Friday 4:31 PM Rock Island Coffee Company – Hamilton, Bermuda

bit longer between journaling than expected – went into the water & then nearly fell asleep on the beach and then decided to go home. Wanted to journal more, but didn’t get to it between wandering back to Marie’s and supper, scrabble, 24, internet & bed.

The urge to journal was nice though – haven’t had it in a while & it’s nice to actually have the creative urges feel more like cravings than “oh yeah, I should do that sometime”.

Tired and a bit frustrated – later nights (24 is addicting) and earlier mornings (the Lacasse family traffic & me sleeping in their living room) – the tiredness isn’t helping the frustration – got burned some yesterday – mostly OK ‘cept for one patch on my back where my hands couldn’t reach easily – Marie’s mom says it looks far less red this morning than it did last night. Got some noxema so will start treating it (if I can reach it).

The Bermuda Underwater Exploration Institute was annoying and perhaps at some other time it would’ve been cool, but mostly it just made me mad. Cheesy displays, over evolution-ized stuff (e.g. talking of shells being an excellent “evolutionary design that has stood the test of time”. Implying a design says to me that there was a designer (perhaps this is the engineer or artist in me lashing out) and so it makes no sense to me when people phrase things like this – evolution is a genetic/geological process of change and, as such, has no capacity for decisions (and hence design) – if you’re going to talk about the wonders of evolution at least attribute it to a process instead of a source you can compliment on the ingenuity of “design” – either totally ignore the designer or credit the designer, don’t try to do both ‘cause it doesn’t make logical sense).

The displays were cheesy including the ‘dive’ – some goofy elevator/theater that they try to hype up as being a submarine. First they’re trying to play up to us 5 adults that this is some exciting “dive” and then they’re trying to reassure us “there’s no real water involved – it’s just pretend”. And the show & rattling and banging of the elevator was cheesy & ends in an “attack” by a giant squid & us abandoning ship at 30,000 feet down (which would kill us anyhow).

Then they have a shark cage display with replica shark cage (the one divers climb in while swimming with sharks) and it’s got two big screens showing displays of sharks on them with a sort of tolerable thought still mostly scary set of shark images. But when you step into the cage, it triggers the screens to switch to scenes where sharks start to rush the cage, mouths gaping open & they shake the cage/cage floor as the shark “hits” & then there’s a large bang & such & Kirk tries not to wet himself.

I’ve been having enough trouble with being afraid of the water without that. On Shelley bay beach, I was sort of having a good time until I thought about sharks & then had to go ask Marie if I needed to worry. Horseshoe bay has been OK, but I still look for fins every so often. Now I’ve switched to expecting a barbed tail to lash out when I step on some submerged stingray (Marie mentioned she saw some off of some ocean inlet around the island (i.e. not the beaches)), but yeah – the shark cage crap doesn’t help & made me feel pretty claustrophobic in the rest of the displays – expecting a shark to tap me on the shoulder with some huge fin and then smile & proceed to swallow me whole. I’ve left the institute looking suspiciously at the water expecting giant sea monsters to start devouring boats of reaching up to grab me off the pier & into a murky doom…..

Been reading both “The Cost of Discipleship” [by Deitrich Bonhoeffer] and “Traveling Mercies” [by Anne Lammott] today. I connect better with Annie’s book as she talks of addictions to alcohol & eating disorders and the miracles of learning to be sober & to feed herself. She talks of the personal hells of neurotically destroying yourself and the miracle of being rescued from that by grace. Could this grace, this salvation come without God? In Annie’s words, “I couldn’t’ feed myself! So thanks for your input, but I know where I was, and I know where I am now, and you just can’t get here from there.”

But Bonhoeffer’s book would likely ascribe much of this – and likely most of what I’ll embrace – as “cheap grace (which, as Dietrich says is “another word for damnation”). Dietrich speaks that, “he who believes, obeys and he who obeys, believes”. – that faith produces action and action puts us in the place where faith is possible. He speaks of the call of discipleship – Jesus’s call to follow, where the disciple abandons all to follow Jesus – about the initial step of faith in taking a step to give up something or to leave security behind to embrace following Jesus, and how this initial step out of the old life into a new one puts us in the place where faith (or belief) is possible and needed. In the old and comfortable life, there is no need for faith ‘cause it’s manageable in our control of whatever Jesus wants.

And yeah, his “pastoral thoughts” in the “call of discipleship” chapter feels pretty harsh (and like something a pastor could easily speak to me – whether they’d be right or not is a whole ‘nother deal).

And so yeah, I don’t know if I’m following, a true disciple, Jesus – & with what Bonhoeffer says, discipleship is about, I’m not sure if I want to be exactly. It makes me afraid. Confronts me with stubbornness, pride, fear, weakness, shame – it says to me that I can’t follow you – it seems impossible, beyond me, and that’s the point that my strength is not what matters. The new life of faith is stepping into a place where faith/belief can work, of where you’re “coming through”. Your grace is my only hope – and yeah, I’ve gotten so used to the looking out for me that I don’t know how to release me to you (or am scarred from trying to release me to others & having my heart smashed from that). So yeah, it may be like the guy “opposing himself” wanting to follow & not wanting to follow – “suffer me first” – yeah, so I know God - Jesus, Father, Spirit – maybe I’m in relationship with you & living in love and journey with you or maybe I’m just deluding myself and living in my manufactured self-absolving world of “cheap grace”.

God be merciful to me a sinner. I don’t deserve grace or love, but, from what I know of your heart, you delight to give us grace & love. Stitch me to your side in love, conform my heart to embrace you without shame, without fear, without reservation.

Give me clarity to know you as you really are.
Thanks. Amen.

Oct. 14 2:44 PM Horseshoe Bay beach – Bermuda

This beach life is a bit of an anomaly for me. I’m not exactly sure how to handle it all. First & foremost is trying not to burn – been out here since I don’t know when – put the spf 45 sun block on and been in & out of the water & back to the shade once to look for food (which sucked ‘cause the canteen is closed for the day). It’s windy & so not overly hot and intermittent clouds so these are all the places where I can get burned & not know it – but when I checked in the shade, I didn’t look pink at all, so we’ll try this for a bit longer.

Better put more sunscreen on though…
-hrm – putting on sunscreen when you’re covered in a fine layer of sand is not as easy (or pain free) as it was when I first got here.

It’s been a good time here, though a solitary one. I’m funny – spent the morning chatting with Marie’s mom but just wanted to head out & have “me” time – and now – while by myself on this beach of people (a lot less full than when I first arrived) I wish someone was here with me – or for me. I guess if I’m honest, I don’t want just anyone here - most people’s company would leave me craving me time again – but yeah, I do crave some kind of contact,/companionship, someone to share this with – and that comes to the selectiveness of who I want. Lots of people would not be here to “share” the moment, instead it would be to make the moment something more – wed have to be doing something or be noise or rush into the surf & go snorkeling or something – few people would really “share” what I’m experiencing – quiet, warmth, breeze, the soothing pulse of the ocean like a mother’s breathing while in utero – the feel of sand on skin, the scratch of pen on paper, the voices, the chirp of birds – this is my experience of the now and it has its own wonder in the quiet and it would be nice to look over at someone (especially a “my beloved”), look into her eyes without a word, only a smile and know that they were enjoying the richness of the moment, too.

There’s a wonder about this world that you have created that it needs to be shared – perhaps it is simply part of our being made in Your image that causes us to long to share the treasures of beauty around us – and perhaps that is your heart to share with us – “eye has not seen, nor ear heard,” the scriptures say, “the wonder that you have prepared for us” – and perhaps this is why you placed men & women in a garden made for them – a garden with every type of tree & flower & bush & herb. And you paraded every manner of animal before Adam to get him to name them, but also, I imagine, to share the wonder of each of these creatures with him.

And this, God, is where we/I see your childlike glee, the passion you have for your creation – like a little kid showing off the latest lego creation or drawing or sculpture of mud or clay – you come bounding up to us and say “look at this… isn’t it just great !!!!” and as Chesterton said, you show your childlike joy and freedom in the way you keep doing things over & over again – each new daisy results in your marvel, your unceasing wonder as you say, “let’s do that again!!! Let’s make another one!!”

And yeah, I believe that is why we were made: to share this with you, to enjoy life with you. At Jon & Allysen’s wedding there was again the gut choking, heart wrenching ache for a bride. Hearing Jon mention “I just want to see her” before the wedding – his heart & eyes attempting (but not succeeding) to patiently wait to behold his bride – and yeah, I felt that again, too, though, unlike Jon, my bride was not simply waiting upstairs a few meters and a few minutes away, adorning herself in her wedding attire.

And so the ache comes – nauseating in the way it chokes my innards like two great hands wrapped around my stomach, intestines and heart, squeezing, crushing and pulling them down and out through my spinal cord.

“She”, this mystical one that I often despair of finding is who I long for today in this place, this moment. But she is still a long ways off……

But this is the heartbeat of Jesus, the ache of the Son of God &Son of man where it was “not good” for Him to be alone - not that He was alone with Father & Spirit ever existing in trinity, in the great maelstrom of constant giving-receiving love – and just as I am never truly alone without you, the three in one – but yet it’s different, there is something “other” in the longing for a bride and perhaps just more tangible than you are…..

…going to go jump in the water for a bit. I’ll be back…..

Oct 13/04 – Hamilton, Bermuda – upstairs patio of the Pickled Onion

Trip continues to grow more expensive – things don’t come cheap here, so, I suppose, I might as well enjoy it while the money lasts – enjoy the perks of engineer salary. Should hopefully be cheaper tomorrow – a day at the beach (and perhaps the same on Friday if I’m not burned to a crisp). The hat has been a fantastic purchase - $``.95 US for a barin saver – and the water at the restaurant is fantastic – cold, wet, pure, simple, delicious – little loaf of bread they brought looks mostly fresh – still somewhat warm, resting on a neat little paddle with cut outs for knife & butter tin. The noises of front street – vehicles, horns, buses, diesels – mixed with piped in music – sort of an island jazz – and the conversations of other tourists like me.

It feels good to write – attempted writing on the computer last night and it didn’t flow (and then 24 season 2 disc 4 wouldn’t play on the laptop) – but pen on paper feels different – better, more restful, more rich, more full of artistry and the poetry of creation. That can happen on the computer, but yeah – simple journaling is pretty sweet.

The near heat exhaustion yesterday & the sweetness of the water at present have helped remind of the preciousness of the simple things. Water is perhaps not so flavourful or exciting a drink, but it’s so needed – and I can see why my body craves it. Drinking it now is like drinking the finest of wines, the richest of vintages.

The ginger beer today was decent – odd flavour, but yummy. The iced tea was OK (once I dumped about 8 sugar packets in it – razzen frazzen American style ice tea – sucking/crunching on the ice cubes with bits of sugar remnants on them was likely the best part of it all). The fruit smoothie with Marie yesterday was fantastic with the mix of mango, watermelon, passion fruit, pineapple and a lot of other juices – but still not as good as simple water after a day of baking in the hot sun.

I’m sort of at peace at present. Part of it is just the tiredness from being in the sun all day and walking too much. Some of it is the way the humidity saps your energy. But a large chunk of the peacefulness comes from having no agenda – no clocks demanding I be some where – no “have to”s or “should be”s – only the “want to”s – and right now the “want to”s are dropping to a very simple subset – wander, experience, enjoy the ocean, enjoy TV on DVD & books (though having a hard time getting into Bonhoeffer’s “the cost of discipleship”), eat & drink & sleep.

There are still the nagging voices of “should be” speaking in my ear, but I’m trying to suppress them. There is the occasional panick attack of ‘you’re not going to do/see enough on your vacation” and I stop, breathe deep & push the panick down into it’s hole again.

The swordfish steak is not bad – by itself it’s fairly flavourless – just a nice white fish taste. With the mango/papaya/red pepper salsa (just chopped up chunks) on top, the salsa flavour blends nicely with the swordfish to change the flavour of the whole – the sharp tang from the mangos, deeper flavours from the papayas.

It’s 5:35. Finished the swordfish & working on the fries & veggies. I may have a chunk of time to “kill” waiting to meet with Marie & her friends for harbour night. It’s nice having her around. It’s been a decent balance so far of alone time & time with Marie . Not sure 100% how she’s doing. Lots for her to figure out in life at present & not sure how many solid friends she has here. We’ve both changed in some ways since hanging together in Calgary almost a lifetime ago. The year & some has not been easy on either of us (or at least I know it’s been hard on me).

I’ve really enjoyed my 30’s, but the last year has been one of desolation – starting work with General Dynamics and starting things with the converge crew had so much promise of good things to come, but instead it’s turned out to be more heartache & disappointment – fledgling hopes being dashed against the rocks before they even got the chance to attempt flight. All of it’s left me fairly bruised & cynical – likely the most I’ve been. I feel the most stripped at present and it’s been such a positive thing in the middle of its desolation. I find myself “deciduous” – bare branches stripped of leaves, waiting for the promise of spring to be clothed again in new life – and that’s the rich part of the present – the richness of this “fall season” – that I exist in hope & possibility. The future is unknown & there is still, unreasonably so, the hope for something better. This hope should not be present after the year I had, but it is & I’m even “happy” about that – in my own internal, gentle form of happiness. I’m not looking forward to another winter, but it can be endured if hope is present; if hope is the sap frozen in my veins, waiting for the thaw of springtime.

Man, can’t believe my appetite lately. I’ve had all that stuff & I’m still working away at the bread & stuff – finished my vegetables, even – so you know I’m hungry – zucchini, beans, and peppers – the zucchini was really good – crisp and firm – still can’t bring myself to down the broccoli though.

Contrasts

Hung out with Joe tonight, for the 1st time in 6 weeks. I've missed hanging with him.

Anyhow, some interesting contrasts:
- He's 17, I'm 32
- I give him a 'Gosling's Black Seal Rum' long-sleeved T-shirt as a souvenier from Bermuda, he's just interested in the rum
- we stopped in at blockbuster & bought some previously viewed DVDs - he buys 'Club Dredd' & 'the Girl next door', I buy 'Bionicle the movie'
- He's excited about the new laptop he bought 2nd hand, I'm excited about the new G.I. Joe helicopter I bought on ebay
- He's working on the computer looking for parts for the aforementioned laptop, I'm shooting him with the missiles from the forementioned helicopter.

Guess I should check on which one of us is the adult.

Writing Exercise - Thoughts from the Bank

Stopped in at the bank at lunch today to get a money order to pay for my latest ebay purchase. The line was (thankfully) shorter than it often is & I was quickly at the front of the line.

Behind me, a woman arrived to wait in the queue, sharply dressed in a black pant suit with the hint of white collar jutting out of it. She was agitated & pacing/walking/swinging/dancing behind me, walking in & out of the line, spinning around & then back into the queue. She had a mane of dusty brown hair, sunglasses atop her head & a face ravaged by years of living. Perhaps ravaged is the wrong word.... it's the kind of face I've seen before. Many times I've noticed women with attractive, shapely, young looking bodies, but their faces look anything but young... their faces carry in them the marks of years of hard living - drinking, smoking, drugs, eating disorders, whatever. They are road weary women, the kind that gets classified as 'trailer trash'. It's hard to tell how old they actually are. Their faces just look old, tired, beaten by the winds & forces of life...dark skin, creased with a thousand worries, no hint of smile on their faces, eyes cold & hiding their emotion as much as if the sunglasses were still on.

While we're standing there, Madonna's "like a little prayer" starts playing over the PA & she begins to sing - singing somewhere in the nether regions between right out loud & too quiet to hear - it's not at full voice, but it's definitely audible to those around. For a moment she seems happy, finding the familiarity of '80s tune & her movements almost approach dance instead of simply agitated. Shortly, she returns to agitated & begins talking to the man who's entered the queue behind her about how she's "usually a happy person, but not when someone is sticking their noses into her business" & she starts to swear & curse & throw out random sentences.

& all the while I'm standing there, eyes front, trying to ignore her, to let her be in her little world & let me stay in mine. I start to wonder what's up with her. Is she upset? drunk? on drugs? demonized? and then the next available teller beckons me over & I feel a breath of relief to step away from the unstable woman.

But, the woman gets the teller next to me & begins, full of anger & tension, to tell her story to the teller that she has a bank card & her money is in the account, but her so-called friend (expletives removed) came in yesterday & shut down the card so she doesn't have access & she wants the teller to get her access to the account. The teller looks are the card, gets the woman's information & plainly tells the agitated woman that her name is not on the account & so there is nothing that the teller can do. And the woman starts to rage, "you need to call that blankety-blank & get my money out of the account" & again the teller, calmly says that there's nothing she can do & that the woman needs to talk to the owner of the account & get access through him. And the woman grabs her stuff & walks off fuming that she's going to, "sue that blankety-blank for fraud."

And she leaves, the next lady at the till politely assures the teller, "she wasn't angry at you" & the teller nods & smiles & talks about how that she just lets that stuff go over her head & she doesn't worry about it. And we all chuckle softly & breath a sigh of relief. We laugh partly to mock this odd & agitated woman, partly at the absurdity of the situation. Part of it though is a nervous laugh, trying to cover over the reality of how this woman has made our day uncomfortable & has breathed in anger, agitation, violence, hate into our lives. The nervous laugh comes with a sigh of relief that we are 'safe', back with the normal people & normal routines where everyone keeps their thoughts & lives to themselves & no one swears & curses or dances & sings out loud & we are all free to remain islands unaffected by each others joys or pains.

And I am impressed in this, by my own cowardice, at my lack of courage to do something. I stand there, trying to hide, hide my gaze, my attention, from this wild woman. I am afraid to say anything. To ask how she's doing, if there's something wrong. I'm afraid to stand up for the teller, to tell the woman to be quiet or that she really needs to have it out with the owner of the account, to tell her that she needs to go easy on the teller 'cause the teller's hands are tied by the legal structures designed to protect all of us (or at least keep random people from accessing our bank accounts).

But instead I say nothing. I am afraid of the woman's reaction. I'm afraid on being on the receiving end of her anger. It's odd because I fear less the threat of her physically attacking me than I do simply her anger, the wildness, the instability, the unpredictable-ness of it. I am afraid of being yelled at. Afraid of seeing her wild eyes flash at me as the object of anger, or the closest man she can lash out at since the man who has her money is not in the room. I fear confrontation. I live for appeasement & it's hard to appease wildly angry people - they're looking for someone to vent the anger on & aren't wanting to listen to reason & so I hide in fear, hide from her, hide from helping others.

And more than that, I refuse to give her the gift of person hood. I refuse to look at her except perhaps sideways glances out of the corner of my eyes. I don't give her the gift of attention, of acceptance, of all the subtle, non-verbal ways we recognize each other as humans - the quick look at each others eyes, a nod hello... Instead I actively work to block her out of entering my world, my bubble - not that it fully works - her anger & agitation spills across the room, staining everyone, but I 'win', she doesn't talk to me, she is treated like a leper, like she doesn't exist. I have successfully ignored her as she rushes out into whatever happens next in her life.

And as I walk out & drive away, I start to reflect, to find the quiet filled with questions & unknowns. My head slips to the patented "what would Jesus do?" question & instead of answers, I begin to think more of this woman & my thinking passes from the self cantered thoughts of how she's inconveniencing me to where she's coming from. She comes into the bank looking sharp, businesslike & professional, yet that's a mask & perhaps she knows that. Perhaps the agitation is fuelled by fear - the fear that she knows that she is not a 'businesswoman', not a 'professional'. Perhaps she senses the eyes of those around her, the gaze of comparison &, like a hunted animal, stands wild eyed before the predators of money, success & beauty, the predators of "not enough" that seek to cripple & maim all of us. Perhaps she's comparing herself to the 'professionals' behind the counter, neatly dressed, make-up perfectly in place, a stable job that keeps their money in their bank accounts instead of the accounts of random 'friends'. Perhaps she's already heard the snickers & hushed conversation as she leaves. Perhaps she feels the looks & points & stares already digging into her & furthering the sense of condemnation.

And so perhaps the anger is there to mask her fear & she pours on the stench of anger to cover the odour of her fear. If she can be angry enough, forceful enough, maybe she can cover over her lack of 'professionalism' & people will fear her instead of tear her apart with criticism & scorn. Perhaps she doesn't know how to cope, how to interact without the masks. Perhaps if she stops being angry, she'll just break down & then she won't be 'strong' enough to 'protect' herself from the wolves around (not that the anger & hardness is doing a better job of it).

And what of the man whose name is on the account? Is he friend? lover? businessman? owner? What else has he stolen from this woman? Her dignity? Her time? Her trust? Why does she need the money? Is it to pay rent? to feed a child? to feed an addiction?

Perhaps her moment of joy with "a little prayer" is the only place she feels safe. It is familiar to her. It fits her world instead of the world of businesswomen & banks & politeness. Perhaps her lending her voice to the song is the only escape she has from the moment. Perhaps her song is more than words, perhaps it, too is a little prayer. A prayer that goes unheeded by all of us standing around her.

And in the end, there is only the questions.. the questions & the silence. The silence mixed with shame. Shame for cowardice, shame for refusing to risk, shame for letting my mouth talk more about helping/being there for others than my actions speak. I have heard it said that we either warm or chill the 'climate' of the planet by how much we give to others or refuse to give. And again, I find myself helping to make the world a colder place by refusing to give others the gift of person - the gift of seeing the human behind the masks, behind the coping mechanisms & by refusing to leave my 'bubble'. And again, as a human & as a Christian, I fail to keep the 'trust', I fail to walk in brotherhood, in love, with those around me & choose the road of least resistance instead of the path of love (which somehow always embraces the path of suffering).

God help this woman. Lead her home safe & provide for her. God help us all (specifically me). I continue to see how I'm perpetuating the problems on this planet instead of helping to repair things.