Not for me

I am amazed at how selfish I am.  I don't think of myself as selfish, and others might call me generous.  But I recently had a realization that stands out to me as more than my own thoughts.  I think this because for one, it hasn't faded.  One thing, I think it was Black Elk, said was that you can tell dreams from visions because dreams fade and visions don't.  I have found it applies to thoughts as well.

Secondly, it brought the most peace I've had since this whole process of moving to the other side of the world started.  I've prayed and sought counsel and prayed, and meditated, and read, and prayed and sought more counsel, but it has been a hugely uphill climb for me, one thing after another.  I think I'm cresting the peak, and there's another just behind it.  I still haven't hit the level ground yet, I just think I'm starting to get used to the struggle.

This revelation was simply, "this isn't about you."  Specifically, this whole process, wasn't for me.  This whole journey, adventure, call it what you will, it was not me who wanted it, and I'm the one enjoying it the least and struggling the most.  I honestly did all of this for my family.  Sure, when I was the one offered the job, I thought maybe there was something for me.  When it all kept working out, I thought it must be meant to be.  But I never knew what that reason or purpose was.  Through everything, in my deepest heart, I didn't want to do this.  Sure I hoped it would work out and I even built a few castles in the air about the whole thing, but I couldn't escape this reluctant feeling.  So sure enough, when things got difficult, I second guessed, I thought we had made the wrong choice, I looked for ways to undo it and salvage what I could of my life.

But meanwhile, my wife and kid are doing quite well.  They've had their ups and downs, some of them pretty serious.  But overall, I think they would call this positive, apart from what it's done to me.  I get that, because the first time we did this (yep, it's all happened before) I was having a great time and my wife was struggling deeply.  She just carries her burdens differently.  Our kid was too young then to have a bad experience as long as mom and dad are there, so he was fine.  This time though, they have work, friends, they even get invited places.  I'm the one that is sick all the time, with little to do, nowhere to go, only the merest acquaintances for friends, working a pointless dead end job with very little respect that ranges from polite disregard to outright disrespect (the head at one of my work locations told me last week that he liked my predecessor better, in nearly as many words as that, thought he still won't tell me why or what he expects me to do differently, and he's one of the nicer ones).

So again, I prayed and searched and kept coming up dry.  But then, I don't even remember when it occurred, the phrase passed through me mind like an electric shock.  I'm part of their story too.  We can't be separated, physically, spiritually, or in the narrative of our lives.  So this time it's their turn.  My wife even wrote that in her application essay (we both applied for work; I got in and she didn't).  So here we are, they're enjoying it and I'm not.  But that's because this isn't about me.  It's for them.

I understand that nothing is ever that simple.  I also know that such revelations are for the moment and, as George MacDonald termed it, become inedible tomorrow, like the manna in the desert.  But that doesn't negate the value.  It is sustaining me for the moment, and that is exactly what I needed.  Something to sustain me, to give me a reason to get up and keep doing this.  And it also gives me a reason to shut up a little.  I can't hide my struggles from my family.  That would be to make matters worse.  But I can also, as much as I am able, not inhibit their ability to enjoy and gain from these experiences, which appear to have a prewritten close.  We didn't know it coming in, but I had prayed not to have to make the decision to stay or return, and it appears that has been granted too, thank God. But that's a story for another time.

Right now, I'll take the consolation I can get and I'll continue to try to learn from this all...that's what I do.  And right now, I'm learning how selfish I still am.  A mentor of mine once said that self-centeredness has many manifestations.  We all know the bratty child (or adult) that has to have everything their way.  But focusing on ourselves in other ways is just as much selfishness because it's still self-centered.  We can be entirely self-deprecating and still be as selfish as the brat.  To cease being selfish, we have to cease putting ourselves at the center of our own universe.  And this is not something I can do on my own.  Nonetheless, it must happen.  So I'm going to open myself once more, and hopefully a little wider, to the saving, transforming power of the Lord of Spirits.

God you know my heart better than I do.  You know my needs and my desires.  You know my abilities and my flaws.  I am what I am and in myself that is as much as I'll ever be.  If I am to be anything more, to be better, to be greater, freer, more real, complete and alive, then you have to do it.  I can not.  You know I've tried.  And you know how I've continued to fail and strain and lie.  So here goes, one more time, hands off the rope.

I'm pretty sure Jesus just rode past me on a bike

OK.  Long title, I know.  It's also been a really long time since I posted anything.  Bygones.

When I run in the swamps every week, it's a real spiritual time for me.  Like John Muir, that's my church.  It's common for me to come out with a revelation of some sort.  Sometimes these are very profound, sometimes kind of silly...like the time I realized that "catch your breath" is exactly the opposite of what happens.  More like we outrun our breath and it has to catch us. But no one says, "I have to stop and let my breath catch up."  But I digress...

This week, the place was entirely deserted when I got there.  Humans are usually pretty scarce when I go, but this day, there was not a sole around.  That alone makes the wild places more majikal (my spelling distinguishes between the real otherworldy supernatural quality and the performance art).  Things just come more alive, seriously, there's more animals visible, etc.

This time though, I was also wearing some natural bug repellent.  With zika on the rise, I figured some form of protection might be prudent.  But this stuff smelled intoxicatingly sweet, like standing in a field of wildflowers.  If you haven't stood in a field of flowers and felt the light-headed giddiness of the perfumes, you don't know what you're missing.

So these two factors were making the place seem way more majikal than usual.  I kept seeing shapes move in the periphery that were gone when I looked, hearing sounds that seemed to have no known cause, feeling chills and shivers, and I thought, it's easy to see why Romantics were so taken with the idea of Faeries.  If they were real, this would be the time and place, you'd find them.  I half expected to fall into a toadstool ring and find myself in different world. Or to stumble across a party of them and be whisked away into a some adventure.

Then I thought, well maybe they aren't real.  But something sparked the notions, so perhaps other forms of being were actually afoot.  That's when I quickly recognized the danger of courting spiritual forces, which I have ample experience with.  So I turned my thoughts to God and thought whatever was up, He was in control of it.  And I asked if I could meet anything like that. Just have a peek behind the veil for a moment.  Then it occurred to me, that if I was asking for that, how much grander would it be to meet God himself moving through the swamp and how all it's glory would ignite with His presence reflecting and radiating through it.

That's when I felt the wind at my back.  It's hard to describe.  It's not there until I start running, and then I feel it pushing up from behind as well as running into it.  Stop and it stops, start and it starts.  In the extremely humid Florida swamps, much of this may be the very air flowing around me as I move through the thick vapor.  But if I've learned anything from my predecessors, it's that one must never assume that because something has a rational explanation, it doesn't also have a majikal dimension, like Uncle George's faerie realms where every flower and sunbeam is a palpable metaphysical argument.

I say this because as the wind whips around me, I often feel it urge me on, like a ethereal being swirling and gamboling around me.  I can almost hear it telling me to run.  And then it struck me deep inside like God often does...crack...Divine Wind...boom...like lightening in my deep brain.  What if that WAS God flowing around me.  The Gentle Blowing.  The Kurios Pnuema!  And I whispered, "God show me."

I kept running.  Through the hotter places, the new growth forest and the heat rippled sand flats.  Eventually I made it to the edge of the swamp.  Just like in a movie, this is the line where it goes from hot to cool, Sun to shade, open to heavily treed.  This is my cathedral.  Just in, I slowed and climbed the vine I usually scale.  4 meters up and then hang in the air.  Then slow back down.  It's my gate to the swamp, the antechamber of the sanctuary.  If God was going to meet me, it would likely happen in there. 

I slow to breath and cool down a minute, when out of nowhere I hear a clatter of bike wheels and a young muscular man with slightly long sandy brown hair erupts over a rise and cranks down hard.  I stayed to the side of the trail.  He made eye contact as soon as he came over the rise.  As he passed he smiled a big knowing smile, gave half a nod, and blew past me down the trail.

I padded off behind him as he disappeared out of site.  I thought how weird it was that he would come out of nowhere (usually I can hear them coming farther off)  and was going so fast in that heat that far from an entrance, and the look on his face was not the usual polite trail greeting; almost a knowing smile.  And then the second of my revelations hit me.  Maybe that was Him!

As I ran, my intellect argued, "Come on, just some guy.  He was probably smiling because you and he are the only crazy ones out here. Or he saw that we were half covered in dirt or something."  But I answered myself, "Yeah, but how else would we expect Jesus to look if he was to show up out here?"

My intellect responded, "Good point."

So I continued, "Heck, for that matter, he could be anyone!"...crack...Angels unware...crackle...least of these...rumble...When did we see you...BA BOOOOOOMMMM...

My intellect, my soul, my skeptic, and all the other parts of me stopped in their tracks...Whoa...

Good Question...

My son asked a deep question recently.  He asked, if God knew everything was going to go wrong with his creation, why did he let it?  Some form of this question has been debated for years.  The truth is no one but God knows for sure.  He hasn't told us.

But when he put out this question, I felt it deserved some response.  I first told him I wasn't sure.  Then quickly opened my mind to God hoping he would fill it as he's done in the past when the need arises.  This is what then came out of my mouth in answer.  I'm surprised by it myself, because I truly tell you I have not thought this before.

Before I get to it, I need to establish a little background though or it won't make sense.  First of course is that God exists.  There are proofs, but I won't belabor that here.  Next is that God is almighty.  He can do anything and nothing can stop it.  And if there's anything he can't do, it is truly impossible in the most literal sense...like cease to exist or something.

Next is that God is good.  This has to be the case or he would be no God.  A god perhaps, but not God.  Because good is clearly better than bad.  Every serious religion, minor or major, and even hardcore athiests believe this.  So God can't be a lesser thing or he wouldn't be almighty.

So here we are.  How could this type of God let things go so badly if he knew it was going to happen?  Wouldn't it have been better not to make it all rather than make it so it could destroy itself?  So there would be suffering and evil?  Doesn't sound very good, does it?

But here's what came out of my mouth: 

Maybe he did it to show something that has never been done before.  Maybe he did it to demonstrate to the universe that he is almighty.  That even a creation which owed its very existence to him, could not live apart from him, but which chose to annihilate itself...even this most evil of evils he could work out to be good in the end.  That even the worst thing that could possibly happen could not stop him or thwart his goodness.  He WILL save his creation.  He WILL NOT allow it to be lost.  Even that which is given free will to go its own way even to the point of denaturing and destroying itself...even THAT, he can and will make right.  EVERY wrong will be righted.

Wow.  That did not come from me, I know that.  Thank God for this.  Both for it being true, and for how he revealed it.

I believe more than ever that God is not what most of us have been taught.  He is closer than our own thoughts, more loving than we can imagine, more powerful than we can fathom.  Everything we call good is epitomized in him.  If there is anything that can be trusted it is him...or he would be no God at all.

Katahdin

I just got back from a two week trip to Maine in the very Northeast corner of the US.  We drove all the way there from Florida.  It was my first time seeing many of the Northeastern states.  And while I didn't get much time to understand them, my initial impression based on traffic, road conditions, interactions with a few people, landscape, etc, is that most of those are places I never desire to go again. 

Ironically, the states I thought would be the worst were actually pleasant.  Namely, New Jersey and New York.  The roads were well maintained.  The people were friendly, drivers were efficient considerate, etc.  But my absolute least favorite state was Connecticut.  If you live there, I'm sorry for you and you can be reasonably certain you'll not see me there ever again if I can help it.  Pennsylvania is a close second.

But travel issues aside, Maine was a beautiful place.  I was surprised by the intense amount of pesky and biting insects for such a cold climate, but I guess they can only survive for such a short time, they come out in force.  Interestingly, in Florida, the bugs are more common in the shade because the sun is too hot.  In Maine, it was the opposite.

I was also struck by the profound impression that Maine is composed almost entirely of rock...various sizes and constructions, but it was by far the rockiest place I've ever been.  I took particular notice since I favor the barefoot style of shoes, so I felt EVERY stone.  My feet are now much tougher.

We stayed one afternoon and night in Bangor.  I found this to be a delightful city and could easily see myself living there.  Even the culture seemed to be very suitable.  I've never seen so many piercings, tattoos, and dyed hair outside of little enclaves and gatherings. It was pretty much everywhere there.

But then we camped at the base of Katahdin, the highest peak in Maine.  It's a great thrust of rock covered in more rock.  It generates its own microclimate, making the area an unpredictable mix of rocks, clouds, and trees.

My goal was to reach the peak, but on the first day, bad weather was predicted.  So we climbed South Turner Peak, which looks over at Baxter Peak (the highest).  It was a short trail, but went virtually straight up across...of course...large rocks.  (I'm pretty sure the trail designer was a mountain goat who owned stock in steel shank shoes.)  But my Tabi boots held good and my son and I had lunch atop a sunny peak in a cloud of black flies before rock hopping back down.

Turned out the bad weather didn't show til about 7pm, so we would have had ample time to get to the top of Baxter, but we were listening to Rangers and trying to play it safe.

What followed was a full day of rain.  So that day, we ascended part way up Baxter to Chimney Pond, which is a picturesque glacial pond surrounded by soaring granite cliffs that make up Baxter Peak.  On the way up, we met a Ranger who I instantly hit it off with.  He was lean like us and dancing from rock to rock like us.  He wore soft soled shoes, like us, and loved my boots.  He realized our experience and determination and didn't try to dissuade us from climbing Baxter, even in the rain, though he told us good options.  We had decided to skip Baxter that day since it would be shrouded in cloud so he recommended Pamola Caves, which was a branch off of Chimney Pond.

So we took that route and quickly found this guy was serious!  Pamola was a series of huge boulders that we had to, alternately and in combination, jump, scramble, spin, slide, skirt, and crawl under.  There is nothing like straddling a four foot gap in the rain with cliff on one side, and a dark hole filled with uneven rocks 20 feet below.  My 12 year old son, did beautifully, even where we had to climb down a waterfall.  But the most intense place for me was the narrow squeezes in which we had to leave our packs and shimmy sideways and up through crevices where even my slim 90cm chest touched one face and my back the other.  Then we had to crawl through a tunnel and climb up a pipe of rock.  I did it with ease, but realized, I have no love for caving.

After awhile we returned and bounded our way through rocks and mud back to our campsite.  It was here that I realized these trails were like none I have hiked in Japan, Hawaii, or Appalachia.  Essentially, they remove vegetation, and then leave the rocks and all for people to navigate.  It's like walking in a rocky stream bed, which indeed it becomes in the rain.  Even where the inevitable washouts occur, most trails install a small pipe, a horizontal ladder, or log bridge to cross them.  Here, they simply pile up some rocks in the trail and let the washout flow between.  The hiker has to climb over the rocks, into the wash, and back out the other side, or jump the gap.

So after two days of this intense hiking, our feet and legs were baked.  But the next morning was fair and we determined to do Baxter Peak, come what may.  It was our last opportunity.  So foot sore, and leg tired, we ascended the Chimney trail again.  Then we chose the Saddle trail up to the peak.  Though it was a bit longer, it was the least intense and we were tired.  Of course, by least intense we mean that the vertical portion of the climb was only about a kilometer over loose gravel and rocks.

We were slow moving when we finally crested the ridge and entered the alpine tundra.  Then we were treated with another surprise, which Thoreau described as if raw materials for a planet were dumped up there, awaiting incorporation.  Millions upon millions of grapefruit sized loose rocks were strewn everywhere.  The trail was like walking of sharp edged, shifting softballs that adjusted and settled with each step like giant sand grains.  About 2km later we reached the peak.  Which on this first sunny day in a week, was full of people.  There was an Appalachian Trail through-hiker ending his journey. A couple south-bound starting theirs.  A guy proposing to his girlfriend at the peak, about 35 kids of varying ages up with a few summer camps, and sundry others.

I was sitting on the rocks exhausted with throbbing feet.  But I was there.  I sucked water, gnawed beef jerky, and chomped some nuts.  Then we started down.  It was a slow painful walk and I was certain it would have been much better if I wasn't three days into some serious hikes on backpacker rations.  The climb down was without event.  We took it slow and all four of our legs were noodling, but we did it without injury or incident.

I was not surprised by the peak, though the trail certainly was unexpected.  Peaks are usually crowded in high season.  I partly wish I had done it in the rain, but that climb up the slide would have been tricky.  At least then we'd have been more alone at the summit.  But in the end, I know for me, hiking is about the journey.  And I don't mean that in the cleche since.  Quite literally, I don't care about the views.  I don't even want to stop at the top.  I'm content to reach it and keep right on moving.

The reason for this hit me profoundly as we started back down the sunny tundra.  Dancing along those loose stones, my son asked my why I never want to stop at the top. We had quickly left the crowd (all still at the summit) and I looked out over this alien landscape with clouds sweeping up like something from a Miyazaki movie.  I was impressed dramatically with a simultaneous sense of relief at having accomplished the hardest of three difficult hikes in as many days, wonder at the scene, and a distinct sense of 'now'.  I explained the above to him and told him of Augustine's description of time:  That the future does not exist, the past is gone, and all that exists is the present moment.  If you focus your attention down on the smallest unit of time you can perceive, you'll realize that reality is flying by in an ever-present and infinitesimally small 'now'.

That was when I slipped into that attention and was palpably impressed with the living sublimity of the moment.  My eyes teared up and overflowed, I almost lost my balance as I beheld for the briefest moment the way God sees the world.  This place, this distant, alien, unfriendly place was not made for us.  It was made by and for God himself.  And in it was a glorious thriving of motion and activity and life.  The ever-present now is where God lives.  I said this to my son.  And as sudden as it came it was gone, like the mists blowing across the dappled lichen.  Like Moses, I had climbed to the high place and glimpsed God as he passed by.  I was left with salt-stinging eyes, throbbing legs, and a profound sense of joy.  I had found something on that mountain, but as usual it was not where anyone would think to look.

Deep Cuts

I feel like something is happening deep inside me.  My perceptions are changing, my reactions too.  Emotions surface at strange times and in strange ways.  It's almost like someone is rooting around deep inside and trying to sort things out.  Which may very well be what is happening.  Sometimes what comes up is not pleasant.  Mostly it isn't I guess.  Things I never even new about myself will just pop up from deep down and I am taken aback.

Also pains will surface in ways and about things I didn't even know hurt me.  I'm finding that I often react in anger to what is truly a fear.  I've seen this before in people and I don't think it's that odd.  But I never knew I was doing it.

It isn't all bad.  Sometimes great joys surface and I find a very unshakable peace and confidence in many things.  But just as quickly a new circumstance or stray comment or sometimes just out of nowhere, I'll be hit with something else.

Last night I was restless again...which has occurred for the past few nights.  It's partly some things I understand: physical, circumstantial, manageable.  But then last night it just wouldn't quit.  I kept calling out to God in my dreams.  I could see Jesus standing a distance away but couldn't keep my focus on him.  Then I'd slip into another fitful dream.  Then this morning as dawn came I woke enough to prayed verbally about some things that were on my mind.  Then I started crying and couldn't stop for about an hour.  Then it was over.  I'm not even sure what it was that upset me other than it felt like I had my heart uprooted all night.

I can only imagine how much more intense this must have been for Jesus when he was living on this earth.  He has been described by third party historians as somber and quiet.  No doubt looking at the world from God's perspective has great joys, but also many pains as he saw the hardness of hearts and confusion of minds.  The general lostness of the all those around him.  I'm having enough trouble being confronted with my own and the occasional glance into those he places close to me.