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How long will it be until I, a well-worn piece of gossip, am finally thrown away?
When will I no longer devour the generous ears?
How many times can I, a mere morsel, echo throughout empty halls?
Was I such a good story to last so long? Not a bit!
I am a doubt more persistent than waves before the wind.
I also wreak havoc wherever I'm driven, a cowboy no bull can buck.
I have often observed with wonder the way that relatives and friends who many would consider to be "country-bumpkins" circulate seamlessly among the ranks of high-society guests, such as ambassadors and executives. They do so effortlessly neither changing their relatively unsophisticated manner nor their unrefined speech. What holds their audience are the embellished accounts of hunting, fishing and farming. Their rapt audience is usually either an urban/modern who distantly admires those upon whom their society has been built or a person born and raised in the woods, but since detached. The refrain if uttered would be "oh the good old days!" I like many city-folk straddle this divide: I love working outside in the wild, but am compelled by conditioning and a number of factors to remain near the jobs and institutions. Every now and then I experience a bond with fellow nature-lovers, e.g. while splitting fire-wood this weekend a neighbour remarked, speaking to the legitimacy of my endevour, "Now there is a man at work". I frequently feel like giving it all up and returning to the hills, but am always discouraged by the nagging feeling that I may not really belong there either for any period of time. So for now I'll awkwardly observe the country-folk in action at various parties and visit them as often as I can.
In the same way that the flood may have been a local event that the residents of the Levant thought encompassed the earth, so may a person's religious views, which he thinks of as applying to everyone, be local (specific to a faith community rather than universal). Instead of justifying them, claiming they are the Truth, is it not better to hold onto them because they are your own or because they make up who you are? With this approach there is no need to over-ride others. Could they really be Global? Is Krishna Das' belief, revelation, and worship any less sincere, honouring or right than mine? I too see a wall around my heart that separates me from true love. Am I speaking a dialect of a common tongue, a tongue much like music where different styles and learning blend into the beautiful (only with mastery though can a tabla player jam with a banjo player)? How much of the one, true way is caused by power struggles? Although my entire being rejects Dawkins et al.'s notion we would be better off without religion, I agree with his assertion when the journey of belief becomes one hollow institution at war with the other. Why do questions of authenticity (to use a catch-phrase) evoke such a harsh response? Because on one level a piece of a person's identity is assaulted. That is why it can often hurt. Everyone's identity is valid though, so be specific about religious practise. Respect others and peace may really happen on earth and it will be seen if God can really live among men.
After having traversed the wide expanse bordered by fundamentalism and liberalism at various times I wonder at my faith journey, all the turns I have taken. I too wish to break down the wall one stone at a time, a wall certain conventions have encouraged me to build in the name of righteousness. Nevertheless, I can hardly breathe. How can something that is so natural be so stifled? Some of the thoughts that I journaled years ago reflect this:
The Trinity can be compared to elements in the universe: space (omnipresent Father), matter (Son), and time (unseen Spirit). The three dimensionality of space also reflects this. A single dimension rendering reveals a scant part of the picture, the second shows everything, but in a flat manner and the third combines to provide an experience.
I now venture to extract the pure essence of being and live true to myself and my god with as few constructs as possible (some framework for interpretation is always necessary). There are, however, no easy answers, no hastily spoken quips to consider the depth of faith.
"Listen to me, Dad! I am the police!"
"That is fine Honey, but the police is answerable to the government."
"Dad, I am the government!"
Lately, I have come across a lot of good music courtesy of Calabash music. They now offer 10 free tracks a week and if you buy credits you only pay 80 cents on the dollar for songs. This is a great way to get introduced to World music. This week I downloaded a bunch of Ernest Ranglin's work; he is an amazing guitarist that blends fluid lines with cultural voices. Past favourites are Hoya Hoya by Bole2Harlem and DJ Disse's Walk on the Wild Side. Vusi Mahlasela is a wonderful human being and inspiring performer; check out his amazing performances at TED.
I am an early adopter of technology, ideas and values and, given the fact that I had counted down the arrival of iTunes Plus to free myself of the antiquated DRM, I bounded to download In Rainbows. I favour the artist and not the label, so I paid them the equivalent of $8.00 to support this move to direct access. Although I would have rather previewed the album and then decided on the amount, I arrived at this amount by considering the amount they would profit from in a regular release and doubling it. No album artwork was included with the download, so I did a search and found a number of good entries at this site. I attached my favourites to each song. I have played the album a number of times but it is Reckoner that I put on constant repeat and can't get enough of.
On Sunday I had a cool time hanging out with my son. First I took him to his acting class and then we cruised around some shops. One of these was Curious Comics. I was glad to hit this store because it gave me a chance to check out Casanova, which GQ had favourably reviewed but I found passable at best. It was not charged with the historical and political brilliance of Pekar's Macedonia or the comical cross-cultural charm of Delisle's work. Neither did it have the ingenuity of other adaptations, namely Sienkiewicz's Moby Dick. I also found this great book for my son, Lost in Skookum Valley. It is published and set in B.C. and follows the Herge style. Check it out.
In this shop I also encountered the Fishermen. Given the sincerity of the founder's message I feel bad finding them so funny. I can see his point, but NFL Jesus comes off like Toyota's "what would Jesus drive". These are definitely of higher quality than the ridiculous Testamints, but they only serve to push forward capitalism's agenda that it is the best mechanism for serving everything (since it defeated Communism) including democracy and religion. The "access" that Capitalism brings is often a cheapened one. Today the remark came up in jest that religious services will soon be offered in a pay as you go format: 1 visit by the priest $40, one by a deacon or elder $25; much like getting your fortune told. Well I'll sign off with, D€r€k given all this talk. Just remember that a free market is not the same thing as freedom; yeah prosperity fosters choices, but equality -- come on!
For the last while I have been trying to return to blogging and have been working on many topics, but have always felt restrained by the events of the last year. Without going into detail about all the things that have happened I have finally begun to learn that approval must come from within first. Circumstances can suck, more importantly people can really suck: it really amazes me how vulnerable my being is to some people under certain conditions. People who don't give others the benefit of the doubt suck. Nevertheless for every person who at a moment in time choose destruction there is another who breathes life. Really it is through vulnerability that the good can shine through. Today I had the pleasure of meeting Margot Van Sluytman who shared her story at coffee at the Centre. Her journey to find her voice and her ability to express it so passionately spoke to me (and others) on the deepest level. Victimology really is a trap, an imposition on yourself. There is no question that it defined(s) you. Circumstances and blunt, pessimistic, blind or similar type of persons should in no way make you lose your voice. There is such a deep well to drink from in life, so many good souls. There is no question that community is an ecology; other people will impact you. Nevertheless, only a weed thrives on poor soil. The noble, good and beautiful not only often go deep, but they also respond, practically depend upon, nurture. This ethereal connection to the living rather than surviving transcends corporeal form: it embeds itself in the expressions of people who in moments of time breathe the deep breath of life: the story, song or poem that makes you cry. The real mystery is how happenstance governs this realm. How does it all come together?
Obviously much of life is toil. There's little escape from that: even the most privileged make their own toil. One essential part of transcendence must be communing with others, on one level or another. The discordant joy of those in the impoverished regions of the globe has always struck me. How can they smile. More importantly, why do if feel a deep connection with these people? How do they access my heart so readily? How do they change lives? How can they so readily look you in the eye without demanding anything or revealing shame? How do they disarm one so well protected?
One answer is not by having a larger house, iPod or car because they don't. I love gadgets, convenience and comfort so I will never really give them up. It is not the items themselves, rather the false expectations these items bring. Sure they bring happiness, pride and wonder. What they are, however, is a symptom (and vehicle) of a culture of isolation and disconnection. As I stand waiting for the bus or riding my bike on many a morning the smell of pollution sickens me. Yet, as I am passed by so many cars I wonder if the drivers know. I cannot believe how sick I feel after cycling on a rural road when a car that has just been started goes by me. Now I know there are naysayers on global warming and the responsibility of humans, but get out of the car and breathe. That red glow on the horizon really is pollution!
What are we plugged into? Community? Anything that centres us? Now life is often presented as a battle from which me must unplug ourselves to once more enter the fray. Live 1 week (a three week vacation yields one week without toning down or ramping up) out of 52? Yet, many I have met swim with the current. The nourishers, what is it about them? Those with a community, those who fit in their own skin, you know them. Moreover, what about children and the child-like natures of those who suffer most. What really nourishes the soul?
Other humans: I am sure that every individual (even those I hate) has shown at least one act of kindness, which nourishes others.
Self: navel gazing aside, a deep realization of the wonder you are. Check out these guys: one suffering and one a comic.
Nature: as a model, but more of where we belong.
The mysterious wonder that governs (or created) serendipity: enough said.
Breathe deep!
This term I have been translating quite a bit of Latin. Through this process, there are times when I feel like I am being injected with regular doses of poison (I have no idea what disease the chemo is for, maybe notenoughlatinus) and times when I am totally undone by the poetry's beauty. At other times, I am struck by how appropriate the subject matter is for today. I could easily satirize our nation in the same way as Horace (1.1.61-64):
At bona pars hominum, decepta cupidine falso,
'Nil satis est,' inquit, 'quia tanti quantum habeas sis.'
Quid facias illi? Iubeas miserum esse, libenter
quatenus is facit;
But the good part of mankind, deceived by false desire,
'Nothing is enough,' they would say, 'because you are of such worth as you have'
What do you do for such a man? You order him to be wretched, since
he does it willingly.
The snow smoothed the landscape and muffled sound. All was made new and the ugly covered; the annoying noise of traffic quelled. Peace at last; people even walked. Our power diminished : If Hydro goes, fate rests in ability; Survival over convenience. I am glad it snows once in a while in Victoria.
I broke down and downloaded some songs from itunes (what holds me back is the low quality/dollar ratio). One was Pacing the Cage, which I think as Cockburn's version of "Blowing in the Wind". Cockburn's poetry is amazing:
Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it's pointing toward
I've proven who I am so many times
The magnetic strip's worn thin
And each time I was someone else
And everyone was taken in
I never knew what you all wanted
So I gave you everything
All that I could pillage
All the spells that I could sing
Today, I had the pleasure of attending the funeral for John Dougan (the pleasure was in knowing this great man and hearing about his impact on so many, not in having to say good bye). Well, why was he so great? You can only answer this question by having known him, but here are a few things. I first met him when we moved to Victoria, he and his wife Rie were our new neighbours, immediately our family took a shine to this man and his wife. Over the years he has been more than a grand parent to me. He was the second person (after my mom) Tessa and I told the news of our engagement to, while he was on one of his usual walks in the neighbourhood. My mom is right, the neighbourhood will not be the same without him; he knew everyone and was always up to date with what they were doing. He delighted in giving toonies to my children as if they were his own grand-kids. To me, the glint in his eye and gentlemanly manner stand out. Over the years my mother has oft said, "always the diplomat, John Dougan". He was always so gracious and loved a good joke; he would always laugh while telling the punch-line. I still break out in laughter when I recall some of the occasions with him. We, humans, truly are meant to be together, given the impact we can have upon one another. It is amazing how the stories of so many have "John" in it and he is inextricably woven through the last twenty-two years of mine. Thank you John, for being you. Just like a ray of sunshine you were always seen to be brightest in the gloom. Good bye.
A good friend of mine and pastor, Hans, wrote about Stanley Hauerwas in his blog. It is really cool because Hauerwas' views on pacifism completely echoed my last blog entry. Colman McCarthy quotes, "I say I'm a pacifist because I'm a violent son of a bitch. I'm a Texan." This very blunt statement shows that for him the battle is within. This is the case for me and the case, I believe, in general. Check out the Raskolnikov-effect given in my last post. Earlier he is quoted, "I would not be a pacifist if I were not a Christian, and I find it hard to understand how one can be a Christian without being a pacifist." This is remarkable again given the question on Israel in my last post for so many Christians are staunch Zionists.
A cool juxtoposition has taken place in my studies. I am translating (I'm hoping to be reading at some point) parts of the Iliad and all the Trojan Women by Euripides and parts of the Aenid. What is cool is that the Iliad deals with the war, the Trojan Women with the fallout and the Aenid with the founding of a new city once the baggage of the old is dealt with. In class we watched the Cacoyannis film (the soundtrack and filming is excellent by the way) The Trojan Women. Oh! the horrors of war. Check out this quote from the play:
"I do not commend the fear of one who fears but never yet has reasoned out the cause."
Astyanax, the child of Hector, had just been killed because Odysseus reasoned that one day he may be a threat to the Greeks. Check out how it lines up with Hauerwas says, "[I] recalled that Bush, after urging Americans to go shopping, immediately proclaimed, "We are at war." Hauerwas explained that peculiar juxtaposition this way: "We are frightened, and ironically war makes us feel safe. The way to go on in the face of 9/11 is to find someone to kill. Americans are, moreover, good at killing. We often fail to acknowledge how accomplished we are in the art of killing. We now conduct war in a manner that only the enemy has to die." This is exactly what Euripides was struggling with. The Athenians were adept at war and went campaigning every summer. Also, it is possible that the play was a response to the Athenian's slaughter of an entire city, very similar to Troy's situation. The point, though, is that Euripides definitely took his minerals, in other words, he had balls because he was sponsored by the state and still produced this play (a much harsher critique than Michael Moore's work). As my professor stated, "this play today could easily be set in Iraq, Afghanistan or Darfur".
Is life an endless cycle of hate? Wars, battles, attacks and daggers in the back? Apparently so, but the cycle can be broken and the stream reversed. What? There must be a catch. There is! The effort that a person makes will not be readily apparent for a long time, much like when one first lifts a heavy piece of furniture the pain is excruciating until raised from a squat the muscles have finished contracting. Then a sense of lightness overcomes the lifter. How can one feel lighter? As Gene Edwards says in A Tale of Three Kings, "One, never learn anything about the fashionable, easily-mastered art of spear-throwing. Two, stay out of the company of all spear throwers. And three, keep your mouth tightly closed". Any other catches? Yeah, one more, a person will go through almost more pain by doing the above three things than if he fought back. What about assertiveness? Be a doormat? Remember the goal! To rise beyond conflict. Ghandi lay like a doormat, but was never used as one. Are people powerless, then? No! A person has incredible power, but it must be harnessed. What? The same hate can be brought out of anyone. In classical speak, anyone can be Raskolnikov; in modern speak everyone must win against their own temptation of the dark-side or the ring. Pass the test and peace will come. Aung San Suu Kyi passes all the tests with flying colours. Look at the size of her enemy and the power they have over her, yet she will win one day since she wins one day at a time. This sounds like passive crap? The battle is in a person, that is why questions like this are asked angrily. Why be defensive, if it's crap? Well then what about Israel? Israel owes its heritage to a pacifist, David. David overcame his own soul first, became king legitimately and then ruled and established the kingdom. Yes, he made mistakes, but he wasn't mad like Saul. And yes he could have deposed of Saul since Saul had served his purpose. What about fame and power? None is more famous (especially over time) than Jesus, Ghandi, Mother Theressa, Aung San Suu Kyi and many others. Power then? Whose kingdoms have influenced the most outside their lives, i.e. lasting power? Keep up the struggle and acknowledge first temptation, its source and then overcome it for power is not taking but overcoming.
The subject of control enters my mind often. Control is an illusion that deceives many, for at certain times a person can truly feel in control and actually be in control to a limited extent. Times in life exist where everyone does another's bidding and everything goes that person's way, a person has control. Or does he? Can that one make things go his way or is it the hand that he is dealt. In no way am I minimizing the need for gracious behaviour and seizing the things that are in a person's reach (and we can extend the reach somewhat), but in the end humans are limited. There is a ceiling.
In addition to the temporal nature of control, control, which is the ultimate exertion of power, often has many inconsistencies. In the Constant Gardiner a central character states "I was the control freak who couldn't control himself". He couldn't control his lust nor could he figure out what caused it or where it came from. He was disjointed.
Rather than control, I favour the word influence. Complete control over another person is not natural and is more akin to slavery than anything else. In contrast, there are many ways that a person can influence another without tampering with their self-determination, i.e. when a person does not bend another's will through withholding food, clothing, visas, and passports. Does it violate your existence? If yes, it's control. Influence can be feeding another with ideas and ideals, but brainwashing is the unacceptable limit of this influence. Influence arises from the authority structure present in most, if not all, cultures. Lastly, someone always remains above another; world-records are usually broken, so there is a levelling effect present in influence. I was reminded of these facts when I read the following:
It towered so vast above petty human creation, so elemental in a man-made world, that even if all the men who had lived in all the past millennia had opened up their arms as wide as they could and carried everything they had ever created or intended to create and piled it all up in massive heaps, they could never have raised a mountain ridge as fantastic as the Caucasus. Alexander Solzhenitsyn. August 1914. Trans. Glenny
Fly on! Enjoy the feeling! Breathe it! But remember that you can always fall to the ground because your being is governed by many laws.
In the previous post I described how adrenaline remained in my system even though it was clear there was no need for it. I just read a movie review of Crank in which the main character must keep moving and awake to retard the effect of a deadly poison. Since it is September and I am starting a very demanding degree, I have been thinking about stress and what causes it. In the past during school I have been like Jason Stratham in the movie, always on the move, adrenaline flowing and without peace. Understandably, university is intense, so my body should react somewhat, but my reaction seems excessive to me even though it is within the normal limits of student stress levels. I have determined that much of my stress results from a feeling of being out-of-control. If I had all the time in the world school would not be stressful, I would be in control. I could study for each test appropriately and do thorough research on my papers. The fact is that I don't have nearly enough time. I feel out-of-control because so many things enter my study time, necessary things. Should I resent going out for coffee with other students? No way, if I want friends and compatriots. Also my grades lie in the hands of my professors, what they will assign and expect.
Control truly is an illusion. Who knows when sickness will scupper all our plans? What can I really control? Is it really that big of a deal? I have heard of those employees who believe that the company will come to a halt if they take a vacation. What will halt is their control of the workplace. So what I can control are my expectations and the demands that I put on myself and not let them control me. The thing about stress is that you cannot lie to your body. If you feel cause for stress you will be stressed, sure, tell yourself it is not a big deal, but if you don't believe it you'll take two hours to get to sleep while fretting about needless details. This need for belief necessitates the change of our mindset, logic must prevail : if I can't change it who can? Many people have their own answers, for me it is he who stated "but trust, for I have conquered the world."
We have a glass door in our dining room that leads to an outdoor patio and a couple of weeks ago my daughter put her arm through it. Evelyn had just jumped on the couch and she was running back to get the farthest possible start when she tripped. I watched with horror and anxiety as I saw her entire arm go through the glass, stopped from a complete trajectory through the window by her torso. Immediately, I reached for a towel, ran to my daughter and yelled to my wife. My intention was that my wife would start the car while I applied pressure to the wound with the towel. Then we would rush to Emergency and hopefully Evelyn would not lose that much blood. Instead, I got to her and found no blood at all. There was a little glass on her hand and upon later inspection a cut under her arm, but only the first layers were scratched. Evelyn was fine, but I was not. Despite telling myself repeatedly that she was fine, my being would not respond to this information and adrenaline flowed through my veins for a few more hours. Her slight injuries defied my expectation. The next morning I took her to the clinic first thing to ensure that no invisible damage was done. The Dr. said she was fine, but that all the nerves and blood vessels for the arm and hand ran 1cm deep under her cut. Her injuries could have been so much worse. I was thanking God so much for her safety, but remained puzzled by the way the glass broke because two large pieces were pushed through leaving a thin rim remaining around the frame. My conclusion was that some force pushed the glass out just before her fall. In telling this story I have heard many other close-call stories in return, angels really are watching over us.
Upon reflection, part of the reason that I and many in my mixed culture seek reasons why is a lack of tradition : I have no idea what my ancestors did or believed. The chain is broken. What spiritual beliefs? What did those stars represent? What do those birds sing of? What happens after starlings flee? These questions came with no answers, not even a framework for me. What is true for me? leads me to explore, prove and adopt. Although no pure tradition exists except in isolation, since influence relentlessly pursues even the most xenophobic culture, the difference is that those with a strong tradition have a root to grow out of. Multi-racial, -cultural, -ethnic make-ups, by nature and contrast, have internal conflicts. Also certain cultural roots are often either preferred or suppressed. My parents are first generation Canadians, yet I do not speak Gaelic, Dutch or Chinese. Where do I come from? During different periods of my life I have even stressed my relation to certain cultural groups by diminishing or not recognizing the other cultures present in my make-up. I am? I used to envy those with an easy answer, but now I view myself as an alloy : I have some strengths that derive only from the fact that I am a mixture. I realize that I can neither escape my roots nor can I only be my "base-metal". Since few answers have been given to me, I'll continue to explore what causes what.
Was Mark Mothersbaugh really the front-man for Divo? Wow! And he can write "Let Me Tell You About My Boat".
I just made a donation to World Vision to supply rural children in Uganda that walk to the city each evening to avoid capture and subsequent forced enlistment in the rebel army with blankets, etc... Unfortunately, I had to turn down supporting Unicef because of my commitment to World Vision and Feed the Children. The need is so great! I have really enjoyed dialoguing with Unicef volunteers downtown and on the phone. They are doing a really good job. Unicef, due to their wide volunteer base gives 90 percent of what you donate to children in need. World Vision the last time I checked gave 86 percent and Feed the Children gave a similar percentage (who wants to pad already full pockets). All are good : choose one and help those that are hungry and scared.
Botched in Translation in the August 7, 2006 issue of Macleans humorously recounts tales related to tattoos with incorrect Chinese and Japanese characters ( I don't think anyone would knowingly put "crazy diarrhea" on their calf). Imagine if my language training was limited to this : "wow! that inscription reads, "Romans conquered diarrhea".
Wow! The whole month of July has passed by without me blogging. Renovations have taken up most of my time outside my regular work/parenting schedule but I have squeezed in some moments of enjoyment. One moment came tonight when I put away the mower and witnessed a spectacular sunset. Jean Vanier's Drawn into the Mystery of Jesus through the Gospel of John remains a consistent source of pleasure. In many ways the book embodies more than pleasure and often I feel the words reaching my soul. In addition to trans-soul communication Vanier provides many thought-provoking statements, e.g.
We human beings are a mixture of the presence of God and the absence of God, of light and darkness, truth and chaos, goodness and evil, openness and closedness.
No human being in himself or herself is holy or pure.
We become holy only through the holiness of God.
I wonder if Hans, to whom I gave the book, has ventured into its rich pages.
Last week I went out to a Euro-pub for dinner and got to sample some fabulous beers from their menu : My brother said, "They have a Cognac beer." right away I ordered it. I also tried the Wee Heavy and a Chocolate Stout. Fortunately, my local liquor store carries these and the Cognac remains my favourite, its flavours are as complex as a fine red, though I am looking forward to the stout.
Also, for my birthday I finally picked up Hancock's Gershwin's World and Pat Metheny's Speaking of Now Live. Gershwin's World is much better than Possibilities (the last Hancock album I bought) in which Hancock voluntarily took a backseat to other artists. Joni Mitchell is amazing and rivals her accompaniment to Neil Young on The Last Waltz. Wayne Shorter always rocks and Hancock's talent, appropriately, stands out. Metheny, Anthony Sanchez and Richard Bona stand out on the DVD. Ironically (because Sanchez was present), the DVD was filmed among a conservative and relatively sparse Japanese crowd (possibly favoured for their expression of appreciation being limited to enthusiastic applause after each song as opposed to shouts during the performance).
Alpha Yaya Diallo played downtown for Canada Day. The concert was a highlight of July and the fireworks that followed rounded out an awesome night. Dancing with my family in front of the Parliament buildings and viewing the fireworks on my dad's boat stand out. Hopefully I will find the CD tomorrow.
Today I felt at a loss with no scores to check and no matches to follow. What will I do after the final? I did a bit of organizing today and guess I will do some more catching up. I read a clip my mom had cut out from a newspaper during her recent trip to Scotland about a rare postcard that was found under the lining paper of a drawer. The postcard was dated 1883 and addressed to barristers in Victoria; the cool thing is that the address is the two block street where I work. I work in a heritage building, one of about three on the short street, so it may have been sent to my building all those years ago. Cool!
