the weight of doubt, part II

as i stare at the backside of a familiar door, i see its knob turn, the hinges creek, and once halfway open, i greet a close friend as he walks past the door into the room. i’ve had many intelligent and enlightening conversations over the years with this guy, in this very room--conversations that have shaped our beliefs and our behaviors, conversations that have sent us many years down roads that are we are still traveling--and in this sense, this room is like a sacred swamp.

i've noticed that most theological discussions take the form of a tennis match; when it is one person’s turn to discuss a topic, he tosses his opinion high above his head, and right at the peak of its intellectual height, the opinion is sent hurling through the air into the court of the other in a way that (ideally) makes it impossible to interact with. i enjoy playing tennis and the truth is, i can compete at a relatively high skill level. i’ve played tennis with this friend before. we’ve both won our share of games and have had a colorful history of competition; but these days, i’ve more or less retired my racket. when you hit someone in the face or the crotch with a powerful volley shot, it can be pretty amusing at first. but after repeated occurrences, if you care at all for your friend/competitor, you’ll find yourself wishing there were a better way to prove/win the point. there is plenty i don't know about tennis, but of this i am certain: no one likes to get hit in the crotch.

i would prefer my theological discussions with others to look more like a game of chess; but instead of aiming to put the other into intellectual check, i’d rather move the pieces around the board and talk about why things are playing out the way they are. if the result of careful reasoning and conflicting paradigms is a checkmate in the discussion, the defeat is highly significant as an observation but pretty frustrating and isolating as a value statement.

though i prefer to play chess with my friend, he brought his racket with him today and he enters the room with one hell of a serve. i scramble for my racket and begin a match that i quickly see is shaking my Faith in no uncertain terms. i find myself returning balls that i never knew i had the skills for and for a while i succeed in deflecting the competition. but my friend has been training hard for this encounter and by mid-match i am on my heals more than my toes. i marvel at his new strokes and wonder what it would feel like to hit a ball the way he is. the game offers no sign of relent and i begin to accept that this theological competition is going to result in either a loss for me, or, at best, a draw. but a draw at tennis with this particular friend is more of a victory for him than anything… tennis isn’t even his sport of choice. as we continue our athletic dialogue, i grow spiritually fatigued and feel increasingly ill-equipped for the match. i start to notice how hard it is for me to breathe and maneuver around the court, so in desperation, i ask my friend if we could pick this game up at a later time. he agrees to let the game go unfinished, but as he exits the room, we both know that he is leaving “the victor”. once he has shut the door, i am reminded why i had meant to retire my racket.

it seems like everybody these days are up for an evenly matched competition of convictions, but all i can think about is how nice it would be to take the court with someone interested in just hitting the ball back and forth for the sake of exercise and enjoying one another’s company. and should the casual banter degrade to the desire to win, then both would readily acknowledge the sentiment, put down their rackets, and go grab a drink or a bite together. there is something eternally significant about drink and food shared among friends.

with my friend out of the room, the ceiling begins to weigh down on me, descnending in a way that is easier felt than seen. once again, i am aware of my shallow, constricted breathing.

and as i look again at the backside of a familiar door, i see a missed meal at the expense of theological athletics, and i begin to weep.

the weight of doubt, part I

nothing about this room appeals to me. it is a room where my thoughts race, my emotions soar, and my soul constricts. there is the illusion of life and possibility of enlightenment in this room, but to breathe this stale air is more of a gasping than it is breathing. i think my apathy towards this room is counterbalanced by its familiarity… there is something about the commonplace that allows people to overlook most anything, no matter how horrible and stifling it may be. there is an amazing sense of security in the familiar.

this room has no windows, no art on the walls, no furniture for lounging, no color in and of itself (only what others bring into the room with them). there is a door, a cement slab as flooring, and a dullness of a haze that allows me to distinguish the dimensions of the room and of my body. this is a familiar room, but i have no desire to be here… it is a place that i never seek out but end up in all the same. if i could find a way to barricade the door to this room from the outside, making it near impossible to return--somehow, i would manage to transport myself back in to this place but with the new task of clawing through the backside of a well-intentioned barricade to get out again.

this room is a prison, a cranny of hell, a shelter of doubt teetering towards spiritual collapse. nothing about this room appeals to me, but i am here all the same--unspeakably overwhelmed and...

alone.

a helpful distinction

for those of you who will be visiting my blog for the sole purpose of getting updates on Sweden stuff, I've decided to tag each post in reference to Sweden with "(SWE)" following the particular post's title. for example, i added "(SWE)" to the first post in regard to Sweden, formerly entitled "and so it begins!" (see below).

i hope this will help some of you who don't want to sift through long paragraphs of my personal reflections (like the next couple i intend on posting) to see if it has anything to do with Sweden.

=)

and so it begins! (SWE)

if this is the first time that you have visited my blog, you probably were the recipient of a informative/support letter, am i correct? (if not, thanks for coming... you are welcome here!) thank you for visiting my blogspot... this will be one of the ways i can keep you all updated on recent events regarding Sweden as well as a virtual canvas for me to scribble down personal reflections, struggles, and the like. on that note, as you read this post, my passport and application for temporary residence in Sweden are somewhere in a pile of paperwork sitting on the consulate general of Sweden' desk in Los Angeles, CA. simply put, this person has the final say as to whether or not i will be able to go over to Sweden in february. i would greatly appreciate your prayers in this matter: that the application process would go smoothly and quickly! thank you for your support... i'll keep you posted on any news!

life under the sun

there lived a man (a king, a wiseman, a husband several times over) who most men would deem "successful". from the mouth of him who had more than any of us could materially gain, we hear the words, "there is nothing new under the sun... all is vanity."

in spite of my wisdom and my faith, i piss away much of my life in the realm of the vain, wandering as a prodigal in a barren land, scorched and worn by the sun and dust. most men spend a lifetime harnessing the power of the sun to turn a profit; most men prop up umbrellas or build castles (whatever they can afford) to escape the drenching vanity that surrounds us like a sea of golden sun; most men learn to swim against the current of golden rivers and are given gold medals from a golden world that praises men who respond to vanity with acrobatics and finesse. i'm not all that great at harnessing the power of the sun... truthfully, it ciphons me of passion, of glory. i can't even compete. instead, i cope in shelters: anything from mouseholes to mansions, listening to music, drinking overpriced coffee, soaking in hot tubs and swimming in pools, sitting on couches too close to others who (like me) are begging for more than survival. i wonder how many shelters will have to crumble beneath my feet until i learn that there is no escape from idleness, from complacency? how many more vines will i entrust for shade... and how many more times will I curse God once the vines have withered? most men never ask these questions; most men either pity or curse those who choose not to compete for the gold under the sun; most men are infatuated with how they compare to the other men in the room. i'm sick of that room. i want out of the room altogether. i'm trying not to care so much if many would label me "successful", or "put together", or "_____". i'm sick of simply surviving under the tyranny of the sun. it's a pathetic existence. it really is. with all of my heart, i hope never to be like most men.

rumor has it that there is someone who has answered the pleas of the downcast and discontent. this someone is offering us an existence away from shelters, inviting us to discard our gold-laced robes and giving us burlap in return; he is calling us away from a life of mere survival to a life of adventure and purpose and glory. and i've heard that those of the burlap sack are beginning to sprout wings... i hear that many are learning to fly--getting over the the sun, where eternally significant life is hidden. and the one who teaches us to fly is also the one who walked among us. don't miss this, beloved: he chose to walk so that we might know what it means to fly. burlap never felt so good.

may we submit to him who strips us naked of insecurity and pride and clothes us with himself, his righteousness. the truth is we are severely overdressed for his company; we bring a lot of baggage when come to him, but he welcomes us and the baggage we can't help but bring (and the baggage we believe we can't live without); he carries our baggage with wreckless mercy, all the way to calvary.

for all of us who have suffered disillusionment from a life of vine-hunting in the desert...

for everyone who is weary of a gilded existence and craving more...

let's get over the sun,

it's time to fly!

summer work: a preamble

if you stick in one place with the same group of people for any good amount of time, you’ll start being called by a nickname.  it never fails.  i swear it.  i’m not saying i’m against nicknames or anything—in fact, i kind of like ‘em—i’m just saying it’s the way things usually happen.  anyway, my name’s vendor.  it’s a nickname.  the thing about this nickname though is that i don’t think anyone has actually called me by it—called me by “vendor”—but if you could peak around a corner when i meet someone for the first time, you’d see it in his eyes.  you really would.

you see, the people i’ve been spending a good deal of time with are soldiers, every last one of ‘em.  i guess some of ‘em are generals and lieutenants—some that go by all those fancy titles that make people that care about that stuff swoon like  second-rate actresses—i suppose i’m around them a good deal too.  you see, there is this war that’s been going on for quite some time now and i’ve taken a summer job going around to different units and such fixing their weapons.  the way i walk in to a unit and just start fixing their weapons, i bet they think i’m some sort of jack-of-all-fix-its.  but i’m not.  i actually only know how to do a handful of fixes but i bet they think i’m some kind of pro or something.  but i’m not.  the fixes i know how to do i can do pretty damn fast and efficient and all, but it’s nothing too special to be honest.

anyway, every soldier i come in contact with has this look when i meet ‘em that lets me know they see me as a vendor, hence the nickname.  as far as they’re concerned, i’m their to help ‘em out—grease up there gun and all—but you’d swear most of ‘em see you as this solicitor that’s there to bother the hell out of ‘em if only for ten minutes.  like i said, as far as they’re concerned, i’m their for their benefit—making sure their equipment is in good working order.  who wouldn’t want that?  i mean, it’s free to them and all.  anyway, that’s how i see it, i mean, that’s how these soldiers ought to be concerned with me and my trade; but as far as i’m concerned, i’m mostly in it for the money, to be completely honest.  i suppose since i am putting myself in harm’s way, on the front lines and all, the money is pretty damn good.  you’re on the road the whole time which can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you see it.  and really this job can be much more of a blessing if only you have the eyes and the heart for it.  i guess that’s the way it is with most things.

so for that past couple weeks, i’ve been traveling around far and away, working this job.  sometimes the traveling can be enough to handle on its own—i mean, we really travel a lot.  three hours one day, five or six the next.  some days all we do is travel and don't work a minute.  after a while though, the traveling doesn’t seem so bad.  you kind of get used to it in a way.  anyway, so i’ve been working this job for a while now and you’d be surprised the things that go on in war.  i’m not talking about a bunch of gruesome horror stories or anything, though there’s plenty of that—i’m talking about the little things:  the side conversations.  the odors.  the way each unit i visit is something altogether different but really not different at all.  and to be honest, i’ve been learning some things about life and about myself in this job.  it’s not like i’m in school or anything like that right now, but i’m still learning a great deal.  i suppose someone can learn a great deal if they have the eyes and the heart for it—kind of like seeing a job as a blessing or a curse.  it’s all about perspective. it really is.  i’m convinced of it.  someone i respect a lot used to always tell me “it’s all about experience.” if he were here right now, he’d grab my hands and force me to write about experience.  he’d talk about how when you grow into an adult you experience so many things that you end up learning a great deal.  it’s true.  you can learn a great deal from your experiences, but it’s also possible to learn hardly anything at all.  if you aren’t in the mood for learning something, chances are you could damn near die by doing some dumb as hell and not learn a thing from it.  i see the reasoning behind the statement, and i agree a great deal with it.  all i’m saying is you really oughta have the eyes and heart for something—really be bent to learn from your experiences or from someone else’s experiences or from something you heard once or even dreamt up… if you can be disciplined like that, you’re bound to be on your way to becoming one of those people who can say half as much of what other people say yet be listened to and respected twice as much.  you know those kind.  they’re usually someone old, but not always.  if you can think of some like that in your life, and if you think of it, you should ask them about they’re perspective on life.  it won’t be a waste of your time.  i guarantee it.

oh, so anyway, i was saying that i’ve been workin’ this job for a while and have already seen a good deal that has roused my mind a bit.  and what i was wanting to do was tell you a little bit about what i’ve seen, what i’ve heard.  to be honest, most of what i was thinking about writing about will bore most.  but there might be some who will find some interest in my stories.  they won’t be anything profound in themselves, the stories that is, but maybe to some, they’ll find something worth while.  i suppose it depends on your eyes and heart.  i’m not saying you need a certain type of eye or heart to be interested in what i’m talking about.  what i am saying though is that if you are one of those persons who is bent towards sucking the good out of life, you’re bound to find some marrow in the bones i’m looking to throw your way.  i don’t know.  take it or leave it.  do whatever you want.  as if i had to tell you to do that anyway.  i can tell you this though: war is not a place for the weary of heart.  some of these stories will knock you on your ass while others well float on by, maybe linger in your mind for a while—not because they are anything incredibly unique but because they are stories that are likely to remind you of something you’ve seen before, something that captured you once in some odd way that has stuck with you all these years.  maybe something i say will remind you of that one thing.  think of it as an invitation to contemplate that memory.  go ahead and forget about my story altogether.  i won’t get sore about it.  i promise.  chances are the story you have is better than the one i’ll tell anyway. 

we are all servants to our experience in a way.  but only in a way.  i’d hate to grow old and learn that that one guy that i respect a whole lot was right all along.  i doubt it though.  may you let your eyes and heart show you things that transcend your own experiences.  what a shame it would be if we only learned from our own experiences and didn’t look outwards to what’s going on around us, in the lives of others.  that would be a tragedy.

a word of explanation

the following is the beginning of an ongoing dialogue i will have with whomever wishes to join.  for those of you who might not know, i am out on the road, making some money fixing hospital beds around the country.  right now we are in california--modesto to be exact.  i thought i'd write a bit about what's been going on.  you might notice though that i'll be telling you about my trip in a roundabout way.  the stories i'll tell will be shrouded in the stories of Vendor, a guy traveling around the country, fixing weapons and machinery for a war that's going on.  the stories that Vendor tells might resemble some of my own experience, but then again, they may not.  let Vendor speak.  the truth is he'll tell you more about my trip than i could if i just told you all the "fact" of my trip.  anyway that's what these next few posts will be about...

"why?" or "why not"... that is the question

in this moment, i sit in a outdated office chair in redondo beach, ca. i just got done traversing the cinderblock wall of my friend tony's mom, brenda, and partner, lavalley; we were trimming back the hedges that were cascading over into their lawn. we both had loppers and were going at it. both of us were sipping on some sangrea (wine and coke... don't hate until you've tried it) and i had brenda hook me up with a black butte porter (not the high life, but it'll do).

tony and i spent most of the day cruising the strand to venice beach (about 7 miles out, one way) on a couple of vintage beach bikes. every time we passed a biker who had a multiple gears (of which our cruisers did not),my heart was gladened. the strand is a bike/rollerblade/walk/run/skateboard/longboard path that spans the majority of the beach front of ca. the strand is the recreative home for just about everybody within a couple miles of the pacific and tony and i got to see many of those who were out today. i was told that venice beach was going to be the stomping grounds of many "wierd" people... i figured that since i've spent most of my life in porltand, or, venice beach wouldn't be anything that would make me uncomfortable. my suspicions were correct; there were in fact some "interesting" people, but no one i would classify as "wierd". i wonder if our categories of "wierd" broaden and become less significant as our life experience grows? i imagine some will die leaving the world believeing it was quite wierd while others will depart wondering how anything could be more familiar. as i cruised by the mass of people, i began to look at each individual in the light of one question: "i wonder if this person is a person who encounters life with "why" questions or "why not" questions. i saw a hispanic man with his son walking on the 3 foot wall that divides the stand and the beach as we were riding today: my guerss ifs that that action was realized through the self-conscious answer of a "why not" question. if this man would have wondered "why should i hop up on this wall" i bet he would have hesitated to do so. a "why" question in this scenario would have led to thoughts of injury, judgment, sillyness, etc. and probably would have held the man back (unless of course in the process of asking these "why" questions he decided that there was no good reason not to, which is a similar reality as beginning at a "why not" perspective. in any case, the thing that i am wondering about is the subconscious questions we answer to ourselves multiple time throughout the day and whose corresponding answers govern the movement of our lives. i wonder when it is appropriate to answer the "why" questions and when it is better to ask "why not". as best as i can tell, i answer most self-governing questions in the "why not" catagory... it seems like there is a whole lot more freedom in this camp and life seems to short to bog oneself down with the endless task of evaluating the "why". but in the areas of life that stretch on into eternity, i find myself spending much more time in the "why". i'm not quite sure why this is, but i imagine it is significant.

tomorrow, tony and i will spend the day down at the beach for memorial day. apparently, there is a dress-your-dog-up day to be held at the hermosa beach mermorial day party and tony and i plan on dressing up one of brenda and lavalley's dogs, jasmine, as yoda. she's not green, but if you saw her as much as the two of us have in the past week, you'd probably agree that her facial features-- ears in particular-- more than make up for her beige (non-green) hair. we found a burlap sack to wrap yoda in for tomorrow and we plan on duct taping a toy light-saber to yoda's ribs to complete the ensomble. i don't know if there will be a winner tomorrow or who would judge the dressed-up dogs, but if there is such a judge and corresponding competition, i think yoda will encounter some blue ribbon. the whole dress-up deal seems a little bit ridiculous, and usually i make a lot of fun of any one who dresses up their dog, but i could come up with no answer that would trump the "why not"...