I had a great conversation this evening with my housemate Brian.  I took a break from frantically moving and enjoyed a delicious meal which he had prepared for the both of us.  The first topic that naturally came up was the upcoming living situation.  With the advent of a new chapter in the house we are presiding, we attempted to diagnose the various ways people tend to live and the psychological motivation behind it.  I have figured out several different aspects of myself over the years, most of them through painful experiences and repeatedly making the same stupid mistakes.  One of those many things is this: I tend to organize myself externally if my internal life is in disarray.  Control.  Power over the things that we are able to take dominion over.  Maybe if I can organize my room, stay in shape, put in a good days work, repair my car, fix my bicycle, etc...my inner life with follow suit.  And for the most part, it does.  However, the problem comes up again when I stumble across a piece of paper in my new room that tears apart any kind of control I thought I had.

It's like trying to run away as fast as you can from a fire that is engulfing you.  It's almost as though the faster you run, the more problematic the situation becomes.  The fire gets fed even more.   The flames grow higher.  Angrier.  Stronger.  Resilient.  It's only when I stop dead in my tracks, fall face first into the filthy dirt, and roll around in the mud do I stand a chance of survival.   I still have to get much dirtier before this issue is peaceful.

As of late, my life has become incredible.  Almost every area of my life has taken a drastic turn from where it was a month and a half ago.  I have a new job prospect, best friends as housemates, spring is just around the corner, chickens are on the immediate horizon, cycling is starting to become my primary mode of transportation again, and I have an enticing female interest.  But it's nights like tonight that remind me that there are some things that don't get easier.  Sometimes wounds never heal and maybe that ok.

I love you John and I fucking miss you.

Loss & Grief

It’s been hard to breathe the past nine days. There seems to be a lack of oxygen everywhere I walk. It seems as though no matter how deep of a breath I take, my need for more is never satisfied. This has most likely lead to my catatonic states I find myself in on regular basis. Staring blankly into space. Motionless. Sitting in the bathtub for an hour, watching the faucet drip. drip. drip. drip. drip. drip. drip. drip… Eventually coming to wondering how long I’ve been there. Waking up after an alcohol induced sleep only to stare at the cracks in the ceiling, pondering if I should get up two hours before work and aimlessly wander around my uncomfortably quite house, or continue to lay in bed so that the fluidity of my morning routine will fall normally into place. This is tiring. This is exhausting. This is torture.

On January 24th, 2009, I lost part of my soul. One of my best friends, John Emmanuel Dybdall died. There is too much here to process. I do not even know where to start. Everything said about death and the acceptance of it seems trivial and worn out. Words are meaningless. Trying to capture an immense loss as great as I have been crippled by seems laughable. There are certain things one does not understand until one goes through it, death is one of those things. A quote that has been bouncing around my head ever since I attempted to read A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis’s notated processing of his wife’s death, is this: “Talk to me about the truth of religion and I'll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I'll listen submissively. But don't come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don't understand.” Most of my friends have been nothing but supportive and I have more than appreciated every message, voicemail, text, whatever. I am exceptionally fortunate to surround myself with friends who understand this and I want to offer a sincere “Thank You” to all of you. I love you and appreciate you probably more than you realize. But there are a few who are still trying to offer me cliché phrases and obvious religious consolation. I will not accept these right now. Do not tell me it will be ok. Do not tell me God did this for a reason. Do not tell me anything that you believe about death and the afterlife, because I frankly don’t give a shit. Even if what you say is true, I do not need to hear it. You can save those for someone else.

I want to talk about family. Upon driving to up the funeral service on Saturday, an old man in a long black coat and glasses asked me, “Friends or Family?”, and I just sat there for a few seconds. Eventually I said friends, but everything in me was saying family. The concept of what a family is and its purpose has been a hot topic for me in the past six months or so. Why does blood relation so often get priority over the people who have intimately shared love, hate, respect, heartache, joy, excitement, pain, grief, and every other imaginable emotion and life circumstance? Shouldn’t the question be, “Will you comfortably sleep tonight or not?”. Or how about, “Have you been in a constant state of nausea for the past week, or not?” I am in absolutely no way discrediting the grief John’s family. I cannot begin to comprehend what is like to bury a child that I bore or a son that I raised. But I am saying that the amount of disclosure, trust, and love that John and I shared was incomparable to anyone else in my life. John knew the darkest parts of me. John knew the brightest parts of me. John was the person I called when I knew no one else on this earth would understand a single word or lack of words that came out of my mouth. Even though near the end of John’s life, we heavily disagreed on several things and got into heated arguments over them, in the end we were still best friends. We still understood each other.

Until the last year, my life was run relatively pain free and most of everything was provided for me. Apparently the cosmos has decided to make up for 22 pain-free years in the last six months. The house I grew up in is on the market for sale, my nuclear family is hundreds of miles away from me, the routine of school is gone, I am continually accruing debt, my most intense romantic relationship and confidant dissolved, and now one of the two closest people to me is dead. Pieces of my “home” and “family” are rapidly disappearing and I find more often than not an angry scowl on my face shaking my fist at God screaming “What the fuck!?” I am becoming displaced. My faith in anything substantial has taken a huge hit. I find it extremely hard to trust anyone or be confident in anything. Dreams that once seemed to look like they were becoming reality now show themselves as mirages. I realize that I am looking at the glass half empty here, but I am struggling to find anything in the glass at all. I know there are things there, but my thoughts are so clouded and dark that it is hard to find the beams of light that are on the other side of them.

This isn’t an attempt for pity.
This isn’t a cry for help.
This is how I feel.
This is letting you know my state of mind.
This is a request for your patience.
The healing process for me will be long and it will be painful.
All I am asking for is understanding.

“Talk to me about the truth of religion and I'll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I'll listen submissively. But don't come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don't understand.”

- C.S. Lewis

Indigestion & Solitude

It is way past my bedtime.

3:36am.  I can't even remember that last time I was up this late.

I am sitting in the basement of my Aunt and Uncle's house in north Chicago right now, trying to keep down the delicious Thanksgiving meal I consumed eight hours ago.  It really sucks.  While I am waiting here wondering if I am going to lose it or not, I will explore my thoughts for today.

Lydia (sister), Melissa (cousin), and I just finished a movie starring Aaron Eckhart and Catherine Zeta Jones called "No Reservation".  It was a typical chick flick with the overzealous woman who identifies herself in her career (in this movie, a chef) and eventually gets swept off her feet by a guy who breaks down her protective  barriers and shows her that there are, in fact, nice guys in the world.  Of course, when she first meets him, she hates him.  But over time, he reaches her tender spots by befriending her niece (manipulation if you ask me).  I can't really complain though because to be honest, I enjoyed it......and then I hated it.

I hated it because it was just another twist of the knife in a wound of loneliness that has been ailing me for quite some time.  It always get worse on the holidays and to ignore it would be to deny the core of my emotional state.  Over the past year or so, I have learned (for the most part) to be comfortable in my own skin.  To be alright with being alone.  To be honest, it was kind of a necessity.  It was either become comfortable....or go fucking insane (I kind of did both).  Ever since I was a sophomore in high school I have had an addiction to intense relationships.  Up until January 2008, there was rare a time in which I was not with someone.  I have learned quite a bit in my relationship history and I do not regret it.  I may have not put enough effort into school at points (probably more than I'd like to admit) or my jobs, but I put a hell of a lot into making relationships work.  Granted I also did a lot to mess them up...but such is life.  Anyways, throughout the whole experience I have gained quite a bit of wisdom.   Some people are fortunate enough to learn from the mistakes of others, I, however, am not.  Now I know my limitations, my nature, my compassion, my understanding, my love, my grief, how to treat a woman, how NOT to treat a woman, etc etc...but most of all I learned to listen.  To listen through the bullshit to get to the heart of what is really wrong.  To listen to myself.  To listen to the tension.  To the undercurrents of deep pain and hurt muted by rough sarcasm.  I got so accustom to it that it became my identity.  I was getting married over and over again without the ceremonies or the cerificates.  And each break has been another tear in my heart leaving it tougher, more scared, and more incapable of giving and receiving love.  I was more cautious and more skeptical.  My trust in anything romantic or heavily involved was consistently thinning and I feared that soon, there would be nothing left.  Thankfully, I am not there today.

If it would have been my choice, I wouldn't have accomplished it.  I am energized from people, community, laughing, and sharing life with people.   But I am glad that my life has taken the course that it has because if it hadn't, I would still be traveling down the road I have been for the past four years.  Through my solitude, I have developed a sense of identity and a desire for striving for what is true and right.  I thirst for the blessing of God and seek earnestly in being a vessel through which God's power can pour through me.  I can only be so confident because I have felt it's Power and it is intoxicating.  However...

Lately, I've been starting to become impatient with God.  I want answers.  I want answers in the finalizing (or continuing) of a "relationship" that has been nonexistent for the past year (save 3 months).  I want to know if it is time for me to move on or not.  Judging by what is happening, I can only assume that I am right where I need to be and I still have some growing to do before God puts someone in my path who is deserving of my love and affection, and I of theirs.  I am not expecting someone to fall into my lap (although I wouldn't object to it if it happened..).... and I realize that for anything to happen, there has to be forward motion on my behalf, but I also believe that if God wants a relationship to happen, there will be doors.  I just hope they start opening sooner than later.

When most people think of solitude, I imagine they picture a peaceful meadow with lambs basking in the moonlight.  For me, solitude has been a deadly hurricane whipping broken pieces of glass, car doors, and 2x4's at me while I am clutching onto the door frame of my destroyed house with my finger nails.  I am trying desperately to not let go and get swept away into a funnel of destruction.  I know that I will be safe though because there is nothing given to me that does not have a way out.  The provision of God is great and I live in expectant hope of it.

ok it's 4:30...i've got to try to sleep.

Shalom.

Snow & Reverie

This morning I woke up as I usually do: 7:15am alarm sounds to the tune of NPR and I lay and listen to the events of yesterday. I lay in bed dreading to get out of my heated cocoon and onto the frosty floor. I get out of bed at around 8:30, take a brisk shower, throw on some clothes, and head off to work 5 minutes late. As I approach my final stage, I notice a thin layer of white covering the ground. It's here. The snow is finally here. Every step I take I feel guilty for ruining the Divine design of a perfect blanket of snow that finds no exceptions on what it will cover. But the snow is not why I am writing this.

Recently I have requested to my God that he show himself to me through different avenues. Specifically my dreams. And as usual, God has given it to me. But there is just one problem: I have not the slightest clue what any of them mean. Now, anyone who knows my history of dreams could understand why ("weird" does not do justice to what they should be called). I thought about if this is just coincidence...but I have a hard time accepting that. The reason is that for the past four to five nights, I have had a dream every single night. Let me also let you know that before my request, I could not even remember the last time I have had ANY dreams. What I want to do is transcribe what I can remember from them and hope that I can find meaning in them later on.
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Dream #1: The Tornado and The Grave

My family and I are standing around chatting in our empty house on Sugar Creek Trail. Someone notices that the sky begins to turn dark and a funnel cloud begins to form. I go outside and look directly at the the funnel. It quickly touches down and starts on it path of destruction to our house. The family is freaking out and so am I. We watch as the funnel of destruction gets within a few feet of the door and then the tornado begins to change directions and then goes around the house. After the storm passed....I found myself alone.

Alone.

Suddenly, I hear the muffled sound of two girls talking outside. I head out to the backyard and I do not recongnize either of them. But I do however recognize the man laying on the ground. It's Jessica's dad and he is lying there motionless. Dead. I go back inside finding it hard to breathe and then I stumble upon Jessica in the kitchen. The frightened look in my eyes must have given her the impression that something was horribly wrong. She knows that I just came from outside, so she looks at me...then looks outside and runs to the door. I called out to her to stop and that she doesn't want to go out there. I told her to trust me. She didn't listen.

She bursts out of the back doors and I follow close behind. When we get outside however, he is not there any more. We walk to the very back of the backyard and there he is. Laying there dead....but instead of two girls being there, my mother is standing over him with a shovel. But not using it as a weapon, but as a tool. She is beginning to bury Jessica's dad. And i notice that there is a pile of dirt on top of him already, and in the dirt there are flowers growing....rooting themselves into the flesh beneath them.

I scream to my mom, "What are you doing?!"

End dream.

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Dream #2: The Lamb

From what I can remember from this dream is very brief. The setting is in a field somewhere. I am standing above a lamb with an ax in hand. No one else is there. Nothing is happening. Everything is silent.

I stare at this lamb and I realize that I suppose to butcher this animal. I go to chop the head clean off but i hit something hard on impact. I grow concerned and take the ax and hit the neck again but not as forceful. I find there is something inside the neck. I use the blade and carefully make my way around it and then the head falls off. Out from the neck rolls a cup.

End dream.

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Dream #3: The Abandoned House and The Strange Woman

The dream commences with me realizing that I need to go check on the house (which I actually still have to do in real life, maybe that is my guilty conscience....sorry mom). I get to the house and all of the doors are off. I walk into the house and to my disgust there are animals and creatures EVERYWHERE. And not like furry bunnies or panda bears, but crazy, mutated creatures and cockroaches and other insects lining the walls. I run out of the house and run into a wall of charging beaver like creatures. The one noticable difference being that every inch of their body was covered in thorns. I dodge past them and run back into another section on the house. Now, I am not quite sure of the details past this point, but I do remember one last thing. When I went inside the house, there was a couple...of which I knew neither of them. But the woman (who was unbelievably gorgeous) ended up coming over to me, embracing me, and then kissing me on the mouth.

End dream.

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I am not quite sure if these mean anything. I would like to think that they do.
I plan on maybe getting a few books that discuss dream interpretation.

Shalom.

my current state of affairs

Right now, I am sitting in my housemate's room, using his computer, and trying to cover up the terrible stench of his cat's recent deuce (which is no more than 4 feet away from me in a litter box) with a Glade clean linen candle.  It isn't working.  Needless to say, my time writing this will be brief.

It is the middle of November.  I graduated last May and have been cruising on an emotional roller coaster even before then due to a relationship which is still putting me through the ringer.  I "work" one part time job for a Certified Public Accountant and spend the rest of my time voraciously reading books that I feel will tell me that there are better things to come.  I have great friends, but most of the them are still in college and the rest of them live out of biking distance (my main mode of transportation these days).  I have finally begun to formulate my own code of personal ethics and have semi-firmly rooted the course of my life in a theological framework in which I feel is decently  secure.

If I were to create a presentation on the findings of the past three to four months of my life,  I would title that presention "Everything I Knew Was Wrong".  Since P.A.P.A. (People Against Poverty and Apathy) Fest this summer, I have been on a quest to find Truth.  Since then, I have lost faith in my government, become overly (perhaps) cynical of people and their consumer habits, developed an unbridled passion for sustainable agriculture, and embraced a newfound sense of Faith rooted in Jesus Christ and his life.

In a world enveloped in consumerism, greed, materialism, apathy, satiation, tolerance, pride, lust, gluttony, and ignorance,  I have found it all too easy to become depressed about the society in which I exist.  Mostly because I realize that I, too, fall within those parameters.  As hard as i try, I cannot escape the fallen humanity in which I have been born into.  I have found that the evils that have taken hold of this world are far more subtle and beautiful to the untrained eye than I ever imagined them to be.  I often remember an idea I read from a book I read for my Postmodern class in college that is this: "Culture is to humanity what water is to fish".  It is everywhere.  The television, the conversations overheard at work, the internet, music, art, books, retail stores, humor, etc. etc.  As much as one would like to try (save death...maybe), you cannot escape the reality of the world.  Or rather, assumed reality.

I had a conversation with my friend Alex Erwin the other night, and like usual, went on a rant of these sorts of things.  He sympathized and reminded me of a trilogy that is more often than not used for a metaphor: The Matrix.  But the metaphor was different to me this time.  I often complain about wishing to become ignorant again so that once again I can make a Wal-Mart run and purchase some products in which I have no idea where they came from.  To just be happy that I got it at the lowest possible price in the area and feel justified in my frugality.  But to do that would be to live in the illusion that how I spend my money doesn't matter.   Or to not draw the connections between a pair of $10 shoes and the starving, oppressed child overseas.  I never thought that my middle class existence funded oppression and terrorism.  I never thought that the colorful produce that I purchased at the local Payless was shipped on an average of 1,300 miles away from here and is decorated with pesticides that are used in chemical warfare.  I wish every trip to the grocery store wasn't one big moral, ethical, and political dilemma.  But for it not to be one would be of greater consequence than being blissfully happy with no clue.  The actual reality of life may be not as colorful as the illusion that is fed to us by our government, media, and general public, but it is reality.  Shouldn't Truth be more important than ignorance?  And not just ignorance, WILLFUL ignorance.

Tonight I finished a book by Dallas Willard called "The Spirit of the Disciplines:  Understanding How God Changes Lives".  Near the end of the book, Willard dissects the issue of evil within today's society. He states:

"...We recognize that, when coolly considered, the evils that emerge in the heat of human events are not things that any normal person thinks to be inherently good or would wish on others.  At most, they will only be admitted as "necessary" evils or as something to be explained by extenuating circumstances of some kind.  We ask "Why?" in the face of the undeniably monstrous cases of evil because we cannot imagine any necessity or extenuating circumstance in these cases.

"But such explanations do not go to the heart of the matter.  The persistence of evil rests upon the general drift of human life in which we all share.  It rides upon a motion so vast, so pervasive and  ponderous that, like the motion of the planet earth, it is almost impossible to detect.  We delude ourselves about the sustaining considerations of people's evil deeds because we wish to continue living as we now live and continue being the kinds of people we are.  We do not want to change.  We do not want our world to be really different.  We just want to escape the consequences of its being what it truly is and of our being who we truly are. 

"We certainly think it would be wonderful if we and all others would try to make a difference - to do what we should - and we often say so.  But we do not want to bother with becoming the sort of people who actually, naturally do that.  In fact, to look at our media - our novels, our movies, our television - sometimes it seems we may think being such a person might be rather dull and unexciting.  Imagine a television series called "Miami Virtue" instead of "Miami Vice."  We are drawn to evil, excited by it.  Yet, interestingly enough, we seem surprised when it becomes a reality."

If I asked that average person on the street what they considered to be evil, I assume most would respond with things such as: the Holocaust, child molestation, rape, torture, etc. etc.  Of course these things are horrendous, but no one considers watching a movie with those things in it to be evil.  Be it fiction or not, these are ideas put into our heads.  Subconsciously we are digesting ideas, things, events that shape us and whether we like it or not, they will end up spewing out of us in a variety of ways.  I think maturity is attained once we can realize this.  When we can start screening what we are exposed to and with solid reasons as to why.  Many people think the Amish and/or Mennonites are antiquated communities that don't want to accept "Progress", but maybe they are picking up on something that we aren't.  Maybe they know all too well what becomes of living in a capitalist society that is fueled off of greed.  Maybe WE are the ones that aren't progressing, but rather regressing.  How do we define progress?  Profit?  Customers?  Square feet?  Cars?  Technology? GDP?  I would venture to say that we are measuring all the wrong things...

It is high time that the Church realizes this.

It is time for the Church to put it's money where it's mouth is.  

There will never be a convenient time to turn your life around.

This is not a game.

This is real.

The Kingdom of God is at hand

and living faithfully is something to take seriously.

Generally, I abrasively discuss these issues, but to be honest, living under a blanket of faith provides far more dividends than living an ignorant existence.  True Faith has purpose.  Upon avidly searching for something higher than yourself, suddenly there is a decrease in those paralyzing questions: "Why am I even here?", "What does this mean?", "Why do I feel trapped and useless in a 9-5 job and the only thing that is changing in my life is the age on my birthday card?".

There is a reason why you are here.

Why I am here.