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.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, June 5, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
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?
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?
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