Scriobhaim

Because I need to write...

2011-03-25T07:31:00.000-07:00

So. I'm tired of complaining. Seriously, I always talk about being too distracted or too depressed or too blah blah blah to write or live or laugh. I wrap myself up in melancholy and hope for the best. I disengage from the world because, personally, I like my imagination better. I mean, who doesn't? But the truth is there is a world beyond the reaches of my self-proclaimed isolation. It's a big one. And consuming myself in books, a job, and a marriage does not equate to living. It equates to "getting by." So, here's a chance to refuel and live. But, before we move on to the finer points of interesting versus uninteresting points of discussion, a quick update on life for those who might be out of the loop.

1. Britter and I are buying a house. Not renting. Not apartment-ing. Purchasing a house. Why am I so old? Anyway, it's a 3 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath in Clinton. It's perfect. We love it. We should close around April 15 and move in June 1. (The seller's have a daughter who is graduating in May and wanted to stay until then. We agreed.) Needless to say, there are many things that will be done and packed and refinished and painted in the near future. But, we're excited. We're going to be homeowners. It's like some elite club of people who can claim that they are "adults." Ugh.

2. I am in the process of trying to get my teaching license for secondary English. Personally, I'm thrilled. Teach literature and writing and other things to students that may or may not be interested. Woot. Even if they aren't interested, I am and that is slightly more important considering that my last 2 jobs have been ones that I secretly want to forget about existing.

3. Life, for the most part, is good. I am trying to make some personal adjustments to overcome this melancholy I've been in for... oh, I don't know... 2 or 3 months now. Much to the chagrin of my wife, I process things internally which means that I've been working through things that I'm finally starting to be able to identify and work through. I'm not finished yet, which means that the process isn't complete and I haven't made any life-altering conclusions. But, I've recognized the process and that's a start.

4. I am recognizing the need for better friendships in my life. Well, let me rephrase. I am recognizing the need for my part in being a better friend in the lives of others, which improve the relational quality of the friendship. It's all very connected. So, I am trying to figure out how to stay connected and be a better friend to those friends I call dear.

5. I want a puppy. And a baby. But we are being smart and waiting. But I can't wait. I mean, I can be patient. But I'm excited. Just needed to share.

Inspiration versus Action

2011-01-28T12:07:00.000-08:00

There is a definite difference between inspiration and action. Unfortunately, I am having to learn these two things the hard, long, arduous way rather than the quick and easy. But hey! That's life right? Life is a journey, a process that takes you through the ever-changing mires of existence until you edge your way up onto solid ground of a foundation that you forgot existed so that your life is full of light, life, and the things you always longed for? Well, that's what we say, at least. I'll let you know on my deathbed if we ever made it out of the mires between the ethereal inspiration and the landlocked action.

Inspiration has seven definitions according to dictionary.com. I chose this one as the closest to my concept of inspiration: a divine influence directly and immediately exerted upon the mind or soul. Now, let's go ahead and clear up the divine issue. I'm not necessarily stating that all inspiration is God reaching down from eternity and gifting a vision or idea that compels the artist/dramatist/writer/musician/other to burst forth into craft, though I'm not knocking the idea. I think that each individual was given a talent or passion lying somewhere within the realms of the arts or sciences that causes one to seek inspiration and find it, even in the mundane parts of life. But, it is an influence that is exerted upon the mind or soul that causes the desire to respond to it. For example, one might say that Mother Teresa inspired her to move to India to start a ministry for those living in the slums. This inspiration would be the life that Mother Teresa lived influenced the individual to act in response to imitate or somehow apply something similar to his or her own life.

Now action has twenty-four different definitions according to dictionary.com. More of a selection. The one closest to my purpose is as follows: an act that one consciously wills and that may be characterized by physical or mental activity. Thus, action is a willed response that includes physical or mental activity. I, personally, would include spiritually to the list. To act is to move oneself from a state of potential energy, resting and waiting for the moment to be used, to kinetic energy, energy in motion. (Thank you, Basic Physics, for applying to today's thought.) Action is a response to some stimulus, whether good or bad. Even proactive action is a response to a perceived stimulus, so by saying, "Let's be proactive rather than reactive," all one is saying is, "Let's act first to what we think will happen rather than act when what is going to happen happens." Not that I'm against being proactive, but according to this definition... yeah.

So, how does one move from inspiration, the influence upon the mind and soul, to action, the will of movement? Honestly, I think that inspiration is probably romanticized to the point of unattainability by our neo-Romantic culture. So, we move a lot closer than we think. The point, however, is not in the inspiration. It's the action. There has to be action. "So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead." (James 2:17) Without some form of action, there can be no change, and inspiration brings change in some form or another.

So now, the personal. Here are the inspirations that must meet action:
A) Writing. I'm constantly inspired to write. This must needs happen, if not daily then some form of regularity.
B) Husbandry. Not as in "animal husbandry" but as in my role as a husband. I often have strokes of inspiration on how to be better for the one and only. Now to follow through.
C) Faith. Moving from a "if the mood strikes me" to a "spiritual discipline." No excuses.

So, those of you who have accountability on your radars, here you go. You now have three questions you can ask.

Motivation

2011-01-10T20:21:00.000-08:00

Motivation. Often the word becomes coupled with "distraction" in my vocabulary. Sad as it may be, motivation is one of my defining weaknesses. Granted, in a job interview I will never say that my greatest weakness is "a lack of motivation." But by understanding that I, for lack of a better term, suck at being motivated, hopefully there can be progress beyond it.

Example. I love to write. Writing is probably the art form that most readily awakens the world around me to one of color rather than muted grays. I love language and the flow of words, the ponderous value of an ever lengthening vocabulary. Honestly, I have a list of words that I love like "ubiquitous" and "marsupial." English nerd, I know. But I have absolutely no motivation. None. Zero. In fact, the only reason I'm writing this blog is because it's 10:00 at night, I'm not sleepy yet, and my wife isn't ready for bed yet. How sad is that? Something that I love becomes a last resort rather than something I seek after. True to the human condition, much?

Another example. Exercise. Words cannot explain how much I hate going to the gym. Yet, once at the gym, I like it. It's the process of leaving my door, driving, arriving, and getting to it. There's just this block there. I have a billion other things that I could be doing and generally do. I know its good for me, but I lack the motivation to go and see it through.

The only problem I have with writing this is the assumption that many who read this will define my lack of motivation laziness. While there is some merit to the point, let me offer a preemptive counter argument. Laziness is defined by the lack of action due to unwillingness or a lack of effort. This is not the case with my lack of motivation. It's not that I'm unwilling or that I don't try. It's that many times I find myself without the... oomph to get up and do whatever is needed at the moment. Now, if it's a dirty kitchen, my motivation is there cause I despise it.... Wait. Does hatred lead me to be motivated. Grr...

How to be Alone - Tanya Davis

2010-09-19T14:57:00.000-07:00

This is the poem "How to be Alone" by Tanya Davis. I love the language. I'm also including the link to the youtube video of her performing it. Very well done. And really good thoughts.

If you are at first lonely, be patient.
If you’ve not been alone much, or if when you were, you weren’t okay with it, then just wait. You’ll find it’s fine to be alone once you’re embracing it.
We can start with the acceptable places, the bathroom, the coffee shop, the library, where you can stall and read the paper, where you can get your caffeine fix and sit and stay there. Where you can browse the stacks and smell the books; you’re not supposed to talk much anyway so it’s safe there.
There is also the gym, if you’re shy, you can hang out with yourself and mirrors, you can put headphones in.
Then there’s public transportation, because we all gotta go places.
And there’s prayer and mediation, no one will think less if your hanging with your breath seeking peace and salvation.
Start simple. Things you may have previously avoided based on your avoid being alone principles.
The lunch counter, where you will be surrounded by “chow downers”, employees who only have an hour and their spouses work across town, and they, like you, will be alone.
Resist the urge to hang out with your cell phone.
When you are comfortable with “eat lunch and run”, take yourself out for dinner; a restaurant with linen and Silverware. You’re no less an intriguing a person when you are eating solo desert and cleaning the whip cream from the dish with your finger. In fact, some people at full tables will wish they were where you were.
Go to the movies. Where it’s dark and soothing, alone in your seat amidst a fleeting community.
And then take yourself out dancing, to a club where no one knows you, stand on the outside of the floor until the lights convince you more and more and the music shows you. Dance like no one’s watching because they’re probably not. And if they are, assume it is with best human intentions. The way bodies move genuinely to beats, is after-all, gorgeous and affecting. Dance until you’re sweating. And beads of perspiration remind you of life’s best things. Down your back, like a book of blessings.
Go to the woods alone, and the trees and squirrels will watch for you. Go to an unfamiliar city, roam the streets, they are always statues to talk to, and benches made for sitting gives strangers a shared existence if only for a minute, and these moments can be so uplifting and the conversation you get in by sitting alone on benches, might of never happened had you not been there by yourself.

Society is afraid of alone though. Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements. Like people must have problems if after awhile nobody is dating them.
But lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it.
You can stand swathed by groups and mobs or hands with your partner, look both further and farther in the endless quest for company.
But no one is in your head. And by the time you translate your thoughts an essence of them maybe lost or perhaps it is just kept. Perhaps in the interest of loving oneself, perhaps all those “sappy slogans” from pre-school over to high school groaning, we’re tokens for holding the lonely at bay.
Cause if you’re happy in your head, then solitude is blessed, and alone is okay.
It’s okay if no one believes like you, all experiences unique, no one has the same synapses, can’t think like you, for this be relived, keeps things interesting, life’s magic things in reach, and it doesn’t mean you aren’t connected, and the community is not present, just take the perspective you get from being one person in one head and feel the effects of it.
Take silence and respect it.
If you have an art that needs a practice, stop neglecting it, if your family doesn’t get you or a religious sect is not meant for you, don’t obsess about it.
You could be in an instant surrounded if you need it.
If your heart is bleeding, make the best of it.
There is heat in freezing, be a testament.

Depression

2010-08-24T08:57:00.000-07:00

Shadows. Technically, a shadow is the silhouette caused by an obstruction of light. It is the absence of light in a given area. There is no such thing as a complete shadow except for deep caves or college dorm rooms with carefully managed blankets, sheets, curtains, and towels to remove all form of outside lighting. Shadows, however, are more than the physical representation of mass. Shadows are my companions.

It's hard to write about depression, sitting in my office with the bright fluorescent lights and open windows. Some might argue that there is no better place to talk about depression than in one's place of work. Yet, my journey with depression did not start with circumstantial placement of employment. It did not start with the death of family members or my parents' divorce, than these are definitely contributing factors. No. Depression is an old friend of mine, the shadowed recess of my soul. And our journey starts together.

By all accounts, I should be happy. Happiness is circumstantial, and my circumstances are not the worst that have ever been experienced by mankind. I have food to eat, a place to sleep, a job that pays my bills, a wife that I love more than life, and I'm starting to realize dreams. My childhood was not overtly stressful or abusive. My parents love me. Yet, through it all, Depression was there, like a silent observer. It watched and categorized events, compounding situations into tangible expressions of my inner doubts and fears, causing the shadows over my soul to lengthen and grow.

However, I recognize that the shadows may be consistent companions, but they are not the sole expression of my Soul. Again, I'm obsessed with the Soul. It just makes sense to me to be obsessed with the Reality of what makes us ourselves. But, I digress. The Shadows of Depression are not the only expression within my Soul. More often than not, there is Light and Color and Music. But occasionally, there is nothing but gray ash, muted noise, and shadow. This dichotomy, I believe, is more than it merely seems, however. For if there is both Shadow and Light at war within my Soul, than there is something directing the forces that are warring.

There is a philosophical theory regarding the Soul that I am inclined to agree with. Unfortunately, I do not know the name of this theory. Feel free to divulge that information should you like. But the theory, in a very primitive way, states that there are three forces within a person. Good. Evil. And the Soul struggling between the two. I'd like to take this theory just a step further and with a little adaptation.

I am Redeemed. That's my standing before the Lord God. Redeemed. Purchased. Bride. Standing under the blood of Christ, I am Righteous before Him. This Redeemed nature is Light. And it should be growing brighter everyday. However, even though I am Redeemed, I am still Man. Fallen. Sinful. This Fallen state is Shadow. And it strives to deepen its roots within me every day. And then there's me. Not the Redeemed me. Not the Fallen me. Just me. Struggling and striving between the two forces at war within me. Granted, I understand that these two forces are not equal, nor are they capable of influencing me unless I surrender to one or the other. And that, my friend, is the struggle. The struggle to surrender to Light or Shadow. Life or Depression. Truth or Lie.

More important than the struggle is the question: what about today? What is today's surrender? Is it to the Life-giving Light of Christ? Or to the Soul-eating Shadow of the Fall? Some days the answer is more clear than others. Today? We'll see. I'd love to say that it is always to the Light, to Christ. But I can't. But that's my desire. And that's my struggle.

Eat Pray Love - Reflections

2010-08-21T08:46:00.000-07:00

Last night was date night. Date night consists of one night a week for the wife and I leave our 2 bedroom apartment and all its trappings and go out. Now, depending upon what week it is, this date night could include dinner, movie, coffee, ice cream, a park, a trip out of the city, etc. The important thing is that we spend an evening out together, just the two of us. Last night was dinner and a movie. Chili's and Eat Pray Love. Britter is a HUGE fan of Julia Roberts, an inclination that I encourage cause I like her as well, and it was either Eat Pray Love or Inception. Neither one of us were in a mood to really think too hard about a movie, so we chose the romantic tale of self discovery. Fail on the not wanting to think about a movie business.

The movie itself was great. It combined elements of acting, storytelling, emotion, setting, and music in ways that have seldom been done before. Even within the story, it brought together a wonderful tale of self discovery and restoration after a mid-life crisis, complete with food, romance, traveling, writing, and laughter. I enjoyed it immensely. However, it awakened in me a few thoughts that I need to write to express, as trying to talk them out never really accomplishes the task. These reflections are not going to come in any specific order of importance; each of them are equally important.

Reflection 1: Lack of Devotion

It amazes me that people of various different religions can show great devotion to their cause. Watching these guru-worshipers as they chant and meditate and send "love and light" to a human woman amazes me. They buy idols of Hindu gods to surround their altar and light candles as they chant and work through their inner demons that clog their mind. They spend time in selfless acts of devotion, serving the community at large. Honestly, I was convicted in the middle of a Julia Roberts movie because my devotion to the Truth and the Way and the Life lacks considerably when compared. Granted, we are not to compare ourselves to others but to Christ. Well, Sunday School Teacher, that's not a step in a better direction for comparison. Honestly, my level of devotion to Christ fails utterly when compared even to a movie's representation of the followers of a false god. Seriously? Yes. Seriously.

Reflection 2: Busyness

In the story, Liz leaves on a year journey around the world after divorcing her husband and living with another boy that did not satisfy the true longings of her heart. All that aside, she spent months in Italy where she learns of an Italian cultural concept: the joy of doing nothing. One of the characters in the movie, Luca, says, "You Americans. You do not know how to have pleasure. You are always entertained, but you have no pleasure in the things you do. We Italians, why pleasure is what we do." Again, it hit me right in the heart. Granted, on a different level than my devotion to Christ, but I am so caught in this world that I take no pleasure in it. When was the last time that I sat down to eat spaghetti and the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute sounded in my head for the simple pleasure of it? When was the last time that I and a group of friends got together and talked of life for the simple joy of it? When was the last time that I heard a new word and just relished the sounds of it as it fell from my tongue? Maybe I'm asking too much of life, but I think that there should be times where it should be enjoyed simply because it is life and it is full of experiences. I am exhausted from the daily accomplishment list of things that need to be, have to be, will be done. I am tired of getting up each day and driving to my job simply because I need to work in this world. I am ready for life to be pleasurable again. Or even pleasurable to start with.

Reflection 3: Travel

Oh my. Seeing images of Rome and Bali made me want to hop on a plane, sell all I have, and go. Well, I missed my opportunity to spend a year abroad and see the world. Which is fine. Really, it is. But this does not quell the desire to go and see and experience. To spend two weeks in Italy, not filling my day with sightseeing and running around the cities. No. To spend two weeks in Italy sauntering from one place to the next with a semi-plan in place of things to see but no exact time and date for every single part of the trip. To spend a few weeks in London walking the foggy streets and seeing plays. To spend weeks in Ireland traveling the countryside and discovering the magic of the Isle. To spend a few weeks in Australia, South Africa, Egypt, Greece, Russia, Brazil, Bali, the Philippines, Canada, Argentina, and wherever else a dart can land on a map. Now, whether that ever happens or not, who knows? But I have the desire. And maybe, that's all I need.

Reflection 4: Music of the Soul

I'm a little obsessed with the Soul. Granted, I think it's a good obsession for the Soul is the only REAL part of me. This physical body will fall and fail and decay, but my Soul I will have forever. In that, I believe that my Soul responds to the world around it in multiple ways. It connects with music, words, smiles, laughter, tears, images, and anything else that it wants to. However, sometimes, I forget that my Soul lives. I forget that I have cluttered my soul with the darkness of this world rather than the Light of Christ. I forget that my Soul desires to live in the freedom of joy and love. I forget that my Soul is the only Real part of me. From it comes all my desires, emotions, loves, hates, words, thoughts, and parts of me that I do not understand. I forget the music it makes as it sings. Now, this may be a little too mystical for some of you, and that's fine. I admit I have a mystic side to me. Yet the truth is this: my Soul longs for something more in this life that I have no idea what it is. Yet there are times when I see, hear, taste, touch, or smell something that awakens it in me. And this movie did just that.

Eat Pray Love is not some catch-all movie designed to open up the hearts of the people to something grand and inescapable or share the secrets of the universe. However, it did awaken my Soul to something more. And it was a very good movie.

Selfishness

2010-05-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

When was the last time you were moved to tears by praying for someone else?

When was the last time that the love of God caused an emotional outpouring that rivaled your love for your significant other?

When was the last time that passion erupted out of what you desired and formed an action that was real?

When was the last time that you sought the company of a friend just to share the joy of life and truth?

When was the last time that you were sought out by a friend just to share the joy of life and truth?

These are the questions I ponder as I fall asleep at night. These are the questions that I can't answer.

Through the Window

2010-04-28T06:07:00.000-07:00

For most of my life, I have always had the sensation of being on the outside looking in. In every friend group, in every relationship (minus one), in every family situation, I've always felt like I was outside of it, excluded from it, denied it.

Now, this could lead to a pity party and an overly emotional, dramatic event, but that is the opposite way this should go. Because, the question is, why? Why would I feel like that? Is the friend groups I choose, or the relationships I build, or the situations I find myself? Is it my personality to always feel excluded, some martyr tendency that builds a divide between myself and the world? Is it just life situations: am I in a different place than every other person I know and therefore suffer loneliness for it?

I don't know. But I do know that the only relationship that isn't like this is the one with my wife. She's the only constant and my true best friend. Times may be tough, difficult, interesting, great, joyful, or sorrowful. But she's all I want at the end of the day.

Yet, I still desire the companionship I once had with others. I don't think it can all be chalked up to "growing up." That's not okay with me. There must be something else, something more, something deeper to this desire that goes unfulfilled. Otherwise, why would it pain me to see life like an outsider looking in?

Through the window is a world full of drama, frustration, irritation, and many other emotions. Yet, it's a world full of laughter, joy, tears, and pain. It's a world of community. Maybe that's what I want and just cannot seem to find. Community.

Other Worlds

2010-04-07T19:47:00.000-07:00

I've always had an overactive imagination. Seriously, always. As a kid, when most people were out playing war or playing ball, I was imagining worlds and friends. I saw the woods around me as portals to other worlds. I would cease to be a boy and become a prince, a pirate, a wizard, a dragon-keeper... and anything else I could imagine myself as. My friends became those I could create around me. Every waking moment was spent building a world around me that I wanted to be in. Anyone but this one.

And I'm doing it again.

I've taken upon myself to write a novel set in a world I've been creating since I was a teenager. A world filled with magic, nature, adventure, and, hopefully, depth. It's a world where trees are governed by Masters, the rich have magical guardians, and a brother sets out to avenge his parents' deaths.

It's a world I want to be in, but it's all in my head. And I lose myself to it.

I work in a call center. And as I go on autopilot answering questions with formulated answers, my mind wanders down the paths that I created, forming new places, peoples, and whatever else I can come up with as the day moves on. And then, at night, I find myself constantly finding new things or deepening old things. It's all I can think about sometimes. But, I guess that's the way of it.

One loses oneself to one's art. So I lose myself in the story.

Art of the Sabbath

2010-04-04T20:29:00.000-07:00

The Sabbath. The In-Between. The Day in which the world waits with baited-breath for something else, something different, something new. A Day of rest, comfort, solitude, meditation, and, often, worry. It is the Day that leaves us wanting so much more than we can ever have and realize how little we have.

This is where we live. We live in the Sabbath twixt the Comings.

I read an article today about how art moves us, as humans, to recognize the pain of what we lost on Friday to the joy of what is gained on Sunday. Yet, art only means something when it's on Saturday, the Sabbath. This article goes into detail about different forms of art, music, movies, books, etc. and how they can focus on the suffering darkness of Friday. These forms of art reveal the depth of human immorality, depravity, and the Fall. Other forms of art (used here to express the above-mentioned list) can focus on Sunday, often leaving a sense of faux-joy and a longing for the inexpressible. But it is on Saturday that art moves us past the suffering of Friday into the joy of Sunday. It is on this day that we move beyond this mortal life and slip past the veil into a realm unknown.

This is the purpose of art: to call out of us that longing for the other side of the veil of life. It, unlike what Oscar Wilde may believe, does not exist for its own sake. To believe this is paramount to saying a tree grows for its own sake. A tree grows because that's what trees do. They grow. And in doing so, they provide shade, oxygen, shelter, wood, and a billion other things for which they were designed. Art is the same: it exists to call out of the soul the very thing that causes us to long for the life we know is ours right beyond the veil of this existence.

Just in case you didn't catch it, I'm a little obsessed with this idea of the Veil. That's because I believe that all that separates us from the next life is a Veil. A Veil cloaks our vision so that we don't see the Realm of Spirit. A Veil keeps us interested in this life and its trappings. A Veil keeps us focused on ourselves. To move past the Veil is to recognize that there is another Place that is more Real than this one. It is to focus on Truth and Life, following the Way and living in Hope. To live beyond the Veil is to live Life like it was meant to be lived. To live beyond the Veil is to see past ourselves and see He Who Made Us.

Art moves us past the Veil. For a sweet, eternal moment, art moves us to a place that we can see that there is Something more Real and inexpressible than we could ever dream.

Art of the Sabbath moves us from Friday to Sunday. It is our companion on this long Day's journey. And it makes the walk so much more bearable than we could ever know.

Thanks be to God, for He is the Artist.
Amen.

Ode to Emerging Adulthood

2010-01-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

The Age of Twixters is upon us, has been, and will not go away.
It lasts too long and comes too soon; it makes everything seem both bright and dreary.
It's a light that causes more shadows than illuminations, waiting for the next step in the maze.
Yet, for those who walk by the light of this lantern, the steady steps begin to falter as the maze becomes a hill becomes a wood becomes a mountain.
The mirror walks before us, reflecting every move. While all the while we're lost, throwing coins in fountains for someone to connect, someone to direct, someone to let us be independent while depending.
Crying out for consistency while changing plans at every turn.
Do we really know what we want? And why does that matter?

Emerging Adulthood is the span of life from "18 till one enters adulthood." Ok, so when is that? Adulthood is that varying, shifting idea that never really happens until children start to call us Mom and Dad and others refer to us as Mr. and Ms. We are so focused on ourselves, our needs, our wants, our desires that we forget to look past us and see the world. But social justice is "trendy" to us. We're fighting for our right to support the rights of others. We want this utopia that never ends when all we really get is lost in the fog. Where did this come from? From whom did this appear?

It may be that life itself has brought this change. It may be that the ever-changing sands of culture have shifted us into this position. Yet, we have no one to blame but ourselves. We have brought out this change, striving to stay as long as possible in our cocoons of irresponsibility and parental reliance. The world is not out to get us. Our government is not destroying us. The world is not moving towards those other ideas in 1984 and A Brave New World. At least, not yet. No, we just need to remember that life is more than what we get or what we do or what we are. Life is meant to be lived, not planned, segregated, and compartmentalized. Life is life itself, and it belongs to another land beyond the veil of this three-dimensional realm we call Earth. Life is lived by the soul.

This is what we've forgotten. This is why we cannot move past ourselves. We've forgotten how to live from our soul.

Too Many Thoughts

2009-10-21T13:15:00.000-07:00

Too many thoughts circle round my head,
Angry birds--screaming, cawing, shouting beyond
My ability to comprehend, understand and know
The meaning of their words.
The pendulum keeps swinging as Time
Marches on, leaving my caged brain lost
Without the quiet peace of silence.
It marks off each hour and change,
Calculating the passing seconds so I may fear
The ever-coming end of it all.
These birds circle and come near enough that I may catch
A single snatch of verbiage and articulate sound,
But I am a child with too many pieces of the puzzle
Without the picture on the box.

Gra Geal Mo Feoil?

2009-10-20T13:17:00.000-07:00

During the days preceding my wedding, one of the more difficult choices my wife and I made had to do with our wedding rings. I, having a love of all things Celtic and an Irish background, wanted something that represented our love for each other in a way that would be known to us and would stand out against other possibilities. She agreed. Thus, I spent two weeks scouring the internet looking for possibilities for Celtic wedding rings. Needless to say, there were plenty of options. I sent some to her, and we found one that we fell in love with. It was white gold (we think yellow gold is too flashy for us) and wide. On the ring itself is inscribed: Grá Geal Mo Chroí. Literally, Love of my Heart. We both oooed and ahhed as soon-to-be-married couples do and ordered them. A little over a thousand dollars and four weeks later, our wedding rings had been delivered. It was an amazing feeling.

Since then, I have grown to love my wife more and more. She completes me in ways that I never knew possible. There is never a dull moment with her; and if you knew my wife, you would agree wholeheartedly. However, as we progress down this road of life together, I am encountering day after day something that is evil, dark, and lurks in the wings of this grand stage. Every day when I wake up, it is there. Through every moment, motion, and mishap, it is there. It is foul, loathsome, unintelligible, and whiny. It squeaks like a mouse caught in a trap behind the refrigerator. It smells like there is a dead one right beside it. I hate it, but at the same time, I cannot seem to part with it. This thing, this it, is me.

I know, I can hear the conversations in my head. "You're too hard on yourself.... You can't hate yourself... You're too depressing... etc." Honestly, no. I do not hate myself in totality. However, there is a side, a part of me that I hate with every fiber that I can muster in my being. Its my second half, my other nature, my animalistic, unregenerate filth that occupies the other half of my brain. That part of me, yes I do hate, and I think I hate it rightly. You see, I know all the right answers. No, this is not a brag on myself blog. But I do. I know how to weasel and wiggle my way free of almost anything. Ask my mentor. He hates when I do not want to talk or reveal information because I will sidestep and be vague to get out of it. However, if asked directly, every wall falls down. On top of that, I'm studying Counseling. I know the right answers. But, I don't think the right answers are enough. To get to the real issue here, how does one honestly confront the degenerate filth that calls itself "flesh" without utterly destroying oneself?

Food for thought, I guess.

And, to stave off some thoughts, there is a difference between surrendering self and confronting self. For yes, the ultimate answer is to surrender one's self to the Lordship of Christ, living under His Word, and walking in submission and holiness. Again, I know the right answers. But to confront one's self, to resist. How does one resist one's self without destroying it?

It's like on Earthsea. Yes, I watched it. For Ged to destroy the Ged-beth, the evil creation that attached itself it his soul, he claimed it and called it his own. I do not think that process works in reality. Here's why. To embrace and claim one's flesh would be the equivalent of digesting a nuclear bomb. Unless one wanted to die an extremely big and colorful death, this action would be unwise. However, to confront and resist one's self without destroying the other part would be like stepping between the earth and the sky. It would be like walking west only to find out that somehow you are now going east. Impossible without something else.

So, knowing the right answers helps. But it doesn't solve the problem. What solves the issue is action. Thus, I write all this out and complicate the process for this simple phrase: Just Do It.

Thanks, Nike.

The Spirit

2009-10-14T12:54:00.000-07:00

To lose touch with one's spiritual nature is a dangerous thing. Yet, I fear that we, as a race, have done exactly that heretical and blasphemous thing. We have forgotten the slight yearnings of the soul that prompt us to pause under the stars, to feel the wind wrap our bodies, to hear the trees whisper to each other. We have forgotten the Song, the Music, and the Composer. We have forgotten our part in the endless harmonies that stretch out across eternity, forming the life we live in the flesh. We have forgotten the veil that hides this world and the next, the curtain that ties every spiritual moment into the tangible. We have forgotten so much. I have forgotten so much.

It has been raining in Fort Worth for what seems like a month. Every day has been gray, gloomy, cloudy, misty, foggy, and wet. The temperatures dropped below the customary 80's into the lower 60's, igniting within me a yearning for Christmas. Christmas is one of the very rare times where the physical world and the spiritual seems to converge, juxtapose themselves, and then depart without a single word of farewell. The reds, greens, silvers, blues, and whites of Christmas explode across homes. Lights twinkle and flash as if the stars themselves could not remain behind the cloudy veil that separates their world from ours. The smells of cinnamon, nutmeg, pumpkin pie, and apple cider all twist and coalesce in a beauty that cannot be explained or described. And within the heart of the observer arises a yearning, a desiring for something more, something real, something true.

The yearning of the heart is the characteristic element of the spiritual nature. The yearning for the reality, the Truth, the World-Beyond-the-Veil. However, man, in his physical nature, cannot enter that World. We are lost in our selves, our modern terminologies, technologies, and traded lives. We have lost the ability to sit in silent communion with the Composer of it all, listening to our soul sing in exultation and adoration to the One. We have lost sight of our joy, our source, our future.

Eventually, I want to live in a place where there are real seasons, all four of them. Growing up in southern Mississippi, I became accustomed to four seasons, although they were not the real ones. They were Summer, Real Summer, Still Summer, and I Wish It Were Winter. However, I learned in school that there were actually four different seasons: Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. To think, I could see the leaves on the trees actually be a different color than green and brown! It was an amazing thought. Then, when I was in college, some friends of mine and I drove to Chicago for fall break. On the way home, we drove through St. Louis. Never in my life had I been as speechless about color. Oranges, yellows, reds, greens, and every shade therein was vibrantly visible down the interstate. The trees were changing colors, collecting the chlorophyll and going to sleep for the winter. In my heart, I pit formed that drew me into a deep reflection on my own soul and nature. I encountered the joy of it, the silence of it. I will never forget it.

The yearning of the soul is not foreign to us, but it is unfamiliar. It happens so rarely these days, yet when we read the writings of men and women from a little over a century ago and beyond, we find a joy and familiarity with their souls that we have never known. Yet, our culture longs for it, fills it with every new thing. And in doing so, we mute the Voice of the One, reveling in our distractions. Oh, deplorable race that we are! Is there no hope?

There is hope for us. We can never forget that there is hope. There must be.

Emotional Recall

2009-05-28T18:29:00.000-07:00

In theatre, there is a practice or technique called 'emotional recall.' This technique is where actors learn to channel their past experiences and emotions into a current situation to simulate the appearance of that particular emotion. Complicated? Not really. Dangerous? Can be. Worth it? Sometimes.

Overall, my life is one giant exercise in emotional recall. In every situation, I train myself to respond in a particular way, even if that is not what I'm feeling. Right now, I have a beautiful wife and a love that cannot be broken. However, I do not have a home, a job, a reliable car, or any of those things that create the 'security' needed by my generation.

Why do I need these things? Because I think I do.
Why can I not just trust that these things will be taken care of?

Ay, there's the rub.

So, trust is an issue; it always has been and probably always will be. Trust requires something much more than a word, a sound, or even an act. Trust requires the actual submission of one's thoughts, feelings, and attitudes to the greater. Trust requires me to stop and listen and act.

Instead of spending my time looking at jobs on the internet, worrying over cars and money, I should just spend time on my knees?

Yes.

Thoughts on Moving Forward

2009-05-07T16:40:00.000-07:00

I am at the crux of change. In two days, I leave my home of the past four years for a new and exciting journey. In 9 days, I enter the world of marriage as I pledge my life to my future wife. Life as I know it is changing, and I am caught in its never ending cycle. Yet, through it all I am left with this one thought: change is good. The static nature of what life has been fades into the shifting landscape of the future. Without knowing what's to come, I am almost anxious. The need for safety and security oftentimes overwhelm the senses, forcing me to look further within and away from what I know. I run from that which consistently offers me the help I need; why? Why do I hide? Why do I run? Why do I stress?
I hate being human.

Ride the Wind, Swim the Rain

2008-12-28T13:52:00.000-08:00

It's raining. Slow, soaking rain. It is seeping into the ground, moistening the earth, nourishing the trees. The wind brought the rain. Gusty, whipping wind. It whirled around the trees, causing them to whisper, causing them to sing. I only caught glimmers of the song, a note here, a melody line there. Occasionally, I even heard harmony. The rain makes its own music. Steady and complete. I hear it easier than the wind, but both combine and raise a symphony.

Why have we forgotten the music? Why can't we hear Creation resounding in her earthy, yet celestial tones? Why do our voices rise as dissonance into the music, causing discord rather than harmony? Because we are hurt. We are broken. We are blinded by our selves. What sad creatures we humans are! We cannot even see the beauty laying right in front of us!

Yet, this blindness has been the rule rather than the exception for years of our existence. Since Adam and Eve, we have believed the distractions and lost the music. Occasionally, we hear it. The Voice breaks through our defenses and we crumble before it. However, more often than not, we block the voice. We live in distraction. We drown out the Voice and the Song so that we can be what we want. We project images of ourselves onto ourselves to hide from the Music, others, and ourselves.

We are frail, stupid creatures. We are human. We are capable of such evil when we drown out the Music and succumb to the Noise. Yet, we are also capable of such beauty when we submit to the Joy. Oh to lose ourselves in the Joy of the Song, to ride with the wind, to swim in the rain. How mach happier we would be if only we'd lose ourselves in it. And the beauty of it all is once we totally lose ourselves in the Music, we are given it right back within the Song.

Distraction

2008-12-24T09:23:00.000-08:00

I think I have discovered my most annoying characteristic. Maybe not annoying. Destructive, maybe? I don't know. It's a bad one, to say the least. I dub it "distraction." I have the ability to take whatever I need to do in my life and distract myself to the "nth" degree. I've been doing it my whole life. And I hate it.

When my grandmother died, I distracted myself. Her funeral, the day before my birthday and Easter, passed by in a blur. I was ten. Outwardly, I immersed myself in the family, taking part of the laughs and tears as though I were a part of it. Inwardly, I took notice of everything. I observed my family, watching their patterns of laughing and the sidelong glances at each other, carefully measuring each word as though it could destroy the other. Inwardly, I took notice of each wince and flash of pain on each face. I distracted myself from my own pain by watching everyone else express their own.

When my parents divorced, I distracted myself. I plunged into the church, which is not a bad thing. It helped me through it. But I became so involved that I left my family behind. I untangled myself from my family roots and sat myself elsewhere, where I was looked at with a mixture of pity and admiration. Wow, I was a manipulate little boy. I used the people I was around to feed my own inner need to feel important. I threw out every prayer and church event as though it were spotlights on my own self. "Look at me!" I screamed. "Love me." Sigh.

Things haven't changed much on the inner me. I distract myself from it all: Sin. Loneliness. Diminishing self-worth. I hide behind pretty words and impenetrable walls. I cordon myself to a small part of my soul, and there I stay, constantly placing shiny lights in front of my face to distract myself from my own darkness. I do this again and again instead of just turning around and facing the music. I lock it all away and will it to disappear, and it gets filed away with the rest of my thoughts. All I really want to do is strike a match and burn it all away.

Christmas is supposed to be a season of hope. Yet, I am filled with a numb, distracted slush that slows my mind and heart from any coherent thought. I've lost myself within my own maze that was built to protect me. I am Daedalus, imprisoned in my own labyrinth.

Changing

2008-12-13T13:17:00.000-08:00

It is essential to life that change occurs. Change spurns growth, imagination, and refines the soul. At the same time, change causes pain. Some changes destroy deep-rooted passions, thoughts, and ideas. Some changes uproot entire lives. And sometimes, the dreaded change does not happen within one's self. When change occurs in the souls of others, change that one thought unnecessary, then hurt, betrayal, and pain becomes the reality within.

I recognize this pain as a fact of life, but that does not make it any easier to deal with. In fact, it destroys me. Seeing the minute changes within the souls of others rips my heart to shreds. Being gifted with perception and a hint of foresight, I see the paths ahead and, knowing what will occur, I shatter myself on the diamond surface of irrevocable actions. Since I cannot change others' actions, only my reactions, I'm forced to watch the destruction of lives and stand by until asked to interfere. Why? Why do I have to wait and watch the people I love become shells of who they once were because they are only concerned with what they want? Why do I have to be the one to know?

Sadly, I often close down that particular faculty of my giftings, and don't listen to the whisperings of my soul and spirit. And then, I feel empty. I feel like I'm walking through fog and haze instead of the clarity of what I truly see. So, it becomes a balancing act of when to see and when not to see. But I have to pretend like I don't so that a) I don't freak people out and b) so that I don't become over involved in other people's lives and destroy myself in the process. Yet, onward I walk, changing myself and watching the changes around me.

Change may be good. It may spurn all those incredibly wonderful things. But change hurts. And some change was never meant to be.

Myself

2008-12-10T07:01:00.000-08:00

I forget myself.
I forget myself. I don't know what I've forgotten till it's already gone.
I forget myself. Searching proves in vain because I don't know what I'm searching for.
I forget myself. I lose my way in the storm, but when the sky clears, where am I?
I forget myself. I bury myself under mountains and expect to rise again.
I forget myself. I hope that marble walls keep the lies contained, but I forget.
I forget myself. Remembrance offers no hope, only pain.
I forget myself. The world around me shudders and fades, but I'm already gone.
I forget myself. Freedom is lost in the smallest acts of self-containment.
I forget myself. I am doomed to follow this path until its end.

I forget myself. The passions. The joys. The fears. The failures. I forget them all. Not necessarily because I want to. It just happens. The truth is I don't know what the truth is. I've lost myself in the faded halls of what I think I am, what others think I am, and the harsh reality that meets my eyes. The world fades into muted colors and sounds, and I walk like a zombie. It'll go away in a day or two, but, for now, I forget myself.

The Longing of the Wind

2008-12-08T22:02:00.000-08:00

The wind is a peculiar element. It has no rhyme, no reason. It is not seen, rarely heard on its own, has no original smell or taste. It is, by all sensorial perceptions, nonexistent. The wind blows, and only its effect is noticed. One never notices simple air movements. One notices what is moved.

As I was walking tonight, I looked up and saw dark clouds boiling. Brewing storms always awaken in me a unexplainable passion. Maybe it is the grandeur of weather that enraptures me. I honestly do not know. But what strikes me most is the wind. It does not whip around like some devil on a killing spree. It is a constant, gentle breath that intensifies every few seconds, whirling the leaves and rearranging the shifting pattern underneath the trees. With the storm comes change. I appreciate change. I look forward to it. I accept it.

Yet, the wind produces in me a longing that cannot be explained. It causes a deep, heart-felt pull towards... something unexplainable. It is comparable to the longing experienced in music. I saw Brahms Requiem performed last semester. I thought my heart would burst with joy and gladness as I listened to the voices rise and fall. The wind produces something very similar. I felt like my soul longed to glide on the wind, to be free in its wanderings. I assume that's what Beauty does: it strikes a longing for freedom into the heart and soul. Maybe that's why Beauty slayed the Beast. His soul was caught in the struggle for freedom.

Tonight, as I walked, I finally understood that the wind is but a breath. It has no purpose but to breathe into the world, creating movement. Yet, sometimes a breath is all that separates us from the land of death. I want to be a breath.

Scriobhaim

2008-12-01T14:16:00.000-08:00

It means "I write." In Irish-Gaelic. Granted, there is no accent mark, but I think that can be forgiven. I write. I know, it is a little cliché. However, that is what I do. I write for many reasons:
I write to see the world. I write to know what I think. I write to know what I feel. I write to describe my thoughts in a coherent pattern. I write to experience. I write to explain. I write to be myself. I write to discover my self. I write to purge emotion. I write to feel emotion. I write to heal the scars. I write to figure out the scars. I write to not cause more scars. I write because it is life. I write because I can. I write because I do not know how else to live. I write to make myself seem better than I am. I write because I am better than I think I am. I write through the world. I write because I want the grade. I write because the grade does not matter. I write to create new worlds. I write to hear the music of the soul. I write for my self. I write because, in the long run, it is worth it. I write because words are the only things that make sense. I write because communication is all I have. I write to draw others in to my life. I write to give meaning. Scríobhaim. I write.