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.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
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!
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Thank you
Well,
It's a Friday night and a Saturday morning all wrapped into one. About this time of night it blurs; it being my perception of time. I've had some incredible journeys this evening. After a pitcher of superb beer with a few friends, a home-cooked meal to refresh the taste buds, a movie ("Waking Life" - yes Thomas, I finally saw it), a sauntering walk up to a going-away party, hookah, handshakes, hugs, laughs, (inner) tears, AND, finally, a stroll home, I am adding to my blog after a month of silence.
My friends are awesome. I've been forging through novel terrain in my life for the past year now, and so many of my companions have stuck with me, giving 'shoulders' to lean on, cry on, and pound in frustration. Late-night conversations, phone calls, invitations (I wish I could accept them all), have been wonders to my soul. The Love of an amazing woman has kept me sane too; all these elements summing together, flowing into and through me. I have fortune beyond count.
I don't know what adventures are ahead, and that's just plain exciting. Terrifying, but thrilling too, a mix of emotions. I am tired, so adjectives are not coming easy, but I know, somehow, the Sun will shine again. The Sun will shine again. The Sun will shine again.
I Love you all.
It's a Friday night and a Saturday morning all wrapped into one. About this time of night it blurs; it being my perception of time. I've had some incredible journeys this evening. After a pitcher of superb beer with a few friends, a home-cooked meal to refresh the taste buds, a movie ("Waking Life" - yes Thomas, I finally saw it), a sauntering walk up to a going-away party, hookah, handshakes, hugs, laughs, (inner) tears, AND, finally, a stroll home, I am adding to my blog after a month of silence.
My friends are awesome. I've been forging through novel terrain in my life for the past year now, and so many of my companions have stuck with me, giving 'shoulders' to lean on, cry on, and pound in frustration. Late-night conversations, phone calls, invitations (I wish I could accept them all), have been wonders to my soul. The Love of an amazing woman has kept me sane too; all these elements summing together, flowing into and through me. I have fortune beyond count.
I don't know what adventures are ahead, and that's just plain exciting. Terrifying, but thrilling too, a mix of emotions. I am tired, so adjectives are not coming easy, but I know, somehow, the Sun will shine again. The Sun will shine again. The Sun will shine again.
I Love you all.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Love
Trying to define Love may be one of the most difficult challenges I've faced so far. Love is the subject of unknown numbers of books, papers, dialogs, television and radio programs, movies, and nearly any other media category. I see it plastered on billboards, in newspaper ads, thrown about in the classifieds, and inscribed upon bathroom stalls. Love is pervasive (at the very least as a word). I mentioned in one of my first posts that I would be making a future entry on Love, but I've been uninspired lately. A conversation I recently had with a dear friend was the catalyst.
As introduction: I Love Love. Why capitalize Love? The big "L" functions as a way to highlight Love's importance and give it a sort of personality, as if it were a living, thinking, dreaming creature sitting next to me. I imagine Love as overall androgynous, though a great deal of the time it comes into my mind as a woman. But the image is never clear. There aren't any boundaries, hard lines, or logical direction. Love appears in my dreams as if all of space around me were filled with color and light. It's like when I gaze into the night sky and a starry point of light becomes fuzzy only when I try to focus on it. In peripheral the image sharpens, but, because it's peripheral, I can't focus on it. Love is everywhere in my dreamscapes, in the minute spaces between my cells, encasing my body, always flowing, never smothering, visible, never containable, and, after that long string of descriptives, still as undefinable as ever. I am trying to express a paradox I feel about Love. I seek to put descriptive limits on Love, but, by my definition, there can be no limits. Love is unquantifiable and unmeasurable (by conventional means, compared to the wavelength of light or the stress on a steel bar). It has no units, no boundary conditions, no one-sentence definition (not even a 10,000,000 sentence version). No telling where it began or where it ends. Maybe I'm a nutter and you see it differently Dear Reader?
Love all, Love all. Love in your own way. For me, Loving is finding joy in their joy, pain in their pain, wholeness in their wholeness. Loving is devotion to individual choice. Loving means overthrowing all mental walls, criticisms, and assumptions to view them through a Lens of Love. I say a "Lens" to further stress the importance of relativism. Love is how you see it. I believe in no absolute definition of Love when considering fine details (good example of the Absolute/Relative paradox ... I'm all over the paradoxes today). Specific perceptions, scenarios, and experiences create a vast spectrum of Lenses. Yet, I think the absolute theme in Love is connection--relationship. I cannot conceive a circumstance where Love exists without connection of any kind, brief or long, intimate or distant. Maybe, you have examples Dear Reader?
What a lot of words. As far as I know, every human language has at least one word for it. Love is the ultimate one-way radio. It effects me, but I cannot change it, give it form, find the limits of its curves, the endpoints of its influence. I'm like a point charge so close to a surface it makes up my whole reality, my whole existence. Metaphors and Similes aside, Love is my world, both waking and sleeping. I am not always paying attention to this fact and exude un-Love. Yet, even when I feel consumed with anger, fear, and bitterness, I have always ascended from those lonely depths to see through my Love Lens again. I cannot say anything for indisputable truth (as is true for all of this post), but I deeply believe I belong with my Lens at every instant, waking or sleeping. I Love Love.
As introduction: I Love Love. Why capitalize Love? The big "L" functions as a way to highlight Love's importance and give it a sort of personality, as if it were a living, thinking, dreaming creature sitting next to me. I imagine Love as overall androgynous, though a great deal of the time it comes into my mind as a woman. But the image is never clear. There aren't any boundaries, hard lines, or logical direction. Love appears in my dreams as if all of space around me were filled with color and light. It's like when I gaze into the night sky and a starry point of light becomes fuzzy only when I try to focus on it. In peripheral the image sharpens, but, because it's peripheral, I can't focus on it. Love is everywhere in my dreamscapes, in the minute spaces between my cells, encasing my body, always flowing, never smothering, visible, never containable, and, after that long string of descriptives, still as undefinable as ever. I am trying to express a paradox I feel about Love. I seek to put descriptive limits on Love, but, by my definition, there can be no limits. Love is unquantifiable and unmeasurable (by conventional means, compared to the wavelength of light or the stress on a steel bar). It has no units, no boundary conditions, no one-sentence definition (not even a 10,000,000 sentence version). No telling where it began or where it ends. Maybe I'm a nutter and you see it differently Dear Reader?
Love all, Love all. Love in your own way. For me, Loving is finding joy in their joy, pain in their pain, wholeness in their wholeness. Loving is devotion to individual choice. Loving means overthrowing all mental walls, criticisms, and assumptions to view them through a Lens of Love. I say a "Lens" to further stress the importance of relativism. Love is how you see it. I believe in no absolute definition of Love when considering fine details (good example of the Absolute/Relative paradox ... I'm all over the paradoxes today). Specific perceptions, scenarios, and experiences create a vast spectrum of Lenses. Yet, I think the absolute theme in Love is connection--relationship. I cannot conceive a circumstance where Love exists without connection of any kind, brief or long, intimate or distant. Maybe, you have examples Dear Reader?
What a lot of words. As far as I know, every human language has at least one word for it. Love is the ultimate one-way radio. It effects me, but I cannot change it, give it form, find the limits of its curves, the endpoints of its influence. I'm like a point charge so close to a surface it makes up my whole reality, my whole existence. Metaphors and Similes aside, Love is my world, both waking and sleeping. I am not always paying attention to this fact and exude un-Love. Yet, even when I feel consumed with anger, fear, and bitterness, I have always ascended from those lonely depths to see through my Love Lens again. I cannot say anything for indisputable truth (as is true for all of this post), but I deeply believe I belong with my Lens at every instant, waking or sleeping. I Love Love.
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