I was strolling down Lindell on a crisp, bright winter's day, enjoying the sunshine gleaming off of the new fallen snow. A huge round young black man yelled out from across the busy street: "hey mister, hey wait!" he jay-ran across, heedless of the traffic and pulled up puffing in front of me, his St. Louis street vendor certificate blowing around his neck - "it's a mooch", I thought.
"Hey mister, I represent (he mumbled some alphabet soup agency) and would you like to buy...." I put my hand up - I was prepared for such simple come-ons: "I'm sorry, I never purchase from or give to organizations that come up to me on the street, it's just my policy, I'm sorry." I turned away and walked off, congratulating myself for handling the situation in a philosophically consistent way. He muttered "I was just tryin' to make a living".
But I didn't really hear what he had to say because he had already ceased to exist. With my statement I had defined him outside of the circle of people and things that I had to worry about - I had made him "somebody else's problem".
In his brilliant (well at least to me) Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy Douglas Adams described the theory of a "Somebody Else's Problem" field - an "SEP" for short. In Adam's cracked cosmology SEPs were used to make things invisible - by defining something as "somebody else's problem" one could get people to walk by spaceships, buildings, even massive mountains without noticing they were there. And that's what I had done to my rotund interloper. After all, I had learned as a boy on the streets of Kebayoran Baru that one couldn't possibly help all of the people who needed it. There were too many of them and their needs were too great - to survive emotionally you needed to harden yourself and look past the pain and suffering around you. Indonesia had taught me to build my walls high and tight. And it worked - I now am a master at making things somebody else's problem.
Yet Jesus came to make everyone His problem. I sometimes wonder what it must have been like to be Him: fully human and yet knowing, indeed, feeling the seemingly infinite roar of sin and pain and needfulness around him. I can hardly handle my own troubles, yet He confronted an entire world's. No wonder He sometimes fled the crowds - there were too many, it was too much.
What the young man was really saying to me - what we all say every time we come into each other's presence - was: "I am here, I am real, and I matter". For if Jesus came and died for each of these then how can they not matter to us? How can they simply be "somebody else's problem". All of these thoughts and a few more besides flashed through my mind as I fled down the street. They rose to a crescendo and stopped me in my tracks. "Aw crap!" I said and began to backtrack - of course I could help him - I had a few minutes and I knew exactly what he was doing wrong - didn't the clowns at the agency teach him anything? "First of all you don't go running up to people yelling in inner city Saint Louis - do you want to get your ass shot? Let me tell you how to engage people respectfully in a conversation, solicit their help, get them on your side so they want to buy your...what is it you're peddling again?" I double timed back up Lindell, rehearsing Sales 101 in my head - where was he? Gone. How in the hell could a guy that big disappear so quickly? Gone.
"Lord forgive me. Please help him, show him the answers to his questions, show him that he is loved, heal him from any harm that my indifference did him" - it didn't seem like much. After all, I was going to fix him. But I sensed a feeling of completion - it was enough - it was OK.
I turned around and headed for the office. For a while after that I stopped averting my gaze from the people on the street, I looked in their eyes, I said 'hi'. In some small way I widened my circle a bit and let a few others in.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." Whoever. And none of them are somebody else's problem
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Free Too
I hear what you're saying
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I want to be free
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I want to be free
I stood there when she said it
She came straight up to me
So filled with His spirit
So gentle and free
She came straight up to me
So filled with His spirit
So gentle and free
I hear what you're saying
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I need to be free
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I need to be free
I was there when she said it
She came straight up to me
So filled with His love
So beautiful and free
She came straight up to me
So filled with His love
So beautiful and free
I hear what you're saying
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I must be free
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I must be free
Monday, October 30, 2017
I want to be free
I hear what you're saying
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I want to be free.
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I want to be free.
Love's not an excuse
It isn't a lie
It doesn't come in youth
But only when we die.
It isn't a lie
It doesn't come in youth
But only when we die.
When we die to self,
Die so we can live,
Die to receive
Receive life as a gift.
Die so we can live,
Die to receive
Receive life as a gift.
Love's not an excuse
It isn't a lie
It doesn't come in youth
But only when we die.
It isn't a lie
It doesn't come in youth
But only when we die.
I hear what you're saying
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I want to be free.
I see what you mean
I know what you're doing
But I want to be free.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
Addendum to On Freedom
And my Kids. Praise God for them. They had lost all the trappings of wealth that they were born into: the private school, big house, beach cottage, winter skiing. But they never complained or blamed me. The only thing they said when then came back from their first week of public school was "the kids here are nicer". My daughter would frequently ask me to help her with school projects and for a couple of hours I would lose myself with her. One day I offered to drive her home - it was cold and snowy - but I ran out of gas right in the underpass of a rush hour freeway. I shouted with frustration and and cursed myself and she broke into tears. But my son was there to help us within minutes. He was always there when I needed him. Their steadfast love and refusal to judge or complain was the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.
Monday, October 16, 2017
On Freedom
Four years ago I moved into a minivan. I handed my house keys to my Son and told him to sell everything and give the proceeds to his mother. With my business bankrupt, my marriage gone, my self respect and confidence in tatters, I moved into the van to die. I was in despair, everything that I had built my life on was in ruins.
I spent nine months there. I overnighted in strange places - one was an auto body shop amongst the wrecks. I went days without speaking to anyone. I experienced 100 degree heat all the way down to minus 15f - not windchill - temperature. My toes still tell the tale. I kept clean by bathing in men's rooms and occasionally strolling brazenly into the local College's faculty locker room as if I were a Professor of Indigence, the Hobo Sage.
No one from my Church came looking for me. A couple times old colleagues came by and gave me money - claiming that they had forgotten to pay me for work I'd done.
I was angry at myself and at God. I acknowledged that I had wrecked my life but insisted I didn't do it alone. I was an active Christian: tither, promise keeper, BSFer, sunday school teacher, Deacon: the full Yaweh. From where I stood it seemed that God had let me run off the rails. I told Him "you let me do this to myself". His answer was: "Yes, I did. Now pay attention."
Spoiler alert: I didn't die. Which was a problem: what exactly was I supposed to do? I couldn't sit still so I started walking which led to thinking then to ideas and ultimately writing. Early on I wrote angry polemics against God. I would send them to my pastor friends. They were hot stuff, I'm sure I could get a gig writing for the Atheists if I still believed any of it. The irony was that I had announced that I was 'done' with God yet He had never dominated my thoughts so much as in that van.
And then slowly, at first almost imperceptibly I began to see people differently. I started really looking at them, looking into their eyes. I began going up to complete strangers, trying to understand them. It made them really, nervous. I became friends with the disabled woman who worked at McDonalds. I had always avoided her because her small twisted body made her slow. But I had become slow too and it allowed me to see what I had missed. It was a revelation: up until that point I had looked upon most people as "tools" to be used or obstacles to be gotten around. But there, at the bottom I began to see people for what they truly are: God breathed miracles, on their journeys to eternity.
Then Mom called: Dad had cancer and needed my help. So I became my father's primary caregiver for the last 18 months of his life. The truth is I never really knew my father until then. And then as if by plan, the week Dad died an old friend called asking me to join his new west coast software venture.
It was shortly after that I strolled into this building on a Sunday morning and someone said 'Hi'.
God brought me full circle. From failure and despair to renewal and purpose. So how did I change? First of all I am so much more holy than I used to be (snort guffaw)...No, that's a lie. I am the same knucklehead I've always been.
What God did with that time was teach me what it meant to be free.
Free to fail. And being free to fail, free in Christ to truly try.
Free to see myself and to see others for what we truly are.
Free to be honest, to confess sin openly, and ask forgiveness.
And Free to really love, to love God and to love you.
John 8:32 "and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
Most of you are young, talented and industrious and you will go far. But I'll let you in on a secret: Someday you're going to fail. And I pray that when you do, you'll find the freedom that comes from knowing that you can't possibly live up to God's Standard - the only one that matters. That's the edge we street veterans have. We know that there's nothing we can do by ourselves.
So during this time of feasting and plenty remember that crucial truth that street people know better than anyone else. And take a moment to stop, listen and learn from them, it will bless you. I say this not because "There but for the Grace of God go I" no, I say it because "There with the Grace of God went I".
One more point: One of the reasons people on the street look so defeated is that they are often so very alone. There is really nothing quite like 'street alone', people everywhere ignoring you. There's a song that expresses that loneliness well. It's not particularly pretty but it is True. The Song is The Wrestler by Bruce Springsteen.
Have you ever seen a one trick pony in the Field so Fancy and Free?
If you've ever seen a one-trick pony then you've seen me.
Have you ever seen a three legged dog making his way across the street?
If you've ever seen a three legged dog then you've seen me.
Then you've seen me, I come and stand at every door.
Then you've seen me, I always leave with less than I have before.
Then you've seen me, when my blood it hits the floor.
Tell me friend can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
Have you ever seen a scarecrow filled with nothing but dust and weeds?
If you've ever seen a scarecrow then you've seen me.
Have you ever seen a one armed man punching at nothing but the breeze?
If you've ever seen a one armed man, then you've seen me.
Then you've seen me, I come and stand at every door.
Then you've seen me, I always leave with less than I have before.
Then you've seen me, when my blood it hits the floor.
Tell me friend can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
These things that comfort me I drive away.
This place that is my home I cannot stay.
The only faith I have is in the bruises I display.
Tell me friend can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
Thank you.
I spent nine months there. I overnighted in strange places - one was an auto body shop amongst the wrecks. I went days without speaking to anyone. I experienced 100 degree heat all the way down to minus 15f - not windchill - temperature. My toes still tell the tale. I kept clean by bathing in men's rooms and occasionally strolling brazenly into the local College's faculty locker room as if I were a Professor of Indigence, the Hobo Sage.
No one from my Church came looking for me. A couple times old colleagues came by and gave me money - claiming that they had forgotten to pay me for work I'd done.
I was angry at myself and at God. I acknowledged that I had wrecked my life but insisted I didn't do it alone. I was an active Christian: tither, promise keeper, BSFer, sunday school teacher, Deacon: the full Yaweh. From where I stood it seemed that God had let me run off the rails. I told Him "you let me do this to myself". His answer was: "Yes, I did. Now pay attention."
Spoiler alert: I didn't die. Which was a problem: what exactly was I supposed to do? I couldn't sit still so I started walking which led to thinking then to ideas and ultimately writing. Early on I wrote angry polemics against God. I would send them to my pastor friends. They were hot stuff, I'm sure I could get a gig writing for the Atheists if I still believed any of it. The irony was that I had announced that I was 'done' with God yet He had never dominated my thoughts so much as in that van.
And then slowly, at first almost imperceptibly I began to see people differently. I started really looking at them, looking into their eyes. I began going up to complete strangers, trying to understand them. It made them really, nervous. I became friends with the disabled woman who worked at McDonalds. I had always avoided her because her small twisted body made her slow. But I had become slow too and it allowed me to see what I had missed. It was a revelation: up until that point I had looked upon most people as "tools" to be used or obstacles to be gotten around. But there, at the bottom I began to see people for what they truly are: God breathed miracles, on their journeys to eternity.
Then Mom called: Dad had cancer and needed my help. So I became my father's primary caregiver for the last 18 months of his life. The truth is I never really knew my father until then. And then as if by plan, the week Dad died an old friend called asking me to join his new west coast software venture.
It was shortly after that I strolled into this building on a Sunday morning and someone said 'Hi'.
God brought me full circle. From failure and despair to renewal and purpose. So how did I change? First of all I am so much more holy than I used to be (snort guffaw)...No, that's a lie. I am the same knucklehead I've always been.
What God did with that time was teach me what it meant to be free.
Free to fail. And being free to fail, free in Christ to truly try.
Free to see myself and to see others for what we truly are.
Free to be honest, to confess sin openly, and ask forgiveness.
And Free to really love, to love God and to love you.
John 8:32 "and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
Most of you are young, talented and industrious and you will go far. But I'll let you in on a secret: Someday you're going to fail. And I pray that when you do, you'll find the freedom that comes from knowing that you can't possibly live up to God's Standard - the only one that matters. That's the edge we street veterans have. We know that there's nothing we can do by ourselves.
So during this time of feasting and plenty remember that crucial truth that street people know better than anyone else. And take a moment to stop, listen and learn from them, it will bless you. I say this not because "There but for the Grace of God go I" no, I say it because "There with the Grace of God went I".
One more point: One of the reasons people on the street look so defeated is that they are often so very alone. There is really nothing quite like 'street alone', people everywhere ignoring you. There's a song that expresses that loneliness well. It's not particularly pretty but it is True. The Song is The Wrestler by Bruce Springsteen.
Have you ever seen a one trick pony in the Field so Fancy and Free?
If you've ever seen a one-trick pony then you've seen me.
Have you ever seen a three legged dog making his way across the street?
If you've ever seen a three legged dog then you've seen me.
Then you've seen me, I come and stand at every door.
Then you've seen me, I always leave with less than I have before.
Then you've seen me, when my blood it hits the floor.
Tell me friend can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
Have you ever seen a scarecrow filled with nothing but dust and weeds?
If you've ever seen a scarecrow then you've seen me.
Have you ever seen a one armed man punching at nothing but the breeze?
If you've ever seen a one armed man, then you've seen me.
Then you've seen me, I come and stand at every door.
Then you've seen me, I always leave with less than I have before.
Then you've seen me, when my blood it hits the floor.
Tell me friend can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
These things that comfort me I drive away.
This place that is my home I cannot stay.
The only faith I have is in the bruises I display.
Tell me friend can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
Have you ever seen a one legged man trying to dance his way free?
If you've ever seen a one legged man, then you've seen........me.
Thank you.
Sunday, October 8, 2017
All that's left is love
I heard about another slaughter
And that people don't have homes
But in the end none of that matters
Rich or poor, black or white
We're all losers in this game of Life
Not one of us gets out alive
And that people don't have homes
But in the end none of that matters
Rich or poor, black or white
We're all losers in this game of Life
Not one of us gets out alive
Love brought us here
Love will take us home.
All we get to keep is love.
For love never dies.
Love will take us home.
All we get to keep is love.
For love never dies.
So many people are shouting
Hating on each other every day
But no one will win the argument
Right or left, my country or yours
We're all lifers here,
There are no eleventh hour reprieves
Hating on each other every day
But no one will win the argument
Right or left, my country or yours
We're all lifers here,
There are no eleventh hour reprieves
Yes Love brought us here
Love will take us home.
All we get to keep is love.
For love never dies.
Love will take us home.
All we get to keep is love.
For love never dies.
We can't eat it or sell it,
We can't wear it or steal it
Love can't be bought,
It's not for sale.
We can't wear it or steal it
Love can't be bought,
It's not for sale.
But we can accept it
Accept it from it's only source
And we can share it
For love never runs out
Love multiplies again and again
Until it covers every sorrow, every sin.
Accept it from it's only source
And we can share it
For love never runs out
Love multiplies again and again
Until it covers every sorrow, every sin.
Because don't you know that:
Love brought us here
Love will take us home.
All we get to keep is love.
For love never dies.
Look at all the souls
on their journey to eternity
All beautiful, all loved
I love you.
Love will take us home.
All we get to keep is love.
For love never dies.
Look at all the souls
on their journey to eternity
All beautiful, all loved
I love you.
Words of encouragement to a friend
We are all constantly in a process of becoming. Once in a while we suddenly discover what we've become. It's never quite what we set out for. But if we're fortunate and true to ourselves it will be where we are meant to be. Here's to you becoming an ever wiser, more joyful and creative version of yourself.
Thursday, September 21, 2017
A striking bloom
For E.
I spied a flower, a striking bloom
It shocked my soul and pierced my gloom.
But I can't have it, nor make it mine.
Only love its grace, its beauty, its life.
Photo by author: Texas Hill Country Wildflowers
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Hitting things...Hard
So Hurricane Harvey landed on Houston with a terrible squelch, temporarily returning neighborhood after neighborhood to the swamp from whence they came. While this was going on I was home spending what seemed like an eternity with my paranoid 'refugee' friend barricaded in his room convinced that I was conspiring with persons unknown to...well, do unknown things to him. By the time he finally escaped my evil clutches (also known as 'when I drove him back to his homeless shelter when it became safe to do so') I was ready to hit something. Hard. Over and over again.
And Harvey obliged, wrecking something like 100,000 homes to one degree or another. Technically I only hit three of them, taking a crowbar to soggy walls and wrecked floors. It was quite cathartic. I did my hitting with friends from church. Like most everyone in Houston who wasn't a victim, we were doing what we could to help or if we couldn't really help, at least demonstrate that we gave a damn. The therapy I got from all the hitting was just an extra, probably not shared by very many others.
It was at my third house-hitting that I had a bit of an epiphany. There were two women there that I was friends with from church (or if not friends at least they never visibly blanched when I came their way). I could tell that this wasn't their usual line of work from their soft shoes that screamed 'nail wounds' and from the fact that during that entire day they didn't smash a single thing (they did the essential but IMHO less fun work of clearing up our smashing). But there they were, covered in dust and sweat, dodging flying boards and falling cabinets, the detritus of disaster. And inexplicably, there was joy - in doing hard work for people we would likely never see again for nothing but a thank you.
I noticed that their attitude was radically different than my paranoid friend's. Paranoia is a bit like cancer: it spreads in a person's mind until it consumes everything: every person is suspect, every event a portent, the whole world a threat. I realized that this is what terminal narcissism looks like....the total focus on self, so extreme that its victims can't even function. There is no joy there - nothing but terror and chaos. And I recognize that in my life: the times when I was most focused on myself were often miserable while when I chose (or was forced) to focus on things greater than myself and on others I was happier.
At this point you're probably thinking "that's what Jesus told us 2000 years ago, knucklehead", "Love your God with all your heart and soul and mind (aka: 'the Greater') and Love your neighbor as yourself' (aka 'the others')" and you would be right.
I think this overfocus on ourselves, this 'cultural narcissism' is what has been happening to all of us. We've become more and more focused on our private entertainments, on our own petty concerns and on our status as victims. And it is making us miserable. Perhaps Harvey was sent to remind us of this central truth:
And Harvey obliged, wrecking something like 100,000 homes to one degree or another. Technically I only hit three of them, taking a crowbar to soggy walls and wrecked floors. It was quite cathartic. I did my hitting with friends from church. Like most everyone in Houston who wasn't a victim, we were doing what we could to help or if we couldn't really help, at least demonstrate that we gave a damn. The therapy I got from all the hitting was just an extra, probably not shared by very many others.
It was at my third house-hitting that I had a bit of an epiphany. There were two women there that I was friends with from church (or if not friends at least they never visibly blanched when I came their way). I could tell that this wasn't their usual line of work from their soft shoes that screamed 'nail wounds' and from the fact that during that entire day they didn't smash a single thing (they did the essential but IMHO less fun work of clearing up our smashing). But there they were, covered in dust and sweat, dodging flying boards and falling cabinets, the detritus of disaster. And inexplicably, there was joy - in doing hard work for people we would likely never see again for nothing but a thank you.
I noticed that their attitude was radically different than my paranoid friend's. Paranoia is a bit like cancer: it spreads in a person's mind until it consumes everything: every person is suspect, every event a portent, the whole world a threat. I realized that this is what terminal narcissism looks like....the total focus on self, so extreme that its victims can't even function. There is no joy there - nothing but terror and chaos. And I recognize that in my life: the times when I was most focused on myself were often miserable while when I chose (or was forced) to focus on things greater than myself and on others I was happier.
At this point you're probably thinking "that's what Jesus told us 2000 years ago, knucklehead", "Love your God with all your heart and soul and mind (aka: 'the Greater') and Love your neighbor as yourself' (aka 'the others')" and you would be right.
I think this overfocus on ourselves, this 'cultural narcissism' is what has been happening to all of us. We've become more and more focused on our private entertainments, on our own petty concerns and on our status as victims. And it is making us miserable. Perhaps Harvey was sent to remind us of this central truth:
"Whoever seeks to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will keep it."
Saturday, May 20, 2017
Moments
Moments come and then they go.
We think they're true and full of hope.
Then we find they aren't meant to be.
And never were.
We think they're true and full of hope.
Then we find they aren't meant to be.
And never were.
Faces come with hopeful gaze.
We place our hopes and dream of days.
But we don't really know them.
And never will.
We place our hopes and dream of days.
But we don't really know them.
And never will.
We tell ourselves that it's fine.
There's always more wine.
But we know the bottle's near empty.
And there are no more.
There's always more wine.
But we know the bottle's near empty.
And there are no more.
So we search and hope and pray.
With voices that fade more each day.
And we learn our fate face by face.
Until there are no more.
With voices that fade more each day.
And we learn our fate face by face.
Until there are no more.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Your mother
Your mother:
Suffered pain, sweat, blood, tears
Endured hopes, terrors, fears.
Wears scars inside and out.
Overcame bouts of longing and doubt.
She gave you your first gift.
The one from which all others flow.
She was your beginning.
The rock to which you clung.
You can't pay her back for all she's endured.
Only be grateful that she did endure.
And love her for that.
And much more besides.
I know these things for
I saw them with my own eyes
and heard them with my own ears.
And I am grateful too.
Suffered pain, sweat, blood, tears
Endured hopes, terrors, fears.
Wears scars inside and out.
Overcame bouts of longing and doubt.
She gave you your first gift.
The one from which all others flow.
She was your beginning.
The rock to which you clung.
You can't pay her back for all she's endured.
Only be grateful that she did endure.
And love her for that.
And much more besides.
I know these things for
I saw them with my own eyes
and heard them with my own ears.
And I am grateful too.
Friday, May 12, 2017
Birthday Elegy
We spend sixty years chasing, grasping, clawing.
Then we spend thirty - if we're lucky - forty if we're not,
Releasing those things for which we fought so hard.
If wise, we know to lay them down gracefully.
If not, we fight and rage but lay them down all the same.
For it's God's world and it's God's way.
We're all just players in his play.
Then we spend thirty - if we're lucky - forty if we're not,
Releasing those things for which we fought so hard.
If wise, we know to lay them down gracefully.
If not, we fight and rage but lay them down all the same.
For it's God's world and it's God's way.
We're all just players in his play.
So how have you found my playing thus far?
Have I said my lines and toed my marks well?
Will you stay and watch my show to the very end?
Or will you lose interest, shuffling out for brighter fare?
I will play the play so long as I have breath.
And the last thing I will lay down dear friend,
Is you.
Have I said my lines and toed my marks well?
Will you stay and watch my show to the very end?
Or will you lose interest, shuffling out for brighter fare?
I will play the play so long as I have breath.
And the last thing I will lay down dear friend,
Is you.
Saturday, April 29, 2017
Too sad to laugh
Sitting at a party, too sad to laugh
and too drunk to go home.
and too drunk to go home.
Parties bring out the best in you,
they bring out your worst.
they bring out your worst.
At a party i'm everyone's friend
And i'm no one's.
And i'm no one's.
Everyone looks to see what you'll do
but you're waitin' for them too.
but you're waitin' for them too.
We're all looking for something,
it could be good or bad .
it could be good or bad .
Don't matter to me,
so long as I can feel. Cause I'm....
so long as I can feel. Cause I'm....
...sitting at a party, too sad to laugh
and too drunk to go home.
and too drunk to go home.
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Real Men Hunt Real Beasts
That'll teach 'em to screw with me.
On Monocles
I really think Monocles are going to come back into style.
You know the Monocle: that one eyed wonder of vision correction beloved by Terrifyingly Taut Teutons in all those old war movies. I think they went out of style because they reminded us of Nazis or some other equally prissy category of bad guys. But it could also have been because the "classic" monocle wasn't particularly versatile, having only "in" and "out" settings. In today's hip, "with it" world the humble monocle becomes a whole range of monocle-based technologies. There is of course the Monocle "Classic" for daily domination but there's also the "reading" monocle and the "sun" monocle with the exciting possibility of having a bi-monocle that goes darker in the sun making you a dreaded monocle triple-threat.
Then there are different fashion choices: I particularly am fond of the cheap "Wrap-around" Sun-Monocle styling that I'm sure will sweep the nether regions of California and Florida before long.
Some days when I'm feeling particularly sinister I put in just one of my contact lenses which is just like having a monocle although it's hard to peer down at someone with studied contempt while holding your contact lens over your eye. This is because when trying to get your contact/monocle you end up poking yourself in the eye, causing it to water which makes it look like half of you is crying which isn't a particularly sinister look no matter what your sycophantic henchmen say.
You heard it here first: the Monocle is back. Bigger, brighter and more intimidating than ever.
Saturday, April 22, 2017
The lover
I'm not something different than you
I'm just like you, and I hurt too
I heard you cry
as you fell from the sky
I felt your tears,
they became my fears
But you're in the joker's palace
I'm just like you, and I hurt too
I heard you cry
as you fell from the sky
I felt your tears,
they became my fears
But you're in the joker's palace
The jokers strong, he has me too
But if you'll just take a shot
Take a shot with me
Take a shot with me
Then we can get out of here
and get free.
So just take a shot
please take that shot
please take that shot
take that shot with me
Look for the lover,
He'll love us free
So just take a shot
take this shot with me
take this shot with me
He's been waiting forever
Free to you and me
So we'll take our shot,
just take our shot,
take our shot and be free.
I'm not something different than you
I'm just like you, and I want to be free too.
Thursday, April 20, 2017
Let's go out dancing tonight
Know that your beauty goes way deeper than just your face.
Everyone looks at you and asks what you'll do.
But they don't know you the way I do.
Cause you don't know what you'll do and that's OK,
no you don't know what you'll do and that's OK
Everyone thinks they know you but they don't have a clue,
so baby let's go out dancing tonight.
I'm the kind of man that don't make sense today,
The kind your head tells you stay away.
Everybody looks at me and knows that I'm not for you
But they don't know me the way you do.
Cause I don't know what I'll do and that's OK,
no I don't know what I'll do and that's OK.
Everybody thinks they know me but they don't have a clue,
so baby let's go out dancing tonight.
Everyone says that you can't change how you feel
that you have to play the cards in the deal.
Well they don't know you and they don't know me,
hell, we don't even know what we'll be.
It may be love but it may not be,
yes it may be love but it may not be.
Everyone thinks they know what we'll do but they have no clue,
so baby lets go out dancing tonight.
But if you don't want to play then get up and walk away.
We'll leave the cards face down and go our separate ways
Remembering what this felt like,
what it meant to be this way.
But I'll always miss you and that's OK,
yeah I'll always miss you and that's OK.
'cause no one knows how it felt to be with you this way.
And I'll always remember when we went out dancing that day.
Friday, April 7, 2017
Look up
Look up,
Let your gaze rise.
Look up,
See with His eyes.
Let your gaze rise.
Look up,
See with His eyes.
It's so dark when our eyes are closed.
We always lose our way.
We get lost gazing at ourselves
and forget our faith.
We always lose our way.
We get lost gazing at ourselves
and forget our faith.
Look up,
Let your gaze rise.
Look up,
See with His eyes.
Let your gaze rise.
Look up,
See with His eyes.
When we can't see we think we're alone.
Even with angels there.
Looking down we keep stepping on toes.
People don't think we care.
Even with angels there.
Looking down we keep stepping on toes.
People don't think we care.
Look up,
Let your gaze rise.
Look up,
See with His eyes.
Let your gaze rise.
Look up,
See with His eyes.
See all the beautiful souls,
headed to eternity.
See all the God breathed miracles,
yearning to be free.
headed to eternity.
See all the God breathed miracles,
yearning to be free.
Look up,
Let your gaze rise.
Look up,
See with His eyes.
Let your gaze rise.
Look up,
See with His eyes.
Thursday, March 30, 2017
"There is no adventure I would trade them for"
I read this today:
The juxtaposition of...(her subject)...sounds remote and a little absurd as she reflects on how her dying son pushed himself out of her body like an "unholy storm," moving his tiny arms and legs, alive, and as "pretty as a seashell." She shared only his brief whispers of a life, but "there is no adventure I would trade them for."
I never got to see my third child "push himself out" late in his term. By the time I got home, his "brief whispers of life" were over. But I do know that "neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" and that I don't need to trade anything for my child's life because He already did. And I know His promise extends to my whole family, even little Will.
That doesn't mean I don't feel his loss or remember that dark afternoon with sorrow. It just means that the loss and sorrow have been redeemed and that one day my memories of his passing will be shorn of their horror and misery.
I miss him.
The juxtaposition of...(her subject)...sounds remote and a little absurd as she reflects on how her dying son pushed himself out of her body like an "unholy storm," moving his tiny arms and legs, alive, and as "pretty as a seashell." She shared only his brief whispers of a life, but "there is no adventure I would trade them for."
I never got to see my third child "push himself out" late in his term. By the time I got home, his "brief whispers of life" were over. But I do know that "neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" and that I don't need to trade anything for my child's life because He already did. And I know His promise extends to my whole family, even little Will.
That doesn't mean I don't feel his loss or remember that dark afternoon with sorrow. It just means that the loss and sorrow have been redeemed and that one day my memories of his passing will be shorn of their horror and misery.
I miss him.
Monday, March 20, 2017
Look and See
After church yesterday I positioned myself near the exit as I often do. People I know will come up and we'll talk for a few minutes. It's a great way to see people that I normally don't run into. Only yesterday no one came up and talked to me. Not one. Oh a few people gave me an absent minded wave or 'hiya' but no one stopped.
I was about to take it personally when I saw other people that I'd never seen before, some talking, some alone, some smiling, some pensive. There were a few harried parents trying to herd their kids to the door. I saw all kinds of people from many places in this world, all heading out to their own, personal Sunday afternoons.
Then my eyes landed on a young woman walking in the distance. She was doing some cleanup chore for the church while avoiding everyone's gaze. I remembered seeing her earlier when I was walking outside and noticed that as she walked past us going the other way she moved closer to the wall, farther away from us. And I don't know why. But I want to. So I made a mental note to introduce myself the next time I saw her. I want to know her story - if she'll share it with me.
And I think I get what God was doing by rushing everyone by me: Yesterday I wasn't supposed to schmooze with the people I like and who like me because when I'm busy talking I don't notice anyone or anything else. I think God wants me to be quiet and pay more attention the way that He pays attention: to everyone regardless of how interesting I find them to be. Indeed I think he wants us pay attention to the people who don't get noticed.
Try it sometime. Just stand and watch all of the people around you. All of the beautiful souls on their journeys to eternity. See their expressions, how they walk, how they use their eyes. Imagine what it would be like to be in their shoes, living their dreams, carrying their burdens. And recognize them for the God breathed miracles that they are.
They're all around us, miracles every one. It's the greatest show in the Universe and all we have to do to take it in is just be quiet and look and see.
I was about to take it personally when I saw other people that I'd never seen before, some talking, some alone, some smiling, some pensive. There were a few harried parents trying to herd their kids to the door. I saw all kinds of people from many places in this world, all heading out to their own, personal Sunday afternoons.
Then my eyes landed on a young woman walking in the distance. She was doing some cleanup chore for the church while avoiding everyone's gaze. I remembered seeing her earlier when I was walking outside and noticed that as she walked past us going the other way she moved closer to the wall, farther away from us. And I don't know why. But I want to. So I made a mental note to introduce myself the next time I saw her. I want to know her story - if she'll share it with me.
And I think I get what God was doing by rushing everyone by me: Yesterday I wasn't supposed to schmooze with the people I like and who like me because when I'm busy talking I don't notice anyone or anything else. I think God wants me to be quiet and pay more attention the way that He pays attention: to everyone regardless of how interesting I find them to be. Indeed I think he wants us pay attention to the people who don't get noticed.
Try it sometime. Just stand and watch all of the people around you. All of the beautiful souls on their journeys to eternity. See their expressions, how they walk, how they use their eyes. Imagine what it would be like to be in their shoes, living their dreams, carrying their burdens. And recognize them for the God breathed miracles that they are.
They're all around us, miracles every one. It's the greatest show in the Universe and all we have to do to take it in is just be quiet and look and see.
Saturday, March 18, 2017
I Believe
I believe in truth and love.
I believe in God above.
I believe we were made for this.
And I believe in you.
Got here by the crooked path.
So many stripes on my back.
But God's given me some things to do.
And one of them is loving you.
I don't get what you see in me.
You're so much better free.
But you ignore me when I say go.
I guess there's something we both know.
So I'll love you with heart and soul.
Love you till I'm grey and old.
Then I'll cross over when I'm done.
And wait there until you come.
I believe in truth and love.
I believe in God above.
I believe we were made for this.
And I believe in you.
Yes, I believe in you.
I believe in God above.
I believe we were made for this.
And I believe in you.
Got here by the crooked path.
So many stripes on my back.
But God's given me some things to do.
And one of them is loving you.
I don't get what you see in me.
You're so much better free.
But you ignore me when I say go.
I guess there's something we both know.
So I'll love you with heart and soul.
Love you till I'm grey and old.
Then I'll cross over when I'm done.
And wait there until you come.
I believe in truth and love.
I believe in God above.
I believe we were made for this.
And I believe in you.
Yes, I believe in you.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
An email to a friend
I have a friend that's far to the left of me politically. We got to talking about gay rights, 'homophobia' and other such controversial topics. He finally asked me just what I believed (not theologically, but in terms of social interactions). I'm saving it here so the next time I get flack for being a "homophobe" or some other kind of "phobe" I won't have to redo it. Sorry about the typos. I'm a lazy writer.
Hey no fair responding to emails from last October. That's BT (before Trump).
A couple of contextual data points on me and mine:
When I was a teen my family had a live in houseboy
named Endang
. He also
moonlighted as
a Banci - a gay transvestite prostitute. We'd see him in his heels and mini skirt at
the
Blok P
whor
e market about
a kilometer away
. We used to wrestle for fun. And yes we knew. My right wing
, then Southern Baptist
parents said live and let live
for three years
. Until he began stealing and wearing mom's lingerie. Then he was toast.
My sophomore year
I
lived in a Dorm "Pod" of six men, four of whom were gay in the stereotyped style. Including my roommate
.
I got some
collateral flack
but it motivated me to date girls
.
And
after the trannie hooker
,
a mild mannered
moderate Republican
queer from Lawton seemed tame. He never wanted to wrestle.
One of them was Arturo Herrera - he's now a rather successful artist who has had solo exhibits at the Whitney among others. There's a PBS vignette about him at the link. He used to be much more flamboyant. I bought several of his pieces when he needed money. Somehow they got lost in the fog of divorce and collapse. Damn, damn, damn.
Yet today I'm a "homophobe".
My ideology and religious commitments back then were more conservative than they are today - I was in the Baptist Youth Groups both in HS and this period in College for Crissakes (really, I did it for His sake). I am called a homophobe by people that when I knew them would never have done something like befriend or live with a 'homo'. They are conformists, doing only what they think the people around them will approve of. But that's a common refrain of my life.
I have always been prepared to take people as I find them. What I am not prepared to do is to let people define what is 'right', what is 'moral', whether they are 'victims' or choose who the victimizers are based some arbitrary definition of their 'identity'. There are now 50 Facebook identity options each presumably with it's own list of microagressions and political manifestos. I reject the notion that simply by clicking a different FB box you are allowed to define whether my behavior is 'acceptable' or what you get to do to me.
As I said: I take people as I find them. I expect people to take me as I am found. I expect to find conflicts with people that I meet. Conflicts of values, beliefs, politics, the definition of life, the universe and everything. Whether they're Muslim Trannie Whores or Venezuelan Artists. I expect them to respect my views and values even when they conflict with theirs. I expect them to respect my speech rights and not call me names just because I disagree with them because I have shown through my life that I will respect theirs.
It used to be called the "Liberal" position. But I don't they exist anymore, do you?
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Maria
Maria (not her real name) was a friend from college. She was smart, engaging and beautiful in that Hollywood starlet way - Tall, blonde, openly sexual. From the first time I met her she was headed to LA to be in films. She was always wild and as if she was practicing for her future career, she casually slept with a number of my friends. I always felt a little like a martyr because I couldn't partake, being in a serious (and boy was it) relationship with her best friend. At school she and I were among the people who picked up and hosted speakers on campus - she insisted on handling all of the "useful" entertainment and TV people like TV honcho Ted Turner and comedian Andy Kaufman, leaving us to handle the rest. She'd introduce me to them and they'd give an absentminded wave as they maneuvered her to their limos and hotel rooms.
When she finally got to the coast, I started seeing her in bit roles in TV and movies and in a lot of daytime commercials - playing a young mother pitching disposable diapers and such. She also was occasionally in People and the Tabloids hanging off the arm of some star - most notably Cruise and Cage. For a while my boss was in our Beverly Hills office so I got to see her - she particularly wanted my introduction to the head of our Entertainment group - PwC was the premier firm in the movie business, at least until the recent Oscars kerfuffle - so I was able to do her a good turn. In return I got to buy her dinner and meet some of her 'friends' although they didn't seem to be particularly good friends to me.
A few years on I got a call from an old college friend who was obsessed with her: "Bill! Maria is in a movie with Nicholas Cage!". I was busy getting married so I forgot about it. A year after that, having just moved into a new house, we were looking for a movie to watch on a Friday night and there it was. I turned to my (conservative, Christian) wife and said "we have to watch this one, my good friend is in it as the lead opposite Nicholas Cage". On the way home I regaled her with Maria stories, telling her how good a friend she was and how much Maria reminded me of her - similar height, hair color, beauty, style, etc.
When we got home I popped the movie into the player. The first scene was Judd Reinhold in bed in ca 1900 New Orleans - French Quarter. The sun was streaming through the window and Maria, his newlywed wife, walked in and stepped out of her robe. She got up on the bed - naked - and started inexplicably jumping on it with full frontal nudity. I'm a bit slow on the uptake so my first reaction was "wow! they really do look alike" but then my mind quickly pivoted to damage control: I turned to my wife who was staring at me with that look that wives get when you show up drunk at 2am from the "office" and said: "well, I don't know her that well". Perturbed, she left for bed while I stayed downstairs fast forwarding through every ugly scene looking for something to redeem the movie in my - and more importantly - my new wife's eyes. I failed. If you recall the movie 9 1/2 Weeks where Kim Basinger was sexually humiliated by Mickey Rourke - it was a precursor to 50 Shades of Grey - you'll understand this Nick Cage production. Apparently he was trying to reprise 9 1/2 Weeks and Maria was the best actress he could find who was willing to be humiliated on screen. It was a terrible, cruel film and her acting wasn't much better.
I ran into her a couple more times, once in Chicago and another time in New York when she was doing commercials. It was very strange - I thought she'd be embarrassed by her performance but she wasn't. She talked about it and her other work as if she was going from one triumph to another. I realized that as far as she was concerned I was merely her 'public' and she was presenting herself to me. So I went along, capturing every interesting story and tidbit so that I could share them with my friends.
I lost track of her until a couple of months ago. A friend sent me an email with a Youtube clip from her last 'movie' writing "I'm sure you've seen this" because it was pretty old - but I hadn't. It was porn. I saw her in the scene and clicked it off - I couldn't bear to watch. To see her humiliate herself again - she was my friend.
I felt great sorrow for her - she had sought fame and only gotten humiliation. It was very hard to take. But it got much harder last Tuesday. I was with a group of friends from my Church. We were talking about the teaching from last Sunday. It's a passage from Mark's Gospel where Jesus heals a blind man. The first time Jesus heals him the blind man says he can only see people that look like "trees" so Jesus heals him again so that he could see people as they truly were. As we talked about that passage I thought of Maria. And I realized that I had been using her. I saw her as nothing but a walking "tree". Someone who was a tool for my entertainment and aggrandizement. I didn't really care about her humiliation and sorrow except as a way for me to score points with others. I was happy to call her my friend yet let her delude herself.
I've been trying to find her. To tell her how sorry I am. I haven't had any luck yet but that may be because I'm so afraid of what I may find.
When she finally got to the coast, I started seeing her in bit roles in TV and movies and in a lot of daytime commercials - playing a young mother pitching disposable diapers and such. She also was occasionally in People and the Tabloids hanging off the arm of some star - most notably Cruise and Cage. For a while my boss was in our Beverly Hills office so I got to see her - she particularly wanted my introduction to the head of our Entertainment group - PwC was the premier firm in the movie business, at least until the recent Oscars kerfuffle - so I was able to do her a good turn. In return I got to buy her dinner and meet some of her 'friends' although they didn't seem to be particularly good friends to me.
A few years on I got a call from an old college friend who was obsessed with her: "Bill! Maria is in a movie with Nicholas Cage!". I was busy getting married so I forgot about it. A year after that, having just moved into a new house, we were looking for a movie to watch on a Friday night and there it was. I turned to my (conservative, Christian) wife and said "we have to watch this one, my good friend is in it as the lead opposite Nicholas Cage". On the way home I regaled her with Maria stories, telling her how good a friend she was and how much Maria reminded me of her - similar height, hair color, beauty, style, etc.
When we got home I popped the movie into the player. The first scene was Judd Reinhold in bed in ca 1900 New Orleans - French Quarter. The sun was streaming through the window and Maria, his newlywed wife, walked in and stepped out of her robe. She got up on the bed - naked - and started inexplicably jumping on it with full frontal nudity. I'm a bit slow on the uptake so my first reaction was "wow! they really do look alike" but then my mind quickly pivoted to damage control: I turned to my wife who was staring at me with that look that wives get when you show up drunk at 2am from the "office" and said: "well, I don't know her that well". Perturbed, she left for bed while I stayed downstairs fast forwarding through every ugly scene looking for something to redeem the movie in my - and more importantly - my new wife's eyes. I failed. If you recall the movie 9 1/2 Weeks where Kim Basinger was sexually humiliated by Mickey Rourke - it was a precursor to 50 Shades of Grey - you'll understand this Nick Cage production. Apparently he was trying to reprise 9 1/2 Weeks and Maria was the best actress he could find who was willing to be humiliated on screen. It was a terrible, cruel film and her acting wasn't much better.
I ran into her a couple more times, once in Chicago and another time in New York when she was doing commercials. It was very strange - I thought she'd be embarrassed by her performance but she wasn't. She talked about it and her other work as if she was going from one triumph to another. I realized that as far as she was concerned I was merely her 'public' and she was presenting herself to me. So I went along, capturing every interesting story and tidbit so that I could share them with my friends.
I lost track of her until a couple of months ago. A friend sent me an email with a Youtube clip from her last 'movie' writing "I'm sure you've seen this" because it was pretty old - but I hadn't. It was porn. I saw her in the scene and clicked it off - I couldn't bear to watch. To see her humiliate herself again - she was my friend.
I felt great sorrow for her - she had sought fame and only gotten humiliation. It was very hard to take. But it got much harder last Tuesday. I was with a group of friends from my Church. We were talking about the teaching from last Sunday. It's a passage from Mark's Gospel where Jesus heals a blind man. The first time Jesus heals him the blind man says he can only see people that look like "trees" so Jesus heals him again so that he could see people as they truly were. As we talked about that passage I thought of Maria. And I realized that I had been using her. I saw her as nothing but a walking "tree". Someone who was a tool for my entertainment and aggrandizement. I didn't really care about her humiliation and sorrow except as a way for me to score points with others. I was happy to call her my friend yet let her delude herself.
I've been trying to find her. To tell her how sorry I am. I haven't had any luck yet but that may be because I'm so afraid of what I may find.
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
The "Optimal Prank Nexus"
News reports say that West Virginia U has become so vexed with couch burning incidents that it has banned outdoor sofaing altogether.
So why didn't we think of this? The burning, not the ban. I mean we had lots of cheap couches and most of them did need to be burned for aesthetic if not sanitary reasons. Yet we never put "a want and a need into the deed" so to speak. I suppose it was a failure to achieve the critical "Optimal Prank Nexus". The OPN was a theory of fraternal living that I developed to explain why a group of relatively intelligent young men/older boys would some times come up with absolutely brilliant forms of mischief (such as creating a giant water balloon slingshot out of a soccer goal the better to shell sorority sisters sunbathing behind their privacy fences) while at other times we - I mean they - did the most dumbass things.
Your common variety collegiate prank is trivially easy to produce. All you need to do is throw a few kegs and some high decibel Weezer in the midst of a bunch of college kids. Within minutes the combination will begin emitting a "Seemed Like A Good Idea" field from which all prank mayhem originates.
But the optimal prank only emerges from the fog of a common SLAGI field if several conditions occur at exactly the same time. For example, to come up with the brilliant, high concept prank of couch burning one must have a certain level of excitement underway - say a party or sports victory or even an abortive narcotics sweep by the local gendarmes. Then you need someone with a weak moral sense but a strong eye for fun to be sober enough to generate "the idea". Thirdly, everyone else needs to be sufficiently inebriated so that something like "hey let's burn the furniture!" seems like a swell idea rather than arson but not so pickled that they keep trying to get the couch out the door sideways and failing that decide to "light her where she lies" in the hall.
As you can see it is these minor variations at the nexus of the deed that can turn the "brilliant" into the "dumbass" in the ten minutes it takes the fire trucks to arrive. Although I suppose West Virginia has a higher concentration of the essential nexus variables than most - which makes them particularly fiery prank innovators. Burn Mountaineers Burn
So why didn't we think of this? The burning, not the ban. I mean we had lots of cheap couches and most of them did need to be burned for aesthetic if not sanitary reasons. Yet we never put "a want and a need into the deed" so to speak. I suppose it was a failure to achieve the critical "Optimal Prank Nexus". The OPN was a theory of fraternal living that I developed to explain why a group of relatively intelligent young men/older boys would some times come up with absolutely brilliant forms of mischief (such as creating a giant water balloon slingshot out of a soccer goal the better to shell sorority sisters sunbathing behind their privacy fences) while at other times we - I mean they - did the most dumbass things.
Your common variety collegiate prank is trivially easy to produce. All you need to do is throw a few kegs and some high decibel Weezer in the midst of a bunch of college kids. Within minutes the combination will begin emitting a "Seemed Like A Good Idea" field from which all prank mayhem originates.
But the optimal prank only emerges from the fog of a common SLAGI field if several conditions occur at exactly the same time. For example, to come up with the brilliant, high concept prank of couch burning one must have a certain level of excitement underway - say a party or sports victory or even an abortive narcotics sweep by the local gendarmes. Then you need someone with a weak moral sense but a strong eye for fun to be sober enough to generate "the idea". Thirdly, everyone else needs to be sufficiently inebriated so that something like "hey let's burn the furniture!" seems like a swell idea rather than arson but not so pickled that they keep trying to get the couch out the door sideways and failing that decide to "light her where she lies" in the hall.
As you can see it is these minor variations at the nexus of the deed that can turn the "brilliant" into the "dumbass" in the ten minutes it takes the fire trucks to arrive. Although I suppose West Virginia has a higher concentration of the essential nexus variables than most - which makes them particularly fiery prank innovators. Burn Mountaineers Burn
I still hear the tears
My friend is going to Haiti. She told me she's going without the inoculations and prophylaxis that protect against Cholera and Malaria. I know I should mind my own business because she's a healthcare professional who's been there many times and knows what she's doing. But I can't help the remembering.
I remember my friend's servant returning after an absence asking for funeral money for a child taken by Cholera. I remember the sound of her tears. And I remember my friend's mother crying to us with red rimmed eyes "why didn't she come sooner?".
I remember walking in the kampung seeing the poor bathe their children downstream from the privies on stilts and shaking our heads. I remember the man who lost a knife fight slumped against the wall, bleeding out, everyone watching him die. And the sounds and smells of the electricity thief who touched the wrong wire....bacon. And the ragdoll acrobatics of a man struck by a speeding car, flopping broken to the ground. So much death, so random, so pointless.
So I can understand why she would ask "why should I be protected when all those around me live so exposed? Why should I be privileged?"
I don't know. I have no answers. All I can hear are a mother's tears. And it is the worst sound that I've ever heard.
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Smiling Eyes
From time to time I get my breakfast at McDonalds. I am particularly partial to McGriddles - that classically American concoction with the bun filled with faux maple syrup - I mean who comes up with this stuff? Almost every time I come in a small latina serves me. Her face and arms are horribly disfigured - I have this image of her as a child pulling a large vat of boiling water on top of herself. When I first started coming Marta - for that's her name - wouldn't look me in the eye no matter what I did - she'd look anywhere but at my face.
I first experienced this reluctance to look directly at me among the lepers that hung out around the marketplace in Jakarta when I was a boy: I guess they found that 'whole' people wouldn't look them in the eye or if they did, their 'look' would be filled with shock and horror. So the disfigured go through life avoiding visual connection with other people lest it once again remind them that to the world they are "hideous". Of course to them, they're not. Just as when I look in the mirror I don't think I'm old - but the disfigured have learned that looking 'wholes' in the eye is a painful experience best to be avoided. It must be a strange, lonely world - so much of what is essential about us is communicated through our gaze. As Shakespeare wrote: "the eyes are the window to your soul"
Despite never looking directly at me, Marta came to recognize me - I suppose by my voice and my typically "just got out of bed" appearance. Early on I tried a number of different stratagems to 'trick' her into looking me in the eye, including introducing myself "hi, I'm Bill, what's your name?" "Marta" she said, never raising her eyes above my chest. After a while I gave up - Marta had spent her whole life dealing with her appearance - who was I to try to manipulate her just to see if I could catch her eye? This went on for the longest time - we'd talk and joke (for I am terribly perky in the morning, it's quite a burden for others) and do all the other things that familiar strangers do in an open culture like Texas, but no eye contact.
Until one day when I was so preoccupied with my own problems that I didn't even really notice her serving me. When she asked me if I wanted my "re-goo-lar" as she puts it, I didn't even hear her. Then snapping back to the real world I looked over and there they were: her eyes - gazing steadily into mine. Her smiling eyes. I felt like I'd been given a great gift - a view into a soul more closely guarded than a fortress. And it was beautiful. Because she is beautiful - much more beautiful than I'll ever be.
We're friends now - and I'm eating a lot more McDonalds breakfasts than I probably should but I can't resist those eyes. Marta's smiling eyes.
I first experienced this reluctance to look directly at me among the lepers that hung out around the marketplace in Jakarta when I was a boy: I guess they found that 'whole' people wouldn't look them in the eye or if they did, their 'look' would be filled with shock and horror. So the disfigured go through life avoiding visual connection with other people lest it once again remind them that to the world they are "hideous". Of course to them, they're not. Just as when I look in the mirror I don't think I'm old - but the disfigured have learned that looking 'wholes' in the eye is a painful experience best to be avoided. It must be a strange, lonely world - so much of what is essential about us is communicated through our gaze. As Shakespeare wrote: "the eyes are the window to your soul"
Despite never looking directly at me, Marta came to recognize me - I suppose by my voice and my typically "just got out of bed" appearance. Early on I tried a number of different stratagems to 'trick' her into looking me in the eye, including introducing myself "hi, I'm Bill, what's your name?" "Marta" she said, never raising her eyes above my chest. After a while I gave up - Marta had spent her whole life dealing with her appearance - who was I to try to manipulate her just to see if I could catch her eye? This went on for the longest time - we'd talk and joke (for I am terribly perky in the morning, it's quite a burden for others) and do all the other things that familiar strangers do in an open culture like Texas, but no eye contact.
Until one day when I was so preoccupied with my own problems that I didn't even really notice her serving me. When she asked me if I wanted my "re-goo-lar" as she puts it, I didn't even hear her. Then snapping back to the real world I looked over and there they were: her eyes - gazing steadily into mine. Her smiling eyes. I felt like I'd been given a great gift - a view into a soul more closely guarded than a fortress. And it was beautiful. Because she is beautiful - much more beautiful than I'll ever be.
We're friends now - and I'm eating a lot more McDonalds breakfasts than I probably should but I can't resist those eyes. Marta's smiling eyes.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Walk in the rain - Lyrics
Do you want to walk in the rain?
Not everyone likes the wet.
But that's when I fell in love.
Fell in love with you.
Not everyone likes the wet.
But that's when I fell in love.
Fell in love with you.
Oh oh I I'm falling in love.
Oh oh I don't know what to do.
Do you?
Oh oh I don't know what to do.
Do you?
Can't help how I feel about you.
It's all so very new.
I can't help that I love you
What do you want me to do?
It's all so very new.
I can't help that I love you
What do you want me to do?
Oh oh I I'm falling in love.
Oh oh I don't know what to do.
Do you?
Oh oh I don't know what to do.
Do you?
Do you want to walk in the rain?
Not everyone likes the wet.
But that's when I fell in love.
Fell in love with you.
Not everyone likes the wet.
But that's when I fell in love.
Fell in love with you.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Haiti Bound
For Caroline
Most people spend their lives running away from trouble,
others getting into it.
Only a few choose to run towards other people's trouble,
fewer still seek it out for His sake.
Those few are the rescuers -
the remnant who go when no one else will.
Whose faithfulness testifies to God's mercy and love -
written in the story of their lives.
Sometimes it's hard to see them - they are so few -
obscured by everyone running the other way.
But I can.
For they are beautiful.
Most people spend their lives running away from trouble,
others getting into it.
Only a few choose to run towards other people's trouble,
fewer still seek it out for His sake.
Those few are the rescuers -
the remnant who go when no one else will.
Whose faithfulness testifies to God's mercy and love -
written in the story of their lives.
Sometimes it's hard to see them - they are so few -
obscured by everyone running the other way.
But I can.
For they are beautiful.
Monday, February 27, 2017
Texas is Weird
I had a classic Houston moment last night. I ate dinner at the bar at Oportos in midtown between a Dutchman who liquifies natural gas on a first date with a Waloon journalist who just moved from Luanda and an off duty Cuban chef by way of Buffalo out with a Guadaloupian (opian? ipian?) engineer. We were served by a Parisian bartender who just moved here from New Orleans and a second bartender who swore he was Mexican but I think he was just a Tejano embarrassed by his lack of exotic street cred. The shrimp piripiri were very good but they inexplicably put mint and those stupid juniper berries in their Gin and Tonics. Which were pink. I kid you not. I told them about my high school locker trauma with tall dutch girls, and that my mostest favoritest Waloon of all time was Tintin. Texas is weird.
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
On politics
When people ask me what my politics are, I say Christian. When they persist I either say I'm an avant garde conservative or a reactionary liberal depending on which answer I judge will make them most nervous. I believe in timeless truth and infinite love. I believe that truth and love are not opposites. Indeed in the person of Christ they become one and the same.
That means the only source of true love is Christ. That the only source of the love we give others is Him who first loved us.
That means the only source of true love is Christ. That the only source of the love we give others is Him who first loved us.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Everything Everywhere
Lord, I'm never alone,
wherever I go, you're there.
It's a double edged truth,
but truth all the same.
You're everywhere I go
and everything to me.
I went home the other day.
Been years since I left.
But Mom talked of You
like You'd never gone.
But how can that be?
Because you were always with me.
With me in my tears and
with me in my fears
With me when I was wrong
and headed way down.
You're everywhere I go
and everything to me.
I don't see You but
I feel You everywhere.
Filling everything
with life and hope.
Even when I can't see.
Even when I can't believe.
With me in my tears and
With me in my fears
With me when I'm wrong
and headed way down.
Lord, You're everywhere I go
and everything to me.
Lord, I'm never alone,
wherever I go, you're there.
It's a double edged truth,
but truth all the same.
You're everywhere I go
and everything to me.
wherever I go, you're there.
It's a double edged truth,
but truth all the same.
You're everywhere I go
and everything to me.
I went home the other day.
Been years since I left.
But Mom talked of You
like You'd never gone.
But how can that be?
Because you were always with me.
With me in my tears and
with me in my fears
With me when I was wrong
and headed way down.
You're everywhere I go
and everything to me.
I don't see You but
I feel You everywhere.
Filling everything
with life and hope.
Even when I can't see.
Even when I can't believe.
With me in my tears and
With me in my fears
With me when I'm wrong
and headed way down.
Lord, You're everywhere I go
and everything to me.
Lord, I'm never alone,
wherever I go, you're there.
It's a double edged truth,
but truth all the same.
You're everywhere I go
and everything to me.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
You woke me up
You came and woke me up
To say you'd had enough.
Enough of the loneliness and the fear.
Too much of the road and not enough of here.
But the hole in your soul is too big to fill.
And mine is bigger still.
I don't have the love you need.
And I never will.
We can't fill our souls with us.
Tossing holes into holes.
My empty can't fill you full.
And we both feel so alone.
I've heard there's a man with love to spare
who died and rose again.
Maybe if I can get his love.
Then I can share it with you.
He came and woke us up.
To tell us He was enough.
To banish our loneliness and fear.
And to make our pathways clear.
And my hole is still too big to fill.
But he filled it all the same.
For he died to fill us up with love.
And he forever will.
Yes he rose to save our souls for love.
And he forever will.
.
Look at me.
Look at me. Can you see me?
The real me?
Every day I trade my honor
The real me?
Every day I trade my honor
for nothing but dross.
I say I'm free
but I enslave me.
See that bird she's free.
I want to be like her.
but I enslave me.
See that bird she's free.
I want to be like her.
See my soul through all the dust?
See how I treat myself?
How can you believe in me?
When I'm not even free?
See how I treat myself?
How can you believe in me?
When I'm not even free?
I want to to be free.
I want to be free from me.
He said that to save my life
I must give it up.
I want to be free from me.
He said that to save my life
I must give it up.
Look at me.
Really look at me.
I want to be free.
Lord, set me free.
Really look at me.
I want to be free.
Lord, set me free.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Lovetruth
Like most of my love poems this is theoretical at the moment. But here's to hoping.
Is my love true?
They're not the same, you know.
Love stands on truth's shoulders
And truth without love is dead.
So do I have something to say?
Something I want to say to you?
Because without truth my love doesn't reach.
And right now it's killing you.
Is your truth love?
One's not the other, you know.
Without love truth is buried and dead.
And without truth love's a song in your head
So do you have something to say?
Something you want to say to me?
Because without love your truth is dead.
And right now this is killing me.
So if there's anything left of us.
Some small measure of truth,
a tiny trace of love.
Could we try again?
Is my love true?
They're not the same, you know.
Love stands on truth's shoulders
And truth without love is dead.
So do I have something to say?
Something I want to say to you?
Because without truth my love doesn't reach.
And right now it's killing you.
Is your truth love?
One's not the other, you know.
Without love truth is buried and dead.
And without truth love's a song in your head
So do you have something to say?
Something you want to say to me?
Because without love your truth is dead.
And right now this is killing me.
So if there's anything left of us.
Some small measure of truth,
a tiny trace of love.
Could we try again?
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Dying
This is two poems in one. An inner poem which is addressed to a mortal lover. When the first and last stanzas are added it becomes a poem addressed to my immortal Lover. I am quite proud of its classic biblical structure which I attribute to Robbie Griggs teaching on Dan Dorian's book on hermeneutics. Guys this is all your fault.
Lord, I've known dying and I've been alone.
And I'd rather die for You than live for me.
My heart can stop but once, my soul to fly away.
But being without you is dying every day.
I've clung to cliffs in hailing wind and choked till I turned blue.
But I've never hurt so much as when without You.
I've slammed bloody on a reef, where sharks could eat me through.
But I've never been so scared as when I couldn't find You.
I've wavered with a gun, pointing it straight at my face.
Because I've never been so hopeless as when without Your grace.
So my Love don't leave me here.
For it's losing you I fear.
I've known dying and I've been alone.
And I'd rather die with you than be alone with me.
Lord, I've known dying and I've been alone.
And I'd rather die in You than live for me.
Lord, I've known dying and I've been alone.
And I'd rather die for You than live for me.
My heart can stop but once, my soul to fly away.
But being without you is dying every day.
I've clung to cliffs in hailing wind and choked till I turned blue.
But I've never hurt so much as when without You.
I've slammed bloody on a reef, where sharks could eat me through.
But I've never been so scared as when I couldn't find You.
I've wavered with a gun, pointing it straight at my face.
Because I've never been so hopeless as when without Your grace.
So my Love don't leave me here.
For it's losing you I fear.
I've known dying and I've been alone.
And I'd rather die with you than be alone with me.
Lord, I've known dying and I've been alone.
And I'd rather die in You than live for me.
Monday, January 23, 2017
Lie to Me
This is also a song posted at Billkelele
I came to see you, don't know why.
Now that I see that look in your eyes.
I thought you loved me like I love you.
But now I don't think you really do.
So If you don't love me, lie to me.
If you don't want me, tell me you do.
Until it's time for me to go
And to forget about loving you.
Not long ago our love was a fact
No force on earth could hold us back.
But something's happened in months apart.
Something's that's turned your loving heart.
So If you don't love me, lie to me.
If you don't want me, tell me you do.
Until it's time for me to go
And to forget about loving you.
Was it wrong to fall in love with you?
It was the only thing I could do.
I wish I hadn't fallen in love with you
It was the only thing I knew how to do.
So If you don't love me, lie to me.
If you don't want me, tell me you do.
Until it's time for me to go
And to forget about loving you.
So If you don't love me, lie to me.
If you don't want me, tell me you do.
Until it's time for me to go
And to forget about loving you.
I came to see you, don't know why.
Now that I see that look in your eyes.
I thought you loved me like I love you.
But now I don't think you really do.
So If you don't love me, lie to me.
If you don't want me, tell me you do.
Until it's time for me to go
And to forget about loving you.
Not long ago our love was a fact
No force on earth could hold us back.
But something's happened in months apart.
Something's that's turned your loving heart.
So If you don't love me, lie to me.
If you don't want me, tell me you do.
Until it's time for me to go
And to forget about loving you.
Was it wrong to fall in love with you?
It was the only thing I could do.
I wish I hadn't fallen in love with you
It was the only thing I knew how to do.
So If you don't love me, lie to me.
If you don't want me, tell me you do.
Until it's time for me to go
And to forget about loving you.
So If you don't love me, lie to me.
If you don't want me, tell me you do.
Until it's time for me to go
And to forget about loving you.
Supergirl
There ain't no Supergirls
and there ain't no Superboys.
We're all just holding on,
'til salvation comes along.
We're all just holding on,
'til salvation comes along.
We fixed all your faults
before you even saw them.
before you even saw them.
Made straight your crooked ways
so you 'd never trip on em.
so you 'd never trip on em.
We made you think you're perfect
when all you are is lost.
We stole from you the stumbles
that teach you the true cost.
Of trying to make a Supergirl
out of a lost and broken soul.
Thinking you have saved yourself
when you're not even whole.
out of a lost and broken soul.
Thinking you have saved yourself
when you're not even whole.
There ain't no Supergirls
and there ain't no Superboys.
We're all just holding on,
'til salvation comes along.
and there ain't no Superboys.
We're all just holding on,
'til salvation comes along.
You can't be a super hero
there's only ever been one.
And we're all just holding on
until Jesus comes along.
there's only ever been one.
And we're all just holding on
until Jesus comes along.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
On being True rather than Right
I confess that I spend too much time trying to "win" arguments for my own pride. To lord my superior..... what? Intellect? loquaciousness? Bloody mindedness? - over others. I realized what I was doing wrong after reading this:
You know, the older I get, the less I care about being right. I remember when being right was everything. You wanted to win every debate, to brutalize your opponents in any kind of argument, to force them to acknowledge your superior knowledge and experience. It was, in essence, a matter of narcissistic supply, of the confirmation of self-worth through demonstrating superior intellect.....
Something changed over time. Call it maturity, or wisdom, or understanding of self. Or call it, as I do, a certain intellectual exhaustion. Whatever it is, I just stopped caring about appearances. I didn’t care to prove myself right, or to prove the other wrong.
I wanted to learn. I wanted to understand. I wanted to know truth — regardless of whether or not anyone believed me. It came to the point that I wanted to be proven wrong, in fact, for that would mean I would have discovered a new truth. My own knowledge would have been expanded. I was still emotionally invested in the outcome, per se, but not in the same manner. If the debate granted me no new knowledge, no new perspectives, it was useless. It was a waste of time. It didn’t matter if I had demolished my opponent’s argument. It was still a nothing.......
I’m much too old for that sort of thing anymore. It is exhausting, chasing after perceived rightness. It is a path to madness. All I want to know is what’s true, and what’s false, so that I might live my own life by those truths, and share them with those I can reach.
Me too.
Saturday, January 7, 2017
The End
The end comes quickly.
It always does.
He's gone.
It's over.
I'm sorry.
Sundering once strong bonds
- as if tissue.
Of life,
friendship,
love.
But death cannot erase
the fact of life.
Once there,
the memory
lives on.
And what once was,
always shall be.
Ever shining,
evergreen.
In our souls.
"I will always remember you"
"I will always miss you"
"I will always love you"
It always does.
He's gone.
It's over.
I'm sorry.
Sundering once strong bonds
- as if tissue.
Of life,
friendship,
love.
But death cannot erase
the fact of life.
Once there,
the memory
lives on.
And what once was,
always shall be.
Ever shining,
evergreen.
In our souls.
"I will always remember you"
"I will always miss you"
"I will always love you"
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
Breathe
Repentance is exhaling. We breathe in God's gifts, which give us hope and life. But broken souls produce waste - hatred, lies, betrayal. Allowed to linger, they accumulate in deep pits of despair. So we must breathe our sin out every day.
So if a man should cry out to you from the depths, heed his call. If someone gasping for breath asks your forgiveness, grant it.
For they're just trying to breathe.
I want to breathe.
So if a man should cry out to you from the depths, heed his call. If someone gasping for breath asks your forgiveness, grant it.
For they're just trying to breathe.
I want to breathe.
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