Monday, August 20, 2007

What exactly is my state of mind?

I know it's racing. It's not going anywhere though. I'm running familiar pissed off laps around a mental track or irratibility. My thoughts sound like I'm venting a narration to some omnipotent viewer outside of my own time explaining my actions.

"See! See that?! That's what pisses me off." That and everything else I can see or think of.

"Look at these fucking idiots. All congragating in front of the damn front door. Is there anywhere more obviously inconvenient for people to stand around and drivel to each other? I've got to wade through a bunch of sheltered, naive, smiling, bible thumping christian, incoming freshman just to get inside the coffee house. Standing around wearing their scripted hearts on their strategicly wrinkled t-shirts sleeves. Clogging up the coffee house I would rather have completely empty and absolutely quiet. Wearing an expression of satisfied, scared shitless, pride that says 'I spent last night in my own dorm room without my parents and that means I'm an adult.' "

To be perfectly honest I feel absolutely selfish and base. I am enjoying it, enjoying like we sometimes enjoy small pains. I think I feel like it's honest and real. I'm just letting go of the culture and fears that hold me back from being my perfectly awful self. I want to vent at the top of my lungs and yell and scream and piss everyone off. Piss them off so much that they all attack me. I wandt to start a fight. I want to start such a brawl that I can punch and kick to my heart's desire and then fall down from exhaustion to get my ass kicked till I black out. I always wonder if it's weird how sometimes I feel most alive when I've just fucked something up bad. Go all in and lose it all. Everytime I've endulged myself to losing I can remember leaving the table feeling satisfied. What is that?

Right now I feel like I've got all the right answers and I just want someone to say anything so that I can correct them and crush their misconceived notions. I want some guy to come up to me and get in my face and say, "You're a fucking idiot. You want to know the truth, this is everything that's wrong with you and why everyone in this room is better off than you". He would snarl at me and he would shout out every dispicable thing I've ever done in a room full of codescending sneers from rich little white girls holding martinis and leaning against velour pillow cushions. He would finish and everyone in the room would purse their lips and narrow their eyes in satisfaction and think to themselves, "Yeah, he just got told, dang that was brutal, he must be emotionally destroyed". Is this a desire for home? The final judgement?

Then triumphantly I would stand up and get in the destroyer's face and say, "You think I don't know that? You think I don't intimately know all the sick things about myself? You fucking dunce. Who the hell do you think you are to speak up as an authority on my wickedness? I know my wickedness far better than you do and its bad enough to make you shit yourself in fear. You think you've shocked or impressed me with the giant balls you think it took for you to say those things out loud? You insignificant little shit. Look at you. You smug little shit, so satisfied and patting yoursef on the back because you think that your long thought out dissimilation of my own personal brick wall was devastating and I was helpless to hide all my blemishes from your overpowering truth. Fuck you! You want to shout em out, go ahead, I'm tired of all of you sitting their wondering at my deeds, conjuring up little fantacies of how simple I am and building your own ideas of the evils I've done! Well here they are". Somehow I would then shout out a long list of all my evils and laugh in there faces that are quickly losing their color, "take a good look you little shits, they're far worse than you could have imagined, but these at least are real! These are honest, and real, and nasty, and true, and they're mine so fuck off!"

Then they would all become embarrassed and slink out of the room and leave me alone with quiet so I can do my work.

What are these fantacies? Why do I have them? Why do I feel fine with the state of mind I'm in; knowing that tomorrow I'll be in a completely different state of mind and be able to write something genuinely sweet and endearing?


10 minutes later:

I went outside and had a smoke. I don't really smoke, but every now and then it's just right. I was fancying myself "Mr Bad Ass" taking long slow drags on the sidewalk. Then some women walk out of the coffee house holding their babies. I quickly got up and walked 10 yards out of their way so that my smoke would come no where near their babes. I thought to myself, "Oh yeah, your soo evil aren't you. Mr Bad Ass, afraid to smoke around a baby." My mood quickly deflated.

I sat back down with a wry smile for myself and feeling quite cathartic. At that moment I felt fine. More than anything I wanted be sitting next to a beautiful lady whom I had just viciously vented all that I have written. She wasn't scared or intimidated by my mood and temper. After exhausting my agitation she'd look me in the eye and laugh at my silliness. Then I'd laugh too.

I walked back into the coffee house buzzing and relaxed and was met with song that I somehow felt was just for me. "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad, if it makes you happy, why the hell are you so sad?" I felt like it answered some question that I have been trying to ask, but couldn't find the words for.

I said to myself, "I don't know? Does make me happy? Am I sad? If it does make me happy why the hell am I so mad? What makes me happy?"

I mentally giggle as I return to my seat.

Anybody out there feel me? Am I speaking anyone's language?

Monday, August 06, 2007

Captain Manuel Rivero De Soto: Revised

The heavy ocean winds brush his face and rustle his hair and beard; playfully irreverent and omnisciently familiar. Eyes closed in a familiar greeting to the wind the captain engages only the senses he needs to greet the wind. He feels its press and smells its closeness. He can taste its salty skin and hear the whispers of its breath chuckling in his ears, like shaking hands with a god. The wind and the captain have long been friends, and as such have had their share of disagreements. The wind rips his sails and batters his ship, taking him days off course and bringing the storms. Yet it is always the wind who brings him home again and brings him to port ahead of schedule.

Reminiscing, the captain smiles with careful fondness at the wind’s mischievous rustlings this morning. He opens his eyes to study the horizon and to take in the disposition of his busy crew. The Sea Bwana’s deck is rolling on its ninth day at sea with Luanda, of the Portuguese Angola, to its stern. The crew is working apprehensively. They know the sea well and are also familiar with the wind; today the wind gloats of the approaching storm. The crew works quickly to put the ship in order for a return voyage to Luanda.

The captain began to close his eyes again and entreat the wind. “What makes you so proud of this storm? Maybe it is not so great as my crew and this ship?” The wind gusts to answer and laughs at the captain’s interrogation. The captain has never doubted his crew or his ship. His only doubts are those of his own ability. Anyone, may follow orders faithfully and confidently, but to give them faithfully is difficult.

The captain turns to issue the order to turn back to Luanda. Upon turning he meets the eyes of his entire crew. His crew is on edge and looking at him with fearful, ready anticipation. He breathes and follows his crews gaze with his eyes, then his head, and slowly with his shoulders over his right shoulder.

Standing behind him and to his right a middle-eastern man garbed in middle-eastern peasantry is watching him waiting to be seen. Once the captain sees him the man begins to speak. “Captain Manuel Rivero De Soto, how are you today?”

The captain, being relieved at only finding a stowaway yet worried about his crew’s unease, smiles reservedly and marvels at the confidence that his uninvited passengers exudes. “Who are you? Why are you on my ship, and why should I not hand you over to the ocean?”

Then the man speaks, “I am Jesus, do you know that this is true?”

Captain De Soto’s heart leaps in his chest as he hears the words crash into his world. He knows for sure that this man is who he says he is. This realization is both stunning and frightening to the Captain. Yet despite these feelings he is also unexpectedly and overwhelmingly relieved to see him, to know He is here, and longs to keep him on board. De Soto knows that the crew is watching him and most certainly noticed his change in demeanor regarding the man.

“Yes, I know this to be true, what would you have with me?”

The captain can feel the tension of the crew rage against the gentle rolling of the ocean. He longs to invite the man to stay, but he stifles the fire in his bowels and waits for the man to speak again.

“Captain De Soto, certainly you have considered the approaching storm, what will you do?”

Hesitating at such an simple question, he stammers, “We must return to port, to Luanda.” Unable to stifle the stirring in his bowels he adds, “You are most welcome to accompany us to port if you so desire.”

Jesus smiles and says, “Captain De Soto I tell you assuredly that this approaching storm is the mightiest storm the oceans have ever seen. You would be wise to return to Luanda. There is no possible way in which any captain ever could successfully sail through this storm, ever. However Captain, I have created this storm specifically for you, and for this crew, and this ship. I assure you that if you were to sail straight into that storm, headed for Cape Town as you had planned, you will reach port. You and your entire crew will live through the ordeal. You will all be injured, some severely, and the Sea Bwana will never make it out to sea again once she docks. However, you and your entire crew will eventually make it to Cape Town.”

Jesus’s smile keeps growing while he speaks and he begins to laugh as he continues. “I tell you that this storm will tax every aspect of this ship and its crew beyond any conceivable limits. You will face the impossible many times only to overcome it and face it again. You will encounter the deepest terrors that the oceans have to offer and that the winds may conceive. Furthermore, once you decide I will leave your deck never to discuss your decisions. I will not be here physically to guide you. You doubt and fear, but take courage, I have designed your mind and heart and spirit to endure such storms. It is your decisions that will save this ship and crew time and time again, and you will be faced with impossible decisions constantly. I offer this storm to you as the greatest sailing adventure the world has ever known. I have made your heart to seek adventure and to tear out the very entrails of fear itself. I have made your will strong to master your nerves and make them your own. I do not say that all your decisions will be the best ones, and when you think it can’t get any worse it will get worse seven fold. Your lives are promised though beyond the storm. Lastly Captain, your ears are the only ears which have heard my words today, your crew will need your faith for though they see me they do not hear me or know me. They do not have your memories of my words to rely on.” Jesus steps closer and asks, “So what say you Captain De Soto?”

At this point the captain’s heart is racing and his bowels boiling with anticipation and fear. But he can feel his spirit dancing with confidence and eagerness. He turns to let a slow hard smile rest on each member of his crew. The captain finally lets his gaze rest again on Jesus, “Son of Man, how could any captain deny his crew such a lovely adventure? We will gladly go forward.”

Jesus throws his head back lets loose a triumphant and raucous laugh. He rubs his hands together in anticipation, “The heavens are dancing with excitement and I will be standing and cheering as well.” As his last word leaves his mouth Jesus vanishes.

The captain loudly and calmly gives orders to stay the course to Cape Town keeping his hard smile all the while. His crew does not hesitate at the orders but the mood has changed, it is sober and severe. As the crew carries out his orders he turns to face his promise. He faces a growing darkness and growing sea swells.

His hair and beard rustle with the mounting winds. The wind feels and tastes the same, but the captain can smell his departed passenger. He smiles at the presence and sighs at the whisper he now hears in his ear. A familiar voice, but one he has never heard on the wind before. As the deck begins to heave and the skies grow darker he begins to sing what the Son whispers to him. His crew quickly and loudly joins in.

At the sound of his crew the captain thinks, “This is our song wind, our holy breath. I wonder, how does our breathe feel to you? How does it taste, and smell, and sound to you? Does it confound you, our bravery? You know your masters voice; and as such you shall soon know our voices too. We, His royal brothers, are going forth to defy and command ourselves with authority. Here we come wind, triumphantly, with disregard for all fear and uncertainty. I will hold tight to a promise though I be the only one.”

His own thoughts make him smile. The winds howle with challenge as he orders full sail into darkness and calamity.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

"Hey you want to hear something ironically funny and tragic?"

"Yes", she said with a smile.

"I feel like I know more today than I did this day last year, but I don't think most of what I learned is any use. Mostly, I feel like anything useful that I've learned falls under the category of 'what isn't right', or 'I definitely had this wrong', or 'nope that wan't the voice of the Lord'.'

She softly smiles and looked up from her book, saying with her look "don't worry my dear one", and with her voice "Awwww, broken heart and spiritually confused, the Lord loves that doesn't He".

Ignoring the voice I say, "It seems that nothing I've learned is useful for doing, only not doing. Am I just supposed to sit and not do?"

"I don't know maybe you could read a book", insinuating she's heard this before but is willing to work through it again if my heart desired.

"Maybe I could just take your book and pin you to the floor again, you know work of some of my angst."

She unsuccessfully fights her smile. Recognizing my challenge as something that I know she loves to lose to me in, she's always chaffed by my bringing up something that is just as confusing to her as my purpose in life is to me. She hates losing at anything, and is shocked that she loves to lose to me in something so base and silly as wrestling, something I obviously have the upper hand in anyway.

Loosing a devious smile over her book she impersonates Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday, knowing I love the movie and always laugh at her awful impressions, "I know husband, let's have a spelling contest".

Catching the insult I chuckle and pounce across the living room floor at her. Screaming she tries to get away, but was far too slow and really didn't want to escape anyway.

Grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them to the floor with one of my hands in front of her face, I stifle the rest of her struggles by stradling her left hip and holding her legs with my feet. I faciously asks "How do you spell dominated?"

Our night will end with no great insights into my divine purpose and she won't finish her book. It will end sweetly and tenderly, comfortably together. The morning will come as it had the day before. All the while I feel the Lord just smiles. Somehow I know that it is good. Can I take comfort in a good that I don't understand and has nothing to do with my problems? Sure, why not, I can at least for the next few hours; until sleep.