pass that chronic.
When i was young, my parents read the lion the witch and the wardrobe out loud to us. i also managed to memorize the delightfully low-budget BBC renditions of LW&W, Prince Caspian, Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and the Silver Chair. They were awesome. awesome like the way Neverending Story is awesome when you are five, but if you make the fatal mistake of watching it as an adult (as i did, to my own detriment) you realize "oh. that kid totally isn't flying. what a sham." kind of like that.
anyway. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is a great story, but is by no means my favorite of the series. My absolute favorite Narnia book is The Magician's Nephew (not to be confused with the Sorcerer's Apprentice, the mickey mouse disney cartoon with a bajillion walking broomsticks and the title of which forced me into a perpetual uncertainty as to which story people were actually referencing.)
moving on.
the book is fabulous. every so often i read through all the narnia books. My "favorite" probably changes here and there, but something about the Magician's Nephew compels me every time. i love it. I also just finished The Horse and his Boy. also great, although it feels a bit disjointed from the rest of the series to me. There's a distinct stylistic difference.
in other news, i just ordered seven movies from amazon. the reason that this constitutes "news" is because i don't ever buy movies since there are few films i would want to watch more than two or three times. ever. but i finally decided to take the plunge. i am so excited. you have no idea. it's a pretty big step for me...
what else? hmmm. i also caught up on Chicago Public Radio's
This American Life, the only radio show i faithfully follow via podcast. sometimes i adore it; sometimes it makes me sad. this week's episode made me more frustrated than ever with American Politics. i feel like everyone lies and cheats (which is likely the case).
most people act shamefully, myself included. How do some things become
political issues? Shouldn't they just be, um, everyone's concern? i dunno. seems like i meet genuinely caring and concerned persons who align themselves with both the Democratic
and the Republican Parties... not to mention a few Libertarians along the way. so my question is: can't we all just get along? well, apparently not. sigh. what to do, what to do...i like people pretty well and enjoy finding common ground between us. they just don't all like each other.
sometimes i try to make that my problem. then i worry alot and experience high levels of anxiety. then i end up not liking anyone because they are all so unreasonable. just kidding. i still like people. sort of.
but i do maintain that people need to get over themselves. like, "get over yourself and read a good book."
something nice and simple, like a narnia book.
or you can rot your brain by watching cable. trouble is, you might accidentally catch a politician on the news...thank heavens for SNL, the great provider of such great sketches as "Lazy Sunday" featuring that croni*WHAT*cles of narnia.
my apologies.
my previous post was too lengthy. it's too bad, really, because if our roles were reversed i probably wouldn't take the time to read it all the way through. that's why it's generally better to break things up a bit more. unfortunately i have no brain cells left to bother with any revisions. do what you will.
i don't hate you.
today, my older sister and her family begin the move out of their apartment and into my parent's house. my family is hilarious. we've reached that point where age is irrelevant and i rarely grow weary of being with them. i have a niece who turns two in a month and a nephew just under five months old (pictures to come.) they provide us with much entertainment.
when my family gathers together, we usually spend our time feasting on fine food, wine and conversations. sometimes, i love to sit back and listen. discussions on theology, society, literary works, art, film, science, and music take place on a regular basis. my father studied English Literature once upon a time, and something of his deep love for the written word managed to creep its way into the very center of my developing mind. My first love is music. but music is a funny thing and, at a foundational level, i believe it to be a pure form of language. Language has the ability to wound and heal. this being said, it is possible to do both with art.
i firmly believe that artists have a responsibility to heal. I am not convinced that we should ever exercise the "freedom" to wound and damage (although, sadly, there are some who believe that simply because a thing
can be done, it
should be done.) At the same time, art of any medium should, at very least, challenge its viewer. it should do
something.
i was watching this TV show where one character, after being asked if she hated the questioner, responded by saying, "i don't hate you. i nothing you." i suppose that's how i feel about some pieces of art. i nothing them. then i mentally slap a "safe" sticker on top of it. i have come to believe that safety is not a real thing. or, at least, safe does not = good or desirable. This believe has had a profound impact on how i approach other disciplines.
it has been my delight to discover that the more advanced each discipline becomes, the more the differentiating lines between them are blurred. What would happen if people world-wide decided to stick with the comfort of what we already know? what would that do for medicine? for science? imagine if people universally concluded that there was nothing left to discover or learn. that certainly would feel more safe...things that are unknown make us squirm. But as soon as i begin to feel safe, i become complacent, i plateau, i become dead. I believe the discomfort of squirmy-growing pains are a sign of life, and each person is responsible for continual forward motion.
my brother and i had a great conversation last night over some wine. We discussed how differently we interact with the world around us; I, the artist and he, the art appreciator. let me start by stating that my brother is well schooled in the arts and dabbles, shall we say, in piano and voice. a fine musician with a moderate degree of creativity in those areas. he also just brought home a fairly impressive bust which he crafted in his sculpture class at school. it is indeed a curious thing that he should consider himself a "non-artist".
my brother talked about the risk the art appreciator takes by opening themselves up to a piece of art. it is new; it is unknown. You surrender to the art and allow it to influence you (for good or ill). It is the difference between
using the art and
receiving the art. The risk is necessary--without it, you haven't learned anything new; you've just imposed your own self on the art. you haven't listened, you haven't received.
this part of the conversation led to this question: At what point is the artist responsible for what is communicated? (will it heal or wound.) My brother proposed that perhaps the artist should not "close his eyes" and let whatever comes out come out. shouldn't the artist be careful and intentional about exactly what is being said? perhaps. but I disagreed slightly. i often feel i have very little control when it comes to the way my music shapes itself. As for art being a means of communication, a language...i must confess that don't always consciously think about the "vocabulary" i use. each piece is a little entity of its own. it takes shape and goes in directions i would never have thought of. the act of surrendering to the work is equally important for the artist and the art appreciator.
the point at which i am responsible comes well before the actual work evolves. The groundwork for all art is laid way ahead of time. whatever comes out is a direct result of what has come
in. therein lies the artist's responsibility. ultimately, we are each responsible to god for our choices and actions.
It is far too easy for artists to get caught up in a sort of mistily ambiguous manner of speech when discussing their craft. that's probably because the things we really want to say are said best through our art. even so, it is good to articulate these things as clearly as possible lest we reach a point where we think ourselves without need of others.
an artist friend of mine talks about artists needing the church as a "chastening agent". this is a fascinating concept to me. how easy it would be to go run off with a bunch of other artists because they "get" me. but i need
input other than that of my own design. In the same way, the church desperately needs artists. Each side is guilty of denying its need for the other.
it takes hard work to learn each others languages, but i believe that it can be done. My recent relocation has been difficult in some ways, but i am excited to meet new people and find ways to engage with them.
even if i find people i don't automatically like, it is far better than not finding them at all. after all, i'm not particularly interested in safety. i'm interested in life, and the more people i meet who are un-like me, the better chance i have of making really good art. i love my family. on paper, it wouldn't look like we'd get along as well as we do: my father is a pastor, my mother does counseling, my older sister is a nurse-practitioner, my younger sister studies spanish, her twin brother studies physics and i write songs. not to mention, my niece and nephew will grow up speaking swahili (they move to africa in six weeks.) yet somehow, we'd practically rather be around each other than anyone else.
anyway, a little friction here and there never hurt anybody. iron sharpens iron. it's nice to be home.
time warp
this weekend was like being in a time warp; like diving into my former self. and, to be honest, it was a tight squeeze. it was a bizarrely awkward mix of past and present--two times overlapping amidst a very painful and very stark
now.
the hours moved in slow motion. it felt like we were a part of some sort of eerie play; we, the unconscious marionettes moving in rhythm with one another. One by one, we filed into the church, giving each other nods of solemn recognition.
travis's body lay in the casket in the front of the sanctuary; a bleak backdrop for what would have otherwise been a joyful reunion of old friends. It all felt so...familiar. so fresh. and yet, i felt strangely distant from the faces i once knew so intimately.
we all exchanged kisses and laughs, stories and photos of children, and paused briefly in the natural conversation stills to grieve together. Words of remembering nurtured and healed while Travis's lifeless, waxen figure laid rest as a staid reminder of what had once been so very
alive. We celebrated his life and ours, the joy and the sorrow.
I went to my first funeral when i was six years old. a friends grandfather died, and my parents took my older sister and I to the viewing. My sister made a point to avoid the casket, but i remember
wanting to look, standing on tip-toes to peer into the old mans face.
Then when i was fourteen, my friend got sick and died within thirty-six hours. my family decided not to take me to the viewing because his face had been so distorted by the illness. they thought it would be too hard for me.
But i rather appreciate viewings because it gives me the chance to see that the
alive-ness, the soul and essence of the person isn't there at all. It was remarkable to look at Travis's body--his face looked the same, but it was as though i had never seen it before. His hands, too. They looked totally foreign. Foreign, calm and perfectly centered.
And that isn't Travis. He's the most alive person i know. i suppose that's why it was oddly comforting. There is a natural sadness, but an underlying peace in knowing that Travis is with God.
It's always surprising that it takes a death to bring
life so clearly into focus. But isn't that the good news? Jesus' death shook the foundations and opened the way to all life.
We are still in the Season of Easter, the season of resurrection and new life. And we still say, with gladness and real hope:
Alleluia. Christ is risen.
He is risen indeed. Alleluia.
Dear John. or rather, Dear Travis.
today has been a long day. i got a call from an old high school friend this morning letting me know that a close friend of ours was in a serious car accident last night and suffered severe head trauma.
a few minutes ago i got the call saying that his parents decided to pull the plug. it's the right thing to do; he was gone anyway. the pressure levels on his brain were such that he was rendered completely brain-dead a few hours after the accident.
i lost touch with him a few years ago, but he was a fairly significant friend in my life...to the point where we had more than one "relationship defining" conversations. I spent the majority of my day remembering...
i wrote a long email to him today. see, we parted ways under slightly rocky conditions and i've always felt a twinge of guilt whenever he crept into my thoughts. today i told him i loved him, i wish i had been a better friend and that i was sorry my apology was the better part of four years in coming.
it's funny...i'm always shocked at the impermanence of life. must it really take a tragedy for me to consider this thing called life? and what was it that made me sit purposefully and have a one sided conversation with an old friend---all the while fully knowing that he would never read it.
today andrea told me that god lets people check their email in heaven. ain't no fire can burn that belief out of my system.
so Trav, i'll just finish where we left off. i mean, if god lets you use the internet, you could probably find my blog. here's what i really want to say. Thanks for that poem. i have it in a box somewhere. also, yes, i agree with you that you can find truth about god in mostly any music (although you probably could have said fuck a few less times. ) but in the long run, i don't think i care that much about what word you used as a filler, since i knew how sensitive your heart was. one more thought: ani difranco says that "a tatoo is no more permanent than i am. and whoever said that life was suffering, i think they had their finger on the pulse of joy..." the thing is, trav, i know life was tough for you. i think it can be safely said that you suffered. but i know your finger (or in your case, a clenched fist) was actually holding on to the right thing. and your tatoo? Jehova is strength? yeah, i think you've trumped ani. that one's a little more permanent. i love you. we'll catch up soon.
Poseidon, god of the sea.
several weeks ago, a storm raged through this coastal town. not long afterward, my mother and i went for a walk along the shoreline. mid-walk, we happened upon a beautiful red beaded necklace lying in the sand. naturally we stopped to stare at it for a few seconds. our eyes scanned the beach for the owner of said necklace. seeing no one, i picked it up. it seemed a shame to leave a perfectly fantastic necklace half buried in the rising tide. we continued our walk and i let the necklace hang loosely from my hand so that anyone walking past us might be able see/claim the necklace. not a soul gave me a second glance.
i came to the conclusion that i, having obviously found favor with
Poseidon, god of the Sea, was given the necklace as a gift. you see, this necklace is magical. it has startlingly matched and enhanced every single article of clothing that i have worn. in fact, when i take the necklace off, i suddenly am overcome with the stark plainness and uglification that my clothing undergoes.
ian has told me that the simplest explanations are generally the most reasonable. clearly, my reasoning is impecable. Poseidon's benevolence is the only plausible theory.
mormanism. food for thought.
I've been watching this documentary on Mormonism the past couple of days. it's really fascinating stuff.
anyway, the documentary kept showing different interviews with various members of the LDS church (latter day saints). some of them were great, some were not. this is bound to happen with any cross section of people from any religious group.
there were a few things that really grabbed my attention. one was a man whose wife felt as though there was someone "missing" from their family; someone who had not been born yet. they prayed about it and decided to have another child. the wife died at childbirth. the man was devastated by this.
here's the catch. if you were certain that god wanted you to have another child and then your spouse died, i imagine you would experience a good deal of pain, anger and confusion. but according to Mormonism, your "salvation" hinges upon how well you behave on this earth. where does this man have room to grieve? or to feel like he's allowed to be angry? the idea is that the harder you work, the closer you get to becoming a god. essentially, you've gotta earn your place. i don't know about you, but that doesn't seem to be good news. it strikes me as rather enslaving.
the other thing that stood out to me was a man who used to be a part of the LDS church. while reflecting on his experience with that church he said two things. one: "whatever it (LDS church) was, it wasn't what it claimed to be". two: "it might be the greatest thing ever invented. but IF it's invented, it isn't worth dying for".
i haven't ironed out all of my thoughts about it, but it makes me wonder why the mormon church is trying so hard to get itself accepted as a main line christian denomination. regardless of your religious beliefs, the fact is that there are several essential doctrines of christianity that the mormon church deny (The Trinity, deity of Christ, salvation by grace and not works etc).
you may or may not think these doctrines are a big deal. but think of it like this. it'd be like muslims trying to make everyone believe that they are really jewish (with the qur'an being god's final revelation after the old testament...) if the muslim world said "no, no this is
Judaism. regular judaism. we're not a different religion. we're the same," wouldn't you be a bit skeptical? then imagine if (once gaining the name of Judaism) they said well actually those other people aren't jewish at all.
yeah, it's sort of like that. and honestly, people should be free to practice whatever religion they choose, but why go through the trouble of telling people it is something it isn't?
help me out here. i'm a little confused.
