thoughts that have nothing to do with Christmas, it just happens to be Christmas as I'm writing them down...

How often am I simply avoiding pain? How often do I stand still and adapt to the present pain in order to avoid fresh pain?

At any particular moment in time, when I very well should be involved in the present, I am either living in the past or living in the future. I find that the present offers little compared to my past, or my optimism of the future. This is a somewhat recent development for me. It certainly has never been a habit, not one with any consistency. And I never recall looking forward to this present that I am currently experiencing. And I should also add, with a good amount of confidence, that I don't expect I'll ever have any longings to return to this present. I am not here. You may see me and communicate with me, but I am not really there. I am a shadow, but a shadow with desire for a well-lived life.

I suppose this is one of those "in-between" points of life. I'm looking back and looking ahead, but not really at home in the present. I could vaguely describe what preceded this present, but I can't come up with an adequate title to do justice to the previous stage of life. However, at least I have concrete memories to reflect on. And so I'm left with a question that I can't answer... "What am I looking forward to?"

This transition phase of life... what will it lead to? In between mountain tops, I am living the valley experience, yet without any motivation to start another climb. I need something. I need site of the next peak.

I keep telling myself to simply keep moving. Don't stop, don't stall, keep moving. What is the goal?

"Will you come with me to the mountains? It will hurt at first, until your feet are hardened. Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows. But will you come?" (C.S. Lewis - The Great Divorce)

i'm not a real writer

i miss reading good books. i have amazing books waiting for me on the shelves in my room, but i'm just moving through them so slowly. when i have a demanding schedule, reading is my escape. but work is slow and i get to have too many lazy days, so i end up getting myself out of rhythm. the reading muscle is the same as the writing muscle, and it's pretty weak right now.

once upon a time i had it in my mind that i could, possible should, be a writer. like a real writer. i would have a little cottage somewhere with a back deck that looked out over a lake, and i'd sit at a desk and type on an antique typewriter. i dont know, maybe i would teach and then spend the summers writing books at the lakehouse. then again, seeing as how my last post was in february -- which doesn't completely reflect the amount of time i've spent spelling out words and sentences and paragraphs and complete thoughts, but should certainly tell you something about my ability to complete something worth publishing (although i don't tell people about my blog and therefore have 3 readers, i mean my mother doesn't even know i have one of these things, i still feel the need for my posts to have some level of quality) -- i would say i have a problem with this idea of being an actual writer.

and here's the problem. i've always hit the same wall when i sit down to write. it's not a matter of starting something, but of finishing. i went to a writer's conference a while back and jumped from workshop to workshop, and the one bit of information that i will never need to consult my notes about is the idea that a storyteller must tell his story before diving into anything else. and so every effort to express myself haults because i have no ending to my story. i could make it work in college because college guys are allowed to write music with three chords and vague lyrics. there was no need to conclude, you just go back in for one more chorus.

i digress.

perhaps someday i'll see myself as having moved through some kind of ending and into another phase of life. maybe that wont ever really be clear to me. if it is, maybe i'll have something i can finish. i'd like to have a story worth writing down, not for others, but just to unclog my mind. i get these little hints of ideas that i just can't develop because i always end up back in my own un-ending story.

i'm sick of gray. i don't think the lakehouse and the typewriter are the goals, i think i'm just ready for something more.

I might be wrong, but the smell of burning leaves on a crispy evening must be the most satisfying aroma ever consumed. I say consumed because when I encounter one of those familiar, pleasing smells, I breathe it in with a perpetual anxiousness that grows into an overwhelming sense of comfort.

I love the little things that bring comfort...

Hot chocolate when you should be sleeping.

Morning stretches in the afternoon.

Really good sweet tea... I figured out my recipe for great sweet tea today. Delicious.

I hope you'll stop and take part in some little comforts when you get a chance. You need it.

Society as the Death of Innocence

I’ve yet to come to a complete decision regarding the Bible as literal or metaphorical. I believe it includes both, but there are many specific passages that I haven’t made up my mind about. I think the fundamental plot is based in reality. So if you tell me there was a group of people called Israelites who descended from a man named Abraham, I’ll agree. If you tell me Jesus was an actual human who traveled the ancient Middle East teaching about what love is and about the realities of God, that's just fine with me. But then again, if you tell me that a man named John ascended to heaven and got a personal tour of the place, I might play the devil’s advocate and tell you it’s metaphorical. It’s one of those passages that might make more sense if we take it as symbolism. I’m not in the mood to solve the great debate, I’m just looking into some of the lessons we can learn if we view some Bible stories with new eyes.

Society as the Death of Innocence

Genesis 3: 1-7
Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, "Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?"
The woman said to the serpent, "We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’"
"You will not surely die," the serpent said to the woman. "For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil."
When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.

Enlightenment… Industry… The battle of man versus nature… Science… Society… Call it what you want, it’s all about discovery and fighting the battle against ignorance. In this passage, Adam and Eve have a desire to understand more, but of course, we all know their motives don't make their disobedience the right thing to do. God told them not to eat the fruit, and the command alone makes their actions wrong. But imagine for a moment that there was no rule against eating the fruit from this tree. Imagine you have the choice between eating a fruit that tastes good and satisfies your hunger and eating a fruit that does the same, but also provides some new bit of information, like some applicable fortune cookie. If the rule wasn't there, none of us would hesitate to make that same decision. We have a desire to know things... what's wrong with that?

Every child goes through the "Why?" phase at some point. It’s practically a never-ending sequence, but parents have figured out how to trump the question "Why?" Their answer… "Because I said so." Eventually, they start skipping steps and the "Because I said so" shows up after the first "Why?" I remember questioning the reasoning behind so many little things my parents wouldn’t let me do. But just because I had questions doesn’t mean I was missing out. I was looking out for myself and so I wanted to know what was going on, but it all made sense to them because they were looking out for me in a way that went above and beyond all my three-year-old questions.

If Adam and Eve had been in the "Why?" phase, would God have chosen to skip to "Because I said so," or would he have given them a reason? And if he had given a reason, what would it be?

Maybe he would say something like, "Because you’ll have a new understanding of some things, but knowledge is a double-edged sword."

Maybe God was just looking out for his children in a way that was superior to our notions of "what’s best for us." Maybe our pursuit of knowledge isn’t always the perfect product we see it as. Maybe knowing more has consequences that are both positive and negative.

The Age of Enlightenment established reason as the highest of authorities. Throughout this movement, freedom and democracy became important themes that saturated almost every culture around the globe, but this avenue of thought is also characterized by a worldwide faith deficiency and eventually led to societal unbalances like totalitarianism. The industrial revolution changed every aspect of life. The development of new technologies allowed business to drastically improve efficiency and allowed the world to be connected like never before. However, the technology for mass production resulted in a virtual mass production of humanity. No longer could individuals make a living expressing themselves through their chosen trade. On the contrary, they were plugged in to assembly lines where they tightened the same screw for the rest of their lives.

Humanity has an appetite for knowledge, and it takes only a small loss of ignorance for us to start losing our innocence. Ignorance and innocence: the two co-exist like bees and honey. Unless we put it in a jar, you won’t find honey unless there are bees close by, and visa versa.

I don't know what the point of all this is exactly. I don't know if we should just slow down and live simpler lives or make cell phones and sitcoms illegal so that people have nothing else to do but act human again. What I’m not saying is that humanity shouldn’t be working to cure diseases and figuring out ways to help people in need. We should be doing all that, but considering the innocence of Adam and Eve prior to the Fall and the humanity that we experience because of the Fall, I think there’s something to be grasped that I have found in my observations of children. My cousin has two boys. One is three and the other is six months. They are adorable, and since I get to give them back to their parents, I never get sick of them. But it doesn’t take long to see that three-year-olds get into trouble sometimes whereas six-month-olds just need to be loved and held and cared for.

As I think about a possible move, it reminds me of the last time I packed up and moved...

I’m driving down a two-lane road surrounded by cornfields. The U-Haul is packed to the door. I hate clutter, but it seems I’ve accumulated a lot of things over the last couple years. I’d furnished a small apartment with knickknacks from thrift stores and hand-me-downs, all which had seen better days. But it’s not worth throwing it all out just to start over. So I rented a truck, and my cheap little car is clinging to life on the trailer. I named the car Gus, and we’ve been through a lot, so like the rest of my clutter, I can’t leave him behind. However, I am leaving behind everything else from every category of life: family and friends and memories and geography.

Only a few days ago I was entrenched in normality. Indiana had been my home during all the conscious moments of my life. I finished up with my bachelor’s degree a few months ago, but I guess I needed a few more months to sit around the cheap little rented house with a few other guys. I would work a few days each month to pay off my rent and other miniscule bills, and the rest of the time was reserved for nothing important.

Since I was across the street from the university, I used up a large portion of my time taking advantage of every available facility. I spent a couple hours at the gym every day. I ate at the cafeteria every chance I could get so I could go to the grocery story less often. I would visit friends in dorm rooms, and even, occasionally, meet with some of my former professors. It was a little awkward being on the campus as a graduate, but worth it to get out of the house and have something to occupy my time other than watching a film. The other guys were all taking another semester or two, so by over-indulging in sleep, I would manage to chisel the rest of my time down so I only had enough free time to hang out with them. Everything was easy. I watched Football games at a buddy’s house every week. I would hang out with a girl I liked, but never enough to consider it a relationship. Everything was mediocre, but I only had to do what I wanted to do, and nobody made me to do any more.

So I’m hoping that a change of scenery will shake things up a bit, but I can’t say that there was one single reason why I decided to move to Georgia, it’ definitely a combination of factors. Sure, the job offer prompted the idea and my older brother lives there, and yes, all the songs make it sound so nice. But I think more than anything, a person gets sick of monotony. It’s nice to have a schedule, it’s nice to have comfort, but most people want some excitement in their lives. I guess that need for a thrill was the main reason, maybe a bad one, but the biggest reason among many others why I packed up on a whim and I’m headed south.

So as I drive south on State Road 37, passing through little Mid-western towns, I’m thinking of everything that has just ended. Of course there’s the familiarity of my surroundings. Due to random midnight drives for no other reason than to explore, I know a lot about Marion, Indiana. I’ve explored all the abandoned warehouses inside and out. I know the streets that are better to avoid. I know the little bar on the downtown square and all the people who play there on Thursday nights. There’s the mall with nothing good in it that’s just as fun to wander around as any other mall. There’s the church where I would take people and we’d climb onto the roof. We would keep warm next to the heating duct. There’s the drive to Indianapolis which I’ve made countless times. I can’t get past all the memories, and I think I’m paying more attention to them than the road.

I made the decision so quickly that I had no time to realize its finality. I think about all my friends from four plus years of school, the countless people from my home that had such a fantastic stake in my life, my family. It’s hard to say good bye, but it’s easy when it’s the right thing to do.

Realistic Thoughts on Stuff (including Platonic Relationships)

I'm a bit down right now. I am capable of feeling sorry for myself every once in awhile. I don't like it, but in the middle of life it seems to happen here and there.

I keep reciting that Chinese proverb over and over in my head...

"Fool me once, shame on you,
Fool me twice, shame on me."

In my head, it continues on to the third and forth and fifth time, perhaps because that's what I'm putting myself through. I suppose that makes me a fool.

I touched a hot plate of leftovers that had just been microwaved the other day, and it only took that one touch for me to learn not to touch it again. So why is it that I keep getting burned over and over in real life situations? It's not the plate's fault. Anyway...

(It's thoughts like these that make me very pleased to know I only have three readers)

You don't have to be a philosopher to know that everyone is living their own life and trying to get what they want. Who doesn't want what they want? That wouldn't even make any sense. I'd say in general, most people want the same things, and yet we all struggle in our own way to obtain our hearts’ desires.

As for me, I want to be held. I understand that, in our culture (or any other culture as far as I know), a man is more inclined to be the "holder" and not the "holdee," but there’s something incalculably reassuring about being held. It doesn't have to be romance, it doesn't have to be physical at all, but when you can lean into another person and just let go of everything else, well, it's nice. There's no condemnation in embrace.

(I'm feeling random tonight)

My little brother can watch a movie and know what will happen way ahead of time. He's figured out that certain types of movies are made by certain types of people, and those certain types of people will almost always introduce future conflict in a certain way. So based on a character's role in the first five minutes, my brother will lean over and tell me that such-and-such is going to happen to so-and-so, and he's always right.

The same predictability goes for me. If you get to know me well enough, you'll be able to know exactly what I'll do in certain situations. Up to this point in life, it's just the same pattern over and over again. Something new becomes old and then monotonous and so I change everything around. I do this with jobs, geography, and relationships. I've changed jobs on a whim, I've moved across the country a couple times, I've gone and adopted completely different groups of friends, and I'll go ahead and tell you to stay tuned in, because I'm only in my mid twenties.

Let me continue with my randomness and enlighten you in regards to platonic relationships... they aren't very common. I've been fortunate to have some actually work... maybe two, but it's more likely that I'm on the wrong side of an unsuccessful platonic relationship. The unsuccessful ones collapse when one of the two develops a new brand of feeling for the other, in which case the delicate balance of friendship is destroyed. In my case, I'm always the one at fault. So hear that and know that I'm afraid of taking big steps in relationships, and then ask me what I think about platonic relationships.

And so I'm feeling a bit down right now...

(I'm in no mood to elaborate)

Patriarch

My Granddad is the patriarch. A Godfather type aura surrounds him. He’s so dignified, so proper; he’s modern day nobility.

I’m the airport chauffeur. It was his turn this morning. So I woke up early and fought the morning traffic down to the south side of Atlanta.

I haven’t figured out how far off of normal I am yet. I communicate differently than others. I don’t have the standard inner filter that most are born with, so there’s nothing to keep me from talking about the most random things. On the other hand, I think I can make people feel a little awkward because I don’t mind silence. Everybody moves so fast; conversations can’t have silence. I like it a little bit. I like people that I can share that with.

So I’m on the way to the airport with the Godfather.

"How’s that nice young lady your brother was spending time with?"

"Actually," I had to decide very quickly how much of the information I should make known, "they aren’t really seeing each other anymore."

"Was that something she decided or he decided?"

"He did."

The buzz of his electric shaver snapped on once it was clear my answer would be brief, and I listened to it consuming stubble. It snapped off after ten seconds.

"It’s really starting to look like a nice day," he said.

I look as though I’m participating in the conversation but no words come out. Maybe some sound, but no words.

Snap. The buzzing consumes all the faint sounds outside of the car for another ten seconds. Snap.

Artist...

Artists should not be trusted. If an artist is not deceitful every so often in the cause of his art, then he is a poor artist. No one will listen to what you have to say unless they are convinced you have mastered it. Only one who has mastered a tradition has a right to attempt to add to it or rebel against it. As an artist, you are responsible to no one and to nothing, except to yourself and the truth as you see it… an artist is responsible to his art.

The artist should have a powerful will. He should be powerfully possessed by one idea. He should be intoxicated with the idea of the thing he wants to express. Every great artist is a man who has freed himself from his family, his nation, his race. Every man who has shown the world the way to beauty, to true culture, has been a rebel, a "universal" without patriotism, without home, who has found his people everywhere.