Remind me again what the meek inherit?

"Mirabelle Buttersfield moved from Vermont, hoping to begin her life. And now she is stranded in the vast openness of L.A. She keeps working to make connections, but the pile of near misses is starting to overwhelm her. What Mirabelle needs is an omniscient voice to illuminate & spotlight her and to inform everyone that this one has value, this one, standing behind the counter in the glove department, and then to find her counterpart & bring him to her."
- Steve Martin, Narrator in the movie "Shop Girl"

Today has not been a good day. I awoke with the weight of singleness echoing in my head, bursting my brain like some unseen ocean depth, the open wound of longing, a great gaping hole in my chest sucking in air & pain with each breath. (OK, maybe it wasn't that bad, but it's no fun writing if you can't come up with good metaphors & a little melodrama :) )

But I felt very alone today. I felt afraid of humanity. Like no one was safe, my heart like a sparrow with no place to make it's nest, no place to find refuge from the storms within. Maybe I just cut myself off from people who listen. Maybe the people who listen are out of town or otherwise indisposed. Maybe I don't give people the chance to respond. Maybe the ones I go to for help are not always gentle... I don't know....

Mostly it was all about fighting the voices within. All the voices that wanted to volunteer reasons why I am still single. I'd recently experienced a rejection. I'd met someone, thought they were interesting & that I might have a chance of liking them if I got to know them, so I asked them if they'd like to go for coffee (probably one of the most 'normal' times I've ever asked someone - normally I sort of get to know them & then start to love from afar & then wonder if they're interested & then try to move things from friendship to romance & yeah, it's always painful & unnatural. I was sort of proud of myself that I was a 'normal' person for a change & just asked someone to go for coffee like normal people do). & yeah, she declined, suspecting the implied romantic intent & yeah, it was one of the nicest, most wonderful, most thoughtful rejections I've ever received (and I think I've had a number of them, so I can almost be considered an expert at critquing them :) sort of like the 6 times my car was broken into in Bowness, I got so I could tell an experienced theif from a non-experienced theif). But it was a wonderful rejection, the first one that made me feel good about myself even while they were saying 'no'.

And so the rejection doesn't bother me, it's more that it just leaves room for the voices to speak up again. It leaves the door open for the voices to say, aha, again you weren't 'chosen', you weren't 'wanted'. And then they start to tell me all the reasons why.

And they're never 'good' reasons like "attraction is a funny thing & you never know who you're attracted to & who you're not", "there are lots of women out there & you only want one, so you just haven't met her yet", or "ah, just give it time, you're a great guy & it'll work out eventually"... Nope, see those are the sane reasons my brain every so often raises - often in an attempt just to drown out the other voices.

Regardless of the lone logical voice, just about every moment today bore witness to the reasons why I'm single - from looks, to lifestyle, to hobbies, to my messy room, to my character, etc. All of these were somehow 'defective' or 'unmanly' or just plain 'undesirable' & yeah, I thought about packing it in. Moving away, trying to make a clean break & start fresh somewhere else. Reinvent myself somewhere where the gravity, the intertia, of my life here won't catch up. Maybe find somewhere where being cool doesn't get you anywhere, to where trendy & 'together' & 'environmentally friendly' aren't busswords or merit badges. Maybe find somewhere where people can be honest about who they are & be valued & respected for it. Maybe somewhere where people look at the uniqueness of your heart & judge you (or conversely don't judge you) on that....

...but yeah, I don't think that place exists in north america & every where else feels too far to go....

Tried to do some 'retail therapy', but it didn't help & still left me empty. Bought some CD's I've been meaning to pick up. They're still in the trunk of my car unopened (though I'll likely give them a listen while I try to clean the room tomorrow).

Tonight I started to watch 'shop Girl' & cried at the opening lines listed above. I understand the words, I live the words in many ways. Castor & Vermont sound like they have some things in common.... as do L.A. & Calgary. I'm not so sure about my 'omniscient voice'... lots of days I don't hear him speaking to me, let alone to the rest of the world... Some days his words are there, sweetly & softly like a lovers kiss & the voices melt like the morning mist.... but most days, & especially in the nights, his voice seems absent & I feel left to fend for myself....

In the middle of the movie, I heard my roommate yell out "Dude!!" & assuming he was angry at me for leaving dishes in the sink came down, only to find him saying that there was a guy across the street beating up a woman. So I hurriedly threw on shoes & walked over to where this guy was talking to 'his' wife who was sitting on the curb crying & we talked & he threatened me & said he wasn't hitting her ("he'd never hit a woman"), he was trying to control her & manhandling her. So I stood there, trying to talk to him, trying to assess & calm the situation & stay between her & him. A couple of times he stood right in my face, noses almost touching, as he threatened me & tryed to goad me into a fight. And I just stood there. I wasn't afraid I don't think.... mostly I just didn't know what to do. He wasn't trying to hit me, so I didn't need to defend myself. I wasn't sure what would happen if he did (I haven't been in a fight ('cept with my brothers, but that doesn't count) since grade 4 where I tried to scrap with Paul Stafford & got a bloody nose out of the deal & lost badly). So I didn't know what would happen if it came to that & so I wasn't sure if I wanted to start anything. Part of it was that his heart wasn't in it either & it just all seemed so pointless. He was drunk. His wife was going to some place to do drugs & he was trying to stop her. He knew what he was doing was wrong & apolgized a number of times. He said "it's none of your business" & I said, "if you're hurting her it is", to which he replies, "you're right". He said, "I wasn't hitting her I was manhandling her" & I go "you can't do that, you can't treat her that way" & he goes "you're right" and then proceeds to threaten me & talk about finding out where I live & coming back with a baseball bat.

Somewhere in the middle of this, a guy visiting one of the neighbors, some young, trendy-cool ironworker guy, comes running up & does a flying leap into this guy's chest, sending him flying to the ground. They trade some blows & walk off to talk/scrap, leaving me to talk with the woman who is feeling bad for her guy & talking about having lukemia & 2 years to life & stuff. I ask her if she has some place to go & she says yes & heads to one of the neighbors (likely the place where she's going for drugs & where her 'husband' is trying to keep her from getting to). The guy returns, continuing to talk & try to impress us all (the growing crowd) with how tough he is & how we don't want to mess with him. The males in the growing crowd (cept for me & David) start threatening the guy back & David mentions that he's called the police & they're on the way & so the guy leaves & the others decide to not start beating on this guy in case the police show & start arresting the wrong people.

The police take about 20 minutes to arrive. By this time the guy has left & we're left wondering what just happened. (apparently they asked David if weapons were involved & when he said 'no', they figured it wasn't a high priority call).

After all this, I went for a walk. More voices of condemnation to keep my company along my route. I wanted to walk to Starbucks, get a chai tea & read Shakespeare, maybe bump into my own 'shop girl' - though they all seemed too young - & none of this seemed to manly (especially when it seems like shakespeare is telling his guy friend how beautiful he is - maybe I'm missing something). I thought about the situation & how I long to be the knight in shining armour, to be strong, to be a defender of the oppressed, a 'champion' for women or the abused or whatever & here I find myself in this situation & I try to talk it out instead of using my fists. I see the sadness & longing for significance in both the 'husband' & 'wife's eyes & just think about the damage in their lives & how then need counselling & healing instead of more beatings. And my lack of violence condemns me. The guy who jumped in & started throwing punches seems more manly than I. He seems like someone that women would want... He talks later to me & David & refers to David as "my partner" & I think that maybe the neighbors talk & 'cause we're 3 guys living together & not having women over every night (& none staying the night ever (as far as I know :) )) our sexuality is in question. & yeah, somewhere along the line I was taught to respect women & that respect meant not trying to get into their pants; to try to be friends & recognize the value in a woman. Well, so far that's led to a lot of gal friends & me not getting into anyone's pants; the last two women I've been with (long times ago) having to encourage me to go farther & faster that I would've otherwise. This other guy, the rough & manly iron worker, probably doesn't have these problems. Maybe he doesn't have lots of friends, but maybe he's wanted.... some days that feels like a better trade off... (though the friends are good, too).

So I finished 'Shop Girl' when I got back. Cried a couple of more times, felt my heart break a whole bunch more. It's a good movie & a picture of the relationships in our world. Mostly it's a picture of a woman wanting to be found, wanting to be 'seen' & loved & chosen. It's about the longings that we all have & the compromises & lies & 'good-enoughs' that we take in this world where true love seems to exist only in fairy tales, where brave knights & beautiful princesses still exist. (I guess we still have lots of princesses out there, just not wearing their finest gowns, maybe they're just waiting to be revealed... maybe the only knights anymore are half-druken iron-workers who think I'm gay).

The scene that broke me most, even more than the opening, was where the other guy tells Mirabelle, "I'll protect you"... and yeah, I know, women today tell me they don't want to be protected, don't want to show that they're vulnerable... but yeah, the scene sent me into those great weeping convulsion-y things I get... partly from wanting to find someone to 'protect' (not that I'd be that great as a real protector since I don't beat people up so much), a lot from just feeling unprotected... from feeling vulnerable.... I sort of hear God's voice in the words, "I'll protect you", but I feel like the bride in Song of Songs chapter 5 after she's been beaten & left alone & left to cry out, "tell him I am sick of love", I feel like Mary in John 12 saying, "if you'd have been here, this wouldn't have happened", mostly it's the call of "where were you when I needed you?".... I guess I have abandonment issues with an always-present God.

I was listening to Nichole Nordeman's 'Brave' album on Friday. Guess I haven't listened well enough to it in the past 'cause I caught this song called "Miles" - it's only on the limited edition of the CD & I don't have it here/can't find the lyrics but it tells the story of two families, two children. One where a mother is praying that God would hear her & provide her baby a heart transplant & another mother who is praying that God would save the life of her little boy that has been in an accident & is dying. As the song goes along, the one boy dies & his heart is rushed to the other hospital where it's successfully transplanted & the other boy lives. So one person is weeping tears of joy & singing the praises of this wonderful & faithful God who answers prayer so miraculously, while somewhere else, another mother weeps in her abandonment wondering why God let her baby die, why He wasn't there for her & didn't answer her prayers.

This by itself makes me think that it sucks to be God. You're never going to make everyone happy. The last time he tried, it killed him...

And yeah, I guess my role model of 'manliness' has been Jesus. It's cheese to say it, but he's sort of been the lover that I long to emulate. I don't think he got into too many fights ('cept with the religious folk) & never got into anyone's pants... not even his own ('cause they didn't wear pants back then - ha, ha, sorry, trying to make a joke :) ) but yeah, I don't think I have the courage He does to lay down his life for someone... so yeah, I guess even that doesn't help.

Somewhere along the walk, while thinking about Jesus as a role model, I got thinking that the whole "the meek will inherit the earth" thing, just didn't seem to work. Though I'm sure someone will define meekness as some unattainable thing that no human, least of all me, ever emulates, but yeah, I just think that the whole meekness, kindness stuff doesn't seem to get you anywhere (though there are maybe at least one or two women I know that think kindness is a good thing).

But yeah, I write this all mostly to exorcise my own demons. To name the fears & bring them into the light. Somehow they shrivel & look all naked & wrinkled & silly in the light. I write this stuff for my own benefit, to release the thoughts & pressures in my head. I feel mostly good after finishing 'Shop Girl', like there is still chances for love for all of us, even me. Maybe there is a Claire Danes out there, with beautiful expressive eyes that speak more in one glance than most people do in a whole conversation (sorry, I've had a crush on Claire since I first saw her in "My So Called Life"), maybe she waits for some geeky, goofy, not-together, not-so-manly & all desireable guy who will love her & 'protect' her as best he can... who will hopefully 'see' her & stay with her & whose loyalty isn't something that's foolish or stupid, but valued & wanted. Who knows... but yeah, maybe it's just that if the world exists where Clare Danes can't find someone to lover her, well, then maybe it's just a sucky world & I'm not so bad & the voices don't have credibility. (though yeah, it's just a movie, though I do meet incredibly women who are still single - not that they want me, but yeah, they are out there).

But yeah, just so anyone out there who is still reading this knows, I'm not writing this for you. I'm writing it for me. I'll post this on the blog like I do with everything else, but this is 'mine'... it's my internal battles & how I deal with stuff. The thing I admire most about my friends is their courage to get up every morning & face their lives. I know the heartaches the people I love go through, I get to know their fears & the risks they take each day by choosing to face another day & I admire that they never turn back & just stay in bed. This is what I'm doing with this. Choosing to flush out the feelings, flush out the bad stuff & then get up the next morning & face it again, & again until maybe one day it's not as bad, or someone is there to share the battles with... If something in this 'resonate's & gives voice to your feelings, great. If it makes me look less manly, more pathetic, or you feel pity for me from this, well then phooey on you :) (sorry I'm developing paranoia - back to that not trusting people thing).

Time for bed - listening to the wind howl & shake my little house, wondering if the drunk agressive guy will come back to make good on his promises, sleeping in the bed alone, but feeling contented, feeling hopeful. Tomorrow is another blank page, waiting to be written on... maybe I'll meet my own 'shop girl', maybe the meek will inherit the earth, maybe the fairy tales will come true.... or maybe tomorrow will be another day of heartache like today... but we'll keep facing each dawn with hope. What else can you do?

"Playing Second Fiddle" by Rich Mullins

This is one of my favorite articles written by Rich Mullins printed in Release Magazine. You can find more of Rich's stuff at: http://www.kidbrothers.net/

Today is another 'fiddle' day where the emptiness is very noticeable &, for as much as I may hope to fill the void, there is no release from the ache.

Hopefully the 'music' that gets played out of my life, that resonates from the empty places, sounds beautiful to someone....

"Playing Second Fiddle" by Rich Mullins (Release Magazine May / June 1994)

It is always important that a fiddle should remember (and, who guess that it could forget?) that it is a fiddle - that it is wood and wire and polish and glue and not much more than that - except, of course, in the caress of a fiddler. There, in that hand, on that shoulder, under that chin - all of its lightness delicately balanced and its strings skillfully bowed - it becomes a voice. There, out of the hollow body and thin skin of this little peculiarly shaped box, the fiddler forges his music. There, in a sense, the word becomes flesh, the fiddler's idea becomes concrete, shimmering concrete - reality. And this, of course, is what a fiddle dreams of at night in the dark of its closet, in the stifling closeness of its case.

No fiddle - at least none that I have ever met - dreams of being delivered out of the aforementioned darkness to be displayed in a glass showcase. Fiddles don't have eyes - or the kind of intelligence needed to imagine a concept as foreign to them as "vision." This is why you never see a fiddle fussing over itself; primping and preening and staring at mirrors. This is why it is luckier to be a fiddle than to be a prince, and where the wisdom of that phrase "ignorance is bliss" is most fully shown. Fiddles do not care to be seen, so they do not mind being small, which is handy for the fiddler.

Besides having no eyes, fiddles also (and this may come as a shock to you) have no ears. For a fiddle, music is not a matter of "sound." They not only cannot imagine "sight" or "being seen" - they cannot imagine "sound" or "being heard" - I suspect that even if you could convince one of the experience of hearing, you'd be hard pressed to convince one of the value of hearing. You must understand, fiddles are more grave and serious than even columnists. That does not mean that they have no sense of humor - it only means that their jokes don't rest in their cleverness - it comes from their lightness. And all that lightness that makes a fiddle ring would rattle to pieces any notion of the value of being an audience to one who has had the experience of being an instrument.

Now, although a fiddle may never be fooled by the folly of human thinking, very much like us, they have pain. Their necks are stiff and their nerves, their strings, are stretched. They feel the friction of the bow and inside their beautiful brown little bodies they have only a little stick called a soundpost and an emptiness that seizes every inch of space - top to bottom, side to side. Their emptiness is for them (as it is for us) a nearly unbearable ache - an ache that is fitted to the shape that makes its tone. And sometimes a fiddle is tempted to fill that void with rags or glass or gold, even knowing that, if it should do that, it would never again resonate the intentions of its fiddler. It would never again be alive with his music. It would dull itself to the exquisite heat of the fiddler's will, the deliberate tenderness of his fingers.

And so, they resist. They resist so that they can respond.

Some fiddles have lived without eyes or ears or innards for a couple hundred years. They would die, though, if they were denied a fiddler.

Maybe the Poet

Had a good night (well, mostly good. I sort of was in a funk & not really wanting to be around people, so yeah, it was as good of a night as I could expect under the circumstances), hanging out with friends talking about the arts & Calgary & such. Somewhere in the evening, one of the comments made me think of this Bruce Cockburn song & so thought I'd share it here. I like it 'cause it shows the power of words. I still remember this one issue of the "Nth Man" comic written by Larry Hama. It was some sci-fi/war/ninja epic comic book, but there's this scene where old Dr. Yagyu, the ninja dentist, master assassin is being escorted through the tunnels in Vietnam by a couple of U.S. Soldiers after he's assassinated this 'incredibly dangerous' man that was a real threat to the US campaign. One of the soldiers finally asks the Doc what made this guy so dangerous, was he some military leader? political figure? "No", replies Doc Yagyu, "he was a poet."

"Maybe the Poet" by Bruce Cockburn

Maybe the poet is gay
But he'll be heard anyway

Maybe the poet is drugged
But he won't stay under the rug

Maybe the voice of the spirit
In which case you'd better hear it

Maybe he's a woman
Who can touch you where you're human

Male female slave or free
Peaceful or disorderly
Maybe you and he will not agree
But you need him to show you new ways to see

Don't let the system fool you
All it wants to do is rule you
Pay attention to the poet
You need him and you know it

Put him up against the wall
Shoot him up with pentothal

Shoot him up with lead
You won't call back what's been said
Put him in the ground
But one day you'll look around

There'll be a face you don't know
Voicing thoughts you've heard before

Male female slave or free
Peaceful or disorderly
Maybe you and he will not agree
But you need him to show you new ways to see

Don't let the system fool you
All it wants to do is rule you
Pay attention to the poet
You need him and you know it

Why Artists Feel Misunderstood (one of the reasons)

Artists are funny people. Maybe a little hard to get to know. See the power of art is that it connects to us, there is something in it that speaks to the universality of the human spirit - about how, as different as all of us are, there is something at the core that is the same.

What artists do is they live their lives with up & down emotions & with visions of beauty & glory far beyond what they can actually express & then they fumble to try to find the words, the colours, the notes, the shape, the form, the movement, the whatever to give 'flesh' to the visions they've seen in their head. And an artist 99% of the time fails in this. The vision in the head/heart is always more beautiful, always more grand & perfect to the artis than the artistic expression that the rest of us get to see.... this is part of why artists are not always happy people & why artists are all mostly crazy (or on their way there).

But artists have to be faithful to their work, they're driven to create & so they just keep creating. Even when they decide to stop creating, the 'art' finds some expression. Or if it doesn't it just manifests in some kind of self-destructive tension which eats away at the artist from the inside out until they let the 'art' out.

The artist's struggle to understand beauty & make it visible to us is part of all of our struggles as humans. We are all searching for 'beauty' in some form or another. Most of all we are searching to love & be loved, know & be known.

There is this odd phenomenon where people often find something that an artist has written, drawn, painted, sculpted, danced, played, sang, etc. that gives voice or picture or movement to the things that our heart's been trying to say. And for the person seeing/hearing/feeling the art, it's breathtaking, it's life giving 'cause it suddenly unlocks for the first time exactly what they've been trying to say/feel/express. & suddenly the 'audience' feels this deep connection with the 'artist'. They feel the artist 'knows' them 'cause the artist has expressed something they could not express for themselves. And from this we get things called 'fan mail' & 'stalkers' & such (two sides of the same coin in some ways).

But often the artist is dumbstruck. They fumble around & create an expression of the vision they've been given. Mostly their unsatisfied with the artistic expression 'cause it didn't do what they wanted it to & instead, the art was it's own animal with a mind of it's own & basically got out of the artist's control & became this something 'other'... and then the artist, who is desperate to be known & understood like everyone else, hears that someone feels that they are finally 'understood' because the art expresses some deep part of their heart that has been locked up for years. & so the artist starts to hope that maybe this person has truly understood the art (which the artist doesn't fully understand) & then they start to hope that the audience/admirer has actually understood their artist heart (which again, the artist doesn't really understand completely either). And so the artist is suddenly all hopeful that maybe, just mabye, their long days of isolation & insanity are over because someone really understands & then they ask the person, the audience, to describe how the art made them feel.....

...and here's the kicker. Often what happens then is that the audience/admirer describes the impact of the art on their lives & it looks totally different than whatever the artist was trying to express... & so the artist thanks the person, but often walks off feeling even more alone & misunderstood.

Been thinking about that a bit this weekend with some written miscommunications. Been thinking that some people may hear the stuff I write - which is all metaphors (& hence, technically all lies - since, as pointed out in the wonderful book "The curious incident of the dog in the night time", a metaphor is saying something is something else, when really it's not, so therefore all metaphors are lies) - and think that they know me from reading what I've written. Looking back at what I've written over the last little while it's all random half thoughts, the expression of parts of thoughts while the real truth of each statement remains hidden slightly beyond the view. As much as I may write stuff in the open & attempt to be vulnerable & such, the real truth is that me, the real me, is only known through the mundaneness of walking through life with me, finding out about my day to day.

Mostly I just write to keep from going crazy 'cause the thoughts will still be there unless I empty them out in some creative outlet. (& yeah, I'm not so far off of crazy. Yesterday I was contemplating what it would be like to just randomly kill people walking down the street. I had some internal tensions I maybe needed to get rid of & this is what I was thinking. Mentioned this to a psych nurse friend of mine & they actually have big long names for that condition & she recommended I should head to the hospital right away. Somet times I wonder if that's not the best course of action).

& yeah, it's just an odd thought. Makes me wonder how Jesus feels with the Bible, with his big love letter to humanity & how everyone's took & misinterpreted it & twisted it. I wonder how much fan mail Jesus has got about how I really loved this one verse 'cause it made me feel better after I broke up with my girlfriend, I wonder how many stalkers Jesus has had following around wanting Him to be their 'one & only' cause they figure no one's understood their psychotic anti-social tendancies except for the radical called Jesus... (sometimes the 'stalkers' are cult members, sometimes they're the fire & brimstone preachers who think God only likes people like them)

...and I wonder in all of it if Jesus sits there like most artists, going, wow, I wish you'd buy me coffee & take the time to sit & listen to the person behind the art, to see the love that paints sunrises & sunsets, to see the heart that shapes every blade of grass & adorns every flower with rainbows of colour; to see the loving hands that sculpted the features of your face & to know the voice that sings over you in every moment of every day. Maybe Jesus is just sitting there going, I wish you knew that I did all this art for you - it's such a joy for me to do all these things & really my one true joy is you & all this art it's for you, it's an expression of how much I delight in you & long to know you & lavish my love on you.....

"Skin" By Bill Mallonnee of Vigilantes of Love

now i'd seen him despondent
a few times as of late
sometimes the answer that love gives
is the hardest one to take
i know he was prone to paint
the voice of his own fear
so vincent he picked up the blade
and he put it to his ear

look at yourself in the mirror
you're all rumpled red stubbled and gaunt
you walk a dead end path in a dry corn field
and now this morose response
your princess she don't wanna see you
no your princess she don't wanna hear
so vincent he picked up the blade
and he put it to his ear

now look if you're gonna come around here
and say those sort of things
you gotta take a few on the chin
you talking about love and all that stuff
you better bring your thickest skin
sometimes you can't please everyone
sometimes you can't please anyone at all
you sew your heart onto your sleeve
and wait for the ax to fall

you there with the paint box
you there with paper and pen
me i got this blunt instrument
i'm gonna play on 'til the end
and you know you come with empty hands
or you don't come at all
you deal your best hand out in the marketplace
and let the chips fall

the package it comes wrapped up
there is a lesson here
vincent he picked up the blade
and he put it to his ear

now look if you're gonna come around here
and say those sort of things
you gotta take a few on the chin
yeah you're talking about sin and redemption
well you better wear your thickest skin
sometimes you can't please everyone
sometimes you can't please anyone at all
sew your heart onto your sleeve
and wait for the ax to fall

The Fears that Keep Me Up at Night

I am afraid.

My body tells me I should sleep. My eyes are heavy, back is feeling worn, all of me just wants to rest, but my head & heart are still spinning; doing the same old, near nightly search for some moment of 'signifance'... or well, really, yeah, to be totally honest it's not significance specifically that I'm longing for. Mostly it's longing for some sense that I'm not alone & won't be always alone... maybe it's not even that.

Mostly it's the open wound, the longing for intimacy that won't go away, the gaping hole that longs to be filled & I run these nightly patterns trying to find something to fill that hole for whatever fleeting moment that I can. Often I don't go to sleep when my body tells me I should 'cause I don't want to lie there in the big empty bed without some placebo where I can pretend that it's not just me there alone.

Tonight, I'm not sure the placebos, the drugs, the quick-fixes of temporary 'significance' will work. Partly 'cause there's nothing out there that's exciting me (no one's blogs are new & there's no no e-mails to read, so no sense of 'connection' there. The G.I. Joe message boards are dead, no news about anything until the convention in June)... but yeah, mostly it's the fear.

I've had a good weekend, decent at least. Got some work done, got some fun in. managed to hang with friends & see some of the really important people to me & such. I've been mostly happy. Can't complain. But yeah, under the surface I've been stewing about dating again (still). Lots of questions. The constant stream of what ifs, the seeing the patterns that i run in, the unknowns of dealing with someone other than yourself, the unknowns of dealing with myself. I have the tendancy to fall hard for women who don't want me in a romantic sense. I have so many things that sort of 'disqualify' me from relationships. I'm too religious for non-christian girls & not religious enough for church women. I try to find a million excuses why it won't work out with some women & yet cling to the tiniest thread of possibility that maybe it might work out with others. & all of it is me fumbling in the dark looking for something i think I want, but not knowing the 'who' the individual that is the embodiment of those dreams....

... and with all of this floating in my head I come to a meal after church, hanging out with my roommate David & a number of his friends who meet at a local diner/coffee shop for 'church' - some less formal gathering where people can really connect & be real.... and here I listen to one of his friend's talk about his life. He's going through a seperation. He's been pushed out of his house, his wife is likely dating someone else & his two little girls miss him terribly. I don't really know this guy well, but my heart knows him. He sounds like me as I listen to him (or maybe parts that I'd like to be). He talks of missing his wife, of longing for her, of being all twisted up inside knowing that she's likely with someone else & he's trying not to let that tear him apart & trying to give her the space to figure herself out, even while it's killing him. He talks with such love about hanging out with his little girls 7 how much he loves them & aches for just a moment with them. Tonight he talked of how one of his daughters was acting up & he was trying to find the reasons why & he asked her if she was angry with her mom or dad & she said no. He then asked her if she missed him & she burst into tears & wouldn't stop crying. He said his girls used to get scared everytime he'd go to work, but each day he'd promise them that Daddy had to go away for a little bit, but Daddy will always come home. Tonight he lamented that he's not sure he can make that promise to them anymore 'cause it's partially out of his control.

(David gave the advice to this that he should sit his girls down & ask them to look him in the eye & then to ask them to close their eyes & ask if they could still see him. Then he should tell them to imagine his face while they had their eyes closed and see if they could 'see' him. Then, David said, he should tell his daughters that wherever they go, whether their dad is near or far, he always 'sees' them just like that. David said it better - it was freaking profound & beautiful... just this picture of a fierce love that will never leave or abandon).

& yeah, I can do nothing but weep uncontrollably when I listen to this guy's stories about his family. He has an amazingly beautiful heart & such a great love.

But his stories just bring me so much grief, both for him & fears for myself. He has (had) what I want, a wife & daughters that he loves deeply. This is a deep longing for me. Sons would be fantastic, but would definitely like daughter(s). & yeah, really want a wife/soul mate/best buddy/partner in crime to share my life with before we get to the kid thing...

...but it terrifies me that it can all go sour. That's what scared me with the first girl I dated. I thought that if I loved her 'right' that things would last, that it was dependant on me bringing that self-sacrificing, unconditional love, the kind that Christ shows to me (or at least a pale reflection of it). I always kind of assumed that if I really loved her, then she'd, obviously, love me back, but that wasn't the case. She was tied up with her own issues & just wasn't in the place to receive that kind of love, or to be in that serious of a relationship (& granted, in my attempts to 'love right' there was a lot of fear that I wasn't doing it right & so I probably overcompensated & smothered her, but yeah, I'll never know for sure)...

& yeah, it just scares me that even if things do work out. Even if I find someone that I love & who loves me, even if we do decide to spend the rest of our lives together, there's no guarantee that forever really means anything anymore.... & yeah, I'm pretty sure that my stupidly loyal heart wouldn't be able to let go & so if my marriage fell apart, I'd probably still be in love, still have my heart with someone else & yeah, it just hurts to think about that.... throw losing my kids into the mix of that & yeah, I don't like to think about that much pain.....

...though yeah, this is totally like me - planning out the next 30-40 years based on a moment of my life. Letting the fears drive the potential of what 'could be' instead of hoping for the best & rushing in headlong to take the risk & brave the storms.... maybe I just don't 'trust' well, maybe it's a lack of faith in God's goodness... or maybe it's just seeing reality, or maybe it's knowing full well the heart of a God who will ask you to sacrifice your only son, the one you've waited a life time for, or who will ask you to marry someone who will turn her back on you & prostitute herself to other lovers... all of this so you will understand the fellowship of the sufferings of Christ - so you will be able to share with Jesus the darkest & most painful moments of His live as He loved & lived & died for a bride who wanted to kill him rather than embrace him... I know that the road of the redemption story leads through the via dolorosa, the way of suffering, the road to the cross.... I know that while God is the keeper & guarder of my dreams, that he doesn't have to actually give anything to me.... I just don't know how the story ends....

& maybe more than anything, that's what I'm hoping for tonight, some tangible evidence that it's going to be OK. That somehow this all works out for good.

I was talking with a dear friend this weekend about marriage (forget how we got on the topic), but I'm pretty sure I mentioned how that marriage is made by waking up each morning & choosing to say 'I do' all over again, every day, constantly. This is the only way to hold a marriage (or a faith) together is to constantly choose the same person over & over again. Always choosing them, throughout the seasons of life as the one that you want, the one you can't live without.

Random song lyrics. As a guy I probably shouldn't admit that I REALLY like Jewel's lyrics. I figure this makes me less manly, but I've already flunked out of the 'manly' crowd, so whatever. It's off of her '0304' album which was good (really good when you realize about half the songs are mocking today's pop culture & the insanity we live in with our current worshipping of those in the entertainment industry):

"2 Find U" by Jewel

If I asked u a question
Would u look me in the eyes?
Has our love been built on lies?
Well, why I'm asking
U see, the time is now
2 turn our backs forever
Or work this through somehow
And I want 2 see u
I want 2 feel new again

[CHORUS]
Hey, U
Do not walk away
Let's choose love, come on
What do u say?
Hey, U
Know that I would spend
My whole life all over again
2 find U

We've layered hurt on hurt
I've seen pain cloud your eyes
But we are bruised, not broken
Like a phoenix, love will rise
And do U see me?
Do u feel new again?

[CHORUS]

Look in my eyes
Kiss my mouth hard
Let your conviction
Reassure my heart
Promise me now
I'll promise U, too
I love u

Somewhat Resurrections

My dear, wonderful, fantastic friend found out today that her grandmother died yesterday. I found this out when I got home & it hit me sort of hard. Her grandmother had been doing well & making a bit of a recovery & so her passing was a little unexpected. I sort of 'wasted' chunks of my evening waiting to get in touch with my friend & spending time greiving/praying for her & her family. i sort of hate death. I know it's part of things now, but it just feels wrong - not part of the plan.... Mind you I have trouble saying 'goodbye' to people most days even when I know I'll see them in a few days... I know we all have to 'go' sometime, but yeah, I wish we could sort of hang onto the ones we love for as long as possible... (eternity maybe?)

One odd twist to the day was that my friend learned about her grandmother's death before leaving for work & returned home to find a letter from her grandmother in the mail. Just sort of an interesting event, one with mixed feelings; sort of neat to 'hear' her voice one last time, sort of sad to hear her talk about hoping to hear more of my friend's stories & adventures & realizing that her grandmother won't get to 'hear' any more of those stories....

But yeah, this event reminded me of an Allen Levi song "Somewhat Resurrection":

" She was thumbing through a novel,
that she knew he loved to read before he died,
and the writings in the margin,
caught her eye and took her by surprise,

for hidden in the pages,
was an envelope with her name underlined,
a letter he had written,
in hopes that she might see it there in time

i don't know if you'll find this,
if you do i have no way of knowing when,
it's just a somewhat resurrection
a way to say 'i love you' once again

if you have time to remember,
pull the pictures down of when we said "i do",
then read the cards and letters,
that you sent me and that i sent to you

play the songs we thought romantic,
sit beneath the stars the way we used to do,
read the Song of Solomon,
and imagine i am whispering it to you

i don't know if you'll find this,
if you do i have no way of knowing when,
it's just a somewhat resurrection
a way to say 'i love you' once again

it's only ink and paper,
and photographs that cannot say a word,
but they speak their quiet language,
with the strongest sounds her heart has ever heard

i hated going slowly,
but it gave me time to think of where i'd been,
it gave me time to count my blessings
to daydream through the memories once again

and i hope our times together,
might even now bring laughter to your eyes,
memories last forever,
even when the ones who made them say goodbye

i don't know if you'll find this
if you do i have no way of knowing when
it's just a somewhat resurrection
a way to say 'i love you' once again"

& so tonight, I hope & pray for peace for my friend & her family, for arms of love to comfort them, for them to find rest & not feel alone. & I hope/pray that she/they will find lots of 'somewhat resurrections'; that the joy & love she/they feel for her grandmother would be always fresh...

& yeah, hoping/praying that all of us who've lost someone find our 'somewhat resurrections'...

Poems from "A Night Without Armour"

One of my favorite poetry books, well, really one of the very few poetry books I own, is Jewel Kilcher's "A night without armour"..... I've had some friends say they're 'immature' poems, but yeah, I say phooey on that. I really loved this book & read it while wandering through Ireland... Anyhow, found a selection of her poems that I'd copied out & figured I'd post some here. (Buy the book it's lovely...

As a Child I Walked

As a child I walked
with noisy fingers
along the hemline
of so many meadows
back home

Green fabric
stretched out
shy earth
shock of sky

I’d sit on logs like pulpits
listen to the sermon
of sparrows
and find god in Simplicity,
there amongst the dandelion
and thorn

"You Tell Me"

It cannot be so
you say
simple hands
cannot change
the fate of humanity.
I say
Humanity is
a boundless,
absorbing heart
transcending
death & generations
and centuries
absorbing bullets
and stitches
and tear gas
enduring humiliation
and illegal abortions
and thankless jobs
I say to you
the heart of Humanity
has not
and will not
be broken
And let us raise ourselves
like lanterns
with the millions of others—
with the mad
and the forgotten
and the strong of heart
to shine

"Too Many Nights"

It’s been
too many nights

to now be suddenly
without

"So Just Kiss Me"

So just kiss me and let my hair
messy itself in your fingers

tell me nothing needs to be done—
no clocks need winding

There is no bell without a voice
needing to borrow my own

instead, let me steady myself
in the arms

of a man who won’t ask me to be
what he needs, but lets me exist

as I am

a blond flame
a hurricane

wrapped up
in a tiny body

that will come to his arms
like the safest harbor

for mending

Letters to Angels: prayers & poetry

To my friend the Angel,

Random message posted solely in my blog for you 'cause I know you check it. I miss you & miss the chats. Hope you're surviving the battles & finding solace in loving arms. Know that you are always in my thoughts & on my heart & my heart is both burdened & lighted every time I think of you. My heart is heavy with attempting to shoulder some of the weights you bear, but lightened always by the joy of your friendship, the wonderful strength & wonder of you....

I'm still winge-ing, still wrestling with the same stuff. I feel bad some days 'cause it's nothing too serious. If I was less a feeler, less melancholic (less me?) I'd be able to see the world with more objective, more logical eyes & would (maybe) have some great faith that it's all going to be OK.... (which I figure it will be eventually).... but yeah, you know me: I can't go through anything without 'feeling' it all....

... I pray your 'pen' is filled with ink - that your quill is sharp & that you have unlimited paper to pour your soul upon. I pray that the expression of your heart brings healing & clarity - both for you & for those lucky enough to read it.... I pray that the one you worship & cannot always see fights on behalf of you & your loved ones & that you find yourself chosen, cherished, & not in the place of apparent darkness & abandonment. Know that you're not alone, my friend... Loving hearts burn bright for you, like signal fires, like torches in the night... thank you for the beacon of hope that you bring to my life....

Anyhow, a random bit of poetry from Jewel's "A night without armour" book:

"We Have Been Called"

We have been called
naive
as if it were
a dirty word
We have been called
innocent
as though with shame
our cheeks should burn
So
We visited with
the careful idols
of cynicism
to learn to sneer
and pant and wlak
so as not to feel the scales
of judgement rub wrongly
But we say
some things must
remain simple
some things must remain
untouched
and pure
lest we all forget
the legacy which begot us
the health of our origins
the poetry of our fundamental selves

And so
it is to
the longing hearts we sing
rise! spread
your wings!
Let no hand
nor ill will
keep you.

Kara

Well, I've been getting complaints (sort of) that I haven't been posting in a while. This has been true. Work has been really hectic & have been pulling work home to try to tackle it - though I tend to procrastinate a lot & not get much done (like I'm doing right now, but after 2 1/2 hours of work, I figure I've earned a bit of procrastination). That & I've had my time taken up other writing efforts (to be explained further down in the post).

Tonight while working I figured I'd throw some tunes on my new stereo. Finally splurged & bought myself an OK sound system - nothing too stellar, but a reasonably decent CD player/stereo from Wal-mart. This was my birthday present to me (maybe one of many, though I haven't gotten around to buying that much). Having the stereo is so new, that I keep forgetting that I have it & keep forgetting to actually use it to play music.

Anyhow, tonight I listen to (among other things), Andrew Osenga's "Photographs" album Track 2 is called "Kara" & goes something like this:

"Here where I live in Indiana, It's just a small town, like any other, there lived the prettiest girl around, she had blonde hair & glasses. Her name was Kara. She was a senior at the High School. I was on break from the University. Sure, I had seen her. Sure, I had known her. She was a girl then, now she was a woman.

And I was gone, gone, gone, like the apple, Adam couldn't help himself. I was gone, gone, gone, Kara, goodbye....

She worked on weekends down at the grocery, so Saturday morning I had to go shopping. We made some small talk, I tried to be funny, when she smiled with those innocent eyes, I knew she could see through me. Later that evening, we took a walk outside. The leaves were crunching, and our stars were crossing. We smiled at nothing at all, we laughed at everything, but Monday morning, classes they were starting...

And I was gone, gone, gone, like a falling star in the Indiana night. I was gone, gone, gone, Kara, goodbye....

First I came back home every chance that I could get, then things started getting a little busier, and the holidays were over. Before you knew it I took a summer job in Indianapolis, and the city draped its fog over me. I told myself I was too busy to write. Biggest mistake I ever made...

When I came home at the end of the Summer, I called up Kara & got her Mother, she said she'd left for school in North Carolina to study art & do something wonderful.

Kara, where we're from, here in Indiana, we're just a small town, like any other, and we all watched you, because we loved you. You were so beautiful. You didn't even try.

And you were gone, gone, gone, like the Autumn I fell in love, you were gone, gone, gone, Kara, goodbye.

Do something beautiful. I know you will....."

(sounds better when Andrew sings it).

Anyhow, every so often I think that I'll stop what I'm doing with my life & practice real hard & become a rock star, or some cool folk singer that shows up at coffee shops & sings songs... Quite often I think about singing "Kara" 'cause it's such a great song, though even in my imagination, I myself choking up at the 'biggest mistake I ever made' part of the song.... Mostly 'cause I choke up at about that stage everytime I listen to the song....

... maybe if I was a folk singer, that'd be cool & I'd be all 'sensitive' & 'chicks would dig me'... or maybe they wouldn't & I'd just look like some guy weeping with a guitar & never get a record deal 'cause no one really wants to listen to sad looking people (is that why mimes are always silent & have teardrops painted at the edge of their eyes?)

I like to live life with as few regrets as possible. For the most part I've done that (& feel sort of proud of that - though really I think it's just that I have low expectations of what I really want out of life.... all I really want is love & I've at least tasted a little of what that feels like).

But yeah, lately I'm feeling like I've missed a 'Kara' somewhere. I still have this not-so-fantastic self image hanging on from the crap-identity i got from my peers growing up in Junior High/High school.... As a boy grows into a man in a lot of native cultures, there is a naming ceremony where they are given a new name, one that reflects their heart & character & is both name & blessing - it points to who they are & holds the dreams of who they might become.... and for me, my 'naming ceremony' came in the halls & classrooms from the mouth of peers who (like me) were just trying to stay away from the lowest rung of the social ladder. And so I received names like 'nerd', 'geek', 'undesireable', 'uncool', 'ugly', etc. These were the 'talismans' I received for my journey. Church wasn't much better. From there I got the name of 'sinner', 'failure', 'disappointment' 'cause I didn't live up to the standard of being a flawless person....

And yeah, as I've left that world, sometimes I've been renamed - though sometimes I've gotten worse ones (like 'stalker' (not in some cool, G.I. joe code name, but in the creepy sense of the word).

But yeah, (this is rabbit trailing). I'm trying now to live with the new name of "the beloved of Christ" & that name feels better & definitely is helping (slowly) improve the self-image....

but yeah, all of this 'how I see myself' really affects how I approach women & dating & such. I approach women expecting that they will likely (maybe) be comfortable being friends with me, but it's pretty doubtful that there will be any interest more than that. It's almost a novelty to have a girl interested in me (& often it just seems that when there is interest, it seems to be from pretty damaged people (which is maybe a horrible statement to make) )

But yeah, every so often there is a sane & wonderful girl who actually looks at me like she could be interested in something more. Most times I'm clueless to this. The funny story about this was one night I was in the video store in Bowness & passed this girl along the new releases aisle. I felt compelled to smile a big smile at her (felt like she needed one or something) & so smiled as friendily as I could & then kept going, duty done. A moment later, I hear her say "have you seen this movie", & I turn around to see her pointing at the Blair Witch Project. "Nah, I can't watch scary movies, I'm too much of a pansy," I reply. To which she says, "Well, I really want to see the movie, but I don't want to see it alone."

and what do I do?

I mumble & say, "yeah, well, I hope you find someone to watch it with" & move on....

...about a minute later, my brain catches up & goes, "wait a minute, that was a pick up line !!" and I turn around to see her walking out the door....

& yeah, it seems to be the way things go. And the flip side of that is that my ability to 'pursue' a woman is a bit crippled. Normally 'cause I'm expecting someone to not like me, I don't pursue a woman romantically unless I'm semi-confident that they're kind of interested in me. What I do in the mean time is just put my 'presence' in their lives. I spend a lot of time with them, talking, getting to know them, listening, caring, treating them with an extra measure of kindness, etc.... which could be 'pursuing' but it's maybe just an more underhanded, sneaky way of trying to weasel my way into someone's life.....

...I really hated the 'stalker' name (guess it was never really said, it was just implied). Normally I try to treat women well & hate the guys who can't take 'no' for an answer & just keep bugging women after they've told them they're not interested. I'd like to think I'm not like that, but maybe I have been in some cases.... mostly it's just hanging on with the hope that something will work out - mostly it's that my heart can't let go of feelings for someone so quick....

...but yeah, "Kara" bothers me, makes me think about regrets & ask those 'what if' questions... What if I tried a bit harder, what if I was a little more bold or forthcoming. What if I didn't take 'no' for an answer & asked a few more times? Would something work out? Would some woman feel all 'pursued' & relish that idea & realize I'm this wonderful (or at least semi-wonderful) dude? or does it get me a restraining order or time behind bars?

Part of it that I'm never sure if women know what they want. Part of it is that I'm never sure if I know what I want. I sort of don't like to risk unless I know it's the 'right thing' - but I'm finding now that I'll never know if anything is the 'right thing' unless I risk...

So yeah, the 'other writing' venues. I've started attempting internet dating. I'm on christiancafe.com under prosehack892 if you get bored & want to check out my profile... A dear friend figures the profile captures 'me' pretty well... my roommate figures it's 'too honest'... one girl who e-mailed me figured I was 'too self critical'... maybe she's right (I tend to trust my friend's assessment, though).

But yeah, I started this to try to meet people, to try to take risks, to get myself out there, meet people & hang out where there isn't so much pressure & try to find someone that I could maybe think about 'pursuing'... and yeah, so far have gotten 0 (zero) e-mails from people in Calgary. A number of letters from far off people, no one that I super connect with (& definitely not enough to try to start a long distance relationship)) .... and yeah, I've had a number of times where I've started to obsess about it all - where the old names come back & I forget my new name, forget that I am loved & worthy of love, and in the forgetting I treat every lack of response as a validation of the old names....

& yeah, I try to stay sane with this. Like I try to stay sane with the ache of singleness. Mostly I kind of miss 'Kara' & think about all the 'what if's'.... could I have done something different to change the path of my life? or does God have us 'trapped' on some destiny track where the days are already written? Will we never escape the future He's written for us regardless of what we do?

I like to think that God is weaving a redemptive story into each of our lives. I like to think that somewhere along the way God writes into our lives lasting joy & love & peace & that flash of knowing who we are & why we're here.... maybe it's only for a second before we start heading into the 'bright light' & our bodies are taken by death's embrace.... but yeah, I don't know some days. I know people who would rather have no author, no script to follow, good or bad, only the story that they script themselves...and I can see the reason, the desire for that.... but yeah, maybe I just don't trust my own penmanship to be able to tell a tale that is good & ends well (or legible)....

& yeah, to the 'Kara' (s) out there, sorry i didn't try hard enough.....or that our stories weren't meant to merge together.... You were/are amazing & deserve the best & I hope you find the very best out there & do something beautiful with your life... something as beautiful & amazing as you are.... know that you are/were loved...or at least as much as I know what love is about...

Regrets kind of suck 'cause they play with your head & you have no idea if you've every done the right thing or done what you wanted... Am making mental notes to try to not neglect the "Kara"(s) that I meet in future.

DISCLAIMER: This whine was brought to you by the addled brain of kirk after too much work & not enough sleep. Please ignore, it'll all be good tomorrow...