I saw the dust start to swirl around in circles. Then those swirls got larger and larger, until I knew for sure that it was a tornado. I sprinted toward the house, the growing tornado just twenty yards behind me. Just as I stepped onto the porch, its roof fell apart above my head, nearly landing on me as I fell to the ground. As I tried to push the roof out of the way, I turned to see the tornado bearing down on me. I realized that I couldn't get inside in time, so I curled up to fight the pain and embrace death....
I have many such dreams. Every once in a while, they involve tornadoes. But usually, they just involved being chased by people who intend to do me harm for reasons unjust and irrational. And usually, the general atmosphere is that I am hunted. In other words, I am pursued by a higher power or government. Regardless of the content, dreams such as these generally follow the same sort of themes: I am trying to escape something that intends to do me harm.
I think that these dreams indicate a predisposition I have. I long for adventure and excitement, but, more than that, I desire adversity and persecution. There's something deep inside me that longs to endure trials of any sort. Something about me wants to fight the storm.
And honestly, I think that's how I'll die. It might not actually be due to a storm or malicious pursuers, but I doubt it will be a natural death. I think I'll die fighting something - whether it's fires, crime, the powers of nature, or a power that wishes dead those who believe a certain way.
And I'm fine with that. I almost welcome it. Somehow, it seems like my purpose. In some ways, I'm living for the storm.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Donnie Darko
Do you ever get that feeling? It's when you're instantaneously inspired to do a million things at once. Your ideas swirl round your mind like a cyclone, and you feel like your only option is to turn on a faucet and watch them pour out like water. It's a feeling that comes out of a time of stagnation and apathy - you realize just how little you've let your mind work lately. As you've guessed by now, that happened to me.
If you've read any of my previous posts (and let's face it - this page doesn't exactly see much new traffic) you've noticed that both the title and background for the page has changed. I feel that, though it will be slightly tangential, I should explain why this is. The new title and background are mainly a tribute to my favorite novel, Fahrenheit 451. I recently reread this book, which was an inspiration to me back in high school, and it once again produced its mystifying effect. The book and the new title ask the question, "Are you a destroyer or a life-bringer, dormant or active? Do you see the world through an all-too-common lens, or do you wear different glasses?" It's a question I don't ask myself enough. But back to the main trail.
I watched Donnie Darko for the first time the other day, and I saw something in the movie that I recognized. Something about the admittedly odd movie (after all - Bunny costumes?) reminded me of Fahrenheit 451, though I'm not sure whether it was the content or something else. It found a very special place in my heart. But it wasn't just that feeling that made the experience interesting. It was what happened after the movie.
I just sat there. I sat there and I thought. I turned over in my mind just how everything in the movie worked. (It had to do with time travel.) In the end, whether the time travel elements made sense or not wasn't important to the point of the movie, and it wasn't important to my experience. After writing notes and drawing doodles, trying to make sense of it all, I realized something. It had been so long since I had thought about something that thoroughly. It's an effect college has on you if you're not careful. You become a zombie, eating all the brains you can find, never using your own. You analyze, you problem-solve, but it's for no other purpose than to pass a class. You become an information-eater. It's something I could rant about for a while (but who wants to hear a rant?). Analyzing that movie pulled me out of my lethargic state. And you know what? I liked it. It was a mission, a task, an endeavor.
"Endeavor" is a word that should initiate associations for anyone who has taken Cornerstone's creativity course. All at once, old ideas became new, pressing against the walls of my mind, threatening to burst out my ears. I thought of new ventures and projects. I remembered my "Idea Book" (otherwise known as a Capture Machine), something I hadn't opened in months. I began to think again. I didn't fall asleep for quite some time after the movie - there was too much thinking to be done, too many ideas to develop. But I did fall asleep.
Thankfully, my slumber was only a physical sleep. I still get ideas, I still process concepts. But I know I'm always in danger of passing into a creative coma. I won't let that happen. I began to read, to write, to think again, and it feels good. I guess I have Frank the Rabbit to thank for that.
If you've read any of my previous posts (and let's face it - this page doesn't exactly see much new traffic) you've noticed that both the title and background for the page has changed. I feel that, though it will be slightly tangential, I should explain why this is. The new title and background are mainly a tribute to my favorite novel, Fahrenheit 451. I recently reread this book, which was an inspiration to me back in high school, and it once again produced its mystifying effect. The book and the new title ask the question, "Are you a destroyer or a life-bringer, dormant or active? Do you see the world through an all-too-common lens, or do you wear different glasses?" It's a question I don't ask myself enough. But back to the main trail.
I watched Donnie Darko for the first time the other day, and I saw something in the movie that I recognized. Something about the admittedly odd movie (after all - Bunny costumes?) reminded me of Fahrenheit 451, though I'm not sure whether it was the content or something else. It found a very special place in my heart. But it wasn't just that feeling that made the experience interesting. It was what happened after the movie.
I just sat there. I sat there and I thought. I turned over in my mind just how everything in the movie worked. (It had to do with time travel.) In the end, whether the time travel elements made sense or not wasn't important to the point of the movie, and it wasn't important to my experience. After writing notes and drawing doodles, trying to make sense of it all, I realized something. It had been so long since I had thought about something that thoroughly. It's an effect college has on you if you're not careful. You become a zombie, eating all the brains you can find, never using your own. You analyze, you problem-solve, but it's for no other purpose than to pass a class. You become an information-eater. It's something I could rant about for a while (but who wants to hear a rant?). Analyzing that movie pulled me out of my lethargic state. And you know what? I liked it. It was a mission, a task, an endeavor.
"Endeavor" is a word that should initiate associations for anyone who has taken Cornerstone's creativity course. All at once, old ideas became new, pressing against the walls of my mind, threatening to burst out my ears. I thought of new ventures and projects. I remembered my "Idea Book" (otherwise known as a Capture Machine), something I hadn't opened in months. I began to think again. I didn't fall asleep for quite some time after the movie - there was too much thinking to be done, too many ideas to develop. But I did fall asleep.
Thankfully, my slumber was only a physical sleep. I still get ideas, I still process concepts. But I know I'm always in danger of passing into a creative coma. I won't let that happen. I began to read, to write, to think again, and it feels good. I guess I have Frank the Rabbit to thank for that.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
A Mindless Faith
I love books. I even like many Christian books. But I like books that make you think, not books that allow you to not think. I feel there are a lot of the latter floating around these days. In general, there seems to be a lack of thought in Christian circles.
I haven't read Love Wins yet. I don't view it as imperative - I don't really enjoy falling into the midst of pointlessly heated arguments - but i would still like to read it, because I like questions. It's a part of who I am. Hypothetical scenarios intrigue me; I sometimes take random scenarios much further than makes sense. (For instance: What if I didn't have knees?) So I appreciate any exercise of that way of thinking.
What bothers me isn't that people don't think like me - I'm fine with that. They don't need to love questions. But it's irritating to see outright resistance to any sort of statement that raises questions. And if any such questions are asked (even if in statement form), there's someone with the answer following the first. It's as if people are thrown into distress when they have to question what they assume, so they breathe a collective sigh of relief when somebody tells them "how it is." Christians would often rather have somebody else think for them.
When people look for a church, a commonly used rejection phrase is "I didn't really agree with their views." That's a legitimate concern. It is good to see eye-to-eye with your church, for the most part. However, "I didn't really agree with their views" too often becomes "I disagree with them on such-and-such a topic, and we don't have infinite like-mindedness." When this happens, searching for a church becomes looking for a crowd of mirrors. This person, that person, the pastor think what I think, say what I say, believe what I believe. I am not confronted with opposing ideological views. I bathe in the vanilla pudding that is me. I am safe.
Because of this pudding-loving nature that infects the mind of so many, true debate and discussion is corrupted. Debate becomes a sledgehammer, and discussion a mallet. People wield these blunt ideologies and opinions with no intention of examining their opponent's own weapon. Discussion should be exploration. It should be two or more people, daring to present their opinions without fear of or intent to attack. Instead, debate is raised voices and discussion is elevated heartbeats. The mind cares not about the reasons for believing; it cares only to believe unwaveringly.
Ray Bradbury saw the future. He saw a future where people don't care to think, don't care to analyze, don't care to feel in its truest sense. In some ways, society has progressed toward making him a prophet. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want the mind to disappear, especially for Christians. We have not been called to a mindless faith.
I haven't read Love Wins yet. I don't view it as imperative - I don't really enjoy falling into the midst of pointlessly heated arguments - but i would still like to read it, because I like questions. It's a part of who I am. Hypothetical scenarios intrigue me; I sometimes take random scenarios much further than makes sense. (For instance: What if I didn't have knees?) So I appreciate any exercise of that way of thinking.
What bothers me isn't that people don't think like me - I'm fine with that. They don't need to love questions. But it's irritating to see outright resistance to any sort of statement that raises questions. And if any such questions are asked (even if in statement form), there's someone with the answer following the first. It's as if people are thrown into distress when they have to question what they assume, so they breathe a collective sigh of relief when somebody tells them "how it is." Christians would often rather have somebody else think for them.
When people look for a church, a commonly used rejection phrase is "I didn't really agree with their views." That's a legitimate concern. It is good to see eye-to-eye with your church, for the most part. However, "I didn't really agree with their views" too often becomes "I disagree with them on such-and-such a topic, and we don't have infinite like-mindedness." When this happens, searching for a church becomes looking for a crowd of mirrors. This person, that person, the pastor think what I think, say what I say, believe what I believe. I am not confronted with opposing ideological views. I bathe in the vanilla pudding that is me. I am safe.
Because of this pudding-loving nature that infects the mind of so many, true debate and discussion is corrupted. Debate becomes a sledgehammer, and discussion a mallet. People wield these blunt ideologies and opinions with no intention of examining their opponent's own weapon. Discussion should be exploration. It should be two or more people, daring to present their opinions without fear of or intent to attack. Instead, debate is raised voices and discussion is elevated heartbeats. The mind cares not about the reasons for believing; it cares only to believe unwaveringly.
Ray Bradbury saw the future. He saw a future where people don't care to think, don't care to analyze, don't care to feel in its truest sense. In some ways, society has progressed toward making him a prophet. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want the mind to disappear, especially for Christians. We have not been called to a mindless faith.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanks in the Moment
[Skip to the last two paragraphs for the condensed version]
If rising of the sun could be equated with turning a corner, then Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Not that you need to know that - I just like to point out the obvious. Anyway, it only makes sense that I'd be thinking about thankfulness. I mean, of course I've thought of it in the past, especially around this time of year. But, for some reason, it has been different this year. A few thoughts have passed through my mind, and I thought I'd share a few of the discussions I had with them.
One of my friends wrote in her blog the other say, and one thing stuck with me. It was the idea of being thankful for the details, to really appreciate something in its entirety. It's another kind of thankfulness to appreciate something for even the oddities that make it unique. I'd like to be thoroughly thankful for the blessings in my life (even the little ones).
It's a Wonderful Life is my favorite Christmas movie. It has many of the elements I admire in a movie, one of them being the question, "What if I had never been born?" Any question that begins with "what if...?" is a question I respect. But a small thing that I enjoy about the movie is at the end, when George realizes how much he loves all the things that drove him nuts. I like that. So, I'm learning to be thankful for inconveniences.
A week or so ago, I heard one of the professors from my school speak in chapel. Now, I didn't catch all of it, because his voice is like warm milk. It's not that it's smooth or soothing--it's quite raspy, actually--but it tends to make me drowsy. What I did catch was what he said about food, which is supposed to be a theme this year at Cornerstone. One thing he said, in particular, caught my attention. It was that, though food is lacking in other countries, we shouldn't feel guilty about eating our food. Rather, we should be thankful for all the food we eat. Don't take it for granted. I need to develop an appreciation for the food I eat.
What all this led me to think is this: We treat thankfulness like it's a reflection or a thought. It's a state of mind to adapt every once in a while, something to ponder before and after. But maybe that's not what it should be. Maybe thankfulness should be an experience, an act of the present. Thankfulness is during the meal, when turkey rolls in your mouth and pumpkin pie slides down your gullet. When the birds sing and the sun shines on your face. When your car doesn't start or your computer freezes. We experience these things, but we tend not to be thankful until after they've passed. Our minds are preoccupied with the experience itself.
But what I wonder is this: How much better would that turkey taste if I really appreciate it in the moment? What perspective would I gain if I was thankful for my car's stubbornness as it resisted me? How much more beautiful would the birds sound if I consciously was thankful for them as they sang their melodies? Life is a gift, and it's meant to be lived. How can I adopt a living thankfulness? It's a fuller life that way.
If rising of the sun could be equated with turning a corner, then Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Not that you need to know that - I just like to point out the obvious. Anyway, it only makes sense that I'd be thinking about thankfulness. I mean, of course I've thought of it in the past, especially around this time of year. But, for some reason, it has been different this year. A few thoughts have passed through my mind, and I thought I'd share a few of the discussions I had with them.
One of my friends wrote in her blog the other say, and one thing stuck with me. It was the idea of being thankful for the details, to really appreciate something in its entirety. It's another kind of thankfulness to appreciate something for even the oddities that make it unique. I'd like to be thoroughly thankful for the blessings in my life (even the little ones).
It's a Wonderful Life is my favorite Christmas movie. It has many of the elements I admire in a movie, one of them being the question, "What if I had never been born?" Any question that begins with "what if...?" is a question I respect. But a small thing that I enjoy about the movie is at the end, when George realizes how much he loves all the things that drove him nuts. I like that. So, I'm learning to be thankful for inconveniences.
A week or so ago, I heard one of the professors from my school speak in chapel. Now, I didn't catch all of it, because his voice is like warm milk. It's not that it's smooth or soothing--it's quite raspy, actually--but it tends to make me drowsy. What I did catch was what he said about food, which is supposed to be a theme this year at Cornerstone. One thing he said, in particular, caught my attention. It was that, though food is lacking in other countries, we shouldn't feel guilty about eating our food. Rather, we should be thankful for all the food we eat. Don't take it for granted. I need to develop an appreciation for the food I eat.
What all this led me to think is this: We treat thankfulness like it's a reflection or a thought. It's a state of mind to adapt every once in a while, something to ponder before and after. But maybe that's not what it should be. Maybe thankfulness should be an experience, an act of the present. Thankfulness is during the meal, when turkey rolls in your mouth and pumpkin pie slides down your gullet. When the birds sing and the sun shines on your face. When your car doesn't start or your computer freezes. We experience these things, but we tend not to be thankful until after they've passed. Our minds are preoccupied with the experience itself.
But what I wonder is this: How much better would that turkey taste if I really appreciate it in the moment? What perspective would I gain if I was thankful for my car's stubbornness as it resisted me? How much more beautiful would the birds sound if I consciously was thankful for them as they sang their melodies? Life is a gift, and it's meant to be lived. How can I adopt a living thankfulness? It's a fuller life that way.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
V & 1984: A Comparison of Evey Hammond and Winston Smith
(To be honest, I have only seen the movie of V for Vendetta; I haven't read the graphic novel. I have only read 1984; I haven't seen the movie. I'm disappointed about the former, but indifferent about the latter.)
There are a number of parallels between V for Vendetta and 1984. Both take place in a dystopian world (both in London, even). Both involve repressive/oppressive governments that monitor their citizens diligently, ferreting out any voice of resistance. Both governments control the media, and enforce their tyrannies with terror-inducing branches of themselves. And, most importantly, both involve an encounter with the horrifying that tests the value of truth. This is embodied in Evey Hammond and Winston Smith. In these two characters, the creator of each story reveals his opinion of the resilience of the human spirit and its thirst for truth. Like I said, there are many parallels between these stories, but it's the differences I find interesting.
The first difference I notice between the two is the intensity of each dystopian world. In V, the United States were in utter chaos and civil war, but that chaos was only just reaching London. In 1984, though, the world was in a state of constant war and living conditions were miserable.
The second difference between the two is the stage at which the government/society has taken control. In 1984, the government has developed to the point where it has eyes and ears nearly everywhere. In fact, its knowledge seems so intrusive that those that seek to keep any resistance in check have been dubbed "the thought police."And it is part of only three societies on earth. In V, it is just England that has dominated the lives of the characters, and "the Finger," while still intimidating, hasn't reached that almost omniscient status.
The final difference is a difference of emphasis in each story which deals with the resilience of human determination.This is typified by Evey Hammond and Winston Smith and their respective torture experiences. Winston, when tortured beyond extreme anguish, turned from what he knew to be true, going even as far as to turn against the one person he held dear. For him, what he faced was worse than denial. Evey, on the other hand, reached a point where her knowledge of what was right and true outweighed any torture or death she might face. For her, denial was worse than death or anything else.
Sure, one could argue that the first two differences were factors that added to her resolution. Or it could be said that her torture was not as severe. But I think it doesn't matter - to one author, all humans will give up on the truth when pressed. To the other, there are many who will hold onto it. In 1984, there is no hope of revolution. In V for Vendetta, the people rise against tyranny. So which is it? Is there hope for the will of humanity, or will we give in when faced with our own demise? How much does the truth really matter?
One reason this has occupied my thoughts is that, when I read that book or watch that movie, I get a gut feeling that I'll be in the same situation one day. To remain resolute or give in. And I wonder... does it matter?
There are a number of parallels between V for Vendetta and 1984. Both take place in a dystopian world (both in London, even). Both involve repressive/oppressive governments that monitor their citizens diligently, ferreting out any voice of resistance. Both governments control the media, and enforce their tyrannies with terror-inducing branches of themselves. And, most importantly, both involve an encounter with the horrifying that tests the value of truth. This is embodied in Evey Hammond and Winston Smith. In these two characters, the creator of each story reveals his opinion of the resilience of the human spirit and its thirst for truth. Like I said, there are many parallels between these stories, but it's the differences I find interesting.
The first difference I notice between the two is the intensity of each dystopian world. In V, the United States were in utter chaos and civil war, but that chaos was only just reaching London. In 1984, though, the world was in a state of constant war and living conditions were miserable.
The second difference between the two is the stage at which the government/society has taken control. In 1984, the government has developed to the point where it has eyes and ears nearly everywhere. In fact, its knowledge seems so intrusive that those that seek to keep any resistance in check have been dubbed "the thought police."And it is part of only three societies on earth. In V, it is just England that has dominated the lives of the characters, and "the Finger," while still intimidating, hasn't reached that almost omniscient status.
The final difference is a difference of emphasis in each story which deals with the resilience of human determination.This is typified by Evey Hammond and Winston Smith and their respective torture experiences. Winston, when tortured beyond extreme anguish, turned from what he knew to be true, going even as far as to turn against the one person he held dear. For him, what he faced was worse than denial. Evey, on the other hand, reached a point where her knowledge of what was right and true outweighed any torture or death she might face. For her, denial was worse than death or anything else.
Sure, one could argue that the first two differences were factors that added to her resolution. Or it could be said that her torture was not as severe. But I think it doesn't matter - to one author, all humans will give up on the truth when pressed. To the other, there are many who will hold onto it. In 1984, there is no hope of revolution. In V for Vendetta, the people rise against tyranny. So which is it? Is there hope for the will of humanity, or will we give in when faced with our own demise? How much does the truth really matter?
One reason this has occupied my thoughts is that, when I read that book or watch that movie, I get a gut feeling that I'll be in the same situation one day. To remain resolute or give in. And I wonder... does it matter?
Monday, October 24, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Whaddya Want?
I long for a simpler time, when I knew what I wanted and how I felt. When my plans and ambitions were solid, concrete. When what I felt was strong and stable. When options didn't exist beyond two or three. When the future was one road, not thousands. When I got excited, had crushes, felt sad, got angry. When bitterness wasn't something to hold onto for emotions' sake. When specialization was only a word to spell. When all scientists did the same thing. When everything was obvious. When this was right and that was not.
Things are complex now. I can't even figure out what it is I aspire to be. Or whether I want to be with someone, much less who that is. The people in the game of LIFE have it easy - the spin of the wheel determines everything. It's tough when you get to pick the card. "What do you want?" they say. But I don't have an answer. And I refuse to let the major decisions of my life be things that you just do - there's got to be something deeper. If love is just a choice, I want no part in it. I want a vocation that I'm made for, not one I settle into. Where's fate to tell me what to do?
I play my music on shuffle. I use Pandora. Which is closest? What haven't I tried? What makes sense?
I need passion. I need to know what I want.
Things are complex now. I can't even figure out what it is I aspire to be. Or whether I want to be with someone, much less who that is. The people in the game of LIFE have it easy - the spin of the wheel determines everything. It's tough when you get to pick the card. "What do you want?" they say. But I don't have an answer. And I refuse to let the major decisions of my life be things that you just do - there's got to be something deeper. If love is just a choice, I want no part in it. I want a vocation that I'm made for, not one I settle into. Where's fate to tell me what to do?
I play my music on shuffle. I use Pandora. Which is closest? What haven't I tried? What makes sense?
I need passion. I need to know what I want.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Hugs (are not as good as Kisses. Quite frankly, they suck. Because--let's face it--white chocolate is nasty with a capital N)
It didn't hit me until later the next day, but the other night I had a dream in which I got a giant bear hug form Ryan Davis. Ryan passed away, as you probably know, but I always looked up to him, even though I barely knew him. Anyway, the hug was one of those one-sided hugs that you rarely get anymore; it was completely overpowering. He picked me up, and I was helpless to do anything but hold on as he swung me back and forth.
That's the type of hug a kid gets, when you're embraced by someone so much bigger than you - you are really only receiving the hug. You get overwhelmed. In that moment, you know that person could take care of all your problems (and maybe even the problems of the entire world). And why would you think differently? You're just a child.
It seems like hugs like that don't happen anymore. They're always mutual and maintain a sense of independence. "I choose to display my affection and friendship to you, but I can handle my own problems, thank you very much."
I think there's something inside me that wants the former hug once in a while. To drop the whole independence shtick and completely depend on someone else. Someone I know will handle everything with my best interest in mind.
I guess I want my relationship with God to be like that. At least, that's what it should be like. I want a "Ryan Davis hug" faith. It's comforting and inspiring. And all I have to do is hold on,
That's the type of hug a kid gets, when you're embraced by someone so much bigger than you - you are really only receiving the hug. You get overwhelmed. In that moment, you know that person could take care of all your problems (and maybe even the problems of the entire world). And why would you think differently? You're just a child.
It seems like hugs like that don't happen anymore. They're always mutual and maintain a sense of independence. "I choose to display my affection and friendship to you, but I can handle my own problems, thank you very much."
I think there's something inside me that wants the former hug once in a while. To drop the whole independence shtick and completely depend on someone else. Someone I know will handle everything with my best interest in mind.
I guess I want my relationship with God to be like that. At least, that's what it should be like. I want a "Ryan Davis hug" faith. It's comforting and inspiring. And all I have to do is hold on,
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Bittersweet (But Not Sweet At All)
I generally am not the type of person to hold a grudge. But when I feel someone has wronged me in a particular area of life, I pick up that habit easily. That wrong injects venom into my opinion of that person until I'm flowing with bitterness. But I'm not overt about it. Everything seems fine, but I make remarks in a way I wouldn't normally, usually by slighting the person in a rather snarky manner. My bitterness becomes an infection that eats me from the inside out.
The only thing that rids me of that bitterness is confrontation. In order to repair such a relationship, I have to express to the person exactly how their actions/words made me feel (not an easy task for me, since I don't really have much experience in that realm). Only then can the venom be removed, although the relationship is never quite the same again.
"Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body. In your anger do not sin: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold." Ephesians 4:25-27
I've watched the sun set too many times.
The only thing that rids me of that bitterness is confrontation. In order to repair such a relationship, I have to express to the person exactly how their actions/words made me feel (not an easy task for me, since I don't really have much experience in that realm). Only then can the venom be removed, although the relationship is never quite the same again.
"Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body. In your anger do not sin: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold." Ephesians 4:25-27
I've watched the sun set too many times.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Defiant One
In Honors the other day, we discussed Montaigne and his opinion that the essay was the superior form of writing, when compared with the treatise. This led to dialogue about how research can often lead to a lack of original thought. Stevens mentioned that, even now, our idea of an essay is skewed. Rather than an exploration of the mind, it has become a gatherer of facts determined for others. Stevens proposed that we revive the essay, and I am in complete agreement.
For me, the essay represents something more than just a form of writing. It is one facet of original thought. Pondering, questioning, venturing--these things are no longer viewed in a positive light. In the essay, one speaks out of the gut. He materializes his thoughts, regardless of what others may think. In these days, group think suffocates originality and anything that threatens the status quo. And I believe that is an extreme injustice.
I watched Dead Poets Society last night, and that seemed to fit this theme. If you have seen the film, you understand what I mean. Robin Williams questions the conventionality of the time and place, particularly in the "marching scene." He illustrates that conformity often beckons us with a powerful and demanding voice. We follow others like mindless lemmings. Later in the movie, one character's inability to think in new ways leads to tragedy, and it leaves you thinking, "Why couldn't he just get over his way of thinking?"
This is why I appreciate Rob Bell, though I have yet to read his writing. From what I have heard, he uses questions to help people think in new ways. As Stevens said, Love Wins could be considered an essay. But what has been accepted as fact may or may not be correct.
When people shun the exploration of ideas, they chance eliminating a brilliant new truth. Galileo faced the same, as did many other conceptual pilgrims. The world is flat. The earth is center. The arts are inferior. These are the voices that have had commanding presence. But they erred and err.
I said recently that one word I could use to describe myself is opaque. Another would be defiant. Not in defiance of rules and structure that make things whole, but against those things which hold captive ideas, beliefs, and people that could otherwise have a healing touch on the world, if only ideologically. It's arrogant to assume that I know what is completely just and fair, but you have to act if something is wrong, right?
All I'm saying is that we need original and open-minded thought. Without it, we make no progress.
For me, the essay represents something more than just a form of writing. It is one facet of original thought. Pondering, questioning, venturing--these things are no longer viewed in a positive light. In the essay, one speaks out of the gut. He materializes his thoughts, regardless of what others may think. In these days, group think suffocates originality and anything that threatens the status quo. And I believe that is an extreme injustice.
I watched Dead Poets Society last night, and that seemed to fit this theme. If you have seen the film, you understand what I mean. Robin Williams questions the conventionality of the time and place, particularly in the "marching scene." He illustrates that conformity often beckons us with a powerful and demanding voice. We follow others like mindless lemmings. Later in the movie, one character's inability to think in new ways leads to tragedy, and it leaves you thinking, "Why couldn't he just get over his way of thinking?"
This is why I appreciate Rob Bell, though I have yet to read his writing. From what I have heard, he uses questions to help people think in new ways. As Stevens said, Love Wins could be considered an essay. But what has been accepted as fact may or may not be correct.
When people shun the exploration of ideas, they chance eliminating a brilliant new truth. Galileo faced the same, as did many other conceptual pilgrims. The world is flat. The earth is center. The arts are inferior. These are the voices that have had commanding presence. But they erred and err.
I said recently that one word I could use to describe myself is opaque. Another would be defiant. Not in defiance of rules and structure that make things whole, but against those things which hold captive ideas, beliefs, and people that could otherwise have a healing touch on the world, if only ideologically. It's arrogant to assume that I know what is completely just and fair, but you have to act if something is wrong, right?
All I'm saying is that we need original and open-minded thought. Without it, we make no progress.
Monday, August 29, 2011
The Fifth Corner
In my mind, things to which loyalty can be given are separated into four corners of likability. The first corner belongs to those things to which I am apathetic or neutral. I don't really care how the Atlanta Braves do this year. The second corner belongs to those things with flaws that are invisible to me. I don't see the downside of penguins, so I think they're pretty cool. (See what I did there?) The third corner belongs to those things which I like, and I refuse to see the downside. This is blind loyalty. I refuse to acknowledge that chili dogs are terrible for you. The fourth corner belongs to those things which I dislike or hate because of their flaws. I hate the Steelers because they are an unpleasant, dirty team. I see their flaws and recoil in disgust. The fifth corner, however, belongs to those things that have flaws of which I am completely aware, yet love and follow despite and even because of them. I see many of the problems with Cornerstone, but I am still loyal to it because it is my school.
The same can be said of people; they fall, for me, into the same five categories. (Although, few fall into the third category.) My opinions and relationships of and with them are similar to these five. But there's something rare and beautiful about that fifth category. It's unconditional love, something to which we Christians are called. Not blind love, but aware and forgiving.
I have experienced this to an extent in many relationships/friendships. It is mainly seen in my family. Despite what they do, I still love them. But their quirks still irk me. (I just did another thing.) There's only one person I have ever known with which I completely have this type of friendship. I am able to love them (not in a romantic way, mind you) for who they are, despite and even because of their flaws. I am very aware of the things that others might find distasteful, and neither do I think these attributes are good. But I can look at this person and see them as a whole, appreciating even the flaws. It baffles me. I want to understand exactly how it works and try to apply it to all my other relationships.
The same can be said of people; they fall, for me, into the same five categories. (Although, few fall into the third category.) My opinions and relationships of and with them are similar to these five. But there's something rare and beautiful about that fifth category. It's unconditional love, something to which we Christians are called. Not blind love, but aware and forgiving.
I have experienced this to an extent in many relationships/friendships. It is mainly seen in my family. Despite what they do, I still love them. But their quirks still irk me. (I just did another thing.) There's only one person I have ever known with which I completely have this type of friendship. I am able to love them (not in a romantic way, mind you) for who they are, despite and even because of their flaws. I am very aware of the things that others might find distasteful, and neither do I think these attributes are good. But I can look at this person and see them as a whole, appreciating even the flaws. It baffles me. I want to understand exactly how it works and try to apply it to all my other relationships.
The Last 10%
If I had to describe myself in one word, it would be "opaque."
By "opaque," I mean non-transparent, although some of its other uses might apply. I'm not a very transparent person. I may be vocal about my opinions and ideas for the most part, but when it comes to how I feel, not much escapes my filter.
I visited Frontline Community Church for the first time today. (I have an idea I'll visit again.) Before the sermon, there was a short clip about wearing masks for various reasons, utilizing the iPad in a clever if unoriginal manner. I was relevant because the pastor spoke about lying, and specifically why we lie. He said that sociologists have determined that we lie for basically one reason: to avoid pain. The pastor preceded to list the various forms of pain that we try to avoid by lying.
Pain of consequences, pain of embarrassment, and pain of two words that are currently blank spaces on that handy little handout. (See what I did there?) But what really hit me was the end, when he mentioned "the last 10%." He described it as being the little bit of truth about your life that you leave out. The last bit to make 100%. Then he asked three questions. "To whom are you telling the last 10%? When? Who are you letting tell you about their last 10%?" And that was when I realized: I have no answer for the first two questions. There is nobody with whom I share this, for various psychological and irrational reasons. I just don't. And that's a problem.
So where to go from here? I'm not sure. But I know that I at least need to become translucent, if not transparent.
By "opaque," I mean non-transparent, although some of its other uses might apply. I'm not a very transparent person. I may be vocal about my opinions and ideas for the most part, but when it comes to how I feel, not much escapes my filter.
I visited Frontline Community Church for the first time today. (I have an idea I'll visit again.) Before the sermon, there was a short clip about wearing masks for various reasons, utilizing the iPad in a clever if unoriginal manner. I was relevant because the pastor spoke about lying, and specifically why we lie. He said that sociologists have determined that we lie for basically one reason: to avoid pain. The pastor preceded to list the various forms of pain that we try to avoid by lying.
Pain of consequences, pain of embarrassment, and pain of two words that are currently blank spaces on that handy little handout. (See what I did there?) But what really hit me was the end, when he mentioned "the last 10%." He described it as being the little bit of truth about your life that you leave out. The last bit to make 100%. Then he asked three questions. "To whom are you telling the last 10%? When? Who are you letting tell you about their last 10%?" And that was when I realized: I have no answer for the first two questions. There is nobody with whom I share this, for various psychological and irrational reasons. I just don't. And that's a problem.
So where to go from here? I'm not sure. But I know that I at least need to become translucent, if not transparent.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Destiny (Part 3 of the Rapid Fire)
This is going to sound very narcissistic, but have you ever sensed destiny?
What I mean is, have you ever gotten the feeling that your life was meant for something big? We all have a destiny; God has a plan for all of us. But does it ever seem that your life is going to make a difference on a large scale?
Like I said, it sounds narcissistic, but I often get that type of feeling. I don't know what it means or if it's true. Maybe I just have delusions of grandeur. But I feel, deep down, that I'm going to make a difference, even though I have no idea how. I have a gut feeling that in the near future, America is going to change drastically, and the way American Christians live will change with it. So maybe that's it. I don't know, it's just weird.
It's just that my life so far has been so freaking perfect. basically everything just lines up for me. It doesn't mean I don't work hard. But everything works out, almost too easily. Every job I've had has fallen in my lap. I ended up living at Cornerstone when I thought I would commute. And other things like that just seem way too coincidental.
Someone I respect once told me that I will have say no to a lot of things, that people will follow me. She told me that she would follow me. And that sunk in. Maybe that has inflated my ego's idea of the future a bit. But it didn't help.
I think when I started feeling this started when I almost died. To make a long story short (although the long story is pretty cool/funny, depending on how I tell it), I had an allergic reaction to a hornet sting and went into anaphylactic shock. If I had arrived at the med center ten minutes later, I probably would have made frog noises. But ever since that instance, I have thought about death differently. First, I view death in a better light. Death is just a door, and for a Christian that's good news; it's the finish line. I'm fine whether I have vital signs or not. But second, I figure that if I'm still alive, God must have a reason for it, whatever that is.
Everyone wants to feel important. Everyone wants to feel special. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe my ego has a Messiah complex and thinks I'm going to save the world. Maybe my feeling is right. But maybe it's not. Maybe I'll just be an average guy who makes an average impact on the world and lives around him. Either way, that's okay. I'm just excited to see what God has for me in the future.
What I mean is, have you ever gotten the feeling that your life was meant for something big? We all have a destiny; God has a plan for all of us. But does it ever seem that your life is going to make a difference on a large scale?
Like I said, it sounds narcissistic, but I often get that type of feeling. I don't know what it means or if it's true. Maybe I just have delusions of grandeur. But I feel, deep down, that I'm going to make a difference, even though I have no idea how. I have a gut feeling that in the near future, America is going to change drastically, and the way American Christians live will change with it. So maybe that's it. I don't know, it's just weird.
It's just that my life so far has been so freaking perfect. basically everything just lines up for me. It doesn't mean I don't work hard. But everything works out, almost too easily. Every job I've had has fallen in my lap. I ended up living at Cornerstone when I thought I would commute. And other things like that just seem way too coincidental.
Someone I respect once told me that I will have say no to a lot of things, that people will follow me. She told me that she would follow me. And that sunk in. Maybe that has inflated my ego's idea of the future a bit. But it didn't help.
I think when I started feeling this started when I almost died. To make a long story short (although the long story is pretty cool/funny, depending on how I tell it), I had an allergic reaction to a hornet sting and went into anaphylactic shock. If I had arrived at the med center ten minutes later, I probably would have made frog noises. But ever since that instance, I have thought about death differently. First, I view death in a better light. Death is just a door, and for a Christian that's good news; it's the finish line. I'm fine whether I have vital signs or not. But second, I figure that if I'm still alive, God must have a reason for it, whatever that is.
Everyone wants to feel important. Everyone wants to feel special. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe my ego has a Messiah complex and thinks I'm going to save the world. Maybe my feeling is right. But maybe it's not. Maybe I'll just be an average guy who makes an average impact on the world and lives around him. Either way, that's okay. I'm just excited to see what God has for me in the future.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Knowledge Versus Belief (Part 2 of the Rapid Fire)
One of the things Rene Descartes (possibly my favorite philosopher) is known for is coining the phrase, "I think; therefore, I am." He went into seclusion until he could prove that the world was real. He eventually came out, using this reasoning: I think; therefore, I exist. I cannot create the universe; therefore, there must be a God. God is good and He wouldn't trick us (a sneaky little trick - that assumes God is good); therefore, this world is real.
What I like about Descartes is the way he questioned reality; he took nothing for granted. He started with doubt.
It's this sort of philosophy that has made the statement, "You can't even know that the chair you sit on is real." I have heard Christians criticize this way of thinking as foolish. But I totally disagree and am slightly insulted; extremely intelligent people thought like that. And they were right.
If knowledge is defined as being completely and objectively certain through the use of flawless logic and irrefutable evidence, then there is no way to know that this world exists. You could very well be living in a world of your subconscious's creation. In fact (and other Christians will cringe when I say this), but there is no completely objective way to know that God exists. We can't be sure that there is a God. Any "evidence" you have that supports this could be a figment of your subconscious, or a lie handed to you by some being looking to deceive you.
People might freak out at this, but it's actually a very good thing. It's a good thing because it emphasizes even more the importance of faith. We live in a world in which we make many assumptions, simply to navigate reality. We sit believing the chair will hold us. We speak, believing the people who hear us are real. We pray, believing God is real and hears us. This may sound like heresy, but it's not. It is vitally important to realize that nothing you can do, none of the evidence you collect, can prove the existence of God. It's a matter of faith. If we can see that we need faith simply to live our lives, we can appreciate more fully the role faith has in our relationship with God. We choose, out of all the alternatives, to believe that the world is real, God is real, and His sacrifice was extremely real. We believe it, but we can't know it. Unless we redefine knowledge.
I read a book in Philosophy called Longing to Know. The woman who wrote the book compared "knowing" (mainly knowing that God is real) to getting to know and trust her mechanic. She de-emphasized evidence and facts, and instead highlighted the importance of trust and experience. Ultimately, knowing is a matter of belief.
I can't know that God exists. But I choose to believe in Him and His existence and goodness. Because, ultimately, I belief will be shown to be well-placed.
What I like about Descartes is the way he questioned reality; he took nothing for granted. He started with doubt.
It's this sort of philosophy that has made the statement, "You can't even know that the chair you sit on is real." I have heard Christians criticize this way of thinking as foolish. But I totally disagree and am slightly insulted; extremely intelligent people thought like that. And they were right.
If knowledge is defined as being completely and objectively certain through the use of flawless logic and irrefutable evidence, then there is no way to know that this world exists. You could very well be living in a world of your subconscious's creation. In fact (and other Christians will cringe when I say this), but there is no completely objective way to know that God exists. We can't be sure that there is a God. Any "evidence" you have that supports this could be a figment of your subconscious, or a lie handed to you by some being looking to deceive you.
People might freak out at this, but it's actually a very good thing. It's a good thing because it emphasizes even more the importance of faith. We live in a world in which we make many assumptions, simply to navigate reality. We sit believing the chair will hold us. We speak, believing the people who hear us are real. We pray, believing God is real and hears us. This may sound like heresy, but it's not. It is vitally important to realize that nothing you can do, none of the evidence you collect, can prove the existence of God. It's a matter of faith. If we can see that we need faith simply to live our lives, we can appreciate more fully the role faith has in our relationship with God. We choose, out of all the alternatives, to believe that the world is real, God is real, and His sacrifice was extremely real. We believe it, but we can't know it. Unless we redefine knowledge.
I read a book in Philosophy called Longing to Know. The woman who wrote the book compared "knowing" (mainly knowing that God is real) to getting to know and trust her mechanic. She de-emphasized evidence and facts, and instead highlighted the importance of trust and experience. Ultimately, knowing is a matter of belief.
I can't know that God exists. But I choose to believe in Him and His existence and goodness. Because, ultimately, I belief will be shown to be well-placed.
Indirectly Objective (Part 1 of the Rapid Fire)
Bias. It's there. And if we want to be fair, we try to avoid it. But what's with the push for objectivity? It's to put oneself aside and make the right decision, yes. But why? Why does it matter all that much? In my opinion, it gets to the very heart of our ambitions.
To be objective is to avoid bias, and a bias would be a conflict of interest. Bias is a flaw. So, to attempt to be objective is to admit something: I am not perfect. I make mistakes. My decisions aren't always right. Objectivity, then, is this: The counteraction of imperfection, especially in decisions. The objective of objectivity, in this light, reflects a sort of Platonic pursuit. Man tries to reach the form.
This is not always true, of course. People don't always attempt to be objective. But in this, they embrace a sort of selfishness that neglects such a pursuit of the form. But those who do understand that, in order to get closer to the ideal man or woman, they must cast off the things that cloud their judgment.
The problem with the pursuit objectivity is this: True objectivity doesn't exist. There isn't an instant in which a man can be completely objective, because he lives in this world. And living in this world causes his logic to be influenced by numerous factors. Because of this, two people who have absolutely no stake in a situation can come to two different conclusions regarding an action that must be taken. This is why a jury often argues amongst itself, as well as why it is made of more than one person. Objectivity cannot be achieved.
This doesn't mean that one shouldn't try, of course. Objectivity is still a noble pursuit. It whisks away a few of the clouds that have been cast over our judgment. It's still an attempt to counteract imperfection. But it is important to realize the limits of this pursuit. A belief that one is completely objective assures him or her that the surface under him or her is solid, when in fact it is not. This realization forces one to question his judgment, to check the ground. Because, we live in a subjective world where we make subjective choices.
There is one more thing regarding objectivity: I don't believe God is objective. Why would He be? If objectivity is an attempt to counteract imperfection and flawed judgment, God has no use for it. He is able to make decisions with complete bias and interest and make the right--the perfect--decision.
Objectivity is a myth, but one worth pursuing. It is our calling to pursue Perfection.
To be objective is to avoid bias, and a bias would be a conflict of interest. Bias is a flaw. So, to attempt to be objective is to admit something: I am not perfect. I make mistakes. My decisions aren't always right. Objectivity, then, is this: The counteraction of imperfection, especially in decisions. The objective of objectivity, in this light, reflects a sort of Platonic pursuit. Man tries to reach the form.
This is not always true, of course. People don't always attempt to be objective. But in this, they embrace a sort of selfishness that neglects such a pursuit of the form. But those who do understand that, in order to get closer to the ideal man or woman, they must cast off the things that cloud their judgment.
The problem with the pursuit objectivity is this: True objectivity doesn't exist. There isn't an instant in which a man can be completely objective, because he lives in this world. And living in this world causes his logic to be influenced by numerous factors. Because of this, two people who have absolutely no stake in a situation can come to two different conclusions regarding an action that must be taken. This is why a jury often argues amongst itself, as well as why it is made of more than one person. Objectivity cannot be achieved.
This doesn't mean that one shouldn't try, of course. Objectivity is still a noble pursuit. It whisks away a few of the clouds that have been cast over our judgment. It's still an attempt to counteract imperfection. But it is important to realize the limits of this pursuit. A belief that one is completely objective assures him or her that the surface under him or her is solid, when in fact it is not. This realization forces one to question his judgment, to check the ground. Because, we live in a subjective world where we make subjective choices.
There is one more thing regarding objectivity: I don't believe God is objective. Why would He be? If objectivity is an attempt to counteract imperfection and flawed judgment, God has no use for it. He is able to make decisions with complete bias and interest and make the right--the perfect--decision.
Objectivity is a myth, but one worth pursuing. It is our calling to pursue Perfection.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
A Salute to Stevens
You're not officially a Cornerstone student until you've developed an irrational excessive admiration for one of your professors. For some, it's B-Shak. For others, it's VanDyke. Personally, I think Stevens is the man. Here's why:
A. Stevens is a genius.
One characteristic I value is the ability to think abstractly. Stevens invented that, I'm pretty sure. In one of his classes, you're sure to learn and develop insanely if you choose to be attentive. The way he draws connections, the way he conveys ideas--it speaks of his intelligence. I took Writing in Culture with him, and I learned very little about writing, but I learned soooo much just hearing him rant and rave, stuck on another rabbit trail.
B. Stevens is crazy.
Certifiable. It's fantastic. Sit through one of his rants or watch him throw a chair. Or a bible. Or a marker. He'll throw pretty much anything. You can see in his eyes that he could snap at any moment. In a good way, of course.
C. Smoking cat.
D. Stevens is passionate.
When the guy feels strongly about something, you know it. He's filled with pathos. Whether he's for or against something, his opinion is clear (although he never forces his views on you as if you must agree). The Red Light District sex trade is crap. Technology often enslaves us. Michael W. Smith really doesn't sound all that great. His arguments are compelling, and you're left sitting in your chair, wanting to agree with him.
E. Stevens is a huge part of why I'm me.
Something about Stevens--something about that class--changed a lot about the way I think, the way I view things. I think for myself, even more than I did before that class. I can appreciate that profanity can be used to communicate with precision. I am wary of what technology does to us (as I write on my blog at 1:44am). I don't know--I just figure he'll be one of those people that I will think of as formative in my life.
Helter-skelter. Uneven. No flow. That's what this entry was. But hey--it's the Stevens way, right?
F. Stevens reminds me of Mel Gibson.
A. Stevens is a genius.
One characteristic I value is the ability to think abstractly. Stevens invented that, I'm pretty sure. In one of his classes, you're sure to learn and develop insanely if you choose to be attentive. The way he draws connections, the way he conveys ideas--it speaks of his intelligence. I took Writing in Culture with him, and I learned very little about writing, but I learned soooo much just hearing him rant and rave, stuck on another rabbit trail.
B. Stevens is crazy.
Certifiable. It's fantastic. Sit through one of his rants or watch him throw a chair. Or a bible. Or a marker. He'll throw pretty much anything. You can see in his eyes that he could snap at any moment. In a good way, of course.
C. Smoking cat.
D. Stevens is passionate.
When the guy feels strongly about something, you know it. He's filled with pathos. Whether he's for or against something, his opinion is clear (although he never forces his views on you as if you must agree). The Red Light District sex trade is crap. Technology often enslaves us. Michael W. Smith really doesn't sound all that great. His arguments are compelling, and you're left sitting in your chair, wanting to agree with him.
E. Stevens is a huge part of why I'm me.
Something about Stevens--something about that class--changed a lot about the way I think, the way I view things. I think for myself, even more than I did before that class. I can appreciate that profanity can be used to communicate with precision. I am wary of what technology does to us (as I write on my blog at 1:44am). I don't know--I just figure he'll be one of those people that I will think of as formative in my life.
Helter-skelter. Uneven. No flow. That's what this entry was. But hey--it's the Stevens way, right?
F. Stevens reminds me of Mel Gibson.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Future
One <---(I wrote that word and got distracted. Now, I have no idea what I was going to say. But I'll leave it there, in case I remember.)
Oh, now I remember. One of my strengths in StrengthsFinder is 'Futuristic.' While I think it's a slightly pathetic strength, it fits me quite well. Often I catch myself staring into the distance, devising scenario upon scenario, imagining possibilities; I don't always live in the present. The future has always captivated me and my imagination. Time, in general, has always done that to me. It makes me muse.
The concept of 'the future' puts things into perspective. Life is fleeting, "a vapor" as someone in the Bible puts it. (I think it's Jesus; I'll have to look it up.) From time to time I look at the world as if I looked through the mind's eye of my future self, fondly reminiscing days gone by, people long since departed from my life. "Where will life take me? Who will I meet? What will I be? When will I die?" These are questions that send me into reverie.
See, this changes how you view... well, anything. Every person, every activity shapes your future self, for better or for worse. It's a terribly conceited thing, but I look at a person and think, "In what way will you shape my story, my future? What will I remember years from now when I think of you?" It's part of the reason I think I'll never marry. I can't form a mental image of myself with anyone. Which is exactly the wrong approach to that, but whatever.
I imagine the future will hold many wonderful things for me, but for now I can't just dream of it. It's the unknown, to everyone "the final frontier." In this way, we are all adventurers. So, I boldly go where no one has gone before.
Oh, now I remember. One of my strengths in StrengthsFinder is 'Futuristic.' While I think it's a slightly pathetic strength, it fits me quite well. Often I catch myself staring into the distance, devising scenario upon scenario, imagining possibilities; I don't always live in the present. The future has always captivated me and my imagination. Time, in general, has always done that to me. It makes me muse.
The concept of 'the future' puts things into perspective. Life is fleeting, "a vapor" as someone in the Bible puts it. (I think it's Jesus; I'll have to look it up.) From time to time I look at the world as if I looked through the mind's eye of my future self, fondly reminiscing days gone by, people long since departed from my life. "Where will life take me? Who will I meet? What will I be? When will I die?" These are questions that send me into reverie.
See, this changes how you view... well, anything. Every person, every activity shapes your future self, for better or for worse. It's a terribly conceited thing, but I look at a person and think, "In what way will you shape my story, my future? What will I remember years from now when I think of you?" It's part of the reason I think I'll never marry. I can't form a mental image of myself with anyone. Which is exactly the wrong approach to that, but whatever.
I imagine the future will hold many wonderful things for me, but for now I can't just dream of it. It's the unknown, to everyone "the final frontier." In this way, we are all adventurers. So, I boldly go where no one has gone before.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The AAABBBCCC's
Absolutely all atrocious alligators buy bright bowling balls 'cause cranky crocodiles call constantly. Dear Desiree, dial Doctor Dreyfus. Every elephant emits electrical emotions for feeling fantastic fiery fingers. Gorgeous, goofy girl gorillas guess how hilarious hippos horrify imps inside incredibly itchy igloos. Jolly jellyfish jokingly juggle kicking kangaroos. Kittens kinda like licking luscious lollipops minding multiple microwave munchies. Never, never, never, never operate on overly opulent orangutans. Potentially, purchasing pale purple paper quickly quiets queer qualms. Raising red roses requires really safe security sensors scattered scandalously. Two terrible toddlers tentatively totter toward twenty unbelievably ugly umpires under vicious vampire Valentine valances. Why would whiny white wusses want Xavier's xenophobic xylophones? Yesterday, YouTube yokels yelled "You're yucky!" Zany zoo zealots zap zebras.
Now I've said my ABC's... and I'll never do it again.
Now I've said my ABC's... and I'll never do it again.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Cynical
There are times when I just can't stand the way the world can be. Where I look at things and know it's just not right. I was listening to a Rooster Teeth podcast (a nerd thing, I admit), and they talked about that mom that, because of a falling-out between her daughter and the daughter's friend, set up a fake facebook account as some boy. To get back at the friend, she started a "relationship" with the girl that lasted for about a year before the mother tore the poor girl's world apart. The girl ended up killing herself because of it. As these guys said, "That was a c*** move. No, that was more than a c*** move. That was f***ing evil."
It's stuff like that that turns me into a hardcore cynic. Like when I visited the Flossenberg concentration camp in Germany. It made me think. It made me stew. How could someone do something like that to another? Mankind is screwed up. To kill someone, to make someone feel like they're worthless -- it's awful. Without God's intervention, we're screwed.
But then I look at the Christian community, and it's just as messed up! You've got "Christians" who do nothing to separate themselves through their actions--heck, half the time we look even worse. We're supposed to be a unity body of Christ, but all I see are dismembered limbs. It's in times like this that I long for America to persecute the American church. For something big enough to happen in our lives to see that all our differences are petty pieces of crap.
A couple people posted this link on facebook, which brought on my cynical state. Then there's that Kansan church that picketed Betty Ford's funeral. Classy. At what point is that cool? To cause so much division where there should be unity? To hate your brother? Jesus said to call your brother "fool" was tantamount to murder. So why do we ignore him? To be honest, God's the only thing that makes me want to stay a Christian. WhatThe church (.org, I guess) sure isn't doing much to help. I might as well hang out with friends who don't stab each other in the back.
But then there are times that bring me back to the good of the Church, where I see the Body as it should be. It's the simple things, too. Playing ultimate frisbee, watching a movie, discussing philosophy, talking -- I see the way it should be. So, for a second, my cynical vision is altered by the lens of how it could be. And I endure how it is.
It's stuff like that that turns me into a hardcore cynic. Like when I visited the Flossenberg concentration camp in Germany. It made me think. It made me stew. How could someone do something like that to another? Mankind is screwed up. To kill someone, to make someone feel like they're worthless -- it's awful. Without God's intervention, we're screwed.
But then I look at the Christian community, and it's just as messed up! You've got "Christians" who do nothing to separate themselves through their actions--heck, half the time we look even worse. We're supposed to be a unity body of Christ, but all I see are dismembered limbs. It's in times like this that I long for America to persecute the American church. For something big enough to happen in our lives to see that all our differences are petty pieces of crap.
A couple people posted this link on facebook, which brought on my cynical state. Then there's that Kansan church that picketed Betty Ford's funeral. Classy. At what point is that cool? To cause so much division where there should be unity? To hate your brother? Jesus said to call your brother "fool" was tantamount to murder. So why do we ignore him? To be honest, God's the only thing that makes me want to stay a Christian. WhatThe church (.org, I guess) sure isn't doing much to help. I might as well hang out with friends who don't stab each other in the back.
But then there are times that bring me back to the good of the Church, where I see the Body as it should be. It's the simple things, too. Playing ultimate frisbee, watching a movie, discussing philosophy, talking -- I see the way it should be. So, for a second, my cynical vision is altered by the lens of how it could be. And I endure how it is.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Unpredictable
"I'm dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly... stupid. "
Jack Sparrow's onto something. It's about unpredictability. Some people get the wrong idea about being unpredictable. They think that you need to do the unexpected at all times. But that's not quite right. Because, as Jack said, there comes a time where you can be expected to do the unexpected. To be truly unpredictable, you sometimes need to do exactly what is expected, because it's exactly what an unpredictable person wouldn't be expected to do.
This is part of the problem I have with people who do everything they can do to be different, unique. You sacrifice your unique tastes to for a sense of uniqueness that isn't entirely yours. Your taste is still dictated by the current trends.
It's similar with rebellion. So often, kids formerly under the authority (often strict authority) of their parents find the freedom brought by a certain age or situation extremely liberating. Seeking to throw off the vestiges of their parents' restrictions, they evaluate their actions through a lens of liberation. If their parents might disapprove of a certain action, they lean in that direction, even if their personal ideals or preferences would disagree with it. These people are delusional. They think they have found true freedom in identity, but their actions are still dictated by what their parents approve of.
To be truly unpredictable, truly unique, truly liberated in identity, it takes something different. To be unpredictable, you need to worry not so much about being unpredictable, but about what the moment dictates you do. To be truly unique, you need to do/wear/listen to what you personally like, even if that means your taste aligns with mainstream preference. To be truly liberated in identity, you must often do exactly what your parents or others would approve of.
Don't be so afraid of being what you don't want to be that you avoid doing what makes you what you want to be because it looks like you are what you don't want to be. Be predictable. It's unpredictable.
Jack Sparrow's onto something. It's about unpredictability. Some people get the wrong idea about being unpredictable. They think that you need to do the unexpected at all times. But that's not quite right. Because, as Jack said, there comes a time where you can be expected to do the unexpected. To be truly unpredictable, you sometimes need to do exactly what is expected, because it's exactly what an unpredictable person wouldn't be expected to do.
This is part of the problem I have with people who do everything they can do to be different, unique. You sacrifice your unique tastes to for a sense of uniqueness that isn't entirely yours. Your taste is still dictated by the current trends.
It's similar with rebellion. So often, kids formerly under the authority (often strict authority) of their parents find the freedom brought by a certain age or situation extremely liberating. Seeking to throw off the vestiges of their parents' restrictions, they evaluate their actions through a lens of liberation. If their parents might disapprove of a certain action, they lean in that direction, even if their personal ideals or preferences would disagree with it. These people are delusional. They think they have found true freedom in identity, but their actions are still dictated by what their parents approve of.
To be truly unpredictable, truly unique, truly liberated in identity, it takes something different. To be unpredictable, you need to worry not so much about being unpredictable, but about what the moment dictates you do. To be truly unique, you need to do/wear/listen to what you personally like, even if that means your taste aligns with mainstream preference. To be truly liberated in identity, you must often do exactly what your parents or others would approve of.
Don't be so afraid of being what you don't want to be that you avoid doing what makes you what you want to be because it looks like you are what you don't want to be. Be predictable. It's unpredictable.
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