Stream of consciousness and a conversation with oneself.

Sometimes we sit there, our hands held, yours warm and smooth and mine, rough from wringing. A little clammy in late in the evening.
The only real lines I've drawn have been crooked and almost always circle back to me. Nothing real or permanent and no canvas to paint. I cannot paint if I do not leave, but still, I have several books to write and no more than several sentences. A world that celebrates potential is a world that stops and starts with the impetus of genius. That sentence is meaningless.

These geneses of genius.

And perhaps we too were fiction, don't go back and add commas. She lived a story written beautifully, perfect grammar and structure. There was no plot or capture, no story or support. She was endlessly edited, and I, all painted self and broad strokes, I'm overdrawn and indebted.

Oh God, with what great oneness you've designed us, that we would compass this globe in all of our errant ways and still, to find bits of you swimming like small magnets in all of our blood. And when, upon encounter with another, we feel drawn - some mad electric swell that tells us that we're made of the same stuff. No more digressions, and close your mouth when writing.

Now, look away from the screen.

Don't tell them anything, says the bad man. But my hands are clams, clodding away at some kind of computer and compulsion towards half-hearted alliteration. Sometimes, I just try to conjugate words and leave it to Mr. Macintosh to tell me what's what. That's how I discovered "didacticism." What a stupid word for a first year college kid. But it worked, didn't it? Getting A's was never hard for me, it's all about focus, but I had none. So, I would memorize big great words and ask important ancillary questions so the teacher would think I was really on to something.

And, indeed I was. I was wondering why the steel on the side of the chair felt so cold in such a warm classroom. And I was hot on the wild trail of speculation. See, the woman next to me was married and I heard her make mention of a few kids at home. But she leaned in real close to the guy next to her when they spoke. Now, there was nothing illicit, I understand that, but maybe things weren't great at home. Or maybe, she misses the attention of men, or maybe they were just in the long boring afternoon of their marriage.

So, to compensate, for thinking about everything in the classroom (everything but the lesson.) I memorized good words. Great words that I'm now embarrassed to know, and all of them I won't mention here. I've always cared more for the question than the answer. Sometimes writing is too honest, too base and too cold. I wish self-actualization had more tact.

That's how I maintained a decent GPA despite learning almost nothing.

Who is Jesus?

Napoleon asks "Who is Jesus?"

Well then, I will tell you. Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne and I myself have founded great empires; but upon what did these creations of our genius depend? Upon force. Jesus alone founded His empire upon love, and to this very day millions will die for Him.... I think I understand something of human nature; and I tell you, all these were men, and I am a man: none else is like Him; Jesus Christ was more than man.... I have inspired multitudes with such an enthusiastic devotion that they would have died for me.... but to do this it was necessary that I should be visibly present with the electric influence of my looks, my words, of my voice. When I saw men and spoke to them, I lighted up the flame of self-devotion in their hearts.... Christ alone has succeeded in so raising the mind of man toward the unseen, that it becomes insensible to the barriers of time and space. Across a chasm of eighteen hundred years, Jesus Christ makes a demand which is beyond all others to satisfy; He asks for that which a philosopher may seek in vain at the hands of his friends, or a father of his children, or a bride of her spouse, or a man of his brother. He asks for the human heart; He will have it entirely to Himself. He demands it unconditionally; and forthwith His demand is granted. Wonderful! In defiance of time and space, the soul of man, with all its powers and faculties, becomes an annexation to the empire of Christ. All who sincerely believe in Him, experience that remarkable, supernatural love toward Him. This phenomenon is accountable; it is altogether beyond the scope of man's creative powers. Time, the great destroyer, is powerless to extinguish this sacred flame; time can neither exhaust its strength nor put a limit to its range. This is it, which strikes me most; I have often thought of it. This is which proves to me quite convincingly the Divinity of Jesus Christ.

Straight from Wild at Heart Notes

"I want grey hair and a well-worn ring on my left hand. I want a brood of boys living lives unbroken - lives whole and complete and initiated. I want a wife of character and beauty - a deep well of discernment. And I want to rescue her everyday for the rest of my life."

Wild at Heart - 2009

Why is it so easy to ignore my heart? Life functions normally, mechanically - safely, but in it I find no life at all. I construct a safe workweek filled with obligations and the occasional celebration but each day I ignore my heart.

Truthfully, I don't need wisdom, I need the will to move boldly in the direction of faith.

I'm still processing as my thoughts and experiences are bucking their way into my long-term as I try to corral them. It's tough this time, the fog is thicker.

If the theme to last year's trip was "Name" - knowing my name, understanding my name, believing that God even has one for me beyond the one I've created on my own - this one was "Family." It seemed that each quiet time, God was dragging the lake of my family convictions. Fragments of my own family experiences made their way into almost every quiet time. I saw experiences I had completely forgotten about (repressed?) both good and bad and I'm starting to allow myself to believe that growing up straddling two lives in two different states isn't normal.

What I'm beginning to process is something on the edge of profound. I hope to unpack (maybe publicly) what that means for me and I'm hoping God feels the same way. Who knows, maybe I'll post something straight from my notes. But that might be too personal.

Ruined

We would rather be ruined than changed,
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.

— W. H. Auden

True on so many levels.

Finding Truth in Alien Movies

For reasons I'm still digesting, 'District 9' might be the most important movie of the year.

I'm an amateur critic at best, but I know what makes a movie. 'District 9' combines all of the right elements to fashion something wholly true out of something wholly alien. Although the movie draws from a deep well of traditional action-movie standards (see: cursing, vaporizing aliens/humans, screaming) it reads like a moving war documentary, one you know is simultaneously indecent and incredibly true.

The actors won't win awards, but not because they weren't great. They were. Mostly because, (with the exception of the chinstrap-sporting badguy) throughout the movie, you really forgot they were actors. There were no dramatic monologues or one-liners agonized over by geniuses in the writing room. They were human (and alien) extensions of our reality. I think this is the central theme to the film.

The movie is terrifying, but not because of the aliens. I'm used to the alien antagonist, the inexplicably blood-drunk extra-terrestrial hellbent on human eradication. Those kinds of evils are safe, distanced. This movie was not. The evils in 'District 9' were found not unlikely futuristic circumstances, but in the truth of ruthlessness, which is far more transcendent.

This was a "drive home in silence" kind of movie. If you saw the movie with a few people, you might note the deflated sighs and general "it's hard to talk with a 50 pound weight on your chest" vibe 'round the auto.

I didn't dare reach for distraction.

I realize this is a vague and spotty review at best. But like I said, I'm still processing the movie; still digesting. It's like I prayed for 2 hours while eating the largest meal of my life. The 50 pound weight is getting a little lighter, but much of it is still there. And for some reason, I'm not ready for it to go away.

High Coup

Pathetic poems
Tough to do well, works in pinch
Learned in seventh grade