus 20 degrees. Any exposed skin promptly submitted to the strong arm of winter by way of a white flacky complexion. Early stages of frostbite. There were slivers of exposed skin beneath and above my sunglasses that allowed the wind to drive stakes into my head with uninhibited force. We were only a mile and a half in when I found myself saying, "This is not good. I can't make it." At the time standing at the base of what I thought would be my floor at some point in the day.

So no, we weren't at the summit of Mt. Quandary. In fact we weren't anywhere close.

I found out the hard way that I don't have all the equipment I need to tackle a mountain in the dead of winter.

I was beaten. Quandary ate my lunch, handed me my hat, the question of "whose your daddy" was answered by a rock lying just northwest of Breckenridge.

And so with a middle finger held high in Mt. Quandary's general direction I've begun the process of recollecting my strength, will and nerves in an attempt to transition from being the conquered to being the conquerer.

And to Mt Quandary I say this: Your day will come. You will submit to my will.

Oh yes...

you will.

Mt. Quandary

2006-02-09T07:23:00.000-08:00

I'm climbing Mt. Quandary this Saturday. Pretty excited - and scared. Can I do this thing? Have I got what it takes to accomplish the task? I suppose that's one of the reasons I'm so transfixed with climbing. Every time I step up to one of these monuments of rock and dirt I'm stepping up to the edge of myself. The edge of my masculinity. Asking the questions of me that demand answers. Whether it's failure or victory they must be answered. Because one's failure in applying meaning to his existence is worse than the failed attempts it will take in getting him there.

Why do we explore and why do we wonder? What are we looking for? To see what's around the corner? Why do we care what lies around the bend? Maybe we're looking for ourselves. Not the self that we come face to face with every day. But something deeper, a part of us that we haven't discovered yet. That we don't meet very often. Or ever. Does that mean we all need to climb moutains? No. But mountains take on many different shapes in one's life, agreed?

And so my questions to you is this, have you climbed a mountian lately? Not have you conquered one but have you tried to climb one?

Rocky Mountain National Park

2006-02-07T16:00:00.000-08:00

Another snow shoe trip. I even included a picture of me.This one was in the Rocky Mountain National Park up near Estes Park.

Article

2006-02-02T16:05:00.000-08:00

I like this.

Avalanche Awareness Field Trip

2006-01-31T15:44:00.000-08:00

So you can go ahead and consider me avalanche savvy.

The History Of Portland's Processed Meat Industry According to a Considerably Ignorant Historian

2006-01-23T07:50:00.000-08:00

There is potential here for some confusion. This is a work of complete fiction. It was a writing assignment for my small group writing class. The names of the characters in this work have not been changed since they probably don't exist anyway.

It would be cool if they did though.

The Seattle Sausage Eatery is conveniently located next to the Legacy Good Samaritan Hospital & Medical Center in downtown Portland, Oregon. The diner is considered by many to be a historical and political landmark as much as it is a "quality eating establishment."

Being misunderstood as a Seattle-based chain the owner of the diner can often be overheard explaining to inquisitive patrons that, “no we aren't’ a chain and no we aren’t based out of Seattle.” What the owner categorically fails to mention is why the diner has Seattle in the name at all. It's possible that the owner's abrupt reply inhibits further investigation but the answer to that question has yet to be acquired. It's been said that even the owner’s closest friends have failed to pry any light on the subject from his odd disposition of secrecy.

Regardless of any mystery that has surrounded this ill-named diner in the past it remains to be the lunch hour hot spot for some of Portland’s finest doctors, nurses & blue wristband wearing patience.

It has often been stated that should anyone ever experience the mildest symptoms of a flu, cold or fever and didn’t want to go through all the fuss of scheduling an appointment, one could simply walk into the Seattle Sausage and casually mention, while waiting to be seated, any or all symptoms that happened to ail them and they would promptly receive a quick physical, a prescription, an ear full of advice and a hot dog while they waited for their physician to complete his or her lunch diner assessment.

It has been rumored that the minimum employee requirement at the diner is a PHD from no particular medical center in the country, but preferably one on the east coast, and should the need arise, any given bus boy could perform CPR, the Heimlich and deliver a child all while prepping the next table for another sausage loving patron to occupy.

In addition to it’s presumably untouchable polish sausage, the average Portlander is well acquainted with the fact that the Seattle Sausage is home to the “legendary” Piping Pickle Platter. It’s reputation solidified by the words of Slew Himmerman, the acclaimed Portland Herald food critic, as being “the best damn pickle platter I have ever tasted in my entire life.”

The weight of such appraisal was cemented in the readers minds based on rumors that Slew made his assessment in the middle of some financially difficult times, an encounter with a late blooming chicken pocks episode and a relationship with his wife that was characterized by a never ending notion of contempt giving their marriage the same type of feel you might find in the relationship a tax evading citizen would have with an IRS agent that showed up at his doorstep on a Sunday afternoon. In fact they say, at the time of the tasting, that after cramming the remains of the pickle platter into his mouth, Slew rushed home to proclaim to a confused and, no doubt, embarrassed wife that he had found a “new love in his life” and that his mistress was green, short and stubby and came in his choice of simmering sauce.

From that moment on the Seattle Sausage's fate was sealed in stone. Over the course of the next 14 years from 1977 to 1991 the Seattle Sausage Eatery played a role in the mounting and execution of, what a newspaper columnist would later describe as, “pivotal events in Portland’s meat loving history.” From the birthing of the “healthy processed meat initiative” that was a response to the growing health food craze descriptive of the early 90s to the increasingly volatile state of the Polish and German communities, the small diner’s gravity could be felt throughout the Portland area.

In 1978 it was said that the socioeconomic unrest surrounding the meat industry reached an all time high. Some likened it to the unrest that eventually led to the Civil War in 1861.

Roughly 90% of the hot dog stands in the city were owned and operated by German immigrants who had made there way to the US in the 30s & 40s. After several unsuccessful attempts at breaking into the cabbage and squash markets that proved lucrative during the time for the Romanians, the Germans quickly turned to the meat industry understanding that while squash took a decidedly minimal role in their native land’s eating habits – bratwursts and other obscure forms of meat played a dominant role in not only their nations menu of choice but incorporated the well known German beer industry as well.

In just under 3 years the German dominated bratwurst market went from being a Thursday evening afterthought to claiming the title of “Sexiest Lunch Food in America” according to the Gourmet Magazine’s weekly newsletter. Evolving from meat on a stick served at carnivals to playing a dominant role in the parties and social get-togethers of the rich and famous. Many economic commentators and analysts sited the bratwurst market as being the fastest growing market in US history surpassed only by the technology industries that took flight in the later part of the 20th century.

It was only a matter of time before the Germans’ took over the struggling Polish sausage market as well. Sure enough it didn’t take long for the entrepreneurial genius of the Germans to effect and eventually dominate not only the Polish sausage industry but the hot dog industry as well which, up to that point, had been controled by Oscar Mayer Wiener, an American owned company which successfully aided and secured the hot dog’s image as being America’s consumable icon of choice.

It’s unclear how long the German’s would have held the title of “Heiß Hund Könige” (Hot Dog Kings) had the Seattle Sausage not opened its doors in 1977 by an extremely secretive but undeniably brilliant gentlemen by the name of Jeeves Hazle who, most agreed, possessed many of the same physical traits as the sausages he served. Many of Portland’s children decided that if indeed man could trace his origins back to the primate, Jeeves could just as easily track his ancestry back to a meat processing plant somewhere in the northern part of New Hampshire.

Regardless of Jeeves Hazle’s questionable origin, no one could deny his ability to infiltrate and upset the German meat market of the late 70s. For the better part of six months the Seattle Sausage provided what most considered a superior product. It was agreed however that the marginally better sausages weren’t enough to over throw the shear convenience the hot dog stands provided simply by the fact that they existed on just about every corner of Portland. The Seattle Sausage’s dominance was solidified however on the eve of the summer of 1979 when Jeeves unveiled the Piping Pickle Platter. It was served in hot, medium or mild and came with a side of mustard, ranch or an unidentifiable red sauce that, when asked about, would be described by the owner as “my own special recipe of something a little tasty taste.”

The platter was described as the pickle that broke the carts wheel, as it was an all but academic fact that a good Piping Pickle Platter could never be prepared and served properly from a cart - much to the chagrin of the Germans.

The Seattle Sausage had proven it’s commanding dominance as a sausage serving powerhouse for the better part of two decades and the German meat industry had been turned on it’s head. While some of the German populace decided to remain in the hot dog stand business, most left it in favor of their beer-brewing heritage and opened up pubs and brewery’s all over town. Ironically Jeeves Hazle would later befriend his German, business owning associates at the annual Oktoberfest held by the city and the semiannual bear and bratwurst conferences held at the convention center.

It’s been rumored that Jeeves and some well-to-do German capitalists have been working on an exciting new development involving a bratwurst/polish hybrid and Jeeves’ "tasty taste" red sauce that, if proven successful, will once again succeed in revolutionizing the way Portlanders consume their processed meat-based lunch time specials.

The Power of Art at Work

2006-01-18T10:36:00.000-08:00

Posithiv

Continued Thanks

2006-01-16T09:05:00.000-08:00

I have to tell you guys that what has happened over the past few posts has been pretty incredible. I value your insight and thoughts, our shared journey. The value of friendship is never so clear to one until he’s faced with a cavern. A void. Something bigger than himself. Something beyond himself. Any sort of exploration takes a team to get the job done. Maybe that's why the church is so crucial.

It's really an exploration team. I’d rather think of it in those terms than a school. I never really liked school.

In some ways my interaction with you over the past couple of weeks has painted a clearer picture of the church than my Sunday morning experiences of late.

I was telling a friend that I think that sometimes the chapters of life, generally, pass by without clear marking. In retrospect it’s easier to see where you’ve been and how your life shifts over the years. But then sometimes the passing of a chapter is very clear to you right then and can be concisely marked at a specific point in time.

I’m not sure what’s next but I feel, very clearly, that I’ve passed into a new chapter. I sense that the right thing to do now is wait. So I guess that’s what I’ll do.

No Real Point But Worth Saying (Part 2)

2006-01-12T12:05:00.000-08:00

I wrote this as a response to the discussion in the comment column of the previous post.

By way of clarification Ricardo: I’m not satisfied with the way I’ve painted my Christian faith. I want better. Real. True. Something more.

How’s that for ambiguous? I appreciate our conversation last night bro.

I appreciate what you guys have been commenting here as well. It’s true and good and right. Many things I’ve done before but have done poorly or incorrectly. Things I’ve done but in the wrong context or assumption. In the midst of a poor education of what I should expect this thing too look like. What God looks like.

What I was trying to paint in the previous post was the process of stepping back and reevaluating it all. Going back to square one. Sometimes people get confused by what I'm attempting to convey here. But if we tried to articulate a lot of our spiritual journey to others we would be left with blank stares. It’s our journey and no one else’s. Right? It’s unique and it’s beautiful. And it might be strange.

Kate, I appreciate what you said. In essence, there is no road map. That’s answer enough. That’s what I need to hear.

JJ & Ricardo, you’ve said something good. There are certain things that can be done to make ourselves oriented correctly. To manifest the right person in this world and to express the right characteristics to those we come in contact with. To point ourselves in the right, general direction. Maybe the rest is up to our imaginations.

Left up to our dreams.

Perhaps what lies beyond is the wilderness of our spirituality. Untamed. Scary. Certainly difficult at times. But always lively. Always rich with meaning. Always characterized by growth. Marked by the fingerprint of a God that wants us to live freely and expressively.

Its into this wilderness I want to go. Maybe I haven’t spent enough time in it. Maybe I didn’t even know it was there. No one can tell you what it looks like or even how it’ll feel. They can remind you of the compasses & tools of navigation that we’ve been given but that’s all. We have to walk it ourselves.

There is an excitement in me at the idea of potential discovery out there. In that wilderness. The potential to discover something new. Something true to me. Something that hasn’t been seen before. Maybe it’s the love God has for this creature, or he wants me to know that he laughs a lot, or that his heart burns with passion for the things I love. Perhaps he wants to introduce me to the Son I’ve heard about for so long but never really met.

So I guess I am Indiana Jones. I’m leaving for the jungle. In search of some ancient relic that was meant to be found by someone less than worthy. Someone weak and little but somehow managed to make God’s list of “The Years Smallest People Worth Dieing For.” I hope I never come back to the same place I was before. I hope I get lost out there....

...and I hope others will follow. Not in my footsteps but out their front door into the unknown & unbridled. With doubt? Yes. With faith? Absolutely.

And God keeps on smiling.

No Real Point But Worth Saying

2006-01-09T08:52:00.000-08:00

It's funny how the direction of our lives can be dictated by such small decisions we make in those inconsequential moments isn't it? What could have been or almost was hinging on that little decision you made sometime in your past that you look back on now. Perhaps, in some cases, comprehending the gravity of that decision presently more than you did at the time.

---

I was an usher at a wedding this weekend. The groom is a great bloke from Australia. The bride was my girlfriend four years back. It was a beautiful wedding. Good to see old faces and good to make new friends. People ask me if it was strange being there for obvious reasons. I answer no, explaining that it was a long time ago and we ended it on good terms. I still consider her a good friend and a beautiful person. I like to think we're both better people for being in the relationship.

On top of that she's the one who asked me to be an usher at her wedding...it's not like I just showed up.

But in all of this I couldn't help but reflect on how at one point in time we were considering marriage, which would have effectively altered both of our lives to an uncertain degree, forever.

It's a weighty thought to be sure.

---

I'm thinking about my life and the decisions I'm making now. Wondering if they're the right ones...the wrong ones.

Have I fallen into complacency and comfort? Trading the unknown for the routine.

Do I need a calling in order to move in a direction or will it follow? Catching up to me.

Is what I dream at night what I’m supposed to be doing or are they simply dreams? How valid are our dreams? Our passions? Do we really believe that God is the fulfiller of hopes and dreams or do we believe he just gave them to us to provide a way through the drudgery?

Is God practical? Do we really believe in a pragmatic deity? The Bible doesn’t seem to think so. Blowing trumpets to crumble walls is not practical. Sorry. When did the practical thing to do become the right thing to do? Why is my life so practical? Were is faith required? I haven’t gone out on a limb for a while.

Am I supposed to draw pictures for the rest of my life. At a desk. Behind a computer. Wearing business casual. I find a certain amount of fulfillment in my work. Satisfaction. But it’s not complete.

I'm not sure I'm fully satisfied with my life as a Christian. Or my idea of God. Oh I love him. As much I can I suppose. I mean I throw mud in his face all the time. But he keeps on loving me. Causing me to stop hurling mud and love him back for a while. Until I forget about the smile on his face and start slinging mud again.

I’m not satisfied with God because I don’t know him. It's like for a long time we've been passing each other in the hall and he's been saying "How are you?" in the real, genuine sense and I've been saying "Fine, how are you?" in the half-hearted socially polite kind of way.

---

Huh. And all this from an usher. Aren’t usher’s the dumb ones? Escorting any and all warm blooded, feminine creatures that happen to get in arms length down a predetermined, white ribboned course. "Just follow the white carpet dude," is what they tell me. And forget about the footstep thing. It doesn't work.

It’s not like I was a Best Man or anything. Now those guys are deep.

Maybe I’m over thinking things. Wouldn't be the first time I suppose.

The Brilliance That Is An Unbridled Grade School Mind

2006-01-07T08:42:00.001-08:00

You can't know where you're going until you know where you've been. At least that's what they say anyway. I found some old writings from my grade school years that were pretty humorous and/or brilliant. At least I thought so.

I don't remember writing any of this.

Time and I
By: Nathan Crutchfield

There are many things that cannot be explained in life: Where babies come from, why women go the bathroom in groups, why Bill Clinton is still in the White House. These things will probably never be answered until we get to heaven. So why try to figure out what things actually are? Somewhere in the Bible God tells man to explore his creation.

One of the biggest things man is trying to figure out is what exactly is time. There have been movies and books that have dealt with the subject. One movie described it like this; when he stepped into the time machine it would transport him either to the past or the future. The only main problem with the thing was that if a structure was built where the time machine sat it would explode (or something to that extent).

I think, as do others, that time is the 4th dimension. It's something that goes beyond height, width and depth. This of course is not only visible to the eye but also to the mind. It is hard for man (especially me) to fathom the elements of time. It's something like heaven. We can't really imagine how great it is until we get there.

There are so many theories on time that it would take days to name and explain them all. But the real question is, "Why did God create time for man when he doesn't even live in a time/space continuum himself?" I think it's because he meant it for man to be able to look back on his past and to learn from his mistakes. Let's face it, if we couldn't look back at what the mistake and consequence was we would be in deep trouble. It also gives us the opportunity to discern when events will happen, such as events from the Bible.

So even though time is kind of a strange thing, it really isn't quite as strange as it seems. So the next time you think of "time," just stop right there, because in the time it takes you to fathom what it means to you, you will have spent way too much time thinking and too little time watching football.

---

It's difficult to say why there are still discussions on time taking place today when such a brilliant piece of literature has already been written on the subject.

I was ahead of my time.

Breaking the Law and a Character of Misinterpreted Benevolence

2005-12-23T07:24:00.000-08:00

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!

Assumed Truth

2005-12-14T14:44:00.000-08:00

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.

Thoughts Consisting of Today

2005-12-13T21:19:00.000-08:00

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.

Dreams, Crying & Broccoli

2005-11-18T11:55:00.000-08:00

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.

Technosexuality

2005-11-14T12:54:00.000-08:00

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.

Just

2005-11-09T09:40:00.000-08:00

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.

Life Times and A Moment

2005-11-08T10:11:00.000-08:00

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

He's In The Freezer

2005-11-03T10:59:00.000-08:00

"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.

Adam, Early in the Morning

2005-10-27T08:41:00.000-07:00

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.

The New Kid On The Block

2005-10-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

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?

Martyrdom

2005-10-25T21:13:00.000-07:00

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.

Please?

2005-10-23T17:22:00.000-07:00

Can someone please give me the antidote to this disease called materialism?

What Does It All Mean?

2005-10-12T18:28:00.000-07:00

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

Truth

2005-10-10T10:33:00.000-07:00

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.

Titles

2005-10-09T20:49:00.000-07:00

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?

Back In The Saddle

2005-10-01T05:59:00.000-07:00

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.

The Reason Being...

2005-09-20T12:39:00.000-07:00

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.

A Child's Thoughts On God

2005-09-16T15:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Mississippi

2005-09-14T15:50:00.000-07:00

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.

To Boycott or Not to Boycott....that's not really the question.

2005-09-01T08:25:00.000-07:00

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.

A Boy We Called Matt

2005-08-22T16:19:00.000-07:00

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.

Brave New World

2005-08-22T08:44:00.000-07:00

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.

I Think I Saw Jesus Last Night

2005-08-10T22:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Obsession Never Sounded So Sweet

2005-08-09T14:30:00.000-07:00

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?

Thought Provoking Question #251

2005-08-09T08:12:00.000-07:00

Why do people who shop at health food stores look so unhealthy?

Hmmmmmmm.

Point A to B

2005-08-01T15:43:00.000-07:00

I climbed Grays and Torreys this weekend.

Who Do You Want It To Be?

2005-07-25T15:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Television

2005-07-06T14:39:00.000-07:00

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.

The Mountain

2005-06-29T08:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Observations

2005-06-21T07:54:00.000-07:00

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.

The Dance

2005-05-23T14:45:00.000-07:00

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.

The Lightbox

Yo

Return

The Road To Dahab

Around The World

Planned Obsolesence At It's Finest

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Another Quote...

This Weeks Proof Of A Psychosomatic Disorder

A Paperless Trail and Necessitated Circumstances

Untitled

Reality's Defense

Site Of The Day

Slippers

Untitled

Facial Boredom

Phone Book?

The Twenty Dollar Peach

News?

Collateral Damage

Coming

Salvation

Technology

Church Militant

The Persuit of God

Christmas?

Another Run In With The Law

Scattered Thoughts - Because that's all that makes sense to me right now

Untitled

Nice Tat J.C.

It's Fall...and winter kind of

FWD:

Jesus The Dentist

Snow Mass

By The Way...

Weak

Untitled

Today

A Swaying Suitcase Full Of Angst

Current Read

Art

The Highlight

Fear

CNN & Us

Thought #405

Truth & Legislation

Truth & Politics

55+

Adolescence

They're Green

Live

And They'll Know Us By Our Video Games

The Tortoise and The Hare

Passion

Want

New Orleans

Did Someone Say Beads?!

I see an ocean.

Minus 20

Mt. Quandary

Rocky Mountain National Park

Article

Avalanche Awareness Field Trip

The History Of Portland's Processed Meat Industry According to a Considerably Ignorant Historian

The Power of Art at Work

Continued Thanks

No Real Point But Worth Saying (Part 2)

No Real Point But Worth Saying

The Brilliance That Is An Unbridled Grade School Mind

Breaking the Law and a Character of Misinterpreted Benevolence

Assumed Truth

Thoughts Consisting of Today

Dreams, Crying & Broccoli

Technosexuality

Just

Life Times and A Moment

He's In The Freezer

Adam, Early in the Morning

The New Kid On The Block

Martyrdom