Of Friends and Songs.

This is pretty cool.

http://friendswritesongs.tumblr.com/

Of Día Tres

There's always the sounds of sirens. A constant reminder of the various dangers the deprived creation's mind can bring upon itself. They seem to be always around because every now and then I realize I've been hearing them whiz by every few minuets.
Children laughing and playing. Making the best of the life that can be had in a place like Acuña. The front door is always being swung open and closed because the only difference between playing inside and outside is the golden touch of the sun.
Concrete spans both sides of the door frame. The temperature also. The dust freely wanders in and out because the grass is always greener. And the feeling of home is the same.
Wild dogs run around outside without restraint. Some of them begin to fight viciously and the nearby kids just keep playing. Somehow they manage to still be kids when they're lacking food, education, and real safety from the local mafia. The Cartels control all the politics and trafficking here too. It's only safe because no one is challenging their lordship.
A Mexican radio- no, two of them now- are blasting homegrown Mariachi music. The only thing a radio seems to play around here. Within three miles of a town with a McDonald's lies half-built mud-brick buildings, shoulder to shoulder, scared with spray-paint, scattered across 4500 mi^2 of dessert. Seattle spans 84 mi^2.
I lay on a couch to sleep in a house I've only entered twice, in a home where they don't even speak my language or know my world. Yet they invite me to eat of their slim pickings.
Dust devils dance in unfinished streets where cars bought and sold ten times over studder by as beaten and as durable as the people who drive them.
Parents let the kids run rampant in the stores, as in the streets, they'll go find other kids, play cops and robbers and show up again when they need the parents. The bag-boys at checkout were a 50+ year old man and a 13 year old boy, side by side. Not working for wage- because it's illegal- but working for tips. It's every man- every child- for himself, again, as in the streets. The parents hardly ever keep a real eye on the kids, not because they do not care, but because the culture instills a sense of strength and survival. Strength because despite the poverty, gangs, and moral corruption, they still lift it, take it as it comes and find a way to enjoy life, find a way to survive. From the time they can walk out the front the door, they are required to learn to survive. As their parents did. And they do.
It's a new world down here. One that is in as needy as my own in material things, yet perhaps close to same in it's moral condition. The pressure on a Christian of who to help and how is immense. How could it not be? I want you all here now, with me, out of your pj's and quilt beds and warm homes and carpet rooms and full fridges and filtered water and wii consoles and fine restaurants and endless opportunities to live the American dream. Not so you'll give up all these things or so you'll feel bad and make a one time emotional donation. But so you'll be grateful for what you do have and that you'll have a new heart to help the poor, the widows, and the spiritually impoverished. In your community or in this one. My life was changed on day one of going to Mexico. And I have three more to go. How can I not use the assets God's given me, my mind, heart, money, mentors, the graces that are paired with salvation, the graces unique to me, to do what this world needs most?
Alas, I can not.

Of Two-Steps

Tomorrow I leave for Mexico to go to an orphanage to see what needs they have and how I can help them long term.


Also, I wrote at work today.

The Angels and the Demons both terried at my door,
Angels, exercising flaming blades; the Demons seemed to snore.
Or perhaps they were snarling at the sight Angels afford.
Yet, each party awaited me, eagerly at my door.

Inside I mulled it silently, watching while I wait.
Great questions clenched my spirit, of future and of fate.
Am I safe to take a new road? with past stains upon my stave?
What if creatures dead and gone to me, were all along awake?

Some roads I've taken carelessly and bare the scars to prove.
Perhaps the one most damaging, the one I can't remove,
Is the one that lies the deepest, secret e'en to the local news.
So what should be marked experience, with puzzlement is viewed.

This ignis fatuus haunts me, this Demon's riddled crime.
Yet criminals upon the cross, hung with greater ease of mind!
So why not I? What can't I? have peace 'neath trials eye?
Because it was of me that my innocence had to die.

Here I stand roads later, a slew of sufferings and signs,
Afraid to rouse evil's behind me, or provoke equals from on high.
Inside my room I tensely mull, biding or wasting all my time,
Hoping what the Writer wrote for me, soon illuminates my mind.

The Angels and the Demons, quiet, close, so they can hear,
Me passing o'er a single thought: That e'en though their near,
It's not the celestial beings' power that I've come to fear
But the order they'll be given once my free will is made clear.

Of One Sunday's Closing Ceremonies

I roll out my little makeshift bed.
I plug in my little lamp.
I invent little ideas up with my 10 inch head.
I think of all the problems I have and toy around with different ways to solve them.
I type away on my little keyboard making small noises that fill up the entire room.
I burn away the hours at night, plotting my grand schemes to optimally navigate roads I've self defined.
I have my goals, that I want to subdue, that I've chosen, that would make me happy.
And then I remember it's about what Christ would have me do.
I wonder if I have anything figured out after all.
I question if all my operations will ever be executed as planned.
I look at how Jesus spent most his ministry on 12 men, yet took opportunities to feed 5000, knowing all along who'd see the truth and who'd take advantage of his compassion.
I realized I need to be, should be, desire to be, just like him.
A "little Christ".
I unplug my little lamp.
I roll over and wait for my eyes to adjust so I can stare at the ceiling.
I know I don't have much figured out, but I know I have enough figured out.
Goodnight.

Of Café Manchas

I got mounds of dirty clothes, that have been sitting for weeks,
Probably got little animals, living in between the seems
I got mile high stacks, dishes on my desk
Fingerprints on the walls, I’ve done well to neglect
Coffee stains on my shoes,
'cause I’m just that incredibly smooth.

Got books strune across, a matressless room
Guitars, drums sets, and amps, and still a spot just for you
My floors a home to the critters, and itty-bitty ants
They throw all kinds of parties, and invite all their friends
Coffee stains on my shoes,
'cause I’m just that incredibly smooth.

But with your love I don’t mind,
I’ll be myself every time.
Coffee stains on my shoes,
'cause I’m just that incredibly smooth.

Café manchas mis zapatos, porque estoy que muy genial.

Of Customa Cistorca

I think I can finally say I know how
To figure this all out.

Patterns, will tell me I’m a grown man
Will say there’s too much to know man,
I’ll never figure it out.

I’ll tried five different ways to say
I lived two lifetimes to date.
The only record I keep are mistakes
So I can figure it out.

Lose souls and cleaning feels so hallow.
Memorize the old tunes note for note;
If I could be considered closer than most,
For you, I’ll use every skill I still know.
To one day figure it out,

Even after all those desert years,
My faith and heart can be clean and clear.
If you can see and have patience with me;
Listen close to the voice of the first of each;
You’d see, that what I’d say, I hide in these.
So you can figure this out.

Of Separation Anxiety

Herrum. It has been done. You know, sometimes I wonder. What does it really mean to serve our Heavenly Father? To be separate for Him? Because, I naturally love helping people. Lately I've been trying to start up community outreach type things for my church to be involved in. I also want to go to Mexico to help orphans as I can. I have my little list of important things that fits nicely under God's work. But what about his other commands? Like how we should act on the day to day? What if we wants to reach out to the annoying kid at church no one talks to instead of orphans? Am I as committed to my daily devotions as I am to community outreach? Am I committed not to laugh at my co-workers sick jokes? Am I committed to not go to that movie, that party, that concert? What about spreading the Gospel? I often say and feel like I'd be happy to just serve, just to build houses, to just do "mercy ministries". But shouldn't I be just as eager, if not more, to proclaim the actual Gospel to the ends of the earth? YES! I should. But alas, I have my little list of important things that I want to pursue, I put them in my little ordering scheme and pursue them in selfish ways.
But not all is lost. In Sunday School, we have been studying music in the Christian's life as of late and it was many things I did not want to hear. And I knew them, and they pricked my conscience. I felt like I had suppressed that little part of my life, allowing myself just a little bit of world for my own pleasure. Bollocks, mate! I wasn't willing to give them up, they weren't very high on my priority list. We have to willing to give up everything for God, how can he use us if one foots in the world all the time? Were they even on my priority list? Probably not, which is why I hate how I organize God's commands, pick and choose, sift through them a little, and come up with a few big or small things for my agenda. Oh, to be able to pursue all holiness in perfect balance! But it cannot be so, so I've tried to mortify the sins as I see them, and try to work on being able to see them for starters (Lord, I could use- like, all of your Spirit here).
Anyway, I'm preaching to myself and needed to vent a little, since I just went through my entire library and deleted all songs that brought even a hint of a thought of worldly things to me. It was like cutting out a piece of myself, but I know the hole will be replaced with what was supposed to be there in the first place.

Of My Audience

Today's morning sermon at my church was an "evangelistic message". Meaning it was more tailored and directed at people who have not made a profession of faith. Funny thing was, I felt greatly convicted the whole time. There was one part in particular where he talked about how we never lift the Bible from our nightstand, how we do not pray to God, how we do not seek out his companionship, protection, and guidance; turning every one to his own way. I began to realize that as a conductor seeks the approval and praise of his audience, so we as humans turn to our peers for approval and praise. They are our audience.
We naturally need the acceptance by others, part of our companionship nature. And it feels even better to be praised by someone, to hear they think we're cool, clever, or clean cut. In the end of the day, we like hearing, "your better than me in this area." To the adolescent especially, our approval and praise is our identity. We cannot help but cling to it, seek it, and feed it as much as we can.

Then I got to thinking about my life and all the audiences I'll have, at work, at school, at church, friends, family, mission trips, that guy you met that time that you'll never, ever see again but you both made an impression on each other because of how funny the situation was, I realized, they don't matter. How much wiser is it to seek the approval and praise of my Creator than my fellow straying created? How much more effective would it be? To my soul? To my neighbor's soul? If I make Him my singular audience, I can guarantee you I will not get the approval and praise of the world for it. Yet as I live, a few of them will be my audience and see some of my life's script in action. And while they are sitting there, watching, having their own thoughts, I want to be proclaiming to them the climax at every turn.
I wonder what is the best way to capture an audience. Perhaps to convince them that they are not our audience at all, but one greater whose approval and praise we regard high above any of theirs. And if they caught the climax, if we captured them, if they have the same basic needs as you and I, wouldn't they want the same praise we strive after? That ultimate and matchless approval and praise which none other can begin to contest with?

So if someday you see me, eyes closed, talking to myself one day about the some deep love and double cure of which no man can comprehend; if someday you here that I've declined a job offer at a respectable company whose CEO's ride Porsche's and have gone to some foreign land with no money and no possessions working on a building that will shelter ten kids while they do their multiplication tables; if someday you find me unresponsive, lost in a book about how a father raises his daughter or how a man rehabilitates an emaciated community; don't worry your pretty little head.
Because I will be working, will be seeking, will be writing, will be playing.
For my audience of one.

Of A Struggle

Only the dead pirates know what it’s like
Poet’s write, but they romanticized us
It was moments for which we fought and died
To last the struggle of the sea and sky
Four years of naught but fluxed loss and gain
Ad rem maps we made proved out of date.
So much had changed so much the same
Self-righted dreamers pursuing hard the day
We sang in triumph and equally in defeat.
Sang the easy lie ‘the sinners life is sweet’
But the life and lie reek of stale vanity
The image so less clear than it was originally.
Today’s sunrise gifts a recurring trial
Clouds taunt a captain’s heart and mind
If allowed one caveat in collateral
It’d be, “It’s alright.” With sea green eyes.

Of Little Mighty Men

You can plot and plan
All you want little man.
Little mighty man, where's your roar now?
You can post up and plant,
Your feet deep in sand,
Little mighty man, can't choose the hour.

Map marvelous myths
With little led and wood bits
Little might man, the idea's still yours.
Your reach extends short
As your mind can endure
Little might man, needs a little bit more.

Rivers recycle the sea
And express eternity
Little mighty man, consider your size.
Many might fools
Have stood in your shoes
Little might man, be humble, be wise.

Of The Cycle.

Everything that time brings, time takes away.
Every toy from your early years is decomposing under the next generation's playground.
Every memory of your first year in school is slowly lost so the brain-links can be reused.
Every car rusts, molds, flats, sheds, blows a fuse, and overheats, until it's finally scrapped.
Every friendship sparks, grows, wanes, and smolders for a time before the energy depletes.
Every bone and muscle follow a clock and as time brought them to their full use, time will maim them.
Classes. Houses. Shoes. Kids. Jobs. Feelings. Thoughts. Handshakes. Vacations. Songs.
One, then another, and another, until one day you sit, grayed, thoughts stolen by the various pains and strains you feel. Then what? The cycles over. Will you remember all that came before? Will you remember all the warmth and cold brought with each revolution of time? And we all know how some cycles straight up end and hurt, while some are just transition to other cycles.
Will you cheerish them all, or only what small things you have left? Dinner. A phone call from a friend. The view out the window. Memories are really the only thing you have left at that point. Not that first car you owned when you where 16. Not that first shiny pair of kicks, computer, or first crush. And when you go, time will have recalled everything it sent to your address.
One thing's for sure.
Live for the moment, but don't fear the moments passing. Let it go, it'll come back again. A different name, a different face, a different feeling. But it's all a network of cycles and
"It went by like dusk to dawn."
But a soul is everlasting.

Of The Greatest Escape

Alas, I have escaped. If but for a few hours. But how does one find he final great escape? But also, what have I really escaped?
Is it the outside world, that has been wearing down every grace that I possess, that's been escaped? Or is it the depths of my own mind, my perception of the world, that I've escaped? And since perceiving is a gateway to feeling, is it an escape from feeling? Our minds perception of the outside world is like our sensory neurons that determine what is good and bad, accept in bias.
I have not escaped life, but my own inabilities to live it. I have escaped myself, tricked myself into an unreality. One in which I can't feel real emotions and have real, free thoughts. One in which I won't have to worry about them because I refuse to have them, I suppress them in hope they won't exist to me and I'll be free of them.

Life's all about those little escapes really. Music, movies, books, virtually all entertainment these days. It feels like it shuts our the real world to the partakers. They create an unreal place that is usually aimed at making one feel good, but it nonetheless tries to capture them, suck them in, provide an escape from the outside world.
However, it really shuts them down to parts of themselves. Even small conversation at the work place, it's to make it feel like it isn't actually work, the try to escape the feeling of work, while continuing to work all along. You think for split seconds about the last words and the next ones furthering the exchange, but it has no lasting effect , nothing of importance is really talked about. Hobbies, clubs, sports, vacations. They all direct your attention away from yourself and focus it on other things that you feel for and care about. All so that you can escape yourself. An easy ploy. It's no wonder that each of us have the need of a few close friends we can be real with. Otherwise we couldn't handle a world of unreality. Escape. Escape.
No more do books have moral lessons at the end. Their soul purpose is to provoke your feelings; quick thrills and shallow. All for some character other than yourself, that way, you don't have to have these emotions for real things. They won't provoke your reason or philosophy. Why? Because reason and philosophy force you to consider yourself, and consider your world view. real work. It forces you to confront yourself instead of trying to escape it.
We are trained to think that the problem is without us. So it's an elaborate game of how much unreality we can take without losing reality. But we've been conned. The escape is inside, we are the problem, and the solution deals within us, not without us. But few people, being brainwashed, having their thoughts already thought for them, realize the truth.

Consider the pursuit of happiness. The opposite of happy is sad, no? The pursuit of finding that permanent, constant great escape, detaching us from sadness and suffering. Some are honest with themselves about this escape and turn to substance to numb them to everything- numb themselves to themselves. I almost give this person and initial respect. They're not trying to lie to themselves like the rest of us. They know what they want and they go after it. They live life more realistically, no lukewarmness. The rest of us generally peddle around hiding our true thoughts and desires. Although my highest respect is to the person who knows his escape, who sees his weaknesses, and instead of fantasizing about it in the deep, he condemns it. He knows the escape is temporal and empty, so, instead of lying to himself, and even others, he accepts it honestly and responds to it with shame, humility, and action. He fights the great escape so many of us blatantly take or conceal. And yet, his energies are not all spent on fighting this escape, because that too would be an escape in and of itself. Rather, he also pursues the great comfort. The comfort that fills the need the escape only quells for a time. To the carnally concerned there is only temporal comfort- yet another escape. But to the man who faces the Almighty in humility, faith, and therefore action, there is a sweeter savor of comfort on one can know fully in this life.

And so, the greatest escape is really the greatest fight against escaping. To face yourself, to face your Creator, and to live, in this life, in humility, faith and action, for the next.

Of Promises

It seems to me that the Christian Church these days talks a lot about promises that God has made. Promises like, "The Holy Spirit will comfort you!",
"God will bless your tithe money and turn it on your enemies!",
"He'll complete the work he started!",
"He's forgiven you your sins!",
"The last shall be first!",
"He is a good father that will give you good things!".
And then there's the blessings: "Blessed is he who fears God",
".. who worships God",
".. who praises God",
"Blessed are the poor in spirit... are those who morn... are the meek... are the peacemakers".

But first of all what does "blessed" really mean? and second, did we forget the other promises?
Sometimes the Church presents these blessings as ease of life, little trials, an unhindered peace of mind, or a permanent assurance. But I don't really know if that's true. Blessed could just mean that God looks at them with favor and acceptance and love. It could mean their heavenly mansions are just bigger. I could just mean spiritually their better off, but leaves the natural state untouched. I haven't done my research on any of this, haven't had the time, just thinking a loud. So we'd have to find out what is really meant by "blessed". But now what about those other commonly forgotten blessings?

"Blessed are ye, when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil, for the Son of man's sake." - Luke 6:22
"Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness," - Matt. 5:10
"Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you: and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name's sake." - Matt 24:9
"Blessed is the man whom thou chastenest, O LORD, and teachest him out of thy law;" - Ps. 94:12
"Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.But beware of men: for they will deliver you up to the councils, and they will scourge you in their synagogues; And ye shall be brought before governors and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them and the Gentiles" - Matt. 10:16-18
To name a few that I found. And didn't almost all of the Apostles, Christ's little chosen band, get crucified, stoned, imprisoned, and/or executed. Yep.
At the end of most of these verses are also some words of encouragement about the promise of perseverance or guidance or whatever but this is the point: It's like this, the passage goes, "all things work together for good.." not, "All things work together for temporal good.." In my experience I have seen these Christians that run around thinking that because their good or that God loves them or that "blessings" is strictly temporal or that they've already suffered much, that they have good things coming to them or that they deserve temporal good things. But is this really the testimony of the Scripture? It promises sure temporal trials, tribulations, back-stabbings, an endless war against sin, earthquakes, wars, disease, famine, death, persecution, and powers and principalities all about us. But it seems the blessings and promises that we often mistake as temporal are actually very much spiritually minded. He gives us faith, strength, love, perseverance- whose climax is at death-, sanctification-whose climax is at death-, and the ultimate promise, that of salvation that also climaxes at death. Where do we get the notion that God's going to give us money, fame, power, physical comfort (all of these Proverbs strictly warns against), or perfect parents or children? I wonder.

I am surprised the Christian doesn't expect more trials in life, as God promises. I am surprised that when trials do come the Christian usually is shaken and cries out, "Why!?". I am surprised the usual Christian assumes the blessings are temporal. But of course he would, he's a physical being, right? How can he understand a spiritual God? I am surprised the Christian isn't surprised when life is good, shouldn't then he say, "Why!? What did I do? I am a sinner! I don't deserve a bit of this!"? And why am I not surprised that I am preaching to myself?

Of The Frontal Cortex

Tonight my head rests between worlds,
Plains of the open and closed eye.
Where still images dance in jubilee,
And time spins its desperate lies.

Rock and Water beseech my head,
Campaigning their inimical ways.
Each pleading, this night I swallow them,
But the size of I is one stoke of fate.

The river clear and graceful flows,
If elemental cleave is overt.
Still, earth must also truly guide,
Life's veins to prudently discern.

By misplaced stone and lax surge,
They rage about each other.
Tumult is born and physics matures,
Yet Time takes the chaos downriver.

Of Grandes

WHA-POW! *Three knuckle punch to the face* So I drank a Grande a few hours ago and I think it got stuck inside me someplace. But that's ok! This post is going to be different from my other because I think it's actually what your supposed to use this cyber-site for. Personal updates. Any-hoot, here's the low down.
Had a phone interview with Amazon.com today and came away from it muttering: "Fail." and I was down for a bit feeling like I knew nothing for all my education and that I'd been out of the game for awhile. Yet, have no fear! Because then I thought, "Wait, you don't even want a job, so use your time foo'!" So then what did I do? I went to Barnes N(and?, 'n'?, 'N?, an'?) Nobles. And drank a while chocolate mocha over The Ultimate Proof of Creation and Stones Into Schools for an hour or two. Then came home thinking, "Rise and rise again!" So I devised a plan for doctors to fight this whole healthcare mess, got my dad to agree to talk his doctor about what we can do about it, and emailed two different pastors on how to carry out my near-future goals:
- Be a camp counselor at Camp Hope (both Jr and Teen sessions).
- Pass out copies of Ultimate Questions to my community.
Not to mention I want to:
- Take another mission trip to Lakeshore.
- Take a trip to Mexico or Haiti.
- Help out with my churches booth at the summer/spring fairs.
And I wished I'd:
- Became a doctor instead (had I only know the present was the past's future!) Or,
- Went into politics.
- Done internships...
But I feel 21 (and have since school ended). I have a perfect job that let's me be as flexible as I want (Helly Hansen- God bless them) and I want to do almost everything! I want to be the Greg Mortenson of Mexico, Haiti, or, heck- anywhere! Loose me! I want to make change and the- *passes out*

Of Writing Wants

I want to write.
Though I don't know what about.
One book said to take the ordinary things in your life and weave them into something extraordinary.
But with such an ordinary, typical life, what makes any of this so extraordinary?- or is that the catch?
One paragraph said you should usually write about things outside yourself.
But aren't you always going to be better to write things about yourself, seeing as you are you?
The things you know best are going to be the things you can most accurately describe to your readers, yes?
The soldier writes about the war- outside and inside of himself.
The reporter writes about the battle and reads the story aloud around the dinner table.
The general writes about the death toll and how to improve casualty model.
The civilian writes about the violence- in his community and in his kids.
The politician writes about the success- claiming the good; blaming the bad; embodying the ugly.
But what can I write about?
Well, I know myself very well, I guess.
I know the emotions I feel- love, frustration, loneliness, joy- are all just emotions, but true ones at that.
I know the struggles I have between letting go and holding on, just to list one of the hundreds.
I know about my love of creativity and the outlets so brilliantly designed for me to let them out of my head (and why i believe it was designed in the first place).
I guess don't really know much about politics, social changes, world poverty, or war- and I wish I did.
But I have this blog, and I know I want to write- so I do, and just did.

Of The Easy Road

I just had a thought. And I haven't posted anything in a really long time. So I'm going to share. I heard a song the other day which had a line that went, "And I don't have to love a thing to much". I'd heard this song many times but right then, I heard that lyric.
It's so much easier not to love.
It's so much easier to just be selfish and pursue one's own passions and not consider those who might be depending on you. It's so much easier to not have to commit to anything so that your never obligated to do something uncomfortable. It's so much easier to steal and cheat your way to the finish line and the prize without actually running the race. It's so much easier to just turn your back on someone who has offended you and leave them behind. It's so much easier not to forgive than to give the offender mercy and grace. It's so much easier not to open up to someone and subject yourself to accountability or possible rebuke. It's so much easier to lay in a cookie-cutter and be a surface-talker never knowing anyone and never being known, never sharing your beliefs, never doing anything different. It's so much easier to appease your minuet-emotions rather than stop your desires to consider the end effect. It's so much easier to self analyze your own contradictions all the time and not challenge yourself with any action.
It's so much easier not to love.
But is it?
Does life become any easier when you choose not to forget the offenses of your neighbor so that you sit and are reminded of them and they pain you as long as you hold them. Does it really become any easier when after you've got the trophy and are heading home, the law comes collecting and you face the consequences? Is it really any easier to hide your beliefs and convictions so that sooner or later you feel unknown by those around you and insecure about who you are? Does it become any easier the longer you self analyze and then one day look back to find all that time has gone and you've got nothing to show for it? Does it really become easier to ignore those who depend on you or have invested time into you until they finally leave and take they're support with them? Does it really become easier when after you've appeased your momentary urges you have to deal with sour seeds you've sown around you?
It's so much harder to invest and sacrifice in a brighter future, than to live loveless and expect you'll get a good share somehow.
But by God, in the end of the day, it's worth it.