the climbing way

Ok friends, I realize the irony of posting a Raine Maida video on a post devoted to Matt Good... but even so.

I picked up Raine Maida's solo album today, while on mini-road trip to put up posters for the Brad Steeves concert, and pick up the new City and Colour album.
It was an eventful half hour, or so (Brad's show is Feb 21st, 7pm, at CBC. If you live anywhere remotely close to Abbotsford, which more than half of you who read this don't, check this one out).

In other news, I am now broke, and hungry. On the positive side, my experience with fasting has made me less randomly hungry, I have new music (that did not cost and arm and a face, like most Christian albums) and I have pounds of coffee to keep me not-hungry in my bouts of not eating.

Speaking of that, to remove this conversation from my attempts at self-humour, I have been thinking a lot about this organization called Rice Raiser, a group that provides ways for families to eat, at ridiculously affordable prices.

For example, in Sierra Leone, $20.00 provides lunches and snacks for 3 students for one year. In Bangledesh, $1 buys vegetable seeds for 7 families.

So... I'm not really broke, or hungry, by any means in the grand scheme of things. I know music is very much a influential and important part of my life. and food is neccesary for survival.

Now, to what degree can I build a life that offers the greatest amount of sharing, generosity, that builds towards this idea of "enough" that Shane Claiborne talks about, with my love for music and the need for people to eat?

Hmm. So, that is the question I have to leave myself, for now.

Lets talk more about this... over tea. I have had too much coffee today.

Later.

I am still running

Before you read this, consider listening to this instead.

Still Running

A sunny day with blue sky. The sun, slightly warm, glowing in a light shade on the couch. These are the shades of waking up ten years old in a small bunk-bed, my room in a basement in Nanaimo, one of the 7 or so houses I lived in growing up.

A lot of this past year has been distancing myself from my childhood, but still gripping onto, trying to rescue, the child-like aspects that make simple things like sunlight so warm and loveable. There are a great many things of my childhood I am blessed to hold onto, things that the triviality of life will not erase. Working a 9-5, raising kids, paying rent- none of these things should ever / are not meant to replace the first flowers of joy our childhoods birthed. Rather, the rest of one's life is, ideally, supposed to be learning how to love old things like sunlight in new ways, finding something about sunlight we didn't notice before, for every new stage we live in.

I'll leave it at that... because I really am having a hard time finishing this thought (Tuesdays suck).

Lets talk about this in person, my two or three readers, most of which live too far away. Or... talk to someone else about it, until then.

Later.

I think, therefore, too much

Ok, seriously. When the only person that comments on my blog is a spanish spam advertising site, there must be a problem. gah!

(friends who do comment here, do not be offended. your feedback is appreciated. word).

Secondly, to my great shame this blog could have the least to do with my actual life. I'm sure that if you, who have never met me, you would be surprised (no, really).

However this works, I find when I write it has less to do with my daily life and more to do with venting deep unspoken thoughts. I probably I think way too much.

Just a quick thought I wanted to throw out there.

Thirdly, I'm thinking a lot about how I should not be chasing after ideals. In other words, my friends and I seem to chase after this idea of "home" a lot- what does home mean. And the more I talk about home the more I sense that home is as close as a loving relationship, a holding of someone's hand, or an hour devoted to slowing down and being with someone. Whatever.

I could either chase after some ideal my entire life- like the ideal wife, car, house, job, future- or I could stop, and ask myself "is there some way to find something I love about life today?". As opposed to waiting for all my ducks to be in a row (to use a cliche that is really funny to picture), to wait for everything to be together in my life.

So thats that. This journal is, in my mind, a poor representation of myself sometimes. I can't remember when it became a place for me to just vent... or be too hard on myself for that matter.

On a side note, my friends and I are starting this fast called the "least to survive" fast. Basically for the next two weeks we are only eating the minimum amount of food to survive- a cup of rice and some lentils once a day.

I'll definitely keep you posted on this one. Thank you for bearing with me, and all my random doubts and wonderings.

Later.

tasting a narrative part 2

this morning in class, when i should have been learning about the book of Geneisis, i was looking for ways to roast my own coffee beans at home. so... I'm going to wrap up all my thoughts about java and put it to rest... right now... go-

I have this habit of drinking coffee, whereas i buy a fair trade coffee from a specific country (as opposed to a blend of different countries). One month I'll buy a coffee from Peru, another month I'll buy a coffee from Tanzania, just so i can get a feel for a coffee, and figure out what makes one country's coffee distinct from another. This is just something i've been trying for awhile.

Knowing exactly where a coffee is from, and taking time to prepare it carefully and sip it slowly, is the only way to do coffee. You're not just drinking a cup of coffee, you're drinking a story. so why not make it a really good story. (insert shameless plug for "fair trade" here). incidently, i kept one of the beans of the coffee, that the Pastor was serving, and I taped it in my artsty journal with the text "This coffee bean has a story".

The coffee I talked about last time was distinctly Sumatran. in a coffee there are certain flavours that are unique to a country, dependent on numerous factors- height above sea level, weather, soil... not that i am, or ever will be, one of those guys that will be able to taste all those weird nuances.

But good coffee doesn't need to be a complex issue. I'll make it simple for you;
1) Fair Trade (Level Ground sells some good stuff).
2) Whole Bean
3) Freshly ground

that said, i will stop bugging you about coffee. i'm not as much of a coffee freak as I try and make people think I am (try saying that 3 times in a row). I'm just a really bored college student who talks about a lot of unconventional stuff. And I've pretty much talked the life out of coffee by now.

that said, consider this the end of a chapter. I'm going to turn some pages next time.

later.

running water

...I think that all my best memories have the sound of running water in the background.

sad days and despair

and if the day won't let me,
take me to the bridge,
walking far above the waters.
if the day won't let me,
save some life for me.

and if coffee won't let me,
if trees at my door hiding,
leaves in the air and branches in the sun,
let me rest if only for a moment.

if the days are gone, and my words
lost of sense,
take my hands and hide my face.

tomorrow has worries of its own,
what will i call home?
can't fix what i know, too well.
take whats left, let me down.
all that i have left, in this.

listening to this

reading this

when i find my way

a spring break journal. sunday 1:15 pm

i made myself a chili for lunch, and for some reason... it is ridiculously freaking spicy!!! ARG! i have yet to master the fine art of chili, it seems.

so, now i sit, my face on fire, finishing a paper for "environmental issues". with this paper i'm trying to build a "theology of home". a theology of home implies the cliche' "live locally, think globally" or something like that. i think if we are to start making a global impact (which is important, not just because al gore said so), we have to start at home.

and what is home? is it limited to the house we live in? if you call a house "home" you also have to consider everything in the community, region, world around you that contributes to home.

anyway, frick, i need to get this paper done. 1 more page. come on. please argue with me, because my ideas are not solidified. they are thinking out loud, trying to find answers.

in other news, this is the last day of spring break. sigh. the music that has defined my week has been sufjan stevens. whereas the movies that have defined my week (aka, made me laugh, cry, and question the human condition)- pan's labyrinth and stranger than fiction. good stuff.

another chapter of life, that i turn to leave behind. i'll have a lot to think about when i'm writing my papers and speeches this month. oh! if anyone has insight about "faith as a journey" or "how one finds self worth" feel to share.

-so, another day to spend alone. i'll leave word when i find my way.

i stopped believing

i stopped believing in miracles,
stopped trying to walk on water,
too afraid i would sink, or fail.
i stopped beliving the world was beautiful,
who am i to try and change you're mind?

i stopped seeing angels,
only unoffecnsive pictures, and porcelain figures.
is my faith supposed to be so childish?
i traded my longing for maturity,
my innocence in favor of a "real world"
where that kind of shit isn't real anymore.

i started calling my questions empty,
i stopped believing in answers,
in a God that wants to talk to me.
love turned to cliche, we screwed it up,
nothing makes sense to me anymore.

so i was reading "walking on water"... then i was abruptly inteupted, so i wrote this. long story short.

i want to go home

and so i was,
high in the snow
overlooking the cliffs and mountains,
a fog, like a cloud, sinking low.
and the evergreens,
extending into a massive grey,
i interpreted as the ocean.

and so i was,
lying by myself,
in the snow.
it was quiet. couldn't hear anything.
it was strange.
i'm so used to the sound of traffic,
to the noise of everything colliding,
like a thousand thoughts
at once.

and so i was,
almost home.
a thousand words i
dont know how to say,
that i interpreted as longing.
...but nothing really makes sense.
i'm not home until i stop leaving

and not so sure if i'll ever come back.

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

i was sitting here, i a pastor's office in port alberni, reflecting on a weekend of crazy running around and sledding... and i started writing. what started out as a kickin' blog turned into the start of my article for "under the couch", my school's newspaper.

i'll make sure to save you a copy. good night.