Saturday, June 20, 2009

Atheism Doesn’t, Agnosticism Won’t

I am human, so are you – with, of course, the exception of Coco the monkey who may or may not be able to read this. One-hundred and twenty percent of us believe in a Higher Power. That’s right. God. You scoff, scorn and rebuke? Hold a moment.

Firstly, you point out that one-hundred and twenty percent is twenty percent above the whole of humankind. Right-o. True enough. My conjecture comes from the presupposition that twenty percent of the currently living population is deceased. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that all of humanity, past and present, believes(ed) in God. Settled.

Secondly, the crux, the real stumbling block for you – particularly if you suppose yourself atheist or agnostic – is the inflammatory, egregious claim that All believe(d) in God. Fair enough. Let me explain…

Truthfully, I had a concrete line of reasoning that may have been able to explain away atheism and agnosticism as mere epidermal hodge-podge. It was all so clear on a ponderous saunter I had a few hours ago. I guess I waited too long to put down my thoughts. Crap. I suppose it is for the best. This is not a theology blog and I am a rambling buffoon. Back to the basics; what I had for breakfast, weekly running mileage, injury reports, race reports, the occasional anecdote from work, etc. 

I put in close to 60 walking miles this week. It has been feeling pretty good. Great actually. My stride is long and strong. I am in the process of rebuilding my legs. They had whittled down to little more than bone and tendon over the last 16 months of 16+ miles a day. I spend a fair amount of time squatting and lunging, which reads kind of funny. Also, I have been doing a lot of stretching exercises/basic yoga poses, planks, ball crunches, upper-body work with elastic bands and reading. The reading has nothing to do with that set, but I do consider it a part of my nightly work out period, from 4-7. Last week I read “B is for Beer”, “Alone on the Summit” (Everest Kangshung Face 1988), “The Unclimbed Ridge” (Bonington’s Everest foray on the Northest Ridge) and something else. This week, I finished Kurt Vonnegut’s posthumous “Armageddon in Retrospect” and have gotten about halfway through David Breashear’s climbing memoir “High Exposure”. Back to training. I am going to continue these walks, building up my mileage on the weekends and dropping on the weekdays, until July, when I will begin sprinkling jogs into my training. This is all tenative, of course, dependent upon what my legs have to say about each step of the training journey. Alright. Until next time. Peace.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Kurt Vonnegut, Mount Everest and Seinfeld

Over the last several weeks Kurt Vonnegut and Seinfeld have provided my nightly entertainment. An addition, Everest reads have been a staple of my June of 2009. June 2009 reading:

The Unclimbed Ridge, by Chris Bonington
Alone on the Summit, by Stephen Venables
The Other Side of Everest, by Matt Dickinson
High Exposure, by David Breashears
Denali Disasters (a collected work)
B is for Beer
Armageddon in Retrospect, a collection of essays by Kurt Vonnegut
1 and 2 Timothy out of the Bible

Books you should read!

Armageddon in Retrospect
1 and 2 Timothy
The Other Side of Everest

Seinfeld? Watch it.

Hmmm, that is all the time I have, the Library is closing. Peace.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

On Throwing Reluctant Children into Pools

Bad news. I saw it happen yesterday. It happened on my LEAP watch, embarrassingly enough. But things aren't always as they seem. Seeing my co-worker gently set a very defiant, fully-clothed five year-old into the swimming pool yesterday was horrifying. After having dedicated hours to coaxing this young one to the edge of his greatest fear, it was a blow to my efforts and, what I initially perceived to be, the terminus of that child's swimming career. Again, things are not always what they seem. After a chat with my co-worker about her actions, the reality of the drastic measure became clear - the boy, who had been to swimming lessons days prior, had been fired up about the lesson that morning, but upon seeing the edge of the water and realizing the enormity of the commitment that he had made, he freaked. My co-worker, having worked with young kids and with children's psychology for decades knew what she was doing. Whether or not throwing the fully clothed kid in the pool was right, it is impossible to say. Doubtless, my heart is much too soft to carry out such a harsh course of action; my persuasion/effectiveness with young ones comes through soft-spoken, sincere dialogue, not force. Well, it all turned out wonderful of course. The young lad, once in the water, enjoyed his lesson (and the water) thoroughly and today, made great progress on his way to becoming a swimmer. One thing is for sure, this pre-K kid prefers the easy way (me), to the hard way (my co-worker). It takes very little convincing on my part (now) to get him through the locker room and to the pool; a couple of soft words and a smile and he is poolside, at attention.

The moral? Don't throw kids into pools unless you have a kind-hearted cohort to whom you can thence refer the child to for soft-spoken persuasion. Otherwise? The child lives in fear of over 2/3s of the Earth's surface, forever.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Paincheck to Paincheck

A life lived from paincheck to paincheck is hardly a life lived. Paycheck to paycheck is, perhaps, more palatable - not to mention fundamentally different in nature. Pain alerts us of bodily misgivings and . Paychecks are simply a means to an end. Paychecks provide with the means to acquire our basic needs and elastic wants. Painchecks are the points in our personal timelines that cause, nay force, us to take look inside ourselves, usually causing us to cringe at what we find - physical, emotional, psychological, familial, and often irreversible pain. Scream if you'd like. Sometimes we must. More often we do nothing. No. Something is not nothing. We actually do something, all of us. How we respond to pain speaks volumes of our character - no two people react the same. That something, our response, may be subtle - a stoic, complacent, placid look - but that facade does little in the way of addressing the pain. Living paincheck to paincheck is no way to live at all. Truth; pain comes. Truth; pain goes. 

We must choose one of two paths; live from paincheck to paincheck, always in the state of hyper-awareness, thinking only of an imminent, but not yet realized pain, or we can live from... wait, let's simplify this. The ol' peaks and valleys metaphor seems well suited for this analogy. Let painchecks be the valleys and pain-free/freedom living be the peaks. Back to our choice of paths. We must choose between living peak to peak or valley to valley. Hope lies in the former and despair clings to the latter. Hope sees us through our point of pain recognition, healing and recovery - hope ultimately will lead us up the path to Xanadu, atop mountains that so grandly afford us incomprehensible vistas. No more talk of the other option. It is no longer an option. Hope for the future breeds peace in the present. Choose hope, live peacefully from peak to peak. Smell the alpine flowers en route to bliss, but tarry little - lest the developing weather in the valley consume you. Move expeditiously and summit fearlessly. God bless your journey from peak to peak. 

Saturday, June 13, 2009

On Great Everest Reads

Alright, so lately, I have been devouring Himalayan expedition literature. Years ago my initial interest in Himalayan expeditions was specifically on the 1960-1980s pushes on the taller 8000 meter peaks - K2 and Everest specifically - with a side of Nanga Parbat. These expeditions are fascinating as they pushed the human psychological and physiological limits. By the 1960s all of the tallest 8000 meter peaks had been climbed by "siege" style expeditions. The goal was simple, get to the top at any cost. This meant expeditions of 50 plus climbers and 100s of support members, extensive death tolls, prodigious amounts of supplies and consequently waste, and, on occasion, local porter teams numbering 1000 or more. Nuts. After the peaks had been climbed the philosophy of the mountain reverted to that of the pervasive minimalist, alpine approach being used in the Alps. Small teams, little support, no fixed ropes, quick ascents, and no supplemental oxygen were the staples of the small alpine expedition. The question was, could such a small, unsupported team conquer a Himalayan giant. The pervasive thought in the older military siege-style rings was of course "no". But small groups of motivated, counter-cultural climbers set out to prove otherwise. Thus began the scramble in the 1960s-1980s to hit hard routes on massive Himalayan peaks with small, unsupported teams. Everest wasn't climbed without supplementary oxygen until 1978, and was not soloed until 1980 - both accomplishments attributed to Reinhold Messner. The Germans continued their assault on Nanga Parbat through the 60s, the Italians played around on their Abruzzi ridge from 1954 (after the first successful siege) through the 60s and the Americans and British pioneered routes on Everest through the 70s. Horbein and Unsoeld completed the first traverse of Everest in 1963. Venables and Buhl made names for themselves on the formidable East face of Everest in the 1980s. 

Back to the point; great Everest reads. Lately, I have been reading early expedition literature (1920s-1950s) and gaining a better understanding of the logistical challenges of the early expeditions and why it took so darn toot'n long - with so many deaths - to initially reach the summits of the Himalayan giants. A great succinct, yet thorough recap of Himalayan expeditions, Fallen Giants. A great introduction to the wonderful world of Himalayan adventures - reconnoiters, mapping, trekking and mountaineering. Also, anything Shipton or Hunt will do a student of early Himalayan expeditions good. Two Britons who had more of a knack for writing than climbing write thorough accounts of the early days of the British on Everest (Hunt was the expedition leader for the 1953 Norgay/Hillary ascent). A much more contemporary expedition account that is worth looking into is The Other Side of Everest by Matt Dickinson. Matt was on the north side of Everest during the killer storm of 1996 that took 10 lives. Matt provides an easy to understand account, jargon-free, of the immense undertaking of a Himalayan expedition. Perhaps more interesting, for those who are familiar with the laundry-list of literature available from 1996 expeditions on the south side of Everest (Into Thin Air, Boukreev's account, Viestur's writings, etc.), is the other side of the story provided by Dickinson. 

Great Reads. Check them out.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Choices

Well, it seems that things have hit a head with my right knee. After several weeks of consistent strengthening exercises and a three week running break, nothing has changed. I went out for a jog today to see how everything was firing; my right knee has the same strange alignment problem and grinds out to the right, stiffening on occasion, and eventually hardening to a point that I am forced to walk. Shoot. Whatever though. Stuff happens. I still love running and am very saddened by the current state of affairs. The choice comes down to this...seek medical/physical therapy treatment now and risk the chance of not having enough cash for my move to Missoula (first/last month's rent and security deposit) or use my current funds to foot the move and forgo treatment until I am financially sound again, say late fall (meaning no running or fall races this year). It really isn't a choice. The answer is obvious. A place to live is necessary, running is not. Who knows how much the bill will just for a diagnosis. Which probably sounds silly to most folks. But, truth be told, I am poor and even a screening could put me on the brink of financial ruin, what with my move to Missoula and all. Anyways, no regrets here. This is the way it is. I am still a young buck, plenty of years to get my leg fixed and get back to one of things I love. For now? Long walks and strength training cardio circuits.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Entertaining Angels

"A chief event of life is the day in which we have encountered a mind that startled us." Emerson

This post has been a five year work-in-progress. These events have shaped my life in ways that I will never know. A recent meeting piqued my interest and inspired this post.I have been blessed to have met four angels over the course of the last five years.

By angels, I mean kindred, quiet, transcendent spirits that put my heart, soul, mind at ease while in their presence. The moment is all that matters in the presence of an angel; and the moments are eternal. Hindsight and reflection on my meetings with these angels only dims the glory of their luminous realities - experienced in the moment, in the present. Words can not and will not, not ever, do these meetings with eart-angels proper justice. So I am stuck trying my best to describe to you what has likely been a shared experience by all; an experience full of love, truth and hope. It is a plutonic love. Nay, it is beyond any love that can be described. It is transcendent. Assuredly, from above. No human love could match it. The love that ties us to the angels in our lives can never be lustful or suffocating; the love is a supernatural virtue of which sexuality taints the very object of beauty. It is true love. It is God's face on God's child. That is what it means to look upon the face of an angel. To see virtue as virtue, and love as natural ore.

I feel the need to share the names of those angels that have graced me with their presence to better illustrate what I am talking about when I talk about angels. Ordered in chronological order of meeting (not importance, for all meetings are of equal importance) over the last five years.

- Mandy Moore - Though this may seem funny, ridiculous, whatever, Mandy Moore was my first experience with this sort of love and feeling of the presence of something so wonderful and beautiful that no amount of human longing could match the love made manifest in her beauty. Watching Mandy Moore in a 'Walk to Remember' caused a heart palpitation of which I had never experienced before, making me aware of a different sort of terrestial spirit.

- Merne Judson III - Merne showed me, simply by being, what peace, selflessness and love are. What love is. It is palpable in his presence. Everything was illuminated in a heavenly light when we engaged in conversation and divine wisdom flowed freely between us in a beautiful exchange of spirit. Merne gave a face to my newly evolving concept of what an angel is. His spirit is still present in my life, though he is now over a 1000 miles away.

- Gwen - Gwen gave a face, voice and of course, spirit to what an angel is. With the voice of an angel and the beauty of aphrodite, Gwen put and too, continues to put, a hope, faith and love into perspective under the terribly insufficient asupices of earthly beauty. Transcendence is the key here. A heart turned outward, serving others selflessly, without restraint. Gwen taught me what beauty sounds like and unconditional love for all feels like.

- Laura - Laura has come into my life most recently, within the last year. She is perhaps the quietest, most peaceful spirit that I have ever met. With a heart for service and conscience so keen as to detect even the slightest injustice in thought and spirit, she radiates love. Her life gave me a picture of what a life lived in harmony with God and God's creation looks like. Frickin a, it is a beautiful thing; just to know that such a kindred spirit exists gives me strength, power and hope - perhaps a selfish ambition, the love is pure and inspires me to serve the world joyfully.

All four of these people, perhaps with the exception of Mandy Moore who merely gave me the base image of an angel, have taught me lessons so invaluable and transcendent, that if my spirit were to be boiled down to its base elements, inevitably the residue of Merne, Gwen and Laura would remain after my spirit had evaporated. Kindreds spirits only come, they do not go. Spirits are eternal and we know when we meet them. It isn't the feeling of a higher degree of joy that so enraptures us, but a completely different kind of joy that captures us when blessed with their presence. I hope you too have experienced angels on earth; seen the face of God in a friend or loved one. These things are beautiful and God blesses us so, so that by reflecting even half of the light of our angels into the lives of those that we interact with, we bless the world.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Entertaining Angels

"A chief event of life is the day in which we have encountered a mind that startled us." Emerson

This post has been a five year work-in-progress. These events have shaped my life in ways that I will never know. A recent meeting piqued my interest and inspired this post.

I have been blessed to have met four angels over the course of the last fiveyears. By angels, I mean kindred, quiet, transcendent spirits that put my heart, soul, mind at ease while in their presence. The moment is all that matters in the presence of an angel; and the moments are eternal. Hindsight and reflection on my meetings with these angels only dims the glory of their luminous realities - experienced in the moment, in the present. Words can not and will not, not ever, do these meetings with eart-angels proper justice. So I am stuck trying my best to describe to you what has likely been a shared experience by all; an experience full of love, truth and hope. It is a plutonic love. Nay, it is beyond any love that can be described. It is transcendent. Assuredly, from above. No human love could match it. The love that ties us to the angels in our lives can never be lustful or suffocating; the love is a supernatural virtue of which sexuality taints the very object of beauty. It is true love. It is God's face on God's child. That is what it means to look upon the face of an angel. To see virtue as virtue, and love as natural ore.

I feel the need to share the names of those angels that have graced me with their presence to better illustrate what I am talking about when I talk about angels. Ordered in chronological order of meeting (not importance, for all meetings are of equal importance) over the last five years.

- Mandy Moore - Though this may seem funny, ridiculous, whatever, Mandy Moore was my first experience with this sort of love and feeling of the presence of something so wonderful and beautiful that no amount of human longing could match the love made manifest in her beauty. Watching Mandy Moore in a 'Walk to Remember' caused a heart palpitation of which I had never experienced before, making me aware of a different sort of terrestial spirit.

- Merne Judson III - Merne showed me, simply by being, what peace, selflessness and love are. What love is. It is palpable in his presence. Everything was illuminated in a heavenly light when we engaged in conversation and divine wisdom flowed freely between us in a beautiful exchange of spirit. Merne gave a face to my newly evolving concept of what an angel is. His spirit is still present in my life, though he is now over a 1000 miles away.

- Gwen - Gwen gave a face, voice and of course, spirit to what an angel is. With the voice of an angel and the beauty of aphrodite, Gwen put and too, continues to put, a hope, faith and love into perspective under the terribly insufficient asupices of earthly beauty. Transcendence is the key here. A heart turned outward, serving others selflessly, without restraint. Gwen taught me what beauty sounds like and unconditional love for all feels like.

- Laura - Laura has come into my life most recently, within the last year. She is perhaps the quietest, most peaceful spirit that I have ever met. With a heart for service and conscience so keen as to detect even the slightest injustice in thought and spirit, she radiates love. Her life gave me a picture of what a life lived in harmony with God and God's creation looks like. Frickin a, it is a beautiful thing; just to know that such a kindred spirit exists gives me strength, power and hope - perhaps a selfish ambition, the love is pure and inspires me to serve the world joyfully.

All four of these people, perhaps with the exception of Mandy Moore who merely gave me the base image of an angel, have taught me lessons so invaluable and transcendent, that if my spirit were to be boiled down to its base elements, inevitably the residue of Merne, Gwen and Laura would remain after my spirit had evaporated. Kindreds spirits only come, they do not go. Spirits are eternal and we know when we meet them. It isn't the feeling of a higher degree of joy that so enraptures us, but a completely different kind of joy that captures us when blessed with their presence. I hope you too have experienced angels on earth; seen the face of God in a friend or loved one. These things are beautiful and God blesses us so, so that by reflecting even half of the light of our angels into the lives of those that we interact with, we bless the world.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

"I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least--and it is commonly more than that--sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements." Henry David Thoreau

Thoreau; the preeminent granola-munching, wood-wandering hippie. A man who, from his early days, chose to live a countercultural lifestye. The collect frightened him and the woods, though not readily welcoming him, did not explicitly reject his presence. So Thoreau found peace, alone in the woods. Recently, Thoreau's social detachment and natural engagement has become increasingly more attractive to me. Always shy, socially awkward and reclusive, my life often feels like a daily struggle, fighting to break into impersonal social networks, all the while questioning why so much energy is concentrated (and wasted) on something I am wanting less and less to a part of. Like Thoreau, I have always found my mind clearest and heart lightest in the woods, with the occasional visit of a good friend, worrying not about the things of this world, but instead living free on the bounties of nature. Energy restored. Someday, maybe someday Walden 2.0 will happen. Maybe not. For now, walking must suffice. Thus, Walking will be my Thoreau essay of choice for the time being. Walden will be waiting for the day when I go to woods to live deliberately.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

On the Up and UP

Currently, I am sitting at Schultes Coffee House, looking out the large front window, snow falling gently on this June day. Crazy.

Well, the last couple of days have marked a turning point in my running break and recovery. My legs are beginning to come around. My arms are beginning to gain strength too. It helps to know the cause of problems when trying to fix something. Firstly, my right knee condition I have now come to know as retropatellar displacement. Basically, it is an advanced form of runner's knee. My right knee has always done this. It doesn't track nearly as cleanly as my left knee and consequently, over time and over-use, slowly shifts its load bearing to the outside of the knee. Over time my outer quadricep continues to strengthen and pull the knee even further to the outside, my inner quad then, on account of its now relinquished duties, weakens and, in my case, becomes atrophic and actually dies. It makes perfect sense. Looking straight down my body at my quads in a standing position, my right quad is noticeably narrower and piled up on the outer side of my leg, whereas my left leg appears well-balanced, inner and outer quad muscles. This much I already knew. After some research I found some great exercises to begin strengthening the inner thigh, abductors, adductors, hips and consequently, my knees. After one round of these exercises with bands, I felt like a new person - both physically and emotionally. I felt hopeful, that I had found a remedy to something that has been bothering me for some time now. I will continue doing these exercises 5-7 times a week through June before I start jogging again in July. When I return to the pavement and trail I went to be absolutely healthy and ready to run smart and clean. Game on! 

Friday, June 5, 2009

A Story

Not too long ago, perhaps 10 minutes before now - the actual timeline is of no consequence -, there was an incident. An incident. Of course, the whole of our lives are simple strings of incidences, some good, some bad, some better than good, some badder than bad, or worse... Regardless, this incident was an extraordinary incident. It, the incident, surpassed that of what is considered normal and thus became a story worth telling.

Men will be men, it is said. Vein the same, it is true that women will be women. Having now defined genders with genders, it is time... for what? The story.

The incident, men and women, the story is this:

Sauntering the path of most direct approach (to the local pub), Paul, the sole character of this story, was lost in thought.

'To what end will I be used in this life', Paul wondered as he ambled prudently. 'Is happiness a pipe dream in this work-a-day world of which I have become, what has come to feel like, a permanent fixture?'

'My friends? Well wait. What friends have I? Is life about that? Is my, our, everyone's purpose in this life to build relations with others, social networks? Is that where true joy lies? Perhaps. Are my social insecurities but sly deceptions of this wonderful truth? There it lies, the truth all around me, in the faces, the actions, the words, the expressions, the smiles and the joy of those kindred spirits nearest I. How can such truth feel so unnatural? Is that natural? Likely not. There must be an explanation for this. There must be an underlying truth, undergirding the lies that are continually at work eroding my confidence and destroying my sense of place in the social institutions of this world.'

Just then, in the middle of what was on track to be one of the longer musings of Paul's jumbled mind, a truck cut hard right mere inches from the bard's front. Razed by the near death experience, Paul's thoughts turned presently to the immediacy of his philosophizing.

'I must find my place - purpose and future - in this world immediately,' Paul vented.'Lost, I am but a nomad without a herd, wandering aimlessly towards a bitter end.'

Life had taught Paul that lessons, true, spiritual, existential questions, cannot be forced on one's own conscious. Answers to our deepest, most definitive questions come on their own time, on God's time. But by our own volition we are without the most basic answers that every soul has sought. God decides. Our dreaming is too conservative, too weak, too shallow, Paul knew. The greatest answers arrive when we have ceased seeking out the branches from which they spur, and instead seek the trunk from which they originate. Suddenly, losing himself on this stream of thought, Paul found himself at great peace, grounded in this new and wonderful truth. He need not think about the trivialities of life, the answers to his most basic life questions. The trunk, the strength of the tree, God, is where he must fix his focus. Fear fades, worry abates and life comes. This is freedom.

'How could I have missed such a simple truth?', Paul sighed.

'Living in freedom, in the creator's freedom, I am free, absolutely free to live, not worry, to be, not seem, and to carry-on as if everyday were my first and without fear, the last. Life is not defined by what I think, but by how I live. Comfort. Complete, consummate comfort. I am free.'

Paul continued on his journey to the pub, arriving some forty minutes after setting out from his one bedroom flat. A contagious smile sat wonderfully upon his face as he sat straight, proud and with assured peace at the bar, sipping contentedly on a wonderful brew. Doubtless, his present disposition spread wildly to the other patrons of the pub, without his knowing, but in his knowing existed his recent revelation - a revelation that would forever change his life and inadvertently affect the lives all the souls he subsequently encountered. 


Thursday, June 4, 2009

On Acronyms and Coffee Shops

Firstly, on a serious note, a question.  A serious inquiry of which I have not yet had the proper venue to present. This seems as good a place as any. Horses; on calm, temperate days when the flies abound, horses sidle up, side-by-side, in reversed positions, using their tails to swat flies off the other. Alright cool. Smart. Smart animal. My question is, and truthfully the question spans far wider than the breadth of the equines habits, but, do horses react to, what I can't help but think frequent, the gastro-intestinal releases of another? Gas passing? This is something I have honestly been wondering - not trying to be nasty, lewd or shocking. My thought is that perhaps part of the fly-swatting, reverse position arrangement, there is a tacit agreement to control, that is, hold their gas, or politely excuse themselves to another area of the field to do so. From what I understand, horses have a very strong sense of smell and the raw odor of the outgas would trump any benefits received from the fly-swatting arrangement. This, like I said, raises a much larger question, do animals, maybe even just a few species of animals, have a tacit code of conduct in-so-far as it effects their daily living and "arrangements"? As I watch critters live and play together, I can't help but think 'yes'. How well animal etiquette has been studied, I don't know. But there must be instances where, not based on our human values or mores of chivalry or better, animals have developed arrangements to control some of the unpleasantries of life, namely, our digestive systems, in order to maximize utility. Mr. Ed has long past. Thus our chances of getting an articulate verbal answer to this question too, gone.

Well, I guess I didn't even touch on what I wanted to write about today, but that is okay. I hope I gave whoever reads this blog (is there anybody out there?) something to mull over for a couple of minutes. I know I have much to pontificate on this subject. Actually, I am done. Time to work. Peace.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Coffee is Coffee

Once, I wondered. Or once, I did wonder, how can such a simple beverage be so attractive, day after day after day. Coffee is always attractive to me. For others, many of my older friends (40-70) the same is true - and over the long-term. Which makes methink that there is something to this coffee addiction. It is not the caffeine. I may be young, but I am wise enough, and have recently become physically aware of the nuanced chemical changes always occurring in my body, to know that it is not the caffeine that makes us smile morning after morning as we awake to that steaming cup of joe. Doubtless, our attraction to coffee is similar to the lure of cigarettes or, I suppose, most anything addictive. Environmental circumstances. 

As it is with cigarettes, so it is with coffee; the chemical dependencies built on the these substances is only a piece of the addiction puzzle. Set and setting, that is, our environment, constitutes a majority of the pieces of that puzzle that brings us back to the pot (coffee pot) day after day. Some of those pieces:

1) A social string. A common enjoyment that connects us to others. Imagine if there were "sitting shops" where you literally just went and sat - no beverages, no food, just a blank table. Lame. Coffee bridges our social insecurities or reinforces our social strengths when sipped in company.

2) A healthy step from water. Though the jury remains hung, trial after trial, as coffee is put under the miscroscope, on the health ramifications of coffee drinking, the general verdict that slips out of the chambers is that coffee, in moderation (3-4 cups a day), is a component of a healthy lifestyle, providing valuable flavanols and stuff. In this way, coffee is a healthy step from water - and exponentially more interesting.

3) Variety. Mochas, lattes, specialty drinks (ah syrups), cappuccinos, standard joe, sweetened joe, creamed and sweetened joe, et al. Frickin a, the possibilities literally number in the 10,000s for coffee drinks. Though not created equal in healthfulness, tastiness is a wonderful theme. No day need to be the same while drinking coffee.

4) Pattern and routine. We, us humans, are creatures of habit and to have the above mentioned points on a regular basis brings us the comfort and consistency that keeps us hopeful day-to-day.

Anyways, coffee is coffee and it is incredible to me that such a basic drink can provide joy day after day after day after day... I am coming to the close of my 5th year of coffee drinking and my passion for the drink is only growing. Thanks be to the Lord for simple and wonderful joys.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

On Humbling Experiences

"Be and not seem." R.W. Emerson

Doubtless, there have been times in all of our lives when we have discovered that something is not as it seemed - when 'seeming' replaces being. This has become my most recent definition of humbling experiences; when the reality of 'being', suddenly and without warning, supplants our 'seeming', our pretending (actions we thought were sincere, but knew no not the higher Truth, blinded by our own volition), and grounds us in what is, ridding us of what is not. Some mornings I wake up to a World that is not quite the World I remember the previous evening. Is it more real or less true? Only a baseline, objective measure can answer that question. For me, my wiring lends itself to clearer thought in the morning, and consequently I see the components of my life in a distinctly true light. Some mornings my mind is blown by the frivolity of thought the night before. It is humbling. Being humbled, lately, for me, has meant seeing more clearly and rejoicing in that seeing rather than sulking in the embarrassment that often occupies humbling experiences. Grow when the World is not what it seemed. Take pride in who you are under the true luminary. These are the thoughts that have been streaming lately. 

I am not running right now. I can't. Truth be told, I am having difficulty with my activities of daily living. I am weak. A humbling experience? Yes. Going from feeling strong as an ox, running 17 miles a day to struggling with stairs and rising from a seated position, is a blow, to be sure, but the experience is reminding me of what really matters - love, hope, faith in peaceful living with friends and family. Fortunately, I think that I am getting stronger, but each day my expectations of a quick recovery seem further from the truth and closer to a 'seeming', a feigning of existence, that I have so arrogantly flaunted. Deep breath. Time to be? Yes. Seeming, goodbye. Living? Yes. God bless.