[Composed on 8/9 - 8/10]
Goddag dear Reader! That's 'hello' in Danish. Here I am, sitting on events that finally inspire me to write again! I'm recounting my adventures day by day (hopefully I'll have the time!) here in Aarhus, Denmark while I study wind energy technology for two weeks.
PRELUDE: 5 PLANES, 6 AIRPORTS
To begin, I'll take you on my unlikely, costly, exhausting, and exhilarating journey to the land of Vikings and $4 sodas.
I was spending time with friends in a house boat on Lake Powell (as some of you well knew) up until the 8th of August. The first leg of my journey began with a 5.5 hour drive by van, accompanied by Micki and Mike, from Bullfrog Marina to Page, AZ, starting around 4pm. Page is a small tourist town on the southern end of Lake Powell, adjacent to the Glenn Canyon Dam. I had assumed I would be able to either sleep in the airport terminal or spend some money on a hotel room. Unfortunately, early August is peak tourist season (the Lake Powell crowd) and none of the twenty some-odd hotels in the city had vacancies, not even the international hostel was full! The proprietor of "LuLu's Sleep Ezze" 8-bedroom motel did not answer the 10:30pm phone call, so we assumed "LuLu" was indisposed with one of her "clients," a tasteless string of jokes followed, and we all felt better about ourselves...except for a lack of place to stay for me. Micki and Mike graciously spent the night with me in the back of the van we took, sleeping on the floor with one sleeping bag and an old blanket between all of us. Fortunately, the temperature never got low enough for us to really need the sleeping bag. Unfortunately, the bag and blanket did little to disguise the metal seat attachments and thin carpet of the van floor. All in all, a big thanks to Wal-Mart for having their parking lots as 24-hour public campgrounds!
At 4:45am, we groggily shipped me to the recently-opened Page Municipal Airport terminal, said our pre-dawn farewells, and I checked in, getting my first real news from the wall-mounted television in the small 1-room building. The morning headlines: "Russia invades Georgia," "American tourist stabbed to death in Beijing," and "John Edwards admits to affair with campaign employee while wife had cancer." Fox News' motto is now 'We report, you decide.' Well, I decided my trip to Europe was looking more and more appealing by the minute, the scrolling alert bar on the tv screen bottom seemed to usher me into the lone security line, and 21-seat cruiser I eventually settled into, for my first flight.
I landed in Phoenix about an hour later, still shaking the turbulence off from that small aircraft.
I had to be in Denmark, ready for busing to a small rural campus called Fuglsøcentret (thanks to Google for the ø (say 'eu' like the French word bleu)) by 6pm local time. My flights all jumped around the U.S., from Phoenix to Philadelphia to Chicago. For each of these flights I had to hurry between the gates and through security to make the next connection. I got good excerice, but not a lot of food or water. Phoenix has a nice airport. Philadelphia has a so-so airport. Chicago ... when I reached this final stateside airport, my story got even wilder.
When I got off the plane from Philadelphia into Chicago, the directions to the next gate were so bad. Since it was already 9pm (I got in an hour late because of a delay), there weren't many employees around to ask for help. All the information desks were closed. O'Hare is a terrible airport, all narrow, widely-spaced terminals with long walkways or trains to get between them (as many of you well know). In my case, I needed to traverse the entire length of the airport grounds by elevated train to reach the international terminal. I eventually found a security guard and got directions to the train. But I didn't pick up on the lone sign for "international terminal" in the train depot soon enough and so missed the first train. By the time I got to the international terminal, I had 30 minutes till take-off. The one remaining ticket seller at the check-in counter gave me some light-hearted crap (I think, he had an interesting accent) for being so late, and then asked me if I knew how to run, because I was probably going to miss my flight. But, after flying all day long from Page, AZ (after sleeping in the van with no bag or blanket) through Phoenix, Philadelphia, and Chicago, I was NOT going to miss this flight. I nearly had a panic attack in the security lane, because I cleared the line with 10 minutes till take-off, and the lady in front of me (from Turkey I saw on her passport) was giving the TSA people a bit of a hard time, adding to my delay. Actually, I really felt the TSA people were giving her a hard time, because she spoke almost no english and couldn't easily remove the jewelry on her wrist when they asked her to, for the metal detector. I felt bad, but still panicky, and I ended up running full tilt down the remaining 200 yards of corridor to my gate (seriously, that terminal is LONG). They were starting the boarding announcements when I climbed on, and one of the stewardesses noticed my exasperated and out-of-breath appearance, and gave me a glass of water (very good service on Scandinavian Air). Yah, so that's it for background, now, onto the ocean-crossing!
CH 1 - MY BUTT HURTS:
As with my flight to China/Mongolia last summer, when you are tall like me and sit in an airplane that long, you don't feel good afterwards (or during). I did get up to stretch after the first couple hours, but I was trying to sleep some, so I wouldn't be totally off-whack when I got to Denmark. They served dinner and drinks about an hour and half into the flight, and I caught the last 40 minutes of '10,000 B.C'. on the inflight movie selection. I now know why the tax on this flight was over 50 % of the ticket price: the service is phenomenal. Seriously, fly SAS if you go to Europe. The stewards/stewardesses were all really nice, multilingual, and attentive. I got a free set of headphones (U.S. Airways charges for them (my flight to Philadelphia)) and over a dozen movies to pick from, as well as comedians, news, sports, and music. There are even video games, and a piece of your armrest detaches to become an impromptu Nintendo NES-style controller. The only bummer was, of course, the sleeping part. The blanket and pillow were not so good, and I got maybe 2 hours total sleep during the 8 hour flight. I drifted in and out for a bunch of it. The really incredible part of the overseas flight was my neighbor. Out of all the people on that enormous AirBus, I get paired with a third-generation Norwegian from Iowa who spends a good deal of time in Denmark and other parts of Europe on business, and he gave me a bunch of tips on getting around in Denmark, where to exchange currency, how the food is, and what to expect culturally. He also holds an undergraduate degree in Physics (not sure if it was B.S. or B.A. ...?) like me, and his work is engineering-related. Plus, he's worked with Mines alumni over the years (he appeared to be in his forties/fifties). We didn't share personal information, but it was fun chatting and learning about where I was headed. Yeah, so I got into Copenhagen without incident, learned my way around the vastness of its airport, finally found out how to get my boarding pass (I had to 'take a number' like in those deli shops or the DMV). The ticket counter lady was so surprised I didn't have any checked baggage (actually, nearly every ticket counter person was surprised). The keyboards here have some extra buttons for Danish characters like Æ Ø Å (got those from Google). Like in O'Hare, it was a LONG walk/run to my next flight, but Copenhagen's airport is WAY nicer than Chicago's. I reached my gate with 10 minutes till take-off again (a really really long walk, no train/bus available) and boarded a small plane of about 60 seats I think, bound for Arhus.
CH 2 - SMALL WORLD:
The ride took less than half an hour, and the views from the window seat were really neat (when there weren't clouds in the way). I landed safely at around 3:15 pm local time and found the Arhus airport to be as small as Copenhagen's was big, only about 200 yards long total, and very nice, clean, and quiet. There was a group of guys lounging in the waiting area outside the baggage claim, all with different accents, but I did recognize one of their faces as belonging to a Mines student. I found out they were all going to the Wind Program, so I sat down with them. I met Joonas (Yoo-nas) from Finland, Christian from Germany, Marco from Italy, Zack from Texas (Mines), and Pablo from the Canary Islands (Spain). Quite the diverse group. Joonas taught us a card game to pass the three hours till the bus arrived to pick us up. Anyway, at about 6 pm, a man from the summer school program walked up to our group in the waiting area and introduced himself. He checked our names off on a list and we got on a bus waiting outside.
CH 3 - FUGLSØCENTRET:
That's the name of the place I'm staying at (I still haven't caught on to the pronunciation, a lot of Danish is slurred together it seems (e.g. the common last name Jørgensen is pronounced "Yousen" and the 'ou' part is blended into a short 'uhh' kind of noise)). As it looks right now, Fuglsø Centret is like a small college campus, or boarding school, or maybe retreat/recreation center. There are dormitory-style rooms (I got put in the room with Zack, so no big culture clash) in separate buildings from the main event center. We're way out in the country, about an hour from Arhus city. The countryside is very beautiful here. It reminds me a lot of pictures I've seen of rural England, and even parts of Colorado, although it's much greener and wetter here. The landscape is pretty flat and the campus is about 1/4 mile from the ocean (I think it's the ocean, Arhus sits very close to it on the map, and the water out front looks really really big). Well, so after arriving, we got room assignments, keys, signed in, met the staff, and headed off to our rooms. I took my first real shower in over a week, sorted out my stuff (they gave each of us a bunch of free swag, books, binders, shirts, lanyards, even a backpack and an i-Pod knock-off music player, apparently the wind energy business pays well). That's about when I sat down to e-mail you guys the first time! I found out I didn't bring an adapter for my wall-charger to go with the different European socket set-up, but Zack did bring one, so I was able to rejuice my Mac). The opening ceremony was a short presentation by the staff about the summer school's purpose, our expectations, and a brief lecture from a professor of engineering at the sponsoring university (Engineering College of Arhus). He told us we'll be traveling there tomorrow morning to make use of some of the lab facilities for our first project/lecture. We then adjourned to a room with tables and benches, topped with sandwhiches, wine, and beer. I made more introductions with the 34 students present and chatted about different cultures, countries, and customs. Now full, and even more tired, I finally finish typing this long long LONG e-mail.
CONCLUSION:
It's 10:30 pm here now, and I'm off to bed finally, after some teeth-brushing. I have to be up for breakfast at 7:30 am and then a prompt departure at 8. That's something I've been told by some of the other students here: the Danish expect precise punctuality and professionalism, so I musn't be late.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Summery
Ah, it's like gasping breaths of air after being stuck under the inflatable shark at the city pool for 30 seconds (it happened). That's another instance where some kind of relativity occurs in your brain, a dilation of sorts. The giant wall clock shows 30 seconds have passed, but your mind leaves you with the indelible impression that the half-minute you spent without air surely was more like 5 minutes. The main contributor to this difference in reference frames is, of course, the fear of drowning, followed closely with all the other scary thoughts entering the mind of a 10 year-old who's carelessly fallen into 3 feet of munckin-infested water beneath 20 pounds of shark-shaped, plastic-bound atmosphere.
I'm back. That's the short of it. When last I bloggered my thoughts here, I proclaimed my rejection of all things coffee (horns blare triumphantly). I lasted about two-and-a-half weeks, had all-night academic bonanza into the wonders of Statistical Mechanics, and promptly drank a pot of dark energy. This is the substance astrophysicists have been seeking to tie the laws of nature and the universe into closed loops of physical harmony. Dark matter hid itself in coffee beans, because it knew we were searching for it, and it contrived a most amusing scheme: provide wakefulness and concentration to the scientists diligently seeking the same material they percolate and ingest whilst working late. Sneaky dark matter. That whole inexplicable acceleration of stellar expansion is a ruse, put on by dark matter's loony counterpart, the graviton. For a tangent, this isn't that bad.
Back to coherence. I've been out of the blogosphere for a while, visiting plants and trees, textbooks and exams, friends and the bottoms of beer bottles, steins, mugs, and the occasional vase-used-as-a-cup-because-no-one-did-the-dishes. Cheers!
It's all summery now. The fans run all night, frisbees fly, constant sunshine (California stole our true name!) fills the land with light, beautiful vistas abound (with the certain exception of the new Microsoft OS), and there's green green green on everything. It's a time of year that affects me the same as caffeine. I just can't wait to get outside, bursting with energy and fidgeting like a drunk vying for an immediate time share with the porcelain alter.
I've got a laptop now and will be posting on it soon. As summer gains momentum, blogging will become much more attractive on this new bit of hardware. I can squeeze grass between my toes and feel the warmth of Colorado photons bombarding my skin, all while typing these thoughts over the wireless junction to the blogiverse. Hooray mobile computing! Hooray Colorado! Hooray beer! Boo bird-who-shat-on-me!
I don't feel deep, contemplative, or ingenuous this morning, just exhilarated in the new day. I want to share some of this energetic high with you, Dear Reader. These moments lighten all the soul baggage, the bad dreams, the despairing notion of "What's the point?" I like these moments. Here, have some of them, there's plenty for you.
I'm back. That's the short of it. When last I bloggered my thoughts here, I proclaimed my rejection of all things coffee (horns blare triumphantly). I lasted about two-and-a-half weeks, had all-night academic bonanza into the wonders of Statistical Mechanics, and promptly drank a pot of dark energy. This is the substance astrophysicists have been seeking to tie the laws of nature and the universe into closed loops of physical harmony. Dark matter hid itself in coffee beans, because it knew we were searching for it, and it contrived a most amusing scheme: provide wakefulness and concentration to the scientists diligently seeking the same material they percolate and ingest whilst working late. Sneaky dark matter. That whole inexplicable acceleration of stellar expansion is a ruse, put on by dark matter's loony counterpart, the graviton. For a tangent, this isn't that bad.
Back to coherence. I've been out of the blogosphere for a while, visiting plants and trees, textbooks and exams, friends and the bottoms of beer bottles, steins, mugs, and the occasional vase-used-as-a-cup-because-no-one-did-the-dishes. Cheers!
It's all summery now. The fans run all night, frisbees fly, constant sunshine (California stole our true name!) fills the land with light, beautiful vistas abound (with the certain exception of the new Microsoft OS), and there's green green green on everything. It's a time of year that affects me the same as caffeine. I just can't wait to get outside, bursting with energy and fidgeting like a drunk vying for an immediate time share with the porcelain alter.
I've got a laptop now and will be posting on it soon. As summer gains momentum, blogging will become much more attractive on this new bit of hardware. I can squeeze grass between my toes and feel the warmth of Colorado photons bombarding my skin, all while typing these thoughts over the wireless junction to the blogiverse. Hooray mobile computing! Hooray Colorado! Hooray beer! Boo bird-who-shat-on-me!
I don't feel deep, contemplative, or ingenuous this morning, just exhilarated in the new day. I want to share some of this energetic high with you, Dear Reader. These moments lighten all the soul baggage, the bad dreams, the despairing notion of "What's the point?" I like these moments. Here, have some of them, there's plenty for you.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Honestly James!
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!
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!
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!
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