Between - Transitions

"Let me apologize to begin with, let me apologize for what I'm about to say. But trying to be someone else is harder than it seemed. Between my pride and my promise, between my lies and how the truth gets in the way. The things I want to say to you get lost before they come, the only that's worse than what is not." - In Between, Linkin Park on Minutes to Midnight.

Linkin Park was an interesting group - they straddled the lines between thoughtful songwriting and intensively cutting spoken word. Listening to their albums was like entering a field of broken glass, looking for diamonds. Each project had its moments of brilliance throughout the cautionary hardcore, loud, or empty songs. Linkin Park had a passion, but not always a discernible direction. Long-suffering fans claimed the band sold out from their roots, trying to attract a larger fan base.

The market dictates the bulk of what is produced and offered, but the people buy what they like, through word of mouth if advertising isn't available. I don't think that they sold out, don't agree with everything the band issued and claimed, but that did not prevent me from listening to the insight of thoughtful souls, seeking the Great Perhaps.

The 21st century generation was asked whether we had a unified book, a "Catcher in the Rye" of classic scope and timelessness. Personally, I am unsure whether that generation had the attention span or even the feeling of community enough to agree upon a book. America at the time was intensely individualistic in its boastings, while pressured to conform to the will of the majority. This divide of teaching self confidence/importance and expecting a unified result was a predictable conflict.

Having read J.D. Salinger's original novel about a directionless boy and a night on the town, I was initially disinterested in Holden Caufield's approach to life. A poignant string upon which the author played was the betweenness of its protagonist. Holden was no longer a child, and was no satisfied by simple explanations. Neither was he an adult, one who would take a slot in the system of society and function as a cog in the wheel of life. No, Holden was lodged in the middle of the decision - his insight was that he disliked "phonies," those who didn't question why they were what they were - just accepted the lot that life gave them without a struggle.

It was so easy to be esteemed as a "phony" - a piano player who shows off because he knows that he is gifted. A lawyer who wins cases, not out of consideration for his client, but because that is what he is expected to do. People who enter a box of categorization, locked into what and who the system wants them to be, no questions, no thought.

John Green picked up on the teen angst puzzle, and his Prinze winning Looking for Alaska, is the closest product to Salinger's spirit. This book is about a boy, Miles Halter, who has a hobby of memorizing the last words of famous people. He asks to be sent to a private school, and upon arriving, finds it to be a complex system of parameters and unspoken rules. He meets the rakish Colonel, who is a leader of the resistance against the Weekend Warriors. (Well off students who leave for home after Fridays.) The school's menu has a default offering of deliciously disgusting bufriedoes, a burrito that is deep-fried to juicy perfection. Takumi, the energetic oddball who is the right hand of execution in the Colonel's masterminded campaign of pranks.
And everything at the school is tied to Alaska Young, the beautiful and capricious, who manages to remain a mystery, despite her knack for being involved as a nexus in the lives of others.

"How do I escape this labyrinth?" Is there a quick and fast means to freedom from being lost?
John Green toys with this concept and idea in "Looking for Alaska." As the curtain falls in the conclusion, questions are answered, and the answers in turn awaken more questions.
But, it remains true that in this life that is a labyrinth, as with this book, not everything is easily resolved.

Fallen - Pixies

There was the day when you were conceived,
So innocent, you existed on human belief.
Some of you were malevolent, true,
But the consensus agreed that your race was beautiful too.
Such still small voices, ringing like a breeze through the trees.
Your mischievous nature, as you glided on delicate wings.
You entertained my young spirit with the exploits you did,
Awakening the mysteries as to how you stayed hid.
In my mind's eye and crafted from artist's pens,
This world was enormous in scale with your tiny lens.
Those were the days of happy endings and sparks,
Those embers though old, still burned in my heart.

Now you are seen in a different light - the fancy of the foolish and fey,
The role-player's risque knight, your title is now effeminate and gay.
'Tis a pity that once was flights of childish fantasy,
Is now grown up and plucked in a sinister key.
How far you fell, my roguish friends,
Now that time has turned your perception to different ends.

Sadly, is this lament a little too late?
Hast thou flown away to escape this perverse fate?
I hope you did find a place to sojourn and migrate,
Again to return when this phase dissipates.
Until then, I'll miss you and your capricious natures innate.
When you find a moment, visit my desk and your story dictate.
I'll take it down word perfect as possible, though I might have to translate.
Will it be an epic, or a tragical tale? Either way, the story's scope will be great.
Though a deliriously dreaming author's word may not hold weight.
I'll still persevere to chronicle your tales, just you flutter and wait.

Burdens - Relationships

I don't always understand others when they speak of the Lord whom they serve, but I know when they have a relationship with Him. As with any friend we have, we may not know how they reveal themselves to different people. Even I don't even possess the courage to be completely vulnerable with other people. Even more so, I don't think that they could handle the weight of my soul's burden upon their shoulders. Only our Creator can understand our struggles, and ease their weight. God never unloads Himself upon us, We must accept his aid and offer.

"Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder. Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with humility: for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble. Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time: Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you. Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour: Whom resist stedfast in the faith, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world. But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you. To him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen." - 1 Peter 5:5-11

He is faithful and patient with us, but reveals Himself and guides our lives when we are ready and mature enough to act upon it. We might catch glimpses to keep in our hearts when listening to those Christians who have gone before.

I particularly enjoy reading George MacDonald, a man who had a gift for presenting ideas in a story that are implanted into your memory until the situation awakens the seed. MacDonald was not a lyricist, in his attempts at songs in his works, it clangs to the modern ear, the meter by with it was recited long forgotten.

Corrie Ten Boom had anecdotes about her father's wisdom when confronting issues and questions she asked. When she heard as a girl about sex, she inquired her father what it was. As a response, he asked her to carry his suitcase. Corrie replied that his suitcase was too heavy for her young arms. He smiled and said, "Just as you are not yet old enough to carry the weight of my suitcase, so with your question. When you are old enough to bear the burden, I will answer you. Until then, I will carry it for you."

I am not ready yet for many things, so I must wait patiently, meditating and studying. I must learn to listen, as the green lady in Perelandra stated, "I am now older," after listening to the opposing counsels of Ransom and Weston. I must not grow tired and faithless if I am not granted a manifestation of my prayer, but commit more to the wisdom of knowing the reasons why.

To encourage others in the faith, not through fruitless conflict, but in an open and civil forum. I must also keep in mind that God is not accountable by the morals of Man, but is a faithful and just Master of my soul.

Holiness - Beauty

"In the beauty of holiness, we see you, Son of righteousness. So we bring all that we possess - to lay at your feet. In the place where your glory shines, Jesus, lover of all Mankind, you have drawn us with love sublime, to make us complete.
So I pause at your gates once more, as my heart and my spirit soar. And I wish I could love you more, My God and My King.
Is there tribute that I may bring, was there ever a song to sing, that can ever express my love, the work that you've done. Could I ever conceive of this, all the depth and the height and breadth, of the riches I now possess, because of your love.
So, I pause at your gates once more, as my heart and my spirit soar. And I wish I could love you more, My God and My King." - In the Beauty of Holiness, by Robin Mark.

I was thinking of this song today. It was once routed through my ears so often as to lose the appreciation for the words. I picked it up again later and was drawn by the passionate pace and gratitude expressed in the song. It is utterly beautiful and lovely, may its message sink into the depths of my soul and my attitude be reflective of this. I am reading Ragamuffin Gospel, by Brennan Manning. In chapter six it is referenced that Abraham Joshua Heschel, a rabbi, while recovering from a near-fatal heart attack whispered to a friend, "Sam, never once in my life did I ask God for success or wisdom of power or fame. I asked for wonder, and He gave it to me."

Such a simple request, and even if it be fable, legend, or story, it is a beautiful sentiment. C.S. Lewis converted to Christianity after one nightlong discussion with J.R.R. Tolkien and another apologist, when they convinced the fanciful Lewis that the Bible was the "Myth that was true."
Myths are more than stories, stronger than allegories, they are stably, morally and culturally rooted.

I want this life to hold childlike glee and joy. "The last part of any magic trick is that you cannot make it only disappear - you have to bring it back again. You'll go back through the trick, looking for the secret, but you won't find it - because you aren't really looking." - The Prestige (Christopher Nolen)

Addiction - Glittery

I collect things compulsively. It is a hobby of mine - collections of items lined in a chronological manner cements the idea in my mind that time is indeed passing. Occasionally I wander into a discounted bookshop and amble the aisles in search of a kindred soul. I especially like the graphic novels - though they limit the imagination and direct the conception of a character, detailed art like this should be worth much more than the initial price.

Pity that these artists are seen as wasting their potential. In my imagination, I see a social event at which an artistic soul's unique sense of accoutrement stands apart - "What do you do, sir?" "I am a graphic novel penciller." "Isn't that lovely, wait... You are a comic book artist?" "... Yes."
I imagine that the conversation lags from that point.

But, yes, I and a friend used to compile archives of the modern mythology movement's masterpieces. Like Geoff John's "Blackest Night" saga, Neil Gaiman's "Marvel 1602," and Jonathan Hickman's "Secret Warriors" run. All of which pay tribute to classic story-lines, while flipping their predecessor's work on a dime, redefining what has gone before.

Before this, I had a binders-worth of sports cards, showing an action shot of an athlete while the achievements were listed on the opposing side. This nifty form of tracking was rendered practically obsolete with the dawn of the Internet. Fan-made websites could chronicle the exploits of the desired athlete, providing video as well as professional images, if not interviews with the star.

Why do we collect things? I do it to chronicle time and personal growth. I have no grand dreams any longer of a mint condition item of value. I want to channel my energy in an activity or interest in a manner that is eccentric, distinctive, and harmless (to any life form, a portion of my personal earnings were spent in this frivolous pursuit.)

What is your hobby, my reader? Why does it hold an interest in your heart?

Reticence - Observation

I am quite fond of uncommon words - their connotation breathes stronger than the diluted fare of verbiage that we trade daily. Every so often, a word like this is thrown as a gauntlet, testing the mind as to whether it was used in the correct manner. Reticence is a type of attitude, a sort of reluctance to engage in the "shoot first, ask questions later" mentality. To analyze the situation in order to determine the best course to pursue.

This word is descriptive enough to shape an imaginary person's demeanor into a second dimension. Cordiality is another one of these words, for it is a lost art of our generation. There are exceptions to the rule, but they are just that - rare and valuable when discovered.

Words are the primary means of communication and it is a pity how carelessly they are tossed, mutilated into text-speak, and squeezed into improper context. I am not advocating the strictness of the Which's alarming edict in The Phantom Tollbooth - paring down the use of words until deciding the policy in the realm of words should be "Silence is Golden." Later on in the same book, the Soundkeeper grew so protective of her beloved bounty from the encroachment of nasty noise, that she stopped sound altogether in her valley. For if a sound was no longer heard and recognized by hearers - the sad truth was that it would cease to exist.

No, I am merely requesting that people would be mindful in their choice of expressing themselves. For in an age where communication is primarily done in an impersonal manner, we should keep in mind that the loss of the face-to-face banter needs the compensation of clarity in the words we will use. To be misunderstood is frustrating - your own words are flung in your face, albeit distorted and mangled.

There is a beauty and everything we are given to experience and use in this mortal plane, and I will be grateful for the voice I am given, though it may not reach the quality in song that I would wish. Though if everyone sang with a skilled voice, our choruses would be better, though the phenomenon of a gifted vocalist would not be as striking...

I apologize for the digression, and will not take any more of your invaluable time, I thank you for how much you have gifted me with already.

Experience - Know Thyself

"Strangely out of place/ there is a light filling this room/ where none would follow before/ I can't deny it burns me up inside/ fan the flames to melt away my pride/ Do I want shelter from the rain, or the rain to wash me away?" - Jars of Clay (I need You).

Examine Yourself - Is there anything that you would change? There are certain attributes that rust more easily and tarnish quicker than we might wish. There are certain traits that we hold out of comfort rather than need or purpose. What would you like to be? If you are already there, I am happy for you, but to the rest of us - Why are we not there yet?

"I have no fear of drowning, it's the breathing that's taking all this work." - Jars of Clay (Work)

This group longs and pines but cannot achieve their mission single-handedly. In Psalms 1:1-3 "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the LORD; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper."
Trees are interesting in nature, reaching for the sky while their roots dig deeply, drinking in the water of life. I am not much for spiritual euphemisms, because it rubs others the wrong way - it this is not the only authoritative way to interpret this passage. The Word of God is living and breathing, showing truth to those who wish to live in the light.

I love metaphors, but need to discern when they are applicable rather than showy. Jesus spoke in parables, so that his audience could have a handle on the eternal from the examples in their everyday lives. Even in this modern age - shared experiences are useful for communicating thoughts, emotions, and meaning. That song on the radio was compatible with my mood at the time. That character from that movie channeled how I was feeling inside. Remember when our friend did that really foolish act?

Experiences allow us to see ourselves and our friends more clearly, giving us a shared lens from which to view our lives. Until the Eternal becomes the Everyday, these parables are all the glimpse we shall have of the Kingdom of Heaven. Listen well, for it is Exceedingly Abundantly, above all we may imagine...