A Montana Musing

Shane Carruth has this theory.

Now hang with me on this one:

Let's say it were hypothetically possible to go back in time. As in, enter a box or machine or whatever at point "A" and re-emerge at point "B".

Now, point B just happens to exist in what we call yesterday, or last week, or maybe that day you really screwed your life over. And now you want to go back in this box starting at point A, the aftermath, to get out again at point B.

I call Do-over.

So you sit in this box, and you're being transported from point A to point B. But it's not instantaneous, like in the movies. If you want to go "back" 48 hours, then you have to sit in the box for...48 hours. It's a 1-for-1 relationship, Shane says. There is a cost for going back.

And here's the tricky thing. When you get to point B...well, "you're" already there. If you truly want to re-live that moment, change something, you're going to have to dispose of the variable. And he's "you".

Folks who dwell in sci fi will notice the appearance of the paradox. What happens if you meet yourself? Will the universe cave in? Will time cease to have meaning? No, says Shane, probably the only thing you're really going to screw up is your sanity and the lives of people you choose to surround yourself with. Anyway, he made a movie about this, called Primer. It won Sundance. Netflix it.

See, people fantasize about time travel thinking they can go back and change something they don't like. Nostalgia to the extreme. But even time travel, following this logic, doesn't "change" anything. Traveling...switching locations, switching times...doesn't change anything. What happens somewhere never stays there - you always take it with you.

I've often wondered why I travel, why it makes me come alive like little else can. So the reason I bring all this up, is while I haven't necessarily time-traveled (other than forwards at a slightly relativistic time-dilated rate having driven so far at high speeds), I did get into this Chevy Cobalt-sized box yesterday morning. 9 1/2 hours later, I exited this box almost exactly 650 miles away from my previous location.

So here I am...hoping for inspiration, hoping for change, hoping for insights. And I get them. I think I used to travel because I wanted to escape. I wanted to run away, to become someone else, to start over.

But up here in this chilled mountain air, I'm thinking a bit differently. See, now I'm thinking that maybe I travel because I know who I am. And every so often, I must allow myself to be transported somewhere unfamiliar to see myself, as I have become, from the outside-in. To search fearlessly within that soul of mine with the searchlight of Truth framed in self-denial and the relentless slap-you-across-the-face passion of Eternal יהוה.

To meet myself, and to converse with him. But this version of me doesn't get disposed of...I get to take him with me.

Redemption

“He did not enter by means of the blood of goats and calves; but he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, having obtained eternal redemption.” Hebrews 9:12

The after-effects of redemption – cleansing. Pure. White. Fresh. New. Like this:

I find myself in a bit of a revelation this evening. I must have always pictured redemption as an instantaneous process. I’m starting to wonder about that now. As I experience redemption, a new beginning, that process of cleansing, I think it’s more like this:

He entered the Most Holy Place by his own blood.

It must have been like that for Him, then. Redemption doesn’t look like redemption on the ground. In the midst. It may not look like the chlorinated church baptismal.

It looks like suffering, it looks like something that would draw blood. It looks like the tip of a spear. It looks like darkness, and fatigue, and everything you wouldn’t want redemption to be.

Jesus says to Nicodemus, “You must be born again”. Being born must be one of the most traumatic affairs which one endures in life. The pain, the screaming, the forced emergence into something completely foreign.

The blood.

If being born of the flesh is analogous to being born of the Spirit, should we not expect a similar experience when being born of the Spirit?

Redemption is continual, I find. It is daily, even as it is eternal. And creation groans expectantly. Which means something eternal, deep, and aware inside me, groans expectantly.

Redemption sounds like a battle cry. It sounds like crying. It tastes like blood, it tastes like victory. It screams when nothing is left, that everything is ahead. It demands everything, but it takes us where nothing more is needed.

So I say, Let me be born again.

Nostalgia

First, watch this:



"Nostalgia" actually is made up of 2 roots. From the Greek, "nostos", meaning "a return home", and the Indo-European "-algia" meaning "sickness".

Janelle Wilson, who wrote "Nostalgia: Sanctuary of Meaning", has this to say:

"Nostalgia goes well beyond recollection and reminiscence. It demands an emotional valence..I think it is more a longing to recapture a mood or spirit of a previous time. Or, perhaps, to rediscover a former self (a self that seemed more like the 'true self', for instance). Perhaps we "nostalagize" for those things which symbolize what we wish for. What we are nostalgic for, reveals what we value, what we deem worthwhile and important."

Today, I'm cleaning my apartment - like, for real cleaning. And I come across boxes, cartons, of old cassette tapes. So I start sorting, tossing, dusting off and playing these relics.

Mix tapes (remember those?) from middle school...high school...even college. Some crappy blues song we recorded when I was 14. Old Zeppelin and GnR. My sister's voice when she was 3 or 4, my mom in the background.

My own voice, addressing me in all its pre-pubescent glory.

Draper's dead on with this "time machine" concept. A carousel. And sometimes, I don't want to get off back here. Where I got on. Sometimes I'd like to go back and try again.

To get off somewhere back there, and try again.

Those times weren't especially good, or particularly bad either. They were moments, just like this one. Okay, so my angst was greater, my confusion more pronounced maybe. Every one of those moments has helped me become who I am in this one.

But that kid...he didn't know any better, and he didn't need to. No rent, no job (well, not a real one, that actually mattered...), no burden for spiritual maturity. Make a crappy video, make a jackass out of yourself with tin foil, torches made of notebook paper, and a Saturday night.

As I listen and reflect I feel nauseous. Sick. Nostalgic. So, then - who am I trying to rediscover? What do I want tonight? What am I saying is important to me?

Possibility. Promise. Hope.

These are the things I find myself swimming in nostalgia for. Because that kid, desperate and clueless and full of angst as he was, KNEW, and I mean KNEW, that there was something better down the road. Just make it through this, and it gets better from here.

Nowhere was this more pronounced than at Uni. The whole world laid out before me. Do anything, be anything. I knew I could pull off...anything.

I guess the question in front of me tonight, is am I fulfilling that kid's dreams? Am I the man he thought he would become? If he met me right here, tonight, would he be proud? Disappointed? Would he want to punch my face in?

And would he be right?

2nd Travel Blog

I'll be updating my travel blog with photos, etc. (http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/Fort-Fun-Granola-Boy/) as I am able!

1st Travel Blog

Just finished up the first of several travel blogs. No, I haven't gone anywhere yet. Thanks.

And yes, that is my shower curtain.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ja6P_XYx8G8&feature=channel_page

Now in HD!

Wanted - a Shedding of Pretenses

The following is something which I wrote a few years back, but it is more true to me now than even it was then.

It seems that most people, Christian or not, end up having small vision, small dreams, and, consequently, small impact in this world, because they hold onto this "life" too tightly.

Each man or woman, by necessity, will by degrees do one of two things: clutch desperately to what they think they have earned or deserve in this life, or lose his or her life, for His sake, and in doing so find their true self.

Those who understand this truth, and proceed to live it out, are fewer in number than I once thought. Like John the Baptist, who knew and acted: "He must increase, but I must decrease". Or Mary Magdalene, who never pretended to be worthy to wash Jesus' feet, but knew there was nothing but rags to lose, and infinite purpose to gain.

I now believe, at the risk or pretension, that most never live. Few are the number that hold so loosely, who have even once known the touch of the Father as they spread themselves before Him, stripped bare of hindrance, and with joy can proclaim, "It is well with my soul; O my Lord, it is well".

YHWH, help me find these people, who wish to live as I do.

A youth pastor parody

This isn't so much in-your-face funny, more like "Ugh...I think I know this guy" awkward-funny. It's especially revealing that some people don't realize it's a pardoy...



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LTn8FDoKBL4&feature=channel_page

Enjoy.

Social Anxiety

Now that the semester is over, I feel finally able to sit back and process a little. These times are good.

I know that sometimes I will hide behind a very structured schedule, and life, to avoid down time. I guess I've come full-circle, since I used to be neurotically anti-social and heavily sought out alone time to avoid others...now I'm more likely to spend my time neurotically hopping from activity to event to class to avoid being alone.

Yea neurosis!!!

Some of those close to me know (some don't, or at least didn't...) that I have dealt with some form of anxiety disorder for all my adult life. I don't make a huge deal about it, since it's something like 40 million adults in the US that find themselves in a similar boat. In fact, I used to think that "anxiety disorder" was just a clinical term that we make up.

It's always so much comforting to know that your seemingly unexplainable, irrational physical symptoms and emotional crises has a name...plus it's a lot easier to say, and saves us all some time.

Which is why, when my god speaks of my becoming a new creation, when He says that "creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay, and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God...", that it means a great deal to folks like me.

Which is why following Christ, for me, is hardly a crutch to help me through life, as some have claimed. I've never understood that argument, and dispute it more now than ever. The Jewish concept of redemption, and I would argue, the Biblical concept, has as much to do with today as it does eternity.

On my best days - my most confident days, the days where I truly feel connected to something deeper than myself, the days where I know the lives around me are better because we share something - on those days, I can literally sense the new creation taking shape, and the old begins to fade.

Days like today...like Paul emotes so eloquently in Romans 7, the old creation is not completely gone. Some days, it is as if redemption takes a back seat. I want nothing but to be left alone, and the wall grows thick. I don't want this, I know it isn't rational or right or anything resembling who I have become...yet here it is.

"Why are you so downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, the help of my demeanour, my God."-Ps 42

Newly Created

We seek commonality. Do we not latch onto that which is familiar?

I would argue that even our differences become commonalities, when those differences intrigue us. Why would someone intrigue us, unless we identify a part of ourselves within them?

Maybe they excel in that which we aspire to. Is this not inspiration?

I have heard the idea tossed around that, to be truly progressive, we should rid ourselves of preconceived ideas about what "this" or "that" mean.

I maintain that not all preconceptions are bad. Our instincts communicate to us, alert us to universal truths.

It has been said, for example, that the only universally despised quality in a man, across any culture alive, is cowardice.

When men see that quality of "beauty" within a woman, he cannot help but to look. This is not a rational decision.

We rise above some of our instincts - greed, lust, any quality unrestrained. These are the instincts which, as new creations in Christ, belong to what Paul called "the former self".

But do we not also see that the New Self shares some of the qualities of the old? It does not lust, but it is sexual. It does not envy, but it is still ambitious and assertive. It does not descend into bottomless appetites, but it still appreciates flavour and beauty and taste.

I find that the Old Self makes a damned big show of its appetites. Its rationalizations to this end are rather tiring and irritating.

I thereby contend that part of our responsibility as Christians is to be INTRIGUING and INSPIRING to others. If we truly share the qualities of the divine, how can we be boring? If we truly love another as we love, how then can we be careless in seeking common ground?

I have given up nothing

There are times where I begin to truly count the cost of following this Christ. There are things I don't "do" as a follower. There are things I don't say. My ambition in certain areas is curbed.

The stakes are raised. Some in my life don't understand my faith, or pretend not to. Some scorn. Some talk behind my back.

So why do it?

Lately this world seems to be calling me, seducing me, with intense ferocity. It wants me. It speaks sweetly to me. Every rationalization seems to be at my lips.

Here is my answer.

"But whatever things were gain to me, those things I have counted as loss for the sake of Christ.

"More than that...I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things.

"And I count them but garbage, so that I may gain Christ." - Paul, Phil. 3

That word, garbage, is in the Greek skubalon. Refuse. Excrement. A polite way of saying "shit".

In other words, I have given up...nothing. Rather, I have gained everything. I begin to grasp the slightest understanding of the WAY, the דרך, the journey towards G-d. Whatever I have given up to get this far: IT WAS WORTH IT.

As Hebrews notes of our fate, we are but wayward travelers, passing through. This strange firmament is not our home. Thank YHWH.

Does this really happen??

So here's a video that was forwarded to me. My question: is this for, um, real?

These are the times I sit back calmly and quietly thank YHWH that I grew up Catholic and missed this part of Christianity.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsHH_HYSkH8&feature=related

It is kind of charming/funny in that "Thank God I wasn't there for this" kind of way.

"Hun"??

I was called "hun" twice this morning.

Usually I would expect this kind of comment from a waitress in her 40's or 50's when she offers me a fill-up on my coffee.

My first "hun" this morning was from the girl at my apartment Starbucks. She had to be all of 19. We started talking about the music playing over the speakers, I thought it sounded oddly like "jingle bells". She laughed, then called me hun. ...what?

The second was at Joes. A girl walked in and wanted coffee. I told her that we were closed, and I got..."Thanks, hun".

Should I take this as a compliment? Or should I be worried?

Snuggie Cult!

Okay, so another YouTube video...I promise to get back to some original thoughts soon, but for now...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWHlvtWhum0&NR=1

The truth about the Snuggie revealed, at last. Finally someone said it.

Never let 'em see you sweat, my friend...

Check out this poor guy's sermon (the clip's only a minute or so). I couldn't watch it all, it *hurt*.




Not that I haven't wanted to just lose it on stage on the rare occasion. It's one thing to "want to" lose it, another thing entirely to actually self-destruct in public. Uglllyyyy.

CO Detector

Today, I have a special treat...my first, thoroughly incompetent attempt at a video blog. Enjoy.




(Or if the video doesn't show...the link is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bh2zNjJP9Qg)

Californication

The wind buffets my tiny tent, exposed some 6000 feet above the jungle of Los Angeles. I abandon my shelter and climb into my tiny car, rocked to a fitful sleep by the gusts. I feel...alert. Hyper-aware.

Some time later....sunrise, we begin our descent. SoCal rush hour, Monday morning, is not nearly so pronounced an obstacle in the foothills east of town. The traffic report is in an indecipherable code:

Traffic heavy on the 405.

Vehicle stalled on the 10.

Century solid from LAX all the way back to the 1.

En que lingua, que significa, esta?

The jungle awakes. Mid-January, and already in the 70's. Today will be 85.

Traffic is heavier now. I make my way to the observatory in west Hollywood and begin to climb. Asian locals greet me on way up. They do not rush. They are a contrast to the city bustling beneath us.

Later, the city traversed, I am on Venice Beach. Somewhere behind me, in this insanity, is the Abercrombie model we met yesterday. And elsewhere, the Russian/German photographer that found a storefront so fascinating. And her little table that she took everywhere. She's there too, drawn to this jungle. I feel...connected. There is a depth to them that I now feel. We share a story. We share a place. This place.

My toes sink into the sand. A sixth sense, which perhaps only those of Irish descent can appreciate, tells me I am in the process of being sunburnt.

An otter swims near the shore and graces the children with its whiskered smile.

The day begins to wane. I wait. She waits. She sits outside Tom Bradley terminal, eyes intent on every takeoff. She's somewhere else. I want badly to ask her where.

Then 38,000 feet and an hour later, we fly over Vegas. They say things stay in Vegas, that we don't take them with us.

I've lived in Vegas. They lie.

But thank YHWH things don't stay in LA. I take every moment with me. And now I'm home, my strange seaside adventure playing over and over again inside.

This post will likely make no sense to you.

That's okay.

I'm Cheating On My Gym

I'm a cheater. For the past month, I have been seeing another gym.

Now I could pretend it was a sudden, unexpected "thing", that it just kind of happened...but we all know that isn't really how these things play out.

The truth is, I'd been thinking about doing this for a while now. I guess I just didn't think it would happen so quick!

The part I feel the worst about, is that it took almost a month for me to tell my old gym.

It was bound to happen. I mean, I was with Old Gym for over 4 years when I finally made up my mind to explore my options. The magic was gone. The friendly counter people had slowly been replaced by, let's face it, snobby teenagers that would just as soon fold towels than check me in. And speaking of those towels...you really got stingy with them. I mean, seriously...how much do little towels cost these days?

But it wasn't just that...I asked you for new equipment, Old Gym. I knew after a while that I wasn't as important to you as you pretended. Or else you would have bought me that new Bench Press.

And what about your clientele? The average age in FoCo is 30...yours had to be double that. I mean, I *love* your old people, don't get me wrong...it just wasn't what I was looking for? If you really had cared about me, you would have gone out into the streets and pulled in all kinds of fit, young, and friendly girls my age (hey, we agreed...total honesty, yeah?). I waited and waited...but you never came through for me.

So here's how it happened: one day, on my way home from work, I thought about heading to Old Gym. And it felt like torture to me. I knew then, the charade had to end. So instead, I stopped by New Gym, still in my work clothes.

I was unprepared for the sense of freedom as I walked through those doors. Andrea, working the counter, smiled at me even before she knew I wasn't a member yet (and yes, Old Gym...she is fit, young, and friendly, just FYI). She showed me the place, we realized we had the same last name, all kinds of friendliness going around...then she told me the price.

You have to understand, Old Gym, that I was fully prepared to walk if New Gym couldn't match your deal. I was totally ready to give us one more shot if price was out of range. And it totally was...on the low end. New Gym charges me $20 less a month than Old Gym.

And that was that. I'm not saying I'm proud, but then again, I know that I did what needed to be done.

You're still a great gym, Old Gym, and I'm sure you'll find plenty of other runners and weightlifters and yoga students to take my place. You'll forget all about me.

As for now, I still belong to Old Gym until the end of the month. It would just be too awkward to go back.

"This Blog Will Be Regularly Updated!"

Okay, so here's a New Year's resolution:

"At least through May, this blog will be updated no less than once per week."

So it shall be.

Come, my friends, and rejoice in this electronic literary blessedness.