Sound and Fury

Six Word Memoir

2010-03-01T21:54:00.006-06:00

Following the movement started by SMITH magazine, thought this would be an interesting exercise. Here it is, my memoir in six words.

"Had to know, just had to."

-Rick Smith

Maternity/Family Photos

2009-05-22T16:17:00.006-05:00

This week I was able to take some time away from the office to spend a day running errands and preparing for our second daughter's arrival. The day began with a photo shoot on Austin's East 6th street with Lisa Woods of Now and Then Photography, to capture Mel's in all her maternal glory, and also give us some professional shots of our growing family, which is a first for us since Emma came along. We hit it off with Lisa right away, and her eye and funky/urban ideas led to some gret photos (shown below) set against the backdrop of Austin's quirky downtown setting. Melissa looked absolutely stunning, yet another reminder of what an absolutely gorgeous woman I am married to, and Emma was an angel and did really well with taking instructions and interacting with the camera. I guess it pays to have a camera in your child's face 24-7 at home, she's quite used to daddy behind the lens, so she was really comfortable during the shoot! The rest of the day consisted of a few meals, a visit to our delivering physician, and registering for our "sprinkle" which Shea and Jonathan Grubb's are throwing for our Austin friends to get us stocked up for the new baby's arrival. We made some final decisions about the nursery and really began to narrow our choices down and get stocked up for the coming months. We found a great new brand of biodegradable diapers and picked up a baby book. It was a long day, but very fun, energetic, and productive. I'm looking forward to this new baby, and all that comes with welcoming a new child into our home in the next several weeks.

Star Trek

2009-05-12T18:21:00.002-05:00

Saw the new movie on opening night, Bob Bullock IMAX, downtown Austin, 12:01am. Got there an hour and a half early with some friends to a line that was already 100 strong, and watched as the room filled with every variety of Trekkie. Costumes, face painting, conversation, space-time continuum enigmas, it was great, as only Trek can be. I really enjoyed the movie, in contrast to my negative experience at Nemesis, this movie seemed to be consistent with the remainder of the Trek canon, despite J. J. Abrams early assertion that this movie was not made with the fans in mind, a comment that somewhat disturbed me. Luckily, the two writers were old trek fans, and though this movie sported every bell and whistle that technology could provide for visual impact, the score was rich and beuatiful, the characters were right on, and in every way it connected with the energy and fabric of Trek. Though the events of the movie changed the direction and content of many of the stories we know, I feel as if the people who put this film together did so in such a way that it was largely consistent with the spirit of Trek. They got it right in this fan's eyes.

Space Debris

2009-02-12T16:52:00.004-06:00

Since the launch of Sputnik in 1957, roughly 6000 objects have collected in orbit around our planet. Some 800 of these are still operational, while the rest have become part of the ever growing space detritus, occasionally exploding or colliding with one another creating millions of pieces of debris zooming overhead at the rate of several miles per second. It has become a real concern, since even the tiniest fragment is enough to pierce the thickest armor of any space craft sent from earth. Various maps have been produced to assess the layout of these objects, the traceable ones are shown in the image below, as produced by NASA. Remember, we've only been putting these things in orbit for 50 years, and by the looks of it, we've already got quite the interplanetary sculpture garden.

Boredom Series

2009-02-07T22:46:00.003-06:00

It's no secret that I am not a fan of christian literature these days, or any popularized christian product for that matter. Though unfortunately, given my roots and the people I am surrounded by, I am always cognizant of the latest piece of self help garbage aimed at making us all feel good about getting rich, teaching us to embrace our inner barbarian in the wilderness, or instructing us how to create Walden pond moments where Jesus is an oak tree or a ferret or something. I have absolutely no interest in this cultural phenomenon, but I don't mind reacting to it for a bit of fun. I therefore propose my own series of reactionary literature that will be known as the boredom series, born out of my utter exhaustion at the never ending procession of crap that emanates from our christian bookstores. Here are some titles I'm considering.

I Kissed Boredom Goodbye
Boy Meets Boredom
The Boredom Driven Life
Blue Like Boredom
Velvet Boredom
40 Days of Boredom
Bored at Heart
Your Best Boredom Now
The Boredom of Jabez
Waking the Bored

Just some ideas, I'm sure there are many more to come.

Theological Worldview

2009-02-06T12:44:00.003-06:00

I took a quiz assessing my theological worldview. I suppose there are no surprise results here, but it was an interesting experience.

You Scored as Emergent/Postmodern

You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this.

Emergent/Postmodern

89%

Classical Liberal

64%

Modern Liberal

64%

Neo orthodox

46%

Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan

43%

Reformed Evangelical

25%

Roman Catholic

25%

Charismatic/Pentecostal

21%

Star Trek XI

2008-11-17T18:13:00.003-06:00

For all you trekkies out there. The link to the new trailer for the movie coming out Summer 2009.

The Trailer

On Micah 6

2008-11-13T19:09:00.005-06:00

Humility has been the topic of discussion at Immanuel over the last week, as another part of our investigation of that ancient prophetic credo: do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly. And before I jot down some thoughts on humility, I'd first like to confess something about the Bible. The paradoxes that so many find dilutes and weakens the ancient books are what I find most intriguing about it. These paradoxes are, to me, the Bible's version of "strange loops", to borrow the phrase, and not only are present in this profound statement from Micah, but can be found throughout the literature, most especially in the teachings and person of Jesus. Because they both are truths that are mutually exclusive in our logic, their codependency and relationship points to a truth that is beyond human reason, and is at the root, I feel, of all things transcendent. If the contradiction in this particular command isn't immediately obvious, here's what it means to me... if doing justly means giving only what is deserved (punishment), and mercy means giving forbearance, can you do both, and if so, how does that work? I think we take this contradiction for granted, because these words have been rendered so trite by over usage, and we rarely pause to think how very ironic so many of the things we believe in really are.

And what about humility? The most lucid thought Kester provided on this topic is that humility is two fold. First, it connotes penitence, which is what we often understand about humility. Secondly, and less commonly spoken of, comes after contrition, and it is to not only acknowledge the sinful condition, but take the step further to put all things under divine control. In effect, an acknowledgement of sinfulness is only the first, and perhaps simplest step in becoming humble. But for humility to come to fruition, Kester suggests we must go that last step in allowing Jesus to truly be a Lord.

For me, this last bit is somewhat complicated. Not only is it exceedingly difficult if not impossible to accomplish, but for the past few years I have been personally wrestling with how much of God's will actually concerns my life, and for more years than those I have been annoyed with how much we obsess over the will of God and forget to know God, and come about his will organically. I've come a great deal closer to deism in this process, and am knocking on far more 'sinister' positions, and yet I feel in my heart and through reason that there are many paths all of which may be equal in God's sight, that God is not a personal God as He would be painted as through western evangelicalism, and that at the end of the day, the choice has ultimately been mine by design, and that the divine agenda will be accomplished through any choice. Certainly, there are things that are better, and I do reach for those.

I think God's will is summed up pretty concisely by the prophets, and by Christ himself in the two greatest commandments. Beyond that, does God really care where I live? I don't think so. For some reason, and I hate myself for this hypocrisy... I still pray about it even though I don't believe I should, nor do I trust to hope that there will be an answer. There isn't. And yet...

So what do I think humility is? I certainly think Kester is on to something. In my own thoughts and words I would say that humility is the condition of looking at oneself as one is, recognizing fully what it means to be in this human condition. Secondly, I think we focus far to much on the notion of humiliation, of lowering oneself. I think being humble is less about us and more about others. Less about lowering ourselves and more about the raising of others. It is not a lowering of our condition, but an active elevation of environment. Lastly, i think there is a great deal of altruism in humility. Instead of grabbing up the sackcloth and rubbing on ashes, how about we change someones life because we honestly believe they deserve it more than we do? There is the work of the humble man.

On Exoplanets

2008-11-13T17:24:00.005-06:00

Earlier today, astronomers captured the first ever images of planets orbiting a distant star. They are little more than low resolution dots surrounding a star known as HR8799, but these "humble" images represent our first look into a solar system that is not our own. In this vast expanse created to abide by laws that will inevitably produce life, my mind marvels at a universe that is not only filled with stars and nebulae, galaxy's and quasars, but is now also teeming with earths, maybe with beings like us. Though many may find it offensive for me to conclude we may not a singularity in this universe, I feel it takes unmitigated hubris to assume we are. And I hope you will find, as I have, not a sense of relegation in the realization of our smallness, but one of complete and utter awe at the scale and beauty of the universe we inhabit, and a more informed sense of reverence for the character of the Being that created and sustains it.

Astronomers have been finding exoplanets for some years now, but this image is something important. Like the early rockets sending back the first grainy images of our home world, we barely have sensed from these images what we may come to know about these worlds. I know the images of these planets will continue to be enhanced, until at last we arrive at a moment not unlike that which first gave us our beautiful images of the pale blue dot. A day such as the one when that image of the "earth rise", as seen from the surface of the moon so many years ago, exploded in the consciousness of a generation, and changed the way we see our world, and ourselves. I can't wait to see more.

Yes, We Can.

2008-11-05T10:17:00.003-06:00

For those of you who missed this historic speech, the transcript for Preseident-elect Barack Obama's victory speech in Chicago's Grant Park is reproduced below.

"Hello, Chicago.

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference. It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states. We are, and always will be, the United States of America. It's the answer that led those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day. It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment change has come to America. A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call from Sen. McCain. Sen. McCain fought long and hard in this campaign. And he's fought even longer and harder for the country that he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine. We are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him; I congratulate Gov. Palin for all that they've achieved. And I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead. I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart, and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on the train home to Delaware, the vice president-elect of the United States, Joe Biden. And I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last 16 years the rock of our family, the love of my life, the nation's next first lady Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia I love you both more than you can imagine. And you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the new White House. And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother's watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight. I know that my debt to them is beyond measure. To my sister Maya, my sister Alma, all my other brothers and sisters, thank you so much for all the support that you've given me. I am grateful to them. And to my campaign manager, David Plouffe, the unsung hero of this campaign, who built the best -- the best political campaign, I think, in the history of the United States of America. To my chief strategist David Axelrod who's been a partner with me every step of the way. To the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done. But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you. It belongs to you. I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington. It began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston. It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give $5 and $10 and $20 to the cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep. It drew strength from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on doors of perfect strangers, and from the millions of Americans who volunteered and organized and proved that more than two centuries later a government of the people, by the people, and for the people has not perished from the Earth. This is your victory. And I know you didn't do this just to win an election. And I know you didn't do it for me.
You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime -- two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after the children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage or pay their doctors' bills or save enough for their child's college education. There's new energy to harness, new jobs to be created, new schools to build, and threats to meet, alliances to repair. The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term. But, America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you, we as a people will get there. There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as president. And we know the government can't solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And, above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation, the only way it's been done in America for 221 years -- block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand. What began 21 months ago in the depths of winter cannot end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It can't happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice. So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility, where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves but each other. Let us remember that, if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers. In this country, we rise or fall as one nation, as one people. Let's resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let's remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House, a party founded on the values of self-reliance and individual liberty and national unity. Those are values that we all share. And while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices. I need your help. And I will be your president, too. And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world, our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those -- to those who would tear the world down: We will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security: We support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright: Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope. That's the true genius of America: that America can change. Our union can be perfected. What we've already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow. This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight's about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing: Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.
She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons -- because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin. And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America -- the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can. At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can. When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can. When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can. She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can. A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can. America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves -- if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made? This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.
Thank you. God bless you. And may God bless the United States of America."

November 4, 2008

On Stars and Boulevards

2008-11-03T17:50:00.010-06:00

I am often struck by my daughter's curiosity and comprehension. She is barely 14 months old, and already I've had many an instance where she surprises me by her understanding, her unspoken intuition about something, or her observation of something she finds lovely or wondrous. I try to push myself to remember each day that she is capable of more than I realize, and not limit her ability to grow through my own lack of understanding, which I think will be a theme throughout our relationship, and is a general policy I don't think enough parents practice. In a sense, this one assumption is, to me, one of the foundational elements of breaking generational cycles. Instead of reproducing my own values and ideas, and creating a robot, I want to give her room to choose for herself, to glean from me what knowledge or truth there may be, and then stand on my shoulders to reach things beyond the grasp of myself and my generation. It is a basic tenet of parenting that we should want more for our children than what we had, though too often what we mean is rooted in materialism, what I mean is knowledge. More knowledge, more answers, more hope. And that may look very different from what I consider to be true. I hope it does.

Her personality has been strong from the start, that's for certain; but if she has her mother's beauty and discerning gaze, she has her father's sense of awe, and if I could have granted her anything of mine, it would have been that, because I know that, if sharing in this and for all the days we share together, we will always be kindreds. Perhaps that is selfish or vain, but I've yearned all my life for my children to share in this one passion that is at the root of all others, and is a disposition I find in all those who are awake.

Her observation and understanding spans from the mundane to the infinite. Yesterday, she started vocalizing the word "Duck" and began pointing out ducks in books and toys. In the afternoon she wandered the lawn selecting blossoms and pods from various plants and squishing or shaking them in turn, laughing at an unexpected rattle. Later that evening, not for the first time, she noticed the stars, arched her head back and pointed as high as she could reach, then looked back at me for explanation (her standard is to point out new objects and have us say the word as she watches our mouths sound it out). "Stars", we repeated, slowly and clearly. Now, I should mention that Emma moves me to tears on a daily basis, in milestones large and small, but this one I found particularly provoking. A life so new, discovering her universe on such different levels, yet those stars may be no more distant in her mind than the toys in her nursery. Eyes that are so new, looking into such vastness with such wonder. Tiny fingers pointing at sources of light so distant, the light they shine is ancient beyond reckoning, and not yet feeling what it means to be somwhere between heaven and earth. For now, it is all the same, a joy... an opportunity to laugh, marvel, and learn... each one is an indescribable treasure for me as a father to share with my Emma. It is my sincerest wish to provide the kind of environment that is ripe with moments for her to discover, as she wanders along stars and boulevards.

Die Beruhmen Orden der Nacht
(The Renowned Orders of the Night )
Anselm Kiefer, 1997
Guggenheim

Dear Chicago

2008-10-30T14:54:00.005-05:00

A work in progress....

She percieved the tormented soul,
So he slowed, listening to wintry silence.
He needed the way she made it so simple
for him to question, yet possess no answer.

In passions for dark, afflicted avenues,
and the horrible aesthetic, grew a tangled beauty
found only in the morbid sensation of truth.
a reality that comes only in nakedness.

They loved, one the other,
as only the broken may love the broken.

She loved him the most
when her promises awoke (in him)
in the darkened heart of the city.
She entered through the wounded place
where he had parted his heart
from careworn, weary memory.

Life's less simple since; his
reason drifted on tepid tides.
And longings for silent winters
to still the vernal, rushing flow,
came to him in the candescent confides
of the austral spaces that held him.

Southern roads, you're almost gone
I think I've fallen out of love, with home.

Rick Smith, October 2008

Tag and Response

2008-10-29T17:54:00.010-05:00

My friend and pastor, Kester Smith, tagged me on his blog today, and I felt I would continue the game. The rules are:

*Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog

*Share seven random and/or weird facts about yourself

*Tag seven other people at the end of your post and link to their blogs

*Let each person know they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog

------------------------------------------

1) While warming food in the microwave, I have to accomplish another small task and return before it dings. I sometimes run to make it.

2) I have two middle names and don't like either of them.

3) I don't have a favorite number, but am partial to those that are prime.

4) After reading british literature, I find that I narrate my everyday activities in the third person with a british accented internal monologue. (ex. Rick swiftly stirred his coffee, waited for just the proper moment, and suddenly dove to retrieve his crescent roll from the microwave.)

5) I always have to play music over my dinner guests so I don't have to hear them chewing.

6) I love trees so much I sometimes feel that I can understand them.

7) Since we moved to Austin, and to my personal horror, my dog Miles has taken to pooping on our houseguests. So far the casualties include Jonathan Grubbs and my director, Dr. LaHoma Easterwood.

I'd like to see the following people respond to this tag:

Shea Weaver Grubbs

Jonathan Grubbs

Mathis Kennington

Shanin Glenn

Heather Hale

Kellie Shoemaker

Grant Birdwell

On First Steps

2008-10-09T12:31:00.003-05:00

Emma's walking! While we were at Immanuel's Wednesday gathering, I stepped out of the room to let her play, and all at once she stood up, held it for a few minutes eyeing me, and then took her first few steps towards me, laughing all the way. In typical Emma fashion, when she decided she's going to do it, it's gonna happen her way, and independently. I can't explain the pride, and the joy of sharing in a first, which I don't get many of. There were many repeat performances that evening, and we're looking forward to getting some video of our little girl walking, and sharing this new ability with Aunt Amber and cousin Mckenzie when the visit us this weekend in Austin.

Palin vs. Biden

2008-10-07T12:59:00.001-05:00

In case you missed it. Here's the SNL skit featuring Tina Fey as Governor and Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin.

Shannon and John

2008-09-23T17:51:00.006-05:00

I was asked to snap some pictures for Shannon and John's (extended family)engagement. We hit the canals at Las Colinas while I was in the Dallas area last weekend, and some of my favorites are below.

One

2008-09-08T19:06:00.004-05:00

One year since we left Chicago, since I finished graduate school, since I began a new job, since my daughter Emma was born. One year later... a world away. I have watched my beautiful baby girl grow more beautiful still, and ever more skilled and aware of her world as these precious days have passed, and I know of all the changes that have shaped the last year of my life, she has been the most life altering of them all. We celebrated her first birthday over the weekend, and reflected on all the ways she has enriched, strengthened, and even challenged, but certainly irrevocably shaped our lives for the better. She's taught us to sacrifice, but also to hope and to trust again. She has filled out home with laughter and love, and given me a new reason to love my wife as I watch her thrive in the motherhood she was made to have. I have enjoyed every moment of her little life; every little breath, every little milestone, and though I would love to keep her this age forever, I also can't wait to see what she does next. I can't believe how proud I am of how far she's already come, and how many joys I take as a father in raising her, in instilling in her all that is lovely and right about our world, and in watching her learn, grow, and discover that world, and eventually even change it.

Emma Joslynn Smith September 6, 2008

Point and Shoot, No More

2008-08-18T17:19:00.009-05:00

It's official! I've built and purchased my first Canon Digital SLR system. Tried to get the basics covered, started with the 40D and some general accessories, looking forward to augmenting with the fancy stuff in years to come. All will be arriving this week and I'm anticipating snapping some first shots of Emma with the new camera!

Olympic Fanfare

2008-08-08T16:20:00.007-05:00

There is the rare person, or the rare moment in life that will compell me to lay aside my cynicism and my skeptical nature. Though I have a soul that wishes to see the beautiful and best in everything, and a conscience longs for the possibility of choosing what is just, and a heart that would believe in altruism, I have a mind which is hardened by the truth of living in a world where the fittest survive, and competition and incentive are the devices of progress. I live day to day wondering how we will address the greatest challenges of our age: climate change, extreme poverty, disease, and the distribution of wealth and resources.

The Olympic season, insipid though it may be for some, is one of those times where I can hope in the human phenomenon, and for a brief moment, allow myself to hope with the wonder of a child that our emergent cultures, collective intelligences, and common experiences that set us apart from the entirety of creation will not ultimately be deemed unfit by the forces that govern our survival as a species. For me, this season emphasizes much of what is good and beautiful about being human. The trial, the sacrifices, and ever so rarely, the realization of dreams. Most of all, though my mind dwells on a Tibet that is not free, and on the prevalence of elitist forms of government, and on discrimination of religion, race and creed... my heart trusts briefly to hope in the potential of what we can accomplish together, and how, even for a brief time we are able to "put our differences aside and celebrate all that we have in common." So for once, the pageantry, the spectacle, and the ritual is not empty for me. It is the small glimmer of hope, the evidence of things that are worth fighting for, and a motive that can lend passion to that fight.

Below are images from the Olympic Opening Cermonies in China. They are stunning, and for me, are a beauty that compells me to marvel at all that is lovely about humanity.

Hymn

2008-07-29T10:11:00.003-05:00

A reminder to my prodigal heart, so often swept away by earthly knowledges, from a Father who is patient as I test the limits of what should be known, and who is a constant as I part with what came before, and become something new.

"If to distant lands I scatter,
If I sail to farthest seas,
Would you find and firm and gather,
'Til I only dwell in Thee?

If I flee from greenest pastures,
Would you leave to look for me?
Forfeit glory to come after,
'Til I only dwell in Thee

If my heart has one ambition,
If my soul one goal to seek,
This my solitary vision 'til I only dwell in Thee.
That I only dwell in Thee'Til I only dwell in Thee. "

Lyrics and Music by Brooke Fraser

A Common Thread

2008-07-17T17:25:00.004-05:00

We are a generation with no great depression, and no great war as it has been known by previous generations. Our greatest depression is the emptiness of the human condition. The emptiness we have found in an inheritance of materialism passed down from generations fat on their plunder, our search for meaning and morality in a world full of injustice and inequities, and the global challenges of hunger, disease, environmental destruction and war... these are our great depressions. And of our greatest war... it is to engage with tenacity in the nearly insurmoutable work that lays before us, as individuals and as societies, and to finally earn the promise of continuing to exist in this human condition, or to face the extinction of our world, and of our ways and our peoples. It is our moral imperitive to fight this battle, whether it can be won or not.

Below are scattered selections from Al Gore's recent energy speech in D.C. It is one of many voices on one of many issues that deserve attention in a critically unweaving world. Yet, the interconnectedness of poverty, hunger, disease, western industry is such that we cannot solve the one, without considering the others. This is one face, perhaps the most pernicious of all, of our enemy.

"There are times in the history of our nation when our very way of life depends upon dispelling illusions and awakening to the challenge of a present danger. In such moments, we are called upon to move quickly and boldly to shake off complacency, throw aside old habits and rise, clear-eyed and alert, to the necessity of big changes. Those who, for whatever reason, refuse to do their part must either be persuaded to join the effort or asked to step aside. This is such a moment. The survival of the United States of America as we know it is at risk. And even more – if more should be required – the future of human civilization is at stake."

"I’m convinced that one reason we’ve seemed paralyzed in the face of these crises is our tendency to offer old solutions to each crisis separately – without taking the others into account. And these outdated proposals have not only been ineffective – they almost always make the other crises even worse.Yet when we look at all three of these seemingly intractable challenges at the same time, we can see the common thread running through them, deeply ironic in its simplicity: our dangerous over-reliance on carbon-based fuels is at the core of all three of these challenges – the economic, environmental and national security crises.We’re borrowing money from China to buy oil from the Persian Gulf to burn it in ways that destroy the planet. Every bit of that’s got to change. But if we grab hold of that common thread and pull it hard, all of these complex problems begin to unravel and we will find that we’re holding the answer to all of them right in our hand. The answer is to end our reliance on carbon-based fuels."

"Of course there are those who will tell us this can't be done. Some of the voices we hear are the defenders of the status quo – the ones with a vested interest in perpetuating the current system, no matter how high a price the rest of us will have to pay. But even those who reap the profits of the carbon age have to recognize the inevitability of its demise. As one OPEC oil minister observed, 'The Stone Age didn’t end because of a shortage of stones.'"

"To those who say the challenge is not politically viable: I suggest they go before the American people and try to defend the status quo. Then bear witness to the people's appetite for change."

"Of course the greatest obstacle to meeting the challenge of 100 percent renewable electricity in 10 years may be the deep dysfunction of our politics and our self-governing system as it exists today. In recent years, our politics has tended toward incremental proposals made up of small policies designed to avoid offending special interests, alternating with occasional baby steps in the right direction. Our democracy has become sclerotic at a time when these crises require boldness. It is only a truly dysfunctional system that would buy into the perverse logic that the short-term answer to high gasoline prices is drilling for more oil ten years from now."

Heaven and Earth

2008-06-19T17:37:00.003-05:00

For Father's day, my wife gave me the most incredibly moving and thoughtful gift. Chief Curator Michael Auping, of the Fort Worth Modern Art Museum (The Modern), assembled an exhibition of Anselm Kiefer's work to debut in Fort Worth and travel museums throughout the states. Focusing on the common thread of suffering, transcendence, and on humanity as dialogue between the heavens and the earth which appears at the heart of Kiefer's body of work, this exhibition was the first of it's kind, and a quasi-revival of Kiefer's art in the states which hadn't seen a major travelling exhibit in several decades.

Further, you should know that Anselm Kiefer is one of my favorite modern artists. Of the post World War II era art emanating in segregated Germany, he works mainly in sculpture (largely iron), mixed media and photography. That said... Melissa managed to acquire the accompanying book to the Heaven and Earth exhibit, and through a random set of coincidences that could even be called divine due to sheer probabilities, even managed to get it signed by Auping, the curator of the museum, and author of the book.

By far, her lovliest gesture yet. My wife amazes me

Description of the book - Anselm Kiefer: Heaven and Earth

"A retrospective volume of Anselm Kiefer’s work, this catalog addresses the artist’s entire career through the lens of one compelling theme.

From his earliest sculptures to his recent highly textured paintings, Anselm Kiefer has woven themes of heaven and earth into his work, exploring the polarities of these ideas while struggling to define the transcendent quality that places art squarely in between. Destruction and rebirth, glory and shame, sin and redemption all figure largely in Kiefer’s often-controversial depictions of Germany’s physical and cultural landscape. This catalog of more than sixty reproductions includes Kiefer’s first work, "Heaven," as well as numerous other rare early works. It features watercolors produced specifically for the publication as well as an interview with the artist."

On an Extinction, Among Other Things

2008-05-28T20:03:00.000-05:00

In September 2000, after more than 20 years had passed without a single, solitary sighting, a small old world primate, a variety of Red Colobus, was declared extinct by members of the scientific community. This announcement came after an exhaustive six-year search for the 20 pound primate, where no Red Colobus could be found, save for the occasional animal hide, or even a gruesome rotting carcass piled among merchant's wares in the village marketplaces. "Thus, this species, indiginous to the West African countries of Ghana and the Ivory Coast, has the distinction of being the first nonhuman primate to be declared extinct in the 21st century" (1, italics mine). Unfortunately, and most alarmingly, this beautiful and inimitable creature is not a lone traveler along the dusty dry road to extinction. If anything, it is a grim harbinger of more to come. Over half of the world's nonhuman primates are seriously threatened, while some face immediate and even certain anhialation, because of habitat devastation and human ignorance. And in the 8 short years we have enjoyed the new millenium, countless others have gone the way of the Red Colobus. Were I to extend the list to include other mammals, birds, fish, reptiles, amphibians and plants, the number of registered extinctions in the narrow window of time since the century turned would be well in excess of 300. These are the creatures that are at least known by science, if not greatly understood, though it should be mentioned that current extinction models estimate losses that are several order of magnitudes greater, and project extinctions reaching 100 species per day.

Were it only someone was there, in the dappled green daylight, when the Red Colobus was silenced forever; and, at once, a wonder of creative genius, a biochemical marvel, likely requiring well on the order of several billion years to develop, vanished forever from the tangled barks of the African forrests. A voice was silenced. A light waned. An evolutionary singularity incomparable with any solitary living entity across the unfathomable reaches of time and space was lost forever. But, indeed, someone was there after all. And that someone is why the Red Colobus fell. We will never again find that light switch in the dark; it is a mystery buried deep within a billion years of geological time, and a biological triumph beyond even the wildest aspirations of science. Extinction is a one way road.

But why the tenacious focus on an obscure old world primate? Perhaps it comes from a place that acknowledges the reckless destruction of the limited living clues to the mystery of our own origin, behavior, and identity. This loss renders us incapable, at least in a partial yet meaningful biological sense, of realizing the ancient, and perhaps most fundamental philosophical tenet "gnothi seauton"... know thyself. When we were looking at the Red Colobus, we were looking at pieces of ourselves, a humble (to some) yet invaluably informative storyteller, adding richness to the epic of human development. Perhaps it is only the conceit of hindsight, knowing that we have lost part of our ability to explain how we came into being.

On a grander scale, when we looked upon any inhabitant of our tiny blue biosphere, we were looking at the history of our world. Its milieu, its tragedies, its fertility, its wealth, its chemistry, its boundaries, and its marvelous variation. A specific and unmeasurably complex set of local, global, and even galactic scale events brought every species into this world, established an incredibly ornate interdependence, and are why the system begins to fail when even a single detail is removed. These forces brought the Red Colobus to the trees of Western Africa, and gifted us with the sentience enough to dominate and destroy it and then ask the question "why did we do this?". And we have neither the depth of insight nor, indeed, the power, to restore it to its home among the trees. It is gone.

But even if we could stop the mindless slaughter of ancient mohaganies and rosewoods (that are older than even the stablest of human cultures) that make up old growth primate habitats, we would still face the horrors and inscience of careless or otherwise desperate peoples all across the world who feast upon the flesh of these marvelous creatures, or otherwise poach them for export into zoos, research facilities across the globe, or worst of all, exotic animal trading into fighting rings or private "collections". The impact is unknowable, and has left us at the very least with a world of deadly epidemics. Sadly, these animals do not reside within an area of tolerance and understanding. Indeed, it is in the developing world where poverty is so great and education so utterly absent that these animals reside... primarily in the African, Asian, and Central and South Ameircan nations. More than 90 percent of all nonhuman primates, and indeed of all biodiversity in the world, call these tropical and subtropical corners of the world home. They are finding themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. I say all this not to dwarf the greater issue of human suffering and need, but to underscore the insidious powers and endlessly reaching arms of human poverty, and to offer increasing incentive for the battle against it. We should, in good conscience, add this 6th great planetary extinction event to a list including the religious radicalism, cultural marginalization of ethnicities and genders, intolerance and injustice and abuse that emerges in the shadows of human poverties.

These are some among countless different scientific and social dilemmas that we have inherited from our progenitors. The problems are enormous, certainly well beyond the grasp of any one mind. But I encourage you not to make the mistake of concluding that since the problem is unsolvable by the individual, that you do not have ownership in these matters. You do. Indeed, one person can never offer enough to quench the needs of our planet and societies. Yet I abhor the logic that since the individual cannot, they should not. It is the moral imperitive of our generation to unravel these mysteries, and to take strides towards resolving the crises of our time, for oursleves and for posterity, so that our children will not only ponder, but experience a varied, beautiful, and sustainable world.

"We could not understand because we were too far, and could not remember because we were traveling in the night of first ages… of those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign and no memories. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of the conquered monster. But there, there you would look at a thing monstrous... monstrous and free."

-From King Kong, the Oringinal Screenplay by Fran Walsh and Peter Jackson, .

The Ruin of Jerusalem

2008-05-23T18:27:00.002-05:00

The Ruin of Jerusalem

She lays. Ruined, destoyed, and beautiful.
Laid utterly bare, and opened to the gaze of daylight.
None of her is hidden from Me, for I have found her out.
And in that fallen fortress, among the broken battlements, ashen and silent,
May green things take root and make their home again,
For I have opened every chamber of her proud and terrible heart.

I have broken her by the passing of the ages.
And in this stillness, in this quiet place, she will know me
By the tenderness that follows My wrath.
She will hear me in the softest whispering of the conquering trees,
She will feel me in the new warmth of the opened halls

For in her ruin will be her salvation.
And in her salvation will be My glory.

Rick Smith

Deathly Hallows Predictions

2007-07-19T19:00:00.000-05:00

Caution: May contain spoilers, but I encourage you to discuss, criticize, or append to these ideas.
After many lengthy conversations and my latest re-reading of the series, I have compiled a list of predictions that I think are most likely among all the ones circulating out there, and I have come up with a few of my own that I am proud to say, I have not seen anywhere else ..:namespace prefix = v ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:vml" /> ..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />. This list is by no means exhaustive, but is a representation of the predictions which, I feel, are best supported. Either way, I will be in line among the masses in ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Chicago for one of many hundreds of Deathly Hallows release events, eager to discover how Harry and his friends end their adventure at Hogwarts.
-------------------------------------------------
Dumbledore is not dead, he is a phoenix animagus.
Snape is a Friend, not a Foe.
R.A.B. is Regalus Black, he gathered horcruxes and stored them at Grimmauld Place, and could still be alive.
Kreacher stockpiled the locket, and possibly other horcruxes, at Grimmauld Place... and/or Mundungus looted them.
Malfoy will turn good and die for it.
The life debt owed by Wormtail to Harry, and the fact that Voldemort's resurrection was accomplished by using Harry's blood, will be significant in book 7.
Rick's List of Horcruxes.
----------------------------------------------
First, I would like to bring together several ideas from various friends and internet resources based upon portions of the text from books 1-6. First, in book one, during the final conversation in the hospital ward between Dumbledore and Harry, the conversation involving Voldemort, Nicolas Flamel, and the Sorcerer's Stone culminates in Dumbledore saying the following, "to the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure" (Rob). Clearly, Dumbledore's friendship with Nicolas Flamel, the only known maker of the stone which produces the elixir of life, is significant, and we get the sense that there are many ways in which one can postpone, or obviate death, if one is strategic. Now, a sort digression on another proposed means of Dumbledore's life extension. Several people have mentioned to me that Dumbledore has created a Horcrux and that Fawkes might be that Horcrux. I do not believe this to be the case for many reasons, foremost of which is the lucidity with which Rowling communicates Dumbledore's disdain for what Voldemort has done, and his derision for the disgusting way Voldemort has extended his own life and compromised his humanity. Likewise, against what others have postulated, I do not feel that Dumbledore would make himself a ghost by leaving an imprint of himself in the world, since comments on the subject seem to indicate that this is an empty existence. There are many other comments throughout the books that hint towards the possibility that Dumbledore has a strategy for dealing with mortality, and I think all of them allude to a good, and not evil, detour around death. Now, I turn the focus to the events of the "Lightning Struck Tower" to shed some light on the possibility that Dumbledore is alive, and the holes that appear in the way his "death" occurred within the context of other deaths we have seen throughout the series. I think there are two things that are suspicious about Snape's performance of Avada Kadavra. It is clear throughout the books that Snape is an accomplished Occlumens, even in sideways comments in book one about Harry feeling that Snape could "read his mind"... we get more detail on Snape's skill in later books, particularly book 5. Furthermore, we know that Snape is a master of nonverbal spells, and the inventor of the "levicorpus" incantation. I believe these facts can help us infer that it is possible that Snape uttered the killing curse while mentally performing levicorpus. Notice two facts about the way Dumbledore 'died': He was "lifted" in the air before falling to the foot of the tower, which I believe was the levicorpus charm being performed as it is described in other instances (Harry, James, etc), and that he (Dumbledore) is described as having a peaceful expression, as if he "lay sleeping". This is utterly different than every other instance where the killing curse is used (Harry's parents, Cedric, the muggle caretaker, etc.), where people simply seem to fall limply and are described rather intentionally and methodically as having a "shocked expression". I feel that we must also consider Dumbledore's already weakened state, and the fact that he may have died from something other than the curse simply because he had been injured by the ring horcrux and seriously exhausted by his pursuit of others.
I will now consider the relationship between Dumbledore and Snape. It is clear throughout the series that the Headmaster has unwavering faith in Snape, and that multiple people allude to an unspoken reason why this is so. I think Dumbledore almost told Harry of this reasoning in book 6 before "The Cave", but refrained for a reason which will soon become clear. It is advantageous, should Snape be good, to put him in a position where Voldemort had an unshakable confidence in his allegiance as a Death Eater. Any plan leading to Voldemort's destabilization would require this, from one on the inside positioned to do the most harm among the ranks of the Death Eaters. Furthermore, were this to be accomplished, Harry would have to be utterly ignorant of any such plan, since because of their mental link, Voldemort would have access to any information within Harry's mind. This is especially true since Harry is an abysmally rotten Occlumens. It is critical that Harry believe in Snape's betrayal of Dumbledore, since this would confirm Snape's allegiance to Voldemort. It is not a stretch for Harry to feel this way, given the animosity that exists between them because of James' and Lilly's history with Snape. Additionally, I believe the "unbreakable vow" taken with Narcissa was a convenient happenstance, and that Dumbledore was able to measure Malfoy and was aware that he would not be able to carry out the murder. My last point on this issue is the conversation between Dumbledore and Snape mentioned only in passing which Harry overhears from the forest. This conversation involves Dumbledore urging Snape to do something which he vehemently opposes, I believe this is the staging of Snape's "murder" of Dumbledore, and the headmaster's urgings that everything must go according to this plan. All these clues, i feel, point to a strategic approach to the events which took place upon the lightning struck tower... and btw... does anyone know why it's called that... hmm. I want to note though, Snape could easily be spun either way, he himself gives defenses of all his actions for both sides. This is simply my own impression, or maybe it's the way I want to see it. LOL.
The next, and most compelling of my points is my suspicion that Dumbledore is an Animagus, taking the form of a phoenix. I have several reasons for believing this is so. First, I think Rowling enjoys polarities and balance as literary device. The dynamic between Nagini and Voldemort indicates that their connection is something beyond the typical, that there is some magical link between them rendering the snake more than a common animal. We must also keep in mind that Voldemort himself is heir of Slytherin, a parselmouth, and has physical characteristics that are frequently referred to as snakelike. I think this is balanced by Dumbledore's dynamic with Fawkes. The phoenix is an important thread running throughout the series. Harry's and Voldemort's wand both have feather cores given from Fawkes, leading to the Priori Incantatum in book 4. Harry's 'loyalty' to Dumbledore calls Fawkes to his rescue when he is attacked by the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets (again the pheonix vs. snake idea). This thread is manifested again in the formation of the Order by Dumbledore, Harry's feeling when Fawkes sings in previous books, and most prominently, in the Phoenix Lament of book 6. Clearly, the name Fawkes is an allusion to Guy Fawkes, his legendary attack on parliament, and the annual British celebration that culminates in the burning of Guy Fawkes dummies. Since Phoenixes spontaneously combust and are reborn from the ashes, this is a witty choice of names. There is a clear and intentional link between Fawkes and Dumbledore, which I think is a nice literary counterbalance. The important point is that there is an intention in the name, and a likelihood of a plot or plan revolving around this phoenix or the idea of the phoenix. I think it is also interesting that Dumbledore is described as rather ragged and exhausted looking, much like Dumbledore's comments about Fawkes's appearance to Harry when he bursts into flames in his office. The events of the "White Tomb" at the end of book 6 help to confirm this suspicion when Dumbledore's body erupts into flames upon his burial chamber. When this is finished, Harry credits a "trick of light" with the momentary thought that he saw a phoenix (not Fawkes) rise from the flames. We know that there are seven registered animagi, most of which are unnamed in the series (McGonagall is registered, of course), and that there are numerous unregistered, among them are Rita Skeeter, James, Sirius, and Wormtail.
The final piece of evidence indicating that Dumbledore lives is found in the reflecting theory, which can be interpreted in several ways and apply to some other predictions listed above. The reflecting theory is a literary device where an author constructs an odd number of books, with the climax in the center and parallel plots between books which subtract to give the central number, in this case 4, the climax where Voldemort returns (Veritaserum.com). If you take out the details and look at the locations and major plot elements in each book, books 1 and 5, books 2 and 6 (which Rowling said she could have switched), and books 3 and 7 are all parallels, subtracting and pointing to the climax of the series, book 4. Again, given that the reflecting theory is true, books 3 and 7 should have corresponding plots and characters. In book 3, there are two primary characters of interest to this discussion, and these are Sirius and Wormtail. In one event, where many people are killed with one spell, one escapes as an animagus and is presumed dead, while the other is blamed for the murder and presumed a criminal. This can be directly applied to Dumbledore and Snape, where in a single event, one character is presumed dead but takes the form of an animagus, and the other is falsely labeled as murderer. Also, the idea of the animagus is debuted in book 3, and is a huge part of the plot. I believe it will also be a huge part of book 7's plot. Luna's comment at the end of book five, which was even more highlighted in the film, concerned the way the things you lose have a way of coming back to you. Interesting.
Another way of interpreting this theory brings us to my next point, which is that Snape is again reflecting Sirius, good, but presumed evil, and that Wormtail is reflected by Regalus Black, where they both are presumed dead and betray their respective friends to join forces with the other side.
There are a couple of pieces of evidence which suggest that Dumbledore truly is gone, the foremost of these being the appearance of his picture in the headmaster's office, and that Harry was released from the locking spell Dumbledore was using to keep him in place on the lightning struck tower. The other anomaly, which is totally unrelated but just popped into my head… is the invisibility cloak, which James left with Dumbledore for reasons which are mysterious, since Dumbledore requires no cloak to become invisible. Oddness. But it gives me the idea that there has been a plot in the works for years and years.
Now my thoughts become less cohesive, but bear with me. The Black family are all named for stars. Sirius for the brightest in the constellation Canis Major, the great dog, and Regalus for the brightest in the constellation Leo the lion. Both are seasonal constellations, rising in the east and setting in the west, but always rising again. I think this idea might come into play with the return of either Sirius or Regalus to the story. In any case, I think the reflecting theory can be applied again, giving us a hint that it is likely that RAB is Regalus, and that he has betrayed his friends and will join forces with the other side. Kreacher's behavior may serve to destabilize this argument, since his loyalty should pass to Regalus, and not to Sirius or Harry, but the nature of the magical laws that bind house elves as servants to one house is never made clear, so we can only guess.
Everbody knows Kreacher is a complicated character, and seemingly unpredictable. But I feel that the locket in the boggart's drawer, described in the opening chapters of Book 5, is Slytherin's locket which was taken by Regalus and stored at Grimmauld Place. Sirius is doing everything he can to rid the house of Black possessions, Mundungus is looting the place and selling the pieces off to the highest bidder, and Kreacher is hoarding as much as he can, trying to keep his Mistress's possessions in the house. I believe it is likely that Kreacher kept the locket, or possibly the goblet, safe within the confines of Grimmauld place, and that other horcruxes possibly collected by Regalus are in the house, or have been taken and sold by Mundungus.
Rowling has said that two people will die in book seven, and that one that she thought would die got a reprieve while another who she thought would live, dies. I think it is likely that Malfoy will die in book 7. In book 6, his response to the evil he is now serving is severe. He is wasted, pale, and gaunt, and is unable to bring himself to kill Dumbledore, where previous attempts to do so with the necklace and the wine had been so feeble that Dumbledore supposes that "his heart was not in it". All his Arian notions are based on theory only, (seeming to break down in practice which suggests that he does not believe in what he does) stemming from a desire to be a Malfoy pureblood, and to make his parents proud (my intuition, at least). I think he will turn good at the last moment, and sacrifice himself for it.
Another idea I have been dwelling on concerns the events of the end of book 3, where Harry steps between Lupin/Sirius and Wormtail and spares the traitor's life. This magical life debt is likely an old magic, much like other forms of old magic that Voldemort has underestimated in the past, primarily Lilly's love which covered Harry and led to Voldemort's initial demise. Voldemort, in his constant haste to act before understanding (i.e. the prophecy), and his reckless clinging to advancing forms of magic and disregard for what he considers sentimental, old magic, may not realize that his servant is indebted to Harry. Furthermore, it is Wormtail's flesh that helps resurrect Voldemort in the graveyard scene, so the life debt would apply to Voldemort's own flesh as well. Lastly, Dumbledore, in the final pages of book 4, is described as having a look of triumph when Harry recounts the events of the graveyard, and Dumbledore learns that Harry's blood flows through Voldemort's veins. There is something that Dumbledore, in his wisdom, has seen, and which Voldemort, in his infinite haste to dominate, has failed to recognize. Several possibilities, I feel, can arise from this predicament. First, that Voldemort is unable to kill Harry owing to the life debt in the dark lord's own flesh. Or, that Wormtail, who owed the life debt in the first place, will play a crucial role in the downfall of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Maybe both/and. The reason that Voldemort says, "the boy is everything" seems to stem from he fact that he knows he will be able to "touch" Harry when they share the same blood. In this way, the Dark Lord could get around the protection that flows through Harry from his mother. It also does not seem likely that Wormtail would be forthcoming about his life debt to Voldemort, fearing retribution, particularly now that they are of the same flesh. It clearly has significance, whatever the outcome.
And Finally, my list of Horcruxes. Two have already been destroyed: the journal from book 2 and the ring in book 6. One soul fragment is inhabiting the body of Voldemort himself. We know that Slytherin's locket is a Horcrux, and that Hufflepuff's Goblet is one. The other, Dumbledore suspects, is Nagini, due to her mysteriously sentient behavior and Voldemorts reverence of the animals. The last one can only be speculation, but I believe that it is inside Hogwarts, and that it is the Special Services to the School Award given to Tom Riddle for his wrongful blaming of Hagrid as the heir of Slytherin, and the opener of the chamber of secrets. His delight in these events, his love of the award and of the school in general, lead me to believe that he would have made this, his earliest trophy, a home for his fragmented soul.
Anywho, these are a selection of the ideas I have been playing with. Probably way off, but it was fun nonetheless J . I hope you enjoyed the reading and I welcome your thoughts.

One Witch, Two Witch

2007-06-25T19:02:00.000-05:00

While driving through Georgetown near Washington D.C., on the road trip to top all road trips, with Melissa, David, Anna, and Rob. Below are the words of David Oleksa (formerly Lee Stewart), which made me laugh like I haven't laughed in a long time, and made me miss his friendship. I dressed up an ironing board with a white T-shirt and two strategically placed aspirin, but it just wasn't the same, and it never will be. So to his quote...

"So cultured around here... look, there's a Le Madeline. She's classic. They even have a Witch Restaurant here (pauses for reaction, we all gasp)... yep... the owners are witches... mm hmmm... they cater specifically to witches. Young witches, old witches, all kinds of witches. They serve witch food, they talk witch talk, and they even hire young witches to stand outside and shout, "Hey! Come eat at our witch restaurant."

On Madison and Wabash

2007-05-17T19:04:00.000-05:00

you see the station but not the people, faceless infinities, no identities, a black and white homogenized mass that doesn't hunger, thirst, or bleed. steel and concrete, function over form, a means to an end, all business and no pleasure the saying goes. does anyone know what that means? we call it a jungle and forget the trees. you see the feces but not the birds, littering the tracks, refuse matter and no music. you see the name in two dimensions, no depth, arbitrary label with nothing underneath, obscured, signifying nothing. the synthetic drowns out the primordial, each of us destroying that which we hate to love, hate to be humbled, hate to be connected, with gaia the mute, pagan sacrifice slain on the altar of capitalism before the idol of progress, can you taste her blood? in lights brighter than the day, a fluorescent pseudo-nirvana circumventing enlightenment, inconvenient karma, post modern dharma. nothing, it don't matter. go on believing that. separate, "emancipate", denominate. forget. time is money, play the game, get ahead, whoever the cost. whatever the cost?

"You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving. For this people's heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them."

The Prophet Isaiah

Human Factors | Richard Gray

2007-02-24T16:30:00.000-06:00

If his art isn't gorgeous, it's a fun exercise in thought... especially if you're a bio geek. I pulled this review off of a website, not the exact words I would have chosen, but a good description nonetheless. I think the point is that with the dawn of genetic manipulation and the potential press to achieve the "ideal", we obscure the imperfections that make us human... thus the perfect focus of Gray's biological exposures backing ambiguous human forms. The irony, i think, is that the evolutionary oddity of consciousness that separates us from the rest of nature, has resulted in technology that threatens to homogenize us. As one of my professors put it, "intelligence hasn't been on the evolutionary landscape long enough to be deemed 'fittest', and only time will tell when a selective pressure inevitably appears". Gray's art opened in an exhibition at my school last week. Look him up if you like.

The review I mentioned:

"Digital genetic-collages. Photographic elements between futurism and nostalgia. Hazy body-images in ballet poses are used as anonymous ideal images of genetically produced perfectibility. The oval motives in the center are grounded by microscopic exposures of genomes. The controllable nature of our humanity suggests the disturbing abstraction of invisibility."

First Picture

2007-02-02T16:36:00.000-06:00

I know what you're thinking... 'oh Lord, yet another instance where I have to nod my head, smile politely, and pretend that the black and white amoeba in front of me looks like a head.' I know what you're thinking, because that's what I think every single time someone shows me one of these things. Nevertheless, I'm a proud papa, and I have to put it on display. I just have to. We had our first doctor's visit, our first sonogram, and a lot of blood work after a few scary moments late this week, and this is what we know: both baby and Melissa are perfectly healthy and she's in week 7 of pregnancy. Latest due date: September 17. We got to see the baby, and we got to see and hear it's little heart beating... and that... I can't even begin to describe. I'll spare you the fatherly, and the biological diatribes. So here it is, our baby's first picture. Your indulgence is appreciated.

Words of Lisa Ritchie

2007-01-25T16:40:00.000-06:00

"That's the thing about darkness: it can cripple you, but hopefully it teaches you to reach for the light. But it's not really about the destination, the light at the end of the tunnel... it's all about the journey, the discovery and strengthening of the light within."

-words of Lisa Ritchie, my dear cousin, spoken over coffee in Chicago, IL.

On Hot Tea and Reverrence

2007-01-21T16:41:00.000-06:00

Melissa has been really ill these last several days, and not just the kind of uncomfortable sickness that comes with pregnancy, but the kind that deeply concerns you. She's prone to suffering from bronchitis each year as it is, so we're trying to keep this most recent cold from settling in her chest with a heavy regimen of tea, ginger, lemon and vitamin C, menthol, massage, and steam. My already aggravated suspicion towards modern medicine is only intensified by the fact that Melissa is pregnant, and cannot be treated medicinally. No one we have spoken to has adequately assuaged my concerns in suitable terms. I can't help it, I'm a science geek, and I don't trust doctors. I would also like to blame my fundamentalist pentecostal roots. Thanks for the phobias you paranoid, cultish freaks.

Apart from fighting off this cold and bracing ourselves against the Chicago winter, my mind is crowded with other thoughts: planning, reading, shopping, and preparing for the baby, my last semester of graduate school that begins tomorrow, and the events of the last several weeks which recall memories at once of elation and pain. With the news of the coming child, I am overwhelmed with gladness, but life will not pause to allow the moment to stand alone, and other things obscure the total focus on the joy. It seems that as the unseen force of time passes, leaving us changed, the bittersweetness of life and the cruelty of the world is constant. I find even in my joy a bittersweetness, a longing to see the world better, to see myself and my family better, and a deep yearning for completeness. How small it makes you feel to exist in the human condition. We are creatures with iron wings. Transcendence and weight.

With such things in mind, I find my senses and passion for justice magnified by the coming child. I find myself asking what kind of reality I want for my child, and which reality God would intend. What reality have I demanded in my own life, and which have I sought of God? Though I have always been extremely hard on myself, with an acute lens focused on every observable inward blemish, I find more recently that I have taken a step back to look at the big picture. And it is this: I am flawed. I am flawed in my humanity, I am flawed as a Christian in my faith, I am a flawed brother and son in my family, I am flawed as a friend, I am a flawed husband in my marriage. I will be a flawed father. The mistakes and the retribution and suffering that result can do one of two things, it can serve to open me up, or it can cripple me. I choose to reach in obedience for that which will never be mine: perfection. I seek to love in its grandest, Pauline definition. I choose to see the impossible achieved. It is, I am most certain, the reason for the way I live my life. All I can do in the face of all my great blunderings and sin, and the ways I have caused pain to others is to be reverent, to know my place under God, and to do my best to love others through it, and to dispose of my pride which would have me destroy my relationships with those I have hurt, and those that have hurt me. Such a disposal would utterly rob me of the opportunity to grow. I must let go of both offenses. This is part of the reality I want for my child.

To be reverent is to recognise one's place of total submission, to assume this place, to acknowledge the awesome wonder and beauty of God in everything, and to press on in love and raise others above yourself. I have never, nor will I ever do this perfectly, but this is the world I choose to live in. I am human, I am flawed, I am refuse... but I am redeemed. I refuse to continue to wound myself for that which Christ has purchased from me. I take heart in those enduring friendships and in family, people that love me in my weaknesses despite my failings, and choose to see the good, the same people who I have given and recieved forgiveness and have been allowed to gain wisdom from, and true, deep relationships of the kind that only can come on the other side of the refining fire. I can only place my blemishes and flaws, and each of a million poor choices and words under the crushing tide that flows from Calvary and, finally, allow iron to become gossamer.

Behold the Power of Fertility Pigs

2007-01-16T17:00:00.000-06:00

We recieved a very interesting gift in the second round of Chinese Christmas while visiting family in Texas last week. Indeed, as I gently unwrapped the weighty package I discovered a cast iron... well.... a cast iron something in the form of three pigs stacked vertically in decreasing size. Some would call it a lawn ornament, some might say a paper weight, others say an idol, I would call it crap, and my family... they called them.... fertility pigs, in the vain attempt to throw yet another not so subtle solicitation for grandchildren in our faces. Ah, family.

We decided to keep the idol, and before you start quoting the first commandment to me, consider this dandy little fact: We're pregnant! All I can say is, "man those pigs work fast". We found out Wednesday night after a particularly random bout of nausea overcame my wife during dinner and sent us running to the pharmacy. 15 minutes later, we found out we will be having a baby sometime in mid-September. In a word: Joy. We could not have been happier. It was one of those rare moments in life that we always expect, the ones we dream about our whole lives but we never comprehend until we're there, the ones that forever separate what was from what is, and the ones we never, ever, forget. We announced it to friends and family, happy that we happened to be in Texas for the occasion to give the news face to face. Mel has been glowing ever since, as is her nature in such matters. I have gone into overdrive with the planning, as is my nature... books upon books of course, and plenty of field research in the finest scientific tradition. But, Joy is a constant.

We're having a baby! ... and we're sending the fertility pigs to our cousins according to our grandparents strict instructions.

On Door County

2006-10-16T17:21:00.000-05:00

Since we've lived in Chicago, Mel's Grandparents (Nana and Poppy) have been urging us to make the drive up to Wisconsin to visit the Door County. My mom had recently run across an article about the same place, and was able to fly up to join us on the roadtrip through the Midwest to observe the Autumnal glory of October. When I visit a place, I do the reading, so here it comes. Door County is the north-easternmost peninsula of Wisconsin that juts into the Great Lakes region. It is bordered on the west by Green Bay, and on the east by the northermost waters of Lake Michigan. The County takes its name from a narrow pass of water that runs between the apex of the peninsula and Washington Island, which was named Port du Mort (Death's Door) by the French because of its treacherous waters that claimed hundreds of merchant boats and fishing vessels. When you're on the hilltops of the county's islands, you can easily see into Canada on a clear day. It's the oldest Scandinavian community in the US, and is mostly populated by fishing peoples of Icelandic origin. Many visitors and residents liken it to New England, and it is often called the "Cape Cod of the Midwest". That description is about right. Beyond the maritime culture, the other major economies for the County are cherries and wine of every variety. By the way - they put cherries in everything. Cherry pancakes, cherry gralic diping sauces, cherry wines - you name it.

We stayed at the Apple Creek Resort in the village of Fish Creek (pronounced "Fish Crick" by the locals). We really love to observe local traditions, so on our first evening, we attended a "Fish Boil", which is a traditional dinner served by local fisherman and area restaurants. It was a bit scary, and a tad expensive, but totally worth it. The next day we ate dinner at a local cafe named Julie's, hit the local shops, toured a state park and Eagle Bluff Lighthouse (1 of 10 in the County), toured a cherry orchard, vineyard and winery, did some wine tasting, got lunch at The Cookery, did some more shopping, and hit a pumpkin patch and farmer's market before taking the 5 hour road trip back to Chicago.

We came back with some local wine, some cherry dipping sauces, and a bag of chocolate covered cherries that my Mama got for us. It was a blast of a road trip, and we checked some of those items off the big to-do list. Check out our Door County pics in my Flickr Slideshow. Peace.

Viktor Krummy

2006-10-08T17:30:00.000-05:00

It is now almost 4 a.m., and my new Bulgarian neighbors upstairs have apparently taken to sumo wrestling in their living room, apparently while wearing combat boots. Oh the bliss . All I can hear is the constant boom-boom-boom of heavily clad feet as they stamp across the wooden floors above my head. I'm asking myself, "how it is possible for two people to make such noise?" It boggles the mind. Wait... I think they may actually be moving furniture now. Who moves furniture at this hour in a 100-year-old brownstone with people sleeping beneath you?

At any rate, I can't sleep, and I'm really annoyed, so I decided to get up and blog, and hope beyond hope that this is their last "match" of the evening... or morning... or whatever other lonely forsaken hour of the day/night it is. Honestly, I did not think it could get worse than eastern european techno blaring its insipid bass tones and russian-esque electronica through the bitter watches of the night. I stand corrected.

As it seems that they have now reached a cease fire... I will now diminish, and go into the west. Man, I really need to lay off the Tolkein for a few days.

Eva Cassidy

2006-09-29T17:34:00.000-05:00

Eva Cassidy is one of my heroes, and far too few people know about her life and work, so I thought I'd take an opportunity to share it. She was a musician from the late 80's through the mid 90's recording everything from jazz to pop, fitting her versatile voice to whatever struck her fancy. More importantly, she was a person of deep conviction. She was a conservationist who dispised materialism. She had relatively few possessions, lived in a simple apartment in the D.C. area, and rode a bike everywhere she went, vehemnetly refusing to own a car. One of her only truly valuable posessions was her guitar.

If you haven't heard of her before, you're in good company. There isn't a lot of material out there from her, because she didn't believe she had the gift of singing enough to cut a record, although she finally was convinced to do so by some close friends. However, most of her work is live, taken from performances at Blues Alley, a club in Washington D.C. She died of cancer in the late 90's, but she definately left her mark. Thought you might enjoy some video selections of her music. She was a person of great depth and passion, and like any great artist, the topics she chose to sing about are most often dealing with pain, joy, and what it is to be alive. Prepare to be moved.

Peace

2006-09-23T17:34:00.000-05:00

There's something about cold weather. Pulling your sweaters out of the long retirement of summer, the smell of the trees as the leaves stir, filling the crisp air with the smell of earth, and the colors... of course... the colors. Open road layed out before you at a golden autumn dusk, the aging Jennifer Knapp cd playing in the background, reminding you of how far you've been, and giving you a sense of continuity. The cold wind has shaken the memories down along with the leaves off the trees. You reflect, and it's a good thing.
Autumn means it's time for school again, and there's something right and good about that. It must be the new books. Or maybe it's the holidays waiting nearby, waiting to appear behind the descending curtain of autumn leaves, and the looming presence of good, old friends and family. Or maybe it's just the sensory perception of it all. The traditional foods, clothes, and songs.

But I think it's the cold.

Nature is winding through its complex wheel and going once again down to a long rest, and there's the feeling that something is coming to a close, and when things come to an end, we tend to think on it a while... and give it lots of good air for the practice. It's an introspective time. This season feels old, very old. We pause and reflect on the life that has come and gone.

I guess it's just the biologist mimicking nature around me. But I do believe that we are as cyclical as the seasons that pass and come again. We are designed to understand a world of cycles: birth, death, spring, winter, sowing, harvest, resting, and waking. There's something very elemental... primal... true about it. We obey the command of nature. This time is for slowing down from the rush of summer and taking a moment to remember. The chill teaches us to appreciate warmth, as suffering teaches us to cherish joy. There is wisdom in this season.

I am the Latter

2006-08-11T17:57:00.000-05:00

...and I'm sure several of you are as well. If you didnt know, I love books. Alot. I found this article online while learning the do's and don'ts of collecting books.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"The world of book lovers is broken into two opposing and irreconcilable groups. The first, and much the largest, is made up of those who see books as consumables. The second, less common, includes those who see books as beautiful objects.

We will discuss book consumers first, and then dismiss them, for they need not concern us further. For these people, a book is a medium that carries the author's content?and that is all. When they read, they use the copy of the book in any way they please. When they are finished, they set it aside or discard it. These are the people who dog-ear corners, write shopping lists on endpapers, make marginal notes in ink, underline the text. For them, books are disposable items, intended to be used and then thrown away. The physical book is nothing more to them than a reader's fast food wrapper.

I once read an article by one of these people, the daughter of a world-famous book publisher. She related with pride how both she and her father delighted in mutilating books as they read them. She went to the extreme of tearing out chapters when she was finished with them, so she could always find her place. The point of her piece was that physically destroying books added to her appreciation of them. This black widow's approach to reading is extreme, but not all that uncommon.

For book consumers, any copy will do. There is no difference between a hardcover first edition or a used paperback reprint. After all, they argue, the words are the same. The Sun Also Rises in any edition has the same Hemingway text. Whenever we give a book-collecting seminar, we get the same question from the consumers in the audience: What difference does it make, really? And, for most of them, they already have their answer: None. And that ends the discussion.

If you are a book consumer, you need not read any further. You will never be a book collector. We have found from experience that if you do not understand the difference immediately, you never will.

Those of you who are left are the fortunate ones, and not nearly as uncommon as you might think. Although we are in the minority as regards the general population, there are still a great many of us. You might not think of yourselves as collectors, but you carry the virus. It may be latent, but be warned, it is chronic. There is no cure. The good news is that this disease, book collecting, gives pleasure and adds dimension to your life.

Those of us in the second group add another dimension, an aesthetic one, to our appreciation of books. We see books as physical objects of beauty and romance. While many of us do not necessarily define ourselves as book collectors, we love the look and feel of our books. Even if some of us do not understand first edition collecting, we have a shelf of treasured books, or even a library full of them.

We tend to take care of our books in the same way we care for the other valuable objects we own, like paintings or posters. We see our collections as extensions of our interests, perhaps as a record of our intellectual and artistic experiences. Something about having a book on the shelf gives pleasure; owning books enriches our lives.

Since collectors value books as beautiful objects, the book's condition is important. A lovely copy is more appealing than one that has been used and abused. One of our favorite book collectors says that she can read any book from cover to cover without leaving any evidence of having done so. While there are not many of us who can do this, all collectors take care with their books. Beginners may write their names in their books, but they would never purposely deface them, any more than they would carve graffiti into a sculpture or draw a moustache on a face in a painting.

For a collector, a book's edition is likely to be even more important than its condition. A Hemingway may always be a Hemingway, but a first edition is a world apart from a cheap paperback reading copy. There may have been a million copies of The Sun Also Rises printed over the years in all editions, but there were only 5,090 copies in the first edition. Only a few exist, fewer still in their original dust wrappers. There will never be any more copies of the first edition.

The underlying reason to collect books lies in the duality of the experience. Not only do collectors take pleasure from the intellectual content of their books, but they also enjoy the process of assembling their collections. At its most fundamental level, book collecting is an extension of the hunting-and-gathering instinct that has fired mankind's progress from prehistory. The thrill involved in finding a beautiful first edition is palpable, even for those of us who have been involved in the chase for many years.

Only yesterday, we had a conversation with a veteran bookseller who came upon a gloriously fresh first edition copy in dust jacket of Zora Neale Hurston's novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937). Even though he had no economic interest in it, seeing and evaluating the book gave him pleasure. Finding a beautiful copy of a treasured book is a rewarding experience. Owning one gives continuing delight.

There are many secondary reasons to collect, including economic ones. Many first edition books appreciate in value over time. The laws of supply and demand dictate that. Since books are fragile, the number of available copies in the marketplace tends to diminish over the years. The chances are that a collector's first edition library will become an increasingly valuable asset. There is a marketplace for books, and even though it has changed radically of the course of the last decade, book collecting is an expanding field that is likely to remain so.

Why collect books? Collect them because they are beautiful. Collect them because they are valuable. Most important of all, collect them because you love them.

If you are a collector, congratulations, and relax, you are not alone."

ONE

2006-07-30T18:01:00.000-05:00

Hello all. Some of you may have already gotten an e-mail from me about the One movement, but I just wanted to take an opportunity to let you all know about this organization in a blog as well... just in case. Many of you may already be familiar with The One Campaign, but if you aren't, this is a great time to check it out... the link is posted below so that you can parouse the website for yourself. Perhaps you will decide to sign the petition and add your voice to a movement, one of many, that's helping to fight the emergency of global AIDS, hunger, disease, international debt, and extreme poverty. Back up the G8 and hold them accountable for the promises they have recently made to support millions worldwide with education, food, medicine, and homes. I don't believe there is any fee associated with your support of the petition, so please... please... check it out. Read the info... decide for yourself... sign... and support in the ways that you can. Change the world.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

James 1:27

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me."

Matthew 25:35-36

Blessings

Addiction

2006-06-06T18:07:00.000-05:00

People, I'm in a real dill of a pickle. I've found that my words are lacking in sufficiency to express where I am right now, but I'm gonna try. So much change. So many losses. House... and home... and self... and old friends. I'm grieving right now, and I must admit, not gracefully. I'm never graceful when I mourn. It's always ugly, and loud, and awkward... and full of so many words that never seem to apply. Honestly, it's like looking at yourself in the mirror after a really violent cry. We all know it ain't pretty. It's red, swollen, and bloodshot... but at least it's real. I am in a season where I'm letting go, and redefining a lot in my life. Drawing lines and cutting cords, in pursuit of God's newest version of holiness in my life.

It all started when I was watching Oprah... yeah I know... but I love me some Lady O. Even if she is a freaky pagan. She was talking about addictions. Sexual addictions, substance addictions, materialistic addictions, and addictions to food just to name a few. And I thought... "None of these apply to me..." I happily patted myself on the back. But I couldn't shake the subject for days. Lady O had made a comment that everyone, without exception, suffered from some form of addiction. I accepted this out of hand since I whole heartedly believe that all human conflicts arise from the possession and use or misuse of control, which I finally realized is what addiction is all about in a way... control, or lack thereof. This bothered me... a lot. And I realized something, after much thought and prayer.

I am an addict.

I am addicted to abuse.

I run to it... I choose it... and I hate it. No, I'm not being hit anymore, nor do I feel the presence of darkness and danger as I once did. I subconciously believed that physical violence and angry words were the only kinds of abuse in this world, since other forms of abuse aren't as "bad". And because of this, I've written off every other kind of abuse in the world, and denied it's existence in my life.

And here's the rub. I adore people, the people who know me best will know that people, family, and friends are some of my deepest passions in life. But I've realized, to my dismay, that I have a whole host of abusive relationships in my life. People who, because I truly love giving... take without thought. (And don't go thinking it's you... because if it is... i've already told you.) And more than this... I am the one who runs to give it all away, and despise myself for any tiny imposition I present to others. Because I have needed in this life, I kick myself and hand myself over to complete anihilation. I have talked myself out of needing. I must be the hero. I was raised by my father to be perfect, to be without need, and without flaw. He was a black hole and could not relate to the world in any other way. I was fashioned to fill others,.. and I'm a professional.

I have thus made myself into a doormat, over and over and over again. I have willingly invested myself to the point of exhaustion time and time again in a vain attempt to fill up the world's emptiness. And I have ultimately, and finally, collapsed. This pattern of living, I had convinced myself, was servanthood, and that it is an appropriate response of a person of Faith. To give... altruistically... without thought or self motive. But I was wrong, and I'm not really even sure how yet. I took it to the extreme, witout ability to give myself in moderation. I needed it. My addiction has damaged my faith, my self worth, and my marriage. And because of the latter, I finally have the motivation to change. I would have never done it for myself, but I will do it, for her.

I am reminded of a scripture I stuggled with alot in college. It's one that I have despised for years... one of those things that shakes you, makes you throw your Bible against the nearest wall, and get on your knees to have angry words with God.

Matthew 15:21-28

"Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, "Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is suffering terribly from demon-possession." Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, "Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us." He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel." The woman came and knelt before him. "Lord, help me!" she said. He replied, "It is not right to take the children's bread and toss it to their dogs." "Yes, Lord," she said, "but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table." Then Jesus answered, "Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted." And her daughter was healed from that very hour."

Like an alcoholic being denied a drink I struck out in complete rage. How could you not give to her, Lord? How could you deny her request. How could you be so cold... so uncaring. That was my freshman year at ACU.

I would always have given... anything I had... all I had. Every resource, all my time, all my focus and attention to everyone who asked it of me. And I never would have made her grovel like an animal. Noble as it sounds... I have finally realized how depraved that is, and how much it damages me and those nearest to me. Years after my angry words on my knees in Abilene, TX. I finally understand what He was doing as He left the crowd behind him that day. He was ultimately aware of what His calling was, and He was totally dedicated to His ministry as it was specifically mandated to him. He was sent for Judea, for the lost sheep of God's chosen nation. He was sent for His Bride, and none other than her could wrest His attention or devotion, for He was completely enamoured. And He knew it. All I can be is reverrent for the lack of ability to see how much wisdom is in that. Today, the words I most reviled have become the very ones that free me.

I am beginning, again, to say no to all others, when my bride needs a yes.

So I'm making these changes. Forming boundaries for the prosperity of my marriage, and my own health... but trying to weigh out what servanthood looks like without exhaustion. How far is too far? When do I say no? And like any addiciton, it is so hard to turn, and so hard to see how I am not in control of it. Nevertheless, I know, at last, that I'm gaining victory over this addiction and, finally, over another of my father's long reaching arms.

All this is not easy for me, in fact, its completely against my nature and my better judgement... but it's right. It's manifesting itself finally in my life. In arduous and drawn out conversations, tears, in hours of prayer, and fresh perspectives as I awkwardly strive like an infant to take hold of the next season God has put before me in my walk, my marriage, and in my family. And despite all the losses, I have such a peace that the sacrifices are right. I have a clearer head than I've had in years, but I'm still haunted by the pangs and the withdrawals, the proclivity to say yes to all who ask. Change comes slowly.

And now I'll stop... before I'm tempted to give away more than what is appropriate. See - I'm better already I'll just hand over a final thought, and a more abstract way of capturing the journey that has been the past few months of my life. I was listening to music this evening as I put a photo montage together of our old house for my mom, and realized how much I related to these songs right now. I'll leave you with the lyrics to something that has meant a lot to me in the last few days and in the turning of a season in my life. As I lose my home, my old friends, the blissful numbness of my addictions, and take a square, healthy look at my identity.

"It's not that you need to learn how to say "no", but instead understand that behind every no there is a yes. So, decide what you will say "yes" to in life."

-Mom

-------------------------------------------------------------
"Older Chests" - Damien Rice

Older chests reveal themselves
Like a crack in a wall
Starting small, and grow in time
And we always seem to need the help
Of someone else
To mend that shelf
With too many books
Read me your favorite line

Papa went to other lands
And he found someone who understands
The ticking, and the western man's need to cry
He came back the other day, yeah you know
Some things in life may change
And some things
They stay the same

Like time, there's always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time

Older gents sit on the fence
With their cap in hand
Looking grand
They watch their city change
Children scream, or so it seems,
Louder than before
Out of doors, and into stores with bigger names
Mama tried to wash their faces
But these kids they lost their graces
And daddy lost at the races too many times

She broke down the other day, yeah you know
Some things in life may change
But some things they stay the same

Like time, there's always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time
Time, there's always time
On my mind
Pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time
---------------------------------------------------------------------

Take the Way Home, That Leads Back to James Street

2006-05-25T18:22:00.000-05:00

I'm going home. For the last time. Yes, it's finally happened... my Mom has sold the empty nest and is moving away from my home town and back to hers... back to Maypearl, TX. (That will be relevant to those of you who know me best.) I bought a last minute ticket to fly home and spend three final days on the corner of James Street. Take some pictures, have some laughs, a final summer cookout, and wander through the now silent bricks and mortar that absorbed the sights and sounds of my childhood. That witnessed the battle ground of my family, and has given witness to the many years of peace that has followed after the angry storm. Those walls have taken as many hard knocks as I have, and like me, the cosmetics hide the scars.

I'm going there to support my Mom, who's going through alot, and to participate in a big shift in my family's history. I haven't really registered it yet, and I'm sure the next few weeks will deposit the reality of the situation. I know what you're thinking... It's not that big of a deal. But you see, I'm a romantic, and I abhor change in all its manifestations, though somhow I've managed to embrace it these last years. I know it brings new life, and to hold on to a season that is gone would damage the memory.

So I'm going in. Not feeling now what I anticipate will eventually come.
More on this later. For now... a few more days of summer are left to enjoy, and I plan on enjoying them while their briefly here.

Part of Your History - Blue Merle

I always knew that you do great things I didn't ever want to slow you down I was there when you learned to use your wings And I saw you leave the ground The time spent in your sweet arms Was the best time that I've known Maybe the reason I was here at all was to see you carry on Don't you know I still remember How once I was someone to you Girl your were meant for something better Doesn't matter anymore what you think of me I just proud to be part of your history I knew the time was coming soon You were growing up so fast Sometimes you could lose so much when you try to make it last I always knew that you do great things I didn't ever want to slow you down I was there when you learned to use your wings And I saw you leave the ground Don't you know I still remember How once I was someone to you Girl your were meant for something better Doesn't matter anymore what you think of me I just proud to be part of your history Doesn't matter anymore cause you set me free I just proud to be part of your history

A "Finals" Acronym

2006-05-08T18:25:00.000-05:00

Since I'm 25 and still in school, I decided in my early morning insanty to post an anacronym comprising the joys of finals week. Yes, Biology is still my major, and after this final, I will be halfway done with a master's... at long last. But for now, I must break up the monotany and delirium of many hours of study with pure, unabated psychosis. Enjoy.

F - Fall into the floor and convulse.
I - I don't know why Biology is still my major.
N - Never get any sleep.
A - What I won't be getting on my Advanced Genetics final.
L - Laughing maniacally at the wall in the silent wee hours of the morning.
S - Soon it will all be over. I hope.

*bows to muddled aplause and general confusion.

The Noble Cow

2006-03-25T18:56:00.000-06:00

The More You Know

Cows are gentle giants of the American great plains, large in size but sweet in character, often found knitting quietly and enjoying soft jazz in the wild. They are curious, clever animals who have been known to go to amazing lengths to escape from slaughterhouse fates. Though you should never pick up a hitch hiking bovine, these are very social animals, and they prefer to spend their time together, forming complex relationships. They enjoy long walks on the beach, cuddling, holding kittens, and enjoying mild political conversation. Like many mammals, cows form strong maternal bonds with their children.

Soapbox

I think it's a disgusting sterotype that all southerners eat pounds of red meat by the bucket all the time... as if we're all sitting around a great big trough at Golden Corral, up to the elbow in meat, with an oversized red bib on like Fred Flinstone. Perhaps it's because I'm not your typical "good 'ol boy". Seriously though, what sort of sub-human freak first saw a cow, said "mmmmm ima get me summa dat", knocked it over the head, and bit into it? Disgusting. Reading Sinclaire's "The Jungle", and Cook's "Toxin" in high school left me a changed man, but even before that I just couldn't palate the meat, and refused to eat beef solely on the grounds that it is shiz-frickin-nasty.

My top 5 why you should never eat a cow

1. Jesus loved all the cows of the world, and would never eat a friend...that's right, you filthy rotten sinners.

2. The only proper use of a cow is to skin it, suede it, stitch on a Banana Republic label and and stock for the optimum shopping experience.

3. Methane is a pernicious greenouse gas. Fewer cows = fewer farts = happy planet.

4. Products like... "Beeflogs" for example, as in "a log of beef". These things make me want to gouge my eyes out like Oedipus and live a life of pain and rejection in a cave.

5. Whenever Aliens drop by to visit Kentucky, the first thinig they do (before abducting and probing the locals) is kill entire herds of cattle. The animals are left all strewn around a field with their legs sticking oddly up in the air at weird angles, and with alien obscenities shaved into their fur. Hello!?!?!?! They traveled millions of light years just to push them over and shoot them with lasers, does that tell you anything?

Confessions From the Hood: Installment 1

2006-03-22T19:21:00.000-06:00

Preface: When I meet God, I wouldn't be surprised if He had the personality of a sitcom writer, because the situations in my life probably keep the greater proportion of the heavenly host in stitches most of the time. There's no way someone isn't setting all this in motion. It's too weird to be coincidental, and I sincerely hope someone up there is getting a kick out of all this

Volume One: The Backdrop

I spent the first 12 years of my life growing up in the urban zoo of the Northside neighborhood of Fort Worth, Texas. Not until I was an adult, did I begin to see the strangeness of what everday life for a kid in that neighborhood must be like, it was just normal to me then. I grew up going to an fundamentalist Pentecostal Church (which is in itself , hilarious for those of you who know me) in the middle of an ethnic ghetto, going hither and thither through the filthy streets in full dress suits or school uniforms, too true to my Pentecostal roots, covered from head to toe. In fact, my legs didn't see daylight until I was 11, and hesitantly so. I digress. This arrangement made me stand out brightly against the roughnecked, gang infested, littered streets of the ghetto. I would skip off to school with my brother everday in my white dress shirt, blue slacks, and red clip-on tie, swinging my crazy bright lunchbox and singing Christmas songs as bandana wearing, tattooed Hispanic machismos watched in utter alarm through the barred windows and electrfied fences. My mom would wave a sugary goodbye from the front porch, holding my infant sister in her arms, oblivious to the fact that we were trepsing through a scene from Don Quijote, and send us off to school, alone. I don't really know what she was thinking. You would think the gunshots sounding in the late hours, obscenely loud polka-tejano music, gang activity, and sirens sounding at regular intervals would have led her to simply driving us. But no... we walked.. in ignorant bliss. Honestly, they were probably more scared of us than we ever were of them. It was like a creepy art noveux film, consisting of something like a Willie Wonkan Barrio.

Gospel Assembly Academy

I don't know how many situations put us in interesting juxtoposition against the barrio backdrop, but one of the more interesting involves school days. After we arrived from skipping down West 28th street to our church school, we spent the day in a small building with our teacher, Mrs. Wren. The title is, bird-like, befitting. Don't get me wrong, I adored her, and she me, but upon reflection she is one of the more eccentric characters in my life. Our school was a small, ramshackle building that extended out into a parking lot, a remnant from a church arson fire. It was enough for 8 small desks, the teachers desk, a single, and a single, broken globe. No windows. No Bathroom, No Air Conditioning, No Central Heat. And no, despite what you all may be thinking, this isn't one of those "walking to school 10 miles uphill in the snow both ways" kind of stories, it's just the truth. When it was hot, we sizzled, when it was cold we shivered, and we were thankful for autumn and spring days in the classroom. When someone needed a potty break, they were given a pass. I don't know why they were given a pass, since there was no hall moniter, and the nearest person to check the pass would have been a prostitute, a homeless guy, or a drug dealer. I can just see one of us trying to hand it to them with big doey eyes. Anyway, one would walk, alone, out from the school, around the parking lot, and into the church to use the facilities. Scary. Very scary upon reflection.

Excercise time was the real kicker. Our teacher was in her 60's, and the only available coach. So when "PE" arrived, we would all proceed outside marching single file on our brightly colored uniforms, into the parking lot of the church building. Mrs. Wren would insert a tape of our church band into a boombox, and we would perfom a sort of Tai Bo to hymns in the ghetto streets as the same bandana wearing gang members rode by in their low rider pintos, mexican flags waving proudly from the trunk. They rolled down their green tinted windows and stared in disbelief. We waved to them happily as our red ties flew stealthily to the Pentecostal rhythm of "His Name is Higher". Maybe you'll understand why I am fat these days. I find excercise exteremly disturbing. I am amazed we were not all shot or stabbed on sight. Again, they were probably more afraid of us.

After the Tai Bo, we all marched in formation to a stoop that ran alongside the school building, opened our bright Master's of the Universe lunch boxes, sat along in a single row, and ate our fill as Mrs. Wren paced back and forth, examining the people on the streets with equal interest. I would kill for a picture of that single, solitary moment.

Bethany: House of God

2006-03-10T19:31:00.000-06:00

Not many things in life live up to expectation. There are; however, those rare exceptions to the rule. I love my sister. She's one of those people that the putting pen to paper simply does not do justice. How should I go about describing someone as wonderful as her? How should I describe what she means to me, how happy she makes me, how her laughter warms me in my bones and how she washes away my bitterness with her ideals and commitment. I am proud of her like I cannot explain. You would not understand unless you've walked through what we've walked through, seen what we've seen. You cannot share an apreciation of someone like her unless you've seen what they're made of, been there to watch them be pressed down to the breaking point and cling to faith in the very face of utter bleakness and loss of all hope. She is of the highest quality, she will never bend, and nothing will strip her of that great and terrible dignity. Because of all this, and though our bodies are young, our spirits are ancient with the wisdom of an arduous life. We've taken hard knocks, and lots of them. We look at each other through 20 year old eyes that see 60 year old hearts. Much like the elderly might hold an infant and see things that no one else does. Aged with adversity and temepered against the wretchedness of the world, but clinging to all things lovely, just because He is lovely. Anyone who's known pain will know of what I speak, and understand why no words suffice.

In small ways, she reminds me of myself, younger, still in love with life and uncommprimising. She helps me to remember never to let it go. I love the energy she brought to Chicago over this last week, and I love all she teaches me. I love the way she sees the world, and her love for God. Her fearless pursuit of knowledge though it costs all simplicities. I admire her tenacity and intelligence and most of all... I admire her unflinching conviction. Her Fire. I love the way my heart breaks when she goes, and the fact that it is one of the few times I allow my self to cry. And I love her love of Star Trek and all things Nerd, it must be mentioned. Also, she's gorgeous, spiritually, mentally, and physically, and just about perfect in every way.

For us, to come from where we came from, to rise above and break the curses of the generations, to pull ourselves painfully on to the next level and never say die. It is something that is beautiful... and wounded... and proud. It's who we are. I love every moment I share with her. I love her love of culture, of all things beautiful, intellectual, and fragile, and of learning and life itself. We are the lowly, reaching. We are overcoming. We are aware. We are neither where we came from, nor where we are, though always mindful of both. She is a bearer of the spark. She is a kindred. She is rare.

We have had a week of conversations, of meals and loud laughter, and of learning. A week of culture and art. And I cannot help but remember that it has also been a week of freedom, so far removed and away from our roots. A week of transcendence. A week of triumph. Triumph simply because of who we have chosen to become, how we love each other, and the victory we have in Christ. A simple, peaceful and beautiful memory in the shadow of Chicago.

Is any of this due to us? We have simply have called on Him and have had Him answer, as if there were ever any question. It's beauty is in His triumph. The rejection of the opression of generations, and people who would have us be as pathetic and low as they. Oh, the breathtaking defiance. The surrender in Christ. There is nothing in life if there is not family and friends. It is all there is. I know this truth, if none other.

Thanks to those of you who've stuck through the valleys to enjoy the peaks. It was worth holding on, it was worth having all of this to have suffered all of that. I know without a single doubt that I know a depth in friendship and in family that many only imagine. I enjoy its warmth every day. If for no other reason, then, I rejoice in my sufferings. I rejoice in change and adversity. I rejoice in pain. I rejoice in lonliness to know You, to know Your family, and to know You more fully.

Living up to your namesake, your expectation, your calling, is not something that comes easily. It is not somehting that one can take hold of in a season. It requires years, consistency, discipline, dedication, conviction, and most importantly... passion. It is a road fraught with lonliness, pain, and uncertainty that many do not have the spirit or strenght to master. Bethany. It means House of God. She's lived up to her namesake, though it cost her so much. She's risen to the challenge of her calling in the face of all that hinders. She's shown her quality when all others fall short.

I know this from experience: when in the dark, Lights will guide you home, and ignite your weary bones. Sister, thanks for being a light.
---------------------------------------------------
"His word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot." Jeremiah 20:8-10 (New International Version)
"When they cry out to the LORD because of their oppressors, he will send them a savior and defender, and he will rescue them. So the LORD will make Himself known..." Isaiah 19:19-21 (New International Version)
"And everyone who calls on the name of the LORD will be saved" Joel 2:32 (New International Version)
---------------------------------------------------
"Fix You" by Coldplay
When you try your best but you don't succeed When you get what you want but not what you need When you feel so tired but you can't sleep Stuck in reverse And the tears come streaming down your face When you lose something you can't replace when you love some one but it goes to waste could it be worse? Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you high up above or down below When you're too in love to let it go But if you never try you'll never know Just what you're worth Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you Tears stream down your face When you lose something you cannot replace Tears stream down your face And I Tears stream down your face I promise you I will learn from my mistakes Tears stream down your face And I Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you.

Thoughts on Wisdom

2006-01-31T19:07:00.000-06:00

There comes a point in our lives when we know enough about things in general to be dangerous (i.e. college freshmen). That is, we know enough to think we know a lot. Then, either we get stuck in this closed position and never grow beyond our simple view of the world, or we carry on. It is this growth that is so difficult, it is this growth that makes us aliens. It is the point in our intellectual journey where we have learned enough to know we have only scratched the surface of a very long journey. I reached this point as a freshman in college, to my great astonishment and pain. It is a very humbling experience that leaves you broken and small. It is here that you stop thinking about who and what you can teach, and turn your focus to what you can learn, and who you can learn it from. It is where you cease imperializing your insights upon the world, and take a step back to listen. I can only thank a trail of broken and patient people for teaching me that lesson. It is a delicate balance, one which I now see will take a lifetime to refine. This is where I now believe wisdom dwells. It is the balance between the virtues. Knowing when to speak, and when to be silent; when to act, and when to be still. A more practical definition might be: the ability to make correct judgments and decisions. It is an intangible quality gained through experience. Whether or not something is wise is determined in a pragmatic sense by its popularity, how long it has been around, and its ability to predict against future events.
With what I know about how life works, I now know I can only pursue wisdom, and never grasp the fullness of it. Since human perfection of virtue in any form is impractical, we know that our objective cannot be the endpoint, but the process itself. And though it seems inane to pursue that which you cannot catch, the consolation is that we may come closer to the goal in time. For example, we may act with wisdom in arenas of our lives without being wholly wise. All the reasons above and my own life experiences have taught me that philosophical goals are never attained, only sought after and acted upon. In this way, the quest for virtue and the balance between them is an end in itself. Thus with wisdom, as with many other things I am discovering, it is the means and not the end that is of value to us. Armed with the knowledge that our goal is the pursuit of wisdom, we can now begin to investigate the appropriate manner in which to go about our pursuit. As for our motvation, why should we reach for that which we cannot attain. The only motive can be love n the agape sense. Commitment to a life of holiness, knowledge that we were meant as creatures of purity, and intended for specific purposes in terms of what life looks like.
So how can we cultivate wisdom? For my purposes here, wisdom is the balance between virtues, and the appropriate use of them. Wisdom then, becomes a very big deal, because it requires mastery of other virtues and capacity for managing their interactions. It is one thing to know how to be merciful, it is quite another to know when, where, and how to exercise it. This is where wisdom functions - it lends structure to the exercise of virtue. I feel this may also provide insight into why wisdom takes so long to develop in most people; it requires that we first have facility with the virtues, which, in themselves, can take a lifetime to master.
If our starting point is the development of virtues, we must investigate how to nurture them in our lives. I am a firm believer that in order to assimilate virtues into our character, we must begin by practicing them in our daily lives. It is inevitable that we will act out by instinct those philosophies which we whole heartedly believe. The opposite is also true - if we practice actions which are associated with a certain virtue, we will begin to integrate that virtue into our character. The practice of virtuous action fostered by discipline will eventually lead to habitual action, or, virtues manifesting themselves in our actions without prior thought or consideration.
It must be said that habitual action is not really what were after, but it is a useful stepping stone. The negative connotation of habit is because the term is associated with duty, and detached from the heart. However, this habitual action will gradually shift from cognitive routine, to emotive instinct.
So how do we cultivate wisdom when we think we have virtues well in hand? The truth of the matter is that virtues and wise use of virtues must develop simultaneously. Even if we have utility of the virtues, however, we may not necessarily have wisdom. It is very possible to exercise virtue outside the framework of wisdom. For example, executing swift and careless justice when mercy should be delivered is not wise. It is not enough to be virtuous we must know how to apply the virtues. This is where wisdom comes in. Wisdom is the balance between the virtues, keeping seemingly opposite ideas in relationship with each other. The lines between opposites are blurred, and wisdom leads the way through the obscurity. When it comes to the gray matter, how can we learn to discern between extremes to deliver an appropriate response? This takes time and experience, and to acquire such competence with wisdom, we must be humble.
Outside the development of virtues, we must let humility guide the development of wisdom. More often than not, humility will call us to be silent and learn instead of imperializing points of view and teaching. The more exposure we have to other ideas and other points of view, the more able we are to see and accept the flaws in our own judgment and change them for the better. Humility helps us do this. With each such encounter, we come closer to wisdom. However, if we allow ourselves to become irreverent, to raise ourselves and our values above all others, we lose our counterbalance and fall victim to unrestrained extremes. These extremes are dangerous, hostile, and completely devoid of wisdom. Thus it is absolutely vital that we maintain a humble view of our place with regard to others. Furthermore, we must understand that humility does not mean a degradation of self, which is folly, but rather an elevation of environment.
Our interaction with others lends one of the greatest insights into the inner workings of wisdom. Simply put, wisdom appears most obviously in our relationships. Treating people with deference and dignity no matter what the circumstance - these are among marks of one who is wise. This inexorably leads to questions concerning motive. Are we motivated by our own pursuit the appearance of virtue, or are we motivated by the intrinsic value of our fellow man. The age old quiestion of altruism. Surely it is better to see intrinsic worth in another, than to be motivated by conceit. This is because seeing worth in another allows us true expression of virtue, whereas conceited motives only bear the appearance of virtue. This conceited motivation will fall through at the slightest test, because the value is ultimately placed in ones self, and is in contrast to both humility and reverence. This has no value or substance at all, and though it may look like wisdom, it is not.
We have spoken of the misconception of wisdom, and the idea that wisdom is an artful balance of extremes. Extrapolating that line further, we have discussed the cultivation and application of virtue, and we have assigned wisdom an origin of humility. Yet there are exceptions, appearance of virtue where there is none. So how can we recognize wisdom? What does wisdom look like? More often than not, we do not have the means to articulate the full meanings of things like wisdom and other concepts such as knowledge, belief, truth, and certainty. Within these conditions, I find it easier to define unknowns not as what they are, but rather as what they are not. For example, I could say that information is not knowledge, knowledge is not wisdom, wisdom is not truth, truth is not beauty, beauty is not love (unknown author). These statements build a hierarchical standard which helps us understand abstract concepts as they relate to each other. This above all holds the utmost importance in any of my own philosophical pursuits, and assists as a strategy for discernment. Move away from minutia, and examine the grand scheme, for true wisdom holds through time while its likeness will meet a hasty end. Further proof to the fact that you cannot live a lie, you cannot go against what you have schooled your heart to do. The values you hold dear will inevitably bleed out on your actions. This is why we must harness our actions with discipline, to weave virtue into our character. Virtue can never be a tool; it must become a part of us to be authentic.
How can we become aware of virtues as they relate to others? A scientific approach might help. Perhaps the virtues we describe are two dimensional. Perhaps they are extremes that are observable at a surface glance. But if we look deeper, we might find that there is a third dimension, pulling these virtues into relationship with each other. What we see as different virtues, may be a cross-section of a single body, giving way to ambiguous interpretations and creation of artifacts (false conclusions produced as a result of limited observational parameters). Maybe virtues and vices are not opposites, but two of these discernible polar ends where our minds must make slices for observation. Then we can begin to understand, that these extremes are drawing on one another to generate balance. They are in relationship with one another.
Wisdom is an awareness of this balanced whole. It is a keen insight into how virtues are related, and where one virtue should cease and another begin. This is what I am discovering, and I know that at best, I will only ever be beginning to grasp it. Somehow that is enough. Gaining familiarity with the virtues, knowing when, where, and to what degree to use them will be the fruits of achieving wisdom. Harnessing it through humility will nurture its growth. Knowing this, I see a clearer picture of humility than I once did, though I am certain the picture will never come into full focus. My goal is to get near enough to take a better look.

The Broken Window

2006-01-24T18:55:00.000-06:00

When I was last in Texas, I had the opportunity to attend an exhibition of Anselm Kiefer's art at the Fort Worth Modern art museum, which already houses an impressive collection of the man's work. If your not familiar with him, he is one of the premier living producers of post world war modern art today. Needless to say, it was breathtaking. And I realized (not for the first time) how brilliant my little sister is. She was the teacher, as she has been many times before. There we were, walking through rooms upon rooms of modern art, discussing the scope of the artist, the human condition, the problem of evil and the nature of good, artisitc irony, arrogance, death, tragedy, and the cosmos. I have loved this mans work for several years now, but I have new appreciation for him after this day. His love for literature, tragedy and transendence, muddled with his love of himself. Most of all, I related to his sense of brokeness. The condition of being forever changed. Being drawn so far out by pain that you cannot go back, and you realize you can only move forward... move on. Among my favorites of his work is "the broken window". At best, to begin with, we are predisposed with limited vision of reality, bounded by the grey haze of brick and mortar, separating us from the full vision of reality. As for the glass, to me it represents fragility, the ways we are changed by life, how our perspectives and visions are transformed by just living, moving through time. How very breakable we are, and how the world is never quite as simple when someone throws a rock through our panes of glass. Mostly, it demonstrates to me that silent and inexplicable beauty of the broken condition. There is nothing more intimate than to clearly look upon that which is broken.

"There is no point in destroying the building. Its memory could do more harm than the very bricks it is made of. It's better to transform the space - to create a space for something new. It's like an open book waiting for the next chapter."
-Anselm Kiefer