"Arise, cry out in the night
at the beginning of the watches!
Pour out your heart like water before
the presence of the LORD!
Lift your hands to him
for the lives of your children,
who faint with hunger
at the head of every street..."
Lamentations 2:19
This morning was a great morning. I love waking up with the sun coing through the window, and going out into the cool air. I dont even mind the commute.
At work today, we had a Cesar Chavez 'festival' in which each classroom hosted rotations...we got to visit 3 classrooms that were doing activities centered around CC and the UFW and its history.
The most interesting and touching of the rotations was one teacher's discussion, in which she passed out pictures of farm workers in the fields and in their conditions, and asked the children to break into small group sand talk about what they thought the farm workers saw, heard, touched, smelled, and felt.
Afterwards, all the kids wrote poems from the perspective of farm workers.....and these were some of the most moving, beautiful pieces of writing i have seen in a long time. It is mind-blowing how these 7 and 8 year olds are able to grasp things like justice, suffering, advocacy, compassion....they know these things-- they just dont have the vocab. to articulate them. But there is something sublime about the way a child's wisdom explains truths about love and justice and hope that is far more impacting and precious than the articulation of the 'learned'
i am going to get copies of all the poems and post them up as soon as i can.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Easter
It was beautiful this morning, watching the sun rise at the early mass at St. Elizabeth's.....
This is the day the Lord has made...
After mass, me, tina, greg, betsy, reza, eric and ernie went over to Betsy's for some good food and time together. Greg led a devotional that really struck me and brought home for all of us what i think is the paradox of celebrating Easter this side of eternity...
We watched Hotel Rwanda last night, which was a very sobering, intense film....a picture of something haunting that cannot be escaped. I went home thinking a lot about it. I did a little bit of research on the rwandan genocide after i came home (Human Rights Watch is an amazingly detailed and well-researched site that i would highly recommend- i put a link to it on my list to the right)
I remember when these events were going on- i was in middle school. I think that one of the characters in the film, an American photojournalist, put it best- "People (in the West) will look at their TVs and say 'Oh, that's terrible,' and then keep on eating their dinner."
Reading about the history of Rwanda since the 1994 events made me think seriously about something i dont want to think about. In 1994, the whole world watched and did nothing, as 800,000 people were slaughtered not in a war, not in a natural disaster, but becasue they existed. We watched and did nothing. This brought the frightening thought to mind: Jesus, please have mercy on us- please hold back your judgement....I was praying that we would be spared.
Did Jesus not warn us about interpreting the times? Is it not God's mercy on us that he gives us opportunities to be faithful, even after our history has shown that we have not been faithful?
And we just stood by and watched. What will God have to say to us about that? What will God have to say to us about Sudan? The AIDS epidemic?
We believe that the government of Pakistan needs F-16 fighter jets, but we harshly critizise and suspect the (progressive, popular) government of Venezuela when they buy Ak-47s from Russia.......
anyway....Greg read from the Gospel of John, about Mary Magdalene weeping at the tomb of Jesus, not kowing where he was, where he had gone to.
This is a tension. We weep, as we ought to, the depravity of our hearts, the terror that humans are capable of. We weep out of compassion, but we weep also knowing that if not for the mercy of God, we surely would destroy each other in myriad ways. As the scripture says, "there is no one who does not, not even one"
Yet, Jesus appeared and said "Why do you weep?" He is risen indeed....and Praise Him that this is true! For what else do we have? What other hope is there, when we read daily of God's creations destroying each other, blinded by hatred, greed, pride, malice...?
Easter ought to be a call to desperation. It ought to wake us up to thist, long, grasp for, strain our souls and bodies to the point of pain to take hold of that one, precious thing...the hope and the righteousness and the saving truth and power of the Living, Risen Anointed One !
Celebrate today what God has given. Celebrate today that we do not have to be consumed by our own evil or given over to God's righteous judgement of it.
Jesus is alive
This is the day the Lord has made...
After mass, me, tina, greg, betsy, reza, eric and ernie went over to Betsy's for some good food and time together. Greg led a devotional that really struck me and brought home for all of us what i think is the paradox of celebrating Easter this side of eternity...
We watched Hotel Rwanda last night, which was a very sobering, intense film....a picture of something haunting that cannot be escaped. I went home thinking a lot about it. I did a little bit of research on the rwandan genocide after i came home (Human Rights Watch is an amazingly detailed and well-researched site that i would highly recommend- i put a link to it on my list to the right)
I remember when these events were going on- i was in middle school. I think that one of the characters in the film, an American photojournalist, put it best- "People (in the West) will look at their TVs and say 'Oh, that's terrible,' and then keep on eating their dinner."
Reading about the history of Rwanda since the 1994 events made me think seriously about something i dont want to think about. In 1994, the whole world watched and did nothing, as 800,000 people were slaughtered not in a war, not in a natural disaster, but becasue they existed. We watched and did nothing. This brought the frightening thought to mind: Jesus, please have mercy on us- please hold back your judgement....I was praying that we would be spared.
Did Jesus not warn us about interpreting the times? Is it not God's mercy on us that he gives us opportunities to be faithful, even after our history has shown that we have not been faithful?
And we just stood by and watched. What will God have to say to us about that? What will God have to say to us about Sudan? The AIDS epidemic?
We believe that the government of Pakistan needs F-16 fighter jets, but we harshly critizise and suspect the (progressive, popular) government of Venezuela when they buy Ak-47s from Russia.......
anyway....Greg read from the Gospel of John, about Mary Magdalene weeping at the tomb of Jesus, not kowing where he was, where he had gone to.
This is a tension. We weep, as we ought to, the depravity of our hearts, the terror that humans are capable of. We weep out of compassion, but we weep also knowing that if not for the mercy of God, we surely would destroy each other in myriad ways. As the scripture says, "there is no one who does not, not even one"
Yet, Jesus appeared and said "Why do you weep?" He is risen indeed....and Praise Him that this is true! For what else do we have? What other hope is there, when we read daily of God's creations destroying each other, blinded by hatred, greed, pride, malice...?
Easter ought to be a call to desperation. It ought to wake us up to thist, long, grasp for, strain our souls and bodies to the point of pain to take hold of that one, precious thing...the hope and the righteousness and the saving truth and power of the Living, Risen Anointed One !
Celebrate today what God has given. Celebrate today that we do not have to be consumed by our own evil or given over to God's righteous judgement of it.
Jesus is alive
Friday, March 25, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Monday, March 21, 2005
weep
recently I have been getting deep into the book of Lamentations.....chapter 3 has long been one of my favorite in the bible.
"She weeps bitterly in the night,
with tears on her cheeks;
among all her lovers
she has no one to comfort her..."
Lamentations 1:2
None of these lovers will comfort her. None of the things you love will comfort you, Jacob. You weep, and well you should. For the glory is gone from you. What you should have had (eden.....) you dont have. And you answer is not in the things you have sought...relationships, music, status, culture, respect, wealth....
but selah-- and then He came
He became your comforter, always was your comforter.
He came to wipe away your tears
Los Angeles. Pasadena....they weep bitterly at night, with no one to really comfort. Lord, give me ears to hear when your children are weeping, and the courage to point them toward true comfort.
"She weeps bitterly in the night,
with tears on her cheeks;
among all her lovers
she has no one to comfort her..."
Lamentations 1:2
None of these lovers will comfort her. None of the things you love will comfort you, Jacob. You weep, and well you should. For the glory is gone from you. What you should have had (eden.....) you dont have. And you answer is not in the things you have sought...relationships, music, status, culture, respect, wealth....
but selah-- and then He came
He became your comforter, always was your comforter.
He came to wipe away your tears
Los Angeles. Pasadena....they weep bitterly at night, with no one to really comfort. Lord, give me ears to hear when your children are weeping, and the courage to point them toward true comfort.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Hers is the video that an anonymous SP intern hooked me up with a while back..... http://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-video/Media/video/2005/01/27/golfgti.mov
Friday, March 18, 2005
poems from 2001
These are some poems i wrote during my period of post-freshman year angst.
12/13/01
A crescent of fire is there in the forest
It is burning with such fury, and such anger
I am far from it now, but once, I was not
Once, I found myself within the flames. It was then that I had a time to dance
I was younger then, and I had a time to dance
And I danced in the flames. The drums sounded, and the flutes played. Many others danced with me
Their fury was like that of the fire. It singed the stars, and tore into space
The forest cried at us with fear
There it was that we danced
There it was that we saw our shadows
No creature could stand beside our fire
We were ancient, and we could not die
God looked down on our dance, and O! What mind of man can know what He was moved to say?
God is One, the Holder of Wrath. God was our Serpent, and we bowed down, His name on our lips in ecstasy.
Heaven shook and quaked under our feet as we danced in the flames
God is One!
God is God!
Holy is His name!
All wrath and all hatred and all anger were His on the nights that we danced. On the nights when the crescent of fire made the trees of the forest bend with sorrow, God was One
And our voices were lifted high on the smoke to Him
O! How we danced!
We clenched our fists, and God became angry
We bowed down, and God turned away
We beat the drums, and God inhaled the breath of all the universe
And He let forth all His passion on us
O! It was terrible!
O! It was horrible
O! God is One!
Our dancing was ancient. Our dancing was forever
Our dancing left ashes in the world, and covered the stars and the angels with black smoke
JA!JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
God’s name was on our lips, and He cackled with wonder, His eyes wide and red!
GOD IS ONE!
GOD IS GOD!
JA!JA!
JA!
All through the night
Away from the cities, away from the roads and away from the castles
In the forest, God’s breath swept up all the heartless among men and laid them bare
Only our dancing was left
Only our dancing in the fire
And in the ashes
GOD IS ONE!
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Under what stone will you find me, O Lion?
In what crevice will I be folded into, in what shipwreck will you find my remains, O Faithful One?
I am the pillar of an ancient ruin, holding up a crumbling and weathered portion.
I am the saint whose image is carved in a sealed-off catacombs.
I am a fiery rhetoric, but my words do not travel outside my pages
I am a caravan trail across the desert, and I soak up the bones of those who have died in my heart
You will have to search many worlds if you want to find me, Yaweh!
For who am I but Yisra’el—he who grapples with you in the world of dreams
and in the world of pain.
Does your body change colors like mine does?
Does it slink into cool depths like mine does,
and wait in shadows?
I am that dungeon in whom the rebels rot away.
I am the shore from which slaves depart and their tears and blood have been my rain.
O God, this Daughter of Yours is veiled
Let not Her eyes be bitter fruit to you, Swift Gazelle!
Keep Her veiled
Keep Her away because I tell you the truth
You will not hear where her foot falls
Nor shall you taste of what her lips desire.
------------------------
Their wings rush, up and down. They find themselves less-alive in the eyes of God, discarded. Angels from on High, they wrestle with each other in the clouds, sweating and grunting, but it does not avail them.
What are they longing for?
Their skin cracks, these soldiers of the earth. Their guns are cold and they are waiting..
Their time together has been ordinary, husband and wife. The softness of their lives is beginning to poison them.
Their camels are weary and the water is bitter. A world moves fast around them, but the sand has always shifted
Their youth would have been that which saved them. But school is not a simple place anymore, and darkness has already covered their eyes.
Their robes are crisp and clean, their liturgies perfected. But a multitude drifts into sleep and they are left with worried faces and troubled hearts.
Their bodies are shivering, but still attractive. The clothes they wanted to wear had to be taken off again, and they die inside, their beauty is raped.
Their business is very successful, and at night they have comfort and a family. The emptiness grows thick. Their suits freshly starched
Their crops have not been as good as they could have been. They read the newspapers and keep their minds on the price of feed and the sun beats down. Their backs are breaking
Their wings are torn. The light around them is dim, their longing continues.
And they would kill to be human.
----------------------------------------
12/25/01
Harbors receive the ships that you have christened. On them I sail, and no longer fall to my knees to beg you for anything. My ship floats in and I stay on deck, admiring the scenery, but anxious to leave once more and become lost again. Only on the open ocean am I unknown and unknowable.
If it aches too much, do not bother trying to find me. Time is a dream out here, and I age in spite of the stars, in spite of history. My biography is one of circles and spirals, always returning, and always arriving. The clocks and the calendars are left bobbing up and down on the waves, their ink drained from the paper and invisible.
No, I do not stay in the harbors. My body has embraced the choppy and fluid existence of a forgetful pilgrim. No more will my feet strike out on a path, either certain or uncertain. No more will my yes mean ‘yes’ and my alliance calm the hearts of less-alive diplomats.
In the deep blue, a pair of eyes can devour what it sees. A pair of eyes can concentrate on one spot and no spot at the same time.
Here is where I am, O Fisher of Men! Here is where I catch your wind! Here is where I accept your invitation! There is no hurt for me, and no home for me amid ten million silvery flashing darts below ten million yellow flickering pinpoints. as far as I am concerned, here it is safe for me.
I will plant no flag on the horizon. I will trade no goods with dark and foreign merchants. I will throw no rusted anchor into strange sand.
These eyes will see everything they need to see, and be alive, for a change. These eyes will pray for a people whose hands are gritty and whose mountains are ever the same, heaving and tired. For them I will set a new course. For them, my voyage will continue.
A strong, sturdy ship, this, that carries me to and from you
12/13/01
A crescent of fire is there in the forest
It is burning with such fury, and such anger
I am far from it now, but once, I was not
Once, I found myself within the flames. It was then that I had a time to dance
I was younger then, and I had a time to dance
And I danced in the flames. The drums sounded, and the flutes played. Many others danced with me
Their fury was like that of the fire. It singed the stars, and tore into space
The forest cried at us with fear
There it was that we danced
There it was that we saw our shadows
No creature could stand beside our fire
We were ancient, and we could not die
God looked down on our dance, and O! What mind of man can know what He was moved to say?
God is One, the Holder of Wrath. God was our Serpent, and we bowed down, His name on our lips in ecstasy.
Heaven shook and quaked under our feet as we danced in the flames
God is One!
God is God!
Holy is His name!
All wrath and all hatred and all anger were His on the nights that we danced. On the nights when the crescent of fire made the trees of the forest bend with sorrow, God was One
And our voices were lifted high on the smoke to Him
O! How we danced!
We clenched our fists, and God became angry
We bowed down, and God turned away
We beat the drums, and God inhaled the breath of all the universe
And He let forth all His passion on us
O! It was terrible!
O! It was horrible
O! God is One!
Our dancing was ancient. Our dancing was forever
Our dancing left ashes in the world, and covered the stars and the angels with black smoke
JA!JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
God’s name was on our lips, and He cackled with wonder, His eyes wide and red!
GOD IS ONE!
GOD IS GOD!
JA!JA!
JA!
All through the night
Away from the cities, away from the roads and away from the castles
In the forest, God’s breath swept up all the heartless among men and laid them bare
Only our dancing was left
Only our dancing in the fire
And in the ashes
GOD IS ONE!
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Under what stone will you find me, O Lion?
In what crevice will I be folded into, in what shipwreck will you find my remains, O Faithful One?
I am the pillar of an ancient ruin, holding up a crumbling and weathered portion.
I am the saint whose image is carved in a sealed-off catacombs.
I am a fiery rhetoric, but my words do not travel outside my pages
I am a caravan trail across the desert, and I soak up the bones of those who have died in my heart
You will have to search many worlds if you want to find me, Yaweh!
For who am I but Yisra’el—he who grapples with you in the world of dreams
and in the world of pain.
Does your body change colors like mine does?
Does it slink into cool depths like mine does,
and wait in shadows?
I am that dungeon in whom the rebels rot away.
I am the shore from which slaves depart and their tears and blood have been my rain.
O God, this Daughter of Yours is veiled
Let not Her eyes be bitter fruit to you, Swift Gazelle!
Keep Her veiled
Keep Her away because I tell you the truth
You will not hear where her foot falls
Nor shall you taste of what her lips desire.
------------------------
Their wings rush, up and down. They find themselves less-alive in the eyes of God, discarded. Angels from on High, they wrestle with each other in the clouds, sweating and grunting, but it does not avail them.
What are they longing for?
Their skin cracks, these soldiers of the earth. Their guns are cold and they are waiting..
Their time together has been ordinary, husband and wife. The softness of their lives is beginning to poison them.
Their camels are weary and the water is bitter. A world moves fast around them, but the sand has always shifted
Their youth would have been that which saved them. But school is not a simple place anymore, and darkness has already covered their eyes.
Their robes are crisp and clean, their liturgies perfected. But a multitude drifts into sleep and they are left with worried faces and troubled hearts.
Their bodies are shivering, but still attractive. The clothes they wanted to wear had to be taken off again, and they die inside, their beauty is raped.
Their business is very successful, and at night they have comfort and a family. The emptiness grows thick. Their suits freshly starched
Their crops have not been as good as they could have been. They read the newspapers and keep their minds on the price of feed and the sun beats down. Their backs are breaking
Their wings are torn. The light around them is dim, their longing continues.
And they would kill to be human.
----------------------------------------
12/25/01
Harbors receive the ships that you have christened. On them I sail, and no longer fall to my knees to beg you for anything. My ship floats in and I stay on deck, admiring the scenery, but anxious to leave once more and become lost again. Only on the open ocean am I unknown and unknowable.
If it aches too much, do not bother trying to find me. Time is a dream out here, and I age in spite of the stars, in spite of history. My biography is one of circles and spirals, always returning, and always arriving. The clocks and the calendars are left bobbing up and down on the waves, their ink drained from the paper and invisible.
No, I do not stay in the harbors. My body has embraced the choppy and fluid existence of a forgetful pilgrim. No more will my feet strike out on a path, either certain or uncertain. No more will my yes mean ‘yes’ and my alliance calm the hearts of less-alive diplomats.
In the deep blue, a pair of eyes can devour what it sees. A pair of eyes can concentrate on one spot and no spot at the same time.
Here is where I am, O Fisher of Men! Here is where I catch your wind! Here is where I accept your invitation! There is no hurt for me, and no home for me amid ten million silvery flashing darts below ten million yellow flickering pinpoints. as far as I am concerned, here it is safe for me.
I will plant no flag on the horizon. I will trade no goods with dark and foreign merchants. I will throw no rusted anchor into strange sand.
These eyes will see everything they need to see, and be alive, for a change. These eyes will pray for a people whose hands are gritty and whose mountains are ever the same, heaving and tired. For them I will set a new course. For them, my voyage will continue.
A strong, sturdy ship, this, that carries me to and from you
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Monday, March 14, 2005
this last weekend
it was a full one.
Friday, after a pretty good day at work, I want to get ready for the Coffeehouse that Hanna and I were putting on down at the girls' place on Kenwood. Eric and i rolled down there, set up all the sound stuff and it was on. There were a lot of people there--from all different social circles, which was gravy.
Hanna's brother and friend were the main performers....guitar and songwriting, and they were amazing.
Saturday i tutored Hugo at Ready to Read. Then tried to work on my sermon for UC Redlands (out of Luke 16). At 4 me Betsy and Greg went down to Dalton St. to meet with the other interns to plan our "Roast and Toast" of Kevin for his 40th B-day. That was a lot of fun, and very creative. After stopping at McDucks in Santa Monica, we met the rest of the crew at a Franciscan retreat center in Malibu, overlooking extravagant celebrities' houses. After we performed our skit and watched others 'roast' and say some words to Kevin, we bounced.
Sunday, I went to Pasadena Church of God with Betsy, Greg, Claire and Gladys and Vanessa, who are two 7th graders in Betsy and Tina's bible study. I always love PCOG....
Later after trying to take a nap while the guys upstairs practice their drumming for almost and hour, we went to Clarie's birthday party, at whcih the food was off the proverbial hook.
Then we went to LA (Dalton St.) for our Luke study-- chapter 12, about money and covetousness and not being anxious....
sorry for the dry mechanical nature of this blog. I just want to give an outline of the weekend for people who werent there. If you want embellishment, just post a comment....
Friday, after a pretty good day at work, I want to get ready for the Coffeehouse that Hanna and I were putting on down at the girls' place on Kenwood. Eric and i rolled down there, set up all the sound stuff and it was on. There were a lot of people there--from all different social circles, which was gravy.
Hanna's brother and friend were the main performers....guitar and songwriting, and they were amazing.
Saturday i tutored Hugo at Ready to Read. Then tried to work on my sermon for UC Redlands (out of Luke 16). At 4 me Betsy and Greg went down to Dalton St. to meet with the other interns to plan our "Roast and Toast" of Kevin for his 40th B-day. That was a lot of fun, and very creative. After stopping at McDucks in Santa Monica, we met the rest of the crew at a Franciscan retreat center in Malibu, overlooking extravagant celebrities' houses. After we performed our skit and watched others 'roast' and say some words to Kevin, we bounced.
Sunday, I went to Pasadena Church of God with Betsy, Greg, Claire and Gladys and Vanessa, who are two 7th graders in Betsy and Tina's bible study. I always love PCOG....
Later after trying to take a nap while the guys upstairs practice their drumming for almost and hour, we went to Clarie's birthday party, at whcih the food was off the proverbial hook.
Then we went to LA (Dalton St.) for our Luke study-- chapter 12, about money and covetousness and not being anxious....
sorry for the dry mechanical nature of this blog. I just want to give an outline of the weekend for people who werent there. If you want embellishment, just post a comment....
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
wee ones
i realize that my jobs are pretty easy....and unusual in the work world. I have so much potential for fun and fulfilling time at work- so much more so than many other occupations. I am pretty low down on the ladder of people who work in the educational field, and right now, that is ok with me. These positions have pushed me enough in my character, skills, training, responsibility to make me ready for the next step.
how lucky am i that i can look forward to schooling 7 and 8 year olds in soccer?
I will be sad when the school year ends, but it will be good timing for me to move on. My relationship with all the kids in my life has been a big joy to me--something i see a bit of everything in : God's character, my character, the world's character, cultural differences, reconciliation, peace, mercy, maturity, suffering, patenice, waiting, healing, destiny...
one of the biggest reasons i love working with kids is becasue a child represents to me raw possibility-- that is, this human being is at the beginning of their life on earth, and their personality is still raw, bearing the imprint quite close on the surface of thier environment. But it is also a beautiful reminder of how every day God tenderly leads us in ways to take care of us....every day the children i work with make small choices to be caring, considerate, responsible, encouraging, leading, humble and mature. By no means are they fully any of these things, but at this point in their lives, they are learning faster and more openly than they ever will, and this to me is exciting and hopeful. Every day i see how this world is not a nurturing place for kids, not a place where it is easy to raise "sons and daughters of peace" But somehow, God cares for his flock. It is my constant prayer that they become who they were made to be.
how lucky am i that i can look forward to schooling 7 and 8 year olds in soccer?
I will be sad when the school year ends, but it will be good timing for me to move on. My relationship with all the kids in my life has been a big joy to me--something i see a bit of everything in : God's character, my character, the world's character, cultural differences, reconciliation, peace, mercy, maturity, suffering, patenice, waiting, healing, destiny...
one of the biggest reasons i love working with kids is becasue a child represents to me raw possibility-- that is, this human being is at the beginning of their life on earth, and their personality is still raw, bearing the imprint quite close on the surface of thier environment. But it is also a beautiful reminder of how every day God tenderly leads us in ways to take care of us....every day the children i work with make small choices to be caring, considerate, responsible, encouraging, leading, humble and mature. By no means are they fully any of these things, but at this point in their lives, they are learning faster and more openly than they ever will, and this to me is exciting and hopeful. Every day i see how this world is not a nurturing place for kids, not a place where it is easy to raise "sons and daughters of peace" But somehow, God cares for his flock. It is my constant prayer that they become who they were made to be.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
unpolished free write
God is one…
We created an ancient fire, and we threw our children into it every generation, we let our love be burned and consumed and spit out again on the tips of tounges of flame….lovely killers, beautiful deadly dancers
I am that curled up scroll that wise men fear
I am the hot wind that weathered classical statues and made a mockery of skill and vision…
I never saw myself.
Heirs to a scolded clan, a lost family….we hold our breath and wince at the slightest sound
At the faint mutterings of faith and deliverance.
What is to stop the wicked from taking what we have, from tearing up our streets and bulldozing our homes?
Only vanity—the construction of a lie, over and over again, until it can be taught and etched into a people’s memories and made into a song for children….
My hand curves around hers….
Fingers move in between fingers to symbolize the taking away of space, of distance.
We created an ancient fire, and we threw our children into it every generation, we let our love be burned and consumed and spit out again on the tips of tounges of flame….lovely killers, beautiful deadly dancers
I am that curled up scroll that wise men fear
I am the hot wind that weathered classical statues and made a mockery of skill and vision…
I never saw myself.
Heirs to a scolded clan, a lost family….we hold our breath and wince at the slightest sound
At the faint mutterings of faith and deliverance.
What is to stop the wicked from taking what we have, from tearing up our streets and bulldozing our homes?
Only vanity—the construction of a lie, over and over again, until it can be taught and etched into a people’s memories and made into a song for children….
My hand curves around hers….
Fingers move in between fingers to symbolize the taking away of space, of distance.
update
I am just getting over a cold i have had all weekend.
I will begin this week working on a sermon i have to write that i am giving at UC Redland's Intervarsity Fellowship with Sam from Servant Partners. We will be preaching on Luke 16:1-15 on March 29.
Also, the coffeehouse is this weekend. I want to rap, to recite, to speak word.....but my life has been consumed these days..
My brother turns 20 this week
i have to defer my student loans.
I will begin this week working on a sermon i have to write that i am giving at UC Redland's Intervarsity Fellowship with Sam from Servant Partners. We will be preaching on Luke 16:1-15 on March 29.
Also, the coffeehouse is this weekend. I want to rap, to recite, to speak word.....but my life has been consumed these days..
My brother turns 20 this week
i have to defer my student loans.
this is some radom stuff i was writing (fiction, poetry, whatever) during Christmas break
--------------
Sandra. She was an old friend, someone I had been very close to, but hadn’t talked to in a long time. Her complexion was healthy light with light brown hair, blonde tips. An eastern European face- pointy nose and small chin, with very light bluish gray eyes.
“I sometimes think Dillon is too perfect. ...do I dwell too much on my imperfections?”
I looked at her in silence. It had begun to get dark outside, the computer screen was excessively bright...She glared at her screen, which had already gone into screen saver mode and was black. It was as if she stared off into something else...deep in thought about her situation.
“You know, maybe not everyone has to think of their life in these grand terms—redemption, pride, sin, healing. Maybe we are just making things into much more than they really are, and everyone else is normal.”
mixed in the glossy plastic glow if America
chopped up time, served with little seasoning and a lot of fat
added
additives
addictive
sedative
making you fall asleep into your age old mythical American dream
American myth
American pie
Ignorant and lazy
belligerent and shady
cant stop
wont stop
playing the game
of shopping in marble floored departments,
fake fake fake facade mirage
of every fanciful place and dream and building and era and culture
so that it can be spun in cellophane and placed on the display shelf with a price tag,
but only for a limited time
America was the name of a European man
America was the name of a ‘new’ land stumbled upon my men with frenzied libidos, a lust for riches, and a disdain for history.
America was the name of a constitution, a state, a political unit conceived in vanity, making its childish pouting proud pompous declaration of legitimacy on its own terms for its own reasons in its own way—and claiming that they were Universal
America was the name of a brand, a symbol, a banner—conveyed across the earth by war ships, war planes and soldier’s blood.
America is bombs, money and tourists
America is hard work, rationality and church
America is skin color, planned obsolescence and fast food
America is punching the timecard, hoping for something better and comic books and video games
America is agriculture, aggression and popular music
What does it feel like to transfer my mind onto a page or a computer screen? Is there a sensation, an epiphany? Why is this so far from the actions that define my everyday life? I brush my teeth, I run my fingers through my hair when it gets greasy, I drive to a friend’s house, I close doors, sit in chairs, teach children, listen to music while staring at the ceiling.
Yet here I am writing. Maybe i have given you an impression of what my life is like. But it is just that. I want to make you feel like you have seen a surrealist painting when you read my writing. I want to make you feel like you just stepped out of the experience of reading something, and into a world that is real on the other side of your eyes, on this page.
--------------
Sandra. She was an old friend, someone I had been very close to, but hadn’t talked to in a long time. Her complexion was healthy light with light brown hair, blonde tips. An eastern European face- pointy nose and small chin, with very light bluish gray eyes.
“I sometimes think Dillon is too perfect. ...do I dwell too much on my imperfections?”
I looked at her in silence. It had begun to get dark outside, the computer screen was excessively bright...She glared at her screen, which had already gone into screen saver mode and was black. It was as if she stared off into something else...deep in thought about her situation.
“You know, maybe not everyone has to think of their life in these grand terms—redemption, pride, sin, healing. Maybe we are just making things into much more than they really are, and everyone else is normal.”
mixed in the glossy plastic glow if America
chopped up time, served with little seasoning and a lot of fat
added
additives
addictive
sedative
making you fall asleep into your age old mythical American dream
American myth
American pie
Ignorant and lazy
belligerent and shady
cant stop
wont stop
playing the game
of shopping in marble floored departments,
fake fake fake facade mirage
of every fanciful place and dream and building and era and culture
so that it can be spun in cellophane and placed on the display shelf with a price tag,
but only for a limited time
America was the name of a European man
America was the name of a ‘new’ land stumbled upon my men with frenzied libidos, a lust for riches, and a disdain for history.
America was the name of a constitution, a state, a political unit conceived in vanity, making its childish pouting proud pompous declaration of legitimacy on its own terms for its own reasons in its own way—and claiming that they were Universal
America was the name of a brand, a symbol, a banner—conveyed across the earth by war ships, war planes and soldier’s blood.
America is bombs, money and tourists
America is hard work, rationality and church
America is skin color, planned obsolescence and fast food
America is punching the timecard, hoping for something better and comic books and video games
America is agriculture, aggression and popular music
What does it feel like to transfer my mind onto a page or a computer screen? Is there a sensation, an epiphany? Why is this so far from the actions that define my everyday life? I brush my teeth, I run my fingers through my hair when it gets greasy, I drive to a friend’s house, I close doors, sit in chairs, teach children, listen to music while staring at the ceiling.
Yet here I am writing. Maybe i have given you an impression of what my life is like. But it is just that. I want to make you feel like you have seen a surrealist painting when you read my writing. I want to make you feel like you just stepped out of the experience of reading something, and into a world that is real on the other side of your eyes, on this page.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Linkseses
i just figured out how to make my links list. these are some of my favorite (non-shopping) sites.. i actually dont spend a lot of time on the internet, so these are links i have spent some time on, or are somehow linked to me, that i think it is worth your while, as it were, to check out.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Friday, March 04, 2005
i have been seeing how much i feed off of bread that is not given from God.
I feed myself with attention and affection from others. If I can impress the people that are important to me, then that means i am valuable.
I think this is common. It is common becasue so many of us grow up not really understanding that we can be loved unconditionally, that we have inherent worth and value. So we create a persona that can be crafted and manipulated over time to recieve the maximum affection and attention from those around us. We groom it, and as we groom it, we go farther and farther away from our heart, our true self.
I am finding that place, and i am finding God dwelling there. But like Biggie Smalls said, its an everyday struggle.
I feed myself with attention and affection from others. If I can impress the people that are important to me, then that means i am valuable.
I think this is common. It is common becasue so many of us grow up not really understanding that we can be loved unconditionally, that we have inherent worth and value. So we create a persona that can be crafted and manipulated over time to recieve the maximum affection and attention from those around us. We groom it, and as we groom it, we go farther and farther away from our heart, our true self.
I am finding that place, and i am finding God dwelling there. But like Biggie Smalls said, its an everyday struggle.
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