I made a pot of coffee this morning. I measured the water and poured it, peeled a filter from the stack (a difficult task with short fingernails), evenly distributed the grounds like I was planting a flower bulb, flipped the lid shut and tapped the "on" button, all the while feeling that small rush of maturity--'I'm making coffee, I'm an adult, I'm an addict, respect me, pity me, gaze upon my scars.'
It finally hit my cerebellum; I'm not drinking coffee for its flavor, its zest, its warming energy rushing into my cold and listless blob of biology, but for the title 'coffee drinker.' When I'm done downing the bitter stuff (I drink it black), I wait for the caffeine to take me in a firm grip and sustain my awareness and motivation to work and play. I am drawn to the sense of identity of 'coffee drinker.' I want to be treated as the hard-lined, weather-beaten, life-beaten, dependably dependent, terse, bad-ass (OH! sensitive, wise, and compassionate too) who inspires and will have never be embarrassed or caught unawares in any situation. A James Bond sort of guy.
Actually, all of that is not what I really WANT at all. The last paragraph was the cannon ball launched to puncture the smothering blanket of selfish arrogance and angst in my mind and heart. What I want is to be me--to be honestly me. I wrote all of those coffee-motivated desires down to bring them out from the cloudy comfort of my thoughts. I drew them out with words to be struck down by my soul. Dear Reader, you've been witness to a battle on the Personality plane. I think I'll make a movie about it--then everyone will compare me to Martin Scorsese and my identity will be complete! HA! There they are again, those agents of selfish distraction! Back you fiends! Back! Quick Lieutenant Courage, prepare another barrage of Compassion Burst! And......FIRE! Yes, good, very good, that got 'em.
So yeah, what I really want. I want to stop drinking coffee. I smoked cigarettes for the reason the volunteers warn you about in D.A.R.E classes--approval. Peer pressure. Those ads on television where some 'cool' kid offers pot, cigs, alcohol, sex, coke, or some other malicious substance (sex doesn't really fit here, but, you know what I mean), and the shining protagonist refuses. When the screen fades to black and the calm narrator's voice enters, the message is over and the ball game is back. It's the truth of it all though that when that nay-saying kid goes back to school, work, or the skate park, the pushers won't go away, they don't like being miffed, and more offers will come, along with harassment. So, the point of all that explanation is that this thing called reality isn't rolled into little 30 second anti-drug ads. It's a shifting dynamic of choices, risks, and moments to stick up for what you really feel is 'right.'
As for my bottom line here: I'm kickin' the coffee drinking. I'm putting away the pot (the electrical one), tossing the beans, and chopping walnuts in my processor in future days. I don't need caffeine to be my identity PR guy.
I'm going to make a breakfast burrito. Bombs away!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Disgruntled (or, Love Part II)
The magnitude of frustration is difficult to describe when I am holding my breath underwater and, for some reason, am caught and cannot reach the surface for more air. It brings tears to my eyes. This anecdote is all I can think of to describe my feelings at the end of this day.
Public speaking. Ever since my freshman year of college, when a professor of mine actively called out those students in class who used improper language and grammar, I have been annoyingly more cognizant of these habits in myself and those around me. "Um," "Uh," "You know," and the ever popular "like" (incorrectly used) have become like the sudden spike of squealing when a mosquito ventures too close to your ear, sending shivers of irritation throughout the body. Thanks John Andrews! Gaa! They're place-holders, meaningless junk that distracts from conversation. For years now I've been listening to friends, foes, and strangers speak, only to stumble over their misuse of their own tongue and their linguistic stupor knocks my attention flat as well.
Bah! I had a discussion with my mom tonight about the church we've attended for over 10 years. I can recall so many wonderful experiences: van rides to mountain camping trips, taking photos with disposable cameras, throwing rocks at food-stealing squirrels, climbing rocks, gambling with soda straws, playing basketball, staffing food drives, landscaping rundown neighborhoods, giving blood, and worshiping God together, with hard-earned friends, kids you could trust, insult, and stay up all night talking to. I remember looking forward to youth group and arguing with my parents about what "dressed up" meant each Sunday for the service. Ah, it felt like home.
Not anymore. I've grown up and seen the uglier side of my childhood haunt. Politics, hidden agendas, stubbornness that would leave a spoiled 4-year-old in awe, the adult human beings in charge of the institution I put trust in, rotting its core with the "easy way out," the "more profitable turn," the "good of the community" arguments. All the while, my accusation are in doubt because I know so little about what's behind the scenes. I loathe the reputation my faith has accrued over the millennia, the narrow-minded (though often not unjustified) opinions of the "Christian," the mind games, the logical booby-traps, the mistrust, the anger, the hearts of stone, the ears of wood. It's all shit. The way I clung to, the words I grasped for some real essence were these: "Love thy neighbor as thyself." The rules, the commands, the edicts, the covenants--these all were created to appease the fear and doubt and stupidity that continue to proliferate, on, and on, and on, into each generation. Where did that 'greatest commandment' get lost?
Sure must sound all high and mighty and, ultimately, cliche. Well, fine, if that's how you absorb this ranting Dear Reader, then I have failed again. I am not the sharpened tool, the focused beam, the perfected light to show the path. The reason I attached myself to that philosophy above, the necessity of Loving all around me, was because it brought, and brings, me joy incomparable. Not a 100% on a midterm, not a juicy paycheck, not the beating sound of applause after a successful speech, not alcohol or drugs, not even the healing of all wounds and aches, physical and otherwise, radiates the ecstatic pleasure of genuine Love. Its calming torrents soothe the bitterness of contradiction, the embarrassment in my upbringing, the pain when a friend derides what I feel to be vital for happiness.
Ahhhhh, well, that's better. I think there is hope for a new view, as long as someone hopes, and knows what they hope for--as long as someone Loves, and knows there are no bounds, no locks, no separations. Fear is as nothing in its presence. It's the way I feel when a good song comes across the air molecules to slam against my fragile drums. As Anthony Keatis sang: "Music, the great communicator... ." That's a good song (Can't Stop by RHCP), but that line strikes me in the face most of all the lyrics. I feel the same jubilance of Love when listening to some songs. I can't yet put some definite criteria on it. The song just has to move me (a truly 'bad ass' piece).
There's not really an end to all of this business. It's a continuous adventure, as unending as the Mobius strip, the horizon, and the number of ways a woman can surprise me. I'm a dirt-poor example of what I believe, but, hey, I'm still searching ... so be patient!
Public speaking. Ever since my freshman year of college, when a professor of mine actively called out those students in class who used improper language and grammar, I have been annoyingly more cognizant of these habits in myself and those around me. "Um," "Uh," "You know," and the ever popular "like" (incorrectly used) have become like the sudden spike of squealing when a mosquito ventures too close to your ear, sending shivers of irritation throughout the body. Thanks John Andrews! Gaa! They're place-holders, meaningless junk that distracts from conversation. For years now I've been listening to friends, foes, and strangers speak, only to stumble over their misuse of their own tongue and their linguistic stupor knocks my attention flat as well.
Bah! I had a discussion with my mom tonight about the church we've attended for over 10 years. I can recall so many wonderful experiences: van rides to mountain camping trips, taking photos with disposable cameras, throwing rocks at food-stealing squirrels, climbing rocks, gambling with soda straws, playing basketball, staffing food drives, landscaping rundown neighborhoods, giving blood, and worshiping God together, with hard-earned friends, kids you could trust, insult, and stay up all night talking to. I remember looking forward to youth group and arguing with my parents about what "dressed up" meant each Sunday for the service. Ah, it felt like home.
Not anymore. I've grown up and seen the uglier side of my childhood haunt. Politics, hidden agendas, stubbornness that would leave a spoiled 4-year-old in awe, the adult human beings in charge of the institution I put trust in, rotting its core with the "easy way out," the "more profitable turn," the "good of the community" arguments. All the while, my accusation are in doubt because I know so little about what's behind the scenes. I loathe the reputation my faith has accrued over the millennia, the narrow-minded (though often not unjustified) opinions of the "Christian," the mind games, the logical booby-traps, the mistrust, the anger, the hearts of stone, the ears of wood. It's all shit. The way I clung to, the words I grasped for some real essence were these: "Love thy neighbor as thyself." The rules, the commands, the edicts, the covenants--these all were created to appease the fear and doubt and stupidity that continue to proliferate, on, and on, and on, into each generation. Where did that 'greatest commandment' get lost?
Sure must sound all high and mighty and, ultimately, cliche. Well, fine, if that's how you absorb this ranting Dear Reader, then I have failed again. I am not the sharpened tool, the focused beam, the perfected light to show the path. The reason I attached myself to that philosophy above, the necessity of Loving all around me, was because it brought, and brings, me joy incomparable. Not a 100% on a midterm, not a juicy paycheck, not the beating sound of applause after a successful speech, not alcohol or drugs, not even the healing of all wounds and aches, physical and otherwise, radiates the ecstatic pleasure of genuine Love. Its calming torrents soothe the bitterness of contradiction, the embarrassment in my upbringing, the pain when a friend derides what I feel to be vital for happiness.
Ahhhhh, well, that's better. I think there is hope for a new view, as long as someone hopes, and knows what they hope for--as long as someone Loves, and knows there are no bounds, no locks, no separations. Fear is as nothing in its presence. It's the way I feel when a good song comes across the air molecules to slam against my fragile drums. As Anthony Keatis sang: "Music, the great communicator... ." That's a good song (Can't Stop by RHCP), but that line strikes me in the face most of all the lyrics. I feel the same jubilance of Love when listening to some songs. I can't yet put some definite criteria on it. The song just has to move me (a truly 'bad ass' piece).
There's not really an end to all of this business. It's a continuous adventure, as unending as the Mobius strip, the horizon, and the number of ways a woman can surprise me. I'm a dirt-poor example of what I believe, but, hey, I'm still searching ... so be patient!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)