Seattle, Kites and LSD

I keep coming back to 1994. Either I am elevating it to myth or it has been the center of gravity of the space in which I now occupy. It was only a year but so much came out of that year I am only now beginning to understand the fallout.

In revisiting my past, mostly through music, I stumbled across an article I had published in the Seattle Times on October 2, 1994. It was my first published piece. Here it is in full:

Soaring Spirits -- A Brief Lesson In Kite-Flying Offered Pure Cleansing Energy

I read the letters to the editor daily and find myself wondering where the good is in the world. But sometimes, amidst the muck and the mire of the daily grind, there bursts a ray of shimmering hope. Spending a cathartic Sunday afternoon at Magnuson Park, I sat watching in fascination as a colorful array of sport kites, poetry in motion if you've never really watched them, circled in the crystal clear blue sky above, Mount Rainier in full splendor dwarfing the background.

After following one particular kite for a while, the man controlling it so gracefully sensed my awe and said hello. I commented on his kite and before I knew it he was teaching me to fly it using his own kite, a child's excitement in his voice as he performed this completely unselfish act. The beauty lies in the bond formed with the kite and the wind. If I took my eyes off the kite for two seconds it came crashing to the ground. When my focus was on the kite, not only did it fly smoothly but all other things were washed from my mind, there was simply no room. An act as simple as flying a kite was pure cleansing energy; one could say it was spiritual.

This man also introduced me to several gentlemen from Prism, a local company that crafts these high-tech, high-quality kites. They had volunteered their time and kites to show a local church group how to fly them. To see the joy in their faces as they learned; to feel it in the enthusiasm of the man who taught me; and to feel it in the pride of the guys at Prism, their dream, a perfect union of man and nature, soaring above their heads, made me realize there is hope in the world. And it felt good.

Sometimes the big picture that so terrifies us just needs a little fine tuning. So, to Pack and the guys at Prism, a heartfelt thanks.

The funny thing about the story, the subtext if you will, was that I had just taken a hit of acid. 

I own a Prism stunt kite and have flown it a few times since then.  A friend of mine fixed me up on a blind date because she had asked her if she liked flying kites.  Tough to build a relationship on that (well, that and smoking pot).  I vaguely remember driving about an hour from my home to look at new kites.  Seemed like kite flying could have been a big thing but I live in Ohio and the kites were sold out of some guy's basement.  Guess it wasn't a big thing.  Maybe somewhere other than Ohio... 

My family thought I was bizarre when, in more recent memory, I brought it to the Outer Banks on a family vacation.  Loved the reaction from one of the guys in the beach shop when I showed him my now "vintage" kite.  There was a moment where I thought it was kinda cool.

It was a joy to fly it on the beach but for some reason it just never lived up to that brief, fleeting moment written about for all the world to see.

Today...

Sunday. Another 32 hour shift over the course of 56 hours. Yes, that is correct. But it's work that enables me to think, write, listen to music, blog, and watch movies. Cushy, eh? Doesn't pay a living wage and is a job that supplements my "real" job so it isn't so great. I'd rather have the free time but am grateful that in terms of having to supplement my income it's a good gig.

I happened to stumble across articles on two controversial figures in the Christian world, Juanita Bynum and Paula White. I run in circles where they are quite popular; in fact, Ms. Bynum was featured at a recent conference at our former church.

The troubling thing is that the "Jesus" she represents seems to have taken a back seat to her claims of being a prophetess, actress and motivational speaker.  Ditto Paula White.  I've heard Ms. Bynum speak at conferences.  The woman is a powerhouse.  But...
 
I obviously can't speak for their personal lives (and from what I can tell their lives, like all of our lives, have faced turmoil, moreso being in the public eye) but I can tell you that folks in the "outside" world, if they pay any attention at all, would not be able to distinguish them too much from other motivational speakers with a religious, even Christianized, slant.

It used to really bother me. Now I really don't care so much.

I feel this way about a lot of things that used to trouble me. Doctrine. Biblical criticism. Celebrity preachers. Prosperity preachers. Creation scientists. Christian enclaves. Megachurches. Christian-y entertainment that is just imitation of the "world" with a Christian stamp.

I'm not better than any of that. Not at all. But I've reached a place where it just isn't my focus. Perhaps it has to do with the responsibilities of life and the realization that all of these things come with the luxury of time. In other words, all of the above manifest in societies of privilege.

I suppose that many significant changes start from the "top" down so this isn't to say these are bad things. It's just important to keep them in perspective. It's a luxury to be able to sit here - at work - and write down thoughts that most people will never see.

From where I sit, listening to John Tavener's "The Protecting Veil" on a pair of Bose Quietcomfort 15 headphones while at work, contemplating, googling, researching, I am one of those privileged souls. I don't want to be ungrateful. I just need help in keeping it in perspective because sometimes it can be difficult to see outside the cocoon in which we live.

All that really matters is seeking the presence, the very realy presence, of Jesus in and through me. If the above can help me in this regard they are beneficial. But if these things become idols to which I bow, they need to go.

I am terrestrial, tasting of the things of the world, enjoying them, longing to find the divine through them. Absent are those days of soaring lyrical words, of soaring intellectual revelations, of soaring spiritual highs. However, this is not a dark night of the soul either. This is the middle ground: this is life, no future, no past, just right now.

The stickiness of "the world"

Lately, it seems, I've transferred by addiction to something seemingly less harmful than alcohol, drugs or pornography. This isn't really the case, though, because any "addiction" is merely a cover for something internal, an projection outward of desires inward. My latest addiction is my other blog.

Why the need to do it? Why the need to share what I have been, over the past decade or so, hoarding? Attention? Love? Escape? Hope for a sponsor so I can be free of the drudgery of being slave to the wage?

I suppose I seek something transcendent in it, though those moments are few. Music, in my past, had always provided an escape, transcendence even. But I haven't found this since the late 90s. I believe music is merely the universal expression from the soul of its longing toward Truth. Artists, from death metal to gospel and the gamut in between, merely represents everyone's different point along that journey. Obviously, the continuum has expanded its boundaries.

So I find music that stirs me, that "moves" me in the sense that it expresses or taps into my emotional state. But transcendence? I get this on occasion through Christian music (though, for example, so too can the recitation of the Qur'an can elicit similar response). But often a Christian song that once stirred my soul will, years later, stir nothing at all but reminisce. Perhaps it is merely a trigger, as all music is, a memory machine of where we have been.

I find that rather than the longing for that surge of a rush, those moments I most appreciate are moments of peace, stillness, calm. I have found that it is this that I find in Christian music, mostly because it stirs up in my soul what has been deposited there through the Word.

I can find stillness of another kind through secular music though this seems to be fleeting; my expectations of what music should do limits the experience. But it does happen, often in strange ways. Most recently, I have stumbled onto what has been tagged "post rock". Perhaps it hearkens back to my days of "hair metal" and the euphoria associated with such loudness but for some reason the mood created by some of these bands actually moves me, though it's certainly an emotional response more than a spiritual one.

Eluvium's epic "Zerthis Was a Shivering Human Image" carried me through a difficult state of mind not too long ago. With it's basic structure of guitar washed in distortion channeling back and forth for fifteen minutes doesn't seem like much for relaxing the mind, it would seem that the noise and my thoughts collapsed the wave function, so to speak, and I achieved a state of stillness.

But I long for that escape. I want to run (knowing of course, wherever I go I am still there...), to fly away, to wander and roam. In the end, however, I do realize that no matter the means, I still remain in the "stickiness" of the world and until I can embrace it, see through it, allow it to be resurrected, my longing to "escape" through music and give it all away, seeking connection in the comments, will be but a fleeting journey.

Unless, of course, I figure out a way to make money at it.

Spirituality and Labor...

I work in a factory. Yes, there are still some left in the United States. Actually, with all the focus on jobs not in the U.S. anymore we often forget that there are still many jobs left in manufacturing. Sadly, they generally don't pay a living wage unless it is a highly specialized skill. I am a hybrid of sorts. I was in Quality until the recession hit and I was moved back to running production presses in order to stay employed. The hands-on experience has added depth to the Quality process and provides a link between the two. Interstitial. Seems to be where I always end up. Create my own position.

Anyhow, over the past several months I have learned, perhaps surprisingly, just how many "religious" people there are in the plant. I don't mean loose reference to God or the Lord or Jesus Christ used as a cuss word. I mean people who truly have faith. This is deeply entrenched American spirituality and there is much ignorance in terms of faiths other than Christianity but these are people who have relationships with Jesus. I can think of five off the top of my head.

It is apparent, upon reflection, that their work ethics and overall attitude reflect this. It isn't the only sign of their faith but it makes their talk of faith shine more brightly. I have lately found it difficult to go to church and I'm not sure why. While the word preached satisfies a hunger and I enjoy fellowship with people, for some reason the rest of it feels like a social event. Not a bad thing, I suppose, but I tend so often to be "private" about my faith. I prefer to walk the walk and am prepared to discuss it should anyone wonder.

My goal is to be a light, to speak life and be encouraging to those I work with because in that environment it can be very hard to find. But I see what an effect it has from the top down. Two in upper management are people of faith and it is apparent in the way they address people as people and focus all aspects on the human element.

So the "high" spirituality I am so accustomed to has been replaced, if you will, with a more "earthy" variety. With an addictive personality there is a longing for the high that often accompanies spiritual pursuit. But how much of that is created, a form of self-medication and, perhaps, self delusion?

There is something deeply spiritual about work, about working with the hands. I am more at home on the factory floor than I've ever been in an office. I can do the office and I currently have one on the factory floor, the "fishbowl" it's called. It's something about the activity, the interaction of the people, the physical medium of the equipment building, breaking, being repaired, all with human hands, the creative process unfolding.

I do wonder, however, why it is that lately everyone of faith I know is so focused on the end times whenever matters of faith arise in discussion. Is that the default category, the common denominator among Christians?

Pathetic...

Eeyore, the old grey Donkey, stood by the side of the stream, and looked at himself in the water.

"Pathetic," he said. "That's what it is. Pathetic."

He turned and walked slowly down the stream for twenty yards, splashed across it, and walked slowly back on the other side. Then he looked at himself in the water again.

"As I thought," he said. "No better from this side. But nobody minds. Nobody cares. Pathetic, that's what it is."

Spiritual burnout?

I am working on becoming human. I bought a grill. That may not sound like a big deal. But I never "got" the grilling thing. It always seemed so suburban. So we bought a basic charcoal grill. I get it now.

And there's nothing "spiritual" about it. I suppose I could find something there. But there are times when spirituality can seem so high, so uppity, so otherworldly and elitist that it leads to a disconnect on the human plane. This isn't the "in the world but not of the world" variety of disconnect as in that statement there is a definite engagement with the world around.

I'm talking about the spirituality, more, I suppose of the mental or intellectual variety, that leads, if not to an air of superiority, to fatigue, distress, loneliness. If one isn't careful, such a spirituality can be dangerous, a religion of one.

So in grilling, I've joined the human race.

Nobody cares...

In 1995, I made my way to my brother's wedding in Indiana. At this time, I was quite the pothead. I believe this was the last time I shaved my goatee for public approval. I kept the hair short and removed the facial hair and tried to remain fairly well kempt in an effort to not look like a typical pothead.

It was a difficult wedding. I had just returned home from Seattle and was slacking. Big time. I may have been cleaning carpets at the time. Quite the fall from grace in the eyes of the fam, having been professionally successful prior to my walkabout. I was now living in a warehouse in downtown Youngstown, dating a woman of a different race and basically reaking havoc among the traditional values of my family. In essence, I was still in rebellion mode though I knew not from what at that time.

Many of the details are fuzzy (drugs do have consequences...). I believe I drove up with one of my best friends from high school but can't remember why she was in Ohio as she lived in Chicago. Gotta get some details on that from her. I know she was at the wedding and I know I drove her from Indiana back to her home in Chicago and drove all the way back to Ohio in a whirlwind the same night in order to be at work the next morning. But that came later...

At the wedding, I ended up pretending to be ok. I wanted desperately to be with the woman I was dating but felt intense pressure to not be with her. In the end, it was my insecurities that created the negativity toward our relationship. It was not necessarily prejudice on the part of my family; they hardly knew her. No, the problem was my insecurity and need for acceptance and approval, that freedom I sought still lacking.

So I faked it the whole weekend and ended up smoking pot every chance I could. I pretended to have fun and to all those who say me it appeared as if I was having fun. Maybe I was but deep down inside I was a mess. One night at the hotel, it was late and a few of us were sitting around talking and I was rambling on about something and my friend looked at me and said: "Nobody cares."

It could've hurt; I could've been offended. But the sad truth is that she was right.

To this day, the phrase 'nobody cares' has become something of a joke capturing the essence of just how fleeting are the thoughts and cares to which we cling. It isn't that we are not cared about, as such, but that those things with which we preoccupy ourselves simply are not that important.

It was one of the funniest thing I had ever heard and to this day it is still funny when we talk about it.

The Shack

It's popular. Way popular. So of course the critics come out. Yes, it's about the Trinity. Yes, it's 'pop' theology. There is a reason that scholarly tomes on theology do not become best sellers. And, yes, if you remove some of the explicit "Christian" terminology the theology might seem a bit more inclusive than the exclusivity, the membership club, to which Christians are so accustomed.

This is the work of a person who has suffered, who has been damaged in the deepest parts of his being, and has been healed. It's a story of the healing process, by someone has been there. Read his personal story before judging him.

For anyone who has suffered in some form or other, the book will resonate. Whether or not it will lead to healing, I can't say as it merely acted as a reminder of the healing that has been occurring in my life. There are many moments where he expressed quite well what has been going on internally and it is an inspirational reminder to return to the Source rather than try and take matters into our own hands. I believe this, not the theology, is the reason for the book's success.

The book is a work of fiction; it is not a work of theology. It's a story, and a simple one at that. It's certainly not going to win any prizes for it's literary qualities (grown men responding to profound truths with 'Whoa!' and 'Oh boy, oh boy'?) but it is deeply affecting. For people not so theologically inclined, some of the "theology" talk (which is a large portion of much of the book) might be a bit tough to muddle through. But it certainly has people, ordinary people, non-theologians, talking about the Trinity and the nature of God and love and relationships, grace and mercy. Not a bad thing at all.

The problem isn't the book. Or people flocking to it. Or Christians thinking they now understand the Trinity.

No, the problem is what the Church has become. In an effort to be all things to all people, the Church has been cast adrift, irrelevant even, just another cog in the cultural wheel. The deeper things of the faith have been laid aside and have therefore ceased to take root in the lives of believers. What has taken it's place is church as social center, an "alternative" to the culture at large (read: it is basically the mainstream culture with a Christian stamp).

Deeper yet, the problem is that the Trinity is complex and has been all but ignored in many churches. Sure it's difficult. Why is that so shocking? But it's not impossible. Just hard. Challenging work. The Trinity is a hedge, a boundary to keep us from straying. And within it lies the beauty and the power of the doctrine of the Church, 'doctrine' a word which causes repulsion in the church of today. At best, the foundation of the Church's creed is given lip service. It seems to contradict the simplicity of the gospel of which Paul speaks and the light burden Jesus mentions.

I also believe this book is the author's response to his own struggle with this very same question. It isn't a book that says "This is the way it is" but "This is what I've found."

But don't criticize this book. Don't criticize the readers.

Fix the problem.

The problem is us:



Educate.

Live the gospel.

And feed His sheep.

Obviously there is a hunger both in and out of the church and this book satisfies that need. Until the Church can satisfy that need, books like these will continue to proliferate and hungry people will seek them to curb their hunger.

I recommend it. I just hope they don't make a movie out of it.

1994 Into The Wild

Y'know how we often talk about getting out, going, just being free?

It's a regular conversation in small towns, suburban towns, where culture is, well, isn't. I vowed to get out. I didn't know what that meant. All I knew was the small town thing, the high school clique thing, the pursuit of the traditional career path thing wasn't my thing.

Never did prom. Did two Sadie's Hawkins dance (what the hell is that anyhow?) and one homecoming dance. It was pretty stupid. I suppose being drunk or stealing street signs instead of participating in anything else in high school wasn't very bright either.

All I knew was I hated it. It seemed stupid, pointless, stale, cliche. So I couldn't wait to leave. By the time I was 25 I had a fat bank account, was a recovering alcoholic (though was in reality simply trading alcohol for the mellower haze of being a pothead) and was running headlong into madness. Ah, the good ol' days.

So I left. I had a semi-plan, a list of friends to visit in a circuit throughout the southern route to the West. I really did have a good time. The freedom was intoxicating, invigorating. What I remember - and had difficulty handling - was the total and complete freedom to make my own choices. Driven by the demons of abuse, addiction and obligation, this freedom was a struggle. I felt as if I had to get somewhere, do something, gain approval from someone. In other words, I wasn't free.

But I left. I cut the ties. I quit the job and left. The photo above shows some of the remnants. One of the best moves was becoming a member of Hosteling International. To stay in the heart of San Francisco for under $20. In the red light district of San Fransisco, anyhow. Maybe I do have a prostitute story. Sort of...

I had met a guy (can't remember his name...we were sick of each other by this time anyhow...) in a Hostel in Portland, Oregon and he needed a ride to San Fransisco. I was headed south anyhow...camped out overnight in the dunes on the coast of Oregon...couldn't find weed in Acadia, California and ended up sleeping on the side of the road somewhere...got to drive the entire stretch of Highway 101 along the coast...convenient company I suppose...but no pictures.

So out the door of the Hostel is, quite literally, hooker alley. I had never seen so many prostitutes congregated in one place with car after car driving up, girl getting in, car driving off. And these girls were stunning...in a done up, plastic kind of way. These were not the crack cocaine kind I was familiar with in Youngstown. So we sat out on the street for hours, just watching. It was at once fascinating and sad, on so many levels. No conversation with the prostitutes, just observations. Not much of a story, but...

So the photo above is what's left of my journey. A couple of receipts and the Stamp Book from Hosteling International (with several other hostel destinations stamped inside, all of which are no longer in existence) and my journal.

The journal is a weird thing and says a lot. There is very little personal information, very little details on what I was doing. It is mostly musing, bad poetry and the ramblings of someone who is smoking way too much dope. There are little snippets here and again which are intriguing but they require more analysis. But there is much detachment, very little personal detail.

I do have Gilligan and The Professor's autographs, though. What a weird thing that was. At some beach festival on Pike Street where I worked there was a bunch of sand and Gilligan and The Professor sitting there signing autographs. It was a truly sad thing, these two old guys living off of a show thirty years in syndication, Bob Denver telling the promoter he was hungry and wanted something to eat. Just plain bizarre. Even then I sought irony...

...which explains the L.A. Coroner's receipt for two t-shirts. They were selling souvenirs. I met the woman who had started it up and she had informed me that it started as something of a fund raiser and it took off. They had mugs, towels, t-shirts and an assortment of stuff that people could buy.

I did find the impressions of my first, and only, Dead show in the journal and my first, though not last, time on acid. But that's another story...

Christopher McCandless and the bus...

In 1994, I was roaming the West, bogged down with way too much stuff and too much existential baggage. A friend of my father's, who was living in Seattle, had some property outside of Flathead Lake in Montana. He offered up his place prior to my visit to Seattle where I would stay with him for a few days. It's hard going back, so much has been forgotten in the haze of fifteen years gone by.

A pivotal period of time in my life yet so little has been recorded. It is a mystery I have yet to penetrate. Like Chris McCandless I so wanted freedom and space yet at the same time was desperately seeking love, not so much of others, though that was present, but love of self and, ultimately, peace with God, though at the time a notion of a 'personal' God was the God of wrath, punishing me for every sin. I sought freedom from the burden of God as well.

Pictures will follow (when I find them) but the 'home' on the property, of which a foundation had been built, was a school bus. Yep. A school bus. Cliche, perhaps. The property around the bus was littered with (bad) sculptures that looked like either a bunch of hippies on too much of something had built them, scratching their heads in the morning at what had been created, or the kind of things you would find at the home of a serial killer. Freaky either way.

I would stay there for three days. I rode my bike into town (not sure which town it was...Elmo I believe), sat by the lake during sunset (although I may be imagining this based off of a picture I've seen), and basically hung out. No earth shattering revelations came, nothing profound. I do remember the utter darkness and silence inside the bus.

I would venture that Chris had had his fill at some point. Being still, settling in one place, was difficult, especially when not in a state of constant motion "doing" something, anything.

God...

The challenge of 'God' is that the human mind seeks definition.

Defining, by its very nature, is limiting.

So when we come to 'God' with our own definitions in tow we limit God.

We do not limit God in essence but we limit our perception of whatever or whoever God is.

Breakfast

Red Bull is all hype.



More caffeine than a Starbucks venti coffee.

Pray for me.

The missing link...

Springtime in Ohio.

The original sanctuary.



The original congregation.

Obama and the Muslim world

Good for Obama. He is actually doing what he said he'd do. It's gonna ruffle the feathers of some "patriots" in the U.S. For years the policy has been no dialogue. Our way is the best (i.e. only) way and any dialogue hinges upon accepting this fact. Don't like it, we'll drop bombs on you.

Most Americans oppose closing Guantanamo Bay. Guess most Americans haven't seen Taxi to the Dark Side yet.

Sure, we must fight terrorists. But is being a terrorist going to stop terrorism?

And what is the fear of bringing them here? That their buddies will target the U.S.? Or is it that we know our justice system is broken and a fair trial may release them within the U.S.? That they may actually live here, pissed off and jaded by the breach of justice committed upon them?

How many of them might become terrorists because of what has happened to them in the name of "justice" American style?

Didn't Jesus say that he who lives by the sword dies by the sword?

Didn't Jesus also say that blessed are the peacemakers? Can use of war be considered a method of peace? Can we really spin that verse?

Kudos to Obama for trying something different.

Rage...

...has returned and I'm not quite sure why.

Am I not praying enough? Has the Spirit been displaced by my ego? Is it simply one of those times of being alone in the desert? Or is it a continuing failure to choose my destiny, succumbing instead to doing what's expected or seeking the approval, acceptance or appreciation of others?

All of these are self-centered. Yet if the center is misaligned, so too is everything else.

Yet I can't seem to snap out of it. There's obviously a payoff in holding on to the rage but there is also a frustration at the inability to express it properly and it comes out inappropriately. There is a tendency to slip into and "I don't want to deal with it" mode and instead bury myself in books, music or movies all of which don't hold my attention and, at best, neutralize any feeling at all.

Perhaps, if I follow the pattern in this blog over the past few weeks, I can see the trajectory that has landed me here.

I long for escape, for freedom, for the open road, for the simple life, unencumbered by all the burdens my choices have heaped upon me, all the "stuff" of life which I long to shed. I may be living in the delusion that I would truly be free if I had less stuff but the reality is I need to be free from the stuff while I have it.

I am clinging to externals for reassurance, looking for comfort instead of peace, seeking the things of this world rather than things that are eternal.

And maybe in that is my answer...

Because, after all, it isn't about me, is it?

The Illuminati, Mind Control and Rock Music

Interesting website...

I Sold My Soul to Rock and Roll

Not sure how I stumbled across it but after reading these conspiracy theories for awhile it's easy to see how someone can start to believe it.

Somehow I ended up looking into Laurel Canyon and the birth of the hippie generation and stumbled across David McGowan's website.

He has a series (currently on Part XIV) on Laurel Canyon that is fascinating. Considering that his page also has various "alternative" theories about most everything, I'm not sure what to think. But the Laurel Canyon stuff is fascinating. The connections he makes are pretty stunning.

As for the offshoot into The Illuminati, how many of you know about Hip Hop and the Freemasonry Agenda? Who would've guessed?

Into the Wild Christopher McCandless

In 1992, my addictions and subsequent wanderlust were beginning to manifest. Big time. I was making good money at a job I swore I'd never do and was living on the cheap and socking the excess money away (what was left after drinking anyhow...). It was during this time I began journeying West frequently. I'd been to Colorado in high school to ski with the family so had a taste of it and was drawn to the idea of space. Lots of it.

A drive from Ohio to Bozeman, Montana; a one-week tour of the four corners in a rented convertible Mustang; a job interview in Brooking, South Dakota. The itch was there.

The photo above shows actual copies of two Times articles where I first learned of his story. I've laminated them in order to preserve them. The first article appeared on September 12, 1992.

The header of Chapter 10, page 98, in Jon Krakaeur's Into The Wild contains the text of the column (if you click on the photo above you can read both articles). I remember the day it hit. It took hold of my soul and never let go.

A week later, the second article, the one above with the photo, appeared.

I have a day planner from 1992 (I was selling cell phones then...remember the bag phones?). On September 18 I have "Vacation" written (with a big arrow pointing through to September 27th).

On September 19th his body was identified.

This was my trip with girlfriend in tow driving to a bed and breakfast in Bozeman, Montana. Even then distance was a magnet. We went through South Dakota, visiting some roadside museum tribute showing where Dances With Wolves was filmed (another serendipitous moment), yes, Wall Drug, the Black Hills and making our way to Bozeman. I think it was this trip where I really became hooked on the open space via automobile.

Somewhere along this path I picked up the Sunday Times (probably outside of Chicago where we were staying with friends on the way) which contained the article on the identification of his body. That photo, which I've never seen anywhere else, is the image I have and will always have of Christopher McCandless.

I picked up a copy of the Argus Leader in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where we had stayed for a night that week, and found an article about Wayne Westerberg's assistance in identifying the body. Carthage, where Christoper spent time, was just north of the Interstate on which we were traveling to Montana. I was traveling along the same terrain, unknowingly, following in his footsteps as I would do Robert Pirsig's several years later. Below is the original copy of the South Dakota paper, preserved and guarded for seventeen years. The story resonated deep.

Snippets from his diary were published in the Times and then the details soon followed. It was gripping. Horrifying. But I was captivated. Immediately. He went where I was longing to go. For years his story would haunt me. In my travels, he acted as cautionary tale. But he was not a hero. There was no glorifying his tale. He simply lived out where I was headed.

He was, quite simply, me. I think on some level he is a mirror for many who have dreams of going, getting out, wandering into the wild. What I was dabbling in, he acted out in full force. I understand where he was coming from; I understand the drive; I understand the longing for alone and for solitude and for Truth. We all struggle with this, some more overtly than others.

It was to my shock when Jon Krakauer's book was first published. And an even greater shock when the movie came out. Here was a private muse of mine, now made public, myth, legend. For those who know or knew me, to read the book was to read my story. No one could really figure out what it was that was driving me, why I couldn't find peace, why the longing to run, or numb myself. While the questions are never really answers in the case of Christopher McCandless, I, from what I have come to know, get it.

Both he and I graduated from high school and college in the same years. Like him, I too was, and still am, content to drive old cars with high miles. Like him, I too was becoming more and more disgusted with materialism and the "American" dream. I wanted out. As with him, it is perhaps ironic as both of us, though perhaps emotionally lacking, were, for all intensive purposes, well provided for materially. In other words, one might argue, we were both spoiled. Obviously we learned that the answers to life's bigger questions were not to be found in the world of 'stuff' but at least we had the 'stuff' we needed to survive.

It took me years before I was able to read the book and months to muster up the courage to watch the movie. There was something private about his story and I was afraid to relive this period of my life. I wasn't ready to heal as this part of my life had become, in my mind, quite mythical. The reality I wasn't ready to face was that I was just scared, emotionally scarred, a boyish man who wanted to hide from the fear.

Though there were genuine and sincere longings for truth, I don't know that I was running to anything as much as I was being driven by something, running from something.

By the time I left home in 1994, I had a much larger cushion than the one he had. I had a pretty sizeable savings account, a car and, as I would later learn (one of the best lessons I learned being on the road for almost a year), way too much stuff.

I have a soft spot for Christopher McCandless. Without being too sentimental, I can honestly say he may have saved my life. I was the typical suburban dreamer, longing of living in the mountains, or moving to Tibet, being free and on the road. As Christopher McCandless learned, too late, it is hard. And, in the end, what really matters is not being self-sufficient but being interdependent upon others.

For my year on the road I took four rolls of film. That's it. Of all the people I met, I am not in touch with any of them. This is perhaps one of the saddest reminisces of all. I met some amazing people, brilliant, beautiful, adventurous, yet made no connection with any of them. I got close to a few people but couldn't handle it and left. Longing for identity, I ran with a diverse crowd and experienced things I would never have otherwise experienced. But, in the end, all these experiences were mine. They were not shared with anyone.

The road of relationship is much more difficult, and rewarding, than that of the loner which, in the end, is a death sentence. We all die alone, certainly, but what matters is what we have deposited in those who remain when we die.

Christopher McCandless' story is bittersweet. Had he lived, it is likely no book would have been made about him as many have adventured much in the same way he did. It was his horrifying death, capturing a fear many - especially many a traveler - hold, that of dying alone, starving, in the middle of nowhere.

The book is a great read (though it is as much about the author as it is about McCandless) and the movie is stunning. I cried several times during the film, something quite rare, though it had more to do with my process of healing, film as mirror, than it did a concern for the character in the film. It comes highly recommended.

My only concern is that it tends to idolize him and his adventure. After all, he basically abandoned his family. It seems he realized this too late. And, as some have posited, perhaps he was more than just a little bit crazy, his disconnect and need for isolation signs of those who have mental illness.

As an aside note, the song "Big Hard Sun" performed by Eddie Vedder is a remake of an original by Indio whose CD containing the song is was out of print. It was karmic. I heard this song once on some independent channel in my hometown and was mesmerized and bought the CD new back then. 

I still have it (love Vedder but the original is much better than the remake...). Here it is twenty years later and it's come full circle.

Here's the original from Indio's Big Harvest album:

As if these connections are not enough, L. Subramaniam play violin on this track. For those who aren't familiar with his work, his track 'Wandering Saint' appears on the Baraka soundtrack which, for those who may be interested, has a strong significance in my life as well.

I have always been led by signs, between points in time that confirm that I am where I am supposed to be. When these signs come I know that what has happened between those two points in time is complete and I can lay it behind me and move on. There have been several of them in my life, confirmations that speak "my" language and are too serendipitous to ignore. This was one of them.

Though I don't consider him to be a saint or hero, Christopher McCandless' life, though tragic in the end, was not in vain.

The Qur'an Sampled

Having been interested in, studied and been captivated by Islam for many years, I have noticed over the years that recitations of the Qur'an can be found in the least expected places within popular entertainment media. Though these are only a few examples, I'm sure there are more.

I remember hearing "Allahu Akbar" on Danny Tenaglia's Back to Mine mix and was astounded. Not only is the recitation itself powerful but the way it was sampled to the beat made it, dare I say, kind of funky.



As I continue to search out new music, I stumbled across My Life in the Bush of Ghosts by Brian Eno and David Brynes, a rather remarkable album in its own right, containing various samples interlaced throughout. One song, in particular, is called "The Qur'an". It met with protest upon its original release and was removed from future releases of the album. Religion holds a fascination even amongst those who view it from the lens of historical or cultural interest alone. But it is difficult to deny the power therein.



This is an example as found in the film Powaqqatsi, part of the 'Qatsi trilogy by Godfrey Reggio and Philip Glass, films that are required viewing.



Perhaps one of these days I'll get around to unveiling samples from Christian preachers laced throughout similar music (as found on the song "Jezebel Spirit" on Bush of Ghosts).

Cinema as Scripture

Have you ever been in a situation or in a conversation with someone and can't quite find words to express what you feel or mean and are reminded from a scene from a movie that nails the scenario? That is what Scripture does for People of the Book. It is foundational, a continual frame of reference. The setting may not be "up to date" but the settings are, to a very large degree, timeless. As such they serve as perpetual reference points.

For those who don't relate to Scripture in this fashion, film, or books, or music, often serve this very purpose. They are, in effect, Scripture, a common language. For those who follow, for example, the Bible, there are times when a story from the Bible can be shared amongst a group from many different backgrounds and yet that story speaks a common language among them all. It is the "base" language.

A movie can provide the same, though perhaps to a narrower audience. But to that audience, it is a common language. There are feelings and emotions and ideas tied up in a movie that can be conveyed just be telling a story from the film.

At my job I had a position in "the office" which meant I had moved "up" from working on the floor. I don't care so much about position and title; I care about learning and experience. So it was an opportunity for growth. When the economy shifted, I was moved back "down" to the floor running presses again. I don't mind the work but it's hard to go backwards. But, as with all things, I looked at it as an opportunity to learn, to see how all the theories and ideas from "up" in the office actually worked "down" on the floor. It has been an eye opener, revealing the occasional dichotomy between ideal and reality.

But, there are days, long days, when it seems like eternity, like a door has been closed for good and fate is sealed. One of the jobs I was put on was running a drill press to ream a larger hole in a part (which ends up on a Harley...kind of cool, I suppose, that one of our parts ends up on such a high profile location). Part after part after part. Put part in fixture, pull down drill bit, bore hole, raise bit, put part in fixture, etc. After several hours of that, well, you get the picture...

So I was reminded of a particular "scripture" from the film Drugstore Cowboy when the character played by Matt Dillon, now in recovery, is working. His prospects, post-recovery, are slim and, after the thrill ride of addiction, he finds himself working a drill press.



Cinema as Scripture?

Or by making such a comparison do we render The Book just another form of human expression of common experience, not a revelation or opening up of the divine but merely an expression from within our shared humanity? Perhaps "film" bears similarity to the way in which we experience The Book in a faith community. After all, look at Star Wars and Star Trek conventions. People live the mythology of these films and frame a particular worldview around it.

Or is it a shortcut to communication? I mean, Animal House as Scripture?



Think about it. Haven't we all felt like this at some point? Trying to fit in, a social outcast, shoved aside because you don't have the pedigree?

Perhaps it is a substitute Scripture but it can function in a similar fashion, a frame of reference, a story which provides inspiration, strength and hope within which we can function in the world.

Time, Precious Time...

It is Memorial Day weekend and I do not work either job today. We have been working five ten-hour days at job one with the occasional Saturday as well. Add to that working midnights Friday and Saturday at job two and I log lots of hours on the clock, 74 hours last week for example. Believe me, I am grateful to be employed.

But half of my life that week was work. Factor in six to seven hours of sleep, an hour and a half a day of drive time and, for the week, about twenty hours of "free" time were left to eat and relax and do other things people living in suburbia do...

So no work this weekend. Eight hours of sleep. Time to relax and eat, do some personal errands, meet a friend for lunch and actually enjoy and appreciate a cup of coffee. With perfect Ohio weather today is a day to appreciate.

Time is a gift. And for the moment, each moment today, I am grateful. Grateful that we have food on the table, a roof over our heads, family in good health and freedom to think. Yes, today is a good day. Every day is a good day but it is crystal clear today.

Don't get me wrong, I learn to make the most of any situation. But there are some days, necessary days, when the realization of the gift of time is like breath in the lungs.

Lose the Illusion - Almost Famous and Marvin Gaye

The film Almost Famous, one of the best rock and roll films ever made, has two versions, the theatrical release and the "Bootleg Cut". I've never seen the original release as I bought the "Bootleg" version of the DVD when it was released.

There is a scene early in the film when William, eyes glazed at having been allowed back stage and hanging out with rock stars, is tagging along with Russell, guitar player for the pseudo-band Stillwater (there was a real Stillwater though the band in the film is based on the Allman Brothers band, a shout out given to Greg and Dickie given in the same scene). Russell is trying to explain rock and roll to William and mentions a song from Marvin Gaye's essential album What's Going On.

Here's the scene:



When I first saw this scene, which was not in the theatrical release, I thought it nailed the essence of music. However, some time later I would get the Deluxe Edition of the album on CD which contained the original Detroit Mix. The main vocal track and the harmony track on this mix, both done by Marvin Gaye, are in separate channels (i.e. left and right speakers). On the final mix, done in L.A., Motown having made the move to California, these two separate tracks are mixed together and layered. It is quite a stunning effect.

I have grown fond of the Detroit Mix; it sounds much more raw and unpolished and many subtleties of the production behind the album leap out. What becomes also more clear is the fact that this album makes use of samples that are looped throughout the album. The talking heard in the intro to "What's Going On" are repeated throughout the album giving it continuity along with the tracks flowing one into another in seamless fashion.

In fact, the 'Woo!' that Russell mentions in the film is one such sample. It is not a mistake; it is not the only one. Even in 1971 sampling and looping were on the ascendant (in fact Miles Davis' Bitches Brew is an example of such looping though imagine the time it took to do this as it was actual tapes that were spliced and looped, a remarkable and controversial feat).

Here's the 'woo' in question in "What's Happening Brother":



Here is the same sample, first heard one track earlier on "What's Going On":



If you listen to the album (and these two tracks) repeatedly you will clearly hear the 'everything is everything' and 'hey man what's your name' and the 'woo' in question over and over. Listen a little longer and you'll hear the separate vocal tracks.

Perhaps it's ironic that the scene actually nailed the essence of the music industry, not in the actual 'woo' but in the imitation thereof, a creation of an illusion, of a dream, of what we think it should be.

The Last Temptation of Christ - Matthew and the Gospel

In another scene in the book (not shown in the film, at least not that I recall...), Kazantzakis lays out a possibility as to the composition of the Gospel. Jesus has not yet gone to the cross.

"Matthew kept his quill ready and his eyes and ears open. He did not allow even a single word to fall to the ground, but collected everything and placed it on paper. And thus little by little, day by day, the Gospel - the Good News - was copmosed....

Mathew knew the Scriptures by heart. He noticed how the teacher's sayings and deeds were exactly the same as the prophets, centuries earlier had proclaimed; and if once in a while the prophecies and Jesus' life did not quite match, it was because the mind of man was not eager to undersatnd the hidden meaning of the sacred text.

The word of God had seven levels of meaning, and Matthew struggled to find at which level the incompatible elements could find their mates. Even if he occasionally matched things by force, God forgives! Not only would he forgive, he desired this. Every time Matthew took up his quill, did not an angel come and bend over his ear to intone what he was to write?

Today was the first time Matthew clearly understood wehre to start and how the life and times of Jesus had to be taken in hand. First of all, where he was born and who is parents and grandparents were, for fourteen generations. He was born in Nazareth to poor parents - to Joseph the carpenter and Mary, daughter of Joachim and Anne...Matthew took up his quill and called silently upon God to enlighten his mind and give him strength.

But as he began to inscribe the first words on the paper in a beautiful hand, his finger stiffened. The angel had seized him. He heard wings beat angrily in the air and a voice trumpeted in his ear, "Not the son of Joseph! What says the prophet Isaiah: 'Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son'...Write: Mary was a virgin..."

More Scriptures are applied to Jesus' life.

"But Matthew grew angry. He turned toward the invisible wings at his right and growled softly, so that the sleeping disciples would not hear him: "It's not true. I don't want to write, and I won't!"

"Mocking laughter was heard in the air, and a voice: "How can you understand what truth is, you handful of dust? Truth has seven levels. On the highest is enthroned the truth of God, which bears not the slightest resemblance to the truth of men. It is the truth, Matthew Evangelist, that I entone in your ear..."

"The sweat gushed from Matthew's forehead. "I won't write! I won't write!" he cried, but his hand was running over the page, writing." (pp. 348-50)

Kazantzakis is not afraid of tackling Biblical criticism head on. It is obvious that he is familiar with it and, for those who have tackled the subject and the challenge to one's faith, this is a pivotal moment in the book. I remember reading it for the first time and nearly jumping with excitement when I had encountered this. Here is a book of devotion, of conviction, and yet here, in plain detail is a counter to the claims of those who dismiss the veracity of the Gospel accounts, an alternative, even "third" view, to consider.

A little further on in the book, Jesus asks to see what Matthew has written about him. The following dialogue takes place:

"Matthew," said Jesus, "bring your notebook here. What do you write?"

Matthew got up and handed Jesus his writings. He was very happy.

"Rabbi," he said, "here I recount your life and works, for men of the future."

Jesus knelt under a lamp and began to read....Jesus skimmed through the notebook and then, unable to control himself any longer, stood up straight and indignantly threw Matthew's Gospel down on the ground.

"What is this?" he screamed. "Lies! Lies! Lies! The Messiah doesn't need miracles. he is the miracle - no other is necessary!"

No wonder the book (and the film) caused such an uproar.

I haven't read the book in a while and am enjoying revisiting it. It really helped alleviate many of the struggles I had after first encountering Biblical criticism as I realized I was not alone in the struggles. I began to realize just how much religious faith differs from the faith men put in the reductionist worldview of our scientific age.

Fundamental reading for those who seek to foster growth in their conviction of the Christian faith. It may seem like a paradox but I have found that works such as these can be more advantageous than works that simply confirm what is already known or believed.

The Last Temptation of Christ - Jesus and Paul

If you've never seen the movie or read the book, this is perhaps one of the pivotal scenes in the movie. The whole shock over Jesus having sex is silly. This book is profound (and the movie does a good job at conveying the main message of the book though the book has juicy tidbits a film just can't convey).

Jesus, having been nailed to cross, is now approached by an old man in the form of an angel. The following dialogue takes place.

ANGEL

Your father is the God of Mercy, not punishment. He saw you and said, 'Aren't you his Guardian Angel? Well, go down and save him. He's suffered enough.' Remember when he told Abraham to sacrifice his son? Just as Abraham lifted his knife, God saved Isaac. If he saved Abraham's son, don't you think he'd want to save his own? He tested you, and he's pleased. He doesn't want your blood. He said, "Let him die in a dream. But let him have his life." Come with me.

JESUS

All this pain is a dream?

ANGEL

Just a dream.

Jesus is thus shown as alive having survived being crucified.

Years later in the film, wife and children in tow, he is seen living a normal life like the rest of humanity. In what is perhaps the pivotal scene in the film, Jesus (played by Wilem Dafoe...yea, I know...) encounters Paul (played by Harry Dean Stanton...yea, I know...) preaching. Jesus is horrified at the things he is saying. After a sharp exchange, Paul says the following:

Y'know, I'm glad I met you. My Jesus is much more important and much more powerful.

If you've not seen the film or read the book the dream is not the dream we think. It is vital to understand the context in which Paul's words are written. Without this context, Paul sounds exactly like those who believe he invented the whole thing. But, when understood having grasped the meaning of the title of the book/film, Paul's words are not so earth shattering. In fact, in light of the film's ending, Paul's words are put into proper context and light is shed on them.

Here is the clip from the film:

If we wish to consider the alternative view, that Jesus survived and married and had children, or that Paul invented the faith, this is a powerful medium through which to do it. In the book, there is greater, more nuanced, deatil. The end result of such a view is given clarity and is well worth pondering.

The book was written as "the confession of every man who struggles" (from the Prologue). I don't know the film well enough to review whether or not Scorcese brought this out in the film or gave it his own spin but it is not a blasphemous book. In fact, it is well worth reading for the challenge, for the believer to face with complete and total honesty the doubts and questions we all harbor within.

Before and after events...

We all have those moments where we measure time as before and after an event. Some are more significant than others. I'm not really talking about such things as having children, losing your virginity or even getting your driver's license.

No, I'm talking about things like dropping acid for the first time, the first time you heard music that ripped your soul out or various religious or spiritual experiences, perhaps being baptized or taking the shahada, those moments that changed the way you viewed the world.

I was fortunate enough to have one of those moments today, this one of a religious nature. Often they come in the strangest of ways and places. I haven't been doing anything overly "spiritual" as of late though I do believe in the Zen-like idea of being present as a form of spirituality, something I've always struggled with actually doing.

I have, however, been intensely focused on several daily facts of life: budgeting, doing the dishes and work, primarily the latter, the other two primarily focusing or grounding rituals. I currently work in a labor job, not exactly where I thought I'd be at 40 years old. However, the diversity of experience of my career path and, especially, the diversity of duties at my current occupation in a stamping and tool and die facility keeps it from being truly monotonous. And I'm grateful to be employed.

After a 25% wage cut several months ago, being taken from salary to hourly, the pendulum has swung and I've been reaping the benefits of an hourly wage as we've been working 10-hour days, five and six days a week for the past few weeks. Add to that an extra 16 to 24 hours at job two on the weekend, my weekly log has been ranging from 56 to 80 hours at work per week.

Between working, sleeping and eating there isn't time for too much else. It would seem that the most "spiritual" thing I do all week is an hour and a half at church once a week. However, as with most things, it is our attitude that determines what comes of a situation.

Recently, I've been running a laser cutter to make special parts for a project slated to start in the next few weeks. It takes upwards of three minutes per part to cut so after prepping I have roughly two minutes of dead time. I could sit and stare or watch the cutting or do nothing. As I learned a long time ago, always have reading material at your disposal. I often choose the longest line at the grocery store and pick up a magazine to read. Very Zen.

So I have on hand Henry Corbin's The Man of Light in Iranian Sufism. Seriously. I've been on a Henry Corbin kick lately; well, not lately, as I've immersed myself in his works more and more over the years. This isn't your mother's comparative religious studies. When you read his stuff you will really see how religious ideas are transmitted through history. His writing is dense and packs a whallop, ideas and concepts and terms coming at you at rapid speed, the kind of writing where one chapter can take you days to digest. The work is hard and requires effort but when that 'aha!' moment comes it borders on ecstasy.

Ecstasy. At work. So in between parts I'm reading this book and, having begun to make sense of his works after reading Cyclical Time and Ismaili Gnosis for about the fourth or fifth time, it is becoming more and more clear. I've tried to read Man of Light book before but it just didn't make sense. Suddenly, today, at work, running a laser machine, I began having one epiphany after another. Here, in this book, in words, is a clear exposition of where I've been but haven't been able to put into word. It was a moment, though certainly not in as glorious a setting, that paralleled another 'aha!' moment whereby everything changed.

To put it into words, of course, is a struggle. Over the past few years, as I've wrestled with the Jesus question, I've begun to have visions and ideas about who he is, one recurring them being that Jesus is who we are. He is a mirror into which we see ourselves and through which we see who God is. He is, in essence, our truest self. As we journey through life he is there, from the highest highs and the lowest lows, from heaven to hell, he is there, leading us on and up.

I can quote some Scripture that would seem to verify this view but for some reason the "sense" I get in the various churches we have attended is that worship of him is not this. The sense I get in church is that he is "other" than us, even though he lives in us through the Spirit, and our worship of him is because he is the Other. I get that and don't disagree. Yet I can't seem to shake the feeling that he is somehow who we truly are. He is that Figure we all seek.

He is to some degree the repository of all our hopes and dreams and ideas of perfection, of who and what truth is, the best of man accumulated into a corporate view of this Figure of Jesus. Yet he remains somehow objective and reflects back to us the truth of our attempts at projecting onto him our own views of truth.

And as a Figure he continues to grow in me. I can't help but think my trajectory is beginning to leave the traditional bounds of Christianity. This doesn't make me "mystical" (a tag that has become cliche and void of content) or somehow better or different than anyone. My biggest fear is to find myself immersed in the "all relgions are the same" stew of religious gobbledygook where Man is the measure of all things and I sound like I'm shlepping New Age Amway.

This is perhaps the reason why I'm drawn to those religious scholars where the fancy letters after their names, though they certainly have them, are not touted as somehow giving them clout. The intellectual rigor and 'spirit' that bursts forth from their words speaks for itself. Henry Corbin is one of those scholars. Read his works and then read many of modern apologetic or comparative religious works today and you will notice the difference. There really is no comparison.

Perhaps it is my addictive, obsessive self longing for unique, for attention, for "mine". But, truly, I want to know who he is. It is the fundamental question for a Christian. And many of the answers in today's Christian landscape lacks depth. This is perhaps why I have always been drawn to the study of other religious traditions.

I enjoy the church we attend. It's "earthy" and practical and simple. The core focus is love. This is not the wishy washy kind of love but the hard stuff, dying to self. However, while it helps balance out my overly analytical view of the world, it leaves my intellect longing. The simple "Jesus is the only way" approach doesn't mean much to me. If he is the only way, then, as Christians, the issue isn't about being right but displaying why. In the meantime, I still passionately study other faith traditions. It highlights what is unique (and not uniqe) to Christianity yet keeps my spiritual worldview broad. God's light shines in the strangest of places.

In reading Corbin today, it hit me hard. My leanings have become 'gnostic' in nature. My view is not uncommon and shares ground with the gnostics from all traditions through time. Corbin's Man of Light breaks down this Figure I've come to see in stunning detail. It came as a relief. The 'aha'!' moment was that in reading him he is explaining not only where I am but where I am going.

Where did the body of Jesus go?

This is a question that has always nagged at me. If Jesus had a physical body after his resurrection as we think of it and he ascended up (I assume) to heaven, this means his body defied every physical law and wherever heaven is "up there" he had to have moved faster than the speed of light to get there or he would have somehow hit warp speed and traveled to another universe or dimension. Pretty fantastical stuff, more like science fiction than faith.

So where did he go?

As we were standing in worship service at church one Sunday, the music struck a very hypnotic, trance inducing tone and it was as if the entire room was truly on one accord, hands lifted high, no song lyrics just a mantra-like phrase in the song. I looked around the room and had a striking and crystal clear thought: this is the body of Christ. This, I thought to myself, is Jesus.

Paul speaks of the body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:27 et al). He also notes that the Lord is the Spirit (2 Corinthians 3:17). This view is Biblical. It bears similarity to the Ummah in Islam and the Sangha of Buddhism only there is a more "mystical" flair to Paul's version as Muslims don't believe the Ummah is the body of Muhammad nor is the Sangha the body of Buddha.

Paul makes no mention of a physical ascension. He speaks of an exalted Jesus (cf. Philippians 2:9-11). Either the ascension was assumed or well known amongst the communities to whom he spoke or it was unimportant or even unknown to him. It isn't until we get to the Gospels that a "bodily" ascension comes into play.

Paul mentions (assuming these writings are actually his) those who believed the resurrection to have already happened, a spiritual not "factual" event, Gnosticism already beginning to show its roots. It seems pretty clear from this passage that Paul believed in a bodily resurrection of some kind. If this is true then we can safely assume that he believed that the "spiritual body" of Jesus was not a disembodied spirit floating ethereally in the atmosphere somewhere. What this body is certainly is far from clear. It's the same but it's different.

But again, where is this body? In heaven? Where is this heaven? Is it "up" as we all believe, Jesus' body ascending like a photon through space?

Or is the glorified body somehow different or transcendent of such physical limitations?

Or is the "right hand of the Father" something of a metaphor for retirement?

Or is his body the Church, i.e. you and I, Christ in us through the Spirit?

Where is this body?

By the way, Muslim tradition (though perhaps not universally accepted, especially by more critical scholars) teaches that instead of being crucified, Jesus was rescued at the last minute and was taken up to heaven bodily while a substitute (perhaps Judas, who must have looked like Jesus) was crucified in his stead, the Jews thus believing him to be crucified and spreading what was in effect a lie. No glorified body, no body transformed, no spirit body, just the real, physical body of Jesus.

Is Jesus the only way?

There are three principal texts (though there are also others) used to defend this notion. On the surface, they appear straightforward. But, like most things textual, they are not so cut and dry in context.

1) "Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me." (John 14:6)

It is possible to look at this one not as a universal declaration, which would be peculiar as Jesus (at least in the Synoptics) is addressing only Jews. In other words, he is not saying he is the only way, he is saying that he, as opposed to Jewish Law, is the way, the truth and the life.

2) "And there is salvation in no one else; for there is no other name under heaven that has been given among men by which we must be saved." (Acts 4:12)

If we look at the context in which this was said, Peter is speaking to the Jews at Pentecost. He is not addressing Gentiles (though there may have been a few stray God-fearers in the midst or perhaps some Roman soldiers), he is speaking to the Jews as v. 8 states:

Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them, 'Rulers and elders of the people...'"

In other words, there is no other name [i.e. as opposed to the Law] under heaven whereby we [i.e. Jews], can be saved.

3) "For this reason also, God highly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name,

so that at the name of Jesus EVERY KNEE WILL BOW, of those who are in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

and that every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." (Philippians 2:9-11)

This is a reference to Isaiah 45:22-23:

"Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I [am] God, and [there is] none else.

I have sworn by myself, the word is gone out of my mouth [in] righteousness, and shall not return, That unto me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear."

Notice that it is at the name of Jesus every knee will bow. But notice who it is to: God the Father. This is not saying that every knee will bow to Jesus but will bow in recognition of His lordship as it was bestowed upon him by his Father (cf. 1 Corinthians 15:28).

It is fairly clear that these interpretations, taken in their proper context specific within the book in which they fall (rather than conflating them with the New Testament as a whole), are not without merit.

This is actually not a dig at the truth claims of Christians. This is more to bring awareness to the simplistic method in which these Scriptures are often used. They are often a shortcut to any true dialogue. Consider also that many people do not accept the Bible as authoritative.

Worse, these passages are often used in place of the more difficult proof: one's life. This, more than anything, is the issue. The only real proof of the Christian message is found in the lives of those who claim to follow Jesus. It isn't about being right; it is about life.

Many a well-meaning Christian will quote these verses as if they somehow prove, in and of themselves, that only someone who believes in Jesus will reach heaven. I don't know that Jesus (or Paul) ever phrased it in such fashion. It seems to me that this "going to heaven" thing is of recent origins and has no appeal to me. If that is my motive for the whole shebang then send me to hell.

Rabiah of Basra, an early Muslim mystic/ascetic (see, the "spiritual mutt" thing is in the blood...) is quoted as saying:

"O God! if I worship Thee in fear of Hell, burn me in Hell; and if I worship Thee in hope of Paradise, exclude me from Paradise; but if I worship Thee for Thine own sake, withhold not Thine everlasting beauty!"

My sentiments exactly.

The Believer, Shalom Spiegel and the Akedah

Based on a previous post on the Jewish roots of the origins of Paul's views on the death and resurrection of Jesus I was reminded of the film The Believer, about a Jew who is a skinhead struggling with his beliefs. It's a challenging film well worth watching. I saw this film after studying Vermes' article and subsequently reading The Last Trial.

While it is not widely accepted, the tradition that Isaac was actually killed is fairly well known. Spiegel's book on the Akedah is vital reading. Geza Vermes' article is rooted in it, though Spiegel is much harder on Paul than Vermes. Still, both provide rather interesting perspectives on a belief not commonly known and a different sourcing of Paul's view on the death and resurrection of Jesus.

Here's a clip from the film:

Why people dislike organized religion...

I am respectful of others' religious traditions but how do you not get upset watching this? Religious "tradition" interferes with life and ceases to have any real function. I mean I know we all have traditions that appear strange to others but do you live like this? Are these women really ok with it? Not even to eat? What do they really think?

Origen, Vladimir Lossky and Henry Corbin

The Kontakion (hymn) of the Feast of the Transfiguration in the Eastern Orthodox Church sings:

On the Mountain You were Transfigured, O Christ God,

And Your disciples beheld Your glory as far as they could see it;

So that when they would behold You crucified,

They would understand that Your suffering was voluntary,

And would proclaim to the world,

That You are truly the Radiance of the Father!

According to Vladimir Lossky, the disciples saw the divine glory "according to their capacity". That is a rather interesting choice of words as it corresponds to how Henry Corbin has translated several passages from the Acts of Peter and Acts of John.

Corbin points out the following from Origen's Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew:

For when he has passed through the six days, as we have said, he will keep a new Sabbath, rejoicing in the lofty mountain, because he sees Jesus transfigured before him; for the Word has different forms, as He appears to each as is expedient for the beholder, and is manifested to no one beyond the capacity of the beholder. (Book XII, Chapter 36)

It would seem there are shades of familiarity with Origen in Lossky's translation as he references Origen more than a few times in his works.

What is striking is how differently such an idea is interpreted in each. Lossky is straight up orthodox (Eastern Orthodox in particular) in his thinking; Corbin's approach is of a Gnostic nature, following this idea of "capacity" not in the kenotic sense of Orthodox Christianity but to the idea of the Qa'im, the final Imam, in Shi'ite, and in particular Ismaili Shi'ite, Islam.

Though it is apparent that the Imam bears resemblance to a Christ-like "type" of figure, Corbin points out that the figure of the Imam bears resemblance not to the Jesus of historical Christianity but to the Ebionite variety in which, in Jesus, the True Prophet has found "the place of repose".

This also cracks open the shell of the idea of "influence" a bit further than the "causal reduction peculiar to historism" and the reductionism of a scientific worldview so popular today in which "before" equates to "influence" which is ultimately a superficial approach to how religious ideas develop. As Corbin notes, "the concrete spiritual fact of 'transformation' itself cannot be causally deduced" (Corbin, Cyclical Time and Ismaili Gnosis, p. 66)