New Years’ Resolutions

25 01 2010

If I made New Years’ resolutions, I would have rallied to workout more, be more diligent in my French learning, and taken the pottery class I wanted to take.  Alas, I refuse to be constrained by the implications and technicalities of the thinly veiled attempt at a better life referred to as New Years’ Resolution.

As is my nature, I rotate in phases of discipline devoted to certain items.  I noticed that I failed to maintain any regularity on this journal.  And now I have reembarked on yet another attempt toward “creative” writing.  I’ve been bound and determined to regain some semblance of physical fitness I once claimed.  More French seeps in only every 2-3 weeks.  And lets not forget the aspirations of gardening, solar panel creation, and playground pursuit.

Persistence persistently evades, in its appropriate fashion.  I think this is why my elders have always told me to travel and enjoy life while I am young.  Because when life hits, you won’t realize how stuck you are until its too late.  And it may be a good too late but nonetheless, you are immovable.





ramblings from awhile back (9/27 and 10/23)

12 11 2009

Art. Beauty.  Created things.  Slam poetry.  Simple things.  These are the cravings I grasp at.

Several women catch my attention.  All beautiful in their own way; some from afar, some closer than I’d like, some unattainable, some mysterious, some deeply intertwined with heart desires.  I’m waiting for the day that this all fades away and I can focus simply on our Lord.  Alas, I’m swept away in beauty, an affair with the beautiful things that hint at Divinity.  I’m generally unsure whether I am in love with Beauty or love the idea (to employ the cliché movie line that was once spat on me).

Its art, its music, its dance, its song, its athleticism, its poetry, its intensity, its passion.  The language of uncreated things.  I want to speak in crayola colors.  Let my words rub against the page forming new and vibrant collages of words.  I do love words but in my mediocrity these printed symbols lack a certain flare, a particular melody, a grasping splash that consumes the soul into another level of life.  I’ve heard it said that music or art is the language of the Gods, and I cannot deny that.  But be that as it may, allow to to propose that passion is the laughter of the Gods.  Or should we switch or trade the two?  Let laughter be the language and passion be the art?  Mmm.  How succulent!

For much of my life I’ve been restless, weary even.  And upon my return from the desert, the restlessness dissipates into lackluster envy.  Boredom must be the language of evil.  And apathy his ally.  At least in the youth of westerns.

I contemplate so many things that I think will fill and patch the void.  I contemplate significance.  I contemplate relationship.  I contemplate appropriateness.  I contemplate worth.  And none of it leads me to any better conclusion than I rested in before.  We may just live in the questions.  Is ambiguity enough for my friends and peers?  Should we seek the concrete or live in the ethereal?

Temptation cinches tighter the lasso of denunciation, unbelief, impossibility.  On a different note, I find myself slightly unsatisfied with metaphors.  Or perhaps just similes, but no, it is metaphors as well.  They break down.  The don’t last.  They’re insufficient and inadequate.  Indeed, I am a metaphor.  If we consider the given image to be a representation of what we claim as real life, then should we not be considered the representation of what real life should be.  But we break down, don’t last, are insufficient and inadequate on our best days.  Grossly exaggerated facades inches away from truth in our most genuine moments.  A cold and broken Hallelujah.

 

 

 

Since I started working for the man, I have lost a bit of incentive to pursue excellence, and I am ashamed to admit it.

immigration & segregation – superiority – unjust law – praying for the requirement to trust – humility – envy – encouraged to pursue beyond the norm – encouraged to live beyond the status quo.  Make it happen.

Sustainability for low income areas – solar paneling, recycling resources, healthy eating habits – If we made healthy food readily available to low income families, their lifestyle would improve. – MooMoo doesn’t eat for a day.





If I ever settle down, and maybe even if I don’t…

9 11 2009

I’d like to help plant a community garden.  Somethings that might help are talking with coffee shops about rebagging the coffee grinds for composting, talking to grocery stores about saving out-of-date produce.

I’d like to gather “old” foods from local restaurants and groceries to donate to rehabilitation homes and shelters.

Restore old bicycles from university campuses to provide mobility to low income neighbors (see/remember Elves and Moore organization)

 





More life goals

9 11 2009
  • become a mechanic
  • eat food I grew in a garden
  • build a garden in a low income neighborhood
  • remodel a home for sustainability
  • provide sustainable economic relief for low income housing (i.e. solar paneling, no-tank water heater)
  • become a bicycle mechanic
  • camp a lot
  • read the Bible everyday, sometimes twice
  • build a house with my own two hands
    • electric wiring
    • wood work
    • plumbing
  • Make my own dishes
  • Speak 3 languages
  • Doctor up public pedestrian traffic areas
  • cut the cost of education (someone else gave it to me, I am obligated to give it to yet another)
  • be humble enough to receive the gifts offer as tokens of love
  • live even more simply
  • restore an old VW bus
  • build a solar panel

I’m sure the list will grow, but this is what I’ve got for now.





Pilgrims, or Quarter Life Crisis.

19 10 2009

After a couple of months of living in a new neighborhood, finally finding some work, and settling into a good group of friends life seems to calm.  And its good.  Its good to be in one place per moment, instead of launching off in several directions at any moment.  I think they call it stability.  At least for me, this is the most “stable” I’ve been since I can’t remember when.

But.

Am I just an adventure junkie?  a trill seeker?  a nomad traveling from place to place and friend group to new friend group?  The pattern established gives a definitive “Yes.”  And the more I study languages foreign to me, the more I want to be.  But the way of a wanderer seems lonely, unforgivingly so.  Decisions creep into necessity.  Too long have I procrastinated the requisites of life.  Or is it rather that I’ve given in to them for too long?  It is my quarter life crisis.





Permanent Student. or, A Life of Learning

15 10 2009

I spent most all of today in the library.  The weather cast a chill over ol’ Abilene and I was off from work for the day.  With little to no responsibility, I decided to make a day of it.  I learned and searched a plethora of portals.  Some intriguing, others sending me back a step or two or twelve or onto a different path completely.  All in all, I think I need some lists to satiate my ever-voracious  curiosity.  I think using tags on this blog will help me keep a lock on some of those things (i.e. books, music, websites, life dreams/goals)

Today’s initial insert:

The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran – poetry about life

Gramicci.com – adventurers’ website + clothes, stories, activists hub

Gramicci playlist





Speaking to my heart.

15 10 2009

This man is brilliant.  Please read this post from Good.is website:

Dear Old People Who Run the World,

My generation would like to break up with you.

Every day, I see a widening gap in how you and we understand the world—and what we want from it. I think we have irreconcilable differences.

You wanted big, fat, lazy “business.” We want small, responsive, micro-scale commerce.

You turned “politics” into a dirty word. We want authentic, deep democracy—everywhere.

You wanted financial fundamentalism. We want an economics that makes sense for people—not just banks.

You wanted shareholder value—built by tough-guy CEOs. We want real value, built by people with character, dignity, and courage.

You wanted an invisible hand—it became a digital hand. Today’s markets are those where the majority of trades are done literally robotically. We want a visible handshake: to trust and to be trusted.

You wanted growth—faster. We want to slow down—so we can become better.

You didn’t care which communities were capsized, or which lives were sunk. We want a rising tide that lifts all boats.

You wanted to biggie-size life: McMansions, Hummers, and McFood. We want to humanize life.

You wanted exurbs, sprawl, and gated anticommunities. We want a society built on authentic community.

You wanted more money, credit, and leverage—to consume ravenously. We want to be great at doing stuff that matters.

You sacrificed the meaningful for the material: You sold out the very things that made us great for trivial gewgaws, trinkets, and gadgets. We’re not for sale: we’re learning to once again do what is meaningful.

There’s a tectonic shift rocking the social, political, and economic landscape. The last two points above are what express it most concisely. I hate labels, but I’m going to employ a flawed, imperfect one: Generation “M.”

What does the “M” in “Generation M” stand for? First it’s for a movement. It’s a little bit about age—but mostly about a growing number of people who are acting very differently. They are doing meaningful stuff that matters the most. Those are the second, third, and fourth “M”s.

Gen M is about passion, responsibility, authenticity, and challenging yesterday’s way of everything. Everywhere I look, I see an explosion of Gen M businesses, NGOs, open-source communities, local initiatives, government.

Who’s Gen M? Obama, kind of. Larry and Sergey. The Threadless, Etsy, and Flickr guys. Ev, Biz and the Twitter crew. Tehran 2.0. The folks at Kiva, Talking Points Memo, and FindtheFarmer. Shigeru Miyamoto, Steve Jobs, Muhammad Yunus, and Jeff Sachs are like the grandpas of Gen M. There are lots more where these innovators came from.

Gen M isn’t just kind of awesome—it’s vitally necessary. If you think the “M”s sound idealistic, think again.

The great crisis isn’t going away, changing, or “morphing.” It’s the same old crisis—and it’s growing.

You’ve failed to recognize it for what it really is. It is, as I’ve repeatedly pointed out, in our institutions: the rules by which our economy is organized.

But they’re your institutions, not ours. You made them—and they’re broken.

I was (kind of) kidding about breaking up before. Here’s what it looks like to me: Every generation has a challenge, and this, I think, is ours: to foot the bill for yesterday’s profligacy—and to create, instead, an authentically, sustainably shared prosperity.

Anyone—young or old—can answer it. Generation M is more about what you do and who you are than when you were born. So the question is this: Do you still belong to the 20th century, or the 21st?

Love,

Umair Haque





Certain Humility

2 10 2009

I escaped from an accredited university – some call it “graduating.”  But here’s the thing [peaks left, peers right, whispers] …I left not with one degree in one subject, but two halves of degrees in two unrelated subjects – ministry and communication.  Shh.  Don’t tell them.  They might revoke my diploma. (Where is that thing, anyway?)

As a partial communication major, I learned, studied, observed, meditated on, stressed over, grumbled about, crumple up papers on, and toyed with the ins and outs, macros and micros, ebbs and flows, intricacies of how humans deliver messages to each other or not.  Its grown to an absurd fascination.

In the most basic communication model the sender transmits a message.  The receiver decodes it, and responds (regardless of desire, s/he responds).  Thus communication is born, alive.  But there’s this thing called noise.*  Noise can be external.  But we can also be distracted by ideas, to do lists, or a plethora of other things, such as the receiver’s decoding of a nonverbal message.  Ay, there’s the rub.  (Did I already use that on a post recently?)

The ironic misfortune of studying this model is how awful COMS majors are at following through with the studied action.  I am Jack’s embarrassing self-revelation.

A while back a friend playfully revealed to me the totalitarian flavor of the sentences flapping off my tongue.  Most of us think we are correct on any given issue, thus our perceived need to toss in the two cents.  But unless you are a superfluously animated correspondent for CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, fill-in-the-blank news station, most of the rest of us (at least try to) coat our language with humility and softness.  Evidently my speech is not “soft”.

So I’ve noticed, speaking with certainty can make you appear arrogant.  Friends don’t take to well to this attitude, especially when living communally.  Especially when we’re wrong.

But I know how uncertain I am.  I know how uneducated I am.  I know how lacking I am.  I know how humble I am… that’s awkward.  Perhaps I could stand to audit some of those classes I missed in my half degree.   Perhaps, COMS 351: How to speak with sounding like an arrogant ass.  COMS 298: How to speak with certain uncertainty.  Or COMS 512: How to preface accordingly.  But that is a graduate class and I’m tired of school…

All that to say, my communication model could use some touch-ups.

*For those who enjoy quiet social commentaries of the indie comedy film persuasion, see http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0425308/.





Waiting.

19 09 2009

At twenty four years old, identity still eludes me; however, certain pieces of my personality seem to have sunk in.  For instance, I know proactivity generally takes a backseat to the pursuits others may call worthy life endeavors.  I tend to wait for things to happen.  Live in the moment.  Carpe diam, if you will.

This is not to say I do not value forward thinking or planning activities; its only to say, those are not high in my skill set.  I appreciate the people who can and do, and in fact, work very well with those people as we have complimentary gifting.  But to explain to you my five year plan would be more like reading a fantasy book.

Another nuance of personality I’ve learned about myself strikes dangerously close to antiestablishmentarianism.  (When I wrote that it looked like I just typed gibberish letters, so I broke it down for you, but also for me: an.ti.es.tab.lish.men.tar.i.an.ism)  I’m not necessarily a hot-blooded, cynical, sign waving protester, but I statistically side with the underdog.  Often enough the underdog has a general lack of money, resources, power, influence, connections, basically overall affluence.  So I don’t know what attracts me to them, but it might be something Biblical.  Maybe I’m an idealist.  Well, I am an idealist, but perhaps I’m not enough of a realist.  Nonetheless, I do not desire to be caught up in what is left of the American Dream.

This (un)fortunate combination of traits when added to youth, ignorance, naivete, and an economy in shambles does make it difficult to find a fitting job.  And I choose the word “job” over something like “occupation” or “vocation” because I haven’t yet been convinced that maintaining a “respectable” job is the best pursuit of life or succinct answer to serving the forgotten members of the Kingdom.  Certainly there are some places to work in which this may be the case.  No argument.  And I do not believe everybody should follow the same path to the cross I’ve chosen.  Nonetheless, until God sees fit to bring a spouse/family into my life for which I should be responsible to provide for (see how I’m waiting again…), simple is enough.

When I wander into the ACU Learning Commons (a.k.a. library) to use the free internet, it is not unusual to bump into friends and acquaintances posing questions regarding life status.  My semi-humorous response: “I’m currently about two steps away from being legitimately homeless.”  Insert awkward laugh.  But when it comes right down to it, my greatest example for life was as homeless as they come, a refugee, a heretic, a counter cultural revolutionary who didn’t abide by status quo but challenged the social norms in order to rethink the purpose of their lives in this age.

Lately I’ve hung out with a 16-year-old weed-smoking high school dropout, a 22-year-old white college dropout with gnarly dreadlocks, health issues, and a partial income who just gained full custody of a black 15-year-old 7th grader, a 50-something bridge dwelling “tramp,” a college grad with no job and no home but an awesome beard (he and I are good friends), my roommate is a homeopathic organic farmer.  All this to say, I’m okay with where I am, but never satisfied.





Imagination

9 09 2009

For many of us, the mundane trudge of work, transportation, and overall busyness drowns out our colorful imaginations.  Hello, my name is Kyle, and I am addicted to busyness.  But on my road to recovery, I started praying that God would restore a vivid imagination to me.  Here is what he has given to me – some recent, some refocused.

Blue and purple and black, His battered and swollen chest absorbs the relentless clobbering of a weeping young woman.  Sweaty, salty tears spray in all directions, dampening His garb as she wails and thumps.

King David rending both his heart and his garments out of joy for the Lord, dancing like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof during If I Were A Rich Man.  (2:26, 4:50, 5:14)  Flailing unashamedly, naked, trumpets blazing, guitars/harps  jamming to David Crowder Band’s Undignified.

For years now, I’ve prayed that God would let me see the world as he sees it.  A gruesome, morbid, beautiful image,

Where normally a pair of hands over one’s eyes would temporarily blind a person, when Jesus places his hands over my eyes, I see the world through his hideous wounds, remembering the pain felt and love given.  Through those wounds, our eyes see a new heaven and a new earth – the people walking before on pavement and concrete in suits and sweats now don radiant white robes and smiles striding across streets of gold.  Its a spiritual Peek-a-boo.

At church this week, the preacher unveiled a painting depicting

Osama Bin Laden having his feet washed by Jesus while sitting on the water in front of a restored Twin Towers.

And finally, though harsh I often feel this way,

Like a child bringing flowers to a parent, this young child with blazing smile, fully extends a proud arm with hand opened containing half a heart.  The other hand attempts to hide the other half with a hand behind the back, not knowing the full measure of partial commitment.  God, the parent, receives the gift with genuine compassion, appreciation, and love as only a parent could be so pleased with the work of their child, yet all the time longing for the whole heart.