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A timeless spirit dwells in Yosemite that is unique. It is a spirit unlike any other that can be found. But more importantly the spirit tells stories through the fresh wind, the rich water and towering cliffs.
Everything in the park chants a tale and weaves poetry through its wild landscape. To jaunt through a grove, or a swim in sparkling rivers, or letting an invigorating breeze caress your skin is but a partnership with the story being told. The crags and cliffs, which are far more ancient than the lives that live on them, speaks in a low murmuring that time has lost.
Though I have be explored mountains in China, and all over the United States, none so profoundly touched my soul than Yosemite. I have never seen God like this. I never knew this side of Him.
He his gentle in the quiet chirp of a sparrow, silent and sturdy like the rocky faces in the valley, and boisterous and powerful in the waterfalls. God was welcoming and kind, but he has power that has taken many lives. He is not a God who cannot be toyed with, but respected and amazed. You can play with God in this place, which He delights in, but don't press too hard or your life can be snatched away by a sudden gust shoving you off a towering ledge.
The story of Yosemite is constant. It is the story of creation and it is the story of the earth. God not only dwells among clouds, but also in the meadows, between the smooth pebbles and the rivers' surface that trickles above them. The novel that is Yosemite is flavored with a distinct voice that transcends any other voices. God is real in Yosemite. Everything that man has made, tries to emulate such a voice, but can never recreate what God has already done.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A Novel Novel
After writing 190 pages of my novel Tommyknockers, I am pleased and at peace about starting completely over and scrapping the entire draft and turn it into something different. I will keep some key elements of the original, but for the most part the story is a gonner. I am even more excited about this story, and how the characters are going to play in it. It's tighter, more fun and I believe has great potential in character development
This is what my book will have that the other story I just wrote lacked:
1. A deeper sense of childlike wonder and whimsy in language and plot. The other story's tone was flat.
2. A character overcoming inadequacies; whereas before he just overcame external forces.
3. More magic and mystery. The magic and mystery felt forced in the other story, in this one it feels natural and a part of the environment.
4. More adventure and exploring
5. Instead of one race of creatures, there are multiple races all living in a diverse and very active landscape.
6. I wanted to keep some characters but didn't know how to do so in the original story. Now, with the change in plot, I am able to keep the characters I love, discard the ones I don't and create new, fun ones as well.
It' s going to be a good ride. If I have to toss this story to make an even better one- so be it. After all, I write for my enjoyment first, then I write for others.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Multi-Tasker Prayers
Yesterday in the midst of a powerful Sunday church service. The room was astir with healing, prophesying and ...texting? That's right. As I was being prayed for, a young man offered to pray for me. But half way through his prayer, I saw him check a text. The funny thing was, his mouth kept rattling on. Being someone who wants someone else's undivided attention, I felt hurt. Then afterward, I thought to myself, "Has our technology even invaded our faith?"
I know technology is a great way to get things done, but in the end it is relationships that matter. I admit I twitter, check the surf report and play games on my iPhone in social settings, but I'll be the first to admit, this is because I am bored. People sometimes bore me.
Are we multi-tasking our relationship with God?
I feel our phones and computers are making us more lonely. I most certainly am lonelier because of it. Not a revolutionary thought, just a tought.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Hard Lessons Bring Insperation
Last night during Writer's Group, my novel was pulverized on every level, yet I left feeling more excited and inspired to keep writing. Sure it was hard to hear the criticism, but when I left, I felt a stronger resolve to write even better, because I knew I had something better in me.
By the way, here is a writing trick I can't wait to implement. As you edit, read out loud and record yourself. I will be using the new iphone recorder app. Then, play it back as you read your work. If you have a good hear, you will hear the mistakes leaping off the page.
By the way, here is a writing trick I can't wait to implement. As you edit, read out loud and record yourself. I will be using the new iphone recorder app. Then, play it back as you read your work. If you have a good hear, you will hear the mistakes leaping off the page.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
My Carpool Buddy Has Past Away
For the past five and a half weeks, I have been carpooling with this man Walt Disney. Actually, I have been listening to his biography on CD. I was there when he was born, when he trudged through snow to deliver papers, when he was an ambulance driver in WWI, when he was betrayed by a producer of his, and I was there when he created Mickey Mouse, days after the betrayal. I have learned a lot from this man and what made him so extraordinary.1. He worked hard. Too hard in fact. In the 1930's he suffered a nervous break down.
2. Never took" no" for an answer. Even if money was short and people said it can't be done, he did it.
3. He took risks, far greater than I have ever done.
4. He believed in himself and what he could produce.
5. He thrived under pressure.
6. He failed a lot, but didn't let it discourage him.
7. He made profit only to shove it back into his creations.
8. He was in constant debt, taking personal and bank loans, refinancing his house, and taking money out of his life insurance policy. He did all this until the day he died.
9. Always dreaming new dreams.
10. He knew how to tap into US archetypes.
11. He feared death. I think that is what drove him to create.
I drove past Disneyland several times throughout the listening, and I felt a deep connection with the past, a strange haunting connection that felt very real.
While I was sitting in my car with the last CD spinning in my player and the actor reading the book, I felt an intimate connection with the man. During his last days he was frightened and in pain. He was a mere mortal that accomplished much. The story was written so well, and I was so engrossed with his life, I felt like he died in my Mazda 3. I was sincerely sad.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Leaders of 1776
Just recently I finished the book 1776 by David McCullough and was astonished by the level of leadership principles found in that book.
George Washington, a man without any military experience took on the role of Commander and Chief of the Continental Army and attempted a siege upon Boston. I admired that he saw a cause and need and charged forth without hesitation. He leaped before looking and after some serious hiccups, he came out the end of the Revolutionary war a hero. There comes a time in anybody's life where one has to charge forward despite inadequacies, leave the fear and doubts at the door, and place one's self at the cusp of chaos, destruction and destitute.
George Washington was superb at also being a duck (on the surface he's calm and resolute, but underneath the surface he fluttered frantically). Despite if one feels afraid, scared or hopeless, a leader cannot show that to the people under him. It is amazing to think that even George Washington had his moments of extreme agony and worry (as expressed in his letters to friends and loved ones), but his men always saw him a strong and confident leader whom, despite the insurmountably odds stacked against him and his army, still remained confident. Never loosing his temper, never panic stricken in the heat of a battle and stoic in the midst of a frenzy. If a leader bears to all his or her inner soul, the subordinates loose confidence and becomes infected with the very plague that burdens the leader.
I also learned that failures happen, yet victory is still possible. George Washington's men were dying rapidly from sickness. Men were deserting their posts and more men were being captured and killed in one failing battle after another. Despite these setbacks George Washington kept leading, never giving up, even when he was pushed way back from New York to Pennsylvania in the winter of 1776. This all may have crushed his spirits but didn't crush his desire to continue the fight. Life is hard, but we cannot let the fights with our significant other destroy our relationship. We cannot let the dying parent hinder us from doing our work. We cannot let a layoff tear a family apart. As we fight the hardships in life, we must preserve the true and noble causes in our lives.
1776 wasn't an easy year for Americans. But then again, what year was ever really easy for anybody? Within each of us our own revolutionary war rages on, and all we can do is keep fighting, and keep passionate.
George Washington, a man without any military experience took on the role of Commander and Chief of the Continental Army and attempted a siege upon Boston. I admired that he saw a cause and need and charged forth without hesitation. He leaped before looking and after some serious hiccups, he came out the end of the Revolutionary war a hero. There comes a time in anybody's life where one has to charge forward despite inadequacies, leave the fear and doubts at the door, and place one's self at the cusp of chaos, destruction and destitute.
George Washington was superb at also being a duck (on the surface he's calm and resolute, but underneath the surface he fluttered frantically). Despite if one feels afraid, scared or hopeless, a leader cannot show that to the people under him. It is amazing to think that even George Washington had his moments of extreme agony and worry (as expressed in his letters to friends and loved ones), but his men always saw him a strong and confident leader whom, despite the insurmountably odds stacked against him and his army, still remained confident. Never loosing his temper, never panic stricken in the heat of a battle and stoic in the midst of a frenzy. If a leader bears to all his or her inner soul, the subordinates loose confidence and becomes infected with the very plague that burdens the leader.
I also learned that failures happen, yet victory is still possible. George Washington's men were dying rapidly from sickness. Men were deserting their posts and more men were being captured and killed in one failing battle after another. Despite these setbacks George Washington kept leading, never giving up, even when he was pushed way back from New York to Pennsylvania in the winter of 1776. This all may have crushed his spirits but didn't crush his desire to continue the fight. Life is hard, but we cannot let the fights with our significant other destroy our relationship. We cannot let the dying parent hinder us from doing our work. We cannot let a layoff tear a family apart. As we fight the hardships in life, we must preserve the true and noble causes in our lives.
1776 wasn't an easy year for Americans. But then again, what year was ever really easy for anybody? Within each of us our own revolutionary war rages on, and all we can do is keep fighting, and keep passionate.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Collecting Dust
The Rule: Awards Matter
In Newsong's cold white vault sits all the church's awards for its large church growth during the beginning of the decade. No one looks at it and is amazed by it. For someone who works for the church, I am not really proud of the achievements and quite frankly I don't care about them.
This makes me think about my own creative endeavours. Am I doing it to gain some kind of an award, may it be on paper or by means of a complement or acceptance? Eventually all the glory I could ever get will eventually collect dust and be a faint memory. All our energy, all our efforts, all our stress will find a home under a table. I have said this many times before in previous blogs, but I say it again to remind myself: what we do in our creative expression must be for the process not the end result. Of course I will not be writing this story for the rest of my life. It is not worth it. And I can still dream big, but I don't write to be rich or well known. I write to enjoy the creative process.
As for a church, size doesn't matter. All that a church would ever get from being large is an award and strangers throughout the nation saying, "Boy [insert church name here] is really big. It's crazy." and that is all.
When you think about it, greatness only breeds wealth, compliments and people talking about the greatness over steak or ice cream. I don't know if it is really worth it.
Is it?
Monday, April 6, 2009
The New Outcast
The Rule: You have to be dirty, dying or diseased to be an outcast.
In the District shopping center, I observed something. A timeshare mall sales man was trying to course a couple into purchasing some timeshare, but the couple kept walking past him, saying no thanks and coming up with excuses why they can't stay and talk to the guy and even purchase some sweet property.
I realized something. People don't avoid the homeless, the vagabonds, the orphans and widows, the dirty, dying and diseased because they are repulsive. The bystanders avoid the destitute because they feel something is going to be taken from them, may it be money, time or even pride. I notice, I don't feel the timeshare salesmen anxiety when I am with the homeless or sick when I posture my heart to give. Look at it this way, we cringe and dislike salesmen when our hearts are postured to not want to purchase something, but when we have a desire to buy something we seek out the salesmen with much gusto. In fact, I get frustrated when I can't find a salesman and I want to make a purchase. I have even been flustered when I wanted to give to the homeless and yet I couldn't even find them. You see, it's just a matter of intentionality. If I designate my time, and my resources to the poor before I engage them, I don't have that anxiety.
Maybe what we need to do is always keep our hearts, resources and time postured to give, and then when we get caught blindsided by that homeless person by the freeway we can show Christ's love. Heck, we can even show some love to the poor salesman at the District. He might not need food, but maybe some respect.
In the District shopping center, I observed something. A timeshare mall sales man was trying to course a couple into purchasing some timeshare, but the couple kept walking past him, saying no thanks and coming up with excuses why they can't stay and talk to the guy and even purchase some sweet property.
I realized something. People don't avoid the homeless, the vagabonds, the orphans and widows, the dirty, dying and diseased because they are repulsive. The bystanders avoid the destitute because they feel something is going to be taken from them, may it be money, time or even pride. I notice, I don't feel the timeshare salesmen anxiety when I am with the homeless or sick when I posture my heart to give. Look at it this way, we cringe and dislike salesmen when our hearts are postured to not want to purchase something, but when we have a desire to buy something we seek out the salesmen with much gusto. In fact, I get frustrated when I can't find a salesman and I want to make a purchase. I have even been flustered when I wanted to give to the homeless and yet I couldn't even find them. You see, it's just a matter of intentionality. If I designate my time, and my resources to the poor before I engage them, I don't have that anxiety.
Maybe what we need to do is always keep our hearts, resources and time postured to give, and then when we get caught blindsided by that homeless person by the freeway we can show Christ's love. Heck, we can even show some love to the poor salesman at the District. He might not need food, but maybe some respect.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Write Away from your Desk
The rule: Writers write alone.
As I struggle to think of new things to write about on my blog on a daily basis, I think how can I get new thoughts, new ideas new ways of looking at things. I can tell you this, it doesn't happen beyond the keyboard, with pen and pencil. It happens by laughing, and crying at the world and what the world throws at me. It is by stepping out into the open catching the sunrise on the pier when normally one hates mornings, or diving into jazz clubs when one only listens to death meddle. Going to night clubs when a good books is all you need to cure one's loneliness and maybe see some romance.
These are things we need to do to create an imaginative world. We stock our imagination with what is outside of our lives that yearn to be explored. Where would Hemingway be if not for his adventures in Africa and Spain? Where would Cervantes be if not for his military history? Mark Twain without traveling abroad and being a riverboat captain?
Many of the greatest writers live their lives boldly, breaking free from their writing studios and treading in different territories.
So let's write down our stories before we even sit down to our keyboard and see what comes out in the open air.
As I struggle to think of new things to write about on my blog on a daily basis, I think how can I get new thoughts, new ideas new ways of looking at things. I can tell you this, it doesn't happen beyond the keyboard, with pen and pencil. It happens by laughing, and crying at the world and what the world throws at me. It is by stepping out into the open catching the sunrise on the pier when normally one hates mornings, or diving into jazz clubs when one only listens to death meddle. Going to night clubs when a good books is all you need to cure one's loneliness and maybe see some romance.
These are things we need to do to create an imaginative world. We stock our imagination with what is outside of our lives that yearn to be explored. Where would Hemingway be if not for his adventures in Africa and Spain? Where would Cervantes be if not for his military history? Mark Twain without traveling abroad and being a riverboat captain?
Many of the greatest writers live their lives boldly, breaking free from their writing studios and treading in different territories.
So let's write down our stories before we even sit down to our keyboard and see what comes out in the open air.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Who Said A Quickie isn't a Good Thing
The Rule: Best Decisions are Made With Much Thought
The only light I have is is my desk lamp in my office. It's warm and giving me a headache. Beyond my transparent curtains I see a haze of buildings with only the white and red light penetrating into my office. It is 10:00pm, I am tired and want to go home, yet in a blog that tries to shatter the rules of life, I created the rule of writing something everyday. Ironic isn't it? Maybe I shouldn't have made the rule of writing in it everyday out of a whimsy, or should I have?
Why do we create rules out of randomly generated thoughts, like I did about my blog? The biggest decisions are made with the smallest of time. For me I see this in several ways: usually if I decide to fast, it just strikes me in a moment. I could be digging for boogers in the shower and decide to give up solid food for a week. Or maybe, while I am checking out the mole on my scalp, I decided I will go on that camping trip for my entire Thanksgiving break.
For me, I create rules not out of deep pain, deep thoughts and mind blowing epiphanies, but out of randomness. Sometimes it generates into something rather amazing, sometimes it is a complete flop. When these conclusions come from the mundane, I seriously doubt decisions.
Is making big decisions on the fly, during random moments without the slightest deep reflection actually beneficial? It might actually be, because I am acting out on the primal desire when I come up with an idea. Though it may not be the best, it certainly is what I want. So the real trick is training my subconscious to know what is best.
The only light I have is is my desk lamp in my office. It's warm and giving me a headache. Beyond my transparent curtains I see a haze of buildings with only the white and red light penetrating into my office. It is 10:00pm, I am tired and want to go home, yet in a blog that tries to shatter the rules of life, I created the rule of writing something everyday. Ironic isn't it? Maybe I shouldn't have made the rule of writing in it everyday out of a whimsy, or should I have?
Why do we create rules out of randomly generated thoughts, like I did about my blog? The biggest decisions are made with the smallest of time. For me I see this in several ways: usually if I decide to fast, it just strikes me in a moment. I could be digging for boogers in the shower and decide to give up solid food for a week. Or maybe, while I am checking out the mole on my scalp, I decided I will go on that camping trip for my entire Thanksgiving break.
For me, I create rules not out of deep pain, deep thoughts and mind blowing epiphanies, but out of randomness. Sometimes it generates into something rather amazing, sometimes it is a complete flop. When these conclusions come from the mundane, I seriously doubt decisions.
Is making big decisions on the fly, during random moments without the slightest deep reflection actually beneficial? It might actually be, because I am acting out on the primal desire when I come up with an idea. Though it may not be the best, it certainly is what I want. So the real trick is training my subconscious to know what is best.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I feel Yuck.
The Rule: Leftovers are the wisest meal options for intense writing action.
I am currently rocking in my church's nursing room (this is because no one can bother here and I get to appease my need to move in the rocking chair), where mothers come and nurse their babies on Sunday mornings. Well, the only thing I am nursing right now is a small head ache and an upset stomach. Maybe its the rocking chair I'm moving quite swiftly and I know this because I am finding my chair sliding all throughout the room. Or maybe it could be the lack of natural light in the room. But I do know that my left over BBQ ribs from Sunday night is a huge culprit to my icky feeling.
Cheap, free food is not always the best options for creativity. It just might cause us to only create vomit drafts. When it comes to our artistic craft we have to take care of our bodies and mind. Because if we don't, then our art will suffer. Like this blog post. It probably would have something insightful, but due to my nasty feeling, I'm going to be terse.
I am currently rocking in my church's nursing room (this is because no one can bother here and I get to appease my need to move in the rocking chair), where mothers come and nurse their babies on Sunday mornings. Well, the only thing I am nursing right now is a small head ache and an upset stomach. Maybe its the rocking chair I'm moving quite swiftly and I know this because I am finding my chair sliding all throughout the room. Or maybe it could be the lack of natural light in the room. But I do know that my left over BBQ ribs from Sunday night is a huge culprit to my icky feeling.
Cheap, free food is not always the best options for creativity. It just might cause us to only create vomit drafts. When it comes to our artistic craft we have to take care of our bodies and mind. Because if we don't, then our art will suffer. Like this blog post. It probably would have something insightful, but due to my nasty feeling, I'm going to be terse.
Monday, March 30, 2009
The Rule: We need our hands held in everything in our lives.When in the history of humanity did we need a "Sex for Dummies" handbook? When did the joy of exploration and figuring stuff out on our own become second rate to just having someone tell us something in a book?
If the cliche statement that "Life is a Journey" is true, than there are way too many maps pointing in many different directions. Sadly, we as journeyman, rely too heavy on these books to get to where we are going. Humans want to be happy, but they don't want to take their own risk to be happy in case the journey leads them to unhappiness. So instead of taking a risk, they follow someone else's plan. This is religion in its purest form. Self Help Books are religions, and the author's their gods- flawless, all knowing and powerful.
But the catch is, our way is not always the best way. I have failed many times over doing something I think is right and turns out to be a failure. The way I see self-help books is as a gold mine. A lot of useless rock, but good nuggets here and there.
Literature is just a journey in of itself that we allow to take our hearts and captivate our attention to inspire us to live out our own daily journeys and create journeys for ourselves.
But maybe we go to those "Sex for Dummies" type of books because that is just a pit stop in our lives, where the stupid and mundane can take on new light when seen through the eyes of another. And that is what books really are, just a series of observations from someone else perceptive on a journey we are all taking.
Nothing new, but really a reminder. Don't use books to be your only guide. Live your life, don't let your life be lived in between the pages. And for goodness sake, if you are a dummy, please don't procreate. That journey is not meant for you.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Good Enough is Good Enough
The Rule: We must be the best.
In the course of history, there have been many great writers, teachers, parents, painters, leaders, surfers, fishermen, entrepreneurs and whatever other role you consider yourself to be a part of. Do you really think you have what it takes to be the best? If you do, you may be driving yourself mad.
An oak tree doesn't look to see if he is the tallest in a grove, a flower doesn't look at its grandparents to see if it should radiate brighter colors. There are not legacies in the natural world; there are no desires for immortality, it's just life plain and simple.
We are but embers in space showing off our glow, but some of us want our glow to be so intense that it travels millions of light years, visiting numerous inhabited planets with billions of eyes on the surface marveling skyward. That is what it means to be immortal, to mimic the stars themselves. However, for as many stars we can see in the sky, there are millions more that we cannot.
But we try to be the brightest so our life can can transcend this mortal state, so it doesn't fade as our light travels in the deep space of time. But we must embrace what God said, "Life is but a fading morning mist." Meaning, its pretty insignificant. Because even the brightest stars in the sky are too numerous to count, and the whole is far more inspiring than the part.
What we contribute in this life is but a part. It is a single star that catches a Summer camper's imagination, a tree that shades a weary traveler, a flower given to a sick mother. Good enough is good enough. Because I think our "Good Enough" is all that God needs to light the world with his glory.
And you may say, I am not good enough. But I challenge you to look in your heart and ask, if your good enough is the best.
I feel that if we are struggling, we are trying for the best, and that's just disappointing.
In the course of history, there have been many great writers, teachers, parents, painters, leaders, surfers, fishermen, entrepreneurs and whatever other role you consider yourself to be a part of. Do you really think you have what it takes to be the best? If you do, you may be driving yourself mad.
An oak tree doesn't look to see if he is the tallest in a grove, a flower doesn't look at its grandparents to see if it should radiate brighter colors. There are not legacies in the natural world; there are no desires for immortality, it's just life plain and simple.
We are but embers in space showing off our glow, but some of us want our glow to be so intense that it travels millions of light years, visiting numerous inhabited planets with billions of eyes on the surface marveling skyward. That is what it means to be immortal, to mimic the stars themselves. However, for as many stars we can see in the sky, there are millions more that we cannot.
But we try to be the brightest so our life can can transcend this mortal state, so it doesn't fade as our light travels in the deep space of time. But we must embrace what God said, "Life is but a fading morning mist." Meaning, its pretty insignificant. Because even the brightest stars in the sky are too numerous to count, and the whole is far more inspiring than the part.
What we contribute in this life is but a part. It is a single star that catches a Summer camper's imagination, a tree that shades a weary traveler, a flower given to a sick mother. Good enough is good enough. Because I think our "Good Enough" is all that God needs to light the world with his glory.
And you may say, I am not good enough. But I challenge you to look in your heart and ask, if your good enough is the best.
I feel that if we are struggling, we are trying for the best, and that's just disappointing.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Lean Into It!
The Rule: Comfort Breeds Success
The 6am alarm came crashing into my sleepy, warm bedroom and startled me from a deep dream. Darkness engulfed the room and the sun still way below the horizon. I checked the surf report, 2-3 feet poor + conditions. Doesn't look good.
It's pushing through the thick stillness of a morning that makes waking up very hard. I am the only thing breathing on two legs at that hour; I am all alone.
Then I step outside and compete with the bitter cold. From where I parked my car, I walk the 10 minute barefoot hike, navigating shards of glass, oily parking lots, and sand as cold as snow snow.
But as I paddle out, I catch a few fun waves, and a behold a gorgeous sunrise that never fails to catch my breath as it peeks above the Huntington Beach Hilton Tower and glimmers on the smooth watery surface. I have no regrets.
I say all this to remind myself that in order to be better at something, I have to push through the discomfort and not wait until the timing is right. I can't write when inspiration strikes. I even have to write when there are distractions. Of course every artist has heard this, yet we never do this, because our bodies are weak and we would much rather give into the flesh than the spirit.
If we don't lean into discomfort than we will stay where we are at. I for one want to be uncomfortable with my creativity and tread in discomfort; maybe that would create a stir in my creativity.
The 6am alarm came crashing into my sleepy, warm bedroom and startled me from a deep dream. Darkness engulfed the room and the sun still way below the horizon. I checked the surf report, 2-3 feet poor + conditions. Doesn't look good.
It's pushing through the thick stillness of a morning that makes waking up very hard. I am the only thing breathing on two legs at that hour; I am all alone.
Then I step outside and compete with the bitter cold. From where I parked my car, I walk the 10 minute barefoot hike, navigating shards of glass, oily parking lots, and sand as cold as snow snow.
But as I paddle out, I catch a few fun waves, and a behold a gorgeous sunrise that never fails to catch my breath as it peeks above the Huntington Beach Hilton Tower and glimmers on the smooth watery surface. I have no regrets.
I say all this to remind myself that in order to be better at something, I have to push through the discomfort and not wait until the timing is right. I can't write when inspiration strikes. I even have to write when there are distractions. Of course every artist has heard this, yet we never do this, because our bodies are weak and we would much rather give into the flesh than the spirit.
If we don't lean into discomfort than we will stay where we are at. I for one want to be uncomfortable with my creativity and tread in discomfort; maybe that would create a stir in my creativity.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
God Speaks We Goof
The Rule: I am righteous because I encountered God.
I sat patiently floating in the cold ocean waiting for a wave to come my way. And there it was, gaining in size, a rolling hill of water with its peak making its way straight for me. Not only that, but the steepness of the wave was perfect for me to catch. The lip was nearly cresting over. No other surfer was near me. This wave almost seemed to be calling out my name. I turned and paddled, excited to catch one of the best waves that day. I stood up and immediately the speed in which I surfed down the face of the wave, caught be off balance and I fell with a disappointed grunt. I was pissed. Just because a perfectly formed wave is coming my way, doesn't make me a great surfer.
This makes me think about my relationship with God. Just because God is speaking to me doesn't make me more righteous. God speaks and moves despite my sin, or lack thereof. God moves freely outside of me. He does his own thing, and if I fail to miss what he is doing or saying, that is my fault, and God just moves on. What right do I have to think that God speaks to me because I am right with Him?
We should never pride ourselves with our encounters with God. This is not on our own merit. Heck, we might even screw up the message he is trying to say to us. Who knows. I'm not perfect and spiritual wipeouts happen even to the best professionals.
I sat patiently floating in the cold ocean waiting for a wave to come my way. And there it was, gaining in size, a rolling hill of water with its peak making its way straight for me. Not only that, but the steepness of the wave was perfect for me to catch. The lip was nearly cresting over. No other surfer was near me. This wave almost seemed to be calling out my name. I turned and paddled, excited to catch one of the best waves that day. I stood up and immediately the speed in which I surfed down the face of the wave, caught be off balance and I fell with a disappointed grunt. I was pissed. Just because a perfectly formed wave is coming my way, doesn't make me a great surfer.
This makes me think about my relationship with God. Just because God is speaking to me doesn't make me more righteous. God speaks and moves despite my sin, or lack thereof. God moves freely outside of me. He does his own thing, and if I fail to miss what he is doing or saying, that is my fault, and God just moves on. What right do I have to think that God speaks to me because I am right with Him?
We should never pride ourselves with our encounters with God. This is not on our own merit. Heck, we might even screw up the message he is trying to say to us. Who knows. I'm not perfect and spiritual wipeouts happen even to the best professionals.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Abort Your Literary Babies
The Rule: Every good sentence, paragraph and chapter that is written is a keeper.
Writers want to preserve their fine tuned sentences, well crafted paragraphs and protect their cherished chapter. If it's witty, sounds beautiful, shows great insight to the story, and character, they try to keep it close to them like an over bearing mother, even if it isn't working in the piece. In fact, writers will contort the rest of the surrounding writing, so it would fit with the little gem that popped out of their mind and made their way to paper.
For example, one of your characters is generally a nice guy, but as you were writing his dialogue you thought of this extremely malicious and hilarious thing for him to say. You keep it because it is witty and it manifested to your mind at the moment you were writing the dialogue.
It is almost as if we think that Muse is some actual spiritual-being throwing the perfect amount of inspiration at us as she sees fit.
Do you know what happens with overbearing parents? The children rebel, and run away from the parent's values. If a writer is too overbearing, the writing will lose the very heart and soul of the piece you are writing, and form a mind of its own.
If these literary children cause your work to fail, please be kind to yourself and abort them. It's okay. No one is going to picket around your writing station yelling obscenities at you, and the regret you may feel will last on a few moments. The Christian church is all about preservation of individual life, but as a writer, you have to think on a larger scale. In fact, you could keep your useless, yet wonderful children in a cryogenic state for stem cell research (another document). You can always use those sentences for future writing.
Just remember, writers don't write, they rewrite, and that means the death of something you may love. In the end, you will have something far more precious and wonderful- a published work of art.
Writers want to preserve their fine tuned sentences, well crafted paragraphs and protect their cherished chapter. If it's witty, sounds beautiful, shows great insight to the story, and character, they try to keep it close to them like an over bearing mother, even if it isn't working in the piece. In fact, writers will contort the rest of the surrounding writing, so it would fit with the little gem that popped out of their mind and made their way to paper.
For example, one of your characters is generally a nice guy, but as you were writing his dialogue you thought of this extremely malicious and hilarious thing for him to say. You keep it because it is witty and it manifested to your mind at the moment you were writing the dialogue.
It is almost as if we think that Muse is some actual spiritual-being throwing the perfect amount of inspiration at us as she sees fit.
Do you know what happens with overbearing parents? The children rebel, and run away from the parent's values. If a writer is too overbearing, the writing will lose the very heart and soul of the piece you are writing, and form a mind of its own.
If these literary children cause your work to fail, please be kind to yourself and abort them. It's okay. No one is going to picket around your writing station yelling obscenities at you, and the regret you may feel will last on a few moments. The Christian church is all about preservation of individual life, but as a writer, you have to think on a larger scale. In fact, you could keep your useless, yet wonderful children in a cryogenic state for stem cell research (another document). You can always use those sentences for future writing.
Just remember, writers don't write, they rewrite, and that means the death of something you may love. In the end, you will have something far more precious and wonderful- a published work of art.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Alone on a Shelf
The Rule: I write for recognition and published.
The building was old. The automatic sliding door no longer worked. On it was a hand written sign that said "pull." Inside, the carpet was torn up revealing the plywood floor. Unrecognizable books lined the shelves with red discount stickers. This was Crown Books store, ladies and gentlemen-once a popular book vendor gone done the crapper. This is where all the literature rejects, the pariahs, the used and abused lay to rest, rotting on a shelf crying for attention like a mangy mutt poking his dreary eyes out of his dog pound cell.
Thinking about all the hours, the agonizing editing and laborious rewrites I have spent on my book, thus far, I think of all the authors who spent years, their blood, their tormented souls to put words on a page, to publish it, try to sell it and ultimately end up just sitting all alone in a dilapidated store where the pages are bent, the ceiling is falling apart and the cashier looks like a homeless man, instead of someone genuinely cares about books . I felt humbled. On average, most published books will rot just like them- and if I am lucky to get published, I have a good chance of ending up like them.
As much as I dislike the thought, I have to realize my writing will more than likely take me no where. I am not entitled to a cushy job as a full time novelist with people everywhere talking about by latest novel, long lines of eager fans clutching previous works in the arms forming lines outside bookstores ( the popular ones). It will more than likely die a quiet death.
So as I come to the word processor filled with hope for this piece of art to have a better life, I have to realize that it might not last longer than it's birth, and I have to only take joy in the process of creating. That creation is its purpose.
The building was old. The automatic sliding door no longer worked. On it was a hand written sign that said "pull." Inside, the carpet was torn up revealing the plywood floor. Unrecognizable books lined the shelves with red discount stickers. This was Crown Books store, ladies and gentlemen-once a popular book vendor gone done the crapper. This is where all the literature rejects, the pariahs, the used and abused lay to rest, rotting on a shelf crying for attention like a mangy mutt poking his dreary eyes out of his dog pound cell.
Thinking about all the hours, the agonizing editing and laborious rewrites I have spent on my book, thus far, I think of all the authors who spent years, their blood, their tormented souls to put words on a page, to publish it, try to sell it and ultimately end up just sitting all alone in a dilapidated store where the pages are bent, the ceiling is falling apart and the cashier looks like a homeless man, instead of someone genuinely cares about books . I felt humbled. On average, most published books will rot just like them- and if I am lucky to get published, I have a good chance of ending up like them.
As much as I dislike the thought, I have to realize my writing will more than likely take me no where. I am not entitled to a cushy job as a full time novelist with people everywhere talking about by latest novel, long lines of eager fans clutching previous works in the arms forming lines outside bookstores ( the popular ones). It will more than likely die a quiet death.
So as I come to the word processor filled with hope for this piece of art to have a better life, I have to realize that it might not last longer than it's birth, and I have to only take joy in the process of creating. That creation is its purpose.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Please Oh Lord, Kill and Mutilate my Enemies... (with bears)
The Rule: Worship songs encompass the biblical God in His entirety.
"23 Then he (Elisha) went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up by the way, young lads came out from the city and mocked him and said to him, 'Go up, you bald head; go up, you bald head!' 24 When he looked behind him and saw them, he cursed them in the name of the LORD. Then two female bears came out of the woods and tore up forty-two lads of their number. 25 And he went from there to Mount Carmel, and from there he returned to Samaria."
It is amazing that a man of God would curse young boys to a point of being mauled to death by bears. Elsiha even does it in passing as if it was no big deal. What is even more amazing is God follows through with Elisha's curse. No man of the cloth today would ever succumb to such a thing, and even if he did, would he be jailed and sentenced to prison because he cursed his enemies?
So why don't we sing to the God of Elisha? It would sound rather strange wouldn't you think?
"23 Then he (Elisha) went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up by the way, young lads came out from the city and mocked him and said to him, 'Go up, you bald head; go up, you bald head!' 24 When he looked behind him and saw them, he cursed them in the name of the LORD. Then two female bears came out of the woods and tore up forty-two lads of their number. 25 And he went from there to Mount Carmel, and from there he returned to Samaria."
It is amazing that a man of God would curse young boys to a point of being mauled to death by bears. Elsiha even does it in passing as if it was no big deal. What is even more amazing is God follows through with Elisha's curse. No man of the cloth today would ever succumb to such a thing, and even if he did, would he be jailed and sentenced to prison because he cursed his enemies?
So why don't we sing to the God of Elisha? It would sound rather strange wouldn't you think?
Striketh My Enemies.... With Bears
Oh Lord, thank you for hearing what I said
And killing those who made fun of my head.
You are worthy to be praised, for you sooth my cares
And rid of those who mock me with giant bears.
Oh Lord, thank you for hearing what I said
And killing those who made fun of my head.
You are worthy to be praised, for you sooth my cares
And rid of those who mock me with giant bears.
We have to admit, the God who we sing to in America lives in fluffy clouds, lofty mountains and raging oceans (these are the images you usually see on screen when worship commences). But he also lives in the moments where young lads' guts are being splattered by bears because they made fun of a bald prophet. He is in the blood, the pain and the grittiness of mankind. He is a defender of the widows and the orphans, of the righteous and meek. Usually, with the exception of those in the United States, those types of people dwell in slums, in violent wild places, they sleep near puddles of sewage, glean in dumps, and do commerce in violent communities.
Why do we worship the God of floating clouds, pastoral landscapes, and pristine streams through green pastures? I think maybe it is because this is how Paul the apostle told us to view life. "Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things" Philippians 4:8. But we must still look at the ugliness of the world and see how God is moving in it. Where the good, the lovely and the things worthy of praise are at.
I would like to worship the God who makes the famished leap with joy. I want to worship the God who gives a sex slave hope, or the God who brings life, vitality and an education to the oldest child whose' mother died from AIDS and now has to raise 8 of his brothers and sisters alone, with whom some are dying of the same disease. No wonder western culture has little faith, they see a God blessing the blessed. It's like adding a scoop of Kool Aid (not a reference to a cult) into a pool with lemonade. Many Americans, myself included, cannot fully understand the magnitude of the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000, because we are already so full. By God giving us 100 loaves from one loaf is but a miracle drop in the bucket of America, but a miracle just the same.
God is among the hungry. The deprived. The sick. The dying. If you are not around this enough, it will be harder to see where God is. In humanities depravity, God's divinity shines even brighter.
So let's look back to the two young lads. Though God loves those young lads, he destroyed them, all for his glory. God's power, and respect for his followers manifested in a very real sense that day. I am sure the villagers and posterity hearing this story knows that God means business.
God is glorified in the guts of young lads mauled by bears.
Lord, in all honesty, if I have said something that is not of truth and insulting to the expansion of your kingdom, please forgive me. I am just trying to figure out who you are in a world lost to the flames.
Why do we worship the God of floating clouds, pastoral landscapes, and pristine streams through green pastures? I think maybe it is because this is how Paul the apostle told us to view life. "Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things" Philippians 4:8. But we must still look at the ugliness of the world and see how God is moving in it. Where the good, the lovely and the things worthy of praise are at.
I would like to worship the God who makes the famished leap with joy. I want to worship the God who gives a sex slave hope, or the God who brings life, vitality and an education to the oldest child whose' mother died from AIDS and now has to raise 8 of his brothers and sisters alone, with whom some are dying of the same disease. No wonder western culture has little faith, they see a God blessing the blessed. It's like adding a scoop of Kool Aid (not a reference to a cult) into a pool with lemonade. Many Americans, myself included, cannot fully understand the magnitude of the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000, because we are already so full. By God giving us 100 loaves from one loaf is but a miracle drop in the bucket of America, but a miracle just the same.
God is among the hungry. The deprived. The sick. The dying. If you are not around this enough, it will be harder to see where God is. In humanities depravity, God's divinity shines even brighter.
So let's look back to the two young lads. Though God loves those young lads, he destroyed them, all for his glory. God's power, and respect for his followers manifested in a very real sense that day. I am sure the villagers and posterity hearing this story knows that God means business.
God is glorified in the guts of young lads mauled by bears.
Lord, in all honesty, if I have said something that is not of truth and insulting to the expansion of your kingdom, please forgive me. I am just trying to figure out who you are in a world lost to the flames.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Don't Have to Take It
The Rule: Walk through the first door God opens.When surfing, in between sets of waves there are boring lulls where the surfer idly floats, looking eagerly to the horizon for the next big wave to roll in. When the first wave in a set comes, surfers scrabble to catch it. Even if the wave is perfectly positioning itself for the surfer to catch, it doesn't mean it is the best wave to catch. The boring lull eggs the surfer into clutching the first opportunity he gets. Unfortunately, often times the waves increase in size after the 1st wave in a set. If a surfer catches the first wave, he subsequently forfeits the greater waves. A true surfer knows the surf break and the pattern of the day's waves and responds accordingly. He must have patience, but also he must catch a wave, not letting the set pass him by all because he waited for the best wave.
Oh how this is true in our lives. Usually after a dry spell, we gravitate to the first sign of God's blessing, but when we jump aboard and walk through the door, we realize something else was just creaking open beside it, something a little better- and then we have regrets. So why does God do this? It almost seems like he is baiting us to fail.
When I look at the waves in the ocean, they move on their own accordance, without the intention of a human ever partnering with it. I believe that, though God is relational with His creations, God moves according to His plan. "Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails" (Proverbs 19:21). God is going to move no matter what, and sometimes God's movement enters the territory (the life) of a beleiever, and he brings multiple blessings their way. The blessing is just God moving through like a passing set of waves. God just gives us the oportunity to join Him. He doesn't fashion his whole entire movements based on what is convinent for us.
God is always ebbing in and out of our mortal existence, flowing through souls, and gliding above our heads like a mist over the lives of every individual. It is the soul's choice to join in the edd, the flow and the glide of God.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
May cause cancer, birth defects or other reproductive malfunctions
The Rule: If it is furbished by Christians, it is perfectly safe.Christians offer amazing gifts to the world: humanitarian aid, great venues to connect with God, prayers, blessings, and apparently cancer.
The above sign is from the largest Christian fast food establishment in the US- Chick Filet, yet they serve up criss cut cancer fries, birth defects in a bun and reproduction repercussions in a wrapper. Of course they don't do this intentionally. No Christian would ever be that malicious, yet there are risks in consuming their food. Because they are a Christian company doesn't mean the blessed greasy chicken enters our stomach and turns into a spiritual chicken with the vitamins and minerals of a heavy weight champion's morning shake.
Funny how churches don't put warning labels on their doors, that reads, "Loneliness, sadness, and seizures may result from entering these doors."
Well, of course they don't. It should be assumed that when a group gathers, sin gathers. Christians do so many amazing things in the world, but we are all sinners, producing great stuff for the kingdom of God as well as not so great stuff, that quite frankly is humiliating, such as B rated Christian movies. But we cannot assume that if a Christian made it, it should be perfect, as if it was from the Hand of God. We should not go to a church, start serving and get burned out and blame the church for not being in-line with God because our needs are not met. Churches are dysfunctional. Heck, people are dysfunctional, even if they have accepted Christ into their heart.
So if a Christians slips up, sins, or causes harm, show grace. It is bound to happen. We are not perfect people.
Pictures to Ponder
The Rule: Words alone are enough to gain a readership.
I will start adding pictures to my stories to make them pop and sizzle. I begin with this picture of a dog I was playing with at work. I put my nose to it and it licked it so gently.
How can you avoid a blog with adorable photos like this?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Why Blog?
The Rule: Blogging is a Boondoggle
Few people have read my blog, and those who have probably don't check on it every day to gander at Travis' new insights. I write as if I have an audience, and I might not have any whatsoever- well at least a mortal audience with flesh and blood. So am I wasting my time, since hardly anyone reads this? Not at all. Blogging is more than busywork. It's a documentation of my soul's inner workings, and an evolution, I hope, to the quality of my writing.
Sure maybe down the line I pick up an audience, but for now I write for the sake of writing.
Then why is it in a blog, a public one at that? This implies my desire to be read. That is true. But whenever a post is published it is a sample of a bigger dream I have: to actually be published in print. Now, then is this a narcissistic hope? I don't think so. The desire to be published is the desire to be heard and this is need to be loved. Eventually, I want to write full time all the time, and this stems from another desire, the desire to create.
Eventually as a blog grows in readership, so does the author's public presence.
So blogging appeases many of the writer's desire:
1. To be heard.
2. To consistently practice their writing.
3. Self-Promotion
4. Share one's knowledge and insight for other's edification
Most of the time, the reader's lives are not changed on blogs, just the writer's, if the writer lets it.
Few people have read my blog, and those who have probably don't check on it every day to gander at Travis' new insights. I write as if I have an audience, and I might not have any whatsoever- well at least a mortal audience with flesh and blood. So am I wasting my time, since hardly anyone reads this? Not at all. Blogging is more than busywork. It's a documentation of my soul's inner workings, and an evolution, I hope, to the quality of my writing.
Sure maybe down the line I pick up an audience, but for now I write for the sake of writing.
Then why is it in a blog, a public one at that? This implies my desire to be read. That is true. But whenever a post is published it is a sample of a bigger dream I have: to actually be published in print. Now, then is this a narcissistic hope? I don't think so. The desire to be published is the desire to be heard and this is need to be loved. Eventually, I want to write full time all the time, and this stems from another desire, the desire to create.
Eventually as a blog grows in readership, so does the author's public presence.
So blogging appeases many of the writer's desire:
1. To be heard.
2. To consistently practice their writing.
3. Self-Promotion
4. Share one's knowledge and insight for other's edification
Most of the time, the reader's lives are not changed on blogs, just the writer's, if the writer lets it.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Saving Private Savior
The Rule: Warriors are Saviors
I have noticed people, particularly men, bestow the title "Warrior" upon themselves as if this title comes without repercussions. Some Christians call themselves Christ's warriors. I once thought of myself as a poetic warrior. Little did I know at the time the roles of a warrior.
The word "Warrior" embodies strength, power, masculinity, responsibility, and sadly it comes with a romantic aura that shatters preconceptions with a forceful blow. It is such a heavy word that one cannot throw it about like a child flings his school bag over his back every morning. It must be used with respect and understanding.
So what is a warrior? A warrior fights with words and action to preserve the quality of his tribe and his home. In every war faring culture this is the purest definition of a warrior. What then is the warrior's tribe and home? His tribe is a system of people working together to stay alive such as his church, work environment, his nation, town, his world. His home is where his family dwells and thrives in order to contribute the greater community. Of course there are invaders who want to steal resources, dominate and control communities. These invaders come from three sources: outside the tribe, in the tribe and inside the home. The very same tactic in defending the city walls, is the same tactic in defending personal walls of the home and the heart. These intruders have different values than yours, and they clash in brutal combat. It is a bleak battle, filled with fear and anguish. With every parley, there are injuries, if not casualties of both sides. A warrior accepts this, though it hard to do so. Comrades fall to their deaths before the warrior's feet. A warrior's heart hardens to the misery, and hates the enemy even more.
In the midst of a loss of a fellow comrade in arms, a warrior dons the burden of his brethren. He resents himself for not saving his life. He looks to himself as weak and unworthy of bearing the banner of his community even his home. He ostracizes himself, punishes his body, and imprisons his soul. The punishment for not living as a savior, is a self proclamation to be a POW (Prisoner of War).
Everyone has their battlefield, may it be at work, being a husband or wife, being dad or mom. A writer, an artists, an athlete. Day in and day out, we have reasons to fight. Day in and day out we win and we lose- either way casualties occur. And when they occur, we must not be POWs. Even if people capture us and say we are the cause of loss now go to prison, it is really our choice if we enter the cell.
Jesus died so warriors never become POWs. He never promises casualties won't occur. He does promise us he will set us free. Everybody gets hit by a stray bullet, sometimes it hits a limb, sometimes it strikes a vital organ. The streets are filled with people on crutches, wheelchairs, and bandaged up, but do they get past their wounds and live freely?
We can only be free as warriors if we realize it is not our job to save our tribe and save our home. Let's go back to the original definition of a warrior: "A warrior fights with words and action to preserve the quality of his tribe and his home." All a warrior can do is fight. The outcome of the fight is not his to control.
So here are some warriors and what they are and not responsible for:
1. Parent: They protect, raise and care for a child. They are not responible for the outcome of the child's growth, for their child's decisions, and their salvation from bullies and hardship.
2. An artist: He creates. He doesn't create for the purpose of a return.
3. An Worker: He does his best to produce a result that his supervisors desire. He doesn't always have to have a 100% track record.
4. Teacher: They teach students classroom materials as best as they can. They are not responsible for each student's success.
5. Someone working in Ministry: Love,God. Love people and do your best to bring them together. They are not responsible for their flock's salvation, for their spiritual growth, or for their sense of community.
We slap ourselves with the role of savior to all, and that's too hard of a burden to carry. Just fight and let God win the battle.
I have noticed people, particularly men, bestow the title "Warrior" upon themselves as if this title comes without repercussions. Some Christians call themselves Christ's warriors. I once thought of myself as a poetic warrior. Little did I know at the time the roles of a warrior.
The word "Warrior" embodies strength, power, masculinity, responsibility, and sadly it comes with a romantic aura that shatters preconceptions with a forceful blow. It is such a heavy word that one cannot throw it about like a child flings his school bag over his back every morning. It must be used with respect and understanding.
So what is a warrior? A warrior fights with words and action to preserve the quality of his tribe and his home. In every war faring culture this is the purest definition of a warrior. What then is the warrior's tribe and home? His tribe is a system of people working together to stay alive such as his church, work environment, his nation, town, his world. His home is where his family dwells and thrives in order to contribute the greater community. Of course there are invaders who want to steal resources, dominate and control communities. These invaders come from three sources: outside the tribe, in the tribe and inside the home. The very same tactic in defending the city walls, is the same tactic in defending personal walls of the home and the heart. These intruders have different values than yours, and they clash in brutal combat. It is a bleak battle, filled with fear and anguish. With every parley, there are injuries, if not casualties of both sides. A warrior accepts this, though it hard to do so. Comrades fall to their deaths before the warrior's feet. A warrior's heart hardens to the misery, and hates the enemy even more.
In the midst of a loss of a fellow comrade in arms, a warrior dons the burden of his brethren. He resents himself for not saving his life. He looks to himself as weak and unworthy of bearing the banner of his community even his home. He ostracizes himself, punishes his body, and imprisons his soul. The punishment for not living as a savior, is a self proclamation to be a POW (Prisoner of War).
Everyone has their battlefield, may it be at work, being a husband or wife, being dad or mom. A writer, an artists, an athlete. Day in and day out, we have reasons to fight. Day in and day out we win and we lose- either way casualties occur. And when they occur, we must not be POWs. Even if people capture us and say we are the cause of loss now go to prison, it is really our choice if we enter the cell.
Jesus died so warriors never become POWs. He never promises casualties won't occur. He does promise us he will set us free. Everybody gets hit by a stray bullet, sometimes it hits a limb, sometimes it strikes a vital organ. The streets are filled with people on crutches, wheelchairs, and bandaged up, but do they get past their wounds and live freely?
We can only be free as warriors if we realize it is not our job to save our tribe and save our home. Let's go back to the original definition of a warrior: "A warrior fights with words and action to preserve the quality of his tribe and his home." All a warrior can do is fight. The outcome of the fight is not his to control.
So here are some warriors and what they are and not responsible for:
1. Parent: They protect, raise and care for a child. They are not responible for the outcome of the child's growth, for their child's decisions, and their salvation from bullies and hardship.
2. An artist: He creates. He doesn't create for the purpose of a return.
3. An Worker: He does his best to produce a result that his supervisors desire. He doesn't always have to have a 100% track record.
4. Teacher: They teach students classroom materials as best as they can. They are not responsible for each student's success.
5. Someone working in Ministry: Love,God. Love people and do your best to bring them together. They are not responsible for their flock's salvation, for their spiritual growth, or for their sense of community.
We slap ourselves with the role of savior to all, and that's too hard of a burden to carry. Just fight and let God win the battle.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Cramp In My Marathon
The Rule: I never tire from hearing my voice.
I am a quiet guy, because I feel I don't have much to say, and when I do have much to say I am brief. Though the temptation to say something for the sake of saying something creeps in now and then, I, for the most part, remain silent. Now if I have to say something and its a lot, I get tired of hearing myself.
For the past month I have been hearing myself on written paper, and frankly I am tired of it. Now the question arises, will my readers tire of my words faster than I have? Will they hear something original as they read on past page 10? I am lost in my thoughts and words. I need someone outside of me to speak into my writing. I don't even know if I am digging in the right grave, plowing the right field, mowing the right lawn. All I am doing is writing what I know.
Writing a narrative is hard work. Turing that narrative into a novel is brutal. It is a mental marathon, where exhaustion lies deeper than the muscles and lungs, but it is of the spirit and mind, and it lasts longer than a few hours, but days, weeks and months. Other successful authors, I guess are the electrolights for the marathon writer. We read their styles and tune our own. I have my style. I found it through the many words written on many pages, but is it enjoyable and bearable to the reader? I don't know. People comment on how well I write, but in the midst of this grueling marathon, I wonder if I am sustaining the quality of my writing.
Well, I'm going back to work with JK Rowling and Bryce Courtnay by my side and with the simple prayer, “Let it be beautiful, God” on my lips.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Calling Travis Wimer Pity Party Of One
The Rule: No one is allowed a pity party
In my last post I was rather gloomy. Night time surrounded me, I was working alone in the front office and my writing was driving me mad. Now that the sun is up, the pinata effigy of myself bashed to smithereens, the skull balloons are popped and the vinegar cake devoured, I feel much better, thank you very much. Thus concluded my pity party.
I am sure everyone is entitled to one these shindigs of the grimmest order. I just hope no one sends out invitations.
Feeling sorry for ourselves is a mixed feeling. We may feel self-righteousness and our head inflates with pride, and then at the same time we feel terribly isolated, just hoping someone can take a glimpse at how miserable we truly are and maybe they would comfort us and join the "dark side."
Throwing a pity party is a choice, a choice that has no rewards, only unnoticed depression. So don't throw them. I say, instead throw puppies at grannies walking across the street, at least doing that you'll get some attention.
In my last post I was rather gloomy. Night time surrounded me, I was working alone in the front office and my writing was driving me mad. Now that the sun is up, the pinata effigy of myself bashed to smithereens, the skull balloons are popped and the vinegar cake devoured, I feel much better, thank you very much. Thus concluded my pity party.
I am sure everyone is entitled to one these shindigs of the grimmest order. I just hope no one sends out invitations.
Feeling sorry for ourselves is a mixed feeling. We may feel self-righteousness and our head inflates with pride, and then at the same time we feel terribly isolated, just hoping someone can take a glimpse at how miserable we truly are and maybe they would comfort us and join the "dark side."
Throwing a pity party is a choice, a choice that has no rewards, only unnoticed depression. So don't throw them. I say, instead throw puppies at grannies walking across the street, at least doing that you'll get some attention.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Introverts with ADD Get Lonley Too
The Rule: Introverts never get lonely.
The office is quiet today. A little too quiet. It's dark, the halls are empty and no one is in their office... except me. I have a good idea where everybody is. They are working, or playing I don't know the difference, in the new studio. It's a great environment to work in. Your best buddies by your side, side conversations buzzing about the center of the room. Food packed high. There is laughter, joy and solidarity. Ministry walls are coming down at the Newsong staff. Great! But not for us poor introverts with ADD. We need walls so when we work we don't see that YouTube being watched at the work station next us. Or the flood of people gathering at the center of the room leaning back in their chairs, rubbing their bellies, laughing at a joke I just missed because I was distracted at my workstation from a joke at the center of the room. Some people can work great in such conditions. I can't. I must be by myself.
Of course that hurts, but that is my fault and problem. How does an introvert find the balance between social affirmation and solitude? I am still trying to figure that one out.
Writing a daily blog and a book forces me to be isolated more than I am used to. I have to be in conversation with myself more frequently than I have ever been. What I have discovered in this process is:
1. I am a boring guy. I have being hearing myself talk within the contexts of prolific writing for over a month now and I am getting bored of my voice.
2. I am deeply cynical with a bruised heart. My main character has dark, malicious thoughts towards other characters. He is deeply wounded- I think more wounded than any child in most Young Adult books.
3. I am lonely. I have denied adventures, and social gatherings for the sake of my art. I feel like I am fasting from normalcy, but I want to keep going because I know this feeling is normal in writers. I must seek God in this or I'll end up like Hemingway.
Someone once said the greatest journey a hero can take is self-discovery. I am seeing this as I go deeper and deeper into my subconscious. I am pulling away 20 year old scabs, digging through dingy dreams every night, and swatting at irritability and anger at every moment. Where is the holy spirit in this art? Writing is the most freeing enterprise I can think of, but it certainly confines you into your soul, where one is constantly looking at its nastiness. The difficult part is using this gruesome spectacle to create something of meaning and of beauty.
I am thankful for how God created me. I am thankful that he gave me the heart of a writer. I wouldn't change it for any other craft. It gives me joy when at the same time it makes me sad and lonely.
God be praised (I am serious).
The office is quiet today. A little too quiet. It's dark, the halls are empty and no one is in their office... except me. I have a good idea where everybody is. They are working, or playing I don't know the difference, in the new studio. It's a great environment to work in. Your best buddies by your side, side conversations buzzing about the center of the room. Food packed high. There is laughter, joy and solidarity. Ministry walls are coming down at the Newsong staff. Great! But not for us poor introverts with ADD. We need walls so when we work we don't see that YouTube being watched at the work station next us. Or the flood of people gathering at the center of the room leaning back in their chairs, rubbing their bellies, laughing at a joke I just missed because I was distracted at my workstation from a joke at the center of the room. Some people can work great in such conditions. I can't. I must be by myself.
Of course that hurts, but that is my fault and problem. How does an introvert find the balance between social affirmation and solitude? I am still trying to figure that one out.
Writing a daily blog and a book forces me to be isolated more than I am used to. I have to be in conversation with myself more frequently than I have ever been. What I have discovered in this process is:
1. I am a boring guy. I have being hearing myself talk within the contexts of prolific writing for over a month now and I am getting bored of my voice.
2. I am deeply cynical with a bruised heart. My main character has dark, malicious thoughts towards other characters. He is deeply wounded- I think more wounded than any child in most Young Adult books.
3. I am lonely. I have denied adventures, and social gatherings for the sake of my art. I feel like I am fasting from normalcy, but I want to keep going because I know this feeling is normal in writers. I must seek God in this or I'll end up like Hemingway.
Someone once said the greatest journey a hero can take is self-discovery. I am seeing this as I go deeper and deeper into my subconscious. I am pulling away 20 year old scabs, digging through dingy dreams every night, and swatting at irritability and anger at every moment. Where is the holy spirit in this art? Writing is the most freeing enterprise I can think of, but it certainly confines you into your soul, where one is constantly looking at its nastiness. The difficult part is using this gruesome spectacle to create something of meaning and of beauty.
I am thankful for how God created me. I am thankful that he gave me the heart of a writer. I wouldn't change it for any other craft. It gives me joy when at the same time it makes me sad and lonely.
God be praised (I am serious).
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Turn off Your Lights
The Rule: You Always Need Ample Light to See Where you Are Going
Last night, riding Santiago Truck Trail, I experiences something rather thrilling and interesting. When I reached the end of the trail, 7 miles deep, darkness was quickly approaching and my light didn't have enough battery power to last me the entire ride back to the safety of my car. So I did what any reckless, yet sensible (I know sounds like a oxymoron) mountain biker would do: ride as long as you can without light.
Eventually it became so dark all I could see was a faint white line on the trail made from the tread of hundreds of mountain bikers before me. My tire would leap off of hidden bumps and drop into dark ruts without any warning. Off the side of the trail down far below, I saw the entire Orange County aglow waking up from its diurnal slumber. A gorgeous view. This all led to a fun and exhilarating adventure that I survived, minus a few scratched. If I played it safe than it wouldn't have been as exciting.
As I was racing through the darkness last night I asked myself how this could be just like my writing, or anything else in life. Than I thought to myself, we don't always need to see where we are going in life. We don't need to have the path fully illuminated with plans, strategies and outlines are orchestrated. Art, particularly writing, is extremely messy work that requires a lot of blind faith, and most importantly it requires a sense of taking it one step at a time. To expect your art to come together like an Ikea instruction manual, than it's not art, it's safe, and art is not safe.
If you are willing to be unadventurous and play it safe, than that is what your art will look like. For a writer, if there isn't an element of discovery, of fresh insights and gutsy literary moves, than you are writing something mass produced. How are you to lead your reader into a journey that they have already been down. You eat one In and Out Burger you have eaten them all. A way to avoid that is to turn off the lights, or creative crutches that helps you play it safe.
What are your creative lights? Mine would be to follow someone's example of plot development, especially found in books. Or maybe its the idea of trying to outline every detail of a story before even writing the story, and sticking to it like God etched it in stone with his pinky. In music, it could be playing very similar chord changes with the same vocal pitch and tempo. A huge creative crutch most artists have is the denying of others to speak into their art. You may feel what you have created is wonderful, so you don't show anyone. Whatever it is that you feel safe in, try pushing it to another level. Your art and audience will thank you for it.
Turn off your lights, feel the art underneath you, take a chance and explore senses you know you didn't have. See your music dance off the guitar and swirl about in the air until it lands on an ear, feel your words swirl in your mouth, drip on the page and smeared on someone's chest, hear your painting lament with dark sadness, rejoice with bright pomp or even hear the colors of your kitchen sizzle with bacon and baking cinnamon rolls from days long lost in memory.
When you do this, something original and wonderful will come through and your audience with follow you along the way through the darkest parts.
Last night, riding Santiago Truck Trail, I experiences something rather thrilling and interesting. When I reached the end of the trail, 7 miles deep, darkness was quickly approaching and my light didn't have enough battery power to last me the entire ride back to the safety of my car. So I did what any reckless, yet sensible (I know sounds like a oxymoron) mountain biker would do: ride as long as you can without light.
Eventually it became so dark all I could see was a faint white line on the trail made from the tread of hundreds of mountain bikers before me. My tire would leap off of hidden bumps and drop into dark ruts without any warning. Off the side of the trail down far below, I saw the entire Orange County aglow waking up from its diurnal slumber. A gorgeous view. This all led to a fun and exhilarating adventure that I survived, minus a few scratched. If I played it safe than it wouldn't have been as exciting.
As I was racing through the darkness last night I asked myself how this could be just like my writing, or anything else in life. Than I thought to myself, we don't always need to see where we are going in life. We don't need to have the path fully illuminated with plans, strategies and outlines are orchestrated. Art, particularly writing, is extremely messy work that requires a lot of blind faith, and most importantly it requires a sense of taking it one step at a time. To expect your art to come together like an Ikea instruction manual, than it's not art, it's safe, and art is not safe.
If you are willing to be unadventurous and play it safe, than that is what your art will look like. For a writer, if there isn't an element of discovery, of fresh insights and gutsy literary moves, than you are writing something mass produced. How are you to lead your reader into a journey that they have already been down. You eat one In and Out Burger you have eaten them all. A way to avoid that is to turn off the lights, or creative crutches that helps you play it safe.
What are your creative lights? Mine would be to follow someone's example of plot development, especially found in books. Or maybe its the idea of trying to outline every detail of a story before even writing the story, and sticking to it like God etched it in stone with his pinky. In music, it could be playing very similar chord changes with the same vocal pitch and tempo. A huge creative crutch most artists have is the denying of others to speak into their art. You may feel what you have created is wonderful, so you don't show anyone. Whatever it is that you feel safe in, try pushing it to another level. Your art and audience will thank you for it.
Turn off your lights, feel the art underneath you, take a chance and explore senses you know you didn't have. See your music dance off the guitar and swirl about in the air until it lands on an ear, feel your words swirl in your mouth, drip on the page and smeared on someone's chest, hear your painting lament with dark sadness, rejoice with bright pomp or even hear the colors of your kitchen sizzle with bacon and baking cinnamon rolls from days long lost in memory.
When you do this, something original and wonderful will come through and your audience with follow you along the way through the darkest parts.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Don't Trust your First Born
The Rule: The majority of a published content was from the writer's first attempt.
Writers don't write, they rewrite, rewrite, rewrite and edit. I justed concluded a 2 hour writing session and read my work and it was terrible. So I rewrote it that took another 1 hour, and then I read it again, and sure enough it still didn't look good at all.
For now, I put it aside for the night in utter frustration and a little rest. It is times like these I doubt I am meant for my craft. But, I will not let this upset hold me back. I choose to keep fighting, keep tuning my story, and improving my art.
This is what separates armatures and the common enthusiast from professionals. Professionals bludgeon their words until the bloody pulp turns into something beautiful- a rather impossible feat.
I choose to rewrite, and rewrite and fight the idea that I am a terrible writer. I am not. First creations cannot be perfect.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Giant Squids, Intersteller Volcanoes and Uncharted Jungles
The Rule: Humans are the central source of God's joy.
Why is it that God created millions of galaxies, uncharted jungles, volcanoes gloriously erupting on the moons of Saturn, and giant squids gracefully swimming the deepest darkest regions of the ocean? Is it because God want humans to explore? Not entirely. That is extremely presumptuous and prideful to think that humans are the reason for all of the hidden secrets of the universe. No. God makes what is known, unknown and very little known, for his joy. God is too big. God loves too much. God is too wonderful for him to find only joy in us. Of course he loves us so much he died for humanity.
God takes delight in something even if humans are unaware of it. Think of the grand canyon before the native Americans discovered it. God delighted in it before human eyes had ever seen it. It wasn't built and waited for humans.
There is more to this life than just us and our own happiness.
Why is it that God created millions of galaxies, uncharted jungles, volcanoes gloriously erupting on the moons of Saturn, and giant squids gracefully swimming the deepest darkest regions of the ocean? Is it because God want humans to explore? Not entirely. That is extremely presumptuous and prideful to think that humans are the reason for all of the hidden secrets of the universe. No. God makes what is known, unknown and very little known, for his joy. God is too big. God loves too much. God is too wonderful for him to find only joy in us. Of course he loves us so much he died for humanity.
God takes delight in something even if humans are unaware of it. Think of the grand canyon before the native Americans discovered it. God delighted in it before human eyes had ever seen it. It wasn't built and waited for humans.
There is more to this life than just us and our own happiness.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Glorifying God
The Rule: The only way to glorify God is in a Christian setting.
How can art glorify God when His name or themes are not even mentioned? Does Vincent Van Go's Starry Night glorify God? How about Arthur Miller's tragic play Death if a Salesman? What about the horrific glimpse into drug usage in the film Requiem for a Dream? None of these hold any ideas of God, so were they glorifying God? If not then did they serve no purpose?
Some would say, no. I for one give an enthusiastic "yes!" There is inspiration in art. And when God's goodness and gentleness is completely removed from the subjects, the audience observes the horrors of what life is without Him. That is a paradox: God is being glorified through His absence. No matter what, God will get what's coming to Him.
How can art glorify God when His name or themes are not even mentioned? Does Vincent Van Go's Starry Night glorify God? How about Arthur Miller's tragic play Death if a Salesman? What about the horrific glimpse into drug usage in the film Requiem for a Dream? None of these hold any ideas of God, so were they glorifying God? If not then did they serve no purpose?
Some would say, no. I for one give an enthusiastic "yes!" There is inspiration in art. And when God's goodness and gentleness is completely removed from the subjects, the audience observes the horrors of what life is without Him. That is a paradox: God is being glorified through His absence. No matter what, God will get what's coming to Him.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
The Whitewater
The Rule: There is a trick to getting beyond creative adversity.
I stepped into the beach water at 630am this morning unaware of the extreme difficulty of paddling out before me. With my surf buddy by my side, we set forth. A good 4 foot whitewater charged at us, knocking us back towards the beach and further away from our objective- the lineup. We gain composure and keep paddling only to find another one rolling our way. This went on for 15 more minutes. Plus there were tons of surfers catching the waves ahead of us and paddling back out with what we perceived as ease. That aggravated me and I felt cheated by the ocean.
Eventually my friend turned around and looked at me and said, "I can't do this."
I said, "yes you can."
In response he said "then what's the trick?"
I didn't know what to tell him, but stay positive, and keep pushing. He made it to the lineup before me.
I don't think there is a trick to adversity. It's just pure arm burning, headache inducing, hemorrhoid forming perseverance. The more you are creative, the creative flow loosens, but when you are face to face, fist to fist with your work in progress, resistance is there to fight you back. There is no way around it.
I remember sitting in a library, eyes gazing over the busy bodies hunched over in their studies, struggling to generate a single productive thought towards my story. I couldn't. So I put my pen to my paper and just wrote. Eventually the ideas came to me, but it was a challenge. But two hours later I came up with three pages of good stuff.
It is easy to get disappointed. Here the rest of the world is writing up a storm on a daily basis, displaying beautiful paintings weekly, gorgeous movies released as fast as a sitcom, and here I am sweating at my keyboard, eyes burning and brain aching and all I can produce is dribble. But I have to keep pushing. Even the greatest artists, the greatest surfers had to push through the same opposition.
Maybe there is a trick after all. It is to keep going. Don't stop. Stay positive, even when it hurts so bad.
Listen to what people say is the trick to overcoming creative blocks, but don't hold them to be entirely true- including myself.
I stepped into the beach water at 630am this morning unaware of the extreme difficulty of paddling out before me. With my surf buddy by my side, we set forth. A good 4 foot whitewater charged at us, knocking us back towards the beach and further away from our objective- the lineup. We gain composure and keep paddling only to find another one rolling our way. This went on for 15 more minutes. Plus there were tons of surfers catching the waves ahead of us and paddling back out with what we perceived as ease. That aggravated me and I felt cheated by the ocean.
Eventually my friend turned around and looked at me and said, "I can't do this."
I said, "yes you can."
In response he said "then what's the trick?"
I didn't know what to tell him, but stay positive, and keep pushing. He made it to the lineup before me.
I don't think there is a trick to adversity. It's just pure arm burning, headache inducing, hemorrhoid forming perseverance. The more you are creative, the creative flow loosens, but when you are face to face, fist to fist with your work in progress, resistance is there to fight you back. There is no way around it.
I remember sitting in a library, eyes gazing over the busy bodies hunched over in their studies, struggling to generate a single productive thought towards my story. I couldn't. So I put my pen to my paper and just wrote. Eventually the ideas came to me, but it was a challenge. But two hours later I came up with three pages of good stuff.
It is easy to get disappointed. Here the rest of the world is writing up a storm on a daily basis, displaying beautiful paintings weekly, gorgeous movies released as fast as a sitcom, and here I am sweating at my keyboard, eyes burning and brain aching and all I can produce is dribble. But I have to keep pushing. Even the greatest artists, the greatest surfers had to push through the same opposition.
Maybe there is a trick after all. It is to keep going. Don't stop. Stay positive, even when it hurts so bad.
Listen to what people say is the trick to overcoming creative blocks, but don't hold them to be entirely true- including myself.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Bullets, Posion, Daggers and Nails
The Rule: Good leadership doesn't have consequences.
Bullets, daggers, poisons and in some cases nails entering any leader's body says a lot about the quality of his leadership.
To be assassinated is either a tremendous complement or utter defeat. No one has ever been killed due to mediocre leadership. An assassin's' bullet never makes its way into a leader if the leader has not forged new grounds.
No leader wants to die by an assassin's hand They would much rather die in their sleep in a quiet room covered by cool colors of a summer's evening and a warm breeze gently caressing them, not by coughing up blood with their brains leaking out of their skull.
Leaders want easy lives, but that is not possible. A life of a leader is brutally painful with assassins lurking around every cubicle, hiding behind lurking eyes at a staff meeting, two clicks away from a gut piercing email aimed right at him. Leaders have to take hits that many below them cannot do.
Leaders must dodge the arrows, block the swinging daggers and shun the poison goblet. But not every leader is quick, smart or clever enough to do these things. Sometimes the weapon penetrates the skin. In this case a thick skin is needed.
Gossip, slander and harsh criticism lurks in the hearts of all assassins. This is their weapon of choice. The scary part of it is that all can be recruited into the assassin's camp.
Many a leader's assassin doesn't even know they are smiting them. Their warfare is subtle and even subconscious. The assassins could even be leaders themselves, bloody from the battles they have fought and lost. They limp, and snarl with lips of disgust and frustration over the leader's choices. Generally, a wounded solider or patriot is the cause.
So if you are a leader and are not facing any opposition, hardship or assassination attempts maybe you are mediocre and boring. If you are facing these things you have to ask yourself, what type of leader are you: an Abe Lincoln or a Nero. The difference is Nero wasn't strong enough to lead through the turmoil. Instead he let it eat at him and digest his soul until he slit his own throat. Despite opposition and extreme hatred, Lincoln stood through it all. The death came from the outside. As much as we want to be Lincolns, each leader has a little Nero inside him: after a string of mistakes we tend to be our own assassin.
As leaders let's take the hits others throw at us, and disregard our own.
Bullets, daggers, poisons and in some cases nails entering any leader's body says a lot about the quality of his leadership.
To be assassinated is either a tremendous complement or utter defeat. No one has ever been killed due to mediocre leadership. An assassin's' bullet never makes its way into a leader if the leader has not forged new grounds.
No leader wants to die by an assassin's hand They would much rather die in their sleep in a quiet room covered by cool colors of a summer's evening and a warm breeze gently caressing them, not by coughing up blood with their brains leaking out of their skull.
Leaders want easy lives, but that is not possible. A life of a leader is brutally painful with assassins lurking around every cubicle, hiding behind lurking eyes at a staff meeting, two clicks away from a gut piercing email aimed right at him. Leaders have to take hits that many below them cannot do.
Leaders must dodge the arrows, block the swinging daggers and shun the poison goblet. But not every leader is quick, smart or clever enough to do these things. Sometimes the weapon penetrates the skin. In this case a thick skin is needed.
Gossip, slander and harsh criticism lurks in the hearts of all assassins. This is their weapon of choice. The scary part of it is that all can be recruited into the assassin's camp.
Many a leader's assassin doesn't even know they are smiting them. Their warfare is subtle and even subconscious. The assassins could even be leaders themselves, bloody from the battles they have fought and lost. They limp, and snarl with lips of disgust and frustration over the leader's choices. Generally, a wounded solider or patriot is the cause.
So if you are a leader and are not facing any opposition, hardship or assassination attempts maybe you are mediocre and boring. If you are facing these things you have to ask yourself, what type of leader are you: an Abe Lincoln or a Nero. The difference is Nero wasn't strong enough to lead through the turmoil. Instead he let it eat at him and digest his soul until he slit his own throat. Despite opposition and extreme hatred, Lincoln stood through it all. The death came from the outside. As much as we want to be Lincolns, each leader has a little Nero inside him: after a string of mistakes we tend to be our own assassin.
As leaders let's take the hits others throw at us, and disregard our own.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Books are Guidelines, Not Rules
The Rule: You must Follow Self Help Books to the T.
Okay for the past several weeks I have been agonizing over my story's characters' development by writing out the smallest detail of their lives all because a book told me to. I wrote their physical and inner life as the author suggested in the order he presented. It worked wonderfully until I started getting board and the creativity was getting repetitious, even though they were different characters. I was hating this idea of writing such detail, in precisely the order he had suggested. Then as I leaned back in my chair today sitting quietly in the El Segundo library, I came across the thought, "who says I must do exactly what this guys says to do? He never even said in the book to follow everything exactly."
I think I did this because the author has remarkable credentials: own his own publishing company, has propelled great and gifted authors to prestigious heights and has written books that college professors use in their classes (so the reviews says). When we put people on a pedestal, we take everything they say as gospel truth and we follow them through our own insanity, after all I was pretty miserable following the author's order of things.
Most rules we follow, that this blog hopes to destroy, are due to people with authority setting our own limitations, our own creative guidelines, and spiritual development. "Since he said it, it must be true," kind of statements.
We need to take what they say and apply it to our lives accordingly and not jump into their words with a absolute devotion. Doesn't the Bible have something to say about devoting one's self fully to something other than God? If we do this, we become slaves to that authoritarian.
We want books and authority figures to be our rule setter because we are afraid of making desions by ourselves. We are afraid of being all alone in a world of so much uncertainty. Our passions, or dreams are being killed by the very people who give steps on how to be passionate.
So if I am ever someone with tremednious authrority, don't be devoted to what I say. I am not right all the time.
Okay for the past several weeks I have been agonizing over my story's characters' development by writing out the smallest detail of their lives all because a book told me to. I wrote their physical and inner life as the author suggested in the order he presented. It worked wonderfully until I started getting board and the creativity was getting repetitious, even though they were different characters. I was hating this idea of writing such detail, in precisely the order he had suggested. Then as I leaned back in my chair today sitting quietly in the El Segundo library, I came across the thought, "who says I must do exactly what this guys says to do? He never even said in the book to follow everything exactly."
I think I did this because the author has remarkable credentials: own his own publishing company, has propelled great and gifted authors to prestigious heights and has written books that college professors use in their classes (so the reviews says). When we put people on a pedestal, we take everything they say as gospel truth and we follow them through our own insanity, after all I was pretty miserable following the author's order of things.
Most rules we follow, that this blog hopes to destroy, are due to people with authority setting our own limitations, our own creative guidelines, and spiritual development. "Since he said it, it must be true," kind of statements.
We need to take what they say and apply it to our lives accordingly and not jump into their words with a absolute devotion. Doesn't the Bible have something to say about devoting one's self fully to something other than God? If we do this, we become slaves to that authoritarian.
We want books and authority figures to be our rule setter because we are afraid of making desions by ourselves. We are afraid of being all alone in a world of so much uncertainty. Our passions, or dreams are being killed by the very people who give steps on how to be passionate.
So if I am ever someone with tremednious authrority, don't be devoted to what I say. I am not right all the time.
Close Out? I Don't Think So
The Rule: Change course if doors are closing on you.
The waves today were brutal. It took me two attempts to even paddle out in the lineup. By the time I finally made it, my arms were sore, my back was tighter than elevator cables, and my head pulsated from the strain of pushing through the whitewater. So there was greater risk in catching a wave. You better catch a good wave or you will get have to fight all that whitewater resistance again.
1 hour after several attempts of catching waves, and false starts into the waves and hesitancy, the first decent looking wave was coming my way. As I looked at the wave again, it changed and started to look like a long wall of blue and grey about to swallow me up. No hope for survival. Then the unusual thought occurred to me, "What the heck, take it and see what happens." I paddled feverishly into the madness, and I caught it and rode it the face for a couple seconds before the wave died on me. I was in a state of glee, for I disregarded a rule of mine: change course if the doors are closing on you.
The signs were saying, this wave can't be ridden , but I said to hell with that, I'm a free man and I'm going for it, and I rode it.
In my previous blog I mentioned about when does an artist stop? Usually many artists stop when they think the doors on their creative piece is coming to a close, but that perception could be as deceiving as the wave that I just rode.
There is a brick wall that every artist, every athlete, every entrepreneur, every musician, everybody faces when pursuing an endeavor. This wall is what separates the dreamers from the doers, the recreational enthusiasts from the professionals. This wall basically defines how badly do you want what you are after.
If you can't go over that wall, than you more than likely shouldn't be on the other side. You have no right and you have not earned it.
So the optimistic side of things is that just because there is a wall doesn't mean God is closing doors, he may very well want you to push through it so you can see how strong you can be, how determined you can be, how much authority and power in the name of Jesus you have. Come now, what makes you think your dreams are unattainable when you have God's word, you have his blood all over you, you have the Holy Spirit alongside you, and on top of that all, you have angles watching your back? That doesn't sound like a weakling who can't plow through walls. That doesn't sound like a writer who gives up just because he faces an insurmountable obstacles found in writing his book, play, script or an article.
Walls sometimes makes us compromise our standards. We fall short of excellence because the going is getting tougher and meaner and harder. The soul is in anguish and it needs rest, but the wall is too think and too high so we give up. We stick to the smaller dreams. We may get past one wall only to find a bigger one behind it, and by the grace of God and all the energy in your body, we get past that one and then an even larger one towers behind that one. Give up the souls say, there's no way. But that is not true.
15 Minutes of excruciating, frustrating paddling, I found myself exactly where I started, on the beach water a my waist. I was standing up right near the shore. So I clenched my teeth, jumped past the next whitewater landing prone on my board and I paddled back out, even though I failed miserably before. I was tired, but I went for it and I made it out.
So what in your life is a wall? Is it a relationship that is crumbling at your feet, a book you are writing that is failing to inspire you, are you looking for a job in an economic recession? Maybe, it's not over, but it is something as simple as gritting your teeth and pushing again through those walls.
A closed out wave doesn't mean anything.
The waves today were brutal. It took me two attempts to even paddle out in the lineup. By the time I finally made it, my arms were sore, my back was tighter than elevator cables, and my head pulsated from the strain of pushing through the whitewater. So there was greater risk in catching a wave. You better catch a good wave or you will get have to fight all that whitewater resistance again.
1 hour after several attempts of catching waves, and false starts into the waves and hesitancy, the first decent looking wave was coming my way. As I looked at the wave again, it changed and started to look like a long wall of blue and grey about to swallow me up. No hope for survival. Then the unusual thought occurred to me, "What the heck, take it and see what happens." I paddled feverishly into the madness, and I caught it and rode it the face for a couple seconds before the wave died on me. I was in a state of glee, for I disregarded a rule of mine: change course if the doors are closing on you.
The signs were saying, this wave can't be ridden , but I said to hell with that, I'm a free man and I'm going for it, and I rode it.
In my previous blog I mentioned about when does an artist stop? Usually many artists stop when they think the doors on their creative piece is coming to a close, but that perception could be as deceiving as the wave that I just rode.
There is a brick wall that every artist, every athlete, every entrepreneur, every musician, everybody faces when pursuing an endeavor. This wall is what separates the dreamers from the doers, the recreational enthusiasts from the professionals. This wall basically defines how badly do you want what you are after.
If you can't go over that wall, than you more than likely shouldn't be on the other side. You have no right and you have not earned it.
So the optimistic side of things is that just because there is a wall doesn't mean God is closing doors, he may very well want you to push through it so you can see how strong you can be, how determined you can be, how much authority and power in the name of Jesus you have. Come now, what makes you think your dreams are unattainable when you have God's word, you have his blood all over you, you have the Holy Spirit alongside you, and on top of that all, you have angles watching your back? That doesn't sound like a weakling who can't plow through walls. That doesn't sound like a writer who gives up just because he faces an insurmountable obstacles found in writing his book, play, script or an article.
Walls sometimes makes us compromise our standards. We fall short of excellence because the going is getting tougher and meaner and harder. The soul is in anguish and it needs rest, but the wall is too think and too high so we give up. We stick to the smaller dreams. We may get past one wall only to find a bigger one behind it, and by the grace of God and all the energy in your body, we get past that one and then an even larger one towers behind that one. Give up the souls say, there's no way. But that is not true.
15 Minutes of excruciating, frustrating paddling, I found myself exactly where I started, on the beach water a my waist. I was standing up right near the shore. So I clenched my teeth, jumped past the next whitewater landing prone on my board and I paddled back out, even though I failed miserably before. I was tired, but I went for it and I made it out.
So what in your life is a wall? Is it a relationship that is crumbling at your feet, a book you are writing that is failing to inspire you, are you looking for a job in an economic recession? Maybe, it's not over, but it is something as simple as gritting your teeth and pushing again through those walls.
A closed out wave doesn't mean anything.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
When To Stop
The Rule: There is a clear ending in any artistic endeavour.
When do you stop an artistic endeavour? I think every artist comes across this predicament. Of course sometimes it is easier to know then other projects, but still there always lingers a hint of should I keep going? Take this blog entry for example, it is easy for me to end when I have made my point, but when it comes to a story, a painting or a piece of music, how do you know the story's character has reached its objective, there is the right about of color and shadow in a painting or the right number of notes have been written?
It's a tough call for anybody.
The most creative being in this universe is always fine tuning His creation. God ever since the beginning of time has been tweaking mankind to emulate his son Jesus so that his creation can love him. Of course by looking at the sate of any human being or the state of humanity, God has a lot of work to do. Maybe he will never be completely done with humanity- it is to be his unfinished symphony. Is that Mean Old Man in the poem from a previous blog a complete masterpiece of God? Masterpiece? Yes, Complete? No. This goes to say, maybe all pieces of work are never completed. Look at the mines and the volcanoes, and the micro evolution, and environmental adaptation. They are always changing. He enjoys the process more so the completion. The greatest expression (which is art in its purest form) was however completed, and that was the death of Jesus. But through that death, mankind is saved, well only if mankind chooses to let God save him, and the process of pursing mankind and loving them is an art that can never be finished.
Then this goes back to us feeble artists who emulate the mere dirty, muddy shadows of God's creations. If God can take comfort in not finishing his work in humanity, why can't we take comfort in finishing our artistic piece? Maybe we seek the perfection that is found in God's pure creation of Jesus? Far fetched I am sure to say, but we seek such higher and higher standards in our art that we refuse to settle with anything other than pure perfection. But a piece will never be 100% completed because the pieces is stuck in the world in which it was created. Mankind is free, the pages of the future always blank. As for us we only have the power to stop something and start something else.
Ultimately, we stop when we fill that we reach the standards of our audience, or that we will never reach their standards (in that case we quit). An author has to write to the standards of the publisher and readers- they set the rules. But for God his audience is just himself- he sets the rules. Then as Christian artists we should complete our work only if it is pleasing to our number one audience and that is God, but how do you please God in your art.
That requires another blog, for I feel that I have finished what I had to say. I think God is pleased.
When do you stop an artistic endeavour? I think every artist comes across this predicament. Of course sometimes it is easier to know then other projects, but still there always lingers a hint of should I keep going? Take this blog entry for example, it is easy for me to end when I have made my point, but when it comes to a story, a painting or a piece of music, how do you know the story's character has reached its objective, there is the right about of color and shadow in a painting or the right number of notes have been written?
It's a tough call for anybody.
The most creative being in this universe is always fine tuning His creation. God ever since the beginning of time has been tweaking mankind to emulate his son Jesus so that his creation can love him. Of course by looking at the sate of any human being or the state of humanity, God has a lot of work to do. Maybe he will never be completely done with humanity- it is to be his unfinished symphony. Is that Mean Old Man in the poem from a previous blog a complete masterpiece of God? Masterpiece? Yes, Complete? No. This goes to say, maybe all pieces of work are never completed. Look at the mines and the volcanoes, and the micro evolution, and environmental adaptation. They are always changing. He enjoys the process more so the completion. The greatest expression (which is art in its purest form) was however completed, and that was the death of Jesus. But through that death, mankind is saved, well only if mankind chooses to let God save him, and the process of pursing mankind and loving them is an art that can never be finished.
Then this goes back to us feeble artists who emulate the mere dirty, muddy shadows of God's creations. If God can take comfort in not finishing his work in humanity, why can't we take comfort in finishing our artistic piece? Maybe we seek the perfection that is found in God's pure creation of Jesus? Far fetched I am sure to say, but we seek such higher and higher standards in our art that we refuse to settle with anything other than pure perfection. But a piece will never be 100% completed because the pieces is stuck in the world in which it was created. Mankind is free, the pages of the future always blank. As for us we only have the power to stop something and start something else.
Ultimately, we stop when we fill that we reach the standards of our audience, or that we will never reach their standards (in that case we quit). An author has to write to the standards of the publisher and readers- they set the rules. But for God his audience is just himself- he sets the rules. Then as Christian artists we should complete our work only if it is pleasing to our number one audience and that is God, but how do you please God in your art.
That requires another blog, for I feel that I have finished what I had to say. I think God is pleased.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Giving God Praise
The Rule: After Jesus, God is a much nicer guy.
As I was writing yesterday I felt a tug in my heart that I wasn't giving God any credit for my creativity or the wonderful electrifying creative energy he put inside me. So in my car on the way to my friend's house, I prayed for forgiveness. I rolled up at my friend's house 30 minuets early. I pull out my bible from my backpack and read where I last left off in Acts chapter 12. As I neared the end of the chapter, I suddenly came across this passage, "23Immediately, because Herod did not give praise to God, an angel of the Lord struck him down, and he was eaten by worms and died." Because Herod failed to give God praise he was struck down my God's messenger, and he was eaten by worms and eventually died. This is a gruesome death, even after the fact God made everything right with Jesus.
Of course, Herod was killing a lot of Christians, but don't you think God loved Herod a lot? I am sure he did, but love alone doesn't stop a brutal death from God.
I believe God loves me, not for what I have done, but I don't think he will stand idle and bless me as I continue to write without giving him glory and praise. I do this because he deserves it, and also because I respect him.
A Christian artist walks a fine line of glorifying himself and glorifying God. That is a tension that all great artists must face now and then.
As I was writing yesterday I felt a tug in my heart that I wasn't giving God any credit for my creativity or the wonderful electrifying creative energy he put inside me. So in my car on the way to my friend's house, I prayed for forgiveness. I rolled up at my friend's house 30 minuets early. I pull out my bible from my backpack and read where I last left off in Acts chapter 12. As I neared the end of the chapter, I suddenly came across this passage, "23Immediately, because Herod did not give praise to God, an angel of the Lord struck him down, and he was eaten by worms and died." Because Herod failed to give God praise he was struck down my God's messenger, and he was eaten by worms and eventually died. This is a gruesome death, even after the fact God made everything right with Jesus.
Of course, Herod was killing a lot of Christians, but don't you think God loved Herod a lot? I am sure he did, but love alone doesn't stop a brutal death from God.
I believe God loves me, not for what I have done, but I don't think he will stand idle and bless me as I continue to write without giving him glory and praise. I do this because he deserves it, and also because I respect him.
A Christian artist walks a fine line of glorifying himself and glorifying God. That is a tension that all great artists must face now and then.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Creative Angusih
The Rule: Creativity is always fun.
You sit down at your chair with a pen, paintbrush, or laptop before you. You already have a passionate start on your project. An energy that burnt inside has propelled you thus far, yet there still remains many blank holes in your story, journal, blog, painting or song. With the vast blankness ahead of you, you become eager to fill in the blank, thus the burning that once fueled the quality of your project's genesis is now giving you energy to hasten ahead and fail to develop what you already have started; thus, compromising the quality of the remainder of the piece.
Last night I faced this demon head on. I was (and still am in many ways) tired of developing and getting to know my characters. I say to myself, "I love them enough to move forward with the story." Yet as I move onto something new, I feel my characters calling back to me in sadness saying, "Know me more."
I realize, I thrive off of exploring new terrain and when I feel that I have exhausted all nooks and crannies of an imaginative portion (or the entire project itself) I want to move on to something entirely new, and that creates an anxious boredom. I squirm in my seat, my heart beats rapidly as if I had too much caffeine minus the euphoria, nervous adrenaline rushes to my chest and I frantically flip ahead several pages on my journal to write new thoughts or plot points, all the while I am not showing my character, whom I am developing, the proper attention and care.
I was in humdrum anguish, yet as I flipped back to what I was originally doing, I engaged in a more profound creative act, the act of creation under non-inspiration.
There is an island and it represents an artist's project or a task within the project. The artists has explored the white sandy beaches, the swaying grassy knoll, the colorful corral reef and even sampled many of the wild pineapples and coconuts. The artist grows bored with the island and decides to swim to another one, but something is calling him back. There is uncharted land. The artist goes back with a sigh of drudgery and explores the sand, the knoll, the reef and the fruit but then he sees something he hasn't seen before. It's a cave hidden by dead palm tree leaves. He pulls the dried up vegetation away and a rush of cool air blows from the cave onto his dry face. Sounds of adventure echo through the darkness below. BINGO! The artist has discovered through the exhausted search there is a pocket of newness. The artist has found his energy and is more knowledgeable of the island so when he takes his audience on the journey through the island, he can point out all of the island's true wonders.
You sit down at your chair with a pen, paintbrush, or laptop before you. You already have a passionate start on your project. An energy that burnt inside has propelled you thus far, yet there still remains many blank holes in your story, journal, blog, painting or song. With the vast blankness ahead of you, you become eager to fill in the blank, thus the burning that once fueled the quality of your project's genesis is now giving you energy to hasten ahead and fail to develop what you already have started; thus, compromising the quality of the remainder of the piece.
Last night I faced this demon head on. I was (and still am in many ways) tired of developing and getting to know my characters. I say to myself, "I love them enough to move forward with the story." Yet as I move onto something new, I feel my characters calling back to me in sadness saying, "Know me more."
I realize, I thrive off of exploring new terrain and when I feel that I have exhausted all nooks and crannies of an imaginative portion (or the entire project itself) I want to move on to something entirely new, and that creates an anxious boredom. I squirm in my seat, my heart beats rapidly as if I had too much caffeine minus the euphoria, nervous adrenaline rushes to my chest and I frantically flip ahead several pages on my journal to write new thoughts or plot points, all the while I am not showing my character, whom I am developing, the proper attention and care.
I was in humdrum anguish, yet as I flipped back to what I was originally doing, I engaged in a more profound creative act, the act of creation under non-inspiration.
There is an island and it represents an artist's project or a task within the project. The artists has explored the white sandy beaches, the swaying grassy knoll, the colorful corral reef and even sampled many of the wild pineapples and coconuts. The artist grows bored with the island and decides to swim to another one, but something is calling him back. There is uncharted land. The artist goes back with a sigh of drudgery and explores the sand, the knoll, the reef and the fruit but then he sees something he hasn't seen before. It's a cave hidden by dead palm tree leaves. He pulls the dried up vegetation away and a rush of cool air blows from the cave onto his dry face. Sounds of adventure echo through the darkness below. BINGO! The artist has discovered through the exhausted search there is a pocket of newness. The artist has found his energy and is more knowledgeable of the island so when he takes his audience on the journey through the island, he can point out all of the island's true wonders.
Monday, February 23, 2009
A Wicked Man
The Rule: Death of an individual is God's way of giving up.
At his bed dying of a disease
Is a wicked man on his knees.
"I've killed, and maimed
And tarnished my name
Thrown puppies off a peak
Made grown men give off a shriek.
But no horror can compare
To have never said a prayer
To a God I don't comprehend
And letting go of His hand."
At his bed dying of a disease
Is a wicked man on his knees.
"I've killed, and maimed
And tarnished my name
Thrown puppies off a peak
Made grown men give off a shriek.
But no horror can compare
To have never said a prayer
To a God I don't comprehend
And letting go of His hand."
Sunrises, Rain and Rainbows
The Rule: Expect to surf when surfing.
A huge fallacy is to think that what you are after is what you will get. Everyday we pursue something in order to obtain a desirable result, but what happens if that result isn't fulfilled? You have two options: be pissed or accept it and see something good.
This morning in my groggy fog I woke up hoping to catch at least 4 good waves, but in return I was given slow moving, softly crumbling waves that couldn't even propel Michel Phepls, the most streamlined man in the world. Twenty minutes into the surf session looking south-west a bright bold rainbow appeared. It grew longer and longer with its vibrant colors standing out. Eventually it stretched from the northern tip of Catalina to the homes over looking Dog Beach and its reflection wiggling in the water from the horizon to the nose of my board. Soon another rainbow appeared, but failed in splendor in comparison to its brethren. Later, a downpour came and splattered all of us as it diminished the rainbow's glow. To the south a sunset was breaking free from the scattered clouds and it shined on us as we waded in a stormy shadow.
It was a beautiful experience being out in the water. Though I expected to catch waves, I caught nature's beauty. "It was a great surf sesh."
A huge fallacy is to think that what you are after is what you will get. Everyday we pursue something in order to obtain a desirable result, but what happens if that result isn't fulfilled? You have two options: be pissed or accept it and see something good.
This morning in my groggy fog I woke up hoping to catch at least 4 good waves, but in return I was given slow moving, softly crumbling waves that couldn't even propel Michel Phepls, the most streamlined man in the world. Twenty minutes into the surf session looking south-west a bright bold rainbow appeared. It grew longer and longer with its vibrant colors standing out. Eventually it stretched from the northern tip of Catalina to the homes over looking Dog Beach and its reflection wiggling in the water from the horizon to the nose of my board. Soon another rainbow appeared, but failed in splendor in comparison to its brethren. Later, a downpour came and splattered all of us as it diminished the rainbow's glow. To the south a sunset was breaking free from the scattered clouds and it shined on us as we waded in a stormy shadow.
It was a beautiful experience being out in the water. Though I expected to catch waves, I caught nature's beauty. "It was a great surf sesh."
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Rule of Emotions
The Rule: Whatever your emotion says, do.
I am constantly fighting off this rule that everyone leans on too much. I am too strong of a feeler and this gets me in trouble. I have seen this in my writing. I will write as the inspiration comes. Unfortunately, inspiration comes only as often as my dad ever calls me to go dinner. It's a rare occurrence. As I write this, the emotions to write that I had yesterday have faded into a quiet hush. But I must continue on. I must write, not for the enjoyment, but the strict development of a skill, for I am a master of non, and I long to be a master of something one day. If emotions don't lead me, than I'll be great one day.
Arguments always toy with my emotions like a yo-yo master. I can come into an argument with a positive emotional plan filled with facts and a plan of a attack, but when someone brings an emotion into the argument, such as sadness, anger or even joy, my heart transforms into what is being expressed by that person. I cannot get what I want, because I let my emotions tell me otherwise.
I am not that great of a surfer as well and we can blame that emotional gene of mine. When the nights are long and cold, and the next morning surf session seems like a miserable prospect, I choose not to go out, all because I don't feel like it.
An emotional prisoner is only as determined as a feather in a blizzard. The rule I am trying to destroy at this moment in my life is not always listen to those emotions.
But then again, we need this emotion for other things such as enjoying a sunrise over an Orange County landscape, a kiss from your significant other, or it offers protection as it trumpets with terror the predator outside or even that giant wave I have no business riding that is coming my way.
Emotions are neither evil, nor good. They are just there. It is too tiring to figure it out and follow it in life.
Feather in a snowstorm.
I am constantly fighting off this rule that everyone leans on too much. I am too strong of a feeler and this gets me in trouble. I have seen this in my writing. I will write as the inspiration comes. Unfortunately, inspiration comes only as often as my dad ever calls me to go dinner. It's a rare occurrence. As I write this, the emotions to write that I had yesterday have faded into a quiet hush. But I must continue on. I must write, not for the enjoyment, but the strict development of a skill, for I am a master of non, and I long to be a master of something one day. If emotions don't lead me, than I'll be great one day.
Arguments always toy with my emotions like a yo-yo master. I can come into an argument with a positive emotional plan filled with facts and a plan of a attack, but when someone brings an emotion into the argument, such as sadness, anger or even joy, my heart transforms into what is being expressed by that person. I cannot get what I want, because I let my emotions tell me otherwise.
I am not that great of a surfer as well and we can blame that emotional gene of mine. When the nights are long and cold, and the next morning surf session seems like a miserable prospect, I choose not to go out, all because I don't feel like it.
An emotional prisoner is only as determined as a feather in a blizzard. The rule I am trying to destroy at this moment in my life is not always listen to those emotions.
But then again, we need this emotion for other things such as enjoying a sunrise over an Orange County landscape, a kiss from your significant other, or it offers protection as it trumpets with terror the predator outside or even that giant wave I have no business riding that is coming my way.
Emotions are neither evil, nor good. They are just there. It is too tiring to figure it out and follow it in life.
Feather in a snowstorm.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Wisdom= Destruction of Paradigm
A simple act of defiance, a distortion of normalcy, rules bent, and authority questioned. Some may say these are the signs of anarchy, but can it also be the beginning of wisdom?
In your job, or in your relationship, do you have a strict set of rules? Do you follow them? It may be hurting you.
As Barry Schwartz argues
(http://www.ted.com/talks/barry_schwartz_on_our_loss_of_wisdom.html),
rules create a distortion of character and values.
Just last week in the news, a chimpanzee owner had to stab his pet to death with a butcher knife. Obviously this goes against great many rules, such as loving all God's creatures and animal ethical treatment. But I failed to mention on purpose that the chimpanzee turned feral and was ripping apart the owner's friend's face. Immediately all animal rights rules goes out the window to preserve the life of a human over an animal.
In our own lives we are confronted with similar situations. We may not have a chimpanzee gouging out our eyeballs, but we do have a system we adhere to, may it be a weekly small group, a boss, work contracts or even our own daily regiments such as exercising or studying or reading.
We are stuck in machines of the grimmest order. We do this because of the ease of life that rules and regulations offer. You don't have to think, you just do. "All I am doing is inputting data or a stream of letters in my job. It's boring, but it's easy."
That's why working with people gets messy. When it comes to relationships, we cannot input data to figure out what is hurting a person, we cannot use a formula to get out of an argument, or combine the right spacing of groups of letters to make someone like me. It doesn't work that way. And because it is not clear cut and the rules no longer hold our hands through the lovely fields of relationships, we get pissed.
So then, when we are confronted with problem solving, you have two choices: 1. do what has normally been done and proves to be successful, 2. do something different. If option number 1 always works and you stay with it, you are being mediocre. If you take option 2 you risk failure or achieve success.
In what areas of your life do you find dull or lifeless? Do you want change? Then more than likely you are sticking to option 1.
Sometimes we set our own rules and when the world doesn't play by them, our hearts get eaten alive and digested into goo. For example, I can safely say "I have worked hard. I have a degree. I am good person; therefore, I deserve a good job and a good pay and deserve to forever keep my job."
That is the rule of Karma my friend, and that rule fails very often.
Say that, "If I study my bible every day, pray three times a day, tithe regularly, and feed the poor, I should hear God's voice clearly."
That is the rule of kissing butt. As some of us learned in High School, this doesn't go very far either.
We set rules because we think what should be right and what should be fair and what should be protocol (I do it this way, so the world must follow suit). This is judging situations with mortal eyes. This leads to defeat, destruction and death.
We might as well have a primate ripping us to peace. So let's be creative, and set ourselves free from what we think would work. Option 2 is scary and comes with pain. But with that pain is learning and developing of character, of skill and craft. Option 2 says follow someone's footsteps but follow alongside them with a different stride, different foot size and maybe go beyond where the footsteps stop.
It's time to change and change now.
In your job, or in your relationship, do you have a strict set of rules? Do you follow them? It may be hurting you.
As Barry Schwartz argues
(http://www.ted.com/talks/barry_schwartz_on_our_loss_of_wisdom.html),
rules create a distortion of character and values.
Just last week in the news, a chimpanzee owner had to stab his pet to death with a butcher knife. Obviously this goes against great many rules, such as loving all God's creatures and animal ethical treatment. But I failed to mention on purpose that the chimpanzee turned feral and was ripping apart the owner's friend's face. Immediately all animal rights rules goes out the window to preserve the life of a human over an animal.
In our own lives we are confronted with similar situations. We may not have a chimpanzee gouging out our eyeballs, but we do have a system we adhere to, may it be a weekly small group, a boss, work contracts or even our own daily regiments such as exercising or studying or reading.
We are stuck in machines of the grimmest order. We do this because of the ease of life that rules and regulations offer. You don't have to think, you just do. "All I am doing is inputting data or a stream of letters in my job. It's boring, but it's easy."
That's why working with people gets messy. When it comes to relationships, we cannot input data to figure out what is hurting a person, we cannot use a formula to get out of an argument, or combine the right spacing of groups of letters to make someone like me. It doesn't work that way. And because it is not clear cut and the rules no longer hold our hands through the lovely fields of relationships, we get pissed.
So then, when we are confronted with problem solving, you have two choices: 1. do what has normally been done and proves to be successful, 2. do something different. If option number 1 always works and you stay with it, you are being mediocre. If you take option 2 you risk failure or achieve success.
In what areas of your life do you find dull or lifeless? Do you want change? Then more than likely you are sticking to option 1.
Sometimes we set our own rules and when the world doesn't play by them, our hearts get eaten alive and digested into goo. For example, I can safely say "I have worked hard. I have a degree. I am good person; therefore, I deserve a good job and a good pay and deserve to forever keep my job."
That is the rule of Karma my friend, and that rule fails very often.
Say that, "If I study my bible every day, pray three times a day, tithe regularly, and feed the poor, I should hear God's voice clearly."
That is the rule of kissing butt. As some of us learned in High School, this doesn't go very far either.
We set rules because we think what should be right and what should be fair and what should be protocol (I do it this way, so the world must follow suit). This is judging situations with mortal eyes. This leads to defeat, destruction and death.
We might as well have a primate ripping us to peace. So let's be creative, and set ourselves free from what we think would work. Option 2 is scary and comes with pain. But with that pain is learning and developing of character, of skill and craft. Option 2 says follow someone's footsteps but follow alongside them with a different stride, different foot size and maybe go beyond where the footsteps stop.
It's time to change and change now.
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