Facets of the day: I

Gideon-Bible Men

Someone in one of my later classes remarked how the Gideon-Bible distributors seemed to be everywhere on campus today. I could not help but silently agree, though I think my attitude toward the fact was different than his. As he told one of my classmates "You just can't say no [...] it's the Bible and, I'm not religious or anything but you're definitely going to hell or something if you throw a Bible away [...] Freshman year, when we got them, we all put ours together and left them in a corner. That's something you just leave in your apartment for someone else to find, you know?"

I've certainly left my Gideon Bibles sitting around-- perhaps preferring the larger, Old Testament-included variety? There's one in my trumpet case, in case I need it (but I've never opened it). There's one in a home desk drawer. When a pair of men approached me in my complex, I replied "Hey fellas! Oh no... I have several". I thought that was it. It seemed like the right defense-- and I was looking for a way out of the encounter. I'm wasn't sure quite why-- perhaps because I like being able to say 'no'. That was not the end-- those Gideon-Bible men were hanging around the library. This time, I took the headphones off... this one had me. I told him that I'd already seen the gentlemen at West Circle complex... but he pushed a little. Did I have a Bible at home? Yes I did... he quoted a passage to me... "you shall know the truth and it shall set you free." That's actually the scripture I'm using for my short spiel at Wesley next Thursday. "John 8:31, right?" I was proud of myself... that would be the deterrent. No evangelism required, I already had that. He made me promise to keep seeking the word... then told me how Proverbs was such an excellent book on management. Oddly enough, I finished Proverbs right before I started reading John.
Hmmm...
When he asked me what I wanted to do, I told him I wanted to be in Faith communication and that I was in the RCC. I thought that would really do it. It was true, but some voice inside me was going "Really? Does he believe you... are you really going to do that or is that just the advantageous answer for this man?"
After I promised to read something by James Dobson, I finally returned my library book and head on my way.
I ran into another pair working each side of the bridge by the admin building and told them "I already saw the gentleman at the library." Then my brain started to get after me. I was defending myself against my own faith. Later that day, I made the connection between the Bibles in the corner of loud-stupid-guy's apartment and some aspects of my own (and maybe YOUR own faith): we might fear rejecting the Word and the Way, but we don't want to be anywhere near it. So, we're better "safe than sorry", hoarding trinkets of faith that we never use and failing to keep it in our lives and hearts. I also had the jarring revelation that maybe the missing parts of my faith aren't in the private spaces where I study the Bible and pray.

They could be in a commission--in the act of bringing faith to other people.

Sadly, I have to make a fancy dinner. I'm all suited up and ready to leave... more later...

Windy Days

I am still doing fine; as the band Switchfoot once said, I want "more than fine". I'm feeling my restlessness again. It may be the only feeling that is a sufficient condition for my journaling. I've certainly had many things I could have mentioned-- yet, it is restlessness that motivates me to blog.
I need a commission to come my way, fast. My girlfriend is "encouraging" me to apply to the camp she works at and that's fine-- for a short-term commitment. I know that it can be good for me. It comes into my thoughts intermittently during the day-- the prospect of being out-doors more, of being forced into a role-model position, of being free of technological encumbrances. It will all end, though. That will be it-- nine weeks or so. Then what? Another X number of years of drifting around spiritually. I fell away... but I fell softly away. I hate that. I hate when separation is like falling into a fluffy couch or warm water or whatever. I hate how I have trouble feeling where I am spiritually. Everyone knows that truly spiritual experiences are complicated and end up bringing us challenges. If they don't admit they know, some part of them does. I wonder if that same part of me is putting up a block or if I am just in an easy place.
What can I do to get out of here? Maybe this is a natural feeling-- God's way of keeping me from being satisfied. The problem is it's the worst test there is for me... to let me fall away softly like I have in the past. Women. Small successes. Luxury items. That's why I don't brag about the car-- I'm afraid of what it means. Yes, I have a nice little car. I'm already starting to splurge on it in little ways. Booze. Maybe I was happier when I had quit it. Then, I never had to wonder about it. Not at all-- it just wasn't there. It wasn't helping or hurting or providing anything. It was just not there.

I am seeing how people give up on being spiritual individuals. This is annoying-- it is annoying because I have to be forgiving of people for settling for less-- I have to admit that I have been there in my adult life. That I have just let lax, at times, too. This annoys me-- it annoys me that my intense spiritual experiences are memories and I don't know where to get more, necessarily. It annoys me that I am positioned to be loved and comfortable. I'm annoyed.

Obviously, I am also very confused right now. I've quit the medicine. It just wasn't getting me anywhere forward. It keeps you steady, where you are. Sometimes I don't WANT to be steady. I wanted everyone to believe I was sane for so long and now... I just want to be crazy. This time, I want to be crazy and not care what anyone thinks except the Divine. I want to be good crazy~ not depressed, of course. I want to undertake a journey and actually make the RIGHT turn when the fork in the road comes.

I remember this frustration with journaling right before I weaned off and quit. I hope I'm headed in reverse; I want to think I'm fighting back this time. That instead of settling down into nothing I am going forward into a chaotic something. This medium might be insufficient but... I still have it. It's still here, to draw from. To vent in.

Restlessness

Sometimes, I find myself checking the date-- in case I want to remember it. I never do-- remember it or want to. It makes me wonder why I check the date... is it because I think that a particular day could be one to remember or because I want a day like that? And if I remember the precise date, then is it more real?

The feeling did not start until I had slurped down the dregs of my tea and opened up a FireFox window: restlessness. There does not appear to be a particular exigence to be addressed; I read about the white tea I just drank and it is not particularly caffeinated-- not more than the green tea I drink all the time and certainly less than black teas; music is only dulling it. Yet, I am not sure I want this generalized restlessness curtailed. There is a hope in my deepest heart that this restlessness is a part of what I am looking for in life these days. I don't want to be anethetized right now-- I want to feel restless.

There is a component of worry in my restlessness-- I have a long story to write in a short time. My fiction thesis is intimidating--
Additionally, my meditation time this morning, the quiet time that ended just fifteen minutes ago, forced me to think more about vocation without my even intending to do so. I am reading a book called "Dancing with God Through the Storm" which is about mystical Christianity and its intersection with suspected mental illness (the author is doubtful about a clear line of 'illness', which is relieving for someone like me who hates to be pathologized for feeling abnormal). The vagrant thought crossed my mind again: what if part of my vocation is to pursue a career in Christian counseling, helping people struggle with themselves internally? I'm always close to giving in but another part of me chimes in and says "What if your gift is to touch people through writing! Be careful!". Then, of course, a chorus of voices drum up inside my mind (not of the psychotic variety but of the rhetorical variety:), many doubtful ones. I liked this particular point and counter-point to come out of that:
"If you pursue a career in counseling, you won't be happy that you don't get published..."
"If you pursue a career in counseling, who is to say that you cannot free-lance whenever you need? Who is to say that your writing will become even more precious, more passionate and less tedious?"

Who is to say... and would I keep being a Religious Communicator and even (soon) a Christian Communicator (I need to get that app done...)?

The paradox of spaces and contents is tearing me up. It could be the topic of my next english paper: spaces and contents. Nothingness and its contents. The qualititative aspects of a moment always exceed the spaces that contain them; when we put those qualities into containers it pickles them and they are not the same. The moment of writing is never equal the moment in perceiving and the moment of perceiving is never equal to the moment of being.
The moment of being one is the same as the moment of being whole or as the collective's moment or the moment of being All. Even as I wax philosophical I do not more fully unpack the moment but more fully PACK it with meanings. I draw out from the system of a moment and even my drawing is an adding so that what comes out is more but what is inside is more as well.
There are no laws of conservation-- none of limitation. All that was not unlocked is lost and what feels unlocked is only a package of more locks.

Now, time for a trite ending of some kind. I managed not to more fully express but to create more to express. Yet, that's probably a better part of being a writer. Well, I won't burden you any more...

*trite ending*

Full of Thin-Air

I composed no less than three entries in my head since the last time I logged-in here. What happened to them? It looks as if I am still out of the habit of blogging. I'm still roaming the empty-spaces of life a little too much, trying to get away from a prodigious pile of work. I want to do my work, I'm just scared of it all-- that's the only hitch. BBC videos usually do the trick, when I need to be distracted and not feel guilty. They're so educational, you know...

In other news, life goes on...
My aunt decided to take my career into her own hands and ask a friend of hers about internship opportunities in the Indianapolis area. Her friend offered help! I eagerly applied to four internships as Pearson in Indianapolis and tried to think positive. To my aunt's friend, I wrote an extensive letter, hoping to gain some support.
Her reply caught me slightly off-guard, not because it was anything surprising but because it was so verisimilar-- it was real. She said my e-mail was entertaining and unexpected. She gave me a kind of dingy picture of publishing and of graduating with an English degree (which made me very glad to be a COM major, you can bet on that). She said it would dull my passion for reading out of pleasure but that it might be a good way to go (which convinced me that I want to stay closer to the marketing side of publishing or not do it at all, perhaps). Overall, I just didn't get a sense of enthusiasm. It seems like a job, not a vocation. I should not have been surprised-- it matched my expectations of what I would feel in that position. I just thought that someone actually in publishing would spin it better.
I immediately wrote to the president of the WACC about membership; next, I read about their principles for Christian Communication and got stoked about social justice. I decided that, for better or worse, I'd probably prefer to not be stuck in a publishing house. Something else has to happen, first. I hope I can find something else--- especially since there are "no guarantees" about this job in Indianapolis. Once again, aunt Jeanine, despite meaning so well, probably sees things the way she wants. On the other hand, she's proactive and that, indeed, makes her a valuable asset.

The prognosis is iffy in paper-land. I wish I wanted to talk about it. I have so little optimism right now... yet I think I will do it? That's so contradictory-- proof that I am writing off of the top of my head.

Friday, I visited with a friend of mine who had been quite sick. She was quite talkitive and moving around well. Not to mention, she just looked good. That made me feel better. Then again, anyone would have looked better than me at that point-- I had just finished a long, confused run; I attempted to run to Baker woodlot and then find some "back-way" back. The back-way continues to A) not really be there the way I want it to be or B)be somewhere out in the country. I might be better served to stop running South--but to the North are residencies and that makes me feel nervous (people watching me run?). I did find 'the back-way' by Baker but it involves a little 'break' in the run--- that is, a walk across the railroad tracks and a good-old fence-climb. I would typically avoid fence climbs entirely but I found this one to my liking--- yesterday, I tried the route in reverse (except this time I didn't lose my sense of direction) and used an old tire to boost me over the fence. The catch? The route might not be viable during the week... it's adjascent to a construction site.
Fuko: Go at night.... ...maybe I'll go at night...
Anyway, I actually ran for forty minutes total, two days in a row... did I hear someone?
...
.......
What I wanted to write about, so badly, was a conflict I had with a friend. Of course, I'm also reticent to write about conflict since the days of "LiveJournal drama". There were some important insights to be had, though. For instance, through our conflict I first realized that there needs to be a distinction between judgement and evaluation. My friend was defensive about her beliefs because she feared that judgement would be passed on her. However, if we withold our evaluations then how are we to sharpen each other like 'iron on iron'. Surely, to evaluate and discuss a belief has to be partitioned from the judgement of a person. I don't think my friend is a bad person because she disbelieves whether an account in the Bible ever took place--- however, I do want to know WHY she believes so, in order to evaluate the usefulness of the belief or the flaws in the rationale or... whatever. Ideally, we could discuss our beliefs without fearing that people would judge US while they evaluate our beliefs.
Some might not value scriptural support, but if we consider Jesus's life we would find that he DID have distinct opinions about certain behaviors... he evaluated them negatively. Inserting Jesus into the discussion problematizes the entire issue, though, because it really depended on to whom Jesus was addressing himself. Those who were already considered 'sinners' usually weren't 'judged' as "bad"~~ arguably, Jesus restricted his evaluations to their behaviors. He wouldn't stone the woman, but he told her to quit comitting adultry (it's just a bad behavior). On the other hand, he said some NASTY STUFF about Pharisees. He called them vipers. Not viper-like but vipers.
In any case, I felt sad for my friend afterward-- for reasons I won't get into. Let's just say that I'm glad I didn't grow up in her house. Plenty of money to go around (which is UNlike my house) but huge cosmological dissonances to be dealt with. So, she deserves to be treated with some kindness...

Dying Hard... and Ressurection?

Lately, I feel like I am coming to the depth of my disjointedness. To say so is both to be highly critical of myself and to be an optimist at the same time. If I am at a peak, that means I have been digging my own hole at a good pace for too long yet, if this is as bad as I let it get, I should be climbing out again. Maybe I'm not nearly as disjointed as I think-- just looking for an upward turning point.

Blogging used to be a daily habit. I downright abused the right for a long time-- then broke myself of it. Now, I feel a bit 'stiff' in this medium. I hate that I'm about to use the word "blogosphere" but...

...the blogosphere was my place to go, before I lowered myself to looking at YouTube clips (and worse, sadly) or surfing facebook or other 'fun' sites. I used to sit down, every day, and write myself in circles in brassknight86, my LiveJournal space. There, I went to the extravagence of inventing some companions for myself~ I recycled Frank the Goat, created a vegan dragon named Bruce and, last but not least, summoned a fat ninja named Fuko (foo-ko). In the early months of my usage I reflected on the meaning of my days, which gradually decayed into a sort of abysmal internal search for a "cure". Perhaps I needed an answer to being myself~ what it was and why it always seemed to feel wrong. Later came the vent entries, including a period when I alienated my readership with masked indictments of an ex-girlfriend (who still deserved it-- but I deserved better than to see myself do it, didn't I? It was a waste of energy...)

Finally came the combination that dealt my blogging a fatal blow-- a more external orientation to the world and a laundry list of new 'bad habits'. I picked less participatory ways to procrastinate. Browsing but never reading. Posting but never writing. Replacing the TV I don't have with vids. I made more friends, which is good; many good things have happened. At the same time, my self-awareness is collapsed. Dark spaces have grown up in me since the days of total disclosure.

A book I am reading for class reminded me of this-- two characters are living in an apartment where they have created "nothing" spaces where they can have privacy. They are there but no one looks at them. It's supposed to make living easier...

...it makes living have no meaning, for one of them. He leaves. In his wake, a true nothing surfaces.

So, I want to ressurect some nothing spaces. I don't want to live in "nothing" space. To what end will I ressurect blogging? I do not know. I'm not satisfied with my content. On the other hand, I've denied myself of the process for quite some time. Therefore, I leave you my fragments, reader

Beige Ninja

This is a post that could go on for days. On so many days, my life is Beige Ninja.

I talked about the concept with professor Davis. She said I should start calling her Louise. I explained about the comedy routine and how I had come to associate the idea of an off-white ninja with the fatal elements of mundane life. She said that it was quite post-modern of me-- to pick an archetype to represent something so unrepresentable.

The Beige Ninja always kills you softly-- it is his softly that kills you. The dull edges of things wearing away at your will. The pastels slowly leeching energy from the cones of your eyes as they strain. The Beige Ninja was never defeated-- he has ruled me more in the past year than ever before. I've been so stable, so good about taking my medicine, so well supported that the Ninja had no trouble creeping in. He's in every internet over-indulgence. The Mean Kitty Videos, the Shopping Cart Game, my insistence on reading every-single F My Life post. Meanwhile, what has happened in the world?

Now, my parents are writing to me about how I need a job. I didn't bother reading those e-mails-- it doesn't do any good. They're just victims of the ninja themselves. The fact of the matter is, I'm still putting my schoolwork first. I still have my priorities in order-- I just let some slip in that didn't belong.

Now, lent is over. The season of discipline is over. Now I need to find some real discipline. Not tonight, though. I have to go celebrate. There is much to be happy about.
The Ninja will have to wait.