22

so, i know my thoughts have been really down the past couple of days... but thats life. its been one of those weeks.

I haven't got much sleep in the past three days. just lots of running around with youth kids, and singing it up. i got to perform a bit of poetry on Saturday, at a worship workshop... and somehow i gave the 200 people there the impression that i was divorced. my words exactly, introducing a poem were "i was going through a divorce at the time", talking about my parents. oh well.

good times.

I got to see my old salvation army youth group from nanaimo. man, i miss those guys. I was sitting across the arena from them, and every so often i would walk over and visit. i got a little emotional, because i realized that I'm not going back to Nanaimo anytime soon. i had to let go of some old relationships. its a tough thing.

a line that stuck out for me this weekend- its not who you are, but whose you are.

thats all i'm really up for writing right now. i need to catch up on some sleep, and some tea. i guess i can talk about my birthday some other time. it was a pretty lonely day.

we'll see.

full or deep consideration

this is the 2nd annual list of all the things i've done on my birthday, so far.

1) woke up
2) ate cheerios
3) wrote a bad poem, and thought about the ocean
4) steamcleaned floors until i was burned out
5) contemplated love, for a minute or two.
6) talked to a pretty girl, named natalie (me and ben travelled with her to Vancouver, over spring break).
7) talked to my sister, and brother on the phone.
8) realized that ever person knows it is my birthday today, because of facebook. grr.

confession: i was trying to ignore my birthday this year. i didn't want to even think about it this year. alas.

9) turned on some Keane.
10) smelled coffee across the room, sitting in front of the fireplace.

i think for the rest of the day, i will clean my house, sip Tanzanian coffee, shower, sleep, read some Complicated Kindness, write about spain...

and go bowling. yech. bowling is my sworn enemy. bowling represents everything that is soul-less and wrong (i have to go, because its a youth group event. i tell ya').

11) contemplated the odds of me being kissed on my birthday. its not looking too likely. sigh.

12) daydreamed, about writing. i hope i'll have more to say, tomorrow. or, maybe on monday, when my lap-top comes back into commission. i have to stash it for the weekend, because it is a clutterfest, and some youth group boys are staying for the weekend.

see you later.

the stuff of life

i've been feeling down for the past couple days. And, for the past week it seems like i haven't had a good thought worth writing about, or any drive at all to write. which makes me kind of angry. so, here is whats bringing me down, in list form (not that i'm trying to play the self-pity card... not this time)-

a) my mom moved to washington, over the easter weekend while i was still in abbostford. and my sister is moving to duncan. which means i no longer have any family living in nanaimo. it's like ever last chance i had for that place to be home again, is gone.

a.2) on mothers day, all i could think about was my dad.

b) i'm wrestling with the notion of just getting the hell away from this job, and trying to pick up an internship in nanaimo again. but maybe i just need to step up, be a man, and get used to working.

my big excuse for not liking a labor job, is my messed up foot (anyone who knows me well enough knows that, indeed, i have a messed up foot, because of a childhood accident). i've bought two pairs of shoes for this job so far, both of which have caused my foot to twist into an uncomfortable angle, for hours. its a stupid reason, i know.

c) but mostly, i'm just pissed off because i don't feel like anything. i can't seem to articulate a single thought that makes any sense. everything i feel is unbalanced. i know that i'm supposed to work hard, and earn my keep, but why am i so bitter about it? i don't know.

it feels like somethings missing (john mayer said it best). my life is the same, minus the stupid adventures, which always gave me something to write about.

i hurt myself today

Andrew: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your shit that idea of home is gone.

Sam: I still feel at home in my house.

Andrew: You'll see when you move out. Just sort of happens one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know? You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself. For your kids, for the family you start. It's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it...

...Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

-garden state

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i came to a conclusion today. i realized that if i try and do any of the things that i feel are ethical, if i try and live out my convictions, alone, nothing will change. i will keep buying my soy products, buying my locally produced commodities, thinking about poverty and justice and nothing will really change. eventually i will get bored of my convictions, and leave them behind, and worry about other things, like going on dates or watching movies, or buying music.

... if i try and do it alone. if I'm in a group of friends who feel the same way, and who want to walk with me on the difficult road i choose, than that road will be easier to walk. this is what the church should be. we should be people that care for each other, and care about trying to love people, trying to understand the humanity we all share. trying to understand the issues that our world faces, and the reason they exist. justice is asking the "why", then the "how". why does injustice exist, and how can we reason with it.

this is what we are all missing in life. belonging.

books

i'm trying to publish an independent book of writings and pictures, that i can sell at my friends' shows. should it be poetry and prose, or just poetry?

should it be a mix between my travel narratives and my poetry (the narratives are really more of an occasional hobby).

what kind of software should I use? please help me brainstorm, my friends.

no alarms, and no surprises

I tried submitting one of my poems to "The Mind's Eye", this Nanaimo youth newspaper that i used to send poems to, back when i was in 11th grade.

I'm wondering if I should feel cheap for doing so, being that a) I'm 21, hardly a melodramatic teen anymore and b) i don't live in Nanaimo anymore.

well, we'll see. I'll pay a visit to the Island in June and see if my good friend, Mr. Poem, makes it into publication.

in other news, i was steam cleaning floors today, and my day felt a lot more short than ususal. the only explanation i can think of is that the chemicals i was breathing in killed some brain cells, and temporarily disabled my short term memory, and disrupted my cognitive ability.

in other other news, i'm trying to see 4 different concerts in the next two months, even though i definitely cannot afford them/ feel convicted for spending my money in such irresponsible ways when there is a world of people who don't have money. conviction is a strange thing.

so the question of, is art practical, comes into question again. I'm buying music, when I should be buying food- the thing i need to survive. But, there is a sustaining quality about music, an inspiring quality. In ten years i won't remember what i ate, but i'll probably remember exactly how i felt at concerts. i don't know why art works like that.

in any case, the concerts are Jason King, Arcade Fire, John Mayer, Jamison (opening up for Bradley Hathaway) and Historymaker- the youth conference that I turned 18 and 19 at (another mainstay of my high school years).

things don't feel as exciting as they did when I was a teenager. Back then there were no set routines. everything was a surprise. like seeing something i wrote published in a newspaper, or walking into an arena filled with youth group kids, like myself. i don't think those things will ever feel the same.

whatever.

this is my life.

some free verse

empty days / what it looks like here

leaves still wilted
haven't grown enough to stand alone.
the wind, the flowers of the trees,
soft pink petals for the grass.
when it rains they don't grow anymore.

teas not that filled
watered down flavor, sugar and spice.
coffees too potent,
conscious and anxious all at once.
music wanes me from wasting away,
head resting on the table.
haven't grown enough to stand alone.

windy days
still hate what I do,
"Its not me" I used to say.
What will ever make it change?
Not sure whats living,
what needs help. what is dying,
or won't stop changing.
I'm either as far-gone as I think I am,
or i just don't know any better.

leaves not grown yet,
the green, the white,
flowers by my hands and feet.
when it rains they don't grow anymore.

water falls, and i feel it

1) In my writing project, which i gave to most of my friends, I wrote the line "art is impractical". i was wrong. there are elements of art that are very practical. I was a fool for not considering art's practical nature.

I hope this, (explaining away all the questionable words in my project) doesn't become a habit. alas.

2) I got some free stuff at work today, that some college kids left behind. i love free stuff. so, there is this-



and this-



i can't decide which to drink first.

3) i came across this piece of paper, in the pile of notes from this past year. i'm pretty sure i wrote this at youth group one day, with a dying blue marker.

this is another chapter of my epic pilgrimage, which i have never been on.

rain falls

the rain made fools of my traveling mate and I, washing away our open, unprotected campsite, soaking all our gear. i reach for come clean clothing, and try to find some shade to keep my dry clothes from getting too wet... when i realize i have no dry clothing.

-I remember the night before, looking across at a rich blue sunset, my friend saying how nice a night it was, and that we should sleep outside tonight. it seemed like a good idea at the time, and we were both way too worn out to care about unpacking our gear. we fall asleep, with the chirping of crickets (though, i'm not sure if crickets live here), and the stars awaking to dance above our heads- irony is an interesting thing. we trade a peaceful evening for a peaceful rain filled morning.

We set up the tent quickly, and lay frustrated, slipping into a strange state of listening. the rain calms for a moment, and we can hear small drops dripping into the puddles outside.

I start to imagine the existance of God, in the rain. when it rains its as if the earth weeping, with the very thing that gives it life. its like feeling the life-giving element stream a cold line down my cheek, in a broken state, wondering why. It's as if God is in the rain, his hands tracing lines on my face, when I look up.

When it rains we wonder, why the grimness, why the cold? why doesn't the sun shine all the time, and why does heaven seem to fall around us while we stand in the wake? i love rain for this very reason- it carries with it a certain grace. we need it to sustain life, to give dampness to the ground, and keep the earth from catching on fire. but, why it has to fall, why it feels so cold... this mystery is where we find a humbleness, a grace of not knowing why. its as if the rain covers us, fills out clothing and sends a chill to our skin, so we can know what feeling cold is like. or, we can know what feeling is at all.

My mate does not share my interests towards rain, talking low about how long it will take us to walk to shelter and dry off. We would be about a day behind. i never seemed to worry about time, he told me. "thats why i have you" i say back to him. he turns suddenly, sits up, and crawls out of the tent, running towards his tarp covered pack. "my wallet! the money!" he shouts to me, scrambling under the tarp. he returns, a handful of flimsy currency, and we both break out lauging.

And we sit in the tent, our pesos hung on string line at the top of the tent, waiting for the water to decide it has given us enough life for one day. if i could capture that moment, of waiting and the expectation of having to walk 3 miles in the rain to get to the next refugio, i would use the word "content"...

...more later.

4) I ate some under-cooked bison for dinner, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to make it through the night. we'll see.

epiphanies, and art

I had an epiphany today, while washing walls in my school's teaching center, beside the worship arts department. i tend to have epiphanies in the most random places... mostly in the shower.

epihpany, in a holistic sense, is finally seeing how the small parts of some insight relate to the whole. in this case, the epiphany relates to art (i'm sure the definition has much more depth. thus is life. look it up).

the epiphany happened while i was listening to Keane, and the lyrics reminded me of an art project i finished, last month, filled with random lyrics that i didn't write. i don't feel like the project captured the heart of what i am, because most of the styles i used were not unique to me. they were more styles of books, and authors, that i like. I'll try and explain more.

the last year of my life has been my renaissance. I've spent a lot of time trying to learn about art, and trying to figure out who i am. I've spent a lot of time thinking about art, theorizing, brainstorming, and assuming trying to get a grasp of what art is, at the heart. though, on a side note, i spent a lot of the year feeling very lost.

So, i realized today that my art is not my own yet. if there is a line between inspiration, and imitation i have crossed it many times. there are some artists that are inspired by works of art, so they try and adapt a bit of the style to their own art. then there are artists who flat out copy the exact style, and make art that is a lesser version of a greater artist's turmoil. well, yeah, i feel like I've been too much like the latter in the past 3 months.

I've spent a lot of time using artistic methods like lower casing all my letters. which, as any blogger would know, is not intentional. its something that comes as a result of typing into a small letter box with little or no formatting. this is not my style when i write by hand. its just not me, so why should it be part of why i do my art?

this is a new chapter for me, i think. trying to make my own style of writing, rather than trying to make cheap stylistic copies of other writers. what my own style looks like, i don't know. the nature of an art piece is that it is never fully explained. and the heart of the artist is to never stay the same, but to stay in a process of change. and, to keep re-fining the style with which they create.

I think, what life most reminds me of is art. art is something which is created, for us to breathe the words back to ourselves, replay the images, in wonder and ecstasy.

And, i think that the world of art is drawn with lines to divide profound concepts. if there are connections to be made in art, there must be separate things to connect. there are lines between inspiration, integration, pain, joy... and we have to recognize how these things work, separately, if we are to know how they work together.

One of the elements of art is to make connections, to tie things together. another thing about art, I've realized, is that it tries to reveal beautiful things to those who can't recognize them. and, I've been trying to figure out how to do that for quite a while now.

... and, I'm still trying.

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...nothing i say makes sense to me,
something i can't fix.
the lights not bright enough, so I'm
stuck trying to make sense of the dark.
I'm trying to do something i don't know how to do,
never sure what I'm supposed to find...

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

...and the cost was so much more

i've been meaning to sit down, and actually attempt to write something decent. something of flow, contemplation, and thoughtful conclusion. unfortunately, work and the social lives of others have kept me too busy. for the past week i have been vacuuming floors, washing windows, and mopping walls in a girls dorm. a job that allows hours of deep thinking, and solitude. and i've been watching movies with friends. some of which are full and rich, others, which will remain unnamed, only serve to confuse.

so, maybe tomorrow i'll pour myself a cup of chai, sit in the quiet of my living room with a blanket, trying to hear the rain on my roof. then, i'll try and pour out some thing i've had in my head for the past couple days, insights of artistic value i feel the world should share.

until then, i've had this song stuck in my head at work, for the past three days;

heaven bend to take my hand
nowhere left to turn
i'm lost to those i thought were friends
to everyone i know
oh they turned their heads embarrassed
pretend that they don't see
but it's one missed step
you'll slip before you know it
and there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed

we all begin with good intent
love was raw and young
we believed that we could change ourselves
the past could be undone
but we carry on our backs the burden
time always reveals
the lonely light of morning
the wound that would not heal
it's the bitter taste of losing everything
that I have held so dear.

- sarah mclachlan, fallen

oh, man. i love this song.

literature, love, and ethics

i found a stack of books while cleaning today. i was told they were going to be tossed, so i thought i was might as well take them.

so, now i'm wrestling with whether to keep them, or whether to track down the original owner and give them back. the principals from my ethical reasoning class are coming back to haunt me.

beside me, as i'm typing this, are commentaries, mere christrianty, the message, and a tale of three kings. one of these days i'll have to start reading some of the books i'm collecting.

speaking of books, "stranger than fiction" is my new favorite love movie. oh man. i love how the movie speaks to the heart of stories. and it makes me feel like my life is a story, that i can only walk through.

i think that where the story goes is not something the character should try and control, or worry about. also, i've been thinking a lot about love. well, thats pretty much all i ever think about, but that is something for another day (work has me busy all of a sudden. what a strange concept).

if i ever get this into my head, i might start "living" my life. or, i might just start playing guitar again.

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

update, i found the girl that the books belong to. so i gave them back.

ethics- 1 adam- 0

alas this love

today was my first day of work for the summer. the start of a new chapter. i pretty much mopped floors and stacked chairs all day long. i feel immensely blessed with this job, actually.

oh, get this- the BC Lions are going to live at my school, for a couple weeks!! ah! i wish that i was a fan of CFL so i could care. alas.

i went to this birthday party last night, full of beautiful, trendy, uppermiddle class vegan people, in a big artsy house. and as luck would have it, i was wearing a trucker hat.

which, as irony dictates, is what i always get stuck wearing everytime i find myself in the strange world of the well off. man, i swear, i am a walking irony.

so, i don't know how weird i'm supposed to feel when i end up at a trendy people gathering. i have never considered myself all that trendy, thus have never thought i could feel welcome in those places. i kept expecting them to realize what i really was, and send me on my way.

ha ha, no, i'm joking (i'm so down on myself today. what the heck?)

eventually i wandered outside and hung out with derek weiss, who was telling me stories about zen. that was pretty cool.

hm. and my life is still in suspension. i'm waiting to settle into some kind of balance, that is supposed to present itself. and i'm still wondering if what i'm looking for is right. i'm not sure if the things i seek are all that worth seeking sometimes. i might be wasting my time.

oh well. note to self- throw away trucker hats. and unfair assumptions of life and people.

home is

i was sitting on a camp chair, beside my school's cafeteria, facing the empty fountain, when i was asked to apply for a youth ministry job in september. one more thing to think about.

bible college is full of new experiences, things one would never experience anywhere else. well, something new has hit me today. that i'm not going home. i'm not leaving for nanaimo, like i have for the past three years. i'm staying here.

things will change. i'm still looking for "home".

the drive

the guy from mae has a big mouth when he sings, ethiopian food is rich, coffee is a poor choice, i feel big at all ages shows (filled with small people), matt thiessen can rock out a piano (i liked how an actual piano was brought on stage), arlen is amishly manly, cafe de' soleil is a modern day "upper room" (from the last supper... remember?... in the new testament. whatever), denis conroy needs to shave, the keyboardist from sherwood is a dancer, michelle is a dreads hottie, fair trade sugar is convicting, the street is fresher after hours in ethnic shops, kate lee likes pop, i need a cool libation to end this day...

...and we all float on (i love concerts, and the city).

bad time to be poor

tuesday morning. blinds closed. half sunny. organic granola. chai tea.

i finally finished my imagination project yesterday. i tried to make the point that the essence of journaling is both time and story. thus, the title "days drip slowly on the page" (which i borrowed from a bruce cockburn song). i'll have to send you a copy.

so, other than being a pretensious artist, my days are dragging slowly. they are long, and just not filled with much insight. i start work next week, which means i'll have a somewhat balanced life for once.

hm. until then, my life is a cup of tea. which means, i have to find some better tea. by better tea, i mean stuff thats not sold in a carboard box. unless that box is recycled.

i've come to a strange realization... that a class in college will only effect you deeply if you let it. and i have allowed "environmental issues" to effect me deeply. almost every aspect of my life has been brought into consideration.

now, everytime i buy something i look at where the product is from, imagining the traffic it took to get that product to me. i'm not bragging, i'm saying this is something i do without thinking, catch myself, and say ah! what am i doing?

this is the same reaction i had back when i took a class called "effective relationships", which changed how i view myself and how i view my relationships. and i'm still walking through issues raised in that class. so, as i said, if you let a class mess you up / cause you to re-think you're accepted perspective / shake you're foundations / effect you deeply, i think it will.

it will be nice to not have class during the summer. time for;

tea. literature. barbecue corn. organic food. rest. reflection. hopefully.

let down, and hanging around

i spent about 7 hours yesterday, trying to finish my writing project. i am now completely burned out, and feeling rather crappy.

i think i either a) put too much effort in b) tryed to hard or c) aimed to impress when i should have been focusing on art for the sake of creativity.

and i lost sleep over it. grrr. never again.

on a side note, i can now say that i have hugged tony funk. ha. how many people can say that? the story: me, heather, michelle, and dan (people i know but you don't) watched a choir of singers (lead my mr. funk) sing canadian folk songs... good times.

honesty and wrong assumptions

i spent some time reflecting on a personal/private journal i kept these past four months. when i started the journal i found myself writing in the same style as my online journaling habits- writing with the assumption that someone will read what i have to say.

so, of course, my journaling was very reserved. the journal was not supposed to be like my public journaling, throwing all my thoughts out an trying to come to a witty, or insightful conlusion. so, i starting getting real honest, expressing what was really going on deep down, rather that meandering with thoughts and speculating. i got past the "this is how i think i'm supposed to feel" to "this is where i am". so thats me.

in prayer, we shouldn't be reserved, afraid to offend God. i feel like, all i need to do is give up the truest and most honest and, oftentimes, offending parts of myself and know that God will accept all those things... that God wants me to express that honesty. its part of knowing who i am.

so i started to find the truest honesty about myself, who i am, and what things are going on deep down. and i realized how much i need to express them, rather than... i don't know. whatever the opposite of not expressing how i feel is. honesty is a difficult thing...its something we find when we're not trying to impress anybody.

and i'm glad to share that with my friends, who read this.

so thats why i've been on a bit of a journaling hiatus. i don't know what i'm supposed to think, at the moment. my life could use a little balance.

running to, and from

Take
Take till there's nothing
Nothing to turn to
Nothing when you get through
Won't you break
Scattered pieces of all I've been
Bowing to all I've been
Running to
Where are you?

Did you leave me unbreakable?
You leave me frozen?
I've never felt so cold
I thought you were silent
And I thought you left me
For the wreckage and the waste
On an empty beach of faith
Was it true?

cuz, I got a question
Where are you?

Scream
Deeper I wanna scream
I want you to hear me
I want you to find me
...Cuz I want to believe
But all I pray is wrong
And all I claim is gone

And I...i got a question
I got a question-
Where are you?

-silence, jars of clay

hope and the wounded healer

i spent some time today, processing some old thoughts over a cup of jasmine tea. it was a milieu of old thoughts of a old season, and the tea i bought last august. for some reason i never had the time to finish making pots of tea to use up the dry leaves, and i didn't have enough time to fully comprehend things- or work through questions i asked awhile ago.

advent. if i can liken advent to anything, it is like a flowerpot. to grow something in flowerpot, i have to first clear space in that pot, in expectation of dirt or seeds, or a plant. in the same way, we clear space in ourselves during the advent season, in expectation of a coming messiah, who promises to fill us. the very meaning of Christ being born is a welcoming of new soil, a new covenant to replace dry, lifeless dirt that we watched over faithfully, hoping for life.

and what will that new soil grow inside me? i don't know. this is, perhaps, a question i'll ask again everytime a season changes.

day by day. last semester i tried planning for the first time. at the start of the year i planned out what i would read every day, which days would be saved for writing and which for rest. though my days for reading would come, and a feeling of "i don't feel like it" came. and, looking back, what felt like laziness was a moderate depression. some things from my personal life were dragging me down, which made my plans difficult to follow through with.

in all my skilled planning i forgot to account for one thing- life. to have life, and to live it, is unpredictable. there are things that enter into our long term plans and undermine them- issues that even the best plans cannot control. i couldn't help it that i was depressed. its not something i thought was going to happen. as important as planning is, learning to live in the unpredictable day to day is key- its learning to live within those plans.

life, through my eyes, can't be lived a couple months in advance. we can't place joy, sorrow, heartbreak, or crying on a calender. we can't choose our stories, or how they will change us. we can't choose whats going to hurt, what will bring joy, or what will make us stop and wonder, in awe. having a set plan for some things is good, but when it comes to living life, feeling the rush of it stream down my arms, is one day at a time.

i think, all we can do is walk through the stuff of life, willing to learn whatever lesson God intends those things to bring.

tea. i think i drank a bit too much tea today. or, simply failed to balance the said tea with adequate nutrients... aka, food. i need to find some good new tea. having jasmine was all good and fine this year, but it feels lacking in the flavor category. and earl grey has it's moments, but drink the same tea everyday and it starts to feel like just that- the "same old tea". whatever.

...and so he did what countless punk-rock songs had told him to do so many times before: he lived his life.

-stranger than fiction