Poison Love

Love is, perhaps, the most dangerous thing in the world. It comes softly, easily - as though a complex chemical cocktail planted in your pocket by a ragman on the street. The ragman hasn't stolen from you but he's planted something loaded on you, like the seven year death touch. 

Love opens your heart. The ragman exposes you. He soils your soul's sterility with "the dirtiest of all dirty words....promising." It's overpowering. It's too strong for any of us. Humans in love are like toddlers playing with matches and sticks of dynamite. The cosmic farce seems to be this: to open your heart to love and to be loved is to risk serious pain and suffering, but to shut your heart off from that same love is to choose immediate impotent death. We seem to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Sweet Poison,  Jose Schmersen, Jakarta

Waking echoes of daydreams of the wide oceans of waterfall love that my soul knows it needs to stand beneath to be whole, brings me the nearest thing to what might rightly be called "alive" that I think a person can now be. Returning to reality to find the distinct lack of the same - as if waking to find the quite real protrusion of an arrow's feathered tail coming from my chest and being greeted by the one I'd loved to say they'd put it there, and weren't the feathers beautiful- strangles the same within an inch of being "alive." I do not mean to say that I have been uniquely accosted by this arrow- we all have, and have all been the marveling idiot of an archer as well, which is worse. The point is that we need love but cannot handle it, as starving east african children need food, but cannot digest it.

C.S. Lewis suggests that really, what we call love is most of the time just the longing to be loved, and that loves which we are left to manage alone become malevolent gods, and actually exist as complicated forms of obsessive hatred. 

I think you can look at most tragedies in the world, whether widespread political-economic tragedies, or simple domestic ones, and rightly say, "They didn't manage their love well." Or, "I wish we could have loved each other better." We all came to know love before we understood it. We were born here, giving and receiving love before we knew what it meant. Before we knew how it would devastate us.


This is the miracle. That for every shattering of our hearts, for every bodily gasp that can't bear to abstain from touching the beloved even one more moment, for every instinct to to scrap it all and start over- to run away with the wind and "to do it right this time" like my dad used to say- we've already known love. By contrast every memory of a sweet giving smile from a mother, every rushing into a place we called home- elated to embrace people we called family, every soaring butterfly of romantic love in which you though you might somehow BE the other person because you were so connected, the sound of raucous deeply knowing laughter shared with a friend, is an unthinkable miracle. The fact that we have any ability to see, welcome, understand, and bless each other in any capacity is otherworldly. It is not from us, but it is through us and for us. I fear it and long for it more than any other thing.

Love, affinity and affection present as a sweet glowing child, and left to us, almost always morph into a pandemic titan. Nothing, save omnipotence can subdue it to fruitfulness- but it must be done. Love upsets me. It makes my pride into a disgusting feeding baby bird, and saves me. Love does not suffer sterility. It agitates my personal space.   Love is poison, but it's an antidote. Without it, I am dead already. With it, I am out of control - at the mercy of another. In danger. In love.

This is the first in a series of posts about love. Read the next post, "Medicinal Love" here.

Making Fun of the Devil

Some people really don't like halloween. It bothers them. A lot.  They want their kids to go to "Harvest Parties" --never anything called halloween and never out trick or treating.  I can't say I don't sympathize in some way - My mom didn't really let us go trick or treating or wear scary costumes. I'll probably do the same if I have kids. It makes sense that you don't want to expose kids to potential danger & what can be pretty disturbing costumes, especially if you, like me, aren't convinced there isn't some spiritual reality behind it.

Harvest Parties: The super cute version

All that said, I'm not one of them, and I just have one major bone to pick with them. They're afraid. And they want you to be afraid too. (Click here for the extreme version). If these people have a religious objection to Halloween, and they say that the God of Christianity is more powerful, then their tone on this issue should never be fearful or reactionary, yet it often is. They should never shudder or back down at the image of demons, witches, ghouls or devils.

It reminds me of Ignatius of Antioch, who has a pretty epic story. On the slow route to Rome to be put in the Colosseum, he wrote letters to encourage his friends, and in one (albeit one contested by some) he goes on to openly taunt the devil, calling him a fool and giving a play by play of how Satan's actions were 10 steps behind, specifically in the events surrounding Jesus' crucifixion. Satan didn't realize what he intended to be his victory was actually his defeat. There is a famous saying that "God and the Devil are in league with one another, the Devil just doesn't know it." This is what is implied in Ignatius' account to the Philippians, and he wanted to the world to know. Ignatius had multiple chances and friends in high places who probably could have gotten him released. He was not afraid, and neither should anyone be.

Hey,  idiot. Nice pants.

There seems to be a pretty decent case to be made for using halloween to make fun of the devil. If you hate the devil, shouldn't you fully exercise your victory? Think of it like completely destroying your rival team in sports then stealing their mascot and parading around like a fool in that ugly costume. In my mind, this may be entirely appropriate. Whether or not you believe in a real Devil that acts in this world, everything "devil" represents is not respectable. Satan is dumb - a fool. Feel free to treat him like it. In some ways, it's kind of ironic because Christians, by their own beliefs, should be the only ones who don't blink at the devil, but often it's just the opposite. Halloween isn't a bad occasion for Christians to parade their superiority (read: superiority over the devil, not other people. Some of you needed that clarification. As we saw in Example A, many of us have found Christians to be ridiculous idiots too. Seriously, these are often not the type of people anyone would want to associate with unless you really believe in the authentic historical gospel.)

So hey, halloween is coming up. You don't have to like it, just don't be scared. After all, isn't that the point?

True Story: A Monday Evening

9:02pm: Say goodnight to roommate, head to back patio with a stack of cardboard, matches, fire starter, fire wood, a good book, mosquito repelling candles & wrist to toe mosquito proof clothing in search of adventure/ relaxation. Turn on twinkle lights.

9:06pm: Cardboard fortress surrounding fire starter in a satisfactory manner, light corners of butter & pizza boxes.

9:08pm: Veiled in a cloud of smoke- nothing but 1/8 inch charred box corners, admit defeat at hands of wax coating on cardboard.

9:09pm: Enter significant mass of grocery ads to even the score. Move scooter cover to avoid melting due to large flames.

9:16pm: The un-aided sweet sound of crackling remains... Logs appear to have caught fire.

9:17pm: I love twinkle lights.

9:19pm: Enter roastable hot dogs on sticks. Excellent.

Sitting Bubbles, Karoly Karsay

9:21pm: Sticks may be too short. Fingers may be burning.

9:22pm: Flame very small to not actually there. Commence blowing on heart of the fire to maintain dog roastage.

9:23pm: Face covered in soot, getting kinda sweaty, hot dogs still looking geometric & cold to the touch.

9:25pm: Begin packing up. Throw last pieces of cardboard & paper on firepit more in an attempt to burn 'em up & avoid walking back to the recycling bin I fished them out of earlier than an attempt to re-start the fire. Think pitifully,"Dear God, save my fire?" Go inside to microwave hot dogs.

9:27pm: Return to check that fire is out. Find it cheerfully crackling almost as big as before.

9:28pm: Grab a beer from the fridge. Settle in to put a dent in my book anyway while the flame goes out.

9:29pm: Minor incident with frozen state of beer. Briefly ponder the science of temperature & matter.

9:55pm: Finished a chapter in the book. Fire still burning.

9:56pm: The moon is beautiful. Is this really happening?

10:01pm: Roommate #2 comes home to find me with snack, beer, book & flame. "This is awesome!" she says. I smile & shrug. Not ready to betray my frustration & near defeat. Bid her goodnight after briefly re-counting the events of our day.

10:44pm: Full of book & snack, face still covered in soot, smelling like campfire, satisfied with adventure & the simple pleasures in life, I retreat to my quarters to disengage from consciousness for the day.

Scootah

I recently purchased a vespa-style scooter.  It's awesome.  Honestly, everyone is jealous.  It saves tons of money, time, and it's really really fun.  There are some drawbacks - it can be kind of a theft magnet, you have to be a much more defensive driver.  Also, if you have the occasional habit of yelling things at people from the safety of your car while driving--as I do-- you should really try to remember that on a scooter the whole block can hear you shout "Seriously buddy, this is not a parking lot!" in your exasperated voice.  But my favorite things are people's reactions (or least favorite, depending on the instance).

They literally stop me at traffic lights.  I'll be on the sidewalk, and they stop driving--blocking traffic-- and come over to ask about this thing.  It's kind of ridiculous.  There have been some funny, some annoying & some startling ones.

A very consistent repeat is: "Whoa! Is that a scooter?" as if they've seen a ghost. Their brow is furrowed, their eyes intense & jaw dropped.

I don't know how to answer that question. Sometimes I'm reduced to "Hey yeah. Yes. It is. Ok, green light. See ya."

They've got stories about scooters.  Stories they'd like to tell me the full version of as I'm mid-way through fishing my lock out of my tire, or holding the elevator open so they can finish, before they've introduced themselves.  They find it about as likable and novel as you might find this guy. They just want to hang out.  As a person who's not real talkative with people I don't know this is a unique new phenomenon to me.  I have somewhere close to five of these kinds of conversations every day & feel bad for cutting them off cause I'm actually going somewhere (hence, the scooter).  Is this normal?  Are people just really that distracted by shiny things?  Should I be validated or confused?

What are your intentions?

People are funny, but usually it's when they don't mean to be. For example, I have a great yoga teacher, she is tiny, very flexible and good at teaching yoga. Also, I like her because she has a thick Russian accent and says "yah" a lot, so that keeps things entertaining.

The other day she came into class and said something like,"so I am going to make you guys work really hard today ok? Jhhussssst khhiiddhhhiiinnhhhgg" in sort of a forced wheeze laugh voice. Except for the wheeze laugh, I would've had no idea that it was supposed to be funny, but apparently that was her attempt at a joke.

However, later while explaining a pose, she said without skipping a beat,"so, for lack of a better term, you are going to put your heel right up in your butt crack, yah?" and I almost fell over laughing, but she wasn't phased. Completely missed it.

There is also another guy I run into at the yoga studio that is worth mentioning in this vein. The first morning I saw him I thought he might have been a hallucination. He is probably 5'8" with a seriously unhealthy amount of muscle mass, longish hair and sort of a confused look on his face to compliment his incredibly tiny stretch knit shorts (this morning they were purple and he had a terrible tanktop burn line). To say the least, he sticks out in a class full of girls with pink mats. You do NOT want to be behind this guy in down dog. The worst part was when I saw him coming out of the building wearing work clothes and realized he had no plans to shower before starting his day.

Now some people, myself included, might initially see this guy as an easy target. However, I tend to wonder if tiny shorts guy has someone looking out for him? Maybe instead of kicking him around, I should realize that he probably just needs a friend. Does he have a mother or a brother to teach him about body odor, personal hygeine, and limiting your personal creatine intake? I wonder what his intentions are? Did he mean to have that hairdo or did he just stop trying? What are his fitness goals? Does he actually like little purple knit shorts, or has he just been deceived into thinking that they are acceptable?

Dear tiny shorts guy, if you are reading this, can I offer you a more substantial workout wardrobe? Some aloe vera? A nice cold shower?

You know, the little 'a' with a circle around it

Being a young professional can be quite trying at times. For one thing, a large portion of my time is spent performing tasks that could easily be done much more efficiently with simple machinery, like an answering machine (although it lacks a certian charm which I believe myself to posess on occasion). Recently, while executing the most crucial of charges, answering the phone, I encountered a gentleman who was having some trouble.

"I've recently become a client of your firm," He said," and I'm trying to send you some information in an email, but it keeps bouncing back."

"All right sir, what email address are you sending it to?" I ask.

"www.joeslawfirm.com"[name changed for privacy].

[This is the part where I had to go to great lengths to keep my professionalism intact.] "Sir, I am very glad you asked my help because think I can help you solve your problem. What you have actually been trying to send your information to is a website, not an email address. An email address does look quite similar to a website except that it will say 'person@joeslawfirm.com', you know, their user ID and then the little 'a' with a circle around it. So just try adding that first part and call me back if you are still having trouble."

"Oh, yeah, I... that's what I was going to say. I've seen those little ones like that before. I know about the circle, so that was going to be my next try."

The best part of the story is that this man was in his early 30s. I have no idea how that is possible, but yes, it is a very true story.

The note writer

In junior high I was not the most popular. However, I had a few redeeming qualities. One was note writing. Everyone knows that in grade school and junior high it is cool and exciting to pass and get notes from your friends at all times, for all reasons.

Note writing has become something of a lost art as we've grown older. I was good at it. People who didn't even like me told me so, and that's a big deal in junior high. I wasn't good at sports, I was easily one of the most unfortunate looking, but I could write a two pager complete with artwork that everyone in the class loved and would pass around for days.

I have many reasons for making this attempt at sharing my thoughts on the world wide web, but as I go on, I think the old days of sixth grade philosophy, priceless scribble drawn cartoon commentary on the events of the day and my mystical ability to call something what it was in a way that could make my sworn enemies cackle will inspire the vision for this blog. I have no theme, or if I do, it is yet to be discovered.