Sorry for the above sarcasm. Yet, no matter how sarcastic I try to remain about our political system, I am a complete patriot at heart and a geek to boot. Don't let that get around though.
I am currently in Washington D.C. And, for the first time. I am so excited that I cried while the plane was landing at Dulles. Partly because the fog was so thick I was unable to see the capitol, but mostly because I was flying into Washington D.C.
"People shape buildings, then buildings shape people." -Winston Churchill
I intend to see the Lincoln Memorial and then turn on it's steps to look out over the much photographed reflecting pool and the phallic Washington Monument. I'll stand on those same steps where so many historical figures have stood, addressing thousands to millions in hopes to change the course of history and make our country what we all wish it to be. I'll cry. No doubt.
I will go to the Mall and be overwhelmed at the options, the history available to me, and the limited time I have to take it in. I'll probably whine and feel sorry for myself at that point. However, I WILL go to the Smithsonian Museum because everyone SHOULD go to the Smithsonian.
We also want to stand on the grass and gaze upon the iconic likes of the White House and the Pentagon. I want to take our picture on the steps of the Capitol Building. I hope to see the President, and even though I have issues with the man himself my heart will most certainly swell with national pride -which still surprises me and renders me completely patriotic and weak in the knees- I will most likely cry again, and I'll feel very happy to be an American. I will wax nostalgic once more over the time I saw President Clinton dining with Harrison Ford at a small restaurant in Jackson Hole, Montana.
That beautiful evening, at the foot of the Teton Mountains, a couple handfuls of us gazed up in rapt awe from a small courtyard below the restaurant asking one another in whispers, "Do you see him yet?" Strange how such a figure can have an awe inspiring affect on a group of Americans from all over the country, of all ages, backgrounds and beliefs. We all felt as one. Talking to one another like good friends. Giggling over the fact that we couldn't -not one of us- take our eyes away from the spot where we knew we would see the President at any moment, once the meal was finished and the Presidential Couple would say their goodbyes to Harrison. Clinton's presence was indeed confirmed when the Secret Service came through our little crowd and without asking permission, rifled through our bags and pockets looking for weapons and whatever else the Secret Service looks for. We were all silenced. Strangely, I didn't feel a bit violated by the nearly intimate nature of the agent's searching of me. In fact, I felt truly glad. Glad to have him search me and everyone around me so that MY President would be protected and safe. So that my country wouldn't be plunged into a time of chaos and grief.
I will feel the same today, I'm sure, if I have the pleasure of being groped by a Secret Service Agent. By the way, they do wear nice suits and shoes that you would lead you to believe there's no way they could out run a very bad person with bad intentions. They are serious, completely unattached, unsmiling, focused, and not visibly amused when you say things like, "Wow, you really do wear those wire thingies in your ears." Not that I said that.
So, I'm excited to be here in the Capitol of our country, despite the fact that my national pride took a hit on our trip out here. My experience rendered me disconcerted, unpatriotic, and caused me to wonder if capitalism is what Lenin always believed it to be (basically, in the long term, not very beneficial to the general population). I am now fully convinced that the United States is going the direction of the Roman empire. There are serious customer service problems afoot when you sit in an airplane seat and your face is barely 12 inches from the seat in front of you, and you can't even cross your legs or put your seat back to relax (without shoving the persons laptop into their chest and spilling their $5 three ounce drink). It didn't used to be like that. Really! Serious decline of cultural priorities are at play.
That's not all! My bank is owned by Nazi's. I'm sorry, but I remember a time when my money was my money and not theirs to do with what they please. HELLO! When I put my money in a bank, if I am remembering this accurately, they actually hold the money for safekeeping and give it to you any time you request that you would like to use it. Such as when you travel long distances and need lots of cash just in case unpredictable things occur (which they often do when you are away). Only NOW the state of our economy has basically caused our financial institutions to forget what their original purpose is. To safeguard our money (they do that still, kind of) so that we can access it when needed (that's the part they forgot).
Anyway, I'm now caught up in my nostalgic feelings of national pride. My broad sweeping disappointment in the state of our Capitalistic system, and in Northwest airlines and Washington Mutual in particular, are shelved for the moment. Right now I sit in Virginia, a stone's throw away from the Capitol building with its amazing story of change and hope, and the Mall which houses strange and wonderful items we learn about in grade school and only hope to set our eyes on.
Maybe I'll see the President. But likely, I may just brush by someone who, unbeknownst to me, is hard at work trying to change something that could influence my life dramatically. They might even sit in the seat behind me on my flight back and I might shove their laptop into their chest whilst they compose a proposed ammendment to the laws concerning equality and marriage in our country. Maybe.
Friday, November 14
Saturday, November 8
just musing folks
It took us a mere 2 years to accomplish what the Canadian government and voters did in only 2 MONTHS! Anyway, congratulations and condolences are in order…and in some cases, simultaneously. None-the-less, I think that what I have on my mind is important.
It’s clear we all have pretty strong feelings about this President-Elect. Even if it is merely irritation over the process, electoral votes, or media hype.
Earlier this week I was listening to a young black man at my church here in Spokane. He said he was at a Bible study on Tuesday night when Senator McCain gave his concession speech and Obama in turn accepted his nomination. There were both people who were disappointed and people who were happy. He had sat back watching all of these responses, while inside he thought, “Do you have any idea what this means for a black man?” He was so excited he just wanted to jump up and down! When was the last time you felt that joyous about anything? He then said to me, “I never thought I would see Martin Luther King’s dream actually come true in my lifetime.”
Me too. I’m overwhelmed by it. Only, I really can’t know what it might feel like as a black man.
I’m actually in a state of disbelief. Shock maybe. I don’t generally announce and extrapolate on my political leanings. I especially keep my voting history to myself. An American right regarding nondisclosure. However, I want to make an exception in this case and come out. I was a delegate for Senator Obama in Whatcom County. Since the first day I registered to vote I’ve never been directly involved in the activities of any particular party during an election season. Usually the most involved I become, is in bipartisan activities such as working the polls.
Delegates gathered for the first caucus way back in Winter ’07. During the first caucus –where strong supporters of one candidate try to convince others to support their candidate– it was at the 11th hour, 59 minutes, and 59 seconds when I decided to hop over to support Obama. Then I became a delegate.
Although I liked him and what he was all about, I was very unsure if he had a wide enough margin of chance to make it as the Democratic candidate over Senator Clinton. Sadly, I really didn’t believe in my heart of hearts this country could actually pull its head out of its butt long enough to pull him, a black man after all, into the presidency much “less” a woman. But it happened. It is a good sign.
Even though I moved up through three Democrat caucuses in support of Senator Obama, I still can’t believe we actually did it. Indira Ghandi, MLK, a few others, and Benazir Bhutto all made audible sighs of relief from their graves, “It’s about time”. I think I heard it too.
Nelson Mandela, former political prisoner and current President of South Africa, sent Obama a letter, saying, “Your victory has demonstrated that no person anywhere in the world should not dare to dream of wanting to change the world for a better place.” You might even be a black American in the ‘land of the free and the home of the brave’.
I am not alone in my current state of disbelief. There are some interesting reactions and beliefs out there.
Now for the really awkward stuff.
I’ve heard from an uncanny amount of people that they have a… “gut feeling”, “conviction”, or “weird felling”… about our President-Elect. The conviction isn’t a good one either. Dare I say it smacks of Armageddon and the biblical sense of the “end times”? Some of them haven’t really been able to come up with much more than, “It’s just a feeling. I can’t explain it.” If I didn’t actually like and love these many people who’ve expressed this “gut feeling” I’d pass over it with a “there, there,” and a sympathetic pat of my hand on their head. I have had still others I like and love express with equal frequency and passion a gut level belief, even hope, that this president represents a sign of good things coming. Perhaps even an “audacious” hope.
Let me be honest. I really do like almost all the people who have expressed these dissimilar beliefs about our next president. I actually feel okay with those who’ve explained odd and discomforting feelings and beliefs. Maybe I kind of get it. But it makes me really uncomfortable. That’s why I’m telling you, too. Maybe you’ve felt it. Maybe you’ve heard people say it and blew it off with a flip of your hand. Maybe you’re as intrigued as I am because the frequency with which you’ve heard it makes it hard to ignore. Though I do have a mental illness, conspiracy theories are not my thing. So I’m not to the point of pinning newspaper clippings about this to my wall. Yet.
I can’t say it any clearer, these folks –my "informants" for lack of a better term– are not whack jobs! No one I know personally has admitted any discomfort or revealed hate based on his color. That’s just too easy. No, most of these friends and family of mine who have expressed either of these beliefs stated above, are indeed very convinced. But not in an hysterical schizoid (paranoid, conspiracy theorist) manner.
I, however, am of another mind…sort of in the middle somewhere. Indeed, I too feel that knot in the pit of my stomach. It’s a weird feeling and it is uncomfortable. It smacks of big world-sized issues that seem to have parked right in my driveway. I feel incapable of interpreting what is there in my gut. These folks have described a feeling of something bad on the horizon. Me too. But I hear an invitation in that. It is an invitation to be wise. To act justly, to love mercy. To Pray.
One thing is sure, I think many of us must feel like my mom & dad’s generation did before Kennedy, then his brother, and then MLK, were shot dead by very sick people who knew little, if anything, of hope and possibility. I feel hopeful like my mom & dad’s generation must have felt hopeful –about what, none of us can probably accurately define. But there was a lot of hope going around, flagrantly. But I feel hopeful with a little caution, because my hope still remembers Kennedy, King, and Bhutto most recently, and how there are lots of crazy people in the world who listen to fear and literally desire to kill hope. I think we are in this place right now. I’m not predicting something bad will happen. I am saying we live in one of those times rife with hope and possibility and that there are assassins of hope waiting in fear. This time in our history is loaded and heavy with hopeful people.
Unwieldy issues and ideas have parked right in my front yard. I can think of no other way to deal with things I have little control over, than to Pray. So, I Pray from the “Common Prayer Book” -
“Almighty God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage: We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of they favor and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail. Oh Lord our Governor, whose glory is in all the world: We commend this nation to thy merciful care, that, being guided by thy Providence, we may dwell secure in thy peace. Grant the President of the United States, the Governor of this State (or Commonwealth), and to all in authority, wisdom and strength to know and to do thy will. Fill them with the love of truth and righteousness, and make them ever mindful of their calling to serve this people in thy fear; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, world without end. Amen.”
When I think of President Obama I can’t say I know which story in history is about to repeat itself. I do indeed know that things will change. They already have. Even if you don’t believe it, the Obama campaign slogan "Change we can believe in" has already been proven entirely true. As of a few nights ago our society was finally weaned off her ‘sucky’, her pacifier. This, after years of our relatives whispering, “Shouldn’t they be taking that damned thing away from her by now?”
It’s clear we all have pretty strong feelings about this President-Elect. Even if it is merely irritation over the process, electoral votes, or media hype.
Earlier this week I was listening to a young black man at my church here in Spokane. He said he was at a Bible study on Tuesday night when Senator McCain gave his concession speech and Obama in turn accepted his nomination. There were both people who were disappointed and people who were happy. He had sat back watching all of these responses, while inside he thought, “Do you have any idea what this means for a black man?” He was so excited he just wanted to jump up and down! When was the last time you felt that joyous about anything? He then said to me, “I never thought I would see Martin Luther King’s dream actually come true in my lifetime.”
Me too. I’m overwhelmed by it. Only, I really can’t know what it might feel like as a black man.
I’m actually in a state of disbelief. Shock maybe. I don’t generally announce and extrapolate on my political leanings. I especially keep my voting history to myself. An American right regarding nondisclosure. However, I want to make an exception in this case and come out. I was a delegate for Senator Obama in Whatcom County. Since the first day I registered to vote I’ve never been directly involved in the activities of any particular party during an election season. Usually the most involved I become, is in bipartisan activities such as working the polls.
Delegates gathered for the first caucus way back in Winter ’07. During the first caucus –where strong supporters of one candidate try to convince others to support their candidate– it was at the 11th hour, 59 minutes, and 59 seconds when I decided to hop over to support Obama. Then I became a delegate.
Although I liked him and what he was all about, I was very unsure if he had a wide enough margin of chance to make it as the Democratic candidate over Senator Clinton. Sadly, I really didn’t believe in my heart of hearts this country could actually pull its head out of its butt long enough to pull him, a black man after all, into the presidency much “less” a woman. But it happened. It is a good sign.
Even though I moved up through three Democrat caucuses in support of Senator Obama, I still can’t believe we actually did it. Indira Ghandi, MLK, a few others, and Benazir Bhutto all made audible sighs of relief from their graves, “It’s about time”. I think I heard it too.
Nelson Mandela, former political prisoner and current President of South Africa, sent Obama a letter, saying, “Your victory has demonstrated that no person anywhere in the world should not dare to dream of wanting to change the world for a better place.” You might even be a black American in the ‘land of the free and the home of the brave’.
I am not alone in my current state of disbelief. There are some interesting reactions and beliefs out there.
Now for the really awkward stuff.
I’ve heard from an uncanny amount of people that they have a… “gut feeling”, “conviction”, or “weird felling”… about our President-Elect. The conviction isn’t a good one either. Dare I say it smacks of Armageddon and the biblical sense of the “end times”? Some of them haven’t really been able to come up with much more than, “It’s just a feeling. I can’t explain it.” If I didn’t actually like and love these many people who’ve expressed this “gut feeling” I’d pass over it with a “there, there,” and a sympathetic pat of my hand on their head. I have had still others I like and love express with equal frequency and passion a gut level belief, even hope, that this president represents a sign of good things coming. Perhaps even an “audacious” hope.
Let me be honest. I really do like almost all the people who have expressed these dissimilar beliefs about our next president. I actually feel okay with those who’ve explained odd and discomforting feelings and beliefs. Maybe I kind of get it. But it makes me really uncomfortable. That’s why I’m telling you, too. Maybe you’ve felt it. Maybe you’ve heard people say it and blew it off with a flip of your hand. Maybe you’re as intrigued as I am because the frequency with which you’ve heard it makes it hard to ignore. Though I do have a mental illness, conspiracy theories are not my thing. So I’m not to the point of pinning newspaper clippings about this to my wall. Yet.
I can’t say it any clearer, these folks –my "informants" for lack of a better term– are not whack jobs! No one I know personally has admitted any discomfort or revealed hate based on his color. That’s just too easy. No, most of these friends and family of mine who have expressed either of these beliefs stated above, are indeed very convinced. But not in an hysterical schizoid (paranoid, conspiracy theorist) manner.
I, however, am of another mind…sort of in the middle somewhere. Indeed, I too feel that knot in the pit of my stomach. It’s a weird feeling and it is uncomfortable. It smacks of big world-sized issues that seem to have parked right in my driveway. I feel incapable of interpreting what is there in my gut. These folks have described a feeling of something bad on the horizon. Me too. But I hear an invitation in that. It is an invitation to be wise. To act justly, to love mercy. To Pray.
One thing is sure, I think many of us must feel like my mom & dad’s generation did before Kennedy, then his brother, and then MLK, were shot dead by very sick people who knew little, if anything, of hope and possibility. I feel hopeful like my mom & dad’s generation must have felt hopeful –about what, none of us can probably accurately define. But there was a lot of hope going around, flagrantly. But I feel hopeful with a little caution, because my hope still remembers Kennedy, King, and Bhutto most recently, and how there are lots of crazy people in the world who listen to fear and literally desire to kill hope. I think we are in this place right now. I’m not predicting something bad will happen. I am saying we live in one of those times rife with hope and possibility and that there are assassins of hope waiting in fear. This time in our history is loaded and heavy with hopeful people.
Unwieldy issues and ideas have parked right in my front yard. I can think of no other way to deal with things I have little control over, than to Pray. So, I Pray from the “Common Prayer Book” -
“Almighty God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage: We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of they favor and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail. Oh Lord our Governor, whose glory is in all the world: We commend this nation to thy merciful care, that, being guided by thy Providence, we may dwell secure in thy peace. Grant the President of the United States, the Governor of this State (or Commonwealth), and to all in authority, wisdom and strength to know and to do thy will. Fill them with the love of truth and righteousness, and make them ever mindful of their calling to serve this people in thy fear; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, world without end. Amen.”
When I think of President Obama I can’t say I know which story in history is about to repeat itself. I do indeed know that things will change. They already have. Even if you don’t believe it, the Obama campaign slogan "Change we can believe in" has already been proven entirely true. As of a few nights ago our society was finally weaned off her ‘sucky’, her pacifier. This, after years of our relatives whispering, “Shouldn’t they be taking that damned thing away from her by now?”
Thursday, October 30
talk about falling
Talk about falling...
Let me just start right off by explaining my long absence...
I fell in love.
But I've landed.
Just as quickly as I fell, I landed. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I still have this strange sense of light headedness and of floating at times.
You'll find the picture of Christina and I here on the blog page. Cute couple, eh? She says, "I like that picture of us. We look happy." I reply, "Honey, that's the ONLY picture we have of us." Christina has an aversion to cameras to the extent that I have an aversion to dresses. Pretty serious.
So, about falling...
Falling is such an overrated event and we --especially in this society-- rate it so highly as if the falling in love part was the very apex of love. When it comes to love relationships falling in love is just the tip of the iceberg. I'm sure most of you already know that. I'm kind of a novice really. It's like giving a 2 year old a baseball bat and letting her/him loose. The result is a lot of broken things and battered shins & kneecaps.
So why do we say “I’ve fallen in love” with such glee...without even looking at the words we are using to describe such an event? Mostly, I think, it is because lovers are generally young and inexperienced in the ways of icebergs and their tips --all we have to go on is that the Titanic sank because of a sneaky iceberg. We just say dumbly, "What iceberg?" We don't really get it, do we? We aren’t thinking about what it we’re saying partly because the all the blood has left our brains while we are “falling”. Like falling out of an airplane. That kind of height. Not like falling from a tree limb. This is serious momentum!
Here's what I think. Applying the term “falling” to describe a burgeoning love relationship implies death, dismemberment, and at the very least many broken bones and paralysis. The connection is, I believe, not a mistake. Only I’m not so sure most of us are aware of what we are really communicating when we say “I’ve fallen in love”. Do we realize the reality of what we are saying. It is as if you are saying:
"I'm falling and am facing total dismembership and extinction at the end of my fall. I like broken bones and internal injuries. I LOVE IT!"
OR
"I'm falling and the ground is approaching quickly so I ought to prepare myself for the end."
OR
"I'm falling, which is okay because I have a death wish anyway. I like dying."
OR
"Oh _____, this isn't what I expected when I jumped out!"
OR maybe
"I don't mind this. I have a love of danger and I'm ready for whatever comes...as long as I don't die...oh. I'm going to die? okay, um, how do I get out of this! help. someone. please."
Anyway, you get the idea. Love is nothing to take lightly. And "falling" about rightly describes it at first. I suspect whoever came up with the term "falling in love", the first person to say it out loud, knew exactly what he or she was saying. He or she was probably French. The French say things like that. I'll have to look into the etiology of this term. However, I come to that conclusion based on the fact that the French term for orgasm is literally translated into English "little death". Love is risky business, not for the faint of heart, and terribly misrepresented in our culture and through our families.
The most interesting phenomenon I have discovered about falling in love is how many seemingly satisfied and married people warn, caution me, and actually tell me things like, "Don't get used to this feeling." As if they learned their lesson!!! Seems kind of two faced to me.
"I'm sorry," I say, "I thought I heard you say, 'Are you being cautious? You ought to be careful'?"
In my head I say (because saying this out loud would look suspiciously like I am defensive), "Looks like it worked for you."
I've heard mothers explain the process of having multiple children and it sounds an awful lot like a psychiatric condition called a fugue. Amnesia really.
The exact definition of a psychiatric fugue is, "pathological amnesiac condition during which one is apparently conscious of one's actions but has no recollection of them after returning to a normal state. This condition, usually resulting from severe mental stress, may persist for as long as several months."
Or perhaps years in a mother's case. These mother friends of mine are apparently conscious of their actions during a previous birth but upon conception of the next child they have no recollection of that previous pregnancy and birth. They tell me, "If I actually remembered the awful pain of birth and the uncomfortable and completely inconvenient process of pregnancy I would never ever, ever have agreed to a next child." Thank God for fugues then...else we'd be extinct!
I'm trying to say that falling in love is bound to happen...if you actually get to choose your mate --as we generally do here in the U.S. Otherwise no one would marry voluntarily. I mean really. Do you ever hear people say, "Well I don't really love her/him, it just seems like it would be a to our advantage to commit ourselves to one another for the entirety of our lives because it's just a good idea." Yea, kinda weird. Probably a good idea though. Maybe the divorce rate would go down. Marriage of convenience. Haven't heard of it for a while. Not since Hollywood probably.
We marry...by first falling in love. Of course I can't marry Christina "legally" or with the "church" backing. So I get to fall in love with her much longer. ; )
However, if you live somewhere where your parents may arrange your marriage, like India or S. E. Asia, falling in love is not guaranteed. But it happens. It actually happens with more frequency than we Western romantics may believe. Though I don't know the statistics I have been told this story --of an arranged marriage turning into deep love between the stranger spouses-- by two different individuals from different countries. You can find information about this alien phenom and discover it happens fairly regularly.
Divorce stats in our country betray our Christian reputation. We don't have a key to making a marriage work based on how you get to the alter. Getting to the alter is perhaps the least of our worries. Maybe you've heard of the Gottman Institute. They've done a study, a pretty extensive study, on what makes marriages succeed and why marriages end. They found the primary reason why marriages end in divorce is contempt. That doesn't mean contempt always ends the marriage. No, some marriages continue on regardless of rampant contempt. Contempt is deadly.
Check out Gottman's website: http://www.gottman.com/
All I know is that I adore my partner. For the first time in my 20 years as a Christian I don't feel completely inept at actually treating another person as if they were more important than myself (at least some of the time that is). I actively love. I don't look at the I Corinthians passage from the New Testament as a creed or agreement as much as a tool like an axe or a hoe. Don't worry, even if you haven't read a word of the Bible you HAVE heard this verse. It is read aloud, as if casting a spell, with great frequency in wedding ceremonies across America. Not that this is a bad thing, but, in the same way my well meaning married friends like to warn me, I think, "Does this bride & groom really know what they are promising???" Think on these following things:
1 Corinthians 13:4-7
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
These are some pretty serious activities. They aren't character qualities. They aren't gifts. They aren't inborn. They aren't even automatic add on's that come along with falling in love. They are things done actively at the most inconvenient times. Like loving rain when you are locked out of your house. Like happily drinking the wrong kind of latte after you've already driven through the driveway. And they are like realizing that the other person needs these things --patience, kindness, care, humility, words of kindness, a selfless partner, a cool head when provoked, truth, a tempered memory, protection, belief in the relationship, hope for the relationship, and VERY IMPORTANTLY, perseverance. And she needs them more than you need justification, fairness, and self gratification.
I'm so in love I'll promise anything. I know this is but the beginning. But I'm pretty sure I've got my head screwed on as straight. One would hope so at the ripe age of 42. At least that's what I keep telling myself.
Let me just start right off by explaining my long absence...
I fell in love.
But I've landed.
Just as quickly as I fell, I landed. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I still have this strange sense of light headedness and of floating at times.
You'll find the picture of Christina and I here on the blog page. Cute couple, eh? She says, "I like that picture of us. We look happy." I reply, "Honey, that's the ONLY picture we have of us." Christina has an aversion to cameras to the extent that I have an aversion to dresses. Pretty serious.
So, about falling...
Falling is such an overrated event and we --especially in this society-- rate it so highly as if the falling in love part was the very apex of love. When it comes to love relationships falling in love is just the tip of the iceberg. I'm sure most of you already know that. I'm kind of a novice really. It's like giving a 2 year old a baseball bat and letting her/him loose. The result is a lot of broken things and battered shins & kneecaps.
So why do we say “I’ve fallen in love” with such glee...without even looking at the words we are using to describe such an event? Mostly, I think, it is because lovers are generally young and inexperienced in the ways of icebergs and their tips --all we have to go on is that the Titanic sank because of a sneaky iceberg. We just say dumbly, "What iceberg?" We don't really get it, do we? We aren’t thinking about what it we’re saying partly because the all the blood has left our brains while we are “falling”. Like falling out of an airplane. That kind of height. Not like falling from a tree limb. This is serious momentum!
Here's what I think. Applying the term “falling” to describe a burgeoning love relationship implies death, dismemberment, and at the very least many broken bones and paralysis. The connection is, I believe, not a mistake. Only I’m not so sure most of us are aware of what we are really communicating when we say “I’ve fallen in love”. Do we realize the reality of what we are saying. It is as if you are saying:
"I'm falling and am facing total dismembership and extinction at the end of my fall. I like broken bones and internal injuries. I LOVE IT!"
OR
"I'm falling and the ground is approaching quickly so I ought to prepare myself for the end."
OR
"I'm falling, which is okay because I have a death wish anyway. I like dying."
OR
"Oh _____, this isn't what I expected when I jumped out!"
OR maybe
"I don't mind this. I have a love of danger and I'm ready for whatever comes...as long as I don't die...oh. I'm going to die? okay, um, how do I get out of this! help. someone. please."
Anyway, you get the idea. Love is nothing to take lightly. And "falling" about rightly describes it at first. I suspect whoever came up with the term "falling in love", the first person to say it out loud, knew exactly what he or she was saying. He or she was probably French. The French say things like that. I'll have to look into the etiology of this term. However, I come to that conclusion based on the fact that the French term for orgasm is literally translated into English "little death". Love is risky business, not for the faint of heart, and terribly misrepresented in our culture and through our families.
The most interesting phenomenon I have discovered about falling in love is how many seemingly satisfied and married people warn, caution me, and actually tell me things like, "Don't get used to this feeling." As if they learned their lesson!!! Seems kind of two faced to me.
"I'm sorry," I say, "I thought I heard you say, 'Are you being cautious? You ought to be careful'?"
In my head I say (because saying this out loud would look suspiciously like I am defensive), "Looks like it worked for you."
I've heard mothers explain the process of having multiple children and it sounds an awful lot like a psychiatric condition called a fugue. Amnesia really.
The exact definition of a psychiatric fugue is, "pathological amnesiac condition during which one is apparently conscious of one's actions but has no recollection of them after returning to a normal state. This condition, usually resulting from severe mental stress, may persist for as long as several months."
Or perhaps years in a mother's case. These mother friends of mine are apparently conscious of their actions during a previous birth but upon conception of the next child they have no recollection of that previous pregnancy and birth. They tell me, "If I actually remembered the awful pain of birth and the uncomfortable and completely inconvenient process of pregnancy I would never ever, ever have agreed to a next child." Thank God for fugues then...else we'd be extinct!
I'm trying to say that falling in love is bound to happen...if you actually get to choose your mate --as we generally do here in the U.S. Otherwise no one would marry voluntarily. I mean really. Do you ever hear people say, "Well I don't really love her/him, it just seems like it would be a to our advantage to commit ourselves to one another for the entirety of our lives because it's just a good idea." Yea, kinda weird. Probably a good idea though. Maybe the divorce rate would go down. Marriage of convenience. Haven't heard of it for a while. Not since Hollywood probably.
We marry...by first falling in love. Of course I can't marry Christina "legally" or with the "church" backing. So I get to fall in love with her much longer. ; )
However, if you live somewhere where your parents may arrange your marriage, like India or S. E. Asia, falling in love is not guaranteed. But it happens. It actually happens with more frequency than we Western romantics may believe. Though I don't know the statistics I have been told this story --of an arranged marriage turning into deep love between the stranger spouses-- by two different individuals from different countries. You can find information about this alien phenom and discover it happens fairly regularly.
Divorce stats in our country betray our Christian reputation. We don't have a key to making a marriage work based on how you get to the alter. Getting to the alter is perhaps the least of our worries. Maybe you've heard of the Gottman Institute. They've done a study, a pretty extensive study, on what makes marriages succeed and why marriages end. They found the primary reason why marriages end in divorce is contempt. That doesn't mean contempt always ends the marriage. No, some marriages continue on regardless of rampant contempt. Contempt is deadly.
Check out Gottman's website: http://www.gottman.com/
All I know is that I adore my partner. For the first time in my 20 years as a Christian I don't feel completely inept at actually treating another person as if they were more important than myself (at least some of the time that is). I actively love. I don't look at the I Corinthians passage from the New Testament as a creed or agreement as much as a tool like an axe or a hoe. Don't worry, even if you haven't read a word of the Bible you HAVE heard this verse. It is read aloud, as if casting a spell, with great frequency in wedding ceremonies across America. Not that this is a bad thing, but, in the same way my well meaning married friends like to warn me, I think, "Does this bride & groom really know what they are promising???" Think on these following things:
1 Corinthians 13:4-7
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
These are some pretty serious activities. They aren't character qualities. They aren't gifts. They aren't inborn. They aren't even automatic add on's that come along with falling in love. They are things done actively at the most inconvenient times. Like loving rain when you are locked out of your house. Like happily drinking the wrong kind of latte after you've already driven through the driveway. And they are like realizing that the other person needs these things --patience, kindness, care, humility, words of kindness, a selfless partner, a cool head when provoked, truth, a tempered memory, protection, belief in the relationship, hope for the relationship, and VERY IMPORTANTLY, perseverance. And she needs them more than you need justification, fairness, and self gratification.
I'm so in love I'll promise anything. I know this is but the beginning. But I'm pretty sure I've got my head screwed on as straight. One would hope so at the ripe age of 42. At least that's what I keep telling myself.
Tuesday, October 28
autumn waits patiently
Are you one of those people who asks, for lack of better ice breakers, "What's your favorite season?" I don't like that question. As usual my answer is more complicated than the questioner is generally wanting to hear. I always want to say something like this:
"If it is winter, I like Winter because it drives me inside where there are fireplaces, friends, books to be read that lay in wait over the Summer, and steamy coffee shops. There is also snowshoeing, cabins in the snow if you can get there or afford it, and there is ice skating if you live somewhere that cold. I also like putting on tire chains. I know, I'm such a lesbian.
However, if it is spring, I like Spring because Spring drives me back outside--right about the hour I'm completely fed up with Winter and the claustrophobia that sets in after months of very little sun. I like planting things in spring in hopes of future beauty and bounty.
But if it is summer, then I like Summer best because that means one thing...backpacking & hiking. Those short blissful months, here in the Northwest, of warmth that heats the rocks of the Cascade Mountains so that we can go play above the treeline. Honorable mentions are fresh produce, driving with your windows down, shorts, short skirts, and, of course, blue Slurpee's.
Then there's Autumn which is my favorite season of all when it is Fall. I like Fall because of color, harvest, my birthday, fog, school, mtn. blueberries, and a new season of CSI Las Vegas, Survivor, and Amazing Race.
For years I've tried to wrap my mind around the spiritual and life lessons so prolific in this season. Autumn is the very picture of death and dying...AND YET it is gloriously beautiful!! It is, strangely, beautiful BECAUSE of the dying. Generally we (especially Americans) don't think of death and dying as beautiful. I think it is obvious, God seems to be clearly illustrating something quite applicable for us to ponder in our own lives. Of course all this death we witness around us during the Fall is just temporary. Everything doesn't die. It isn't so much death as hibernation, sleepy time, preservation, survival. Earth's environment is organized so that land above the Tropic of Cancer and below the Tropic of Capricorn will experience some changes in seasons. The organization of nature, as God ordered it (for we cannot un-tilt the Earth or change its revolution around the sun), implies that things have to die in order to live. Hmmm, I think I've heard that one before."
So that's the long answer to the question, "What's your favorite season, winter, spring, summer, or fall?" Essentially, "YES!"
I've observed here in the Northwest that Fall is more glorious some years than others. Some years it just falls and that's it! No spectacular show. However, this year happens to be particularly amazing! Looking at the colors that seem more vibrant than in recent years, I can't help but think again that God has a life lesson built right into the blueprint of nature. I don't know about you but I can forget that life not only ebbs but flows, progresses and falls back, flourishes and wanes, falls flat and rises to the top.
My life is glorious sometimes, like this Fall, but I also experience seasons that are downright anticlimactic. Other seasons seem to be the end of me. Do you ever look at a season of beauty and wonder "Why can't it always be this way?" Well, there you go again...God seems to have given an illustration in the very air we breath. How can we grow if we don't first die? How can we truly flourish unless we first go through the harshness of winter? How can we make it through our winters if it were not for the memory of seasons in the past that did eventually end? Perhaps God gave us season so that we might learn to love whatever the present season has for us.
I'm grateful to be established in the Pacific Northwest. I love having discernible seasons that change one into the other. The progress of seasons gives me hope. I can see that they change. Seasons always change. They don't stay the same all the time. I like that. As someone who is manic depressive, I like that. It is good to know that depression and mania are like seasons. They come for a while but they leave too. I feel like it is God's promise to me when I experience the changing of Earth's seasons. He promises that hard times always change into something else, usually something good.
"Kimberly, I do not change but you will find that your life is filled with change like the seasons of the Earth. But don't be shaken. Every season of your life has a purpose to either prepare you for the future or give you rest from the past seasons. And, it's okay, you can like ALL the seasons...don't ever let anyone make you choose."
Wednesday, October 22
Only 14 More Days
OH, so many of us have become hardened and crusty old skeptics. I do not have enough digits to count the number of times I have heard, "It doesn't matter who is elected President, nothing will actually change anyway."
Some of us aren't so much skeptical as "wizened". We say such things as, "Presidents of united states don't really do much of anything anyway...It is just a figurehead."
Several of these folks go on to explain why my bumper sticker, "If you don't vote you don't count", is offensive to them.
Whatever your beliefs, you HAVE to admit that aside from all the media's rabid lathering something WILL change in our country. Indeed. Our country will finally join the ranks of those "underdeveloped" "third world" countries who have enjoyed (or endured) the leadership of women and minorities for decades and even centuries. We will finally be stepping out of the dark ages!
America the Great is finally filling in her training bra. She's finally, perhaps, coming out of the exasperating pre-teen years. She might stop talking back, stomping to her room and slamming the door, assuming she knows everything when she clearly doesn't, and she might just stop being a tyrant and self-appointed social dictatoress in the school halls.
Despite the fact that a few hundred years ago the world changed dramatically under the British rule of Elizabeth I, and her success as a politician, general, and leader are evidenced, Americans have been uneasy, skeptical, and reluctant (to say the least) about placing a woman at the helm of our country. I sometimes like to put my arm over the shoulder of my young country and have a talk about not having sex until she really understands the consequences and ramifications. "Honey, you're just too young to be doing things you don't even understand." Only I think she's been sexually active for some time.
It is amazing to me that we Americans (and I mean ME and almost all the rest of us) have believed strongly that we are a mentor and leader among the nations of the world. We are in a way. Many nations look to us. But tyrant does not equal leader. Really now. Don't you remember hating the big bully in school? Yet the minute he protected you and YOUR interests you felt a kind of uneasy pleasure in it. Let's gain a little perspective on what our role is anyway.
Change will occur! We will finally have either a black/minority President or a woman V.P.
We still have 14 more days until either becomes a reality. Just enough time to learn how to make tools and build fire.
Whether you are a hardened skeptic, an Anarchist, or simply "wizened", if you do vote your voice will be out there. Your positions/people you stand up for on your ballot this election will be counted among the others. Even if you "lose". Your voice will become part of a loud collective...much like a choir. I can sing, but believe me when I say my voice is much more lovely when combined with many other choral voices.
As one hardened skeptic to another, VOTE! You never know what will happen, and how could it hurt.
Some of us aren't so much skeptical as "wizened". We say such things as, "Presidents of united states don't really do much of anything anyway...It is just a figurehead."
Several of these folks go on to explain why my bumper sticker, "If you don't vote you don't count", is offensive to them.
Whatever your beliefs, you HAVE to admit that aside from all the media's rabid lathering something WILL change in our country. Indeed. Our country will finally join the ranks of those "underdeveloped" "third world" countries who have enjoyed (or endured) the leadership of women and minorities for decades and even centuries. We will finally be stepping out of the dark ages!
America the Great is finally filling in her training bra. She's finally, perhaps, coming out of the exasperating pre-teen years. She might stop talking back, stomping to her room and slamming the door, assuming she knows everything when she clearly doesn't, and she might just stop being a tyrant and self-appointed social dictatoress in the school halls.
Despite the fact that a few hundred years ago the world changed dramatically under the British rule of Elizabeth I, and her success as a politician, general, and leader are evidenced, Americans have been uneasy, skeptical, and reluctant (to say the least) about placing a woman at the helm of our country. I sometimes like to put my arm over the shoulder of my young country and have a talk about not having sex until she really understands the consequences and ramifications. "Honey, you're just too young to be doing things you don't even understand." Only I think she's been sexually active for some time.
It is amazing to me that we Americans (and I mean ME and almost all the rest of us) have believed strongly that we are a mentor and leader among the nations of the world. We are in a way. Many nations look to us. But tyrant does not equal leader. Really now. Don't you remember hating the big bully in school? Yet the minute he protected you and YOUR interests you felt a kind of uneasy pleasure in it. Let's gain a little perspective on what our role is anyway.
Change will occur! We will finally have either a black/minority President or a woman V.P.
We still have 14 more days until either becomes a reality. Just enough time to learn how to make tools and build fire.
Whether you are a hardened skeptic, an Anarchist, or simply "wizened", if you do vote your voice will be out there. Your positions/people you stand up for on your ballot this election will be counted among the others. Even if you "lose". Your voice will become part of a loud collective...much like a choir. I can sing, but believe me when I say my voice is much more lovely when combined with many other choral voices.
As one hardened skeptic to another, VOTE! You never know what will happen, and how could it hurt.
Monday, July 7
reality and fantasy
If you know me you know that I am huge fan of the movie The Matrix, the groundbreaking Wachowski brothers film depicting a future world where the computer has become a controlling independent entity of humankind. If you know me you know how many times I’ve watched The Matrix, if you don’t, now you know something at least.
When the movie came out no one had ever seen the kind of cinematic special effects developed by the Wachowski’s. Even if you’ve seen the movie you may not have even realized that the movie The Matrix absolutely reinvented cinematic special effects. To watch it now you might shrug your shoulders and think aloud, “What’s the big deal?”
What’s the big deal?!!!! These guys did something no one had ever done before! That’s what! They reinvented action cinematography. They are the Walter Murch of modern film (Murch is considered the inventor of sound design in film). They created a virtual world where real people/actors did things that only cartoon/video game/Pixar characters could do up to that point. The visuals in the movie may be blasé now, but when the movie opened they were revolutionary. When I first saw the movie (the first of somewhere around 28 times), in a smelly north Seattle theater with sticky floors and all you can eat popcorn, I nearly cried. I KNOW! Now you know…I am a complete geek! It even surprised me. I’m a sucker for anything and anyone that breaks the mold!
Which, by the way, reminds me that I have to tell EVERYONE to go see WALL-E the new Pixar film that just came out. The best film by Pixar, and perhaps one of the best ever. Sorry Matrix.
I seriously could go on and on about The Matrix but would eventually have to ask you to forgive the Wachowski brothers for dropping the veritable relay baton when they finished up the Matrix trilogy with the incrementally disappointing Reloaded and Revolution. I would also have to beg your forgiveness that they cast Keanu Reeves as the title character. As I said, I could go on.
However, the reason I have aired out my inner geek is to talk about fantasy. As a side note, I am in fact more a fan of The Matrix’s cinematic slam-dunk and of the lead female character, Trinity, played by Carrie-Anne Moss than I am of the entire plot. Yet the plot is indeed fascinating in its postulation of a future where humans become enslaved by their computers. What?! Oh, for a second there I thought I was talking about the present. My bad.
Really though, Reeves’ character, Neo, discovers early in the movie that he has been living entirely in his head. In reality the computers have been using coma induced human bodies, like Energizer batteries, to run the machines. Neo discovers that he has been living a life that was never really real. It was all just a dream that the computers wired into his brain to keep him, and every single human being, docile until their use ran out.
In the video I’ve provided below (take a look now so the rest of the blog makes sense), Neo has come to question his reality…or at least begun to think that something just isn’t right with the way things are. As he follows the rabbit down the rabbit hole (there are all kinds of literary, cinematic, and religious references throughout the movie that does make this a philosophically rich movie…by comparison…even with Keanu as the lead), Neo finds out that the real world is not so great. In reality the computers have targeted him because he is no longer comatose. In reality the food sucks, clothes aren’t pressed, street fights hurt, and even in reality you’re a bad actor. The upside is that you can go in and out of fantasy and reality and kick some cyber butt with your newly acquired Kung Fu skills. Really though, the movie does indeed incite some semblance of deep thought with regards to how we choose to experience reality, why we live in/prefer fantasy, and how we discern the two interchangeably. Or not discern.
Let me clarify. But first let’s talk about Alice a bit. Alice in Wonderland, that is. Now we all know that Alice’s “hole” is perhaps suggestive of drug use. But for the sake of this blog let’s believe, based on the fact that there is no proof, that Carroll was not taking drugs, was not writing about drug trips when he wrote “The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland”, and that the “hole” is not the drug allusion that Carroll’s moronic interpreters like to believe it is. That old “wives” tale started in the ‘60’s…which should fully explain the oft misinterpretation of Carroll’s entire plot.
So, do you remember what happened to Alice when she fell down the hole? I know, I’m thinking hard too. I remember that it was pretty wacky. Alice, sitting around in some field with her sister, bored out of her mind, is blindsided by a rabbit. Not just any rabbit. Not a "silly rabbit", but a rabbit with a coat and a pocket-watch. Odd. So it is no wonder, really, that she follows this rabbit and into a hole at that. Who wouldn’t?
As with a great many of our children’s stories, we are tempted, in our modern sophisticate, to interpret them as something more than they really are. I believe that Carroll (his pen name) was simply writing about something we all experience when we are children. Fantasy. And something we still have a hard time living in when we grow into “sophisticated” adults. Reality. He was relaying a child’s story from the fount of a jealous grown up.
Again, I could go on and on, but on with my point. I think one of the many reasons I really like The Matrix is because I absolutely get Neo’s desire to understand what is real.
Come on! Don’t we all? Haven’t we all been in Alice’s place once or twice? “Down the rabbit hole” has become a part of Western colloquialism. Yet I have been thinking a lot about reality and fantasy as of late. And I have one question, “What IS reality exactly?”
When I say reality, I don’t entirely mean it strictly in the “mental health” way. Not entirely, but partly of course. I do think that I suffer from an alternate reality syndrome known as bipolar disorder. However I do not think I am so completely pathologically different than all my neighbors that you don't know what I'm talking about to some extent. It's just that I do things, like go to my doctor occasionally and after listening to her lecture me for 15 minutes about my poor self-care with regards to my bipolar condition, I say, stunned, “You sound like you’re talking so someone with a mental illness.” Fortunately she regards me with compassion at that point. Then I get kind of weepy because the reality is that I do have a mental illness, and she was talking to me and not someone else. The rabbit hole or Neo’s real world? They kind of feel the same sometimes. I find it tough to discern.
I have other questions about reality. Is a mortgage reality? Is daily bread, water, and other sustenance reality? How do we know when we are acquisitioning someone else’s reality and thereby living in a fantasy? Is the pursuit of living within your present cultural norms reality? Is there something else besides what the culture mandates? Are you reality challenged if you don't live by current cultural mandates? Does the guy with the most toys really win? Or does the guy in total debt? How about the guy who dies with nothing and never had it? Which of these guys staked the claim on reality?
Have you ever watched someone die? I watched someone I barely knew die just a week after he turned 85, and just days after finally believing, for the first time, that Jesus was going to greet him on the other side of this “reality”. I also watched someone I love deeply die just weeks before his birthday and with no belief, that I’m aware of, that Jesus is on this side or the other waiting. That kind of thing messes with my sense of “reality” as a Christian. I don’t like the horrible reality that I think I’m supposed to believe about the future of those two. I really don’t know what to do with it. I’d like to not do anything really. And that brings me to this.
I don’t know how to see things sometimes. If I look into the abysmal face of some aspects of my own reality, it kind of freaks me out and has exactly the affect on me that my doctor tries to tell me to avoid. So I say to myself, “Okay, instead of looking into the abyss, don’t, and say you did.” Everyone likes me better when I’m not detached, depressed, and, well, completely out of reality. So I choose sometimes to live on the mean side of fantasy. However, I’m left with the thought that, if I’m not plummeting down the hole after the rabbit, and I’m not plunging into the cesspool of reality with Neo, then I’m very likely flying around Neverland with my fairy Tinkerbell with no immediate plans to do otherwise.
Which brings me to my point. How do you know? How do you know if your life is built on reality and less on fantasy? How do you know if your life is mostly fantasy? How do you know that you haven't built yourself a glass house until some character comes along and shatters it with a rock? What denotes a life that is real? Tangible, touchable. Not like a fountain in a square, but a well in a poor village? When, I ask myself ALL THE TIME, is living the American life the reality I need to wake up to? When do my aspirations have to become that of my culture? I don’t know what to do with my own questions other than cast them outside of myself like a fisherman’s net.
Paul, the Jewish apostle of Christ, otherwise known as St. Paul, said, “For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known.” This passage, out of Paul’s letter to his brothers and sisters in the new Christ-ian church in Corinth, is incredibly applicable. And not. First, it tells me that I am right in my total confusion! Yes, indeed I can’t see further than my face now, but I will someday. When I die. And still, I gleen nothing from this passage how to deal with my ambiguities and the mystery of my own seriously irritating life. All I know is that I don’t know and knowing that is somewhat of a relief. At least someone bigger than me knows me.
I must include the surrounding parts of Paul’s letter.
“Charity doesn’t fail [or, ‘love never ends’]. But whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known. And now abide faith, hope, charity [or, ‘love’], these three; but the greatest of these is charity [also translated ‘love’].”
So then, what is reality again? According to this guy, LOVE. Wow! That is completely not the answer I was looking for. But I guess it is better than a lot of things that we often believe are most important. Hm. Faith, hope, and love (i.e. charity). It seems to me that these ingredients in one’s life make for a seriously unconventional lifestyle. I don’t know, I’m going to have to think about this some more. It just doesn’t seem very realistic to live that way.
When the movie came out no one had ever seen the kind of cinematic special effects developed by the Wachowski’s. Even if you’ve seen the movie you may not have even realized that the movie The Matrix absolutely reinvented cinematic special effects. To watch it now you might shrug your shoulders and think aloud, “What’s the big deal?”
What’s the big deal?!!!! These guys did something no one had ever done before! That’s what! They reinvented action cinematography. They are the Walter Murch of modern film (Murch is considered the inventor of sound design in film). They created a virtual world where real people/actors did things that only cartoon/video game/Pixar characters could do up to that point. The visuals in the movie may be blasé now, but when the movie opened they were revolutionary. When I first saw the movie (the first of somewhere around 28 times), in a smelly north Seattle theater with sticky floors and all you can eat popcorn, I nearly cried. I KNOW! Now you know…I am a complete geek! It even surprised me. I’m a sucker for anything and anyone that breaks the mold!
Which, by the way, reminds me that I have to tell EVERYONE to go see WALL-E the new Pixar film that just came out. The best film by Pixar, and perhaps one of the best ever. Sorry Matrix.
I seriously could go on and on about The Matrix but would eventually have to ask you to forgive the Wachowski brothers for dropping the veritable relay baton when they finished up the Matrix trilogy with the incrementally disappointing Reloaded and Revolution. I would also have to beg your forgiveness that they cast Keanu Reeves as the title character. As I said, I could go on.
However, the reason I have aired out my inner geek is to talk about fantasy. As a side note, I am in fact more a fan of The Matrix’s cinematic slam-dunk and of the lead female character, Trinity, played by Carrie-Anne Moss than I am of the entire plot. Yet the plot is indeed fascinating in its postulation of a future where humans become enslaved by their computers. What?! Oh, for a second there I thought I was talking about the present. My bad.
Really though, Reeves’ character, Neo, discovers early in the movie that he has been living entirely in his head. In reality the computers have been using coma induced human bodies, like Energizer batteries, to run the machines. Neo discovers that he has been living a life that was never really real. It was all just a dream that the computers wired into his brain to keep him, and every single human being, docile until their use ran out.
In the video I’ve provided below (take a look now so the rest of the blog makes sense), Neo has come to question his reality…or at least begun to think that something just isn’t right with the way things are. As he follows the rabbit down the rabbit hole (there are all kinds of literary, cinematic, and religious references throughout the movie that does make this a philosophically rich movie…by comparison…even with Keanu as the lead), Neo finds out that the real world is not so great. In reality the computers have targeted him because he is no longer comatose. In reality the food sucks, clothes aren’t pressed, street fights hurt, and even in reality you’re a bad actor. The upside is that you can go in and out of fantasy and reality and kick some cyber butt with your newly acquired Kung Fu skills. Really though, the movie does indeed incite some semblance of deep thought with regards to how we choose to experience reality, why we live in/prefer fantasy, and how we discern the two interchangeably. Or not discern.
Let me clarify. But first let’s talk about Alice a bit. Alice in Wonderland, that is. Now we all know that Alice’s “hole” is perhaps suggestive of drug use. But for the sake of this blog let’s believe, based on the fact that there is no proof, that Carroll was not taking drugs, was not writing about drug trips when he wrote “The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland”, and that the “hole” is not the drug allusion that Carroll’s moronic interpreters like to believe it is. That old “wives” tale started in the ‘60’s…which should fully explain the oft misinterpretation of Carroll’s entire plot.
So, do you remember what happened to Alice when she fell down the hole? I know, I’m thinking hard too. I remember that it was pretty wacky. Alice, sitting around in some field with her sister, bored out of her mind, is blindsided by a rabbit. Not just any rabbit. Not a "silly rabbit", but a rabbit with a coat and a pocket-watch. Odd. So it is no wonder, really, that she follows this rabbit and into a hole at that. Who wouldn’t?
As with a great many of our children’s stories, we are tempted, in our modern sophisticate, to interpret them as something more than they really are. I believe that Carroll (his pen name) was simply writing about something we all experience when we are children. Fantasy. And something we still have a hard time living in when we grow into “sophisticated” adults. Reality. He was relaying a child’s story from the fount of a jealous grown up.
Again, I could go on and on, but on with my point. I think one of the many reasons I really like The Matrix is because I absolutely get Neo’s desire to understand what is real.
Come on! Don’t we all? Haven’t we all been in Alice’s place once or twice? “Down the rabbit hole” has become a part of Western colloquialism. Yet I have been thinking a lot about reality and fantasy as of late. And I have one question, “What IS reality exactly?”
When I say reality, I don’t entirely mean it strictly in the “mental health” way. Not entirely, but partly of course. I do think that I suffer from an alternate reality syndrome known as bipolar disorder. However I do not think I am so completely pathologically different than all my neighbors that you don't know what I'm talking about to some extent. It's just that I do things, like go to my doctor occasionally and after listening to her lecture me for 15 minutes about my poor self-care with regards to my bipolar condition, I say, stunned, “You sound like you’re talking so someone with a mental illness.” Fortunately she regards me with compassion at that point. Then I get kind of weepy because the reality is that I do have a mental illness, and she was talking to me and not someone else. The rabbit hole or Neo’s real world? They kind of feel the same sometimes. I find it tough to discern.
I have other questions about reality. Is a mortgage reality? Is daily bread, water, and other sustenance reality? How do we know when we are acquisitioning someone else’s reality and thereby living in a fantasy? Is the pursuit of living within your present cultural norms reality? Is there something else besides what the culture mandates? Are you reality challenged if you don't live by current cultural mandates? Does the guy with the most toys really win? Or does the guy in total debt? How about the guy who dies with nothing and never had it? Which of these guys staked the claim on reality?
Have you ever watched someone die? I watched someone I barely knew die just a week after he turned 85, and just days after finally believing, for the first time, that Jesus was going to greet him on the other side of this “reality”. I also watched someone I love deeply die just weeks before his birthday and with no belief, that I’m aware of, that Jesus is on this side or the other waiting. That kind of thing messes with my sense of “reality” as a Christian. I don’t like the horrible reality that I think I’m supposed to believe about the future of those two. I really don’t know what to do with it. I’d like to not do anything really. And that brings me to this.
I don’t know how to see things sometimes. If I look into the abysmal face of some aspects of my own reality, it kind of freaks me out and has exactly the affect on me that my doctor tries to tell me to avoid. So I say to myself, “Okay, instead of looking into the abyss, don’t, and say you did.” Everyone likes me better when I’m not detached, depressed, and, well, completely out of reality. So I choose sometimes to live on the mean side of fantasy. However, I’m left with the thought that, if I’m not plummeting down the hole after the rabbit, and I’m not plunging into the cesspool of reality with Neo, then I’m very likely flying around Neverland with my fairy Tinkerbell with no immediate plans to do otherwise.
Which brings me to my point. How do you know? How do you know if your life is built on reality and less on fantasy? How do you know if your life is mostly fantasy? How do you know that you haven't built yourself a glass house until some character comes along and shatters it with a rock? What denotes a life that is real? Tangible, touchable. Not like a fountain in a square, but a well in a poor village? When, I ask myself ALL THE TIME, is living the American life the reality I need to wake up to? When do my aspirations have to become that of my culture? I don’t know what to do with my own questions other than cast them outside of myself like a fisherman’s net.
Paul, the Jewish apostle of Christ, otherwise known as St. Paul, said, “For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known.” This passage, out of Paul’s letter to his brothers and sisters in the new Christ-ian church in Corinth, is incredibly applicable. And not. First, it tells me that I am right in my total confusion! Yes, indeed I can’t see further than my face now, but I will someday. When I die. And still, I gleen nothing from this passage how to deal with my ambiguities and the mystery of my own seriously irritating life. All I know is that I don’t know and knowing that is somewhat of a relief. At least someone bigger than me knows me.
I must include the surrounding parts of Paul’s letter.
“Charity doesn’t fail [or, ‘love never ends’]. But whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known. And now abide faith, hope, charity [or, ‘love’], these three; but the greatest of these is charity [also translated ‘love’].”
So then, what is reality again? According to this guy, LOVE. Wow! That is completely not the answer I was looking for. But I guess it is better than a lot of things that we often believe are most important. Hm. Faith, hope, and love (i.e. charity). It seems to me that these ingredients in one’s life make for a seriously unconventional lifestyle. I don’t know, I’m going to have to think about this some more. It just doesn’t seem very realistic to live that way.
Thursday, June 26
no way out of risk
RISK
What comes to your mind when you first hear that word? Risk. Some people associate it with “danger” most of the time, and most people some of the time. Risk is to the manic-depressive as hair-trigger is to gun. “Be careful! Watch out! This might be too much and could set you off.” Risk is, well, risky. The old adage what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger (or something like that) is somewhat ironic in the context of manic-depression. Those of us with manic-depression do have to be particularly vigilant, discerning, and diligent with regards to how we invest our energies and how we put ourselves out there. We have to ask ourselves, “How much is too much? If I push myself in this area will I trigger myself?” We have the proverbial manic episode that can cleverly masquerade as an optimistic adventure void of danger. The illness, though firmly grounded in unpredictability due to arbitrary fluctuations in our body or brain chemistry, is none-the-less easily influenced by circumstances. It regularly upsets me that normal risk taking behavior can catapult me into mania or depression depending on the outcome. Sometimes I find I have to question myself all the time. It is tedious. Sometimes I think it is unfair.
In the same way the insulin dependent diabetic must be ever vigilant about what they consume and their physical activity, the manic-depressive lifestyle is managed, monitored, and sometimes curtailed. I always think of Nicole Kidman’s well deserved academy award winning portrayal of Virginia Woolf in the movie The Hours. Virginia Woolf herself suffered from manic-depression. In fact she died by suicide, a statistically significant form of death for manic-depressives. It is so heartbreaking to think of the pain she must have been experiencing when she drowned herself in a small river off their property.
In the movie, The Hours, Virginia’s husband has moved her and their printing business out to the country to get her away from the provocative intensity of the London scene that frequently triggered her episodes. The scene from The Hours, included below, takes place after her sister and nieces left abruptly after an all too short visit with Woolf. Virginia, upset and agitated, runs off to the train station. Her husband panics when he discovers she has disappeared and he runs to the station where he finds her. The dialog is right on, and one of the most accurate portrayals of what living with manic-depression looks like and feels like. I wholly identify with the passion and pain with which she tries to convey how she alone has to live with the uncertainties, how she wants to live despite the cruelty of her illness.
Go ahead and watch the clip below.
“You cannot find peace by avoiding life, Leonard.” Woolf ultimately did die at their country home and not in London. It seems that it didn’t matter where she was, the disease was there with her. It reminds me of a saying my friend Cheryl and I pass back and forth to one another, “Wherever you go, there you are.” I can't avoid myself with this illness. I am a force to contend with. To help me see myself when I don’t, I have people. People who love me. People who love me despite the many reasons they should run the other direction. These people say things to me like Leonard says to Virginia. They tell me what I need to know for my own good because they care. They know, or are scared, that I can easily get myself in over my head and pay a high price. Me getting myself in over my head is like buying a house when you are bankrupt. By the time I'm over my head it is already too late.
In fact, I have to depend on people to help me remember. Help me see what I’m headed toward if I proceed in a manner that is blatantly unaware and less than discriminatory. They say things like, “Isn’t that a trigger for you?” which, in my ears, sounds like “Hey, stop living would you. It's bad for your health.” I, like Virginia, want to live and our standard has been significantly informed by the manic years. Normal life pales, restricts, and sometimes feels like death. People’s cautionary tones sound like a death sentence sometimes. I hear, “You can’t do it”, and “I would rather you live a life of death so I don’t have to be scared what’s going to happen to you if you do this thing.” Don’t hear me wrong. I want them to love me this way. It’s just really heartbreaking and frustrating sometimes. It's hard to know where the line is.
I’m like a moth to the flame when it comes to doing things that could potentially “trigger” my illness. I ask myself this all the time, “Is my passion reflective of common human passion or is it manic passion?” It is tiresome. Sometimes it really isn’t a clear delineation just as Kidman’s Woolf tries painfully to explain to her husband.
Aimee Mann wrote a great song The Moth which speaks to the passion with which any of us wrestle with the passion and fear. When we are faced with uncertainties made complex by passion and desire. Is something we want the best thing for our growth or is it to our detriment? Though we are not left to our own devices to determine our actions –because, God seems always willing to offer his opinion if we ask for it– we all know it really isn’t idealistically simple. We obviously were equipped with free will and responsibility for our own lives.
So we find ourselves immersed in a battle involving passion, desire, and fear (or avoidance). People “fight” these battles differently. Some people live on the mean side of avoidance. In lieu of living and creating, they often chose not to create at all. Creativity is more than artistic, but real life is fully creative. These folks are not usually that fun to be around. Others cause us to feel like the parent of a baby learning to walk. We sit on the edge of our seat anxiously waiting to catch them when they climb their way to their feet, arms flailing about, narrowly avoiding the sharp edges of furniture and drowsy unsuspecting kitty cats. It is uncomfortable to watch someone else go out on the veritable limb. In the end we are all responsible for our own soil.
Here are the partial lyrics to The Moth.
The moth don't care when he sees the flame
he might get burned but he's in the game
and once he's in he can't go back, and
beat his wings 'til he burns them black
no the moth don't care when he sees the flame
no the moth don't care when he sees the flame
the moth don't care if the flame is real
cuz flame and moth got a sweetheart deal
and nothing fuels a good flirtation
like need and anger and desperation
no the moth don't care if the flame is real
no the moth don't care if the flame is real
So come on let's go ready or not
cuz there's a flame I know hotter than hot
and with a fuse that's so thoroughly shotaway
Can’t we all relate to that moth? I have to offer my opinion here (even though you didn’t ask) that anyone who doesn’t see him or her self as the moth is clearly one of two things: boring or deluded. Fortunately, none of my friends fall into the former category. We fall into that category, I think, when we believe that the flame is bad. “No good can come of that flame. Steer clear of it! You’ll burn yourself!”
Yet where would we be without that flame? The flame being inspiration! Desire, passion, curiosity, and ambition are all provoked and fueled by the flame? What about the bazillion things that have been accomplished throughout human history because of the lure of the flame and the desire to risk everything even in the face of an uncertain outcome? Remember, inherent to risk is uncertainty. We don’t get to know the end of the story without going all the way through the uncertainties step by unpredictable step. In order to say you rode the scariest roller coaster ride(isn’t the word “coaster” is misnomer?) you have to actually pay for and then ride the thing. Then puke.
The inventors, the movers of society, the lovers, the poets, the inspirations and muses to our own lives are indeed people who look into the flame and get captured. They “get” captured and then allow themselves, often disregarding other people’s advice and cautionary tones, to follow their passion. Don’t you think? I think so.
Love is risk. And with regards to romantic endeavors, especially in the beginning. Additionally, risk should always be embodied by love. The outcome is uncertain and, actually, inconsequential. It is hardly easy to live out love in our actions and words. Love is risky because we never know what price we will pay for giving it.
I hate living in uncertainty. But I have to. It’s like the drowning man out in the ocean. Sink or swim baby! Uncertainty is all around you and there's no denying it.
Why do we resist/fear uncertainty? We even work concertedly and ineffectually to eradicate it from our lives. Why do we so often view risk only in the context of “dangerous”? How come we cannot clearly delineate the ultimate nature of the endeavors we face? We never really know if it is going to ultimately be beneficial or dangerous. I don’t care how much you pray, God rarely spares us mystery by making things crystal clear. The Bible, other people, prayer, all of these things do not explain why God seems not to tell us anything any sooner than we need to hear it. Which is usually right at each footfall. Most often we have to take the first step with very little information...and even that information requires great faith to move on.
Perhaps, risk is both beneficial AND dangerous. BOTH is GOOD news! Mostly we don’t feel that giddy about it. It isn't always good news. We like our cake, we want to eat it, and we don’t want it to show up on our hips. However, we don’t know the benefit and danger until we really live (which is like eating our cake piece by piece so the calories get spread out over time).
We don’t know until we follow through the unknown.
We don’t know until we try.
We don’t know until we’ve failed.
We don’t quit before we’ve even tried.
We don’t know because risk is fundamentally unclear and mysterious.
Who doesn’t like the idea of risking if the benefits are all spelled out and secured? But who’s ever experienced that? That’s what movies, books, and t.v. are for –i.e. stories of unpredictable steps of uncertainty (if it is good writing) condensed into a concise story with a clear beginning and end. As I’ve explained before, that just isn’t life. That’s art.
Speaking of art (and don’t hear me saying that t.v. is art), I think it takes a lot of guts and tremendous risk is involved in living an authentic life. Good art is always authentic. Another way to look at authenticity is to think of Jesus. If you are Christian we might say an authentic life “looks like Jesus”. Following the footsteps of Jesus is less fundamental or predictable, and more uncommon. That kind of life is lived entirely out of passionate love. Radical but not fundamental. It is a life of authenticity that provokes.
Love is risky. It certainly is not easy. Come on, you know it’s true. I can give you a second to think of the multitude of ways you have failed to love those around you. How in the world can we love well without being authentic? In other words, how can inauthenticity be at all loving? To yourself, to God, or to others? And let me tell you again, authenticity is hard. You HAVE to know that! It’s no cakewalk and it’s no common life that endeavors and desires a common life.
People who really live, who allow themselves to follow through on their desires and passions (i.e. risk) are like watersheds for future generations.
What do you think Sir Edmund Hillary said when he first set his eyes on Chomolungma (Mt. Everest)? I always assume that, after exclaiming “That is one big ________ mountain”, he crooned with the far off look of a man in love, “I’m in trouble now”. Trouble for sure.
Have you ever experienced this kind of "trouble"? “I’m in trouble.” Risk’s middle name is Trouble. Why? This kind of trouble excites and incites the best in a person while posing the most danger to his life. The twofold signatures or the fuel of this kind of trouble are desire and passion. That’s what makes risk so uncertain. It is born out of passion and desire. These two words have so much luggage attached (especially for Christians and anyone who grew up in a puritanical culture) that the plane can’t get off the ground. Yet, whether we want to accept it or not, desire and passion make the world go around, so to speak.
In 1953 Hillary looked upon that mountain knowing full well he would live or die in his attempt to summit. Remember, they didn’t even have oxygen tanks or Gortex back then. He knew he was in trouble in the same way we know we are in trouble when we fall in love the instant we are introduced to someone. Trouble. Can’t stop thinking about someone. Trouble. What do I do? Do I risk? Do I hide? Do I run? Do I concede, “she’s out of my league?” Do I completely avoid the whole potentially messy involvement because I don’t know how it will be beneficial or detrimental? Do I look upon the insurmountable and believe in the attempt, in the approach? Am I going to learn something beneficial no matter the outcome?
Not that I’ve asked myself these questions lately ; )
“Trouble” in this sense is not to be avoided (that's another kind of trouble), nor are we meant to go headlong without wisdom and temperance of our desire and passion. Of course you know that I really mean this. May I remind you that I take medications to accomplish temperance!
So, imagine Hillary NOT taking the inordinate amount of time to plan the execution of his ascent of Chomolungma. He had to find other crazy people like Tenzing Norgay, his sherpa, to join in his insanity. He would have squandered his passion if he’d gone headlong. The dangerous species of risk is the risk that jumps in without temperance, time, wait, patience, and love.
Passion, good passion, can indeed be squandered. The most beautiful picture of passion and desire is the sacred final and brutal hours of Jesus’ life, appropriately termed “the Passion of Christ”, which encapsulates and illuminates LOVE itself. Jesus had tunnel vision. He embodied risk. “WHAT?” you exclaim. “No”, you say, “Jesus KNEW he wasn’t risking…he knew the outcome.” I beg to differ. He knew that many of us would not care one iota and would reject his incredible love. Unrequited love is the most painful, and once you’ve experienced it you might understand how much risk is involved. I mean, couldn’t God have sat on the whole idea of Jesus’ dying, shelved it and come up with something with greater prospects? I can imagine Jesus one day, early on before he took it on the road, looking in the face of an abused woman, an angry young man, or a beautiful child, feeling passionate love for them swell his heart.
I image him thinking, “I’m in trouble.”
Risk is what progresses us if it doesn’t kill us. I guess that is what I’m trying to say. I’m also saying that I struggle to understand my “limitations” and live boldly in the face of them, or even despite them. When I am manic I take very dangerous and often irrational risks. It feels bold and exhilarating. Feels like real living. Yet it only mirrors passion and desire. It is a charlatan. Perhaps I have learned more than most about boldness and risk for these reasons. It is not because I am courageous. Maybe my more than average vigilance has produced a keen eye. A cop knows a criminal when he sees one. A criminal also knows a criminal. Even more than a cop knows a criminal.
There’s no good way to describe the pain of clinical depression. You’ll never understand it if you haven’t been there, and you must thank GOD right now if you’ve never been there. There is no good way to spell out the finality with which one experiences life. It is as if life is over. Not “as if” but really over. There’s no viability, no thriving, and a lot of pain. There is no convincing otherwise. Depression is an ending. She who resides there is out of chances and second chances. Contrary to popular belief it isn’t self-hate or loathing, it is pain that drives the hand to suicide. Perhaps, being rescued from the grip of suicide, I now know what life is. Maybe I’m even glad for that lesson…but I can’t even say that without hurting deeply inside. I’ve seen death alone a hundred times, and stopped short. When I look at living without risk it really feels like that place. And I think, “Why would anyone intentionally chose that or any approximation of that?” In some ways I see that I have two options. Live boldly or die.
In my eyes, if I’m not engaged in one I’m engaged in the other. I guess I feel pretty passionate about that : )
What comes to your mind when you first hear that word? Risk. Some people associate it with “danger” most of the time, and most people some of the time. Risk is to the manic-depressive as hair-trigger is to gun. “Be careful! Watch out! This might be too much and could set you off.” Risk is, well, risky. The old adage what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger (or something like that) is somewhat ironic in the context of manic-depression. Those of us with manic-depression do have to be particularly vigilant, discerning, and diligent with regards to how we invest our energies and how we put ourselves out there. We have to ask ourselves, “How much is too much? If I push myself in this area will I trigger myself?” We have the proverbial manic episode that can cleverly masquerade as an optimistic adventure void of danger. The illness, though firmly grounded in unpredictability due to arbitrary fluctuations in our body or brain chemistry, is none-the-less easily influenced by circumstances. It regularly upsets me that normal risk taking behavior can catapult me into mania or depression depending on the outcome. Sometimes I find I have to question myself all the time. It is tedious. Sometimes I think it is unfair.
In the same way the insulin dependent diabetic must be ever vigilant about what they consume and their physical activity, the manic-depressive lifestyle is managed, monitored, and sometimes curtailed. I always think of Nicole Kidman’s well deserved academy award winning portrayal of Virginia Woolf in the movie The Hours. Virginia Woolf herself suffered from manic-depression. In fact she died by suicide, a statistically significant form of death for manic-depressives. It is so heartbreaking to think of the pain she must have been experiencing when she drowned herself in a small river off their property.
In the movie, The Hours, Virginia’s husband has moved her and their printing business out to the country to get her away from the provocative intensity of the London scene that frequently triggered her episodes. The scene from The Hours, included below, takes place after her sister and nieces left abruptly after an all too short visit with Woolf. Virginia, upset and agitated, runs off to the train station. Her husband panics when he discovers she has disappeared and he runs to the station where he finds her. The dialog is right on, and one of the most accurate portrayals of what living with manic-depression looks like and feels like. I wholly identify with the passion and pain with which she tries to convey how she alone has to live with the uncertainties, how she wants to live despite the cruelty of her illness.
Go ahead and watch the clip below.
“You cannot find peace by avoiding life, Leonard.” Woolf ultimately did die at their country home and not in London. It seems that it didn’t matter where she was, the disease was there with her. It reminds me of a saying my friend Cheryl and I pass back and forth to one another, “Wherever you go, there you are.” I can't avoid myself with this illness. I am a force to contend with. To help me see myself when I don’t, I have people. People who love me. People who love me despite the many reasons they should run the other direction. These people say things to me like Leonard says to Virginia. They tell me what I need to know for my own good because they care. They know, or are scared, that I can easily get myself in over my head and pay a high price. Me getting myself in over my head is like buying a house when you are bankrupt. By the time I'm over my head it is already too late.
In fact, I have to depend on people to help me remember. Help me see what I’m headed toward if I proceed in a manner that is blatantly unaware and less than discriminatory. They say things like, “Isn’t that a trigger for you?” which, in my ears, sounds like “Hey, stop living would you. It's bad for your health.” I, like Virginia, want to live and our standard has been significantly informed by the manic years. Normal life pales, restricts, and sometimes feels like death. People’s cautionary tones sound like a death sentence sometimes. I hear, “You can’t do it”, and “I would rather you live a life of death so I don’t have to be scared what’s going to happen to you if you do this thing.” Don’t hear me wrong. I want them to love me this way. It’s just really heartbreaking and frustrating sometimes. It's hard to know where the line is.
I’m like a moth to the flame when it comes to doing things that could potentially “trigger” my illness. I ask myself this all the time, “Is my passion reflective of common human passion or is it manic passion?” It is tiresome. Sometimes it really isn’t a clear delineation just as Kidman’s Woolf tries painfully to explain to her husband.
Aimee Mann wrote a great song The Moth which speaks to the passion with which any of us wrestle with the passion and fear. When we are faced with uncertainties made complex by passion and desire. Is something we want the best thing for our growth or is it to our detriment? Though we are not left to our own devices to determine our actions –because, God seems always willing to offer his opinion if we ask for it– we all know it really isn’t idealistically simple. We obviously were equipped with free will and responsibility for our own lives.
So we find ourselves immersed in a battle involving passion, desire, and fear (or avoidance). People “fight” these battles differently. Some people live on the mean side of avoidance. In lieu of living and creating, they often chose not to create at all. Creativity is more than artistic, but real life is fully creative. These folks are not usually that fun to be around. Others cause us to feel like the parent of a baby learning to walk. We sit on the edge of our seat anxiously waiting to catch them when they climb their way to their feet, arms flailing about, narrowly avoiding the sharp edges of furniture and drowsy unsuspecting kitty cats. It is uncomfortable to watch someone else go out on the veritable limb. In the end we are all responsible for our own soil.
Here are the partial lyrics to The Moth.
The moth don't care when he sees the flame
he might get burned but he's in the game
and once he's in he can't go back, and
beat his wings 'til he burns them black
no the moth don't care when he sees the flame
no the moth don't care when he sees the flame
the moth don't care if the flame is real
cuz flame and moth got a sweetheart deal
and nothing fuels a good flirtation
like need and anger and desperation
no the moth don't care if the flame is real
no the moth don't care if the flame is real
So come on let's go ready or not
cuz there's a flame I know hotter than hot
and with a fuse that's so thoroughly shotaway
Can’t we all relate to that moth? I have to offer my opinion here (even though you didn’t ask) that anyone who doesn’t see him or her self as the moth is clearly one of two things: boring or deluded. Fortunately, none of my friends fall into the former category. We fall into that category, I think, when we believe that the flame is bad. “No good can come of that flame. Steer clear of it! You’ll burn yourself!”
Yet where would we be without that flame? The flame being inspiration! Desire, passion, curiosity, and ambition are all provoked and fueled by the flame? What about the bazillion things that have been accomplished throughout human history because of the lure of the flame and the desire to risk everything even in the face of an uncertain outcome? Remember, inherent to risk is uncertainty. We don’t get to know the end of the story without going all the way through the uncertainties step by unpredictable step. In order to say you rode the scariest roller coaster ride(isn’t the word “coaster” is misnomer?) you have to actually pay for and then ride the thing. Then puke.
The inventors, the movers of society, the lovers, the poets, the inspirations and muses to our own lives are indeed people who look into the flame and get captured. They “get” captured and then allow themselves, often disregarding other people’s advice and cautionary tones, to follow their passion. Don’t you think? I think so.
Love is risk. And with regards to romantic endeavors, especially in the beginning. Additionally, risk should always be embodied by love. The outcome is uncertain and, actually, inconsequential. It is hardly easy to live out love in our actions and words. Love is risky because we never know what price we will pay for giving it.
I hate living in uncertainty. But I have to. It’s like the drowning man out in the ocean. Sink or swim baby! Uncertainty is all around you and there's no denying it.
Why do we resist/fear uncertainty? We even work concertedly and ineffectually to eradicate it from our lives. Why do we so often view risk only in the context of “dangerous”? How come we cannot clearly delineate the ultimate nature of the endeavors we face? We never really know if it is going to ultimately be beneficial or dangerous. I don’t care how much you pray, God rarely spares us mystery by making things crystal clear. The Bible, other people, prayer, all of these things do not explain why God seems not to tell us anything any sooner than we need to hear it. Which is usually right at each footfall. Most often we have to take the first step with very little information...and even that information requires great faith to move on.
Perhaps, risk is both beneficial AND dangerous. BOTH is GOOD news! Mostly we don’t feel that giddy about it. It isn't always good news. We like our cake, we want to eat it, and we don’t want it to show up on our hips. However, we don’t know the benefit and danger until we really live (which is like eating our cake piece by piece so the calories get spread out over time).
We don’t know until we follow through the unknown.
We don’t know until we try.
We don’t know until we’ve failed.
We don’t quit before we’ve even tried.
We don’t know because risk is fundamentally unclear and mysterious.
Who doesn’t like the idea of risking if the benefits are all spelled out and secured? But who’s ever experienced that? That’s what movies, books, and t.v. are for –i.e. stories of unpredictable steps of uncertainty (if it is good writing) condensed into a concise story with a clear beginning and end. As I’ve explained before, that just isn’t life. That’s art.
Speaking of art (and don’t hear me saying that t.v. is art), I think it takes a lot of guts and tremendous risk is involved in living an authentic life. Good art is always authentic. Another way to look at authenticity is to think of Jesus. If you are Christian we might say an authentic life “looks like Jesus”. Following the footsteps of Jesus is less fundamental or predictable, and more uncommon. That kind of life is lived entirely out of passionate love. Radical but not fundamental. It is a life of authenticity that provokes.
Love is risky. It certainly is not easy. Come on, you know it’s true. I can give you a second to think of the multitude of ways you have failed to love those around you. How in the world can we love well without being authentic? In other words, how can inauthenticity be at all loving? To yourself, to God, or to others? And let me tell you again, authenticity is hard. You HAVE to know that! It’s no cakewalk and it’s no common life that endeavors and desires a common life.
People who really live, who allow themselves to follow through on their desires and passions (i.e. risk) are like watersheds for future generations.
What do you think Sir Edmund Hillary said when he first set his eyes on Chomolungma (Mt. Everest)? I always assume that, after exclaiming “That is one big ________ mountain”, he crooned with the far off look of a man in love, “I’m in trouble now”. Trouble for sure.
Have you ever experienced this kind of "trouble"? “I’m in trouble.” Risk’s middle name is Trouble. Why? This kind of trouble excites and incites the best in a person while posing the most danger to his life. The twofold signatures or the fuel of this kind of trouble are desire and passion. That’s what makes risk so uncertain. It is born out of passion and desire. These two words have so much luggage attached (especially for Christians and anyone who grew up in a puritanical culture) that the plane can’t get off the ground. Yet, whether we want to accept it or not, desire and passion make the world go around, so to speak.
In 1953 Hillary looked upon that mountain knowing full well he would live or die in his attempt to summit. Remember, they didn’t even have oxygen tanks or Gortex back then. He knew he was in trouble in the same way we know we are in trouble when we fall in love the instant we are introduced to someone. Trouble. Can’t stop thinking about someone. Trouble. What do I do? Do I risk? Do I hide? Do I run? Do I concede, “she’s out of my league?” Do I completely avoid the whole potentially messy involvement because I don’t know how it will be beneficial or detrimental? Do I look upon the insurmountable and believe in the attempt, in the approach? Am I going to learn something beneficial no matter the outcome?
Not that I’ve asked myself these questions lately ; )
“Trouble” in this sense is not to be avoided (that's another kind of trouble), nor are we meant to go headlong without wisdom and temperance of our desire and passion. Of course you know that I really mean this. May I remind you that I take medications to accomplish temperance!
So, imagine Hillary NOT taking the inordinate amount of time to plan the execution of his ascent of Chomolungma. He had to find other crazy people like Tenzing Norgay, his sherpa, to join in his insanity. He would have squandered his passion if he’d gone headlong. The dangerous species of risk is the risk that jumps in without temperance, time, wait, patience, and love.
Passion, good passion, can indeed be squandered. The most beautiful picture of passion and desire is the sacred final and brutal hours of Jesus’ life, appropriately termed “the Passion of Christ”, which encapsulates and illuminates LOVE itself. Jesus had tunnel vision. He embodied risk. “WHAT?” you exclaim. “No”, you say, “Jesus KNEW he wasn’t risking…he knew the outcome.” I beg to differ. He knew that many of us would not care one iota and would reject his incredible love. Unrequited love is the most painful, and once you’ve experienced it you might understand how much risk is involved. I mean, couldn’t God have sat on the whole idea of Jesus’ dying, shelved it and come up with something with greater prospects? I can imagine Jesus one day, early on before he took it on the road, looking in the face of an abused woman, an angry young man, or a beautiful child, feeling passionate love for them swell his heart.
I image him thinking, “I’m in trouble.”
Risk is what progresses us if it doesn’t kill us. I guess that is what I’m trying to say. I’m also saying that I struggle to understand my “limitations” and live boldly in the face of them, or even despite them. When I am manic I take very dangerous and often irrational risks. It feels bold and exhilarating. Feels like real living. Yet it only mirrors passion and desire. It is a charlatan. Perhaps I have learned more than most about boldness and risk for these reasons. It is not because I am courageous. Maybe my more than average vigilance has produced a keen eye. A cop knows a criminal when he sees one. A criminal also knows a criminal. Even more than a cop knows a criminal.
There’s no good way to describe the pain of clinical depression. You’ll never understand it if you haven’t been there, and you must thank GOD right now if you’ve never been there. There is no good way to spell out the finality with which one experiences life. It is as if life is over. Not “as if” but really over. There’s no viability, no thriving, and a lot of pain. There is no convincing otherwise. Depression is an ending. She who resides there is out of chances and second chances. Contrary to popular belief it isn’t self-hate or loathing, it is pain that drives the hand to suicide. Perhaps, being rescued from the grip of suicide, I now know what life is. Maybe I’m even glad for that lesson…but I can’t even say that without hurting deeply inside. I’ve seen death alone a hundred times, and stopped short. When I look at living without risk it really feels like that place. And I think, “Why would anyone intentionally chose that or any approximation of that?” In some ways I see that I have two options. Live boldly or die.
In my eyes, if I’m not engaged in one I’m engaged in the other. I guess I feel pretty passionate about that : )
Friday, June 20
Instructions for Station #5
Please read the Station text for station 5 BEFORE viewing the video below. The text is posted below the video. You will be prompted to watch the video.
way of the cross: station #5
This is station #5
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Simon forced to carry Jesus' cross
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Jesus is terribly weak now. The violence against his body has taken a tremendous toll. He has fallen and his cross beam is too heavy for him. The soldiers who escort the prisoners to Golgotha, a hill some distance from the city, grab a man from the crowd and force him to take Jesus’ cross. He didn’t volunteer. He was just passing through and stopped to check out what the excitement was all about. But now we know his name. We know his son’s names too, and where he’s from.
“A certain man from Cyrene, Simon, the father of Alexander and Rufus, was passing by on his way in from the country, and they forced him to carry the cross.” Mt 27:31-32
Why is it that 2000 years later we know this man’s name, where he lived, and what his son’s names were? He was just passing by...probably a ‘rubber-necker’ if you think about it. We don’t know if he knew who Jesus was, or if he had any feelings toward the man before being forced to carry the condemned man’s cross. Yet we know his name.
Can you imagine being there for this part of Jesus’ story? We can safely assume Simon did not want to be involved. But he became part of the story. He just stumbled into Jesus’ story. What do you think happened between Simon and Jesus as he helped Jesus carry the heavy timber up that hill? What do you imagine Simon experienced during and after the event that he is an intimate part of Jesus' story and the history of Christianity as a whole?
“A certain man from Cyrene, Simon, the father of Alexander and Rufus, was passing by on his way in from the country, and they forced him to carry the cross.” Mt 27:31-32
Why is it that 2000 years later we know this man’s name, where he lived, and what his son’s names were? He was just passing by...probably a ‘rubber-necker’ if you think about it. We don’t know if he knew who Jesus was, or if he had any feelings toward the man before being forced to carry the condemned man’s cross. Yet we know his name.
Can you imagine being there for this part of Jesus’ story? We can safely assume Simon did not want to be involved. But he became part of the story. He just stumbled into Jesus’ story. What do you think happened between Simon and Jesus as he helped Jesus carry the heavy timber up that hill? What do you imagine Simon experienced during and after the event that he is an intimate part of Jesus' story and the history of Christianity as a whole?
Watch the video clip above.
Then pray:
This is for me. I feel anguish and gratitude as I see your body so broken. I express a desire to help you. Seeing you in this way I let my heart go out to you. I want to store this image in my heart for when I feel I can’t go on. I recognize that you really do understand my inability to carry my burdens alone.
Then pray:
This is for me. I feel anguish and gratitude as I see your body so broken. I express a desire to help you. Seeing you in this way I let my heart go out to you. I want to store this image in my heart for when I feel I can’t go on. I recognize that you really do understand my inability to carry my burdens alone.
Art:
1) Bosch Heironymous, oil
2) Unknown
3) (above) edited video from the movie The Passion (Mel Gibson, Dir)
Tuesday, June 17
fairy godparents
If I’ve learned nothing else in life I have learned that life is full of surprises. Some feel like surprise “attacks” while others feel like surprise “parties”. I think my friends Kristin and Michael might have something to say about surprises that fall in some no man’s land between the two…and then eventually tip wholly into the category of “gift”.
Kristin gave birth to their first child, Caedmon, a couple years ago. He’s a walking talking machine now. The other day we were all over at his grandma’s house. Grandma, a.k.a. Michael’s mom, bought a small place in Bellingham so that when she travels here to visit her grandchildren a few times a year she has a comfortable place to stay and have the kids over. You have to also know that the whole family, Kristin and Michael as well, have accents that implicate they are from somewhere in the southern states. Even though his parents’ accents have been fairly tempered by the northwest, and though he was born in Bellingham, for some reason Caedmon speaks with a very distinct and rich southern accent. In the midst of our conversation that day Kristin interjected an age-old parental query, “It’s quiet. Where’s Caedmon?”
She found him in one of grandma’s bedrooms pretending like he was dusting the lamps of all things. He turned to Kristin and said, “We’re cleaning the hotel,” pronounced “ho-tay-ell”. Words like “house” are pronounced “hay-ows”, and “plate”, “play-ette”.
Caedmon’s little sister, Mirella, was born last year. The moment they were born they were both the most beautiful babies. Serious Gerber babies. Ask anyone. I’m not biased! They are both still very, very cute children.
I am a godparent to both children. Don’t tell Kristin and Michael that I am already a godparent and I’m not really that great of a godparent. But then again I think the role of the godparent is sort of like the role of the appendices in the human body –no one really knows what it does, because there’s no apparent practical use, but most people have one. So I guess my role is to stand around, look pretty, and in the case of an emergency make sure the mail is brought in.
I have a co-godparent. His name is Dale. I met Dale the first time at Caedmon’s baptism. All I can tell you of that initial meeting is that I was impressed by his long hair and equally long beard. He sort of intimidated me. He isn’t a large man in stature, but his eyes are piercing and reveal wisdom, or, mischief. I wasn’t sure. Now I know it as equal parts both.
I am getting to know Dale a lot more recently as he just returned to Bellingham from living a very solitary life in the Ozarks for the past year. Dale is a Malabar rite priest, but don’t ask me what that means because I have no idea and believe it may take awhile before I do. He epitomizes, though he may disagree, the word “eccentric”. He would likely say he is living the natural ordered life, whereas most of us are not. Which makes him eccentric. He must be a little younger than my dad. I really don’t know. If you look at his blog, which you can by clicking the link at the bottom of my blog, he describes his “industry” as “religion” and his “occupation” “monk”.
Now don’t go thinking he is either off his rocker or unapproachably pious and holy. He may say he is a bit of both. He also might have a few words for after reading this because I’m assuming a lot about what he might say. He is a very grounded man who challenges me in ways no one has challenged me in a very long time. Not only does he ask incredibly targeted questions, he looks you right in the eye. Which tends to disarm and cause me to consider my answers as if I were strapped to a polygraph. But I like that. Sometimes I’ll be confounded but it is not so I will agree. I like having someone around me who challenges me, ups the ante, and makes me think about what I’m saying. Someone who intimidates ME.
That doesn’t mean conversation with him is like that each and every sentence. He has a sharp and witty sense of humor. He is easy to be around as he leads a contemplative and unconventional life that slows him down to the, what I call, “Jesus” speed of life. Where at first I was intimidated by the way he spoke with calm command of subjects such as God, religion, and life, I now spend our time asking him really dumb questions. Mostly I repeat “What does that mean?” over and over. He speaks a language I have no grasp of because he has steeped his spirit in orthodoxy and liturgical language.
I’m moving into a house in which he lives too. He lured me there with promises of good coffee and good conversation. It is a large home built around 1900. There are about 12 tenants. It was the first brick house built north of San Francisco. It is painted 3 shades of purple and looks out over the bay. It is a very Bellingham’ish house. Squalicum creek and the busy railroad tracks run just down the hill. Both are audible and comforting. He will be my housemate now. It makes me feel more at home there already. That says a lot. I like to think of it as having my very own monk who I can visit and drink coffee with at any hour.
He is also a gay brother. I know this accentuated my draw to him. I feel comfortable with Dale. I get the idea that he is a man who takes responsibility. He lives a life free of the trappings most of us desire and juggle semi-successfully. I can confidently assume he has no debt though I am not privy to any information about that. That I know, he doesn’t own a house, a car, or anything else that he couldn’t leave behind or give to someone who really needs it. I think he puts a lot of importance on relationships. Not for his own benefit either. But he enjoys people, and it's evident in his descriptions of them.
He actively defies categorical labels. Just when you think he might agree with you on something, he’ll explain to you, in an economy of words what his perspective really is. I’ve quickly learned not to assume anything about Dale or his perspective. I assume he likes it that way (wink). Even to write about my new friend is difficult since I have no desire for my readers to conclude anything erroneous about him. In fact, I think Dale would rather me spend time describing someone entirely different since his goal is centeredness on God. But I might be wrong.
So, Kristin and Michael. For some reason the two of them chose to designate me as a godparent. They made a far better choice when they chose Dale as the other godparent. They had met Dale at St. Paul’s Episcopal church not long after they began attending a couple years ago. Dale explains that the average age of the parishioners at St. Paul’s was older than necessary. So when Kristin and Michael walked through the door he says he made a B line for them after church. He is drawn to youth because, as he and I talked about today, he has not grown up yet himself. Although, I said he’s half way. Actually, he took it upon himself to do what he could to get and keep the younger folks involved.
Surprises!
My good friends Kristen and Michael had no idea until this February that Dale is gay. They found out when they read about it in an entry on Dale’s blog. They were shocked that they had not known this before. Dale neither hides nor advertises his homosexuality. He just lives quite comfortably as a gay man. A gay monk rather. He came out when he was younger than I am. He has children and was married. He is comfortable but a practicing celibate. The reason Kristin and Michael probably didn’t see it is due to the same phenomena that occurs when, after hearing a word for the first time we suddenly come across it everywhere and can’t figure out how we never noticed it before.
Just a week before stumbling across the fact that Dale is gay, I had told them I was gay. When I came out to them the new information prompted some pretty funny responses. Like Kristin, who after putting her children to bed, come into the livingroom, sat down exhaustedly, and said, “So, about this gay thing.” On the subject of homosexuality I think they had existed on the very center of the fence perhaps tipping to the left. They had just witnessed their church being torn apart over many issues, not the least of which was homosexuality. There are many gay members and couples at their church. But the former priest took a lot of people with him for reasons that were explained as the church “questioning the divinity of Christ.” Which is a strange explanation since all my friends who remained at St. Paul’s know exactly who Christ is and that his divinity insinuates an authority over their very lives.
Michael and Kristin pondered over the my revelatory information with great integrity. They realized, like a lot of my friends and family, that homosexuality had always been a disembodied “issue” that really never affected them personally. Even when your church is torn apart by it you can still remain relatively "undecided". No one really has to THINK about it. We might believe we thought about it, but mostly we agree with the majority rather than THINK and CONSIDER. And when someone you love enters the equation...well, let's just say it's more in your face. When their good friend told them she was gay, Kristin and Michael's found they couldn't ignore the implications. They have embodied “family” in their response. They have loved me, supported me, come to my defense, and even actively keep a look out for other gay women. Now that’s a good friendship! I never intended for them to come to agree with me. As with most people in my life I only desire honesty. If someone is honest with me about their negative stance toward homosexuality, then I won’t be surprised when they openly disagree with my lifestyle in word or deed somewhere down the road. I think these two have had lingering questions…but then Dale came along.
I might have some semblance of integrity in their eyes, but I think it pales in comparison to Dale’s. So when they became privy of Dale’s orientation I think I witnessed an increased earnest desire to understand God and homosexuals, and the relationship therein.
Dale showed up in Bellingham about 3 weeks ago. Here’s a snippet concerning his move from his blog:
“after being away from bellingham for a year and two weeks, i am finding re-entry somewhat difficult. when living as a semi-hermit in the gentle hills of the ozarks, amidst slabs of ancient limestone, my life fell easily into a rhythm that i found deeply satisfying.now i am back to the city, where at any given moment it seems there are more cars whizzing down squalicum parkway, the quiet street beyond my deck, than there are in the whole of eureka springs on a busy weekend.i am trying to find another rhythm, one that keeps me centred on the holy one in our midst but which makes me available in "the conversation that leads us to new acts as todays apostles" in real time and not just on this blog.”
A few weeks ago we all, along with a few other friends, got together for a movie, popcorn, homemade ice cream, and strong coffee. The movie was a Russian movie called The Island. A fantastically simple movie, visually and script-wise, about a monk who keeps a secret that he shot someone before he was a monk. People come from all over to seek his healing and prophecy. It is a must see if you like subtitles.
The strong coffee bolstered good conversation that doesn’t really actually need much encouragement. That’s when Dale and I first really talked. We talked about being gay, probably more than he may have wanted to but I'm sure he humored me because I’m just so “new” at this. That’s also when he told a story about some friends of his who had a baby years ago. He and several of their other gay friends dressed up in drag for the baby shower. They called themselves the “fairy godmothers”.
Fairy godparents! Dale and I are Caedmon & Mirella's fairy godparents. Now THAT'S funny. Most remarkable is that Kristen and Michael had no idea BOTH of us were gay when they chose both of us to be their children’s godparents. What are the odds? You can’t plan that. I suppose it is tempting to turn the incredible coincidence into some kind of sign from God. Don’t these types of amazing coincidences imply a purpose for their unfolding? Mostly however we just laugh over it, drink some strong coffee, and enjoy great conversation and community. Family. That's what this is really about.
Kristin gave birth to their first child, Caedmon, a couple years ago. He’s a walking talking machine now. The other day we were all over at his grandma’s house. Grandma, a.k.a. Michael’s mom, bought a small place in Bellingham so that when she travels here to visit her grandchildren a few times a year she has a comfortable place to stay and have the kids over. You have to also know that the whole family, Kristin and Michael as well, have accents that implicate they are from somewhere in the southern states. Even though his parents’ accents have been fairly tempered by the northwest, and though he was born in Bellingham, for some reason Caedmon speaks with a very distinct and rich southern accent. In the midst of our conversation that day Kristin interjected an age-old parental query, “It’s quiet. Where’s Caedmon?”
She found him in one of grandma’s bedrooms pretending like he was dusting the lamps of all things. He turned to Kristin and said, “We’re cleaning the hotel,” pronounced “ho-tay-ell”. Words like “house” are pronounced “hay-ows”, and “plate”, “play-ette”.
Caedmon’s little sister, Mirella, was born last year. The moment they were born they were both the most beautiful babies. Serious Gerber babies. Ask anyone. I’m not biased! They are both still very, very cute children.
I am a godparent to both children. Don’t tell Kristin and Michael that I am already a godparent and I’m not really that great of a godparent. But then again I think the role of the godparent is sort of like the role of the appendices in the human body –no one really knows what it does, because there’s no apparent practical use, but most people have one. So I guess my role is to stand around, look pretty, and in the case of an emergency make sure the mail is brought in.
I have a co-godparent. His name is Dale. I met Dale the first time at Caedmon’s baptism. All I can tell you of that initial meeting is that I was impressed by his long hair and equally long beard. He sort of intimidated me. He isn’t a large man in stature, but his eyes are piercing and reveal wisdom, or, mischief. I wasn’t sure. Now I know it as equal parts both.
I am getting to know Dale a lot more recently as he just returned to Bellingham from living a very solitary life in the Ozarks for the past year. Dale is a Malabar rite priest, but don’t ask me what that means because I have no idea and believe it may take awhile before I do. He epitomizes, though he may disagree, the word “eccentric”. He would likely say he is living the natural ordered life, whereas most of us are not. Which makes him eccentric. He must be a little younger than my dad. I really don’t know. If you look at his blog, which you can by clicking the link at the bottom of my blog, he describes his “industry” as “religion” and his “occupation” “monk”.
Now don’t go thinking he is either off his rocker or unapproachably pious and holy. He may say he is a bit of both. He also might have a few words for after reading this because I’m assuming a lot about what he might say. He is a very grounded man who challenges me in ways no one has challenged me in a very long time. Not only does he ask incredibly targeted questions, he looks you right in the eye. Which tends to disarm and cause me to consider my answers as if I were strapped to a polygraph. But I like that. Sometimes I’ll be confounded but it is not so I will agree. I like having someone around me who challenges me, ups the ante, and makes me think about what I’m saying. Someone who intimidates ME.
That doesn’t mean conversation with him is like that each and every sentence. He has a sharp and witty sense of humor. He is easy to be around as he leads a contemplative and unconventional life that slows him down to the, what I call, “Jesus” speed of life. Where at first I was intimidated by the way he spoke with calm command of subjects such as God, religion, and life, I now spend our time asking him really dumb questions. Mostly I repeat “What does that mean?” over and over. He speaks a language I have no grasp of because he has steeped his spirit in orthodoxy and liturgical language.
I’m moving into a house in which he lives too. He lured me there with promises of good coffee and good conversation. It is a large home built around 1900. There are about 12 tenants. It was the first brick house built north of San Francisco. It is painted 3 shades of purple and looks out over the bay. It is a very Bellingham’ish house. Squalicum creek and the busy railroad tracks run just down the hill. Both are audible and comforting. He will be my housemate now. It makes me feel more at home there already. That says a lot. I like to think of it as having my very own monk who I can visit and drink coffee with at any hour.
He is also a gay brother. I know this accentuated my draw to him. I feel comfortable with Dale. I get the idea that he is a man who takes responsibility. He lives a life free of the trappings most of us desire and juggle semi-successfully. I can confidently assume he has no debt though I am not privy to any information about that. That I know, he doesn’t own a house, a car, or anything else that he couldn’t leave behind or give to someone who really needs it. I think he puts a lot of importance on relationships. Not for his own benefit either. But he enjoys people, and it's evident in his descriptions of them.
He actively defies categorical labels. Just when you think he might agree with you on something, he’ll explain to you, in an economy of words what his perspective really is. I’ve quickly learned not to assume anything about Dale or his perspective. I assume he likes it that way (wink). Even to write about my new friend is difficult since I have no desire for my readers to conclude anything erroneous about him. In fact, I think Dale would rather me spend time describing someone entirely different since his goal is centeredness on God. But I might be wrong.
So, Kristin and Michael. For some reason the two of them chose to designate me as a godparent. They made a far better choice when they chose Dale as the other godparent. They had met Dale at St. Paul’s Episcopal church not long after they began attending a couple years ago. Dale explains that the average age of the parishioners at St. Paul’s was older than necessary. So when Kristin and Michael walked through the door he says he made a B line for them after church. He is drawn to youth because, as he and I talked about today, he has not grown up yet himself. Although, I said he’s half way. Actually, he took it upon himself to do what he could to get and keep the younger folks involved.
Surprises!
My good friends Kristen and Michael had no idea until this February that Dale is gay. They found out when they read about it in an entry on Dale’s blog. They were shocked that they had not known this before. Dale neither hides nor advertises his homosexuality. He just lives quite comfortably as a gay man. A gay monk rather. He came out when he was younger than I am. He has children and was married. He is comfortable but a practicing celibate. The reason Kristin and Michael probably didn’t see it is due to the same phenomena that occurs when, after hearing a word for the first time we suddenly come across it everywhere and can’t figure out how we never noticed it before.
Just a week before stumbling across the fact that Dale is gay, I had told them I was gay. When I came out to them the new information prompted some pretty funny responses. Like Kristin, who after putting her children to bed, come into the livingroom, sat down exhaustedly, and said, “So, about this gay thing.” On the subject of homosexuality I think they had existed on the very center of the fence perhaps tipping to the left. They had just witnessed their church being torn apart over many issues, not the least of which was homosexuality. There are many gay members and couples at their church. But the former priest took a lot of people with him for reasons that were explained as the church “questioning the divinity of Christ.” Which is a strange explanation since all my friends who remained at St. Paul’s know exactly who Christ is and that his divinity insinuates an authority over their very lives.
Michael and Kristin pondered over the my revelatory information with great integrity. They realized, like a lot of my friends and family, that homosexuality had always been a disembodied “issue” that really never affected them personally. Even when your church is torn apart by it you can still remain relatively "undecided". No one really has to THINK about it. We might believe we thought about it, but mostly we agree with the majority rather than THINK and CONSIDER. And when someone you love enters the equation...well, let's just say it's more in your face. When their good friend told them she was gay, Kristin and Michael's found they couldn't ignore the implications. They have embodied “family” in their response. They have loved me, supported me, come to my defense, and even actively keep a look out for other gay women. Now that’s a good friendship! I never intended for them to come to agree with me. As with most people in my life I only desire honesty. If someone is honest with me about their negative stance toward homosexuality, then I won’t be surprised when they openly disagree with my lifestyle in word or deed somewhere down the road. I think these two have had lingering questions…but then Dale came along.
I might have some semblance of integrity in their eyes, but I think it pales in comparison to Dale’s. So when they became privy of Dale’s orientation I think I witnessed an increased earnest desire to understand God and homosexuals, and the relationship therein.
Dale showed up in Bellingham about 3 weeks ago. Here’s a snippet concerning his move from his blog:
“after being away from bellingham for a year and two weeks, i am finding re-entry somewhat difficult. when living as a semi-hermit in the gentle hills of the ozarks, amidst slabs of ancient limestone, my life fell easily into a rhythm that i found deeply satisfying.now i am back to the city, where at any given moment it seems there are more cars whizzing down squalicum parkway, the quiet street beyond my deck, than there are in the whole of eureka springs on a busy weekend.i am trying to find another rhythm, one that keeps me centred on the holy one in our midst but which makes me available in "the conversation that leads us to new acts as todays apostles" in real time and not just on this blog.”
A few weeks ago we all, along with a few other friends, got together for a movie, popcorn, homemade ice cream, and strong coffee. The movie was a Russian movie called The Island. A fantastically simple movie, visually and script-wise, about a monk who keeps a secret that he shot someone before he was a monk. People come from all over to seek his healing and prophecy. It is a must see if you like subtitles.
The strong coffee bolstered good conversation that doesn’t really actually need much encouragement. That’s when Dale and I first really talked. We talked about being gay, probably more than he may have wanted to but I'm sure he humored me because I’m just so “new” at this. That’s also when he told a story about some friends of his who had a baby years ago. He and several of their other gay friends dressed up in drag for the baby shower. They called themselves the “fairy godmothers”.
Fairy godparents! Dale and I are Caedmon & Mirella's fairy godparents. Now THAT'S funny. Most remarkable is that Kristen and Michael had no idea BOTH of us were gay when they chose both of us to be their children’s godparents. What are the odds? You can’t plan that. I suppose it is tempting to turn the incredible coincidence into some kind of sign from God. Don’t these types of amazing coincidences imply a purpose for their unfolding? Mostly however we just laugh over it, drink some strong coffee, and enjoy great conversation and community. Family. That's what this is really about.
way of the cross: station #4
Crown of Thorns
Violence…
“…Again and again they struck him on the head with a staff and spit on him.” Mark 15:17-19
Have you ever looked closely at the scriptures and really considered the sheer violence brought down on Jesus’ body? The gory pictures we’ve seen in movies are no exaggeration. He was beat violently. Consider that Jesus knew, while being led to the Roman governor, that this was just the beginning of hours of pain and humiliation, ending in a violent and
excruciating execution.
“The governor’s soldiers took Jesus…They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand and knelt in front of him and mocked him. ‘Hail, king of the Jews!’ they said. They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again.” Mt 27:27-30.
“When Jesus came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe, Pilate said to them, ‘Here is the man!’ As soon as the chief priests and their officials saw Him, they shouted, ‘Crucify! Crucify!’” John 19:4-6.
And still, before handing him over to the people, Pilate “had Jesus flogged…” Mt 27:26...
Look at the thorns. They are long and thin. Consider the cruelty and violence Christ had suffered at the hands of the very people He loved enough to bear unjust, undeserved punishment for.
He’s been betrayed by a friend into the hands of angry religious leaders, violent soldiers, and now a mocking ruler. His commitment, to enter our lives completely, now approaches the final steps. He has said he would go where God led him. Now, we follow him in his final surrender, contemplating at each place along the way how he was broken for us to know the Father’s love for us.
Violence…
“…Again and again they struck him on the head with a staff and spit on him.” Mark 15:17-19
Have you ever looked closely at the scriptures and really considered the sheer violence brought down on Jesus’ body? The gory pictures we’ve seen in movies are no exaggeration. He was beat violently. Consider that Jesus knew, while being led to the Roman governor, that this was just the beginning of hours of pain and humiliation, ending in a violent and
excruciating execution.“The governor’s soldiers took Jesus…They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand and knelt in front of him and mocked him. ‘Hail, king of the Jews!’ they said. They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again.” Mt 27:27-30.
“When Jesus came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe, Pilate said to them, ‘Here is the man!’ As soon as the chief priests and their officials saw Him, they shouted, ‘Crucify! Crucify!’” John 19:4-6.
And still, before handing him over to the people, Pilate “had Jesus flogged…” Mt 27:26...
Look at the thorns. They are long and thin. Consider the cruelty and violence Christ had suffered at the hands of the very people He loved enough to bear unjust, undeserved punishment for.
He’s been betrayed by a friend into the hands of angry religious leaders, violent soldiers, and now a mocking ruler. His commitment, to enter our lives completely, now approaches the final steps. He has said he would go where God led him. Now, we follow him in his final surrender, contemplating at each place along the way how he was broken for us to know the Father’s love for us.
The Art:
1) The Flogging, Brouwer
2) From The Passion, movie (Mel Gibson, Dir.)
3) Crowning With Thorns, Caravaggio
4) Painting unknown
5) Charcoal unknown
6) The Passion, movie
7) Thorn branches, Jerusalem
8) Detail of Statue of Christ in the Cathedral of San Christobel, Jeffery Becom
9) The Passion, movie
Friday, June 13
way of the cross: station #3
This is station #3
Jesus Condemned
Jesus’ “trial” is a timeless event. Imagine Jesus was on trial today. Imagine you are a religious leader who has heard about the coming Messiah your whole life. Now you’re involved in this hasty trial involving a highly public and controversial figure. Because of your status as a leader you are automatically assumed a member of the jury that decides whether he is to be condemned to death for his blasphemy.
You question the evidence, and the anger with which it is brought to light, but nea
rly every leader has already decided that this man is not the Messiah. Though you don’t trust the witnesses who’ve provided evidence against Jesus of Nazareth, you agree that he ought to go before the local government officials who will ultimately decide his fate. After all, when the high priest asked him directly if he was “the Christ, the Son of God,” this disheveled and obviously poor man answered, “Yes, it is as you say.” You find his claim to be disturbing, heretical, and blasphemous. You’ve seen his popularity rise among the population, among both the believers in God and the ones outside the church. The message he preaches has threatened to undermine the very church that has waited so hopefully for the real Messiah to come build a great kingdom for you and all those you love. This man is clearly not that man.
Wrapped up in your own thoughts, you are suddenly shaken back to reality. The high priest is shouting, “What do you think?” You join in with the others, saying, “He is worthy of death
!” Everyone must come to a consensus. As you close your eyes for a minute to contemplate your decision you hear the sounds of hatred behind you as many of the leaders take their turn spiting in Jesus’ face, slapping him, and striking him in the face with their fists.
Despite your disagreement with the degredation with which they are treating the man, when it comes time to give your answer you agree that Jesus should be put to death.
Now pray:
I too hav
e condemned you in my willingness to follow the crowd. I have on many occasions doubted that you are the Son of God because you aren’t doing all the fantastic, wonderful, and grand things I expect of you. Give me eyes to see who you really are. I sometimes allow my religious righteousness and position to give me a sense of power. Give me a heart to follow you in humility.
Jesus Condemned
Jesus’ “trial” is a timeless event. Imagine Jesus was on trial today. Imagine you are a religious leader who has heard about the coming Messiah your whole life. Now you’re involved in this hasty trial involving a highly public and controversial figure. Because of your status as a leader you are automatically assumed a member of the jury that decides whether he is to be condemned to death for his blasphemy.
You question the evidence, and the anger with which it is brought to light, but nea
rly every leader has already decided that this man is not the Messiah. Though you don’t trust the witnesses who’ve provided evidence against Jesus of Nazareth, you agree that he ought to go before the local government officials who will ultimately decide his fate. After all, when the high priest asked him directly if he was “the Christ, the Son of God,” this disheveled and obviously poor man answered, “Yes, it is as you say.” You find his claim to be disturbing, heretical, and blasphemous. You’ve seen his popularity rise among the population, among both the believers in God and the ones outside the church. The message he preaches has threatened to undermine the very church that has waited so hopefully for the real Messiah to come build a great kingdom for you and all those you love. This man is clearly not that man.Wrapped up in your own thoughts, you are suddenly shaken back to reality. The high priest is shouting, “What do you think?” You join in with the others, saying, “He is worthy of death
!” Everyone must come to a consensus. As you close your eyes for a minute to contemplate your decision you hear the sounds of hatred behind you as many of the leaders take their turn spiting in Jesus’ face, slapping him, and striking him in the face with their fists.Despite your disagreement with the degredation with which they are treating the man, when it comes time to give your answer you agree that Jesus should be put to death.
Now pray:
I too hav
e condemned you in my willingness to follow the crowd. I have on many occasions doubted that you are the Son of God because you aren’t doing all the fantastic, wonderful, and grand things I expect of you. Give me eyes to see who you really are. I sometimes allow my religious righteousness and position to give me a sense of power. Give me a heart to follow you in humility.
The art:
(1) Maes
(2) Intimate Portrait, Mike Lewis
(3) Unknown
(4) Ecco Homo Pilate, Caravaggio
(5) Unknown
(6) Condemned, He Qi
(7) Unknown
Tuesday, June 10
the bible & homosexuality
Dr. Jack Rogers wrote a book titled Jesus, the Bible, and Homosexuality: Explode the Myths, Heal the Church. *** (see review & link to purchase below)I haven't read the book yet, but my pastor, Doug, recently passed his copy on to me. He read it in preparation of facilitating a discussion at a meeting of regional Presbytery clergy and leaders. He highly recommended the book and also made it clear to me that it had not changed his "position".
I posted a very short video below of Dr. Rogers. Take a moment to view it. Dr. Rogers has made that list of people I respect greatly. NOT because he agrees with me that being a homosexual is not cause for my citizenship to be curtailed and my service in Christ's church limited to mere attendance and my identity tolerated. NOT because he is gay and in a "powerful" position in the Presbyterian church (PCUSA, the denomination I am ordained by). He is not gay. He is very straight.
The reason I respect him greatly is due to the simple fact that he chose to study, contemplate, and then speak out on the issue of homosexuality and the church, and for no apparent personal reason. His impetus is nothing short of selfless. He simply decided not to ignore the prime issue that tears churches apart. I respect him --and others who I am glad to know personally-- who have taken on such an inflammatory issue and publicly speak against the church's continuing stance and behavior toward the homosexual Christian, and homosexuals generally. Obviously, I am personally invested, which connotes emotional bias. So, my opposition to the Presbyterian USA's negative stance on homosexuality is personally motivated. You can see why people such as Dr. Rogers strike me as wonderful. Why I look at them and see an advocate even though I feel I personally don't need an advocate. They stand as people who have said, "I can't watch this any longer. I can't let myself continue to say 'homosexuality' is wrong and not even really know WHY." They question tradition and simply desire the church to look more like Jesus. Something I didn't even have the courage to do before I came out.
But here's the thing. The people I know in the Presbyterian church who have taken a stand against the prejudice against homosexuals will likely never (never say never) face being removed from their positions of leadership and ordination for their views. Not "legitimately" that is. On the other hand, I will be removed from my ordained position as soon as I "become" a "practicing" homosexual (because I'm not a real homosexual -or a real bad one- until I'm having sex with someone!). Their advantage is that they can always be somewhat guaranteed to keep their position because, though they oppose the current church position, they are not committing the actual "sin" of homosexuality. I'm not implying that we should go back to the days when someone defending such an issue would be removed from their position. I also know that leaders in the church can be covertly "removed" from their position based on their stance toward homosexuality. However, it is my understanding that this is not a common occurrence in my denomination -PCUSA. In my denomination my sexual orientation is considered legitimate, but I cannot hold an ordained position if I "act" on it sexually.
The PCUSA commissioned a task force that drew up a statement titled "Peace, Purity, and Unity". The statement prepared for and presented to the PCUSA general assembly which would once again vote on the issue of homosexuality and ordination in the Presbyterian church. The assembly did eventually vote to stick with current/traditional denominational laws regarding ordination (found in the Book of Order), i.e. no ordination of homosexuals ("practicing").
Anyway, prior to the 2006 assembly, the PCUSA set the task force of 20 people ("selected because they represented the range & variety of backgrounds, views, and values of contemporary Presbyterians") to discover ways the church can "live more faithfully in the face of deep disagreements".
Here are some selected quotes from the statement. I know that there may be bias in what I have chosen, but I am simply being kind to my readers and am not including the entire text. If you are so inclined to read the entire statement, go to http://www.pcusa.org/peaceunitypurity/resources/finalreport.pdf
"Some examples of what we learned from each other about the consequences of our attitudes
and actions include the following:
+ Many of us came to understand how alienating it is for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender persons to be so regularly identified as a major threat to the peace, unity, and purity of the church.
+ Many of us also came to understand how alienating it is for those who support a ban on the ordination of non-celibate gay and lesbian persons to be accused of prejudice, and how
alienating it is for those who oppose such a ban to be accused of moral laxity.
Though we know that by stereotyping and demeaning each other we have hurt not only our
opponents, but also ourselves and the whole church, we cannot claim that we have recognized all the ways we have damaged the church and hurt one another. Nor can we claim that we have amended our lives adequately to signal full repentance for the harm we have done. What we can report is that as we became more deeply acquainted with one another’s thinking and life situations, we were chastened and humbled by the recognition that insofar as the body of Christ in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A) is broken, we have all played a part in betraying and denying our Savior and in inflicting the damage from which the church, as His body, is suffering today.
C. Sexuality and Ordination
The task force gave sustained attention to two interconnected issues that have generated more disagreement and conflict in recent years than any others: (1) the church’s teaching on human sexuality; (2) the theology and practice of ordination. We explored a range of opinions on issues of human sexuality...We benefited greatly from this way of grappling with issues and we commend it to the church.
The task force was not asked to take a position on human sexuality or ordination and we have not attempted to do so. We did invest considerable time and energy in conversation, seeking to understand one another’s points of view. We did not try...to decide whether the church’s current position should be changed. At the same time, we found we could reach ready agreement on several points:
+ It is a grave error to deny baptism or church membership to gay and lesbian persons or to withhold pastoral care to them and their families.
+ Those who aspire to ordination must lead faithful lives. Those who demonstrate licentious behavior should not be ordained.
+ Sexual behavior is integral to Christian discipleship, leadership, and community life. It is not a purely personal matter.
+ Sexual orientation is, in itself, no barrier to ordination.
The foregoing agreements left the task force with a wide range of theological views and
positions before it... Members of the task force reflect this range of views personally. Some
strongly support the church’s current position; others strongly question it or want to change it; others are still forming their thinking about sexuality and ordination...Many believe that, instead of beginning with the question of ordination, it would be more profitable first to explore a more basic theological question: How does God’s gracious drama of creation, reconciliation, and redemption work itself out in the lives of baptized gay and lesbian persons who are committed to exclusive, covenanted relationships?
We all were able to recognize in the views on sexuality and ordination held by other task
force members concerns for the peace, unity, and purity of the church and the integrity of the
gospel. The differences on these matters are strenuous and serious, but precisely because they are so important, we have been encouraged to stay together, speaking the truth in love, learning from one another, and building up the body. Further, we were all able to agree that perspectives on questions of sexuality, ordination and same-gender covenantal relationships are rich and complex, and our fellow task force members who hold these views are sincere, faithful and guided by Scripture. Therefore, we believe, the church should seek constructive, Christ-like alternatives to the “yes/no” forms in which questions about sexuality, ordination, and same-gender covenantal relationships have been put to the church in recent decades. "
AND STILL THEY VOTED that the CHURCH'S CURRENT POSITION ON ORDINATION & HOMOSEXUALITY SHOULD BE MAINTAINED.
*** Here is a review of Jack Rogers' book:
I hope to read the book soon. I will comment on it in my blog. If you would like to read it along with me you can purchase the book at Amazon.com (Click here: http://www.amazon.com/Jesus-Bible-Homosexuality-Explode-Church/dp/0664229395/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1213146665&sr=1-1).
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