I sit here and try to capture the magic that is a hot day in the city with words. It is a futile exercise. I can get so lost down here that I almost disappear. All that is left blends in with the surroundings that I love so much. For moments that seem to stretch out past time, I feel a part of the whole scene; the kids splashing each other in the fountain, the soft asphalt that releases the memories of past summer nights with each slight draft, the young couples who walk down the sidewalk seeing nothing but each other.
It is times like this that I wish I could write. I wish I could just take a piece of the way I see this scene and share it with the people I love. And these are just two eyes; this is one heart that can’t even begin to take it all in. As I sit here in the sunshine, I know I could stay here forever. And maybe I will. I know I can’t keep any of this, and I know the faces and the forms will change. It is just that the way the world holds me right here, the way I am cradled by everything I can observe… I feel like I am a part of something so much bigger than my little problems and ideas.
This heat brings everything out into the open. The city is exposed in a way that might seem shocking or outrageous in October. Today anything goes. This is summer in Boise Idaho, and we are all out here in the open. The bricks, the trees, the lights, and the heat. We are all here together sharing this moment in whatever way we choose.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
a breath of summer
I haven’t had time to breathe.
Yesterday I was driving down State Street with the sun in my face and the dry taste of traffic filling my head. The heat and the lazy carelessness that comes with it just slammed into my consciousness all at once. It is summer time again. Summer, with all the crazy beauty that comes with it; all the endless nights and insane half memories that linger on into the twisted mythology of our youth; it is here again.
For just a moment, I was crazy again. I longed for the rush of self destruction. I longed for the trembling empty feeling of doing something that I absolutely know will have awful consequences. I don’t know where this comes from. I had an urge to smash my success, to mindlessly destroy something I cherish, for no payoff but the thrill of doing it.
I don’t know what stopped me either. It is not my intellect, or my judgment. I had those things before, and they never stopped me. It wasn’t the fear of losing what I have worked so hard to gain, because in that brief moment, that thought was absolutely absent. I don’t know what stayed my hand. I just know that it is beyond me. It is above and greater than I am. I do know I am absolutely grateful for whatever force that allows me to hold on to the amazing things I have in my life. I know that I owe all my effort, and all my attention to whatever that thing is that allows me to go on living this amazing life that I live.
Sometimes I wish I could dissect these things. I wish I could understand and diagnose what makes my life work out the way it does. But at times like this, I realize that if I could understand it, it wouldn’t work. This grace is beyond my comprehension, and the fact that it is indefinable and transient is a fundamental part of what makes it work so well for a guy like me.
And another breath in, and another breath out.
Yesterday I was driving down State Street with the sun in my face and the dry taste of traffic filling my head. The heat and the lazy carelessness that comes with it just slammed into my consciousness all at once. It is summer time again. Summer, with all the crazy beauty that comes with it; all the endless nights and insane half memories that linger on into the twisted mythology of our youth; it is here again.
For just a moment, I was crazy again. I longed for the rush of self destruction. I longed for the trembling empty feeling of doing something that I absolutely know will have awful consequences. I don’t know where this comes from. I had an urge to smash my success, to mindlessly destroy something I cherish, for no payoff but the thrill of doing it.
I don’t know what stopped me either. It is not my intellect, or my judgment. I had those things before, and they never stopped me. It wasn’t the fear of losing what I have worked so hard to gain, because in that brief moment, that thought was absolutely absent. I don’t know what stayed my hand. I just know that it is beyond me. It is above and greater than I am. I do know I am absolutely grateful for whatever force that allows me to hold on to the amazing things I have in my life. I know that I owe all my effort, and all my attention to whatever that thing is that allows me to go on living this amazing life that I live.
Sometimes I wish I could dissect these things. I wish I could understand and diagnose what makes my life work out the way it does. But at times like this, I realize that if I could understand it, it wouldn’t work. This grace is beyond my comprehension, and the fact that it is indefinable and transient is a fundamental part of what makes it work so well for a guy like me.
And another breath in, and another breath out.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
freedom
Today is an anniversary of my freedom. Today I remember just how fortunate I am for the choices and opportunities in my life. I hope never again to lose sight of how lucky I am for this life, for the people I get to surround myself with, and the grace that has been given to me. Today I remember that I once relinquished my liberty.
I will never again take for granted all the things that make life so amazing. I will never again give my life over to the control of any other human being, substance, or doctrine. There is some magic in this world beyond my understanding, some love that has carried me through the painful consequences to my own insane thinking and action. That power is the only power I will ever give myself over to again.
Today is the anniversary of my freedom. I get to make choices, and I get to feel all the experiences that come into my life. I get to relish joy, and learn from pain. Today I celebrate my emancipation from the little ideas, plans, and designs of myself and others. Today I celebrate my deliverance.
I will never again take for granted all the things that make life so amazing. I will never again give my life over to the control of any other human being, substance, or doctrine. There is some magic in this world beyond my understanding, some love that has carried me through the painful consequences to my own insane thinking and action. That power is the only power I will ever give myself over to again.
Today is the anniversary of my freedom. I get to make choices, and I get to feel all the experiences that come into my life. I get to relish joy, and learn from pain. Today I celebrate my emancipation from the little ideas, plans, and designs of myself and others. Today I celebrate my deliverance.
Monday, March 15, 2010
flight
I was on an airplane the other day. When we were about to take off, I obediently switched my portable device to the off position. After doing so, and properly stowing all carry on items, I started eavesdropping on a conversation taking place in the seats behind me. I never saw the boys, but I guess their ages to be about six and eight. They were at first arguing about why they needed to put their backpacks under the seat, but when the plane started to take off, it was very clear that this was their first plane ride.
At first, the younger one was a bit scared, and the older brother started talking about their destination in an attempt, I think, to distract him. When the plane accelerated to take off, they were both silent. I could almost feel their anxiety from where I was sitting. As soon as we were airborne, however, any trace of fear was wiped away, and I listened to a hundred shared observations from outside the window to their right. I didn’t even need to look, as they narrated everything visible outside their window in between sporadic “whoa’s” and “awesome’s.”
I am not sure if they realized that everyone else on the plane could hear every word they said before the pilot reinstated our right to turn on our computers, and headphones again, but I am sure they didn’t care. They were totally amazed both at the world outside the window and the magic that allowed them to see it from such an amazing perspective. I sat with my eyes closed and listened to them for a few more minutes.
Had I been in a more distracted state of mind, or too caught up in some imaginary drama, I may have been annoyed rather than enthralled with their dialog. Instead, I listened with gratitude, because even though I may be a bit quieter about it now, I still feel the exact same way.
At first, the younger one was a bit scared, and the older brother started talking about their destination in an attempt, I think, to distract him. When the plane accelerated to take off, they were both silent. I could almost feel their anxiety from where I was sitting. As soon as we were airborne, however, any trace of fear was wiped away, and I listened to a hundred shared observations from outside the window to their right. I didn’t even need to look, as they narrated everything visible outside their window in between sporadic “whoa’s” and “awesome’s.”
I am not sure if they realized that everyone else on the plane could hear every word they said before the pilot reinstated our right to turn on our computers, and headphones again, but I am sure they didn’t care. They were totally amazed both at the world outside the window and the magic that allowed them to see it from such an amazing perspective. I sat with my eyes closed and listened to them for a few more minutes.
Had I been in a more distracted state of mind, or too caught up in some imaginary drama, I may have been annoyed rather than enthralled with their dialog. Instead, I listened with gratitude, because even though I may be a bit quieter about it now, I still feel the exact same way.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
change
People change. Sometimes people don’t change.
Buildings get torn down. Empty spaces get filled. Sometimes they don’t.
As I see the layers of my past amid the buildings and friends who still hang around my life, I like to think I can make predictions. Somehow the idea that I can comforts me. But it is not real. I can be sure only that new things will come, old things will change, and some things will remain just the same. By the time my predictions come true, it doesn’t matter anymore that I made them.
One thing I always forget to predict is how small the places from my memory seem when I see them again. My nostalgia stretches things out so that they can wrap the whole world up in one event, one view, and one night. I go back to a courtyard entrance of a building made up of cheap studio apartments, and I seem like a giant. How did such big things happen in such a tiny, dingy place? How did the smell stick with me for all these years? How did my life get so shaken in a building that still stands?
I went back to my old Junior High school the other day. I walked up the same steps I walked up to sneak back into class almost twenty years ago. It seem so monumental, until I realize that kids who ended up dying in World War Two walked up those same steps before me. I wonder how small that playground seems to them now.
Time is amazing. A lifetime seemed so huge a few years ago. And now, like the apartment building, it seems a little smaller than I remember. But that is only when I look forward without remembering how much I have been able to do in the portion I have already explored.
Today I am nostalgic and excited. I have so much love in my heart for all the people in my life. I am so proud of my friends and my family. I am so happy that I still have so many people to meet, and things to see. As the buildings around me change, and take on new stories, I see it as a reflection of the changes in my own life. And while it is fun sometimes to remember what used to occupy the spaces, it never seems to give me any better ability to predict what will come next.
Thank God.
Buildings get torn down. Empty spaces get filled. Sometimes they don’t.
As I see the layers of my past amid the buildings and friends who still hang around my life, I like to think I can make predictions. Somehow the idea that I can comforts me. But it is not real. I can be sure only that new things will come, old things will change, and some things will remain just the same. By the time my predictions come true, it doesn’t matter anymore that I made them.
One thing I always forget to predict is how small the places from my memory seem when I see them again. My nostalgia stretches things out so that they can wrap the whole world up in one event, one view, and one night. I go back to a courtyard entrance of a building made up of cheap studio apartments, and I seem like a giant. How did such big things happen in such a tiny, dingy place? How did the smell stick with me for all these years? How did my life get so shaken in a building that still stands?
I went back to my old Junior High school the other day. I walked up the same steps I walked up to sneak back into class almost twenty years ago. It seem so monumental, until I realize that kids who ended up dying in World War Two walked up those same steps before me. I wonder how small that playground seems to them now.
Time is amazing. A lifetime seemed so huge a few years ago. And now, like the apartment building, it seems a little smaller than I remember. But that is only when I look forward without remembering how much I have been able to do in the portion I have already explored.
Today I am nostalgic and excited. I have so much love in my heart for all the people in my life. I am so proud of my friends and my family. I am so happy that I still have so many people to meet, and things to see. As the buildings around me change, and take on new stories, I see it as a reflection of the changes in my own life. And while it is fun sometimes to remember what used to occupy the spaces, it never seems to give me any better ability to predict what will come next.
Thank God.
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