Keith Olbermann brings it

Video at the link. I took embed out- the page took too long to load. Still worth watching, though!

Writing an Adventure Story

I was listening to NPR the other day (as most days I do), and they had a bit about the overlooked movies for the year.
Here's his list:

• Zodiac
• The Hoax
• The Namesake
• Once

Zodiac and The Hoax sounded really boring, The Namesake was poorly describe, but viewing the trailer moved it to my priority watch list. Once, however, stole my attention like Jean Valjean and candlesticks.

Once, an indie flick/musical out of Ireland (yeah, surprised me, too), is set in Dublin, and revolves around two broken-hearted musicians who meet and grow a romance over the course of one week. I certainly recommend the movie. There's a bit of language (rated R), but it's mostly brogue and you can't understand it. But this post isn't about selling a movie on you.

Once made me realize that I need to leave- need to travel- and without purpose. Not on its own, mind you. I had a discussion with a fellow vagabond soul the night I watched the film, and she (the vagabond) made the statement that I really need to travel. I didn't hear it in the sense "hey, it would be cool if you did this," but instead as a reminder of who I am; "you are x kind of person, and x kind of people do y, therefore, you should y." Follow? butterfly remembering to fly, yeah?

As the movie wrapped up I realized that I need to leave. Not permanently, and not in any profound, "vision quest," sense, but to be who I am I need to leave. I need to discover life that isn't mine, isn't familiar. I need to trek through the material plane.

I don't know where I'll be going, or if I'll be able to go at all, but I know the need to go is present.

Family is a huge anchor, though. I keep thinking of "On the Waterfront," and these fellows working the docks to pull in money for their families. I feel obligated to my family in the same way; Atlas holding up the sky, right?

I'm really thankful that some of my friends aren't bound in this way. Their families, for all their suffering, are pretty secure- no one is sick in a long suffering, draining kind of way. Their parents aren't old, and soon needing to be cared for.

I don't want to be like Kant and never venture further than 30 miles from my home in all my life. I'm not one of those people who wants to "see the world," and puff up about being here and there and twelve other countries.

I just know that very soon I need to leave.

there is something to discover.

Requisite Ron Paul video

I don't normally advance strictly emotional arguments, but this is a really well done video visually depicting what our foreign policy has earned the US and the world. If it weren't apropos, it would be cheesy.

One life to live + oops = turd in the fan,

  or,
If Mordor had a baby.

I've mismanaged my life. I admit it, I accept it, I own up to it. I hate it.

I'm the kind of person who wants it done right the first time. If you show me an unfamiliar word, I will not sound it out; not aloud, not in my head. I wait until I figure out how it's pronounced and then I tell you. It's not that I don't make mistakes, or fear mistakes. I'm really good at making mistakes, and they've taught me a lot; and I don't need a lesson on how life isn't about avoiding mistakes.

Let me try a different approach. I'm an "A to D" kind of person. I don't mess around with the "B and C" of things. I want to go from start point to finish as efficiently as possible. Why build a bridge when I can jump across?

Which leads to my complaint. Sometimes, the jump lands short. Then, the work really begins, because I'm not Indiana Jones and I don't carry around a handy whip (note to self...). I've got to climb up the hard way. It's not that building vs. jumping is better, but when I jump and it doesn't work out- it's frustrating, demoralizing.

I went into college pretty "doe-eyed" (though I don't have pretty doe eyes). The foresight I did have wasn't focused on my life, and I was blind to the present then, too. Well, this buck stops here. I've racked up some serious education related debt, and it's really going to screw with my life. My family, I think, is heading to a fairly significant, financial hurt-bump. Meanwhile, I'm earning a degree that will no better help to put food on the table than a minimum wage job. What am I going to do?

I can't turn back, but what is there to hold onto?

Save the Words

People don't realize the state of the endangered word. Every day more words are lost to carelessness, abuse, over use, etc. Humanity's tendency to expand its reaches at every cost has confined the natural environment of words to inhospitable locales. The word cannot thrive in these conditions, and due the word's lack in adapting effectively we have seen diminished numbers of words, and words that flounder in an attempt to survive in foreign environments.

Take for instance the species of word known as poetry. Poetry enjoyed great prosperity as a species for centuries, maybe even millenia, until recently when the islands of man began to rapidly drift further and further apart. Every word (poetry, prose, dialogue especially, etc) survives as a wanderer much as desert bedouins wander for survival. A word travels from one man island to the next finding food for itself, and also adding to the land it inhabits. For this, think of the bee; a bee pollinates flowers which then reproduce. In this way, the word (like the bee) is detrimental to its biome.

As I said, though, the islands of man have drifted further and further apart. The simple word has suffered greatly. Again, I return to poetry. In the past, poetry has exhibited ornate plumage, strong vitality, and great capacity for producing offspring. Recent years have seen a decline in the number of poetry capable of actually producing offspring, or producing offspring incapable of traveling from one island to the next. Ancestors of modern poetry demonstrate this concept plainly. Take for instance the following specimen:

"Ah, God, the way your little finger moved
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair..."

This particular poetry came from island of Crane, but it has been found to inhabit many other islands in some form or another. It is attractive and invites suitors, and has the capability to produce nearly innumerable offspring. Now take what we might see today in a similar environment.

"ooh baby, the way you text me/
it's oh so sexy..."

As you can see, this poetry is far removed from its ancestor, and has lost many of the ancestors qualities which might ensure survival, and propagation. Can you see how it is too weak to survive? How it isn't capable of producing viable offspring? All this because the islands of man have somehow drifted apart, or shifted in themselves.

We must work to preserve the endangered word in its various forms. Without the dedicated effort of thoughtful people like you the word could go the way of the Dodo- or worse.

So, please, please, save the words.

Amphictyony

If you don't know what it means, that's ok. "Amphictyony" is not the most intuitive word. "Amphi-" kind of sticks out, but the rest of the word leaves the best wordsmith cowering in the fetal position, unsure of his assumed prowess. It is a real word, though.

"an association of neighboring states or tribes in ancient Greece; established originally to defend a common religious center" ~WordNet (R) 3.0 (c) 2006 by Princeton University

John Bright uses this particular thorn of a word in his A History of Israel to describe the tribes of Israel after each assumed its portion of the land of Canaan and there abouts. My question is this: If this is the best word that Bright could acquire for use, then does he mean to say, in what he does not say, that the distinct tribes did not necessarily give a lick about each other, but only YHWH and his dwelling place?

Or maybe he meant they were all actually Grecian?

Enya makes me sick

I don't mean that in a bad way. Really, I don't. I love Enya. As a matter of fact, Enya is among the select few artists whose work I've actually purchased. However, I've discovered recently that Enya literally makes me sick to my stomach.

I don't remember what thought process brought me to Enya, but I decided to have a listen as it's been a while. I labored through my CD collection, and began listening by memory to Enya's music (never found the album, though).

Anyway, I got to feeling a bit sick. It isn't the music mind you, but what the music has come to carry with it. Empathy is a great tool, but it has unforeseen expenses. I attach meaning to ideas, art, music, etc; everything really. That's just how I see the world. I won't suppose the exact same for everyone else, but I gather it's something similar.

I say again that I really enjoy Enya. She captures perfectly the essences of calm and storm in Tempus Vernum. The music draws me in like a well told story. It's like a fantasy play that the listener co-authors offering life experience against the setting of the music. I hung my hat on that music during a painful time in my life, though, and I'd rather not take it on again. Rather, I'm a bit masochistic in that I do want to listen to it, but common sense directs me otherwise.

Most of this past week has included somehow a nostalgia of the bygone. Dreams and daydreams, very vivid, of the mundane or profound details of the life that has led me here, were a prominant feature this week past. Silly things with no meaning replayed in my mind with such clarity- bus rides with the middle school orchestra, building things with friends, catching bugs at recess- why do I miss that so much?

Maybe I forgot to say 'goodbye' when I grew up. Or, maybe I said it too soon.

--------------------

Pilgrim
by
Eithne Ní Bhraonáin (Enya)

Pilgrim, how you journey
on the road you chose
to find out why the winds die
and where the stories go.
All days come from one day
that much you must know,
you cannot change what's over
but only where you go.

One way leads to diamonds,
one way leads to gold,
another leads you only
to everything you're told.
In your heart you wonder
which of these is true;
the road that leads to nowhere,
the road that leads to you.

Will you find the answer
in all you say and do?
Will you find the answer
in you?

Each heart is a pilgrim,
each one wants to know
the reason why the winds die
and where the stories go.
Pilgrim, in your journey
you may travel far,
for pilgrim it's a long way
to find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way
to find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way
to find out who you are...

Cults of Personality

I decided to dress a little differently that day. I tucked in a button up shirt, spiffed my boots- "clean" is a good word for the way I looked.

The walk home was especially enjoyable. It was just cool enough to keep me from a sweat without chilling me. I had a good smile on my face, a rare enough occasion as to sweeten its present company.

I passed the same few whom I pass each walk home. My smile would increase, and with a nod I'd say 'hello.' Most responded in kind. Most all, except for one.

He was tall for his age; still in high school. His long, straight, hair, parted sharply down the middle, reached his jaw line. His arms didn't move when he walked, nor his head. His baggy, black pants mirrored the loose flow of his hair as he walked. His eyes would dart toward anything new in view, then return blankly to the fore.

"Hello," I said.

His eyes jumped to me, then away as he scoffed. "hmmpf, preppy," he accused me under his breath, turning his eyes aside. As I said, I wasn't in my normal scrubs. I kept smiling, kept walking, then stopped quite still. I had just walked past myself, or me from years back.

I turned and said, "Young man." He looked back, ready to apathetically shrug off everything I was about to say.

"Rebellion," I continued, "is in the mind. Don't let your eyes fool you."

The readied "whatever" faded from his lips, and I could see the interest sprouting in his eyes and face.

"Have a good day," I said, and went home.

* * *
The next day on my walk home he was waiting for me at the corner. It seemed I had taken on a pupil.

"People living deeply have no fear of death."

~ Anais Nin

Funny thing about death is that it's a part of life. Death comes for all of us eventually. She visits some many times before finally taking them on the journey home. Others she warns of her coming far off in the horizon. We shouldn't avoid her company.

This is something I struggle with quite often. How often is health care just an avoidance of death? Most would agree that an early dinner guest can be quite unsettling, but being a little late isn't all that unacceptable, maybe even preferential. We think of death in the same way. "Get here on time, but if your late I'll certainly understand," we tell her.

We shut the curtains, dim the lights, and speak softly hoping that Death won't hear, but if she should that we might have a few last words to our loved ones. We really should be comfortable enough to open the door with bags packed, so to speak, ready to go. But then, when do we expect Death?

A nasty scrape? animal bite? indigestoin? AIDS? Cancer? Truth is that Death is in some way always a mystery guest. Even when she says "I'll be along shortly" we don't really know. Thousands of years ago cutting your finger, or smashing it with a blunt object guaranteed Death's visit. Anymore, medicines take care of most everything. That is, if the medicine is available, or within someones means. No one wishes any other to suffer, but death is a part of life.

I struggle with this because I love my sister. In some roundabout way I suppose her illness will invite Death eventually. Until then, and that time appears far off, I'm cherishing my sister. However, I've also come to accept that people die. I will die, as will my friends, and when Death comes for any of us I will not fight her. She is not to be feared, or ignored; she is a part of each of our lives.

Still, when to treat the ill, when to acknowledge that death is ringing the doorbell . . . I can't explain how I balance this out, but I do.

We avoid death because we squander our days. "So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom," the Psalmist says to God. We can only waste what is finite. Our days are numbered always, not just when we count them.

All of this to say that I really dislike the idea of socialist healthcare. People die. Let's get over it together.

Who is like God?

I've been plagued with doubts for months now ranging from the existential to the earthly. I'm pretty well out of the doubting stage for now, but I'm sure I'll eek back into it sometime shortly; perhaps while writing this.

Self-discovery in Others
I spent six hours with a good friend last night. He's one of the people I intentionally call 'friend.' We always have meaningful, revealing conversations when we get together, but not in any mentally taxing or spiritually exhausting way; just good conversation. This meeting was a little different, though- we talked a lot about me.

He told me I shared a few qualities with his brother. It was welcome commentary as I've been learning a lot about myself recently (and his brother is a really cool dude). We determined that I'm the kind of person who looks at things from every possible angle, or tries to incorporate as much as I can into every consideration. Due this tendency I usually bring unique questions, insights, etc., to discussions, problems, planning. It really helps when mentoring others, counseling, etc. Sometimes people need extra perspective before taking a leap. Great for helping others, not so great for me.

The downside, we realized (I don't remember who realized it first), is that in adopting every perspective I neglect to commit to an action. This has been a huge problem in my life. I get so caught up in thinking about the "how" and "why" and trying to process everything that I just don't do anything. Everything has to be a process, or processed, packaged, and neat. At the same time, I'm definitely not a perfectionist. The search for Truth has blinded my sense of living Truth.

Who is like the LORD?
We talked about our names, what they mean. He joked about how precisely his name applies to him. I lamented that mine really doesn't have anything concrete like "courage" or "warrior" or something. "No," he said, " your name really does say a lot about you. You're always asking questions, you want things to be right." I don't really remember everything he said, but it sounded spot on.

We talked about it a little more, and it really does apply. I hate social injustice. Moreover, I hate the roots of social injustice. My blood boils over people who subjugate others in any situation from hate-spewers to self-preserving bourgeois capitalists to the simple prick bent on winning. I hate it. For some reason this reminded me of Michael the Archangel. I envisioned fronting on Lucifer after kicking him out saying "Yeah! What!? What!? Who's like the LORD now, be-otch!" All told, it probably didn't go quite like that.

edit: no, I'm not saying that I want to likewise usurp the people that anger me. It's like President Nixon said: "Always remember others may hate you but those who hate you don't win unless you hate them. And then you destroy yourself."

My Old Home Kentucky
I'd lamented privately to another friend some months ago that I'll be the last one in Wichita pretty soon what with people going off, getting married, etc. He replied that I really just need to get out and about, explore. This is made very difficult by the previous section, but it really made me stop and think, and I'm working on incorporating this into myself. Along that line, a good friend invited me to move with him to Kentucky if he pursues his Masters . . .

Garden Valley by Dougie MacLean

This is really not my home
Where are you, my lovely Jenny?
I'm afraid and all alone
There is no peace for me
And I'm sitting in the stranger's room
Playing at the stranger's table
Shining empty like the moon
There is no peace for me

But in the darkness struggle cold
I think about a garden valley
Gentle as the leaves unfold
Singing out across the Tay
Distant and so far away
There is no peace for me

I'm blinded by your city lights
I wander through these fearful places
The colors fade to black and white
There is no peace for me
These are not the friends I know
These are not their smiling faces
A desert that no one should know
There is no peace for me

Now I know and feel it well
The immigrant's deep sunken feeling
Standing at the gates of hell
There is no peace for me
Burned out by their master's greed
Cruel exile, transportation
Robbed of every love and need
There is no peace for me

Fell in Love with a Girl

Well, not really. I fell in love with a voice. I don't really expect much to come of it, but there's nothing wrong with being keen on a voice.

As you can see I've been largely absent from this blog. Well, no more! The previous scope and hope for the blog was too limited to really allow me to do much at all, so I'm widening that gap just a smidgen. There'll be regular weekly updates on my many golden, worthwhile perspectives, so keep coming back and I'll be talking to you soon. Until then, I'll be counting the seconds. 1 2 3 4 . . .

Just give me Jesus

I heard this phrase 'a lot' these past few months. A fair number this was spoken by people around me, whom I consider much and highly- so I considered it. 'Just give me Jesus.'

When first I heard it I recoiled. It made sense, but in the same something seemed wrong about it. I'm not saying we should rely on anything more than Jesus, but something sat uneasy with me. It's not that I misunderstood the people saying it, either. 'Let's get our heads out of the clouds (and other places) and do something practical...'

I agree. Jesus is applicable, active, involved. However, saying 'just give me Jesus'- it really is an unsettling phrase. It excises Jesus' humanity, commodifies Him. It ruins the power of salvation. Mind you, those who have spoken this phrase are not any of few intellect; they don't limit Jesus in this way. I'm more concerned when we use this phrase in environments where understanding is already thin.

Saying, 'just give me Jesus' means 'repeat to me what I already know.' "Keep telling me that Jesus is love, that God loves me and I get to sit on his lap and give him a hug. Tell me a story that makes ME feel good. Make me 'content'.

I'm not attacking anyone who has said this. But when people offered this up as a defense against doctrinal disputes, etc., I heard it with the ears of those who have experienced a different depth of revelation of Jesus Christ. Many of us know that Christ reveals himself through Scripture, epiphany, etc. We can be CONFIDENT in the Christ that we know. We also know that Christ is deeper than we already know.