Brain Bumbles

The Dream Begins to Unravel

2009-07-06T20:27:00.001-07:00

What is the Solomon's Portico of the U.S.A.?
The white house?

In Acts we find that
"They were all together in Solomon's Portico. None of the rest dared to join them, but the people held them in high esteem. Yet more than ever believers were added to the Lord, great numbers of both men and women, so that they even carried out the sick into the streets, and laid them on cots and mats, in order that Peter's shadow might fall on some of them as he came by."

The people had such faith in this way early Christians cared for the sick and hurting that they readily sought it out for themselves. What is really crazy is that you see these Christians caring for the oppressed in what would have been the Pentagon or Whitehouse of today.

Then, as Acts 5 continues, you see that the Christians are even arrested for living what the Sadducees call "this life." The life of dying every day to the cross over man leads to prison time, it leads to radical love. But this isn't your run-of-the mill revolutionary sect, this Christianity.

"If this or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them-- in that case you may even be found fighting against God!" --Gamaliel in Acts 5

What is nuts is that the authorities try to shut down this group of peaceful, passionately-loving healers for being law breakers. Yet instead of being a testament to the faithful unyielding nature of the law, the arrest and consequent liberation of the Christians from prison was amidst the time when "more than ever believers were added to the Lord." As Peter says, "We must obey God rather than any human authority."

Where am I even going with this? Basically I am beginning to see that a life lived toward God, a life lived to the fullest looks revolutionary and it looks risky, but it looks so appealing in its love and compassion.

Compassion is our destiny.

Alive Again

2009-06-29T18:49:00.000-07:00

I realize that in the past few weeks, I have felt life and felt it in abundance.
I am so excited for coming days.
And even more excitingly, I am excited for today.

How often do we live life with hesitation and regrets? I live it that way too often. No more, I say!

No more hesitation, no more regrets.

No more prioritizing money over God. No more prioritizing self-pity over healing. No more prioritizing a masturbatory lifestyle over a compassionate life.
I am changing.

Changing from believer
to follower.

Bumble #2

2008-11-10T15:39:00.000-08:00

Phillipians 2:3 says, "do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves."
Well, elitism pretty much goes out the window with this one.

Without my sense of entitlement, who am I?

No one deserves to wash my feet. I deserve to wash everyone's.

Still In This World

2008-11-04T11:38:00.000-08:00

Conflicted: laughter and tears.
Conflicted: relaxation and tension.
Conflicted: who I am becoming and who I still have yet to leave behind.

In the past semester, something has changed. I'm simultaneously losing and finding my identity. For the first time, I feel the spark of a connection with my community. I wonder; I am the only one?

It's not re-invention. It's rediscovery. I was always this way, but I had to tease it out. Something, or rather, someone had to tease it out. God. Friends. Family.

I'm in for some real relaxation. Enough tension.

Peace.

Bumble #1

2008-10-29T08:11:00.000-07:00

What more is a callus than a self-inflicted hardening of all of one's former shells?

Who Drinks Lattes, Hides in Thrift Stores?

2008-10-06T13:12:00.001-07:00

She finally arrived at her destination after waking up not even knowing where she was. As she shuffled inside clutching the contents of her pockets, she preoccupied herself with the simpering smiles of those polished employees. Employees, that is if you could call the "work they did employment. A few leathery bills, some change was all she had left from last night's scourge. What a night. She'd been out far too late.

She wondered then how she looked. She'd gone straight there without even glancing in a window's reflection. It must have been obvious that she had a headache. She was sure the pain wrought itself quite clearly on her forehead. Honestly though, did those idiots behind the counter have to look at her like she was some sort of train wreck? That pseudo-sympathy behind the counter was really getting to her. It was in the way they looked at her. Those looks that said "don't worry, sweetie" as if they were experiencing the same headache-mindache-lifeache she was. Well, even if the employees were all hags, at least she could get what she wanted in this store, the likes of which are known nationwide for ubiquity if not fine taste.

Sure, she would be warm as soon as she got what she was looking for, but what size did she want? What size would be big enough to take away the waking chill of the changing seasons?

She counted out her assets. Four one-dollar bills and several coins. She decided to splurge and make her purchase a fancy one.

She pulled the lone Dior coat off the racks, paid the volunteer behind the counter, and left the dingy thrift store.

As the autumn wind picked up, she hugged her "new" purchase, heading off in the direction of the city mission. Even though she'd just woken up, the position of the sun in the sky told her that the soup kitchen would be serving dinner soon. She hoped she would soon recover those four dollars thirty-eight cents.

Five minutes later, a man spilled his Starbucks all over her coat.

Holden's Paradise

2008-09-30T07:58:00.000-07:00

Tenth grade was a magical year in Mr. Allen's English class. It brought an enriched vocabulary, a (then) killer research experience, and Holden Caulfield. What was it about that twisted, pre-pubescent punk we all felt related to ourselves? I think Mr. Antonlini put it best:

"You're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior... Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now... You'll learn from them... [just] as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you... And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."
--J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 24, spoken by the character Mr. Antolini

Sometimes, it's impossible to believe that our streets are really full of selfish, fallen farces of what God intended. It couldn't be that everyone is one of Holden's "phonies."

So I tested a hypothesis. I challenge you to make like Josh and me. Walk down any street these days without your cell phone or iPod to distract you. What do you see? What do you do?
_________________________________________

An Experiment

Walking down the boulevard,
Head up,
Eyes open, seeing what?

Shoes pounding concrete,
heading off human contact.

Head up?

Head up,
Seeing buildings,
then
trees, skies,
light.

Head up, but off.

Head-on, facing others,
Walking down the boulevard.
See another person
see you
smile.

_________________________________________

Holden hadn't met anyone to meet his gaze by the end of Salinger's classic, and I'm no Holden Caulfield by any stretch of the imagination. It's good to know, though, that people, real human beings-- with sympathy for anyone else lucky or unlucky enough to identify as homo sapiens sapiens-- will sometimes look up.

If you start on the street, good.
Just remember, there are streets everywhere. Worldwide. Sometimes they're full of phonies, but sometimes, they smile, too.

Volunteer Me

2008-09-24T22:02:00.001-07:00

metacafe.com

define- from de- "completely" + finire "to bound, limit," from finis "boundary, end"
(Source: Online Etymology Dictionary)

social- adj. 1. Living together in communities ... 6. Of, relating to, or occupied with matters affecting human welfare
activism- n. The use of direct, often confrontational action, such as a demonstration or strike, in opposition to or support of a cause
compassion- n. 1. Suffering together with another, participation in suffering; fellow-feeling, sympathy. 2. The feeling or emotion, when a person is moved by the suffering or distress of another, and by the desire to relieve it; pity that inclines one to spare or to succour.
(Source: Oxford English Dictionary Online)
__________________
The Dalai Lama once noted that "compassion is the radicalism of our time." Now, after five weeks in what I'd conceived as a "liberal haven" in this bleeding red state, I realize that compassion is the extent of the radicalism I've found.
That means that my cynical side (AKA my social gag reflex) is finding very little upon which to feed. Yet as I open my eyes to the global community, I see more of what my cynical self once would have eaten with gusto, but with what my present self is trying to grasp once again.

O, si podría irme otra vez al mi rinconcito del mundo...
__________________
IN OTHER NEWS:

Mystery: Mankind
A heretofore unidentified variation of person (found in abundance in the Lawrence wetlands) has officially made contact with researchers. Upon initial discovery, scientists observed a peculiar fondness of said personages to dwell in the company of other homo sapiens sapiens, abstain from drink and unseemly excesses, and to volunteer on a regular basis. Recorded activities include serving breakfasts to homeless people, overcoming language barriers at free dental care access facilities, and donating blood.
Check back for more news as the story develops...

Waste My Garbage

2008-08-12T09:06:00.000-07:00

Here begins (I should say continues) the frantic scurry to prepare myself both materially and emotionally for another big change.
And I'm beginning to feel the knots forming in my shoulders.

Stuff. We live with too much of it. It will all end up as garbage at some point anyway.
Well, I've got more garbage to pack away before I ship out.

I can see the headlines now:

DOMESTIC WAR ZONE?: Billions $US Drained In Suburban Back-To-School Conflicts
Rustling themselves from sloven summer slumbers, the words "back to school" lay heavy on the college-bound tongues of our youth. In suburban America, where the spending and waste of early August is justified by a need to have the coolest deluxe duvet in the dorms, our reporters found Fae Thurston* ransacking the shelves at her local Target store.
"Yeah, I'm spending my parents money, but I think they'll understand that at this point in a girl's life, it's time she does her own shopping. "
The independence of the dorms, according to Fae, still holds ties of dependence to "Daddy's checkbook."
Her running total for dorm paraphernalia was $3,542.82.
Her parents...
[Story continued on D5]
_______________
I'm still not sure when my sleeping patterns will begin to smooth themselves out. I woke up at 6:50 again today, so my bike got a little early-morning rendezvous.

On the bright side, I saw a beaver this morning from the lovely view my bicycle purveys.
Does your car furnish furry woodland creature cameos? I didn't think so.

Hmmbird

2008-08-08T21:32:00.000-07:00

August nights and sugar slush mixed with a guitar yields-

The night's white breath
Hanging thick in mango leaves
Hides a humble hummingbird
Humming his tune for me

He don't use words or rhythm,
Nor a note to make that song
His wings make all his music,
And he's guided by his tongue

[break]

Oh, little hummingbird,
Fill your stomach as you fly.
Without schemes or plans, or even dreams,
You're still fully satisfied.

Teach me all your aimless ways.
Where does your ambrosia flow?
Is it in the buds you sip?
Oh, please, I beg you to show

Me.

[Chorus]
On a peaceful, misted morning
I can barely see my way,
But the beating of the bird's wings
Casts those doubting clouds astray

Now's the time to lose it all--
All your schemes, your plans, your dreams.
I'll just taste the wind
And fill up
On uncertainty.

So this birdie in a mango tree
Is the greatest teacher yet;
Teaching nothing for the future,
'cause the present's your best bet.

He taught me a lesson
That keeps me going on:
Never plan your life away,
And you'll always have a song.

So sing.

[Chorus]

[Solo]

[Chorus]

Sing with me little hummingbird.
Fly with me tonight. Fly right,
And you can fly with confidence
Into the darkest night.

So that's what I've been doing, and a talented guitarist helped me do it.
Apparently, a big black dog will soon play host to this guitarist, although said musician hates coffee.

Fin.
For now.

T-Minus One Month

2008-07-17T20:12:00.000-07:00

In thirty days, I will be a new woman. Well, I'll be one of 27 new women. I'll be a Millerite. I'll be a college student. I'll be a Hawk. I've never been those things before.

I'll be far from home, I'll be independent, I'll be wide-eyed. These, I have been.

Your friendly meteorologist predicts:
Sunshine,
Scattered Showers,
And of course, a ninety percent chance of mid-morning rote introductions.

Who are you? Where are you from? What is your major? Three adjectives that best describe your favorite colorfoodmoviebooktoothpasteunderwear? And so it goes.

B.