The Crack in the Floor Sunday, Aug 16 2009

The last couple of days were rough. It feels silly and stupid to write that in the past tense — the roughness only stopped about ten minutes ago when I left my bed and logged on. I didn’t expect that to make me feel better, but for some reason giving up on sleep and listening to some woe-is-us break-up music has soothed me.

Resentment and I have been slugging it out, toe-to-toe, and it’s been to the gym since the last time we squared off.

I know it’s no good, these thoughts of blame and anger directed at someone else. It’s chewing over rotten meat — all you’re left with is mold on your tongue. But it’s such a challenge to escape.

I try to keep an even keel. I remind myself of my own one-sidedness, recall my own persistant failure to love. I acknowledge that the way I feel now that we are no longer together must be very similar to they way my wife often felt while we were. I admit to all the time I was given to change and make better choices, choices that considered someone else’s feelings over my own. Now I don’t have that time anymore. Now it’s my feelings left in the dark.

It’s only fair.

But that doesn’t make it right.

And there’s the crack in the floor I fall into. Because whatever fed into it, the ripping apart of two people joined by vows is a betrayal. The fact that my daughter doesn’t live with me anymore, she visits; soap gets in her eyes during her bath and she cries for mommy — the simplest, most natural request of a child — and I have to tell her she’ll see mommy tomorrow, because mommy’s somewhere else.

You feel powerless and it’s natural to point fingers at someone else.

But that’s the lie. I feel powerless. But that’s only how I feel. And I’m learning to perceive through the illusion.

Anger is a threat response. Someone cuts you off on the freeway, you feel endangered, you yell in your car. Doesn’t make you any safer.

I’ve been wrestling with resentment and anger and bitterness. Somehow, tonight during the walk from my bedroom to the office, I stepped out of the ring. Somehow my soul recognized that everything that upsets me is a lie. And a lie only has power over you if you engage it. Fight or give in, you are subject to it either way. You win by not fighting.

So I didn’t come through as a husband. I’m a better man today then I was yesterday.

So I was betrayed. That’s a result of someone else’s choice to believe a lie. I don’t have to believe it too.

So my daughter got soap in her eyes. We rinsed it out. She went to sleep. In the morning she’ll wake up and see her mommy.

And that’s something to be grateful for.

“We are continually faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as insoluble problems.”
- John W. Gardner

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Constants Monday, Aug 3 2009

Caught Eminem’s video for Beautiful.

It’s him walking around in Detroit. These are not nice neighborhoods.  They are economically devastated. There’s even a stadium being torn down.

I’m watching Em. He’s got money. Being in this environment isn’t the trap for him that it is for almost everyone else.

Of course, this album is the one he made after disappearing for five years into addiction and depression. Money was a bigger trap than poverty was.

Something about the look on his face, it just hit me.

We will always feel the way we do.

There’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, no achievement that will erase this strange soul-ache.

There are moments. Connections. Foretastes of heaven. But satisfaction? No. This body isn’t capable.

This isn’t depressing. It’s freeing.  I felt happier when I realized that no matter what changes, I’ll never be happier. No more chasing the wind.

Most unhappiness in life is a result of false metrics — being unsatisfied with your perfectly good apples because they aren’t the color of someone else’s oranges.

Yeah, it’s a cliche, that whole destination vs. journey thing.

But maybe a cliche is just a truth everyone has heard but few have felt?

Link to the video.

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Consuming Friday, Jul 31 2009

Decided to meditate today.

Went in my room, shut the door, closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing.

Sitting wasn’t really comfortable, so I cleared off the bedding and laid flat on my back, no pillow, hands rising and falling over my stomach.

Ah yes… my stomach. That tricky little bag of complaints. It wants, it gets, it wants again.

I could complain… but not without giving license to myopia. Its hard for me to eat enough. Eating effects my energy level and mood and stuff, but as far as my body is concerned, “weight gain” might as well be a foreign phrase in a pocket guide book.

No, I’m thinking about my stomach because it’s the only part of me that is moving. It’s drawn my attention, and I’m hungry because I haven’t had lunch yet, but I set the alarm on my blackberry for 4:30pm. Half an hour of meditation during which I don’t have to check the clock because the clock will let me know when to stop.

Up and down. Breathing. Relaxing.

Maybe.

Thinking about appetites. The stomach’s obvious, but there’s more than one bellicose empty space in my body. I’m covered and surrounded by them. There isn’t an inch of me that doesn’t clamor for attention.

“…in an information-rich world, the wealth of information means a dearth of something else: a scarcity of whatever it is that information consumes. What information consumes is rather obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients. Hence a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention and a need to allocate that attention efficiently among the overabundance of information sources that might consume it” –Herbert Simon, “Designing Organizations for an Information-Rich World”,p. 40-41 (1971).

My hands, my feet, my mind, my heart — they’re all telling me they have space to fill.

They want to build, to go, to grasp, to know.

There’s a choir of concave hollows, singing, sometimes howling for the convex contentment that had been their earlier blessing.

But it was for the fulfillment of appetite that the pleasures of the Garden were lost. As it was in the days of our fathers, so it is now — even in this age.

Simon spoke of attention as commodity. As I lie on my bed, eyes closed, ears open to all these damned pressing needs (there are none, not needs, not really — but I can hear them nonetheless), I know the economy is in shambles.

Throw a dart at a map of Africa, and you will find the state of affairs in my body. Oh, we’re a republic in name, to be sure — on good terms with the West and its NGO’s and charities and chartered institutions. We wouldn’t get by without the daily influx of foreign aid. But the hospitals are staffed with one doctor per ten thousand residents, infrastructure is a nightmare of intermittent services and milk-skimming dairy hands, and for want of employment, the streets abound with young men with guns. Young men who do not always agree.

My body is a bundle of cravings. Satisfying one means denying another.

“Do you consume so that you may produce? Or do you consume in search of satisfaction?”

Well there’s a thought I’ve never quite heard before — not that succinctly.

I know the answer. Why the inmates run the asylum. Or maybe it’s the old folks who have taken over the nursing home, popping all the pills they want. Sending there hearts into overdrive and tripping on colors and four hour erections.

Jesus and the fig tree — a tree draws nutrients from the soil its rooted in and the sun that shines on it and the water that comes to it, all so it can produce fruit. We’re no different. No fruit on this tree; Jesus curses it. It withers, releasing its components to be reclaimed for productive use.

Why would a tree fail to produce fruit? Couldn’t have been healthy. Like those corrupt third world fiefdoms. Like me. I can feel the pressure in my head — anxiety. Every message I’ve ever internalized, the light and the darkness in conflict. You’re everything; you’re nothing. You’re only worthy of contempt, sometimes not even that: only indifference. You’re loved; it’s a lie. You’ve been given so much; you’ve given so little. You’re a whore and a thief. You’re a saint — pure.

I think about what I want. Not my appetites. This is passion. Desire for wholeness. I ask for it. My body strains after it, physically. It’s not relaxation — it’s yearning.

The mob settles down. The Blue Helmets arrive. Oh, the country’s still a mess, sure. But the urban fighting stops. No more automatic weapons fire at midnight. There’s going to be an audit. Money will go where it was intended.

The blackberry goes off, and I sit up. Centered.

Time to eat.

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Day Tripper Tuesday, Jun 3 2008

A Metro Day Pass in L.A. is $5. With it you can hop on any city bus or subway and go where it takes you.

Which is what I did Sunday.

Started by getting on the bus here in Pasadena at 9:00am. A transfer in Eagle Rock brought me to Say Cheese restaurant in Silver Lake, where a co-worker of mine works the Sunday Brunch shift. Say Cheese has good coffee, good prices and–what else?–great cheese. Chatted with Nicolai a bit and then, after finishing my Ham and Gruyere croissant at 11:30 got up to go who knows where.

I like to navigate by sense of direction, so I set my feet south on Hyperion Blvd and started walking. Went over a few hills and took in the vistas of Los Feliz, Hollywood, Downtown–the charred patches of Griffith Park from last year’s fire. Walked past the dog parks on Silver Lake Blvd and up the east side of the Reservoir, then down to Glendale Blvd. Saw the Red Lion, where Mark–another co-worker and fellow screenwriter–used to work. They had a big sign saying they serve Bitburger beer, so I think that’s where ‘ll go with my parents next time they’re in town.

Caught a bus into the city. They were shooting a movie called Hotel for Dogs. Whatever.

Stepped into the lobby of the Wilshire Grand to get away from the street noise so I could make a phone call. Turns out there pool gate doesn’t have any sort of lock or keypass on it. So I grabbed a chaise lounge and tried to even out my farmer’s tan.

Had some Thai food at this great little place with a sweet old lady, then went to the Mayan to see if there was any help I could offer with set-up. My meager contribution was carrying a table and a box for Jason, the DJ; we hung out and traded stories for an hour or so. His fiancee used to babysit Adee–they’re getting married in five weeks!

Church was awesome. The speaker, Hank, is an exciting new voice at Mosaic with a fascinating life. At one point he asked if there were any parents in the audience–mine was the only hand that went up. Sort of a little snapshot of my present life and context.

At the end of the message Erwin took the mic for a moment just to let people know that he was indeed present, that Hank wasn’t filling in, but rather “he’s first string.” Erwin’s so good at encouraging and lifting people up. Even though he only said about four sentences, I was tearing up at the genuine respect and affection he was showing his protege. It was a public act that pulled back the curtain a bit on the real beauty of relationships.

Saw a lot of friends: Andy, Ray, Garett, Brady, Skyler. Had a good conversation with Leslie. Met Dany in the lobby beforehand and she was kind enough to sit with me, even though the service was arranged theatre in the round style and I picked a tall table and bar stools right behind the band.

Got a text message from Tyff inviting me over for wine and games at her place in Culver City. Took a little while and a bit of backtracking, but I finally navigated my way down the Blue Line to Staples Center and then along Venice Blvd. A guy on the bus asked to borrow my phone because his was dying and he needed to call someone in Santa Monica. Apparently he was picking up some money but he wasn’t going to get there in time, so they had to figure out a hiding spot where he could retrieve the cash. This is just one of a half dozen fascinating things that happened on the bus that day.

Arrived at Tyff’s to find a game of Taboo in full swing, and that every other guy there was also a spec screenwriter. Lots of fun, cheekiness and consumption of Rice Krispie Treats ensued. I don’t drink wine so I had to make due with the one Coors Light we could excavate from the confusion of the fridge.

The night wound down, people went home. We laid Tyff’s co-worker to rest on the couch to sleep off his one-tequila two-tequila three-tequila floor, then stayed up way too late ourselves talking about God, ourselves, this life inbetween, what you want and what you get. Even dead tired, Tyffany’s and awesome listener. She very kindly let me crash in the living room opposite the hibernating waiter. She kept insisting that the couch pillow wasn’t going to be very comfortable and wouldn’t stop trying to give me another one until I threatened to throw it at her.

The absolute best part about all of this was that I was writing the whole time. If I was on the move I’d just type into my phone, if not I’d write in my notebook. I guess I’m just inspired by being out there and taking everything in.

Woke up at six. Caught the bus back into downtown. Had coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, then took the Red line to the Gold line to the 181 home. Got off the bus at 9:00am.

Best five bucks I ever spent.

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Whisperings Monday, Mar 3 2008

Morning:

God brought to mind Mary and Martha.

Martha, Busy busy busy

Mary, at the Lord’s feet, because she recognized that’s what he wanted. He wanted to spend time with them, not sit in an immaculately kept house.

Faith and works. Doing for vs. being with.

God wants to be with me.

All the busyiness- if anything isn’t part of being with Him, its worthless: a distraction.

Yes, I am to work hard, provide and connect with others.

But because that makes me more like Him, closer to Him. If it doesn’t, forget it.

Later… was napping on the couch. Like a scene out of a suspense movie, I heard a male voice say “Forgive me.” And woke up with a start. Like, Nap OVER.

First impulse was to call Christina and ask her to forgive me. Sure I will, but don’t think that’s what is meant here. Christina’s always my first impulse, and that’s got to be re-aligned.

Get the sense this is more that I am to forgive someone. Myself, certainly. God? How can God need forgiveness? He doesn’t sin.

Jesus baptism comes to mind. “Permit it to be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.”

Jesus went through the act of baptism, though he had no sin to be washed clean of, at least, none of his own.

So that’s a connection.

“Fitting for us.”

I can’t shake the feeling that it was God speaking those words: Forgive me.

If it was, it is a direction for my benefit.

Maybe this is like Moses and Abraham “changing” God’s mind.

I don’t know. I know a lot of my perception of God is off kilter, in terms of my self-mitigating behavior.

Guess this a step towards something different.

Suppose we’ll see.

There certainly will be more dreams.

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Something wonderful Wednesday, Nov 21 2007

So, even though I’ve managed to drive my life into a ditch — no worries though, I know a Guy, and He’s got a BIG tow truck — there’s still way more to be thankful for. Here’s some off the top of my head:

I live when and where I do. There are a whole bunch of ways to be screwed up, but there are a lot of ways to work through it and heal too. And even at my low income level in our society, I live like a king.

I’ve never starved, and never realistically worried that I might.

I have a car. It runs reliable and fast, gets good mileage and plays CD’s.

Health!

I’ve had the pleasure of knowing some extraordinary people in my life and calling them friends, family, and lover.

My darling little girl.

Hope . . . and a calling in my heart, and a faithful and supremely loving God who fashioned it.

Many pleasures, many pains, and the knowledge that it all means something wonderful.

—————-
Now playing: U2 – In A Little While
via FoxyTunes

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Living water rather than salt water. Thursday, Nov 1 2007

 I have this metaphor for giving in to temptation. I call it drinking sea water. People stranded at sea without freshwater sometimes become so thirsty that they drink the seawater around them. The result is that the salt dehydrates their bodies further, and causes delirium. So even though you are drinking something, it actually makes you thirstier, and crazy. And the more you drink the worse it gets.

That’s my experience with temptation. Whenever I’ve lost my temper, lusted after women with my eyes and mind, indulged in procrastination and laziness, or done whatever else I knew I shouldn’t do but wanted to do anyways, that’s always been the result. I’ve just wanted more, not less, of whatever I was sinning with, I lost all peace and connection with God, and I quite literally lose my right mind.

So why do I do it? Because I AM thirsty! My heart and soul want fulfillment, and they don’t have it. So they crave substitutes.

This week has been really cool, because I’ve been blessed to experience several times God providing me with what is Real.  I’ve felt  The Thirst, and I’m learning to listen to my craving and seek His Living Water.

I find it in Beauty

I find it in Worship

I find it in Gratitude

I find it in Acceptance, Forgiveness and Compassion. For myself and for others.

Tuesday I looked out at my porch and realized the tree in my planter was singing to its Creator. And I joined its song. As  I write this, the trees and the rocks and the grass and all the rest of creation- they groan with us, but they also praise.

Who’d have thought that the plants outside and the sky were setting an example for me to follow?
—————-
Now playing: Chris Tomlin – Enough
via FoxyTunes

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Chronological Complex Wednesday, Oct 24 2007

So, I think I am going to have to abandon the idea that this blog is going to work on a chronological basis. I simply don’t have the time and there is so much happening so fast for me to get it all down. I get overwhelmed and ignore the thing, which is even worse.

Instead, I’m going to switch over to an idea-centric approach. This seems to be the way I write anyways. But since I’m committing to the idea of posting along the line of ideas, rather than “and then this happened,” I won’t feel like I’m failing to get everything posted.

This should also help with the problem that a lot of people, from what they read here, are going away with the impression that I’m really depressed. For the record, I’m not depressed. Depressed is when you feel bad more than you should. That’s not me.

You see, I’m really hurting.

But something would be definitely wrong if I wasn’t. I see this in some of the advice I get–that if she doesn’t love me like she should, I don’t have any obligation anymore, that I’m being unhealthy or unaccepting by pining away from someone who’s over me, that I should accept her choice and go find someone who will treat me better.

Well, I think the only way to take that advice is to take all the hurt and pain and pretend like just because its wrong it doesn’t matter. Sorry gents, can’t go with you on this one. It hurts precisely because it is wrong, and its wrong because it hurts. That’s the inverse proof of the golden rule guys.

I mean, seriously, this is the single worse act of rejection in my life. Let’s say–theoritacally, because I don’t believe this is in the cards and even if it is I don’t know if I could play the hand–I get married again and then that woman–let’s call her Suzanne (wow, two dashed parentheticals in one sentence [and then a parantheticalled wry observation {okay this has got to stop}])–let’s say Suzanne divorces me, is that going to be as bad as the first time around? No. It will be bad, but as they say: you always remember your first.

I mean, how many other relationships do you have in life where someone stands up in front of everyone who matters to them and takes a vow to stick with you for life? Any employers doing that? Friends? Family didn’t get an option.

You see, I am still under an obligation, because when the pastor asked me to make my vows, he looked at me, and he asked me, and not once did he say “As long as Christina keeps vows too.” Nope, didn’t happen. My vows were just that: my vows. Christina can do what she wants. I’m going to keep mine, because that’s who I choose to be.

Am I crazy? We’ll see… but I’m staking everything on the belief that when I married this woman, God made us one, and that no matter what happens, he won’t abandon us. Because I don’t believe God is trying to screw me over with impossible situations. I believe he is trying to save all of us and show us the true meaning of joy with impossible situations.

So no, my friends, there is nothing else that I will ever experience that will pack more personal rejection. The whole world could have turned its back on me; if Christina would have still held my hand, it would have been fine. I’m hurting. A LOT. But I should be, given the situation. The real question is what am I going to do with that pain? There is no not hurting, there is accepting and acknowledging, or ignoring and being made a puppet.

I can’t control the pain. But I can find the purpose.

I list all the pain and hurt in my life because that’s what I’m using this blog for. To use this situation to get out all the bad stuff I’ve tried my whole life to cover over, and to do it out in the open so it might help others to do the same. So I’m sorry if what I have written has given the wrong impression. I haven’t been able to post everything here, Sadly a lot of what I’ve left out is the good times. For instance, last Saturday was wonderful.

—————-
Now playing: Angels & Airwaves – The Gift
via FoxyTunes

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Judge not lest ye be judged Thursday, Oct 11 2007

I finally get this verse.

All my life I thought it meant something along the lines of “Whatever standard you apply to others will be applied to you.” That is certainly true, and affirmed elsewhere in the Bible: ith what measure you mete, it shall be meted back to you.”

And that is part of the meaning here, but only part.

I am thoroughly convinced that what this verse is saying is that there is no place for judgment and condemnation in a Christian’s life. Ever.

Judgment rests on impossible conditions. Not necessarily impossible to meet, but impossible to freely meet out of love, impossible to meet without feeling like you earned whatever you receive for your efforts. That is the philosophy of man, regulations of “Do not touch,” “Do not handle” and “do not taste.”

For me to judge is for me to subscribe to the system of merit. But anything short of the freedom of grace is my damnation.

Compassion brings loved ones Home. And gratitude is the doorway to compassion.

An ungrateful Christian is an unprofitable servant.

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Dichotomy unpeeled–this blows my mind. Sunday, Oct 7 2007

I am two people. A dead man and a living one.

I have complete freedom from myself because myself is deserving of nothing–on my own I am as dust.

I have complete freedom in myself because Christ is in me and He is deserving of everything.

These things were revealed while meditating several days ago. I’ve been trying to discern the right path between two unmovable truths:

1. My repeated actions have completely disqualified me from any claim to my marriage to Christina based on my own merits, etc. I made promises and didn’t fulfill them. I habitually broke her trust. I did not honor her as unique and special. As a lifestyle, I sought to control and manipulate my circumstances and therefore her. I ignored her feelings unless they threatened me; then I would approach them as a problem to solve, something to appease so the conflict would go away, rather than someone to love and care for. I demanded authenticity from her life while my own was rife with hypocrisy, demanded she give while I was selfish to such a degree that I couldn’t even see it.

2. I love her, and if I am not pursuing her I am less then who I am. She is God’s embodiment of love to me, and I to her. While I may have warped the way the truth was expressed in our lives and marriage through all the things listed above, that doesn’t change the underlying, certain as the orbit of the stars and the moon, reality that she is my wife, my soulmate, my Beloved. God joined us together in marriage, and we are One.

The confusion comes when deciding what actions to take. How can I act on the second truth when the first is inescapable? These realities both ARE, they exist, yet they have completely opposite velocities. How can their co-existence be reconciled, especially when all I have available is my own limited place in time?

Dana spoke at Mosaic last week. She chose the moment when Moses stepped forward and told God that if He wanted to destroy Israel–who had just blown it with the golden calf–that God was going have to zap Moses first. In fact, he threw more down on the table than just his life–he put his soul at risk.

How does a man do that? I think it’s because Moses knew he was already dead.

I think Moses always remembered that when he had tried his hand at delivering the Israelites from Egypt despite all the learning of a prince all he was able to come up with was violence. Murder. And the Israelites, who were experts in recognizing coercion, called him on it. “Will you strike me dead as you did the Egyptian yesterday?”

I think Moses knew the only reason he was still alive was because of grace. The very law he was delivering to the people said “An eye for an eye, a tooth for tooth.” The punishment for murder was death. Moses had committed this crime. The very fact that he was still breathing at all meant he of all people understood the necessity for love and compassion and mercy rather than judgment.

Does this mean he got off the hook? No. It meant he understood that God had a complete right to do whatever He wanted with Moses life.

Same with me. Ive committed sins that God clearly considers to be capital offenses. It doesn’t matter the sin. What matters is that I’ve blown it. My own life is forfeit. Will I physically die? No. I’ll just keep living this slow death of trying: trying to be loving, trying to be creative, trying to be effective, trying to be a leader, a good son, a good father, a good brother, a good husband.

And I will continue to fail, and to fall. Further and further into a pit of futility. Because all of my trying will be an attempt to deny the truth that will not go away. That I am NOT a good anything. I am not good. I am selfish. I am a thief and a murderer, if not of material goods and lives then of souls and love. On my own, my ultimate contribution is dust and worms, a plague on all people. And the harder I try to deny it, the more I’ll prove it true.

But if I can admit all of these things…

Then I can place this wretched life where it belongs. On a cross. And Christ can come off of His. He hung on his unto death. His work was completed. Now He lives. And unlike me, He lived a life of submission and love. He never sinned against God or man. He created all things and redeemed them. He is worthy of everything. And He lives in me.

When I show someone love, I love Christ. When someone loves me, they love Christ. Therefore, I can reconcile any guilt or feelings of unworthiness I have about receiving anything good in my life because it is really being received through me to Him. True, I don’t deserve it. But deserving and merit and works are appeased by the body hanging on the Hill of the Skull. I live because God lives in me, and whatever good I receive, it comes by mercy, by the understanding that it is right for Him to receive goodness and love and affection and joy through me.

And so I can be free. Both truths are acknowledged. The ways of the universe are appeased. And we may all live in fellowship and joy.

Found this little bit of advice on how to actually put some of this into practice:

“After you find the specific hurt that you’ve been running from, the next step is to do the opposite of fighting it, which is to face it and then embrace it. Allow yourself to feel the hurt of being this way. Cry if you can. Then, while you are feeling this hurt, look over your life and see all the evidence to prove that this is indeed an aspect of you.

Find the evidence to prove that you are worthless, not good enough, not worth loving, a failure or whatever else you’ve been avoiding.

Remember, this isn’t true in reality. This is only true in the realm of thinking and emotion. But in this realm, worthless is very real, and this is the realm where the healing needs to take place. So put yourself in the hurt of feeling this way and look at your life and see all the evidence to prove that you really are this way.

The evidence will be there if you are willing to see it. It has to be. It wouldn’t keep showing up in your life if it wasn’t there. You don’t have to like it. You just have to tell the truth about it. Let it in.

Worthless is part of you. It’s also no big deal. You are also worthy. Worthless and worthy are both aspects of being human. So allow yourself to be human.

Allow yourself to feel all the hurt of being worthless, not good enough, a failure or whatever your issue is. Feel the hurt willingly like a child. Let it come and let it go.

The more you let in the fact that this is an aspect of you, the more impossible it is to run from it. When you can’t run from it, you can’t fight it. When you can’t fight it, the issue loses power and disappears.”

—————-
Now playing: Honey – Force Majeure
via FoxyTunes

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