The Final Harbor, The Repose of Mutual If
The mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warp and woof: calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm. There is no steady unretracing progress in this life; we do not advance through fixed gradations, and at the last one pause: — through infancy’s unconscious spell, boyhood’s thoughtless faith, adolescence’ doubt (the common doom), then scepticism, then disbelief, resting at last in manhood’s pondering repose of If. But once gone through, we trace the round again; and are infants, boys, and men, and Ifs eternally. Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more? in what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary? Where is the foundling’s father hidden? Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.
- Herman Melville, Moby Dick, chapter CXIV
Dustin and I spoke tonight of progression. By the time two Horse Brass beers apiece had fogged our proverbial mirrors, we’d referred in repetition to the journeys traveled and the search for the great peace of the soul that we may perhaps find glimpses of, but will effectively face countless books and conversations with the same ifs until we too find it in the grave. I suppose it doesn’t prevent us from scratching around in the dirt on the way down that road, hoping it could be found there among the ruts.
I told my roommate Michal last night that among my theology is included the shrug. I didn’t use that actual term but its one that had escaped me when I needed it most. (shrugs are so passive, just when you need them most..) But really, the shrug. Why demand an answer who’s availability died that same moment humanity’s innocence became a question?
I have a willingness to leave questions unanswered. Yes, theological questions. Many of the same questions on which are spent books of writing and thought, the same questions that drive communities into separate churches, the same questions that build walls between friends, the same questions that drove men like Kierkegaard into social exile.
I have a gloomy mind at times, seeing first the negative aspects in progression. But among the reasons I am ok with a shrug answer is that I believe others are reacting just the same. Dustin is an ally in this. So is Michal. The social and technological progressions we have waltzed through have left us more room to consider the steps. More room to peacefully see each others’ shrugs and to notice the silly off-color dance it creates when the collective can be ok with itself in being a little off-color, because after all, the dusty ruts are no place to find answered ifs. But they are the place to find the best we have to work with: the repose of mutual if.
Come Tortoise, Standing Still
I’ve traveled quite a distance in the past month or two. I have traveled to different parts of the country recently, though these are not the travel I refer to. Really, where I stand now is not so noticeably different from whatever vague moment could be considered a beginning. I only mention this because I’ve been what feels to me like racing through time, thoughts, emotions.Less of a journey through space, however, more of a journey through circumstances, intuitions, and feelings.
Travel of any kind always feels like a video on fast-forward, a feeling only reinforced by the speed with which a setting passes while driving in a car or the speed with which one experience or thought, feeling as though it will carry reverberation with you for a life time, is soon replaced with the next feeling deserving the same consideration as the last. It seems it was the rainy winter of Portland only a few days ago, and somehow all these memories from the past several months were only packed into the passing notions of a spontaneous song, soon to be forgotten as soon as my mind moves on to what’s next. I don’t desire to live life this way, and hopefully steps I take to form a better life for myself and for those around me will do just that. Slowness is my honest desire.
What I’m most troubled by is that I have no idea how this works. I have no idea to achieve that, and as the cliché goes, I’m stumbling blindly. So blind, in fact, I’m not sure whether I’m moving at all or simply standing with a hand reaching out for another’s.
I spent time in Laurelhurst Park this evening near my house, a large park with a duck pond. The ducks and I are commonly acquainted, and they often suggest ideas to me I haven’t yet considered.
It occurred to me while at the park how good people are, particularly in my neighborhood. This is one reason this was on my mind, and here is a picture I took of Pax. This goodness is a goodness I’m not use to. Small town Nebraska, ultra-conservative Colorado Springs, yuppie-ville Hood River. This isn’t a rag on those places, because they are good places too. They may lack this certain kind goodness, but there are things Portland lacks as well, and there’s something about this place that feels like home without my having to coerce my mind into believing so. Its something about my life I likely cannot explain to those other places and may not have understood before I arrived where I now stand.
This goodness I’ve found in places here where I now live is a goodness I would only have speculated about or understood in idealism. Consequently I feel much less than adequate or worthy of living in such a place. That sounds extra cheap, I’m sure. Self-pitiful, whatever. What does one do when they know not how to acclamate old lives with new ones, the new ones they’ve searched for and somehow found? What does one do when they feel the momentum of past expectations and behaviors dragging them beyond what those constructs were suppose to bring them to? or when they cannot turn sharp enough to escape the ruts circling the campfire to get to the campfire itself?
I have no answer for that. I only have friends near and far who’ve heard my joys and sorrows, and the words of those who express what I otherwise cannot.
come tortoise, standing still
go hummingbird, my will
come tortoise, stumbling blind
go hummingbird, my eyes
come tortoise, empty hand
go hummingbird, my plan
come tortoise, undefined
go hummingbird, my mind
come tortoise, letting go
go hummingbird, I know
come tortoise, come and die
go hummingbird, my I
goodbye, I
The Future of Christianity – Kind Of
Between all the conversations and other events that have been happening this weekend, I’ve been trying to reflect on the conversations I shared on Saturday. I was invited a few weeks ago to participate in a small gathering and discussion within walking distance of my home (gotta love Portland) that was called “The Future of Christianity”. In reality the title didn’t seem to fit the discussion but I believe the title was taken from a short video we watched to spawn discussion points. The video is a discussion primarily between two philosopher/theologians who I’m actually somewhat familiar with, though have had little more time in the past than to skim a book or two. The men in the video were Ken Wilbur and Thomas Keating, both very brilliant in their individual, yet complimentary ways.
The video talked much about Wilbur’s integral theory of consciousness, which is basically a way of describing paradigms in relation to spirituality and culture. There’s a certain incremental spectrum he uses for illustration which is rather inconsequential to my thoughts here other than to say the idea raises eyebrows (among the company in attendance) over its linear nature. In other words, it suggest a linear progression of what we commonly might think of as enlightenment, and doesn’t seem to offer room for the particular values in the categorizations it places at its lower levels. Some of these devalued categories include things like mysticism and ethnocentrism. Its true that these exhibit negative qualities in many contexts but to place them linearly as inferior values seems arrogant and rash.
Anyway, my point is not to explain the theories. (Which by the way really are rather interesting and aptly named by Wilbur in one of his books, A Theory Of Everything. Quite the title huh?) What struck me most about the day was the connections shared between participants, which in a community like this, seems to be as intentional as the discussion itself. Not only was I able to attend with two close friends, but upon arrival, I discovered that the event was something much different from the emergent church exercise I had the impression it would be. Not only did the age range have a great span but so did the particular positions held within the faiths. Not only were there representatives from many Christian denominations but there were also present (intentionally included) people from the Jewish and Islamic faiths.
Bringing together people of many faiths offers differing perspectives which is invaluable in itself and turns the imagined world of different people into a real one. At its core, the purpose of the discussion was simply discussion and to find familiarity and common ground between a diversity of cultures. At the discussion it often carried the name, the commonality of virtue. There was no problem to fix or solution to compromise on. It was simply to understand and share mutual existence. That is something most of us are good at talking about but not so good at finding in reality. In reflecting on the experience with my friend Joel, we realized that really, this was a unique moment in time, and a surreal and blessed one at that.
I’m still processing the experience even now, even beyond the great conversations we shared among beautiful souls during the day. I posted a series of quotables to my twitter throughout the event, which spawned a bit of conversation on my facebook in particular. I’d like to expand some more on some of those thoughts, particularly ones by Thomas Keating as well as the event organizer, Chuck Cooper, but will save those for a later post.
Worth Reading 2: No Wealth But Life
Bankers and profiteers and freeloaders and sturdy beggars and political graftsmen of all sorts, with alphabet soup pedigrees billowing out after their names like exhaust, have pillaged and plundered their way through our national trust—that trust of capital reserve in human character, topsoil, small towns, natural resources, family farms, sound money, freedom from foreign entanglement, and liberty, the greatest trust of all.
Front Porch Republic, “No Wealth but Life”
I would note that its a fine bit of idealism to cheer for the little man and those who honestly parallel his interests, no matter how supposedly efficient or qualified the elitist may be. That is where we turn, however, time and again.
To place fabrications and the worship of efficiency at the forefront of our endeavors is to gloss over the life that matters most first. Life is not efficiency, leisure, riches, power, the public, or any of that other trash that clutters minds. Life is intimacy. With friends, with family, with the land, with community, with freedom, with God.
Such an idealism is not only highly touted by Jesus himself but seems apparently plain the closer I look. We perhaps wrongly assume that the value a man contributes to his community is his efficiency and his production value purely for its own sake. The wealth that is usually sought, however, seems of the rather self-indulgent vein. A community embracing idealism over efficiency is a community trusting true wealth. The point is not the achievement of pure idealism but the slight shift and the transformation of minds.
Its The Economy, Stupid
From the song, Its the Economy, Stupid, by John McCutcheon. (via) Please check out the music, there’s much more to it.
The economy now has no borders
Or horizons
Or faces
Or hands
The economy has only one rule:
More.And the economy lies.
The economy tells us it is about Freedom.
The economy is about Dependence.
Not on land
Or animals
Or weather
Or neighbors
But
On machinery
And fuel
And credit.
Most farmers
Have borrowed their way
Right out of farming.
And
No government loan
No government program
Will change
That cycle.
Because the government
Is powerless now, see…
It’s the economy, stupidAnd the government is the economy’s
Biggest cheerleader.
It plays by the same rules:
The quick fix
The stronger army
The bigger bomb
The dependence on machinery
To do work
That can only effectively be done
By humans.
It consolidates
When diversity is required.
Refugee
The modern industrial urban centers are “pluralistic” because they are full of refugees from destroyed communities, destroyed community economies, disintegrated local cultures, and ruined local ecosystems.
In the final section of his essay Sex, Economy, Freedom & Economy, Wendell Berry provides an outstanding understanding of the emptiness and contradiction of pluralism and its praise in public culture. Berry is without a doubt one of the best authors I’ve ever read.
I am a refugee. I desire not pluralism, but have, in certain respects, had no choice but to be one in an ignorantly globalistic predatory culture that thrives on moral invasion and illusory freedom.
How To Be Original When Everybody’s Doin’ It
The concept of originality is one that has always allowed my mind to find a ripe cynical moment.
Need I remind you, I don’t mean cynical as in, “humanity is stupid and we’re all gonna burn”, but rather, “Hey did you ever think about this absurd mentality that has found its way into our culture?” Thats a good reason to blog, right?
In The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis says:
The pleasure of novelty is by its very nature more subject than any other to the law of diminishing returns.
Lewis basically means that originality only lasts as long as novelty is available, and novelty doesn’t last. Its kind of like eating a slice of cake. Eventually, its gone, and getting another slice looks suspiciously like the slice you just ate.
The Frangers And Other Ninjas
I’ve been spending a lot of time with some new friends in Hood River. The Frangers are a photography duo with mad ninja skills. (click the link, you’ll see) They just returned last month from a six month trip through New Zealand, Australia, and southeast Asia. I first met up with Blaine and Bethany through co-worker Julie who knows Blaine’s parents (who live in Hood River too) and I could probably continue on with additional “friend’s-brother’s-uncle’s-second-cousin-twice-removed-thrice-appended” type of small town dot-connection but I’ll save it for later, even though I pretty much just typed an entire paragraph in this one sentence because sometimes I like run-on sentences.
Its been good times having found another photographer to ask my silly questions of all the time, as well as more friends my age just to hang out with. You should see Blaine’s “bag of tricks”, as he calls it, a bag packed full of every Canon L Lens ever made as well as a $1200 tripod. Don’t worry, I already gave him enough crap for that. Seriously though, they do amazing photography and you should book them for your wedding. You are getting married soon, right? Here’s their website.
Its been a fun last couple weeks including time spent hanging out on the lawn, bouts of Dr. Mario and Tetris 2, redneck taco night, and a so-called hike to the top of a rock overlooking the Columbia. (see photo)
Thats Jillianne on the right, who makes the best coffee in Hood River and Parker, my other ninja friend in the blue headband. Blaine and Jillianne actually knew each other in elementary school, but hadn’t seen each other in ten years until I reunited them at the lawn last week. See? I told you I could keep going with the small town this-person-knows-this-person stories. Honestly though, its one of my most and least liked things about small towns all at the same time.
After the hike on Sunday we all had burgers and the like at Full Sail Brewery in Hood River. A definite must stop if you’re ever in the area. One guy did, a fella named Richard who’s been biking across the country for the last couple months. That is ninja. Blaine struck up a conversation with him outside of Full Sail and Richard has now been crashing at their house for the last couple nights. He’s moving on to Portland and eventually to the coast soon, but as he told me today when I ran into him at the coffee shop, he just doesn’t want to leave Hood River. High fives to that one, home town. Apparently I picked a good place to move to 6 months ago.
You should definitely check out Blaine’s blog to see more pictures from hiking and check out Richard’s blog if you want to read more on his journey. Its definitely interesting!
Good times lately in Portlandia. Or should I say Hood River -ville? Same thing.







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