I
have a tournament tomorrow. Blah.
I'll enjoy it though. It could very well be my second to last.
Or my last. I could die on Monday.
I don't live life as though I'm dying though I am.
Modest Mouse says:
"It's hard to remember we're alive for the first time
It's hard to remember we're alive for the last time
It's hard to remember to live before you die
It's hard to remember that our lives are such a short time
It's hard to remember when it takes such a long time..."
Scott once said:
"It's funny how a year looks so long when you're staring at
its nose and so short when you're staring at its retreating
behind."
And, I guess, time is funny like that and I should enjoy every
bit of with with foreknowledge that this world and its present
form is passing away. In every moment. Not that I won't squander
my time in the future, but I hereby officially recognize that:
LIFE IS PRECIOUS
and
LIFE IS TEMPORARY
3:55 (PST) November 14, 2003 was here.
And now it's 3:56.
Airports
are encouraging places.
Yesterday I went to pick Joel up at the airport. He had gone
home to visit his girls for their birthday. Waiting at the
airport for his plane to arrive, I saw this pleasant photograph
of humanity.
The glazed eyes of the waiting contrasted with the searching,
lost eyes of the arriving. And then you see the seeking, hoping,
the eyes light up and!
Found.
Like a lost and found box, only in real life and maybe entitled
"Loved and Found" if I can be pun-uetic for a moment.
That's strangely inspiring. Reminiscent of shepherd and lost
sheep or woman with ten coins. The observer can see so much
emotion in so few moments.
Sees entire eye-celebration. Lost, seeking, finding.
I'm all about finding.
But you can't find unless you see and why would you seek unless
you or something or someone was lost...?
It's like what Paul says:
"But hope that is seen is no hope at all.
Who hopes for what he already has?
But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it
patiently."
It sort of makes it all worthwhile, in the end, doesn't it? We
can rejoice in everything because in everything, there can be
hope.
Sometimes
it seems like life is a lot like an Indiana Jones movie. Useless
women, angry Nazis, pits full of snakes or rats...seeking
seeking seeking the holy grail only to lose it down a bottomless
earthen crevice and falling in after it in a materialistic
full-twisting fatal dive.
Specifically, at the moment, I feel like Indiana making my way
through the obstacle ridden temple and I'm seeking the ultimate
goal -- the holy grail and thus, eternal life. I get past a few
puzzles called childhood and high school I end up at the end of
the solid, windy, puzzled path. Now, separating me and my
destination is a great chasm, a great open divide. There seems
no way to span it; no bridge, no helicopter, no wings.
Suddenly it occurs to me...
I have to take a step of faith.
I have to step out.
I know my direction...and even though I can't see my path, I
just have to trust that the space between becomes firm beneath
my uncertain feet.
Hey, it worked for Indy.
Music
has a way of kneading its way into our dough and creating ties
and knots with events and people in our lives. We all have
certain songs from certain eras that are baked to certain
things.
When I hear certain oldie songs, I think of Stacey and lazy
middle school days, lying on her bed, playing MASH.
And I know practically everyone who's had a boyfriend or
girlfriend has had a "song."
Music is special that way.
But sometimes, we can reach a point where we can't listen to
music without being flooded with emotion and obsessions. We
reach a rut, a ditch, a gutter.
And a place where new music...is hard. We prefer the songs of
the past.
Yesterday, during worship, a song sung: "Sing a new song,
sing to him a new song."
And it dawned on me...sometimes we reach a point in our lives
when we need to put aside our records and cassettes and get out
$16 bucks and invest in a new CD. 10 songs never heard
before...fresh in your mind and ready for correlations of their
own.
That's my life right now.
A new song.
At least, that's what I aspire it to be.
Last
Sunday, my house got evacuated due to a threatening wild fire.
It was so weird to think in terms of evacuation.
"Start putting together some things you really don't want
to lose, just in case."
Just in case?!
In case...what? In case the fire rapes our resources? In case
the fury of the flames destroys everything? In case our house of
cards falls to pieces in the storm?
Riiight. Just in case.
I never realized how materialistic I am. I wanted my nest, my
room, my books, my clothes, my complete and utter crap. My room
is a collection of the physical visible patchwork of my life.
Everything I have is important to me. But in case of fire, not
everything can go.
The fire forcefeeds the question: what do I really value?
I was so random...perusing the nest of my life. "I want
this sock. And here, this is an important shell."
Apparently, I value Gusgus (and not Mary Poppins), my argyle
(and not my striped) socks, and I value pictures, books,
journals, blankets, stuffed animals like friends... but I. It
was so odd to have to choose.
Only at the brink of losing it all do we realize what really
matters. And what really matters isn't an it. It's a he,
she...Him.
This
morning I was driving down Balboa and I came to my very favorite
signal light which sits at the bottom of a valley bit in the
street. The downward slope makes my little car go faster and the
light is always green just until I approach it.
I have to stop all that momentum, put on my brakes, and wait.
and wait.
and w...a...i...t...
And then I have to make my little car start all over. Drive from
first to second to third and oh...to fourth.
But having to stop and wait for that green...having to stop and
start up my speed from zero. It's not fun.
I loathe that light.
But this morning...on this particular morning, I consider
getting impatient, but instead, I looked down on my lap and
there was a nice, warm omelet. I took that opportunity to enjoy
what I had been given. Too that opportunity to relish in the
melted cheddar and speckled egg goodness of the moment.
It was my now.
While I waited for my next, I took the Now.
It's a good way to live life. Because at every stoplight, you
can either get mad, or you can enjoy your omelet.
I
don't know.
Know I don't.
No, I don't.
Where do I fit?! I don't understand. Who am I supposed to love?
And a small jiminy whisper echoes in my head:
"Everyone."
Everyone? How is that possible?
It's not, Kirs. You know these things. You've thought these
things. You can't love by yourself. I am too ugly. I am too much
a part of hell. My cup of love empties on my own white blouse.
Garcon! Jesus! I need a refill. Thanks ever so much. Just leave
the pitcher.
And that's how you do it. Love everyone and have time for
schoolwork? It can be done! Time for sleep? I am less certain.
A friend emailed me the other day. Her parents separated this
summer. The email has sat unread in my inbox for a week. Where
was I when she needed someone to talk to?
I wasn't there.
College group.
Point Loma.
Poli Sci group.
The world needs love.
I need a refill.
wrinkled
woman walking high heel
looking down frowning upset dying
As I was walking to my poli sci class this morning, I saw this
frazzled old woman with a sad and lonely grimace in her eyes. I
kind of paused for a second and tried to share a smile with her.
But she didn't look up and didn't look up and didn't look up at
all. In fact, she didn't look up once the entire time she was in
my line of vision.
As she passed me with her hurried, but labored, methodical walk,
I followed her eyes to her focus.
She was staring at her shoes.
Her legs were old and her body had diminished in agility and
coordination, but she stubbornly wore open-toed white high
heeled shoes. To keep her balance, to prevent a horrifying,
humiliating fall, she intently followed her steps with her eyes.
For some reason, it broke my heart.
In her determined, broken walk, I saw all of the inequity in
life. For a split second, I understood the frustration of the
aged and the inability of the crippled...the despair of a
murderous car crash.
Why can't older women easily wear high heels?
Why is their labor for beauty so fruitless?
Why does life disintegrate?
Why do mothers die in drunken car accidents?
Why is the sky filled with grey?
Why is my heart filled with grey discontent?
Why is the beauty of a fragile butterfly a pitiful attempt to
compensate for the ugly of this fallen universe?
Why?
I saw
this enormous black beetle. It was one of those ones that are
constantly making this hideous buzzing sound. The beetle was
flying around so low and he kept bumping into the building.
BUMP! he made a great big sound as he hit the wall and he
ricocheted off of the building and fell to the ground beneath my
concrete table.
He landed right on his back. And oh, how he struggled to right
hisself. Inside I'm shouting, "C'mon little beetle. You can
do it!" and after several minutes of what I'm sure was
passionate and desperate panic for him, he flipped over and flew
again.
But he didn't fly away. He was still flying so low. Every time
he'd try to fly away he'd go BUMP! into the building again. Bump
bump bump. I cheered him and said, "Fly higher little
beetle!" but he kept flying just a little too short.
He was never going to get away, doing his little hover routine.
When you have the power to fly, it seems a real waste to just
hover.
And that's when I realized, we have the power to fly. We can
soar like the eagles, the Bible says in Isaiah. Soar higher and
higher on the wings of God. How wonderful is that!
And yet, so often I am just like the little beetle. Just
hovering. Or worse, colliding into the building again and again
and again. And it knocks me off my path and I fall to the ground
and have to struggle and struggle to tip back over.
But. Finally and definitively: the beetle got away.
He flew up higher, higher than the roof of that tall building.
Away he went, buzzing into the blue.
Where he went, I don't know, but I do know he's going somewhere
and that's important. Confined no longer by the prohibitive
walls.
And I was glad for that. Really and genuinely.
I
wish I could stare at the sun. It is so lovely, but if you stare
at it, you go blind. And I wonder, does this dictate some
permanent truth? That we can never have too much of something so
beautiful without something equally horrible to accompany it.
Perhaps all of life has something of built in checks and
balances?
The yin with the yang.
The good with the bad.
The night with the day.
It's the Egyptian "Ma'at". The natural order of
things. Some mysterious force that causes the earth to orbit as
it does. Some nebulous thing that makes birds fly and people
fall. I don't suppose it's possible to defy the Ma'at or the
"lady of the lady" concept. I don't suppose it's
possible for grass to grow down or people to walk upside down.
Maybe...just maybe...I can learn to appreciate the intense and
blinding power of the sun with its beauty because it is a part
of its beauty.
And after all, without the natural balance, rocks would eat
people and people would drink dirt. So, compared with the
"unbalanced life," I do appreciate this one.
We
walked around the athletic field and Joel says, tell me a story.
About what? About life.
Lately I've taken to writing notes and prose on my arm. It
amuses me greatly. So to Joel I said:
Life is like a brilliant bit of poetry that you've inscribed on
your arm. Brilliant and beautiful. And then you took a shower
and it all washed away. The water and soapy action left you with
a clean arm and a blank slate. But the poem is never as good the
second time, is it?
The reason question is: is the first poem truly as good as you
remember? Or was it possibly just a clever design of dirt which
your veiled eyes mistook for masterpiece?
Maybe the warm water and pleasantly scented soap washed away
some overvalued filth so that a real piece of art can replace
it.
Maybe.
But truly, which among us can predict whether the light at the
end of the tunnel is an oncoming train or a coveted ray of sun?
The present is too early to tell the future.
One
night long ago about 3 hours ago, a girl named Kirsten (me) went
to Wal*Mart on a secret mission to buy superglue.
Once she found the superglue, she decided there was a
significant need for animal cookies. The frosted kind with
sprinkles. It was all good and wonderful because Kirsten had
money! Six dollars and fifty-eight cents.
An abnormally skinny girl was the check-out clerk at check-out
Aisle 16. She seemed to be very nice. Kirsten thumbed her few
dollar bills and felt sad that she would have to use five of
them to pay for her things. She was resigned, though. I'll be
ok, I'll get by. I want the cookies.
Clerk-Girl rang up the two desired and the total came to...
$4.59
A penny too short! One more penny and she could keep an extra
dollar bill! Just one worthless penny.
Kirsten asked the woman behind her if she might possibly have a
penny. The woman was so congenial! She dug through her purse and
extracted a single coin.
And oh, how it delighted my soul. I had two dollars and I had
been able to give perfect change and a perfect stranger had been
nice to me.
Doesn't it make you see the humanity in humanity? That a woman
would be so kind as to give a penny.
And yet... how funny is it? It was only a single penny. How
often do we see a penny on the ground and let it lie? Pennies
are worth nothing. No one wants pennies. They're the pariahs of
the coin-world.
But tonight my circumstance dictated the need for one single
penny. Just one worthless penny. And for one cent, a woman could
make my evening.
It made me think that we will never be able to fully comprehend
the magnitude of our kind actions towards others. The smallest
act of kindness could be the greatest to the person who so
desperately needed it.
A smile to give a bit of happiness.
A hello to give a pinch of togetherness.
A compliment to give just a little confidence.
These things are so incredibly insubstantial. And yet, if one
single penny can mean so much to me... I know for certain that
even the smallest things in the right circumstance can
drastically impact.
Impact and Improve.
and THAT
that is exciting.
If only we would harness our powers for good and not neutrality.