one hour of wonder

Hello.

Goaded into this by my buddy, here is my long awaited rant on church. heh.

So we went to church Sunday at Pathways, yip yip. Jodi gave the message- that kid rocks my socks. Sometimes she has a way with words that cuts me like the dudes don't. Maybe it's just because I feel like I get her on a fundamental level. Minus the salutory fist punching and that pink slip shirt she wears under EVERYTHING.

And it was about bodies, and grace, and forward vision and a transcendary understanding of ourselves as beings, not narcissistic and not gnostic. (say those last 5 words 10 times fast). Woohoo, it was a glorious cornucopia of insightful head buffet. And then I hear folding. A soft, skkkkkrrrt from my right, and I look over and Jodie Sanders look alike, who beebopped into our row 10 minutes after the service had started, is folding crap, looked like maybe children's church papers or something. A huge stack, over and over, softly skkkkkrrrrting next to me. Well, Jodie Sanders look alike, let me tell you something. This is not your prep hour. This has nothing to do with you, or your agenda, and Jesus loves the little children, but this is not the time. Or the place. Put it effing away. UGH! I start to worry about myself some times- like, why do I want to punch people in the middle of a service?

But one look around, Jodie Sanders look alike, proves that you are not alone in your irreverence, inappropriateness, and downright rude attitude in this service. In the freakin' SECOND row, in the MIDDLE (of a several hundred congregant service), is a dude with a New Belgium brew company ballcap on, with Fat Tire displayed proudly on the front, over the sweat-stained bill. Now, New Belgium, don't get me wrong. You make a fine, fine beer there- Fat Tire on tap is my new fave. However, don't wear your beer hat to church. Duh. AND there is dude #2 with a Guinness pullover windbreaker two rows in front of me- I get to see his bearwear as he returns from communion. No.

And don't let me get started with Starbucks cups, or cell phones. Throw it away, and turn it off. Or you will be thrown away and turned off. That's even biblical.

So, I'm not this hateful pantalones all the time. But in this ridiculous individualistic new world we live in, give me one hour, one hour people, where I don't have to hear your samba ring, view your advertisement for huge corporations that are harming people, or get distracted because you think it's time for busywork.


Let us be still.

the separation and the cosmic breath

So I actually wrote this I think last week- just some thoughts I'm running over in my head these days.

Before there was sin, there was darkness, and there was light. There was a division- that third part of the two, that knife-edge thinness of time that was the moment of change itself, distinct from either half yet defining them. There was out, and in, inspiration and exhalation, and waters separating the land and air separating the waters. There was distinction, there was “other,” there were parts, that made a whole, that was perfect. And the Divine Creator proclaimed it good. There was yin and yang, by the Creator’s hand- male and female, and it was very good. There were days, separated by different types of light and darkness- but light and darkness were in them both. The darkness was not evil, and was not feared. It was a part of the good, just as the light was. It sprang forth from the essence of God.

In each thing there are two. In the human body, two of everything- like a perfect mirror, folding in on itself at midline to spring out again on the other side. Even when it seems there is one, there are two; the mouth leads to the anus, the umbilicus corresponds with an older woman who has borne and her mother before her, and the genitalia with another set, on another body. In this moment, when the latter fuse, the two become one, and are in their own way, mirrors of each other all over again, providing the coupling which reinforces the endless doubling in all creation. And from such a union new life is made.

In all this there is a balance, as well as a repetition that becomes to each their own circadian rhythm. There are things that are the same, always the same, and instead of boredom, joy or laughter or comfort is inspired. It is enjoyable to listen to a favorite song multiple times, and not boring because one has heard it before. The fact that one has heard it before makes it all the more enjoyable. The words, the melody are known by the listener, and it is this sharing of the moment of the song, already known, that is most satisfying. The same can be held true with an often-read book, or frequently watched film; it is pleasant because of the very fact that the observer knows what is going to happen next.

There are areas in which this is much more simply defined, in the basic life rhythms of the human body, or any living body for that matter. There is a moment where the heart beats. Then, a moment of unbeating, and then a beat again. If there is a stress, there must be an unstress, a pause, a caesura, a holding in before the expelling. That is what separates the push- the pull. However, in these instances, the unbeat, the unstress is rarely if ever considered. The pulse is what is wanted, not the unpulse. But without the pull, the push would be indistinguishable from itself. If everything were one push all the time, it would in effect be nothing, because there would be nothing to identify that anything was pushing at all.

So there is the step, and the non-step. All of this can be broken down, into the five parts: heel strike, toe strike, heel lift, toe lift, and once again heel strike, completing a cycle. Coming back to the beginning again, to repeat, repeat, repeat. The cycle itself would not be possible without the necessity of repetition, and everything presents itself as a cycle. There is birthing, living, giving birth, dying, to become food for worms, which nourish soil, which feeds the animal, which is slaughtered by the human for consumption. There is a pushing up from the ground, to return to it, to provide for the next group, who will be incapable of doing anything beyond the last. Immortality is found by being part of the cycle.

jr high daze

So, I think I officially have more zits now that when I was in junior high. And I'm still not going out with anybody. The plusses- I can drive. And live on my own. And buy whatever I want.

SO, I think I'll take it, but pimples = no fun at all.

In the last couple of weeks, being unemployed, I have turned into a myspace nerd. I know! But it's true. For those of you unfamiliar with this phenomenon, you basically go create yourself online in a profile, and can tell as little or as much about yourself as you want. Good things about this are that I have met up with a lot of buddies from college, and even high school. It has been a good, fun, cheap way to pass the time. Just like me.

eight millimeter tapes and borrowed machines

well, Fuller, looks like you'll have to be satisfied with my production notebook. I sorted through all my little Hi-8 tapes this morning, looking for the one with "The Lesson" on it to transfer to big tape, to send off to Fuller in my portfolio of creativeness.

I didn't find it.

What I did find, were a lot of memories- happy and sad now dredged up by looking through tape after tape after tape. Adam Bouse, you were there. And Sarah Stanek, and Evie, and Phil- dear Phil, and Charlie of course. I looked thinner. I gave Mike Burnett a Herb Alpert record, and the choir was singing, and Liz Makula fell out of a trash can, and I laughed, like I always do. Marcus and Nicole got married, and my beach was eternal in its sunset with its squeaking sand. Ashley, you dove in for my papers as they skittered across your pond. I spent an endless summer across the midwest, playing bass and loving people and laughing with Kati Hultman. Erin and Maria were so small, and playing with plastic cups at the Olive Garden. We were a whole family. My parents still owned a bakery, and my hair was shorter, and I made a layup. We all danced, and danced.

And danced.

Let me never forget this, how blessed I am. How much love I've had in this life. Even on cold days like today, sitting in my pajamas on the floor of my apartment and letting reality settle around me like a fog, let these simple bits of film and machine remind me of where I've been. Who I am.

Where I'm going.

goodbye party

5 emerson st. ladies
+ brian
+ me
+ a banjo
+ eggplant curry
+ 1 large glass of reisling
+ digital cameras
+ raspberry beer
+ chocolate tofu mousse pie w/ kiwi garnish
+ greco roman wrestling
+ farmer dances performed at dangerously fast speeds
+ 1 aged Ibanez guitar
+ overheating bodies
+ leftover chicken
+ made for TV lesbian movie type 2 DVD
+ clan of the cave bear card game
+ music stands
+ tripping over stephanie's huge shoes
+ new scarves
+ butter
+ inside jokes
+ nipple biting
+ capo
+ sufjan stevens
+ mix tape
+ wireless router
+ buffaloes offstage

=

one of the best nights ever, 1/22/06, on emerson st. in denver.

Hey Ya

Hello, friends.

So this morning (afternoon, actually, as I didn't get up until 12.30, thank you McDavid), I spilled some water into my crappy lappy. I was in the bathtub, blah blah, details aren't important but water went inside and I wasn't too bummed, thought maybe it'd wash out some of the chai I spilled in a couple of months ago. But then it just started inputting m's and p's until I had to log off of everything I was doing, because I couldn't get it to stop. Seriously it would be like mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
and there would be nothing I could do about it. And backspace and spacebar failed. So, then I was like, whatevs, because this thing is a piece anyway, and Beth just told me I could have her old Gateway, which though it is a dinosaur, everything on it works fine. Including the CD rom drive.

So, the joy is I left it alone for a few hours while I went around and mailed things all over the place, and now all the keys work. But it sounded like a fire alarm when I started it up, and now the sound isn't working. Which is almost more imperative to me than letters, maybe it's a tie. I love sounds.

And then I get on myspace and find this:

And apparently my friend Jason Sutton, 2 years my senior at RVHS in southern Michigan, has auditioned to be on American Idol.
You can go here to find more pictures of him, just scroll ahead a couple after that one; I think there's three total of him auditioning. And there's actually a video with him in it here. Sutton and I did choir and drama together in high school. Think Chris Farley.

So, here's heading into another exciting weekend. It's funny, when you're unemployed, they don't seem that different than the rest of the time.

moments between darkness

Hello friends. Today's saint, according to the Catholic Saints Calendar, is Saint Charles of Sezze. I don't know any more about him than that, and he lived in the 1600s and wanted to go to India. Just like me.

So being unemployed has it's perks, you know. You don't have to go to work, for one. You can pretty much do whatever you want, so long as it's cheap. And you have plenty of time to think, deep thoughts, shallow thoughts, weird thoughts, long thoughts. You can think in the can. You can think like a man. You can think while you eat. You think thinking's pretty neat.

Ahem.

So with all this free time, I've realized that already in my short life I am weary. I am weary of brokenness, I am weary of divorce and relationships that fizzle out. Sometimes, no measure of effort, even in one of the great relationships of your life, is enough. You realize it is time to move on, but you don't even want to move on to anything else, because after a while enough is enough and the energy it takes to put into people just doesn't seem to be worth it when the end result is always the same.

Not to be overly depressing, or anything. And honestly, I'm not. I feel pretty good right now, when I feel at all. Mostly I just rebuild my myspace profile over and over again, and make friends with lots of fake people. Just like me.

Magical Massage Moments

"Whoa! Look at those traps. Where the hell is my T-bar?"
-Kim, WPM class of '05, CIMT

So, I realized I've been massaging all year- I mean for real, that is why I'm in Colorado, right? *sure.*
But anyway, so I've been massaging, and not really ever said anything about it.

I really love massage. Like that's up for debate, but I mean I really do. I love having a hurting person come to me, get on my table, and get up and feel better. Or a person who is tense fall asleep. And when, for a few moments, it's just them and I, there is a beautiful interchange of spirits, of people, and it is healing and whole and holy. I feel priveleged every time somebody makes themself vulnerable and allows me to lay hands on them. In a way, this is what I feel like it is. I feel very centered when I massage, and oftentimes as I use my whole body in movements, rocking back and forth, pivoting, I feel like I am dancing. And it isn't as shallow as fun, and enjoyable doesn't do it justice either.

That being said, sometimes I almost fall asleep while I massage. Talk about weird.

Anyway, the profession is a joy to me. I only hope I don't burn out on it, like I seem to do with everything in my life. I probably will. But I wouldn't trade this year, with it's wild roller coaster ride, for anything in the world. Learning to be a healer has been one of the great experiences of my life, and I hope it is reflected in all that I do.

Until next time....

a man with a vision, a man with a dream

Martin Luther King's Acceptance Speech, on the occasion of the award of the Nobel Peace Peace Prize in Oslo, December 10, 1964

Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, Mr. President, Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen:I accept the Nobel Prize for Peace at a moment when 22 million Negroes of the United States of America are engaged in a creative battle to end the long night of racial injustice. I accept this award on behalf of a civil rights movement which is moving with determination and a majestic scorn for risk and danger to establish a reign of freedom and a rule of justice. I am mindful that only yesterday in Birmingham, Alabama, our children, crying out for brotherhood, were answered with fire hoses, snarling dogs and even death. I am mindful that only yesterday in Philadelphia, Mississippi, young people seeking to secure the right to vote were brutalized and murdered. And only yesterday more than 40 houses of worship in the State of Mississippi alone were bombed or burned because they offered a sanctuary to those who would not accept segregation. I am mindful that debilitating and grinding poverty afflicts my people and chains them to the lowest rung of the economic ladder.

Therefore, I must ask why this prize is awarded to a movement which is beleagured and committed to unrelenting struggle; to a movement which has not won the very peace and brotherhood which is the essense of the Nobel Prize.

After contemplation, I conclude that this award which I receive on behalf of that movement is a profound recognition that nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral question of our time - - the need for man to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression. Civilization and violence are antithetical concepts. Negroes of the United States, following the people of India, have demonstrated that nonviolence is not sterile passivity, but a powerful moral force which makes for social transformation. Sooner or later all the people of the world will have to discover a way to live together in peace, and thereby transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood, If this is to be achieved, man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.

The tortuous road which has led from Montgomery, Alabama, to Oslo bears witness to this truth. This is a road over which millions of Negroes are travelling to find a new sense of dignity. This same road has opened for all Americans a new era of progress and hope. It has led to a new Civil Rights Bill, and it will, I am convinced, be widened and lengthened into a super highway of justice as Negro and white men in increasing numbers create alliances to overcome their common problems.

I accept this award today with an abiding faith in America and an audacious faith in the future of mankind. I refuse to accept despair as the final response to the ambiguities of history. I refuse to accept the idea that the "isness" of man's present nature makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal "oughtness" that forever confronts him. I refuse to accept the idea that man is mere flotsom and jetsom in the river of life unable to influence the unfolding events which surround him. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality.

I refuse to accept the cynical notion that nation after nation must spiral down a militaristic stairway into the hell of thermonuclear destruction. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. I believe that even amid today's motor bursts and whining bullets, there is still hope for a brighter tomorrow. I believe that wounded justice, lying prostrate on the blood-flowing streets of our nations, can be lifted from this dust of shame to reign supreme among the children of men. I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive good will proclaimed the rule of the land. "And the lion and the lamb shall lie down together and every man shall sit under his own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid." I still believe that We Shall overcome!

This faith can give us courage to face the uncertainties of the future. It will give our tired feet new strength as we continue our forward stride toward the city of freedom. When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds and our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, we will know that we are living in the creative turmoil of a genuine civilization struggling to be born.

Today I come to Oslo as a trustee, inspired and with renewed dedication to humanity. I accept this prize on behalf of all men who love peace and brotherhood. I say I come as a trustee, for in the depths of my hear! I am aware that this prize is much more than an honor to me personally.
Every time I take a flight, I am always mindful of the many people who make a successful journey possible - the known pilots and the unknown ground crew.

So you honor the dedicated pilots of our struggle who have sat at the controls as the freedom movement soared into orbit. You honor, once again, Chief Lutuli of South Africa, whose struggles with and for his people, are still met with the most brutal expression of man's inhumanity to man. You honor the ground crew without whose labor and sacrifices the jet flights to freedom could never have left the earth. Most of these people will never make the headline and their names will not appear in Who's Who. Yet when years have rolled past and when the blazing light of truth is focused on this marvelous age in which we live - men and women will know and children will be taught that we have a finer land, a better people, a more noble civilization - because these humble children of God were willing to suffer for righteousness sake.

I think Alfred Nobel would know what I mean when I say that I accept this award in the spirit of a curator of some precious heirloom which he holds in trust for its true owners - all those to whom beauty is truth and truth beauty - and in whose eyes the beauty of genuine brotherhood and peace is more precious than diamonds or silver or gold.

curtain climbers, dying cats, bits of grace

Good grief, Egypt. Die already. My building manager's cat sits out on the landing just outside by door and moans. It's totally not a meow- she has throat/face cancer that render her unable to make normal sounds. So she always sounds like she's dying, and she probably is. I just wish she'd get it over with.

So I went to church this morning, saw more midwesterners, and heard about friendship. Thanks to all of you who have given me wounds that I can trust, and not multiplied kisses of falsehood. May I be able to repay your graciousness.

After church I went downtown, to pick up my last check from B&N and deposit it with the Wells Fargo Wagon, comin' down the street. I rode down the 16th St. Mall on the freebus to Blake, where the ATM is, and on the way back my bus got real interesting. First off, there was this kid, kinda hippie-esque with one of those knit caps with a little bill on it, sitting in the back holding a Fender acoustic guitar (moment of silence in sympathy for bad guitars). Then this kind of crazy homeless dude got on, who was loud, but ended up being totally harmless and kind of funny. At one point he talked about his nieces and nephews, who are apparently small, and grab on his legs, and he calls them curtain climbers. Well, he sat down between me and hippie Fender boy, and asked the kid to play something- which turned out to be the Beatles' "Blackbird," and the kid actually wasn't bad. Then the homeless guy asked to see his guitar, and sure enough, the kid smiled and handed it over. The homeless guy strummed a couple of times, not making any chords, and then pronounced it a good guitar, and handed it back to the kid, who laughed. Not a "I'm laughing at you" laugh, but a honest-to-goodness good natured laugh. And then we all went our separate ways, getting off at Welton, Glenarm, Tremont.

After I picked up my check, I went back into B&N, for now irrelevant reasons. On the way out, Tony, a cop who guards there on his day off, walked me out of the store. He was sad to hear I wasn't working there anymore, and I told him I was probably going to be working for them in Indianapolis, and he told me it was God working in my life. Boy, did I smile then. We stood there on the street corner- the same one my bike was stolen from 2.5 weeks ago- and talked for close to a half an hour. We talked about God, and direction, and our lives and families, and our culture, and where this is all headed. It was a beautiful piece of Sunday, a beautiful piece of life.

I know I will miss this city, but I know that in every city, there are bits of Grace. I just hope I always have the eyes to see, the ears to hear, the mind to accept and the heart to understand.

eat my face, HTML

to quote Paco Michelson, booyah #*&$^%$&*(!!!

After an hour and a half, I have created a "links" area on the left hand side of this blog, in the "sidebar" area if you prefer to use internet slang. I do. It looks a bit squished together. I don't know why, nor do I care at this point. I can create. I can mutilate. I am happy.

In other news, I went to a wedding today for Shemuel and Livi. It was amazing. I had much maté and much dancing and much sweating. It was a play. I helped dish up desserts, which resembled debris. I bought a skirt just for the occasion. I clapped. I whooped. I drew close for the minhah. My heart felt wonderful inside my chest.

welcome to wireless city. I am your mayor.

My house just had a wireless baby. My mouse just had a wireless lady.
My louse just went all wireless shady.

Seriously, Buddy called and there is wireless oozing out of our walls. Can you be alliterative with "O"? And when you eat different types of fowl, can you pluralize? When there are many chickens alive, running around, bawking, they are chickens. But once you kill them and are eating them, with your 20 member family so there is lots, is it chicken? Or chickens? Do they teach this subtlety in TOEFL? The same could be true with duck/s, geese/oose, pheasant/s, turkey/s, guinea hen/s, capon/s. Does anybody know for real?

Tonight the Emerson ladies and I (with the exception of Buddy) went to Govinda's, which is the Hare Krishnas' restaurant. Sudarshan (sp?) was there, and there was really good food, totally vegetarian of course. And we talked about Katie's stepmom, and Apple laptops, and little cream of wheat squares. Is it ok to slap forearms on the way in with Sudarshan as he calls out "Krishna"? I'm not sure. But I did, and he smiled at me, and I felt good.

I've felt good all day.

ain't it the truth

So, the news is that it isn't my bike. Now I can say that I've been to Ft. Collins, though. And the drive back, I took 287, and it was amazingly lovely, mid afternoon mountainous sun day. With wild looking mustangs roaming around in seemingly untended feilds, and suddenly I had this epiphany moment and I was a first nations people. I mean, person. And it was nice, I just wish my troops ran on air. Support my troops!

So, I'm determined to continue to be optimistic. I'm so poor and unemployed right now, it's ridiculous. But it doesn't cost me a dime to let people into congested traffic as I merge onto 36. Or smile at people. Or give peace signs randomly, because we should all give peace a chance. And then life gives me presents, like spanish ladies walking down the street, perfectly enunciating their story about their novio into their cell phones. And I get to eavesdrop, in an educational, affectionate sort of way.

And then I realize my brother is so fabulous I almost can't stand it.

Only a few more weeks in Colorado. I miss it already, but I'm going to eat it up like I mean it. I just won't miss the cops.

bike city, pancakes, the lack of a king

Dudes!

Woah!

So, I've been a total reject and have been scouring ebay for my bike in the last couple of weeks. And friends, I do believe I have found it. Some pawn shop in Ft. Collins has a bike that appears to be mine up on the auction block, and I have to say, fantastic. I have every intention of driving up there tomorrow, provided they email me back with their location, and sticking it to the man. I have to say, I'm glad about that.

Other good things include McDavid, Jocelyn and a stack of Adam's pancakes, warming me up and slowing me down. The new Rosie Thomas CD is great.

I'm thinking about selling my car. No, I'm pretty sure that if somebody offered me 4k right now for it, I'd totally take it, and run. Goodbye.

And, let's all be friends, adult friends. Not adult like we're in pornos, that wouldn't be friends at all, just creepy. Creapy. But friends who are just normal, and don't act like they're in junior high.

Other fun things include farting loudly in the coffeeshop when you think it's going to be quiet. I'm sure nobody even noticed. Eeeeyah.

I'm once again unemployed, and a little bit disjointed. But my hands don't shake like this all the time. And people want me to massage them. And if I try really hard, maybe I won't be mediocre forever.